《Nature Writ Red》 Blood & Noodles Prologue General Maja walked through the shadow of a dead god, slaughtering the dying. Any groan was met with the edge of her bone glaive. The Raven and its cult had been murdered, down to the last man, but her duty had not ended. The blood of Avri the Raven contained great and terrible power; its potential beyond any other. It created hateful, greedy monsters. If even a drop of that divine blood was ferried home, the corruption would be unending. So even as her men begged and pleaded, she cut them down. Amongst the thousands of corpses surrounding her, only General Maja walked. The rest of her troops, diminished as they were, stayed away and killed those that attempted to flee. Upon their return to the Foot, they would be heroes. Godslayers. Yet despite their valorous service, she would still kill them if they partook of the Ravenblood. The Ox¡¯s blood sung in her veins, defying the Raven¡¯s rot. She had volunteered for the filthy duty as her last proper task within the army. Most of the other Blooded were slain, the blood of gods within their veins becoming useless as it mingled with the Raven''s own. Her subordinates had dwindled from tens of thousands to mere hundreds. There was no general without an army. It was time to pass the blood within her on. She kept her eyes down and her ears open. Occasionally, she would stab into the bodies beneath her feet after sensing something still moving. She wielded her body -- massive and impossibly muscled from her Oxblood -- with a grace borne of thirty years of practice, easily piercing through several of the dead to those that breathed beneath. Blood dripped down from above, black as darkness itself. General Maja avoided looking up. A god was a monstrous thing, even dead. There was nothing more terrifying in this world, she was certain. Yet she and five other generals under the instruction of Great General Ignatius had ended it. For good, she hoped. The battle had raged for two days and two nights, but the dawn of the third saw Avri and its ilk dead. They had won. Now they only had to leave this place and the blood that tainted it. They would be rewarded. General Maja could be freed of her blood and the duty it saddled her with. Maybe she would open a small restaurant, like her father¡¯s. Though fifty years of the martial life had long since robbed her of any hint of culinary skills. Even still, she was sure the future would be better than the present. Anything was.
It was night by the time she returned, drenched in inky blood. Her glaive, powerful though it was, was left in the corpse of her Lieutenant, coated in blackened ichor. Drue of the Lizard met her silently, and together they burned her armour and wiped her clean. He was a fool, as most of the Lizardblood were, but even he could read her mood. General Maja exulted in her cleanliness; the feeling of dirt and grime falling away from her. The scrubbing opened barely closed wounds, but none were deep. The other generals were worse off. Only three of the original six lived. Great General Ignatius, the Spiderblood, despite his usual cowardice, had entered the fray himself and had his legs removed for his trouble when the Raven swept through the battlefield. General Bina alone remained of her army, having had her troops use themselves as bait to distract the Raven whilst the other generals dealt with the Cult. She had lived, albeit more skeleton than person. Despite the Lizardblood¡¯s divine hardiness, she would likely not survive the journey home. Drue brought General Maja her silken robes, almost collapsing under the weight of the material. It was enough to make clothes for five men. She dressed slowly. The feeling of silk on skin was a luxury she had never had time to acclimatise to. Only when she was fully dressed did Drue open his mouth. ¡°General, we require your assistance with a matter. If you could-¡± She shot him a glare, loath to relinquish the silence they had cultivated. Nevertheless, the man blundered on. ¡°There¡¯s a Raven child,¡± he said, eyes narrowed in mulish obstinance. ¡°There¡¯s no one intact enough to kill him.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a kid,¡± she gravelled out. ¡°You¡¯re a soldier. End him and be done with it.¡± ¡°He¡¯s entrenched in a small burrow sir. We¡¯ve been trying to collapse it, but it¡¯s not working." ¡°Then go in.¡± Drue paused. Maja could see the cogs turning in his head. Even as diminished as her troops were, he was still barely ranked above the most common of soldiers, mostly by virtue of the Godsblood he had somehow obtained -- likely from one of the officers assassinated on the long march to the god. She could feel her blood beginning to boil. It was impossible to know whether her rage was the Ox¡¯s influence or her own nature. ¡°Sir, no one wants to-¡° Maja felled him with a blow to the gut, vainly trying to conquer her fury. He wheezed on all fours and she wondered whether that was the first hit he had ever taken. The Lizardblood was covered in blood yet his armour was unmarred and he himself unscarred. General Maja trembled, wondering whether she should kill him. Lizardbloods were sturdy, and healed fast, but his was thin. She surged with hatred, her blood trying to convince her of her righteousness. It had happened countless times before, and all Blooded trained to master their divinity. But she was exhausted, and Drue would be far from the first soldier she had killed today. Drue kept his head down, avoiding her eyes, and his submission quenched her anger enough to stop herself from splitting his skull open. She spoke. ¡°You are soldiers. You have your orders. Why is the child not dead?¡± ¡°It¡¯s- it¡¯s- no one wants to die and they¡¯re saying they¡¯re not cultists, General!¡± Maja rubbed her head with a thick hand. One last duty, she thought. ¡°Lead on.¡±
Drue led her through the camp. It hardly deserved the moniker. Of the initial force numbering a hundred thousand, less than a twentieth remained -- a majority being conscripts from the nearby city its people had dubbed ''the Foot''. The result of this devastation was soldiers wandering aimlessly, having lost their squad mates and most anyone they fought with. Fires smouldered, fuelled with the dung of mules and whatever shrubs the arid land offered, yet those around them sat in stunned silence. Tents and supplies sat untouched, with the only exception being the medical tent in the centre of the camp, where a quarter of those surviving would die before the day was out. Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. It wasn¡¯t regulation, but there was no regulation that mattered for such a devastated force. General or not, there was no way for Maja to stir them from their stupor. She could feel the same malaise that infected them within herself, dragging her eyes closed. She had not slept for days, after all. But there was no way she could after what she had done. On the other side of their diminished forces was a half-collapsed hole in the ground. The former home of some desert creature, long fled from the battle''s noise. Poking from it was a bloody spear. A soldier sat several paces away from it, a hole through his hand. He saluted, form sloppy, but Maja could tell from his dead eyes that there was no better salute to be had. ¡°There,¡± Drue said, pointing to the hole. ¡°The child¡¯s hiding in there.¡± She squatted loosely, just out of range of the spear, and let out a deep sigh. ¡°This is General Maja, commander of the second Ravensbane army under Great General Ignatius," she said firmly. "State your name and affiliation.¡± There was a long silence. ¡°I¡¯m Orvi,¡± a voice squeaked, ¡°commander of the, uhm, hole, under the, uh, ground.¡± Damn it all. Why did it have to be a child? ¡°Orvi. Where did you come from?¡± ¡°There was another hole except it was bigger and people were meaner and they kept taking people away but then they all ran off and we got out.¡± ¡°We?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± ¡°Who is ''we''? Is there anyone with you?¡± ¡°Yes, two little babies.¡± ¡°They were with you in the hole?¡± ¡°Yeah, their mumma helped me get out of the hole.¡± ¡°Is their mother with you?¡± ¡°No, I don¡¯t know where she is.¡± ¡°Do you know-¡° ¡°Hey General Ma?¡± the kid interrupted. Maja quickly stifled her anger at being cut off. ¡°What is it, Orvi?¡± ¡°Uhm. Uhm. We really really need your help because I think that Sash is hurt, she bumped her head and she hasn¡¯t been moving a lot.¡± ¡°Orvi. If I¡¯m going to help you, you need to answer something for me.¡± ¡°Okay. I¡¯m very good at answering things.¡± ¡°How long have you been in that hole?¡± ¡°Uhm. Two days? I think? I haven¡¯t moved because I think people are fighting and we¡¯re only little.¡± ¡°Alright. This next question is very important, Orvi, and I need you to be honest with me.¡± ¡°Okay.¡± ¡°Have you got any black blood on you, or in your mouth? Blood from the Raven.¡± There was a long pause. Orvi muttered something. ¡°What was that?¡± ¡°No!¡± he yelled. If what Orvi said was true, the kid was a captive of the cultists. Most likely as a prospective sacrifice, as the Raven cult tended to do to most of those they kidnapped. Maja turned to Drue. He shook his head and she felt another burst of anger at his nonchalance towards killing this child. Hypocritical, maybe, but there was a difference between this, and killing soldiers and cultists. The latter knew the risks. A child did not. Maja turned back to the kid. ¡°Orvi, I¡¯m going to need you to come out.¡± ¡°Dash and Sash too?¡± ¡°Yes, them as well.¡± ¡°Okay.¡± The spear was shoved out of the hole, and a child with two infants strapped to him with a crude harness slowly wriggled out. Orvi seemed like a fairly normal child, with unremarkable brown hair and eyes, possessing skin tanned from long hours in the sun, perhaps five or six years of age. A picture of a farmer¡¯s son, albeit a slightly malnourished one. Remarkably, his only wounds were small cuts already scabbed over. His large eyes stared gormlessly at her. The babies -- one on his back and one on his front -- were more unusual. Both had exotic white hair coupled with blue eyes; signs their parents had come from very far away. The back-facing child was bleeding from a head wound, while the front one glared at her silently. Orvi turned to the soldier guiltily and muttered a quick apology, before attempting to face her again. When his gaze only met her knees, he craned his neck to look her in the eyes, uncowed. ¡°Please ma¡¯am, Sash¡¯s hurt. I really didn¡¯t mean to but she hit her head when I was running. I don¡¯t want her to die. She¡¯s only little.¡± She quirked an eyebrow at being called ma¡¯am. The Oxblood were the ugliest of the Blooded, excepting perhaps the Spiderblooded. It was almost impossible to tell their gender. Most defaulted to ''sir''. Maja turned to Drue, still waiting for her cue. ¡°What happened here?¡± ¡°Sir. We found them earlier today. We tried smoking them out but it didn¡¯t work. We tried fire-¡° Maja slapped him across the head, sending the Blooded stumbling. ¡°Idiot. What happens if they had the Ravenblood? The camp¡¯s right there. What if the smoke carried the blood?¡± Drue shook his head, recovering. ¡°They might not have it, General.¡± ¡°So you were going to kill three innocent children?¡± ¡°Well, they could have it.¡± ¡°Oh, by the blood. Either you would have killed three innocents or sent the blood into camp. Soldier, we just ended a bloodline. Do you plan on bringing it back?¡± She almost couldn¡¯t believe it. Her words were exaggerated, but only slightly. In such circumstances, the culling of innocents may be necessary. Yet, allowing the blood to escape? The Raven was the first god killed in history, and its powers were unique even among the divine. There was no precedent. Even if it was dead for good, its blood was dangerous. This was a dereliction of duty bordering on traitorous. It would be entirely within her rights to kill Drue on the spot. She had done so before for lesser crimes. His actions were negligent, and threatened to undermine everything her comrades had fought for. She would have, in any other circumstance. But there was a better use for his death. ¡°Orvi. For me to help you, you must first do something for me.¡± The kid had watched their exchange, fidgeting silently. Now he looked at her again, reluctance clearly writ on his face. ¡°What is it, ma¡¯am?¡± Maja punched Drue on the side of the head, sending him toppling to the ground, unconscious. The Ravenblood was dangerous for a reason. It stole power, but only upon death. It was this power that made the cult so volatile. And seductive, for those with little else to lose. ¡°Pick up the spear and kill this man. If you do not, I will be forced to kill you.¡± Orvi stared at her for a long moment. He slowly moved his feet backwards. ¡°You can¡¯t run from this, child.¡± General Maja said gently. ¡°A sickness has spread through this land. If you have it, you die.¡± Orvi stared at Drue, still senseless on the ground. ¡°I don¡¯t want to hurt him.¡± ¡°Do you want to die? Do you want little Dash and Sash to die?¡± The child began crying. Sobs contorted his whole body. Maja felt self-loathing rise to her throat, but she had a duty. One more important than Drue or the three children. ¡°Do you?¡± ¡°Auntie said I gotta be good to little kids,¡± he sobbed. ¡°Like a big brother¡± ¡°Then save them.¡± Orvi slowly walked over to the spear. He looked at the soldier he had stabbed earlier. The man was surprisingly young, Maja noticed. There was a deep sorrow on his face, but he remained silent. The kid looked at Maja. ¡°Right here.¡± She tapped Drue¡¯s neck, the larynx still bobbing. ¡°It¡¯ll be quick.¡± It wouldn¡¯t be. Orvi dragged the spear over. The shaft was nearly twice his height. Its tip shook as his body shivered, wracked with sobs. The infant strapped to his front, sensing something wrong, began wailing as well. Orvi brought the spearhead to where Maja pointed, attempting to manoeuvre the shaft above his head without hitting his two charges. Eventually, he managed it. He looked at her, a keening sounding from his throat. ¡°Just push it down.¡± He looked down at Drue, small lips drawn to a line. Tears fell on the man¡¯s face. He stirred, slightly. ¡°Orvi.¡± The kid thrust downwards, piercing the Blooded¡¯s neck. Crimson blood spurted outwards, containing power most men would kill for. Maja let it fall, covering the parched ground beneath them. She could feel warm liquid and impacts on her naked feet as Drue writhed, but her gaze was focused on the children. Dash cried and Sash dangled. Orvi stared, shivering, at the dying man on the ground as he flailed. Maja watched, waiting for any changes. Drue took maybe twenty minutes to die, his blood¡¯s divinity prolonging the agony. When he finally stilled, she dipped a finger in his blood and smeared it on each child¡¯s forehead, watching for the euphoria that filled the cultists; the surge of energy they felt as they stole the power of the dead. Any blankness in the eyes, a pause as the Ravenblood incorporated new energy. A sign that the power of Avri lived still. A sign that she needed to kill them. But Orvi just sobbed harder, and General Maja knew her duty was done. Chapter 1 - Petty vandalism for fools ¡°Hear me out, Dash.¡± The pair of us stood in the alley next to the Bushwhack, the trashy little eatery that was cutting into our restaurant¡¯s sales. I had told Dash to meet me here last night, claiming I needed his help. My brother¡¯s curiosity wasn¡¯t his strongest trait at the best of times, but I made sure to phrase it as if the situation was life-or-death. It was, just not in the immediate sense. After all, if our regulars stopped coming to eat, then we wouldn¡¯t be eating. ¡°Orv¡­¡± Dash stood in front of me, his short, white hair and pale skin making him seem almost bald. Taking him with me on a night operation seemed foolish at first, given how he was probably more luminous than a bloodtech bulb, but this was a two-person operation, and the rest of the family wouldn¡¯t join in on this kind of stuff. Dash would come, if I persuaded with the Dolphin¡¯s tongue. Though he had already turned to leave. ¡°No-no wait,¡± I pleaded, grabbing his shoulder. ¡°How many customers have we lost in this month, hmm? We¡¯re down to nearly half of what we had. The Bushwhack¡¯s just too cheap; no working citizen can turn down those prices!¡± Dash sighed and rubbed his shorn hair. ¡°Orv, if Bar Eats shuts down we¡¯ll be fine. Ma¡¯s got the money from training Uncle Jackson. There¡¯s nothing wrong with cheap food anyway, you''d be a hypocrite if you thought that.¡± ¡°Firstly,¡± I replied. ¡°It¡¯s not Bar Eats, it¡¯s Hole in the Wall now. Secondly, Jackson¡¯s training is going to be finished in two, maybe three years. After that he¡¯s off to do whatever Blooded do. If we don¡¯t have the Hole then, we¡¯re not eating. Thirdly, it¡¯s not the cheap food I¡¯m worried about. It¡¯s how cheap the food is.¡± ¡°Orv, we need to settle on a name-¡° I interrupted. ¡°Bar Eats is a garbage name. You know it-.¡± ¡°Right, but we do need-¡° ¡°We¡¯d lose half the charm if we settled on a name-¡° ¡°You mean you¡¯d be able to stop messing with customers-¡° ¡°They like it anyway, you know they-¡° ¡°I don¡¯t like it-¡° ¡°Enough!¡± I yelled. ¡°We¡¯re getting side-tracked. The place is doing something dodgy, so-¡° A woman slammed open her shutters above us, shouting ¡°By the blood, shut your damn mouths!¡±, before cracking them closed again. Dash punched me in the arm, and I winced. He was strong, for a nine-year-old. ¡°Cheap food¡¯s fine,¡± I whispered. ¡°Good, even. But there¡¯s a limit. No way they¡¯re making a profit with those prices. Something¡¯s going on. Don¡¯t the customers have a right to know what it is?¡± I could see Dash weighing my proposition. Although it took less than five seconds for him to weigh it, turn and try to leave. ¡°Hey-hey-hey.¡± I grabbed his shoulder, hoping he wasn¡¯t annoyed enough to throw me onto the dirt. ¡°If you don¡¯t help me, I¡¯m still going. Nothing¡¯s changing. Help me out. Do your brother a favour. I carried you and Sash across a battlefield, you know.¡± ¡°Yes, Orv, I know,¡± he sighed. ¡°You always say that when you¡¯re losing an argument. This is a really bad idea. It¡¯s against the law. Ma will hate it.¡± ¡°Ma doesn¡¯t need to know. C¡¯mon, you and me. The dynamic duo. The perilous pair. The sinister siblings.¡± I could see him trying to supress a smile, and just like that, I knew I had him. ¡°Okay. But I¡¯m only doing this to keep you out of trouble.¡± ¡°That¡¯s the spirit.¡± It would be a tragic day when I lost an argument with a kid five years my junior.
Dash¡¯s willingness lasted up until I started shoving him down a chimney. ¡°I really don¡¯t think we should be doing this,¡± he wheedled. ¡°Ma¡¯s going to be really angry.¡± We were on the roof. It had taken so long to get up that I worried the neighbours would call the guard on us. Dash was athletic, but too cautious to have much practice climbing. I ended up having to pull him up from the roof. I could tell he was embarrassed, given that it was a one-storey building, but I assured him that it would be a difficult climb for anyone of his size. He still seemed sheepish. Of course, it was only when he couldn¡¯t run away that I regaled him with my full plan. He would go down the chimney, open the back door for me, and then I would take a dump in their stove. Dash argued against using a surface the food of dozens of people was made from as a toilet, and eventually, I acceded the point. I didn¡¯t lose the argument. I acceded it. It takes a wise man to know the difference. The eatery was large, with tall ceilings and massive front-facing windows ¨C now shuttered ¨C that opened into the main street. Coupled with varnished chairs, sturdy tables, and smooth lacquered walls, some might even say it looked good. Far better than a place with their prices should look, anyway. However, the downside of all this expansive and free-flowing architecture was that the building was as chilly as the Dolphin¡¯s balls. Hence the massive fireplace set between the dining area and the kitchen. The perfect entrance for any would-be investigators. ¡°Orv?¡± Dash interrupted my musings. ¡°What if the fire¡¯s still on?¡± ¡°It¡¯s not, Dash. You would smell smoke.¡± ¡°But what if they¡¯re burning something that doesn¡¯t smell?¡± ¡°Like what?¡± ¡°Uh, special wood?¡± ¡°Then you would see the smoke.¡± ¡°But what if it the fire doesn¡¯t have any smoke?¡± ¡°Then you would still feel the heat.¡± Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. ¡°But what if it¡¯s a cold fire?¡± What? ¡°What?¡± Dash¡¯s struggles stopped momentarily, which I should have taken as an opportunity to push him down. I was still too stunned. ¡°No but,¡± he said, brushing over my question, ¡°A really low-heat one.¡± ¡°Dash?¡± ¡°Yeah?¡± ¡°You would still see the fire.¡± ¡°Oh. But what if-¡° Having climbed onto the lip of the chimney, I used my feet to ram him down. There was a crash and a crack, and abruptly I was struck with the thought that I had killed my only brother, but soon enough he was swearing up at me. ¡°Orv! You ass!¡± I was so proud. I hopped down, landing next to the back door and rapped on it lightly, hoping that Dash wouldn¡¯t have any trouble finding his way into the kitchen. I shouldn¡¯t have worried, because almost at soon as my knuckles left the wood it was crashing into my nose, propelling me onto hard packed dirt. I blinked, and then a pale form was straddling me, slapping me open-palmed across the head. Blocking with my left arm left me exposed to a few ringing blows across the right side of my skull, but eventually I got enough of a grip on him to manoeuvre my legs under his chest and shove him off. I was just glad it wasn¡¯t Sash. She was much better at holds. Though, she didn¡¯t get that angry in the first place. ¡°Sorry, sorry,¡± I said, shaking the stars out of my eyes. ¡°My bad. Sorry. Thought you would be able to, I don¡¯t know, slow your fall or something.¡± That was a bit of a white lie; in truth, I hadn¡¯t thought at all. He stood over me, seemingly mollified by my bruising face. It wasn¡¯t the first time I regretted establishing myself as Dash and Sash¡¯s sparring partner ¨C though it was closer to a punching bag ¨C but I was sturdy enough to take it. It made both of them a bit too comfortable with hitting me. But now I could see his eyes turning downwards, face tensing as he started to feel guilty, which was infinitely better than him sulking for the next day. ¡°Relax, brother,¡± I assured, rising to my feet. ¡°I definitely deserved that.¡± I definitely did. ¡°It just makes us even.¡± Hopefully. Hopefully he wouldn¡¯t tell Ma. He nodded, still staring at the ground. I slapped him on the shoulder and moved past him, into the Bushwhack¡¯s kitchen. I was immediately jealous. Stock pots, frying pans, saucepans, several grills, and even a few cooking implements I had never seen before. At least twenty different knives poked out of two separate chopping blocks. The true star of the show was the bench: a massive stone slab big enough to have four different chefs working on top of it at the same time. ¡°These bastards¡­¡± I murmured. The place was crowded with high-end equipment. However, it took only a few moments to notice that beneath the scent of greasy meats and fish, something stunk. None of the metal shone. The kitchen was filthy. The pots and pans were caked with the remnants of meat and vegetables, while a wooden tub on the floor contained dozens of dishes submerged in brown water. I wasn¡¯t sure whether they simply didn¡¯t clean before the Bushwhack closed or if the employees had simply been lazy tonight. But either way, if a customer saw this place, they wouldn¡¯t be coming back. Dash shuffled past me, tentatively sniffing the air. ¡°Smells good,¡± he murmured. I scoffed. ¡°Smells of poor hygiene standards. You¡¯d think with those massive windows in the front would provide better ventilation.¡± He nodded, and hesitantly began poking through the kitchen. The place was obviously the cause of many a painful bowel movement, yet there was still no explanation for its low prices. I refused to believe it was a matter of logistics; everyone in the Foot got their food from in and around the oasis at the centre of the city. There were no merchants bringing food across the Wastes; there was simply no point. Whatever the Bushwhack¡¯s secret was, we¡¯d find it inside the building. Unless they didn¡¯t keep their balance books in the building, in which case I would have to track down the owner and break into their house. Or, alternatively, they kept none at all, which would really put some snot in my noodles. Ideally, the Bushwhack¡¯s owner would be stupid, but not that stupid. While Dash snooped through the kitchen, I investigated the dining area. The place was similarly filthy ¨C neither swept nor mopped, with dishes filled with half-eaten chicken, rice, and the occasional piece of bread splayed across every table ¨C but besides that it looked mostly the same as it did in daylight. Beyond a few broken lumps of charcoal where Dash had fallen. I found the motherlode in what looked like a storage closet from the outside. It partially functioned as one, containing a mop, bucket, and broom, yet there was an unusual addition to it. A toilet. One that apparently hadn¡¯t been emptied in quite a while, judging by the smell that climbed up my nose and clung to my throat. My entry disturbed a colony of flies, which buzzed angrily, and I hastily made my escape. I strode back into the kitchen to find Dash poking at the room¡¯s sole oven. He kept opening and closing its door with a perturbed look on his face. ¡°What¡¯s the problem?¡± I asked, and the pale boy shut the door, and then rapidly opened it again, as if expecting a monster to be hiding inside it. ¡°Where¡¯s the fire go?¡± Immediately, I realised the problem. The Bushwhack had only one chimney, yet given its oven and many stoves, it should have three or four. I squatted next to my brother and rapped on the object a few times, a few dull thuds emanating from it. I smacked the side of it a few times and entirely intentionally, managed to depress something on the outside. The inside of the oven lit with a dull, red glow. Dash scrambled back as I frantically slapped the side, managing to shut the light off. I sniffed, and turned backwards. ¡°That¡¯s bloodtech, right there.¡± Divine technology was recent, and had only arrived in the Foot last year, when some of the old Houses began poking their nose back in our homes. They¡¯d ditched the city for most of a decade, leaving it cut off from the outside world, but they still technically ruled it. They¡¯d brought bloodtech, new inventions manufacture with the Owl¡¯s divinity, back with them. It was all clear. The Bushwhack didn¡¯t need to buy normal fuel to cook with. I''d heard Godsblood was needed to fuel the contraptions, but given the divinity would return to their Blooded after use it wasn''t completely unheard of for people to pay one of the Foot''s few Blooded for an open vein. Only a drop was needed. It must''ve been been massively cheaper. They probably cut corners on cleaning too, but they didn¡¯t need to fork over any money for wood or use dung like most people did. What absolute traitors. I was annoyed, and reluctantly jealous. We spend mounds of chits on fuel, and hours ferrying it to the restaurant. Scowling, I turned to Dash. ¡°Clear some floor-space in the dining area for me.¡± He turned away from the oven and looked at me. ¡°What for?¡± ¡°Just do it.¡± He sniffed. ¡°What¡¯s the magic word?¡± ¡°Please,¡± I spat. Reluctantly, he got to work dragging chairs and tables around as I tried to figure out how to pick dung up without getting it all over me. By the time Dash finished, I found no method of egress, so instead I spent the time dragging the oven into the cleared space. I decided to strip my tunic and throw it at Dash, who bemusedly held it as I filled the closet''s bucket with poop and began painting the floor. I slopped most of ¡®BOOTLICKER¡¯ onto the ground, though the end was a bit squished where I ran of room. For the those who couldn¡¯t read, I drew a massive circle around the oven ringed with several arrows. By the end I was covered in flies and my feet and hands were an unmentionable colour. The stench was truly indescribable, but the sick glee I felt welling up in me at the vandalism made it almost worth it. Dash looked at me, clad only in my underwear, silently judging. ¡°What?¡± ¡°This is really messed up, Orv.¡± I tutted. ¡°No, come on. Everyone coming to this place would¡¯ve caught food poisoning anyway. Now they¡¯ll avoid it.¡± ¡°They probably won¡¯t even open in the morning.¡± ¡°Someone will see.¡± Dash rubbed his short head. Blue eyes squinted at me. ¡°You¡¯ve been hanging out with the Butcher Street Boys, haven¡¯t you?¡± I snorted. ¡°No, absolutely not. You see the shiner they gave me last week?¡± ¡°They give you bruises every other week.¡± ¡°Well, y¡¯know¡­ Blake¡¯s an ass, but even an ass spews something that doesn¡¯t stink sometimes.¡± ¡°Orv¡­¡± ¡°Come on, Dash. The Houses ditched everyone, and now they¡¯re back, suddenly that¡¯s okay? You know how much we needed help eight years ago? The whole city was an inch away from starving. Then everyone got sick. You don¡¯t remember, but people died, Dash, and they just left us to rot.¡± ¡°Bushwhack isn¡¯t part of a House though.¡± ¡°But they¡¯re letting them take over.¡± Dash paused, thinking. ¡°It¡¯s still not right,¡± he said, shaking his head. ¡°It¡¯s not okay.¡± I sighed. ¡°Look, let¡¯s just leave it. What¡¯s done is done. Let¡¯s head to the Hole.¡± He looked at me, as if to say ¡®What is the Hole?¡¯ only to realise what I was talking about. ¡°Bar Eats, you mean.¡± ¡°Bar Eats is awful. Sash always picks the worst names. Let¡¯s just go home, get some sleep.¡± He sniffed, then recoiled. ¡°You¡¯re going a different way. And getting a wash.¡± I nodded sagely, then wiped my hands in his hair. Chapter 2 - Morning rush I woke, as was usual, with Sash driving her elbow into my gut. Two or three years ago, in an effort to win an argument about who was the best sibling, I had claimed that ¡®a good sister would wake her brother up on time¡¯. That point was largely ineffective, but I eventually managed to silence all opposition with the ¡®I saved both your lives¡¯ card, a move effective in any given conversation, especially if it¡¯s true. Unfortunately for us boys, Sash had taken my words to heart and decided to wake both Dash and I every day. A few months into this, she had accidentally elbowed me, which Ma had nearly keeled over laughing at, and Sash, being Sash, had taken this as a sign that she should do so every day. She seemed so pleased with herself every time she did it; I didn¡¯t have the heart to tell her it was less funny on the receiving end. The others got a kick out of it anyway. As I groaned and tussled Sash¡¯s hair, Dash, probably still annoyed about yesterday, let loose a long and obviously fake laugh. The little rodent just wanted to piss me off, so instead of going over and wrestling him into submission, I turned to Sash, still waiting with a wide smile on her face. ¡°Good morning, Sash.¡± She smiled, then turned expectantly to Dash. He repeated the phrase. Looking at them, it was obvious the pair were twins: they shared the exact same colouration, with blue eyes, pale skin and white hair, and were nearly of an equal height. Sash¡¯s locks were long and tangled, pulled back in a ponytail, unlike Dash¡¯s closely-cropped hair. Dash had also grown slightly taller than her, which I could tell he was inordinately pleased about. I was almost the exact opposite with dark hair, browned skin, and black eyes. Pretty normal, all things considered. I¡¯d probably end up taller than them though, so that was a plus. It would just feel too weird for them to be bigger than me. Sash, satisfied that we were up and the ritual was completed, left to stretch in the courtyard. Most of the time I tried to avoid watching; the shapes her body contorted into were nauseating. Dash had already thrown his clothes on and strode out the door, ignoring me the entire time. He was just too serious sometimes. So what if he got a bit of dung in his hair? There was barely any on his head anyway. Getting up, I avoided cracking my head on the ceiling ¨C our room was a tiny attic, with a sloping ceiling that even Dash collided with at times. Ma and Sash¡¯s bedroom was far bigger, but it was hard to complain when Ma was still over seven feet. I might be able to make a case if she shrunk to around six. Maybe. I rooted around my footlocker and grabbed a clean-ish set of clothes, before moving in front of the beaten bit of metal I used as a mirror. The Butcher Boys and I had looted a derelict blacksmith in one of the dead areas of the city a few months back, and I had nabbed this as well as a few bits and bobs to sell. I checked my face for any new pimples and brushed my unruly hair before moving out, deftly scrambling down the trapdoor and into the house proper. The living area wasn¡¯t large, but since Ma had hit eight feet two years back we could all fit. I took a seat on one of the cushions near our table and began eating breakfast: leftovers from the end of last night¡¯s shift. The fact that most customers cleaned their plates was a source of some pride for me, but inevitably there would be some left over. Ma hated waste, so she reheated them for us in the morning. A mish-mash of different types of noodles, some pickled vegetables, a few dumplings, some fried chicken too rich for someone¡¯s stomach and a large bowl of soup was this morning¡¯s selection. We were probably some of the best fed people in the city, though soggy food left overnight tended not to be the most luxurious of meals. Dash, already eating, avoided my eyes by studying the tapestries around the room. I could hear our mother puttering around in the kitchen, getting ready to open. ¡°Oi. Dash.¡± His silence was starting to get to me. I flicked a piece of cheese at him. ¡°What?¡± he snapped. ¡°Keep quiet about our extra-curricular activities last night.¡± ¡°You mean the-¡° ¡°Yes!¡± I interrupted him before he could blow it. ¡°Yes I mean that.¡± ¡°I¡¯m going to tell Ma you put poo in my hair.¡± That little rat. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare.¡± ¡°I will,¡± he insisted. ¡°If you do I¡¯ll push you in the toilet.¡± ¡°You wouldn¡¯t.¡± ¡°I would.¡± Dash sniffled. ¡°Why are you so mean to me?¡± Oh, by the blood. He was probably faking ¨C in fact, by the spiteful look in his eye he definitely was ¨C but if he continued Ma would come and it would become a whole thing. ¡°Look, I¡¯m sorry. It was just a bit of poo anyway, I thought it¡¯d be funny.¡± He crossed his arms, poking at his bread. ¡°Well, it wasn¡¯t.¡± ¡°So I won¡¯t do it again. Problem solved, right?¡± ¡°Mmm,¡± he hummed sceptically and squinted at me. ¡°Okay. But if you do it again I¡¯ll beat you up again.¡± He probably would too. It seemed unfair to me, honestly ¨C drawing my blood in exchange for a few flecks of dung. Still, at least the terms were laid out now. I knew what to expect if I dumped him in the toilet. After a truce was finally established, we returned to eating. I traded away a dumpling for some beans as reparations, which finally seemed to return Dash to a less tetchy mood. ¡°Or-VI!¡± a great bellow resounded through the building. ¡°You¡¯re late!¡± I hastily wrapped a dumpling in noodles and crammed it down my throat, then hurried into the kitchen. It had already had its morning sweep and mop, courtesy of Sash, however we still had to check all our implements were clean and that the pots left to simmer overnight weren¡¯t spoiled. Ma¡¯s eyes, though she refused to admit it, weren¡¯t quite good enough to do all of that alone. Her hands being nearly as big as hocks of ham didn¡¯t help. As I scrubbed at a spot of scum on one of our pans, I eyed Ma. Though her body strained against the apron she wore, rolls of brown skin covering everywhere besides her head hinted at the size she used to hold. As the Oxblood left her veins, so too did much of her former strength. It was a very gradual thing, taking place over the eight years I¡¯d lived with her, but I tried to spend a bit of time every morning trying to gauge what aspect of En had been chipped away from her. And how much of the human beneath had been revealed. Her face was still uglier than a bowl of mashed potatos, though. At least her eyes weren¡¯t black orbs anymore; it had made it impossible to tell where she was looking. ¡°Good morning, Orvi,¡± She gravelled abruptly. ¡°Did you sleep well?¡± ¡°Yeah, it was alright. Had good dreams. I¡¯m just glad I¡¯m not milk.¡± ¡°And why,¡± she said expectantly, ¡°is that?¡± ¡°Because your face would make me curdle.¡± She whacked me across the back of my head, lightly by her standards. Diminished as she was, the blow would most likely have sent lesser men to their knees. I shook my head in an attempt to clear it and continued trying to make my pan shine. ¡°What would you rate that one?¡± I asked, grunting at my exertions. ¡°Hmmm,¡± Ma hummed. ¡°Four out of ten. You lost points for the poor segue.¡± ¡°Damn.¡± I usually managed at least a six. After cleaning our cookware, we wiped each surface with exceptional fastidiousness. The kitchen was barely big enough to fit the two of us, so what seemed like a lot of work finished in barely two minutes. After a second round with wet rags, Ma and I lugged in a few buckets of water from the well in the courtyard. Then we were done. My mother waved me off, ready to start cooking the more stubborn meals. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. The dining area was rather small, arranged in an L less than ten strides from tip to tail. The rest of the building contained the kitchen and living area, with Ma and Sash¡¯s room sticking like a tumour out the side. Inward facing shutters ¨C rarely closed ¨C opened into the courtyard where Sash was stretching. Dash was already cleaning the scratched tables and beaten chairs. ¡°Hey Orv,¡± he said, concentrating on a stubborn spot. ¡°We¡¯ve already got a customer waiting outside.¡± I cocked an eyebrow and he shrugged, as lost as I was. The sun had only just peeked over the horizon; who in their right mind would willingly come this early? Though, I had a sneaking suspicion that it was someone who wasn¡¯t in their right mind. I poked my head through one of the few outward facing windows ¨C which had actual glass ¨C saw who it was, and yanked myself back in. ¡°It¡¯s the little voyeur again.¡± I clacked my teeth, hoping to convey my disapproval. ¡°Really? He¡¯s back?¡± ¡°Like clockwork.¡± I sighed and ushered the boy inside. He placed a few lidded bowls on a table ¨C remnants of yesterday¡¯s order ¨C and stood occasionally throwing a not-so-sneaky glance into the courtyard. I closed the shutter he was peering out of. ¡°The same as yesterday?¡± ¡°Ye-yes,¡± he stuttered. ¡°A bowl of rice noodles in the, uh, spicy broth, with the chicken, some string beans, and three pork buns,¡± he paused. ¡°And also a, uh, sandwich. Whatever¡¯s cheapest.¡± ¡°Alright, give us a few minutes and we¡¯ll bring you your order.¡± I left Dash to keep the kid company, and moved into the kitchen. The ¡®spicy broth¡¯ he ordered wasn¡¯t actually that spicy ¨C basically just boiled chicken with pepper and a few capsaicin ¨C which was fortunate for him because the actually spicy food kept the longest, which meant by the time it got to a customer¡¯s mouth it was the least fresh item on the menu. Not that it mattered, because it was usually too hot to taste its age. A few minutes of steaming and buttering later, I had given him the food in lidded bowls and was eager to shoo him off. He made a show of looking for money in his pockets, transparently angling for more time, when Sash walked in to sweep and mop. Loverboy¡¯s eyes alighted on her, and Dash and I silently agreed to let the cards fall where they may. ¡°Excuse me?¡± he quavered, looking everywhere but her eyes. ¡°Uh, I was wondering if you had any, uh, recommendations for, uh, food.¡± Sash swept the floor without looking up. ¡°I believe the other employees would have lovely recommendations for you, sir,¡± she intoned blandly, in classic Sash fashion. Cooking, ironically, was something she absolutely hated; even just watching the process of making food was enough to set her into an anxious spiral. The poor kid soldiered on. ¡°Yes, well, the, I, uh,¡± he eloquently continued. ¡°Was wondering what you were doing out there? Just then?¡± She perked up, looking at him for the first time. I picked up one of Dash¡¯s spare rags and began helping him wipe the table, hoping to get both of us out quickly. We braced ourselves as Sash opened her mouth. ¡°That was a series of stretches modified from Foxblood acclimatisation techniques for use in training the unblooded. It is actually an entirely unique variant that my mother made designed to help gain the flexibility and strength needed for grappling, which is easily the most sophisticated part of any martial art. There¡¯s no display of skill and power better than completely dominating an opponent¡¯s body, wouldn¡¯t you agree?¡± The boy hesitated, then opened his mouth. Sash obliterated any possible reply. ¡°Of course, gaining mastery requires decades of dedication and training ¨C that¡¯s what my mother says ¨C but unlike many other crafts results are immediately obvious, to the dedicated. It¡¯s all very rewarding. The stretches are only a minor part of the routine, yet even a small amount can help you do things like this,¡° ¨C she raised her leg and hooked it around her neck ¨C ¡°which is clear evidence that it is an excellent method of cultivating a healthy physique. More evidence can be found in that a small girl can consistently beat opponents outside her weight class¡± ¨C consistently? That¡¯s a slight exaggeration. ¨C ¡°and often control strikers around her height.¡± Dash seemed mildly offended. Mostly for the implication they were similar heights, I thought. Dash and I beat a hasty retreat back into the kitchen, leaving the boy alone to weather her monologue. We would save him before the food got cold ¨C provided he didn¡¯t stumble across another of Sash¡¯s obsessions. She enjoyed lecturing new people far too much to take him away from her.
Dash and I sparred briefly before the morning rush hit. No actual blood was drawn ¨C instead points were gained by tapping vulnerable parts of the other¡¯s body. I ended up beating him by a slim margin, a feat I found impressive given how much smaller he was than me. By the time we slunk back in, the earlier regulars, watching from inside, were already jeering at me for not going easy on him. ¡°Oi Orvi!¡± Dirk yelled from his seat. Pat, his hound, sat on the floor beside him, eating a bowl of fried rice. ¡°Not very manly of you smack Dash ¡®round like that!¡± ¡°Manly?¡± I snorted. ¡°Manly doesn¡¯t get my brother cleaning my share of dishes. Winning does. Speaking of,¡± I turned to Dash. ¡°Get off with you and get cleaning.¡± Dash scowled and reluctantly slunk into the kitchen. I headed over to Dirk¡¯s little table and plopped myself down on the seat opposite him. ¡°You going out today?¡± I asked, giving Pat a scratch behind his ear. ¡°Nah,¡± he sneered, showing a mouth full of broken teeth. ¡°The Houses¡¯ve been sending the Old Guard out most days.¡± The name was intended to remind us Footers that the Houses had been around at the beginning, although it seemed more ironic than anything. ¡°Us squaddies can¡¯t keep up. We¡¯re run ragged just tryin¡¯ to bag a few heads. Can barely afford me mornin¡¯ quaff.¡± He gestured to the cup of thick black liquid in front of him, the recipe of which Ma kept a closely guarded secret. I looked pointedly at his dog, munching on his food. The broken-faced man noticed my stare. ¡°Pat¡¯s me pal. Probably brings in more chits than I do anyhow; nothin¡¯s got a nose like him.¡± I nodded vaguely. Dirk was a good hunter for many reasons. No one had killed as many monsters as him. I always found it strange he was so humble. His stories were always so impressive, too. Though, one of my earliest memories of the man was of Ma knocking him on his ass, so maybe eating here just took that attitude out of him. ¡°Does it bother you? The Old Guard taking your kills, I mean.¡± He shrugged. ¡°¡¯Course I like food on my plate. Still, point o¡¯ killin¡¯ them monsters is for them to die, yeah?¡± he took a long sip from his cup, wincing at the flavour. ¡°Anyways, eventually them critters would run out of Raven in ''em and poof!¡± he made an expansive motion with his hands. ¡°All gone. Huntin¡¯ them means running out, one day.¡± I clicked my tongue. ¡°Still, they just came in halfway and took your job! Aren¡¯t you angry?¡± ¡°More disappointed, really.¡± He scratched his nose and sighed. ¡°I like what I do. Still, we owe them. Raven and its crazies would still be flapping around if they hadn¡¯t made that army.¡± ¡°The Foot made that army.¡± ¡°And the Houses made the Foot. That was their soldiers sent out.¡± ¡°None of them died.¡± He snorted. ¡°You kiddin''? Half their bloody army died just gettin'' here. Most of the noble officers did. Fourth or fifth children, mostly. Wasn''t much choice but to get as many Footers as they could. And they owned the Godsblood; lost a lot by sending all them Blooded out.¡± ¡°Yeah. Right.¡± More subdued than when we started, I got up and headed into the kitchen. ¡°Hey Orvi? Don¡¯t let it get to you.¡± I nodded. Kicking Dash out of the kitchen, Ma and I spent the morning rush on autopilot, cooking, slicing and dicing as the customers demanded. I only stepped out once, when Sash managed to annoy someone by giving them an ¡®evil-eye¡¯. I spun some excuse about her face being stuck that way ¨C Dash shushing Sash when she tried to rebut my claim ¨C which mollified the angry lady, slightly. She suddenly realised the rest of the restaurant was actually giving her the evil-eye, some for yelling at a nine-year-old child, most for holding up the line, and beat a hasty retreat. Ma seemed pleased at the resurgence of our customer-base and sent me out when she only needed two hands, rather than four. I didn¡¯t mind staying longer, but Dash and Sash had just finished their lessons with Aunt Stitch, so she shooed me away. Sometimes, I thought Ma must have a bit of the Lizard in her; she seemed tireless, indefatigably plucking away at whatever chore she had inflicted on herself. Stitch was a thin-faced lady Ma knew from the army. Most of the time she was a doctor, but for half an hour thrice a week she was my teacher, shoving more letters and numbers than my brain could hold. My mind was a mostly-full cup at the best of times, so I could admit teaching might have been easier with my more empty-headed siblings. ¡°This is stupid. How can a negative times a negative make a positive?¡± I could tell she was trying to supress a scowl. ¡°Let¡¯s try this again. The additive inverse of minus a is-¡° ¡°It doesn¡¯t make any sense,¡± I stated. ¡°Listen, there¡¯s a-¡° ¡°No. Sense. No sense.¡± Her fa?ade finally cracked and she smacked my head. ¡°I don¡¯t care whether you think a negative times a negative is negative, what you¡¯ll do is multiply them together and make. A. Positive.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not doing something I don¡¯t believe in.¡± I insisted. Stitch gave me a patronizing stare. ¡°That¡¯s life.¡± ¡°Life¡¯s awful.¡± ¡°Shut up. Your homework is to do this math.¡± ¡°Life would be less awful without homework.¡± ¡°You would be more awful without it.¡± I paused, internally conceding the point. Aunt Stitch knew how to get someone to do what she wanted. I couldn¡¯t let her know that, though. ¡°Still¡­¡± She groaned a plea to the blood. There was a sneaking suspicion wiggling through my head that she didn¡¯t like teaching me. But I was determined to share my misery. Luckily for her, Jackson chose that moment to walk in, nearly breaking his skull as he pulled his massive frame through the entrance. General Maja¡¯s successor was nearly ten feet tall, so big that the courtyard was the only place he could sit without his head brushing our ceiling. His musculature was uncanny, partially due to the sheer size. Yet beneath the stretch marks there was something inhuman about it all; they were too many muscles, all in the wrong place. Like he was some beast wriggling through his skin. If not for his paler skin, he could have been a brother to the monstrous general I had met eight years ago. Right down to his empty black eyes. It made sense. They shared blood, after all. His hand still had a scar where I had stabbed through it. It struck me that I had never apologised. I rose to get Ma, ready to watch their training. Gently, he used a meaty hand to push me back in my chair and shook his head. It was almost comical watching the giant dip his way through the various tables and chairs without touching anything. He poked his head into the kitchen entrance and gravelled something, then disappeared into the room. Aunt Stitch glared at me. ¡°What did you do this time?¡± Chapter 3 - Confrontation avoidance Stitch went overtime trying to extract a confession, though she was still no match for my verbal dexterity. ¡°What did you do?¡± ¡°Nothing.¡± Unable to assail the impenetrable fortress I had constructed, she eventually took her pay and left, though not without levelling several stern looks my way. I slumped where I sat, finally able to let out a full-bodied sigh. Stitch had been so focused on me she had ignored the fact that Dash had spent the last five minutes cleaning the same spot on a table. I shoved my wax tablet into my armpit and moved next to my brother, surreptitiously whispering in his ear. ¡°Are you alright?¡± ¡°Orvi,¡± he looked at me with wide eyes. ¡°We¡¯re going to get caught, aren¡¯t we?¡± ¡°Absolutely not. Everything will be alright. There¡¯s no reason to think we were the ones who did it.¡± ¡°Except Ma always knows!¡± his voice warbled an octave higher, and I hurriedly shushed him. ¡°She won¡¯t. And even if she does, just say I forced you, okay? It was my idea anyway.¡± ¡°But¡­¡± Dash protested. ¡°Will you be okay?¡± ¡°I¡¯m never not okay Dash, you know that.¡± He gave me a sceptical look, however with Sash moving over the conversation had to be shut down. ¡°What is it the pair of you are chatting about?¡± she asked, casually invading our personal space. ¡°Nothing,¡± we intoned almost simultaneously. ¡°That seems unlikely.¡± She sniffed. ¡°It¡¯s not very nice to leave others out of your conversation.¡± ¡°We-¡° Dash exclaimed, and I couldn¡¯t be certain he wouldn¡¯t blurt everything out. ¡°-were talking about some new recipe ideas I had,¡± I interrupted, hoping to dissuade her. ¡°I was thinking that we might be able to start wrapping fillings in some of the edible leaves Uncle Dirk sometimes gnaws on. I just have to ask him where he gets them from. Sash turned paler at the thought of handling raw ingredients. ¡°How would they be eaten?¡± she asked. We had hammered the fact that randomly leaving conversations was impolite into her, but it seemed the lesson harmed its teachers as well. Dash cut in, delivering the death blow. ¡°With your hands.¡± ¡°Erm,¡± Sash blanched. ¡°I don¡¯t like that.¡± ¡°Well, you don¡¯t have to eat it if you don¡¯t want to.¡± ¡°That¡¯s a bit better, then.¡± With that, she was off our trail. The three of us chatted about inconsequential things for a time, followed by another brief lecture Sash delivered about the dynamics of fire and how exciting it was. She interrupted herself talking about what things would burn the hottest. ¡°Is it okay I¡¯m talking? You¡¯re not bored?¡± Dash and I quickly assured her we weren¡¯t. ¡°Not even you, Orvi? I know you have a difficult time understanding these kinds of things.¡± ¡°I¡¯m happy to see you excited, Sash,¡± I told her, trying to verbalise my feelings as clearly as possible. ¡°Although saying I¡¯m not good at thinking about those things makes me feel bad.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry for making you feel bad,¡± she said, sincere as always. Dash snickered silently. ¡°That¡¯s alright,¡± I told her, shooting Dash a quick glare. ¡°Keep going though, I want to hear it.¡± The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. My sister continued with the lecture, and I struggled keep my eyes from glazing over. It was something she enjoyed talking about; I wanted to listen, even if I might not understand all of it. One of the patrons chuckled, and I had to resist the urge to cuss him out. A few minutes later Jackson entered the room again, saving me from my own good intentions. He nodded at us and left. It was strange; the Blooded was usually eager to talk to us. I was peering after him when a voice grumbled from the kitchen. ¡°Or-VI!¡± it growled. ¡°Need your help with something!¡± I scuttled into the kitchen and Ma gestured towards a few dirty plates floating in a clean tub of water. ¡°Clean those,¡± she intoned. I nodded and began scrubbing at them. Juggling several pans, she spoke. ¡°Jackson just visited. He is skipping training today. Very unusual for him. He¡¯s brought some good news: he¡¯s joining the Old Guard.¡± I blanched. ¡°What? Those traitors?¡± Ma shot me a sharp look. ¡°You¡¯re not to call them that in this restaurant.¡± She turned back to cooking. ¡°The Houses are owed. The godsblood flowing through him is theirs. It is fortunate they did not decide to take it back.¡± ¡°Still¡­¡± ¡°They saved us, and most of the continent. There is no way to know how far the Raven¡¯s rot would have spread.¡± ¡°No, you saved us.¡± ¡°Myself and my peers would not have been there if not for the Houses. There would have been no Blooded. There would have been no battle.¡± I scowled. ¡°Why now, anyway? They¡¯ve been gone for so long, what in the blood¡¯s the point?¡± Ma hummed for a moment, using chopsticks to swirl frying noodles. ¡°I¡¯m not privy to that information. There could be any number of reasons, however, my best guess is that a god has moved here. Though perhaps it¡¯s simply to retrieve whatever blood remains here.¡± ¡°What-¡° I stuttered, then tried to recover. ¡°What god do you think it would be?¡± Ma squinted at me. ¡°I thought you would be more eager. Most young men dream of fighting in the godswar.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t. Want to fight a god, I mean.¡± ¡°Wise of you. Every Blooded costs a hundred strong men.¡± She thought for a moment. "Dure, I would think. The Lizard tends to move towards more arid areas." ¡°It seems kind of, I don¡¯t know, cruel?¡± I thought of the Raven, then backpedalled. ¡°For the ones that don¡¯t hurt anyone.¡± Once again, she squinted at me. ¡°The gods are monsters, Orvi,¡± she said carefully. ¡°I need you to remember this. We name them after beasts. They are not beasts. They are not anything close to human. They are divine, and the divine care nothing for mortals.¡± I nodded. ¡°But¡­ what if they¡¯re just¡­ living? Far away from people.¡± Ma thought for a moment, then conceded the point. ¡°It is foolish to provoke a god, to be sure.¡± She continued. ¡°Yet humanity needs Godsblood to move forward. With just the Raven gone, the rest of the world has progressed greatly. Bloodtech is a marvel, but the Owl must be fought in order to create it.¡± ¡°What happens when all the gods are killed?¡± The massive woman paused. ¡°A decade ago, I would have told you it was impossible. Now¡­ I think,¡± she said slowly, ¡°that we will become the gods.¡± Nothing could be said to that.
I thought about her words for a time as we cooked in silence. The need for words in the kitchen had passed years ago; Ma only needed to gesture to communicate what to chop, roast, or fry. Occasionally, she hurried out to draw more water, leaving me in charge of whatever meal was being prepared. It wasn¡¯t a calm environment, and the thoughts wiggling through my skull didn¡¯t help, yet at the very least it was routine. Eventually, the work died down and there was nothing more for me to do. I was idly wiping benches when Ma spoke again. ¡°There was something else." She was watching some buns and asparagus steam. ¡°Jackson told me the Bushwhack had been vandalised. Someone had written ¡®bootlicker¡¯ in faeces. He was thinking that it was the work of those squatters you associate yourself with. There¡¯s no evidence, though. He was wondering if any of my customers were talking about doing such a thing. If I knew anything.¡± She adjusted the position of a bun. ¡°Do I have anything to tell him?¡± she asked, tone carefully level. I froze. Something was stuck in my throat. The desire to move, to run, to argue, to say something filled my limbs, yet the stillness gripping them was much more powerful. It felt like I was a mouse before an eagle. A child before a monster. My mouth dried. I could still feel the spear¡¯s resistance as it pushed through flesh. ¡°No.¡± I whispered. She turned towards me, sighing at my denial, then stopped. I avoided her eyes. Slowly, she walked closer and knelt in front of me. Her hand covered mine, and distantly, I noticed that one of us was shaking. ¡°Orvi. I need you to listen.¡± She tilted her head to the side, interposing her eyes in front of my own. ¡°Before you are anything else, you are my son.¡± Her voice broke, slightly. ¡°My son. No matter what you say, I will believe you. And I will never, ever hurt you. Okay?¡± I looked at her. Ma¡¯s face was scrunched, more than usual. Her eyes seemed wet, strangely. I wonder if the steam had got in them. ¡°Okay.¡± ¡°Alright.¡± She stood. ¡°I¡¯ve prepared some of the lunch deliveries. Would you take them for me?¡± I nodded, eager to get some distance from the past minute. ¡°Here,¡± she opened my pack on the floor ¨C what was essentially a box with two straps ¨C and packed six or seven small bowls inside. ¡°It¡¯s all packed. Do you know where to go?¡± I nodded. ¡°Alright. Be back in time for dinner.¡± I scampered out of the house, pushing past a customer at the door. Dash made some excuses as I ran down the street. Dust whipped me, and belatedly I realised it would be a windy day. I thought about going back and getting my poncho, but I would rather get dust in my eyes than go home. My eyes were already watering anyway. Chapter 4 - Punch-off on and off a roof Laying on one of the higher roofs in the abandoned area in the northern part of the Foot, I gnawed on a heel of bread, waiting for my prey. With the deliveries done, I felt a bit more like myself, and over the hours I spent scurrying around the city managed to come up with a plan to prove my superiority over the Butcher Street Boys, once and for all. I quietly cackled, then coughed as dust got in my mouth; the flat roof provided no cover from the wind whatsoever. It would be accurate to call them my nemeses. Our interactions were the stuff of ballads: alliances forged and broken, betrayals, grand battles, hostages and subjugated forces, with the minor caveat that it was conducted solely by children below the age of fifteen. The grand odyssey had a deceptively simple beginning: Blake and his boys had bullied Sash once and I had been left in the dirt after trying to defend her honour. I had gotten them back, then they had gotten me back, and then it was a whole thing. Though, from what I understood most fights here were more life-or-death, however; nearly every participant was an orphan of some type, parents killed eight years ago. Half of the city had died in the battle, after all. Most of the population had shuffled inwards afterwards, closer to the fertile land around the oasis at the centre of the city, but it was inevitable some would linger, having nowhere else to go. What was left were mostly tribes of roaming kids who hated adults with a passion. Children could roam the area with only a shake-down, but grown-ups tended to get beaten half to death, which is why most stayed out. Admittedly, compared to all that, me and Blake¡¯s feud ended up looking like one of the more casual ones around. Beating the snot out of him remained very important to me, however. The Butcher Street Boys dominated the area. At present, it was headed by Blake, my sometimes-enemy and always-rival. The name was more fitting when their territory was arranged around a butcher¡¯s, and the gang consisted only of six boys and no girls, yet Blake was too stubborn to change it to something that made actual sense. The building I was sat on was a former storehouse. From what I heard, it was mostly filled with construction materials, mostly uncut stone and half-rotted lumber. Kids couldn¡¯t do much with things that took four grown men to move, so it had been mostly left alone. Recently, however, with the Houses coming back in, there were people looking to reclaim the storehouse¡¯s contents and sell it. A kid I had bribed with a pork bun told me Blake had been rolling stuff out on logs for the past few days, moving the supplies to a more secure location. If I had played my cards right, he should be coming by soon. When he and his crew exited the building, I would kick the supports off a pile of planks I had accrued, sending it all smashing over their heads. Hopefully that would fell most of my rivals cronies ¨C though it might not, given how light I had to make the pile to be assured it wouldn¡¯t kill anyone. After that, I would hop down, we would fight, and then I would go home, feeling a bit better. Where were they, anyway? It took around twenty minutes of doing Stitch¡¯s homework (damn negative multiplication) before I saw the Butcher Boys, though a beefy girl a little older than me was included amongst their number. Unfortunately, that was around five minutes after they had seen me, giving the four of them enough time to scale the storehouse. I startled, then attempted to stealthily shove the wax tablet back into my pack. My efforts were wasted; Blake had already seen it. ¡°Here¡¯s sweet little Orvs,¡± he droned. ¡°Doin¡¯ his numbers like a good boy should. What, little munchkin, are you doin¡¯ so high up anyway? You could hurt yourself!¡± The verbal component of our fights were probably the most painful part. Nevertheless, I soldiered on. ¡°I came to investigate some mysterious creatures the poor citizens of the Foot have glimpsed roaming the streets. Reports claim they¡¯re ugly, hairy, and reek like an unemptied toilet! And would you believe it, with only my humble self as a lure, they arrived!¡± Blake looked around in an exaggerated fashion, then gestured to himself. ¡°What, us?¡± he shook his head slowly. ¡°We¡¯re simply a few concerned fellas, hopin¡¯ to help a kid stranded on a roof.¡± The girl turned to a pudgy teenager ¨C a familiar face, though I didn¡¯t know his name ¨C giving Blake and I an incredulous look. Pudge shook his head slowly. The other kid present, seemingly of an age with my siblings, stared, starry-eyed, at Blake and I¡¯s exchange. ¡°Well, if you really wanted to do me a favour, go and stand right about¡­ there,¡± I said, pointing below my carefully arranged trap. ¡°Ah, we wouldn¡¯t want to leave you alone.¡± We eyed each other for a moment. Myself, trained by a storied general and four kids who had spent the better part of their life scrapping. Four of them. I probably wouldn¡¯t put chits on myself for this fight. Still, nothing was happening. The location was bad; no one wanted to fall off a three-storey roof and break bones, or alternatively push someone else off the roof, potentially killing them. The wind buffeting us didn¡¯t help. Still keeping my gaze on them, I began shuffling sideways, trying to move to a spot where I could jump to another roof. Seeing that, the starry-eyed twit decided it was a good moment to charge. Acting on instinct, I began preparing to use his momentum against him, before realising doing so had a good chance of hurling the kid off the roof. Instead I just shoved him, sending him stumbling back into Blake. A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. I heard Blake mutter ¡®Davey, you good?¡¯ but was too busy dealing with the butch girl¡¯s jabs to look. I barrelled forward, giving her the opportunity to flatten my nose twice, yet the movement took me away from the edge and into her guard. She snarled, rearing her head back to smash into mine, but before she finished the movement I punched her in the kidney and moved past as she reeled. I didn¡¯t like the look of Pudgy ¨C the guy had some muscle beneath the fat ¨C so I tried to move towards Blake instead. He was already socking me across the jaw, and, feeling the world dip for a second, I dived into a roll, almost incidentally knocking little Davey over. I didn¡¯t have time to finish my spin before Blake¡¯s boot hit my arse, boosting me along. Still disoriented, I stumbled to my feet. Pudgy was coming in, hands splayed for a grapple, so I kicked a plank towards him, tripping him slightly, and smacked him across the temple. As I tried for a second hit, one of the wooden planks broke over my head. It was fortunate they were so rotted because I barely felt it. I stumbled away from Blake, who still held the rotted end a plank, only to be kicked in the ribs by the girl, apparently recovered from my blow. I coughed, feeling something creak in my torso, but used the opportunity to grab at her leg. She rained blows on me, but the lack of footing stole any weight from them. I ducked, trying to keep moving, and pushed at her other leg, sending her onto the floor. I managed to kick her twice before I saw Blake¡¯s shadow moving towards me, so I dipped towards the other side of the roof, looking for another roof to jump down onto. Blake was still approaching, however, so I tried to kick him in the gut. The blow landed, only he decided to use my own move against me, wrapping his arms around my leg to immobilise it. I felt the urge to lift my other leg and smash him in the face, but supressed it; such a move would push off the roof. Instead, when he came in to take my other leg down, I elbowed him in the back of his head and simultaneously kneed him in the face. We both fell to the ground. He was on his feet before me ¨C Probably more practiced at being knocked on his ass, I thought ¨C and used the opportunity to throw a hook into my jaw. I managed to block it, but Pudgy was already punching me straight in the mouth. Though dizzied, I kept my footing and muscled past, jabbing his gut to little effect, only to be grabbed by the beefy girl. We both spun awkwardly a few times, her hands too occupied to hit me and mine finding punching her stomach to be surprisingly ineffective. The grapple ended when I realised Pudgy¡¯s blow had loosened a tooth, which I proceeded to spit ¨C along with a gob of blood ¨C in her eye. She made a disgusted noise and wiped her face, giving me the opportunity to make some distance from Blake and Pudgy by moving across the roof¡¯s edge. Of course, that was when the smallest member of the gang charged me again, apparently thinking a second time would work better. Still slightly dizzy from Pudgy¡¯s punch and the girl and I¡¯s little spin, I stepped aside ¨C only to curse as I realised what I had just done. I wheeled around. The kid tripped over the edge of the roof and I leaned forward, grabbing for him, only just able to catch the edge of his tunic. There was a moment where everything froze as we hung, him gripping my hand and I desperately attempting to pull us both back. Without anything for me to grip, my traction proved too little, and we both ended up teetering off the side. The boy let out a shrill scream as I wrapped my arms around him, trying to quickly twist the kid on top of me. Then we were falling, and I was treated to the view of a roof and three horrified Butchers getting further and further away. I measured our descent against the storehouse¡¯s walls ¨C one third down, two thirds down ¨C and then something massive struck me in the back and all the air rushed out of me. The world spun as we rolled, then the two of us hit another building and stopped, dazed. I coughed, pain lancing through my ribs. Blinked. Davey rolled away. I blinked again. ¡°Hey,¡± I wheezed, still winded. ¡°Are you okay?¡± The shrimp nodded dumbly. From above us, I heard Blake yell. ¡°Davey! Orvs! You two good?¡± I gave him a shaky thumbs up. Pushing against the ground, I tried to move to a sit against the wall, only to grunt as my back protested. Suddenly panicked, I tried to wiggle my toes ¨C and succeeded. ¡°Praise the blood,¡± I muttered, letting my head fall back to the dirt. The agony wracking my ribs waxed and waned as I watched Blake and the others scale down. Only a few moments had passed before their feet had hit the ground. The girl approached me warily as Blake and Pudgy squatted in front of little Davey. I tried to spit more blood at her and she tripped backwards, falling on her bottom. ¡°How in all eight gods are you alive?¡± she asked, seeming more shocked than offended. ¡°Tough-¡° I coughed, then whispered. ¡°Tough and clever.¡± She snorted and shook her head, still wide-eyed, and moved to check on the kid. Blake muttered something to Pudgy, who shook his head lightly. The leader grunted, rose to his feet, and moved over to me. ¡°Think that¡¯s my win, Orvs.¡± He grinned, then offered a hand. I waved it away. ¡°Think I¡¯ll lie here-¡° I coughed. ¡°For a few more minutes. You¡¯ve got to teach that kid not to throw himself off buildings.¡± I supressed another cough as he answered. ¡°Yeah. Y¡¯know what? This¡¯ll be a draw. I¡¯ll let you have that.¡± ¡°Kind of you.¡± He lowered himself down next to me, and we sat in companionable silence for a while. Eventually, Pudgy approached, telling us he was taking Davey back to their hideout so they could have a better look at him. Blake waved him off. After a few more moments the beefy girl stomped over and sat, leaning against the wall next to me. ¡°Why were we fighting, anyway?¡± ¡°Orvs here-¡± he slapped me on my head. I groaned, and he sheepishly apologised. ¡°Sorry. Orvs here likes a good tussle.¡± ¡°We¡¯re nemeses! Rivals!¡± ¡°Yeah, that. We been tussling on an off for years. Sometimes he lends us a hand, too, but mostly he¡¯s pulling this kind of garbage.¡± I swore at him, and he laughed. ¡°That¡¯s most of it, anyway.¡± The girl stared at the two of us. I wheezed, then finally asked the question burning through my mind: ¡°What¡¯s your name anyway?¡± ¡°Erin.¡± She sniffed. ¡°Right. Erin. Do you want to get something to eat sometime?¡± Blake roared with laughter, a truly excessive amount. My would-be date snorted, and I cracked a nervous smile. The cackling teenager spluttered, tears springing to his eyes. ¡°Bloods, that kick hurt. Can¡¯t even laugh.¡± He looked at me, still grinning. ¡°You have the worst luck, y¡¯know that?¡± ¡°What?¡± I asked. ¡°Just because we fought doesn¡¯t mean I can¡¯t ask her out!¡± The girl in question laughed. ¡°You just nearly broke my nose!¡± ¡°Pudgy actually did break my nose!¡± ¡°Pudgy?!¡± she snorted. ¡°You mean Gab?¡± ¡°You¡¯ve met Gabs!¡± Blake exclaimed nearly simultaneously. ¡°Well, I forgot!¡± I protested. ¡°He doesn¡¯t say very much, okay?¡± The two of them giggled for a few moments as I scowled. Eventually, Erin sighed. ¡°I¡¯m flattered, Orv, but I like girls.¡± ¡°Huh,¡± I said, and then everything hit me. Suddenly I couldn¡¯t stop laughing. Chapter 5 - Growing pains The hilarity of the situation sent us into conniptions. I cackled, my ribs¡¯ fierce complaints bringing tears to my eyes, yet the entire scenario was just too absurdly bizarre to stop. Blake¡¯s laughter, spurred on by my own, had him rolling across the empty street. Erin shook, making high pitched ¡®a-a-a¡¯ noises, sounding more bird than person. It took some time for us to still again. I wiped tears from my eyes, then turned my head to spit more blood at Blake. He deftly avoided the projectile by rolling away and snickered slightly, proceeding to spit back at me. Still immobile, I couldn¡¯t dodge, but he missed horribly anyway. Erin watched the two of us, a wry grin splitting her face. He rolled back, coming to a halt next to me. ¡°Why ask Erin, anyways?¡± She gave him a dirty look, and he backpedalled. ¡°Not that she¡¯s not a lovely lady. I thought you were tryin¡¯ to charm that merchant girl, though.¡± ¡°Farmer girl,¡± I corrected. ¡°She just sells a lot of produce.¡± ¡°Damn, you¡¯re really punchin¡¯ up there.¡± I gave a grunt of assent. ¡°It¡¯s not working out, anyway. I think she hates me.¡± ¡°Why¡¯s that?¡± I groaned. ¡°I don¡¯t know. She keeps insulting me, calling me ¡®dough boy¡¯ and other food-related names. And she gives me these looks, like I¡¯m some sort of dancing dog.¡± ¡°Ouch,¡± Blake said, shaking his head. ¡°That¡¯s rough. I could-¡° ¡°This girl,¡± Erin interjected. ¡°What¡¯s her name?¡± ¡°Jasmine.¡± ¡°Does she let you talk to her?¡± I shrugged. ¡°She has to. I¡¯m usually a customer.¡± ¡°But she doesn¡¯t only talk about what you¡¯re buying, right?¡± ¡°I guess.¡± I raised my head, unsure where she was going. ¡°And you¡¯ve let her know you like her?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve asked her like I asked you, just more.¡± I paused. ¡°With more giving of food, and less giving of punches.¡± Erin hummed thoughtfully. ¡°Is she older than you?¡± ¡°By about two or three years.¡± She nodded. ¡°That would do it. She probably likes you as a person; she just doesn¡¯t see you as a man.¡± I thumped my head back onto the ground. ¡°Great. Excellent, even. Thank you for the reassurance.¡± ¡°Well, all you have to do is seem more mature,¡± she claimed. ¡°It¡¯s not some unsolvable problem.¡± ¡°With Orvs, it pretty much is,¡± interjected Blake. ¡°Okay, maybe,¡± Erin agreed, ignoring the scowl I sent her way. ¡°Still, you could¡­ try ignoring her more?¡± Blake answered for me. ¡°Huh. That seems dumb.¡± ¡°Shut up, Blake,¡± I retorted. ¡°You¡¯ve got girls all over you without even trying. You know nothing of the common man¡¯s struggles.¡± ¡°I try!¡± claimed Blake. ¡°You absolutely do not,¡± I said. Erin nodded in agreement. ¡°I don¡¯t get it. You¡¯re not even good-looking.¡± ¡°Well, that¡¯s ¡®cause you¡¯ve got bad eyes,¡± Blake preened. Erin twisted her hand in a ¡®so-so¡¯ gesture. ¡°He¡¯s not bad. It¡¯s more that he spends most of his time working and brawling than anything to do with his face. It makes him seem older and more powerful than he actually is. Being in control of most of the area helps.¡± ¡°See Orvs,¡± Blake grinned, completely ignoring the rest of the girl¡¯s statement. ¡°I¡¯m not bad.¡± I spat more blood at him and he laughed. ¡°So, ignoring her? Do you really think that would make me seem more mature?¡± ¡°Well,¡± Erin responded, crossing her thick arms over her chest. ¡°It¡¯s probably your best bet. It¡¯s less about maturity and more because she probably likes the attention. Being a bit colder might help her think about you more, maybe help her see another side of you. Look, this is all guesswork; I¡¯ve no clue what this girl wants.¡± She paused, then muttered. ¡°Not like I¡¯m any more popular.¡± ¡°It¡¯s still better than nothing.¡± I assured. She scratched her head and shrugged. Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. ¡°I guess it is.¡± I poked my ribs. They felt a bit better. I sighed, then turned to Erin. ¡°When did you join the Butcher Street Boys, anyway?¡± She scowled. ¡°Stupid name.¡± I nodded in agreement, Blake adopting an expression of mock outrage. ¡°I ran another gang, but it seemed smarter to join a rising star than scramble around for scraps for much longer.¡± ¡°You willingly put yourself under Blake?¡± I asked. The teenager in question interjected. ¡°She¡¯s my second. Was one of her demands for joinin¡¯ up.¡± ¡°Oh, okay. Is Bran not annoyed?¡± He groaned. ¡°Bran was a trash second anyway. Always fight, fight, fight with him.¡± I nodded, acquiescing the point. Something wiggled in the back of my brain; there was something I was going to tell Blake. The fight and subsequent fall had obviously knocked the thought loose. I clicked my tongue, then remembered. ¡°Oh, right. Do you two know the Bushwhack?¡± Erin shook her head, while Blake nodded. ¡°That joint you hate?¡± ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s the one. It got vandalised. Ma was telling me that Uncle Jackson is probably going to blame you.¡± He swore, then eyed me suspiciously. ¡°It was you, wasn¡¯t it?¡± I looked away. ¡°Maybe.¡± ¡°Gods, Orvs.¡± Blake slumped to the ground. ¡°You blame us or something?¡± ¡°No. I wrote ¡®bootlickers¡¯ in dung.¡± ¡°What? Why?¡± I let out a deep breath. ¡°The place had a bloodtech oven. It was why their prices were so cheap.¡± ¡°Damn,¡± he winced. ¡°I ate there once.¡± ¡°Wait, you went there? Even knowing how much I hate it?¡± Blake gave me a sheepish look. ¡°It¡¯s cheap!¡± ¡°Uh, right,¡± I exclaimed, trying not to shift nervously. "We''re cheap too." ¡°I¡¯m poor!¡± ¡°You¡¯re a poor friend,¡± I said, trying to deflect from my restaurant''s prices. ¡°C¡¯mon, don¡¯t be like that.¡± ¡°So,¡± Erin interrupted our argument. ¡°Bloodtech. How¡¯s it work, anyway?¡± Surprisingly, Blake had an actual answer. ¡°I cracked one open and it had no blood in it. Though it was weird, so I asked around. Alchemist we buy from said it¡¯s made by using an Owlblood¡¯s powers. He reckons some of the stranger gods could do something similar. ¡°Like, the Spider makes webs, but none of the Spiderbloods can. Lady was sayin¡¯ maybe the Houses were¡­¡± He paused, clicking his fingers. Erin interjected. ¡°Trying to understand how to mimic the gods?¡± Blake nodded. ¡°Something like that, yeah. Interesting stuff. Wish it weren¡¯t the Houses bringing it in, though.¡± We all nodded. There wasn¡¯t a single Butcher who thought fondly of them. A consequence of being left to rot after their family died in the Houses¡¯ army. Pensions meant nothing when the economy was in shambles. Erin turned to me. ¡°This Jackson. Is he going to tell the Old Guard we did it?¡± ¡°He¡¯s actually just joined it, but¡­¡± I shook my head. ¡°He wouldn¡¯t backstab us like that. He¡¯s loyal, and I think the Oxblood only reinforced that.¡± Her eyes widened. ¡°He¡¯s an Oxblood? So, what, they forced him into their ranks?¡± I let out a breath, thinking. Blake responded in my place. ¡°Sounds right.¡± At Erin¡¯s curious look, he continued. ¡°I¡¯ve met Jackson a few times. Seemed alright enough. Not the kind to trade pride for profit, anyway.¡± I wasn¡¯t so sure. Uncle Jackson hated the Houses, but there was a deeper loathing when he spoke of the gods. An excitement when he told me about the Raven¡¯s death. He had gotten better at hiding over the years, but when I was seven or eight he would freely talk of killing them. The best way to get that sort of opportunity was to join up with a House. I held my tongue, though. Jackson was family, even if he was part of the Old Guard. As I turned my focus back to the conversation, I noticed Erin was uncharacteristically heated. Blake shot me a pleading look. ¡°-really? You¡¯re serious? Maja the Oxblood? She¡¯s Orv¡¯s Ma? You¡¯re absolutely lying. Strong Blooded can¡¯t have children, so where did he come from? She disappeared anyway. There¡¯s-¡± ¡°I¡¯m adopted,¡± I cut her off, hoping to give Blake some room to breathe. ¡°Ma doesn¡¯t advertise her old life often. For obvious reasons.¡± Erin slowly turned to me. ¡°You¡¯re absolutely not pulling my leg?¡± I raised an eyebrow. ¡°Why are you so excited? All the stories make General Maja seem like a frothing monster.¡± ¡°Oh, but I don¡¯t think that!¡± She shook her head rapidly, as if speed would emphasise the point. ¡°It¡¯s just, she¡¯s really impressive, is all. Yeah.¡± Blake turned to me. ¡°She has a massive crush on your Ma.¡± ¡°What? No!¡± she gasped. ¡°Not anymore, anyway.¡± I snorted lightly. ¡°Believe me, you definitely won¡¯t after you lay eyes on her.¡± My rival snickered, and Erin scowled. ¡°I can¡¯t believe you would insult your own mother. Even if she¡¯s not beautiful, I¡¯m not so shallow as to think less of a hero for their appearance.¡± Gods. I had met a few people who had tracked Ma down. It was mostly those who hated her, Ma having been stupidly open about putting many of the survivors down. She thumped those, but the few fans I met were much more disturbing. Mostly teenage girls. All the fawning got under my skin. ¡°Can we stop talking about Ma?¡± ¡°Well, would it be okay if I asked a few more things?¡± I slammed the back of my head against the floor a few times. ¡°No.¡± Erin opened her mouth again, but I shushed her. ¡°If you¡¯re interested, just come to our restaurant. I¡¯ll introduce you.¡± It was much funnier watching Ma try to handle these kinds of people anyway. She spent the next few minutes profusely thanking me, and both Blake and I slowly realised that there wouldn¡¯t be any more coherent conversation between the three of us. After making sure I could walk, Blake dragged Erin off to wherever they needed to be next, and I limped my way home.
By the time I got home, it was night. The wind had turned from an irritation to something that cut through to bone. Washing myself in a trough had made me presentable, yet waddling through the city drenched in water had me shivering most of the way home. Every clack of the teeth reminded me I was missing one, and I had to hope I could get by Ma without opening my mouth. The restaurant was still open when I entered. Ma usually kept the stove on late, even as she sent the rest of us to bed, waiting for the occasional insomniac to enter. Sometimes I would hear her talking to the patrons, however nights were almost always quiet. Ma would sit alone in the empty restaurant, only retiring to bed when the Foot was completely without sound. Her eyes were closed when I entered, her chest rising and falling with deep, even breaths. She was probably meditating. On one of the empty tables was a bowl of mild curry ¨C a favourite of mine, when I was small. Though it was cold, for once, it wasn¡¯t half-eaten. I grunted a greeting and grabbed the bowl. In our living area, once I was sure she wouldn¡¯t follow, I began eating. It was familiar. Curry wasn¡¯t ordered often, so I hadn¡¯t had it in years. A very gentle, nostalgic taste. As I finished, I felt a surge of guilt. Beneath the rickety ladder, I listened for any sign Dash was still awake. Hearing nothing, I climbed carefully upwards. Undressing would be too noisy, so I simply fell into bed. Staring at the shadows in the attic ceiling, I tongued the gum where my tooth once sat. It was already growing back. Chapter 6 - Sibling Rivalry The morning saw all four members of the family gathered in the courtyard, the sun¡¯s heat unmitigated by clouds or wind. The rays set the world shivering, the torrid air contorting around us, making it impossible not to sweat. There was no doubt in my mind that despite my perspiring, I had it easiest; the twins¡¯ pale skin would turn red as tomatoes before the day was out, and Ma¡¯s leathery rolls of skin provided too much insulation to be comfortable. Of course, she didn¡¯t show it, but I knew she must be boiling. Ma kept the restaurant closed at least one morning a week in order to train us. It seemed different this time ¨C usually she would already be commanding us to demonstrate various techniques or be trying to teach us new ones. Usually the twins would practice on me, and I on her. Ma had a lot of faith in my sturdiness, though she always laid thick rugs out to protect us from any falls. Given that yesterday¡¯s tussle had left me none the worse for wear, she seemed to be correct. I groaned. ¡°What are we doing here, Ma? Can¡¯t we train on a cooler day? Maybe one with clouds?¡± Sash nodded in agreement, Dash too much of a suck-up to support my obviously excellent proposition. ¡°No,¡± Ma stated, ¡°this is the best kind of day to prepare for a real fight. There are no optimal conditions in-¡° ¡°Actual combat,¡± I finished her sentence. ¡°Absolutely, we hear you. I don¡¯t know about you two¡± - I looked at the twins - ¡°but I¡¯m not planning on getting in any battles for the foreseeable future.¡± Dash kicked at an invisible pebble as Sash shook her head. ¡°Wait, have I missed something?¡± I asked Ma. Her face, deformed as it was, still managed to convey a sense of disapproval. ¡°Sash and Dash want to join the Old Guard when they are of age.¡± I spun on them. ¡°What? Are you stupid? Do you want to die?¡± The pair flinched. Sash immediately drew herself together for a rebuttal, however Ma cut her off. ¡°It is their choice to fight. It is their right as humans to try and hunt gods.¡± ¡°Such is our duty!¡± my sister proclaimed proudly. ¡°Shut up.¡± I seethed at her. ¡°Who¡¯s putting these ideas in your head? Jackson?¡± Dash had a good poker face, yet our sister did not. She looked at my bare feet. ¡°Jackson? That¡­¡± I let out a low growl. ¡°After all Ma¡¯s done for him. Ungrateful-¡± ¡°No, not just Jackson,¡± Dash interjected. ¡°It¡¯s just, with him joining up we realised we actually could, you know, fight.¡± ¡°You are stupid.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t understand why you¡¯re so against this,¡± he argued, somewhat bemused. ¡°The Raven¡¯s Cult killed our original parents. We¡¯re only alive because Ma saved us.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not- that¡¯s-¡° I stuttered, then paused, gathering my thoughts. ¡°You¡¯ll die.¡± I stated. ¡°You¡¯ll both die.¡± Ma cleared her throat. ¡°That is why I have made the two agree only to join after they can beat me.¡± The words caught in my throat. Desperately, I tried to think of something to convince her. ¡°You¡¯re not as strong as you used to be, Ma. They might not survive.¡± ¡°Even so, I cannot stop them. They do not require my permission.¡± Dash looked uncomfortable at such a rebellious thought. ¡°It is true, Orvi!¡± Sash agreed. ¡°When we reach sixteen, no one is allowed to stop us.¡± I spluttered, still furious. ¡°I¡¯m simply preparing them, Orvi,¡± Ma said, gently. ¡°Them defeating me is unlikely.¡± At Sash¡¯s indignant look, she continued. ¡°And even if they do, hopefully we can persuade them over the coming years.¡± ¡°Fine,¡± I spat. ¡°But you have to be able to beat Ma and me.¡± Sash¡¯s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. ¡°But we¡¯ve already beat you before.¡± ¡°At the same time.¡± ¡°That¡¯s unfair!¡± Dash protested. ¡°Do you think you¡¯ll never fight two people simultaneously? You¡¯re smarter than that. The Old Guard doesn¡¯t just hunt. They¡¯re also, you know, guards.¡± Sash sniffed. ¡°We agree to your terms.¡± Her twin whirled. ¡°Sash!¡± ¡°He is correct. And if this is the only way to get Orvi¡¯s blessing, then we need to beat them.¡± Ma clapped her hands together. ¡°Then it is done. The plan for today is to hold three battles. You will face one another once. There will be two bouts for each of you. The fights will be to submission or until I call a stop." "We have to fight Orvi alone?" Sash muttered. "Correct. The victor will gain the right to name our restaurant this week.¡± ¡°But it was my turn to make a name!¡± Dash complained. ¡°From now on, that privilege will be reserved for winners only.¡± It was obvious she had made that rule to give me a reason to join. However, I would have fought anyway; I needed to beat it into their skulls that fighting gods wasn¡¯t for them. There was only one problem with that idea: they were both far more talented than I was. I needed to thoroughly thrash them before they grew any stronger.
Dash and I went first. We both stripped down to our pants, donning makeshift padded helmets and hand wraps, which would assist in protecting us from any serious damage. The helms were made of stitched leather stuffed with cloth and linen. I was glad for them ¨C I could take a hit, but hopefully it would curb any serious damage to Dash¡¯s head. The hand wraps were mostly for me, though, as I had a habit of punching improperly and injuring my fingers. As we did this, the ladies rolled rugs across the small courtyard. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. Ma and Sash watched from the opposite side of the well as we squared off. ¡°Are you ready?¡± our mother stated, and we both nodded. ¡°Then begin.¡± Dash went right for me, immediately attempting a low kick. I stepped backwards and struck at his face, but my retreat stole most of the momentum from the blow. Taking it on his guard, he kicked again, this time at the side of my torso. Instead of dodging I moved forward, punching the side of his head. He stumbled, the kick interrupted, and went down. I looked to Ma, standing a few paces away, to make the call. She smiled faintly as I felt my legs being swept from underneath me and I crashed into the ground, barely managing to slow the fall with my hands. Then a weight fell on top of me as Dash jumped on my back, wrapping his arms around my neck in a chokehold. His hand tightened the hold by gripping one of my shoulders, and I could already feel the world dimming. I struggled to my feet, Dash still on my back, and then stumbled backwards, slamming him against one of the shutters. His grip loosened slightly and I felt blood rush back into my head, though only for a moment as it tightened again. I slipped one hand underneath the elbow around my neck, but his hold was just too good. Instead, I stumbled forward, pressed an elbow against his kidney, and leapt backwards, slamming both of us onto the ground. My elbow sunk into his torso, making him gasp, and I heaved his weakened arms off my neck. I rolled onto my feet as he coughed, then placed a foot on his neck. ¡°Over!¡± Ma bellowed. ¡°The match is over! Orvi has won!¡± I helped my brother to his feet as he pouted, eyes slightly damp from the pain of my blows. I was the victor, but I felt more like a loser; the fight had only been mine because of my greater weight. It felt hollow. I just hoped Dash was less confident in his ability to fight gods. ¡°Dash, mostly decent work. You took advantage of Orvi¡¯s openings and performed an excellent rear choke. However, you should always account for your opponent¡¯s strengths. Orvi is nearly half again your size ¨C any choke that does not immobilise him will open you to a counter. Any Blooded, however weak, would punish you in such a position. An Oxblood would tear you in half, and a Foxblood would simply twist out of it. If your grapple is not effective, do not give your opponent the opportunity to use it against you. Be more careful. ¡°Orvi. You should know better than to stop fighting before the match is called. Your reactions to falling should have been faster ¨C Dash should have not had the opportunity to gain the position he did. It should also be obvious that it would not have worked on anyone larger ¨C be sure to not form bad habits.¡± Sash and I were next, given I was mostly unharmed. She was the more dangerous of the two, at least until they both got older ¨C her grapples often made my strength irrelevant, while her reflexes and flexibility helped her avoid my blows. As she waited, I rested against the lip of the well, and slowly began tugging its bucket upwards. I straightened as Ma made the call to begin. Sash began cautiously approaching, then stopped outside my range, wary of any punches. I stood still, not wanting to attack and give her an opening to counter. I was content to lean against the well; with a wall to support me it would be harder for her to throw me onto the ground. And if I fell in, I was holding a rope. She read the situation in the exact same way, and so for a good thirty seconds we stared at one another, doing exactly nothing. Patience was never Sash¡¯s strong suit, so she began edging closer once again. As soon as she drew close, I whipped the bucket out, flinging it at her. As she flinched away I pressed my advantage and caught her in the face with three quick jabs. However she tucked her head downwards, letting my fists hit the hardest part of her skull. Stepping forward, I continued with an uppercut, attempting to ignore the pain in my fist. She rocked backwards slightly, letting it slip past, and then she was in my guard, grabbing at me. Bare-chested as I was, she had nothing to grip, so instead Sash snaked her leg behind mine and pulled, forcing my knee to bend. She slipped behind my panicked punches, proceeding to use my disadvantaged position to wrap her legs around my neck. I managed to put both arms up, having learnt from the previous fight, but the sudden change in weight tipped me backwards, sending me to the ground. Unlike with Dash, I was on my back, robbing me of the leverage needed to rise again. We stayed there for a while, her in the better position, with myself the stronger of us two. Sensing the stalemate, Sash began throwing blows at my unprotected head. None were powerful enough to affect me significantly, but they were uncomfortable. I shifted slightly, trying to catch most of them against my guard. She used my slight movements to catch my right arm between her legs, and, hugging it to her chest, began using all of her body strength to heave it backwards. I struggled, slowing the progress, and attempted to pull the other side of my body around, but her legs crushed it downwards. I swore and tried again, clawing at her as pain lanced through my arm, which bent in unnatural ways. My eyes bulged and with a roar, I rose, using both arms to pick her up and slam her against the well. She screamed, and dropped. I blanched. ¡°Over!¡± Ma yelled, and I rushed over to Sash, ignoring the pain in my arm. Damn her eyes. By all the blood, it shouldn''t have gone that far. Ma should have called it - but she never does, not is spars. I should''ve stopped, but it was difficult to hold back against her. If Sash could see something coming, she could avoid it, while anyone who grabbed her would usually get taken down. It was what made her so hard to fight. Her eyes unclenched, and she rubbed her back, grunting slightly. There didn''t seem to be permanent damage. Still. I should have let her win. That was stupid. Ma began her lecture. ¡°Sash, well done. Given Orvi¡¯s positioning, you should have known he was planning something, yet you recovered well. However, the same points apply as with Dash: account for your opponent. Your arm bar would be effective against those of similar size, but anyone larger might simply be able to throw you off. With your current weight, your only real option in such a scenario is to flee or acquire a weapon. The bucket may be a good choice, if you had nothing else. Besides that, excellent work. ¡°Orvi, your opening move was decent. However - and I hate to be repeating myself so much but it needs to be said ¨C account for your opponent. Sash is most dangerous in close range; you should have stayed against the well and fought her at reach. You have the better stamina, and unless she could somehow take you to the floor it would have easily been your win. "I think I will give this one to Sash; if only because Orvi played this so badly.¡± I felt like an idiot. I had thought Sash impatient, yet had barrelled towards her like some lizard-brained idiot. Ma shouldn¡¯t need to outline all that; I had already known it, which was why I was positioned against the well in the first place. Scowling, I stood and took my place against Ma, watching the final bout. Dash and Sash squared up against one another. My sister had chosen to stand against the well, probably looking to take the advantageous position, while Dash stood loosely, next to the bucket. Ma announced the match¡¯s start and he scooped it up by its wooden handle and approached Sash. What followed was slightly painful to watch. Dash stood, slightly outside her range, and began hitting his sister with the bucket, over and over again. She blocked and moved forward, but every advance was followed by him retreating just a little bit more, smacking her all the while. It appeared absurd ¨C a boy retreating from a slightly smaller girl, too scared to get within her reach ¨C but it worked. They pranced throughout the yard for several minutes, Sash, despite several attempted tackles, failed to hit her brother even once. Every miss was accompanied by howls of frustration while Dash whacked her, her arms already bruising. She tried to steal Dash¡¯s makeshift weapon multiple times, however his grip on it was good enough to yank it away from her each time. Eventually she burst into tears. Wiping at her face, she ran inside. Ma stared after her, then looked back at the guilty-looking bucket-wielder. She scratched her head, slightly deflated. ¡°Dash. Don¡¯t feel bad. Her retreat marks your victory. That was excellent, truly. You could not have played that match any better. It should be less simple next week; we will be sparring with staves. Still, you have nothing to be ashamed of. I¡¯ll talk to her later.¡± For a second none of us said a word, before I spoke the question that had chased me throughout their bout. ¡°So. Who gets to name our place, given everyone won once? Is there a tie breaker, or...¡± Ma¡¯s face split into a wolfish grin, revealing her massive teeth. ¡°I do. I¡¯m thinking of calling it¡­¡± she paused, her smile growing even wider. ¡°¡¯Orvi, Dash, and Sash¡¯s Lovely Little Family Restaurant.¡¯¡± Dash put his head in his hands as I groaned. Chapter 7 - The Citys Heart The Foot seemed empty at the best of times. The city was filled with clay and mud brick houses, dotted with the occasional two- or three-story stone building for the rich or prosperous. It sprawled out from the massive lake at its centre. Streets were straight and usually narrow, and getting to any particular place required sliding through dozens of them, arranged in labyrinthian patterns. There was no logic or reason, no grand design, simply a huge place that once was the home nearly a quarter of a million people. Only a fourth of that remained. Too many had died fighting the Raven, and with the economy wrecked from losing half the city, many of those remaining had gone to more hospitable places, far across the empty plains. I had lived here most of my life, yet sometimes the quiet got to me: on occasion I would whirl around, hearing footsteps that didn''t exist or laughter without origin. Ghosts. Whether they were merely a product of an overactive mind, or some long-lost memory of the city, I didn¡¯t know. All of this changed at the markets. They were set next to the Foot¡¯s lake, between its docks and the many farms nearby: the beating heart of the city. Tall brick buildings used as warehouses or shops for craftsmen were arrayed all around, some even slathered with peeling paint; but without a proper vantage it was impossible to see them, for thousands of people milled about. Most of them looked and dressed similarly to me: tanned, brown-haired people in simple patchwork tunics with a satchel thrown over one shoulder. Yet there were many who were different. Black and blond hair was easy to see, and there was even the occasional flash of red or white. Skin colour varied greatly as well ¨C my own browned skin was common, with a far blander white also not being unusual, however some were deathly pale while others the same shade as charcoal. The farmers, merchants, artificers and occasional alchemist who peddled their wares were cut from different cloth: their clothes were fine and unpatched, their belts leather instead of twine, and some even sported dyed clothing, the vibrant hues cutting through the faded tones of the crowd. Besides our restaurant, this was my favourite part of the city; here was one of the few places the Foot truly felt alive, pulsing with those who loved this place too much to run away. It made me proud, seeing them all. Though a kernel of guilt still stuck to me, like a piece of meat between teeth. I was here for three things in particular: an order of produce, our meat order, and a tinker to repair the pair of pans clanging in my bag. I knew where to go for the former, but Ma¡¯s favourite smith tended to move around. It also wasn¡¯t unusual for her not to be here at all; in which case I would have to trek across half the city to reach her store. Though it was a pain, Ma could always tell poor repairs when she saw them, and Miss Tran was the best value for money when it came to quality fixes. I didn¡¯t have the chits for anything more expensive, anyway. Getting through a crowd is a skill. Speed is a secondary objective ¨C avoiding a mugging is a smart man¡¯s primary goal. I bobbed and weaved through the sea of people, muscling aside anyone who had poor footing. Knocking someone to the ground was a real concern, as anyone downed would be trampled instantly by an avalanche of feet. Luckily, the crowd¡¯s density gave most at least three or four different supports, and most were quick to pull the fallen upright. Wading through the seething mass took a while, but eventually it thinned, spitting me out in front of Jasmine¡¯s stall. Various vegetables, beans, and grains were arranged in boxes underneath a small canopy, mostly sheltered from the crowd by various large men shoving away those who didn¡¯t approach from the front. Jasmine haggled with a plump woman, several people waiting for her to finish or browsing the selection. I may have been biased, but I think it was clear to anyone with eyes that Jasmine was a beauty: she had flawless cocoa skin, regal features, and long braided hair like night, the occasional strand coloured yellow or red or white. I tried not to stare beneath her neck, but that was also a pretty good-looking area, maybe, I guess. Anyway, it was clear to anyone looking that she was very, very well-off. From what I had gathered from our interactions, she was the eighth child of some landowner who lorded over several large strips of farmland. The majority of food grown there were sent to specific merchants with trade deals, who would usually process it for long-term storage to be sold throughout the year. Jasmine¡¯s was one of many stalls run by their family, though for obvious reasons, hers was the most popular. Raising a hand, I wandered around and looked at the fruits. They were expensive, so we mostly ate the beaten apples, with the rare mango on special occasions. I had no need to browse, either. The week¡¯s order had been the same for the past month, and would remain unaltered until either the seasons or the prices changed. I was here to pay for next week¡¯s and lug some of the ingredients home. Ma would be by at a quieter hour ¨C less chance of being recognised ¨C to pick up the rest. Some of the guards glared as I loitered, having disapproved of my previous romantic overtures towards their charge. One gave a wide smile bereft of front teeth, apparently anticipating the show. Most ignored me. As I inspected a pomegranate, trying to imagine what it tasted like, a commotion sounded from outside the stall, I glanced over, then squinted. Flashes of red showed through the swarm of seething bodies, a discontented murmur growing throughout the crowd. The rest of the customers turned to watch. ¡°The Old Guard is now recruiting!¡± a clipped voice called, somehow projecting despite the noise. ¡°Any talented warriors wishing to cleanse the Raven¡¯s remnants and earn their godsblood are welcome. Blooded joining will receive a higher initial rank and greater pay, with opportunities to build on their already extant foundation. Aspiring recruits should visit our office ¨C located opposite the western berths, near the market. Look for our sign. Those wishing to contribute to the cause: spread the word!¡± The voice then began the spiel again. I scowled, approaching the friendly stall guard. ¡°Wasn¡¯t there already some shop there?¡± The big man nodded, smile turning to an uncomfortable frown. ¡°A general thtore, I think it wath.¡± His missing teeth turned his ¡®S¡¯s into ¡®Th¡¯ sounds. ¡°I heard the owner wath renting it from them, originally, and they charged him for eight years all at once. Place went under.¡± ¡°Damned Houses,¡± I sneered. He nodded along with me. I waved to Jasmine and pointed towards the voice, silently asking for her to save my spot. She nodded and I pushed back into the crowd, muttering apologies as I shoved and slid my way to the front. It took a few moments to secure a decent spot, which gave me a good view of the Old Guard in all its glory. Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. There were three of them, one on a small pedestal nearly overshadowed by a huge figure. Another sat against the platform, dwarfed by the giant¡¯s height. They were dressed in lamellar armour painted a sharp crimson, accentuated with muted browns. The pair below had functional, open-faced helmet, whilst the recruiter¡¯s only showed the jaw. It was also far more ornate, covered in sweeping engravings reminiscent of waves. It took a second to realise all three were Blooded ¨C their facial features were simply too inhuman to be otherwise. I blinked. The largest one by several feet, stood on the ground, was Jackson. He gripped a massive glaive, which was easily as tall as his own ten foot frame. On his belt was a sword, though shadowed by his size it seemed closer to a knife. Its sheath was smooth and black, yet somehow shined spectacularly in the sunlight, like nothing I had ever seen. I wanted it. Jackson didn¡¯t deserve such a beautiful thing, anyway. I shook my head, clearing it. Stupid, stupid. Under the gaze of dozens of different people was a bad place to resume old habits. I had difficulty identifying the remaining two¡¯s divinity. Besides the Oxblood, I only knew the seven types by hearsay. The speaker¡¯s face was mostly obscured, but they had a protruding lower face and thick, flapping tongue. Coupled with the nautical-themed helmet, he seemed like a Dolphinblood, the Blooded best known for their charisma. The other, sitting beside Jackson, had unnaturally wide eyes, so much so I immediately pegged him as an Owlblood. According to legend, they could perform strange and arcane miracles. It¡¯s strange, I thought. Yoot¡¯s blood is rare. Why are the Houses sending such a precious resource here? The Owlblood yawned widely, staring dreamily into the distance. My gaze fell on Jackson again, obviously wary of the crowd. Sweat beaded his forehead, his nostrils flared constantly, and he shifted slowly from foot to foot. It was easy to see why: of the three, the Dolphinblood had only a sheathed short sword, and the layabout sat entirely unarmed. Jackson seemed to be all that guarded two invaluable people from a crowd with good reason to hate them. Though most of us were more wary than angry. Everyone knew that the Blooded, even unarmed, were dangerous. However even fear could not vanquish the tension thrumming around me. The faces ringing the clearing, no matter their complexion or standing, were grim. The only sound came from the Dolphinblood, repeating his speech once again, and the faint clamour of the market, now seeming so much further away. The Foot had not forgotten how they had abandoned us. The speaker paused, and let out a deep sigh. When he opened his mouth again, his voice was no longer clear. It wavered, muddied by some deep guilt. ¡°I know many of you are resentful towards us. The Houses asked everything from you. And when you were left after rising to our challenge, sacrificing your family, friends, and comrades, no one came to help. ¡°The Raven cast a shadow over all of humanity, and the people of the Foot vanquished it. Yet your only reward was more pain.¡± He smiled, strange jaw somehow conveying sorrow. He drew in a breath, and continued, still mournful. ¡°The new Head of House Esfaria, the Young Lord Irwin, extends his deepest apologies to your city for our negligence. He has given myself and my cohort various gifts to distribute as tokens of our sincerity. Much of it is the latest bloodtech, designed to make the most mundane of tasks easier. As you may have noticed, we have also been installing bloodtech bulbs throughout the most populated of the city, to make your nights a little safer. We have also brought fine silk, various dyes, and clothing tailored for children.¡± The crowd erupted into murmurs at that. ¡°Though it went against the advice of his advisors, Lord Irwin has bade me, Representative Fedor, to give them away, free of charge, to any who ask for them.¡± There was a brief silence. Then the crowd exploded into chatter, as we whirled amongst ourselves. A middle-aged woman at my side turned to me, wide-eyed. ¡°Did I hear that right? Free?¡± I nodded, stunned, as her face lit up with a crooked smile. We had all quietly assumed there was some kind of price ¨C that it would be conditional on gaining recruits. This went entirely against our expectations. ¡°If you would like to receive these small tokens of Esfaria¡¯s remorse,¡± he said, voice slicing through the commotion, ¡°please visit our offices. You have been a kind audience, more generous than we deserve. Thank you.¡± Representative Fedor stepped down. Jackson picked up the pedestal, gently nudging the owlish slacker. The crowd chattered among themselves as the Oxblood began gently making a path through them. I could feel the urge to join in, the excitement at these new, fresh goods. A bloodtech oven! That would help us greatly at home! I frowned. What was I thinking? I had smeared dung over a restaurant merely for having one. Still, silk clothing? Dyes? I could dress like a king! I squinted at the Dolphinblood¡¯s back, then my fervour at the Blooded¡¯s speech was interrupted as another, greater desire took its place. Jackson was wading through the crowd. Jackson¡¯s stunning sword was wading through the crowd. Here was an opportunity. I wouldn¡¯t get a better one. I dashed through the opening the Old Guard had left in their wake. When I was a dozen paces behind them, I merged back into the crowd. Muscling through the masses was difficult, so much so that Jackson, with his much greater strength and presence, would usually be faster than me. However, where usually people would naturally make way for someone so large, this time, everyone seemed too distracted. Jackson had to gently move them aside. I was much more adept at slipping through the crowd, and also much less gentle. Those milling about were strangely absentminded ¨C too busy talking to their neighbour to form much obstacle to my comparatively small body. Moving in this fashion, it only took a minute to catch up. Mussing my tangled hair to conceal as much of my face as possible, I stole a glance at my target. The blade jangled, strapped to a belt wrapped around Jackson¡¯s expansive waist. I clicked my teeth, almost reconsidering. However, if the Old Guard caught me, they would probably let me off; it would be stupid to undo all this excitement by apprehending a child in the middle of a mob. Even if they did, I was sure Jackson would try to get me off the hook. That didn¡¯t mean I should be stupid about it. Unbuckling the sword would be difficult ¨C I was out of practice and would need several seconds ¨C but then I would have to carry it home. My pack was barely big enough for a few pans. It wouldn¡¯t fit an actual weapon, however pretty. I glanced around, glimpsing a stall through the crowd. I barged over, eyes alighting on a roll of cloth. The owner was busy chatting excitedly with patrons, gesturing towards the rapidly disappearing Blooded. Mentally preparing myself for a cry of alarm, I snatched the cloth and merged back into the throng. Yet no shouts chased me. No one had noticed. Strange. Soon enough I had my eyes on Jackson again, having tracked him by the empty trail they left behind. Mind thrumming, I attempted to think of a plan that would lead to success, but the Esfarians were nearly out of the crowd, and I had never been much of a schemer anyway. I crouched in an attempt to make myself smaller, then moved. I shoved one of the larger idlers into Jackson¡¯s side, causing him to turn slightly. Sliding around him, I reached for his other side, and, fingers dancing, unbuckled the belt and stole the belt off his body, yanking the beautiful blade into my hand. I retreated into the crowd a few feet, and hastily wrapped it in cloth, tucking it under my arm. I looked around for anyone who had seen me. The Owlblood¡¯s massive eyes bored into mine. He smiled softly, his mouth the only part of his face moving. Slowly, he tilted his head, lips curving upward. I ran. Sprinting through the crowd, I ducked and weaved and shoved, desperately trying to shed the feeling of that horrible, piercing gaze. I tried to look backwards in order to gauge how many were pursuing me, only to glance off someone and sprawl to the ground. I curled, tensing, ready for the mob¡¯s thousand feet to trample me. No blows crushed my body. No shouts or yells followed me. I looked around, and saw something entirely unnatural. As far as I could see, not one person¡¯s feet were moving. They were still just talking, eager for the Young Lord Irwin¡¯s many generous gifts. I felt that same enthusiasm, and the knowledge that the emotion still had root inside me, despite my fear of being caught, was terrifying. I rose and made some distance. Chapter 8 - Strange Diseases It took nearly half an hour for me to leave my hiding place. I sat underneath the tablecloth of an elderly man¡¯s stall, having slid underneath, and would peek my head out occasionally, then dip back inside, shuddering. Something had reached their fingers inside my head, rearranging the things I had believed in, and I hadn¡¯t even noticed. The only thing that had stopped me from becoming part of the carefully manipulated masses was avarice: my desire for Jackson¡¯s blade had overruled everything else. I had never been so glad for my kleptomania. I returned to Jasmine, hugging my stolen goods. Her stall was almost exactly the same as I had left it, barring a few crops that had been purchased. Her gorgeous face was twisted in annoyance, her business being slowed by her patron¡¯s constant gossiping. The unsettling behaviour caused by the Dolphinblood¡¯s speech hadn¡¯t extended this far, or if it had, the effect had worn off. Though the unnatural fervour was gone, House Esfaria¡¯s gifts were still the most popular topic of conversation. Being rich already, Jasmine seemed less enthused. ¡°It¡¯s an obvious ploy.¡± She said, sceptical. ¡°Buy out the citizens'' good graces with a few trinkets. It¡¯s no coincidence most of what they offer are clothing ¨C anyone wearing silk will be made a piece of walking propaganda.¡± I bobbed my head in agreement, pretending I knew what ¡®propaganda¡¯ meant. Putting Erin¡¯s advice to change my behaviour in front of Jasmine was child¡¯s play, given how disturbing the past ten minutes had been. The wisest decision would be to take Ma¡¯s order and leave, but first I needed to understand what had just happened. ¡°Yes, that seems to be the case. Was this the first time the recruiters have come?¡± She shrugged, somehow making the motion seem elegant. ¡°They¡¯ve been coming for the past five days, but this is the first time they announced their so-called gifts. Most likely because today is busier than the others; more people will spread the word.¡± I didn¡¯t know how to bring it up, so I made no attempt at a decent segue. ¡°Jasmine. Did you notice how strangely everyone was behaving? They welcomed the Old Guard so easily.¡± ¡°Do you mean their sudden excitement? It¡¯s not so unusual, given what was on offer. I¡¯m sure most would jump at such an opportunity.¡± I knew her well enough to read the subtext ¨C poor people were easy to bribe. The fact she let her thoughts slip showed just how irritated she was. ¡°No, it- it wasn¡¯t like that.¡± She cocked an eyebrow at me, and I continued. ¡°Maybe if there was more on offer, or if they actually had the goods in their hands, maybe it would let them forget their hatred for a moment. But¡­¡± I clenched my teeth. ¡°Do you really think so?¡± she asked, somewhat bemused. We had never had a serious conversation about anything other than groceries; she looked as if she had discovered a Lizardblood was a mathematician. I tried to be offended at that. ¡°Isn¡¯t what is happening right now evidence to the contrary?¡± ¡°It¡¯s impossible to wipe away eight years of hatred with just a few words. No one would ever fight if you could.¡± I said. It would certainly make my life easier if I could just forget. And for a moment there, I had almost done just that. Jasmine nodded, as if acquiescing the point. She clasped her hands, deliberating. ¡°I hate to consider such a thing would be so simple¡­ but perhaps one of the Blooded did something? Did you notice what type they were?¡± The image was impossible to forget. ¡°I know for certain one was an Oxblood ¨C he¡¯s a regular at our place. The guy speaking ¨C I think his name was Fedor ¨Chad this big helmet that covered most of his face. He had this big, protruding mouth, though.¡± She gave a soft grunt, gaze turned thoughtfully downward. ¡°It seems likely Fedor is a Dolphinblood.¡± She muttered, then turned her honeyed eyes to me. ¡°Were there any more?¡± ¡°Yes. The last one was definitely an Owlblood. The big eyes, his daydreaming, the nonchalance, it all matched the stories. He didn¡¯t even seem to care when¡­¡± I shuddered, recalling his gaze. ¡°When what?¡± ¡°Nothing.¡± I was careful not to bring any attention to the roll of cloth leaning against my leg. ¡°Oxblood, Dolphinblood, Owlblood. Do you think their powers could do something like that to such a large crowd?¡± ¡°Not an Oxblood. The other two, though?¡± she splayed her hands upwards. ¡°There¡¯s no certainty. The Owl is particularly arcane; there¡¯s no telling what its blood could do.¡± ¡°Alright. I¡¯ll ask Ma. She should know.¡± Jasmine frowned. ¡°Isn¡¯t she just an Oxblood?¡± It was difficult to supress a snort. ¡°Something like that.¡± The grocer tried to squeeze more out of me but I deflected all questions, looking to finish my business and head home. If I happened to pique her interest with my cold behaviour in the process, all the better for me. Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. Her annoyance left me feeling strangely invigorated. Like I finally had control of something. Scowling at her failure to extract more information, she uncovered several hemp sacks. I stuffed my new sword, still wrapped in cloth, inside one filled with cabbage, then stacked two on each shoulder and waded back into the crowd. I paid our butcher, telling him to keep the meat for Ma¡¯s inevitable arrival, then spent the next few dozen minutes looking for Miss Tran¡¯s stall. I had picked some of the lighter sacks, however the sword was far heavier than it seemed, and soon enough I was regretting the decision to buy the produce first. Especially seeing as shuffling through the masses was twice as difficult with such bulky goods. I regretted my decision to see Jasmine first. I had probably been too excited to see her. I eventually found the old woman, her table tucked in some obscure corner as always. She was dressed in a blackened apron, the clothes beneath a mishmash of patches and different coloured thread. The products of what she claimed was her trade were arrayed in front of her: wooden containers filled with thick, swirling, liquid. They were unlidded, and smelt noxious. Alchemy. Or at least what Miss Tran claimed was alchemy ¨C I didn¡¯t trust it in the least. No one who had used her concoctions gave good reviews. They performed as advertised, except the consistent side-effects were sometimes worse than the initial problem. The potions usually caused stomach problems, from what I had heard. I had drunk a potion of healing once, and immediately thrown it up. Sash had once been bed for a week after Ma gave her Miss Tran¡¯s cough remedy. Though in both cases we were left feeling a little bit better. The would-be-alchemist squinted, her wrinkled face scrunching, then lit up with a vibrant smile, showing her few remaining teeth. ¡°Little Crow!¡± she shouted, strange accent enunciating the syllables in strange ways. Her lack of eyebrows gave her a perpetual look of surprise. ¡°So good to see you! Come, come, what is it you need today?¡± I had tried several times to get her to remember my name, but the only one that stuck with her was Little Crow. The old crone still remembered me as a nervous six-year-old, always carrying a sack filled with dozens of colourful pebbles. ¡°A remedy?¡± she guessed. ¡°Mayhaps a tonic for strength? Oh, I know! You are getting to that age for love, yes? Something to smooth the skin, take away those pesky, ehm, pimples.¡± I was tempted, truly. A person poor at their craft is an excellent salesman by necessity ¨C Miss Tran was no exception. ¡°Sorry, Miss Tran.¡± I gave her an empty-handed gesture. ¡°Ma only gave me enough money for a few pan repairs.¡± Her face twisted into an expression of exaggerated disgust. ¡°Eck! Maja is cheap, so cheap! Nothing for her lovely son! And pans? My talents are wasted on pans!¡± This song and dance was a constant companion to any repair requests. I think that was why most only knew her as the crazy lady who peddled strange potions, entirely unaware of her smithing abilities. As accurate as that description was, it was their loss. I¡¯d never seen her unable to fix something. She was still ranting. ¡°¡­knives and ovens and kitchen sinks! They know nothing of my skills! My talent! I give them exactly what they ask, but always with the complaining!¡± ¡°So¡­¡± I interrupted. ¡°Is that a no?¡± ¡°You are scrambling with me.¡± She said, not caring the sentence made no sense. ¡°Give them here.¡± I carefully handed her my satchel, wary of accidentally toppling her merchandise. Alchemy was foreign to me, but I had heard how many people died meddling with it. It was probably a good indicator of skill or luck that Miss Tran had survived to her age. ¡°Ah, yes.¡± She held a magnifying glass to her eye, which enlarged her eyes in ways that had me stifling laughter. ¡°What is Maja doing? Using them to beat people?¡± I chose not to answer that. ¡°Poor pans! Poor pans!¡± She looked back up at me. ¡°Simple to fix. But first¡­¡± she held her hand out, wiggling hairless brows. I let out a huff of amusement and handed her my remaining chits. She always made me smile ¨C sometimes so much so that I could swear she acted this way on purpose. Grinning widely, she held up her magnifying glass and carefully counted the money. ¡°I would charge more, but just for you, Little Crow, less is paid.¡± Though unsure she was telling the truth, I thanked her anyway. She went ahead, tapping at the pans with a tiny hammer. She lit a small oil burner, throwing in a pinch of powder that made the flame glow blue. The heat, even several paces away, felt like I was submerged in a boiling cauldron; I stepped further away, dragging the sacks of produce with me. As she tinkered away, I tried not to think of the last hour¡¯s events. It wasn¡¯t like me ¨C usually, I had trouble remembering the last thing I ate. I couldn¡¯t help but feel this was different. As if my reflection had waved back at me, without my consent. The abilities of most of the gods were easy to understand. There were hundreds of songs featuring them ¨C it was only human to know their powers. My favourite ¨C and the only one I remembered in full ¨C was a children¡¯s rhyme the twins and I used to skip to. I sung it under my breath. ¡®Dure knows how to fight real long, Liz-ard¡¯s sca-les are most tough. ¡®Enn is stron-ger than the skies, Ox will crush you like a bug. ¡®Ka-ni rush-es like the wind, Fox knows how to draw you in. ¡®Siik most cle-ver of the bunch, Spi-der¡¯s web will make you lunch.¡¯ The first four gods were simple: the Lizard is tough, the Ox is strong, the Fox is quick, the Spider is smart. The others were not so easy to understand. ¡®Wump can make you smile and laugh, Dol-phin keeps you in its grasp. ¡®Yoot the strang-est of them all, O-wl¡¯s pow-ers make wrong right.¡¯ Two of the eight were conspicuously absent from the song. One was a god I had always known. Almost everything about the Foot revolved around the Raven¡¯s death, even before it had actually died ¨C even if it wasn¡¯t in any songs, every child in the city knew of Avri. The final god was only spoken of infrequently. For most of my life, I thought there to be only seven gods, and when I had first heard of Eval, I had to ask Ma who that was. From her I had extracted only two facts: it always kills without warning, and it had never been harmed. There were no Shrikebloods. My mother knew little else. These four ¨C Dolphin, Owl, Raven, and Shrike ¨C were real mysteries; few truly understood what they did. A children¡¯s rhyme wasn¡¯t the best source, but if it was accurate, either of the mysterious Blooded could have done something. Ma would know which one. Chapter 9 - Little Talks I left as soon as Miss Tran was finished. As always, she offered me work before I left, however I had already fallen for that scam once years ago. An entire day had been wasted mixing random concoctions, for which she had given me a single potion as payment ¨C the one I quaffed and then immediately yakked. Ten-year-old Orvi would¡¯ve rather just gotten money. I took a slight detour on the way home to a derelict house nearby, uninhabited for a very good reason. We used it as a garden ¨C mostly growing tomatoes and mushrooms ¨C Ma having smashed a hole in the roof and us children having to cake the ground in fertiliser regularly: the kind made from scraps mixed with emptied toilets. To say it was a shitty place would be an understatement. However, that made it the best possible hiding place for ill-gotten goods. I gingerly stepped around the field of dung, careful not to get any on my bare feet, and headed towards where the roof had collapsed. The rubble blocked a corner of the building, however it could be wiggled through by anyone with a somewhat-average frame. That made it the perfect place to hide things from Ma. The squeeze was much tighter than I remembered. So much so I became worried I would be trapped. The solution ended up being to push the bundled sword through first, then roll onto my back, propelling myself forward by heaving at the gaps between the collapsed rubble above me. I was almost surprised there was no popping sound when I pulled myself into the alcove. I leaned against the wall, finally able to stand upright and stretch my legs. Lit by the occasional sunbeam shining through the rubble¡¯s cracks were all the things I had once thought impressive; pretty stones and pebbles, cutlery, some pilfered silverware, a hoe I had once believed was some legendary weapon, the spokes of a cartwheel, and other various knick-knacks. Two years ago, I had stolen the horde¡¯s crown jewel: a hand-mirror that shone with a gold and silver inlay. The heist, performed on a rich customer who constantly belittled a teary Sash, was done by myself and an overly nervous Blake. We came very close to being caught, so close that we had to retreat by jumping out of a two-storey high window. Stopping seemed the wisest decision. The temptation to keep it in my bedroom was almost too much bear, but anyone who saw it would know it was stolen. Still, even covered with months¡¯ worth of dust, the other items paled in comparison. Except the sword. I gently unwrapped the object in question, revealing its onyx scabbard. There wasn¡¯t much light to see by, so instead I ran my hands over it. The material itself was smooth and cool, like stone, yet slight engravings filigreed it. I held it to an errant beam of light, revealing that the carvings were of a giant fighting a raven, the inscriptions shining radiantly. Were they lined with silver? I hummed. It was obviously a depiction of the battle eight years ago, probably made to flatter Jackson. He had fought, though unblooded at the time. I heaved it upward with both hands and drew the sword out of its sheath, the cramped space forcing me to tilt my arms awkwardly, finally revealing the blade itself. It was long, heavy and black. I tested my finger against the edge, drawing blood. Sharp too. I had no idea whether it was a good or bad weapon, but it was certainly beautiful. It absorbed every fraction of light that touched it. I sheathed it, then left it leaning against the wall. With any luck, no one would find it.
The sun had long passed its zenith by the time I got home. Only one couple remained ¨C a young man and woman, long since finished their meals. I nodded at them and carried the sacks into the kitchen, where Ma juggled various pots and pans, preparing dinner for this evening¡¯s customers. Dumping them in a cupboard filled with similar items, I began washing the leftover dishes. ¡°Where are the twins?¡± I asked. Usually, the two of them would be cleaning the eating area at this time. ¡°I have sent them to collect the rest of our ingredients.¡± I cocked an eyebrow. ¡°Will they be able to carry it all home?¡± Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°There are two of them.¡± She rumbled. ¡°It is time they began taking on more responsibilities.¡± ¡°Huh.¡± A thought occurred to me. ¡°Could¡¯ve just sent them with me.¡± ¡°Sash was too distraught.¡± Ma sighed, using one hand to massage her opposite shoulder. I smiled at the sight ¨C she wouldn¡¯t have been able to do that a year ago. ¡°There was another reason, as well.¡± ¡°Yeah?¡± ¡°I wanted to talk to you.¡± Sighing, I turned to her. These conversations were always so awkward. ¡°Listen,¡± I tried to stave off the inevitable as long as possible. ¡°Something happened in the market today.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± She raised two bushy, salt and pepper eyebrows. ¡°Jackson was with two other Blooded. There was this one making a speech. He said something about gifts, then everyone was excited, like they¡¯d suddenly forgiven the Houses for ditching them.¡± She frowned. ¡°You weren¡¯t?¡± ¡°Who do you think I am?¡± I snapped. ¡°Did you not feel the urge to?¡± ¡°No, I did. It was¡­ scary.¡± She nodded slowly. ¡°I¡¯m impressed you noticed.¡± My eyes widened. I had been half-convinced I was imagining things. ¡°So I was right? What in the Blood was happening?¡± ¡°It sounds like a Dolphinblood¡¯s work.¡± She stirred a pot of broth thoughtfully. ¡°They stoke certain emotions. Useful for raising morale.¡± ¡°What?¡± I was shocked. Most only spoke of their charm. I had suspected the Owlblood, despite his slothful appearance. ¡°Why doesn¡¯t everyone know this?¡± ¡°It would make them less effective.¡± Her voice was unusually bitter. ¡°All of the Houses agree.¡± ¡°What absolute bastards.¡± Ma smacked me on the back of the head without looking. ¡°None of that talk here. Aggravating them is the height of stupidity.¡± I scowled for a bit, still furious at what I had just learned. To think they could defile the Foot so thoroughly, and no one would even realise. I was definitely telling everyone I knew. Maybe that would make people realise the Houses were rats. ¡°Orvi?¡± I schooled my face. ¡°I¡¯m okay. I¡¯m fine.¡± ¡°Glad to hear it,¡± she said, chuckling slightly, ¡°however I speak of something different.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve finally found a lovely gentleman to settle with? Or perhaps an elegant lady, to melt that stony fa?ade of yours?¡± ¡°No.¡± Her thick lips thinned. Ma rubbed her eyes, and faced me. ¡°I was thinking of transferring my remaining Oxblood to Dash.¡± I blinked. That was not how I thought this talk would go. ¡°Why¡¯s that?¡± ¡°If he ends up joining the Old Guard, being a Blooded is a definite advantage. And the amount I have remaining is too little to give him any overt signs of being an Oxblood; if he decides to leave, no one will know.¡± I was still trying to comprehend her words. ¡°What about Sash?¡± ¡°Her talents lie elsewhere. Dash is calmer, his fighting more straightforward ¨C I have always thought controlling Enn¡¯s rage would be simple for him.¡± ¡°Why¡­ do you decide this now?¡± Her face crinkled sadly. ¡°I would rather him not. I would rather none of you become Blooded. But it might keep them safe.¡± I thought for a moment. A god¡¯s blood changes people. I didn¡¯t want Dash to transform into someone else. Ma was right, though. ¡°Jackson won¡¯t mind?¡± ¡°He might. However, he owes me, and an Oxblood always fulfils their debts.¡± ¡°Right.¡± I was still slightly shocked. It never occurred to me that Ma might choose Dash as a successor; it was always going to be just Jackson. ¡°Why tell me this?¡± ¡°I wanted to know if you have any objections.¡± I frowned. ¡°Would that stop you?¡± ¡°Maybe. You were his guardian before I was.¡± ¡°For a few days.¡± ¡°Three days, in one of the worst battlefields man and god has ever created.¡± I wanted to protest. This decision shouldn¡¯t be mine. Dash would agree; he would be ecstatic. I got the feeling Ma wasn''t just paying lip-service either; she really meant what she said. I was the only one who could protect him. The only one who could stop this. The responsibility was too much. ¡°I don¡¯t¡­¡± my voice cracked, so I started again. ¡°I don¡¯t want Dash to change.¡± Ma¡¯s voice was gentle. ¡°He will still be the same person.¡± Shaking my head, I continued. ¡°No. General Maja and my Ma are two different people. You¡¯re different. Nicer. Softer.¡± ¡°I¡­¡± my mother let out a deep, shuddering sigh. ¡°He won¡¯t be like me. He will have less of the blood. I will train him better.¡± I stared at her intensely. ¡°You promise?¡± ¡°I give you my word.¡± She said solemnly. ¡°Alright. Okay.¡± I paused, and rubbed my eyes. ¡°When are you planning on starting?¡± ¡°When he is fifteen, perhaps sixteen years of age. I will train him beforehand. When he hits his growth-spurt - emotions then are more intense. It will make better training.¡± I thought, idly washing dishes. I had watched most of Ma and Jackson''s training. I hoped she was gentler with him. I began to voice that thought, then paused. Something smelled. ¡°Ma! The food¡¯s burning!¡± Ma looked shocked for a moment, then peeled her lips back, revealing a ferocious scowl. She spun back and began stirring pots and pans rapidly, shuffling some of them off the stove. Taking the opportunity to leave, I retreated up to the attic. I didn¡¯t come down until the next morning. Chapter 10 - The best laid plans... This had never happened before. I wasn¡¯t sure what I should do. The appropriate reaction escaped me. I sat, open-mouthed. Every time Ma left the kitchen, Erin sighed dreamily. It was right at the beginning of the morning. Erin had forced Blake to come ¨C not knowing the location herself ¨C and the pair had been waiting at the door when the place opened. Unfortunately for me, Ma had been the one to let them in, having told Sash to let me sleep in for once. The three of us sat at one of the tables in the dining area, nearly entirely empty except for Sash sweeping and an elderly man who, as sure as the sun rises, came at this time once per week. My mother, to my rival¡¯s and best friend¡¯s great surprise, cooked and served our meals personally ¨C entirely free of charge. Three bowls of broth-soaked noodles, dumplings of all varieties, even fried chicken. The table barely had room for it all. I was horrified to see slow realisation wash over Blake¡¯s face as he suddenly connected the dots and understood that I had scammed him out of complimentary meals every single time he had visited. He''d do the same to me. Probably. Far, far worse was Erin¡¯s behaviour. Every time she saw Ma it was as if her entire being glowed. At a very fundamental level, this was wrong. People were not attracted to Ma. They respected her, maybe. Teenage girls were definitely not attracted to Ma. Suddenly, the world had turned on its head. I had known on a theoretical level that someone, somewhere, might be romantically interested in my mother. However, I had never wanted to confront the possibility with my own two eyes. Even worse: a woman in her late fifties with a face like spoiled oatmeal was more popular than I was. Everything was going wrong. ¡°You said you didn¡¯t have a crush on Ma anymore!¡± I whispered through my teeth. Erin''s face took on the panicked expression of a chicken about to be slaughtered. ¡°No!¡± she nearly shrieked, voice several octaves too high, ¡°I do not.¡± ¡°Oh yeah?¡± I sneered, ¡°Why do you keep eyeing her like a piece of meat?¡± ¡°Wha-¡° she said, frantically looking around. ¡°I¡¯m just¡­ admiring our city¡¯s hero.¡± I sputtered. ¡°Admiring her like a starving woman admires a bowl of soup, maybe!¡± I turned to Blake. ¡°Right?¡± ¡°Shut up, Orvs.¡± He glared at me, ferocious in his ire. ¡°Remind me: why was I payin¡¯ to eat here again?¡± Now it was my turn to frantically glance around. ¡°Shh! Keep it down. Look, maybe Ma would¡¯ve given you a discount-¡° ¡°Whaddaya mean, maybe?¡± ¡°-but I might not have asked-¡° ¡°You didn¡¯t ask?¡± ¡°-and I might have overcharged you a bit-¡± ¡°You¡¯re joking.¡± ¡°-but I put your chits to good use organising the mirror heist!¡± ¡°That¡¯s where you got the tools from? With my money?¡± ¡°We made a profit off of it.¡± ¡°It was my money!¡± ¡°We made more money off it!¡± ¡°You are¡­¡± He let out an angry snort. ¡°Insufferable?¡± Erin offered. ¡°Insufferable!¡± Blake shouted. ¡°Raven¡¯s bones, Orvs!¡± The old man shot him a dirty look. Even I was taken aback ¨C that was a filthy curse. He dipped his head apologetically, continuing more quietly. ¡°Do you even feel bad?¡± ¡°I mean, I did. I do. But we had already had a mark lined up; you tried to back out.¡± ¡°Because I was running out of money.¡± ¡°No, because you were scared it wouldn¡¯t work.¡± ¡°You¡¯re always too quick to rush in, Orvs.¡± ¡°You¡¯re too cautious!¡± ¡°You say that, but I¡¯m the Butcher Street Boy¡¯s boss and you¡¯re the dishwasher.¡± ¡°You¡¯re incorrigible.¡± I didn¡¯t know what the word meant, which guaranteed Blake didn¡¯t. ¡°Bah.¡± Blake looked away, still pissed. ¡°Look, I¡¯m sorry.¡± I said. The mirror had almost been within my grasp. The temptation had been too much. ¡°I really am. I didn¡¯t think it was a big deal. It couldn¡¯t have been more than thirty chits; I thought you were more well-off.¡± He turned to me, nostrils flaring, and slammed his fist on the table. ¡°It¡¯s not about the money. I trusted you. I ate here for you.¡± I hung my head, fire completely diminished. ¡°I¡¯ll pay you back.¡± My friend sighed. ¡°I¡­ it just rubs me the wrong way. I know you didn¡¯t mean anything by it. Gear had to cost three-hundred, altogether. I only came here three times ¨C you didn¡¯t con that much out of me.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± ¡°Yeah, well. You always try too hard.¡± He ran his fingers through his hair. ¡°Like when you set your eyes on somethin¡¯, it¡¯s all you see.¡± ¡°I¡­¡± ¡°Pay me back, and we¡¯re square.¡± He gripped me tightly by the shoulder, digging his fingers hard enough to bruise. ¡°You pull something like that again, and we¡¯re done. Forever. We clear?¡± ¡°As crystal.¡± ¡°Good.¡± We sat there for a while. I poked my noodles. Blake scarfed down everything he could get his hands on, making appreciative noises all the while. He was too frugal to waste food. Erin shifted in her seat awkwardly, already having finished her meal, good mood somewhat diminished. ¡°So¡­¡± Erin began, thick fingers drumming on our table. ¡°Orv. You said you had something to tell us?¡± ¡°Tell you to stop looking at my Ma like that.¡± I muttered. Blake punched me in the arm, much harder than Dash was capable of. I let out a yelp. ¡°Ow!¡± My sister frowned and opened her mouth, but I quickly drew together my arms into a large ¡®X¡¯. ¡°We¡¯re mates, Sash. I¡¯m okay!¡± If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. She nodded, and turned back to sweeping. ¡°Gods, Blake, don¡¯t do that in front of Sash!¡± I whispered urgently. He snorted. ¡°Don¡¯t want me to embarrass you in front of your baby sister?¡± ¡°No, because she¡¯ll beat the snot out of you.¡± His guess was also correct, however admitting I cared what my sister thought would be even more embarrassing. ¡°You think I can¡¯t handle a little girl?¡± The only way to convince him was to tell him even I had trouble, but I couldn¡¯t do that. ¡°Just do me this favour and don¡¯t annoy her.¡± ¡°I owe you favours now?¡± Absolutely vicious. ¡°For her, then.¡± The young gang-leader sighed, then nodded. ¡°Fine, fine. She done nothin¡¯ to me. Not Sash¡¯s fault her big brother¡¯s a con artist.¡± I started preening, which he immediately noticed.. ¡°Oi. Don¡¯t you be proud of it.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not proud of what I¡¯ve done. I¡¯m proud of how I did it.¡± He was unable to stifle his smile. I let out a sigh of relief; I thought I had lost a friend for a moment. I noticed Erin was smiling at us as well, and scowled at her. ¡°Don¡¯t you smile at me, you mother-loving-¡± Blake swatted me over the head, and Sash went at him.
Our eatery was a wreck. Tables were toppled, chairs had been flung across the room, and our meals were now splattered across the ground, alongside shards of broken dishes. Sash stood against the wall, elbow hooked around Blake¡¯s neck. His face was beginning to look like a tomato ¨C the resemblance would be perfect if not for his bloody lip where Dash had punched him, having originally thought him the aggressor. Now, my brother attempted to yank his twin off, completely failing. I crooned soothing noises at her, and shouted at him to stop ¨C his pulling only antagonised her more. Ma stumbled in, clutching a frying pan still covered in food, then dropped it and ran to Sash. Encircling the grappler¡¯s arm with a huge hand, she slowly pulled it off, using the other arm to scoop Sash up. Ma whispered in her daughter¡¯s ear, patting her on the back, and carried her out of the room. Grinning, the geezer walked up to Dash and placed a string of chits into his hand. ¡°For the girl. Ha! Haven¡¯t laughed like that in years.¡± He strutted out, chuckling quietly. The four of us who remained slumped against the outer wall, somewhat stunned. The entire affair had taken less than thirty seconds to play out, but now promised at least twenty minutes of work. I turned to Blake, rubbing at his neck. ¡°I told you.¡± He nodded loosely. Erin hung her head beside him. ¡°Um. Sorry Blake.¡± Dash sheepishly apologised, looking at the still-bleeding lip. Blake waved it off. My brother turned to me. ¡°What happened?¡± I explained. ¡°Oh, okay. Unlucky.¡± he said, nodding. Blake blinked. He tried to speak, then broke into a fit of coughs. The second attempt was successful. ¡°Unlucky?¡± ¡°I think so.¡± Dash glanced over at the gang-leader. ¡°Ma¡¯s given Sash free reign to beat up anyone who makes physical contact rudely. It was just unlucky Sash didn¡¯t know you weren¡¯t being rude.¡± ¡°He kind of was.¡± I interjected. Dash shot me a flat look. ¡°Doesn¡¯t seem like it.¡± He turned back to Blake. ¡°It¡¯s just because Sash has never seen you interact with Orv before.¡± The teenager nodded slowly. He looked at Erin. ¡°Not a word about this to the boys.¡± His tone was almost inquisitive. She looked up, expressionless. ¡°¡¯You think I can¡¯t handle a little girl?¡¯¡± she mimicked Blake¡¯s tone in a faux-deep voice. ¡°Orv warned you! And now look at this place!¡± she snapped. I grunted my assent, and she wheeled on me. ¡°And you!¡± I blanched, and she continued. ¡°You provoked him. What were you thinking? I can¡¯t believe you¡¯re General Maja¡¯s adopted son! Look at all the mess we made!¡± ¡°Wait, that¡¯s what you¡¯re mad about?¡± She looked at me like I was the dullest rock in the whole city. ¡®Obviously¡¯, her expression said. I continued. ¡°Because we embarrassed you in front of Ma? Because she caught you laughing?¡± Erin blinked rapidly. ¡°That¡¯s¡­¡± It was her turn to stumble. ¡°Of course I would be embarrassed for causing a scene in front of my hero.¡± ¡°Your beloved, you mean.¡± Blake spat. ¡°NO!¡± Erin yelled. Dash¡¯s eyes went wide as the moons. He looked at me, more scared than when I had kicked him down a chimney, and I nodded sadly. ¡°You like Ma?¡± Somehow, the question being asked by a nine-year-old boy instead of Blake and I was what got her. She blushed a deep crimson, and I slammed the back of my head against the wall. Repeatedly. Then swore ferociously. My brother stared at her; expression unchanging as he struggled to process the news. ¡°Woah.¡± Blake exclaimed. ¡°I was just messin¡¯ with you earlier. You¡¯re serious?¡± She placed her head in her hands and nodded, ears red. He slapped her on the shoulder. ¡°Weird taste.¡± ¡°Shut up.¡± She muttered. I leaned over to Dash and whispered in his ear. ¡°How about you check on Sash and Ma? Give my friend here some space?¡± He nodded blandly, then jerkily rose to his feet and stumbled into the kitchen. I shuffled around so I could sit next to Erin, putting her between Blake and I. ¡°I hate to be the one to say it, but Ma¡¯s perceptive. She probably knows.¡± Erin groaned. ¡°I just wanted to admire her, that¡¯s all.¡± Blake patted her on the shoulder. ¡°Doubt she minds.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± I piped in, ¡°Ma¡¯s probably really flattered.¡± She groaned again. ¡°Can we talk about something else? Anything else?¡± ¡°Uh¡­¡± Blake fumbled for a topic. ¡°So how about them Old Guard?¡± I startled. ¡°That¡¯s what I needed to talk to you about. I need your help, Blake.¡± My rival rolled his eyes. ¡°Really? Right after you confess to robbing me?¡± ¡°This is serious, friend. Very serious.¡± He raised his eyebrows doubtfully. ¡°As in, entirety of the Foot kind of serious.¡± He sighed. ¡°Right-o, friend." I winced at his flat tone. "Lay your scheme on me.¡± ¡°It¡¯s no scheme, Blake. The Old Guard are controlling people¡¯s minds.¡± Blake scrunched his face at me. ¡°What hash¡¯re you on?¡± Erin pushed her head upright and gave me a condescending glare. ¡°Hear me out.¡± I said, trying to ignore their leery stares. ¡°You two have heard about what the House that moved in ¨C House Es-something, I forgot the name ¨C has been offering people, right?¡± Erin shook her head, but Blake nodded. ¡°Yeah. Clothes and bloodtech. Do they latch onto people¡¯s heads and suck out their brain?¡± ¡°No, dumbass. The one who announced it was a Dolphinblood.¡± ¡°So what? Anyone with their head screwed on would make Wump¡¯s kin do the talkin¡¯.¡± I clicked my tongue. ¡°I was there. As soon as he was done speaking, everyone suddenly thought taking their gifts was the best idea they¡¯d ever had.¡± ¡°So?¡± Erin said. ¡°Of course most people want clothes and bloodtech.¡± ¡°No, not most people.¡± I winced at the memory, disgusted with myself. ¡°Everyone. Including me.¡± Blake¡¯s mouth fell open, while Erin attempted to speak, however I talked over them. ¡°I asked Ma and she said Dolphinbloods can make people feel things.¡± They were silent at that. Blake swore softly. ¡°I was just wondering what I should do,¡± I said. The thickset girl next to me spoke. ¡°¡­What kind of things do they feel?¡± ¡°She didn¡¯t really know.¡± I had asked her for more information the next morning. ¡°Ma stayed away from them, for the most part. They could make soldiers fight harder, and for longer. That was all she had been interested in.¡± ¡°Maybe that¡¯s all.¡± Erin said. ¡°No. You don¡¯t get it. Me. I wanted to take their so-called ¡®gifts¡¯.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not so strange.¡± ¡°It is,¡± Blake cut in. ¡°Orv¡¯s has hated the Old Guard since forever.¡± ¡°But¡­ General Maja was a member.¡± ¡°Was.¡± I emphasised. ¡°She stayed. They left.¡± Once again, there was a long silence. ¡°What do we do?¡± Erin asked. ¡°We?¡± I responded. ¡°This isn¡¯t the kind of thing I can just forget about.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± Blake piped in. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ messin¡¯ with people¡¯s minds like that. I can¡¯t even¡­¡± ¡°It¡¯s big.¡± Erin said. Blake nodded in agreement. ¡°Gods.¡± I leaned backwards and closed my eyes. ¡°I was just planning on telling everyone I met, but¡­¡± Erin motioned for me to continue. ¡°I went to tell the twins, but Ma heard. Stopped me.¡± My voice cracked. ¡°She said the Houses would kill us if we spread it.¡± Both of them flinched. I couldn¡¯t blame them. ¡°Then¡­¡± Blake sighed. ¡°There¡¯s nothing we can do.¡± He gazed at a piece of broken ceramic on the floor. Erin rubbed her temples. ¡°No, actually.¡± I spoke up. ¡°We can¡¯t kick them out, right? They¡¯re backed by a House. Stupid move. But they¡¯re not here out of the kindness of their hearts. They can¡¯t be. All we have to do is figure out what the Es-somethings want.¡± ¡°And then?¡± Erin asked. ¡°Then we give it to them.¡± I paused, realising the unlikelihood of that. ¡°Or if we can¡¯t, we move it somewhere else.¡± ¡°There¡¯s only one thing a House would want from this dump.¡± Erin chewed her lip nervously. Blake, understanding what she meant, groaned. ¡°Godsblood doesn¡¯t have to be from a god.¡± I hastily backpedalled, trying to keep them hopeful. ¡°Maybe they¡¯re just trying to reclaim what was lost here.¡± ¡°Or,¡± Blake snarled, ¡°It¡¯s a god, and they¡¯re gonna use us up until the Foot¡¯s good and empty.¡± I shrugged. ¡°We won¡¯t know until we find out.¡± Blake nodded. ¡°And if it¡¯s a god, we give up.¡± The girl beside me clicked her teeth. ¡°Maybe not. We can¡¯t be the only one trying to get them out; maybe there¡¯s another group who can do more.¡± I grinned and pointed to her. ¡°Yeah! See? Don¡¯t lose spirit so easily. There¡¯s no way we¡¯re alone.¡± Smiling, I basked in self-satisfaction. We had a course of action. Nothing could stop us. ¡°So, boss,¡± said Erin, ¡°What¡¯s the plan?¡± ¡°We break into their office.¡± Blake leaned over Erin to smack me, then thought better of it. ¡°Simple. Easy.¡± ¡°Right.¡± ¡°Sarcasm, pal.¡± Someone coughed in the entrance. Had they been listening? The two beside me stilled completely and began crawling away, looking for another exit. I scrambled to my feet and ran over. It was Sash¡¯s little admirer. He cleared his throat. ¡°Uhm. Maybe I can help?¡± Chapter 11 - ...Often go askew The kid introduced himself as Tasmaronian Barberfellow. The name was far too long to be a useful appellation, so, without his consent, I decided to call him Bab. He was a short, chubby little fellow, irises constantly flicking around like birds trying to escape their cages. The temptation to make fun of him was great, yet it was impossible not to feel bad for him. It roused a strangely maternal instinct in me. That didn¡¯t stop me from taking advantage of his offer. Bab worked for the Old Guard as a scribe. Or, at least, what he called a scribe; from his descriptions it sounded like his role was more similar to an errand boy or verbal punching bag than anything else. Apparently, things were much better before they entered the Foot. Here, as part of a team numbering around a dozen, most of whom hated the city as well, there wasn¡¯t anyone to stop him. ¡°What¡¯re you offerin¡¯, then?¡± Blake had glared at Bab throughout the entire explanation. Babs shifted nervously, still standing. ¡°Um, yes. I think I could¡­ help get one of you in? Maybe? And you could look around?¡± ¡°Wait, wait, hold on.¡± I squinted at the kid. ¡°You still need to tell as what House Es-something is here for.¡± ¡°Ah, yes, okay.¡± Bab paused, biting his fingernails. Then bit them some more. ¡°¡­So?¡± Blake prompted. ¡°Keep goin¡¯.¡± Bab jumped. ¡°Right, yes, okay. Blood. We¡¯re here for blood.¡± ¡°One more mystery solved.¡± The kid blushed. ¡°Okay. Um, monster blood.¡± ¡°The monsters around here are all Ravenkin.¡± I stated, hoping they hadn¡¯t decided to revive the Raven cult. He tilted his hand, as if to say I was half-right. ¡°Most of them are, yes. However, amongst the hundred-thousand who fought were some two-thousand Blooded, some of whom had significantly more divinity in them than the average soldier.¡± Bab inhaled. ¡°The most potent Blooded, excepting Maja and Ignatius, were recovered, however that leaves a significant amount for various animals to feed off.¡± ¡°So some of the monsters aren¡¯t Ravenkin, got it.¡± Blake rubbed his eyes. ¡°Still, why now? If it¡¯s so valuable, why not come six or seven years ago?¡± ¡°Uh. Too many monsters. Most of them Ravenkin, who would have absorbed the other godsblood and made it unusable. And all the Houses agreed not to try to retake losses before the battle. It was part of the Heltian Conditions.¡± ¡°Okay.¡± Erin nodded slightly. Did she know what that was? I had no idea, however I also didn¡¯t care. ¡°Got it. They found a way to fix the Ravenblood stealing power?¡± She paused expectantly. Bab realised moments later she was asking him, and nodded. She continued. ¡°Why are they breaking the accord?¡± Bab covered his lower lip with his upper and lowered his head, making him seem smaller than we was. ¡°Everyone says there¡¯s a- a- war coming soon.¡± ¡°War, alright.¡± I sniffed. It seemed a decent enough reason, I supposed. ¡°Anything else?¡± ¡°Dure the Lizard is also heading in this direction.¡± Bab flinched as Blake and I swore viciously. Erin groaned. ¡°It, um, might not come!¡± Bab backpedalled. ¡°It¡¯s just a chance!¡± ¡°Ugh, it better not, because then we have zero chance.¡± We all thought about that for a time. The Lizard was one of the most scarred of the gods, having been marked long ago as the easiest to hunt. However, if it did come, Dure might simply walk through the Foot, potentially killing thousands. It would have to be corralled away, which would require the help of even more of the Old Guard. ¡°How can you help us?¡± I asked. ¡°Uh, I¡¯ve been thinking about it for a while¡­¡± he paused, and licked his lips. ¡°There are records of the specific quantities of blood lost. I¡¯m the, uhm, the only one who has memorised them.¡± ¡°Ah, so we burn them.¡± I said. He shook his hands in front of him. ¡°No!¡± Bab coughed. ¡°Sorry. It¡¯s¡­ they¡¯ll know something is wrong. I can change the numbers though, so it looks like they have to get less blood. It will take much less time for them to hunt a smaller amount of monsters.¡± ¡°And you need us for that?¡± ¡°Well, yes. I, uh, they¡¯re always locked up in the storage room. I can¡¯t get in. And someone would need to be a lookout while I make the changes.¡± ¡°What about the Dure?¡± ¡°¡­What?¡± I sighed, then rephrased the question. ¡°How are you going to get Dure to move?¡± ¡°I, uh, well, that¡¯s-¡± he stuttered. If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°So you can¡¯t.¡± Bab¡¯s voice had risen an octave. ¡°Uh, maybe I can figure something out.¡± ¡°No, it¡¯s fine. It¡¯s not your problem to solve.¡± I stopped speaking, and scratched my head. Then I tried to look him in the eye, though the boy immediately glanced away. ¡°Can you give us a bit of time to think about this?¡± We couldn¡¯t decide without discussing it first. ¡°Uh, okay.¡± Bab glanced around. ¡°Could I make an order?¡± ¡°Sure. I¡¯ll whip it up quickly for you. I hurried into the kitchen and quickly put together his order, before pushing him out the door. Waving politely, I watched until he had disappeared, then headed back inside. ¡°That boy¡¯s shifty as a spider.¡± Blake commented. Erin nodded loosely. ¡°That opening monologue was bizarre. He¡¯s obviously up to something.¡± I agreed. ¡°It¡¯s still the best idea we have, though.¡± ¡°What if the little rat screws us over?¡± Blake spat. ¡°There¡¯s no real reason for him to be doing that.¡± Erin explained. ¡°Why would he? If his allegiance is to the Old Guard, then why such a torturous scheme?¡± ¡°I can think of one.¡± He scowled. ¡°They want to blackmail Orvs¡¯ Ma. If they catch us, then they¡¯ve got one over her.¡± The pair looked at me. I rubbed my head. ¡°I would rather do this than do nothing.¡± ¡°Orvs¡­¡± ¡°We just don¡¯t get caught. That¡¯s all.¡± ¡°What about the Lizard?¡± Erin asked. ¡°I¡­ guess I¡¯ll ask Jackson.¡± I didn¡¯t like to go to a traitor, but there weren¡¯t any better options. ¡°Maybe he can convince them.¡± The statement sounded tentative even to me. Blake, Erin, and I sat for a time. Eventually, I rose and began cleaning the room. Erin got up and joined me, managing to nag Blake into helping. Soon enough, the furniture was righted and the floor was free of food. The two of them departed quietly. My home looked as it should, yet all of a sudden, I was alone, and suddenly the entire world looked skewed.
Jackson came late that night. It had been a busy day ¨C Aunt Stitch had decided to come by earlier than usual, and spent far longer with our lessons. Dirk also swung by, Pat dogging his heels. Both of them had the same piece of news: they had been contracted by the Old Guard to help support and guide them, respectively; the expedition would take several days. Ma and the twins wished them luck, and after my mother swatted me on the head, so had I. Ma¡¯s successor, as was custom, smacked his head against the doorway as he entered. Almost immediately, he thumped his way into the kitchen, only waving to the twins and I. While Sash and Dash swept, I inched my way sideways, hoping to eavesdrop on their conversation. ¡°¡­commissioned for you was stolen by some guttersnipe.¡± That was a voice like an earthquake, his baritone so deep it was almost incomprehensible without hearing it before. Jackson. ¡°It was made for my Oxblood.¡± Ma¡¯s voice now ¨C a distant cousin to Jackson¡¯s; still low yet calmer, more measured. ¡°It is yours, by right. I thought I trained you better than to lose your weapons.¡± ¡°I was busy,¡± Jackson rumbled dangerously, ¡°trying to leave before my charges got lynched.¡± ¡°You are still at fault.¡± He growled. ¡°I know, Maja. I¡¯m here to tell you, nothing more.¡± ¡°The sword is-¡° His speech shadowed Ma¡¯s. ¡°Yours. It should have been yours.¡± ¡°It is not. I am finished with war.¡± ¡°You were-¡° ¡°Enough.¡± Ma shouted, loud enough to make the twins jump. ¡°There are other matters to discuss.¡± ¡°What?¡± Ma was silent for a moment. ¡°¡­I am giving Dash the remainder of my blood.¡± Nothing. Then: ¡°WHAT?!¡± A sharp pain assailed my ears; I had been too late to cover them. Jackson¡¯s cry set the building shaking, both Dash and Sash flinching. Jackson crashed back into the room, face like a thundercloud. His eyes fell on my brother, and I ran to interpose myself between the two, but he was already storming away. I hurried after him, telling my dazed siblings to stay. His broad strides encompassed nearly three of my own and the gap between us was already large enough that I was forced to sprint to catch up. ¡°Jackson!¡± I yelled at his huge back. ¡°Jackson! Wait!¡± ¡°Not a good time, Orvi.¡± He spat tersely, without facing me. ¡°I need help!¡± ¡°Orvi¡­¡± His tone was dangerous. ¡°It¡¯s about Dure, okay?¡± The giant spun, placing his hands on my shoulders faster than I could blink. My breath caught in my throat. I was completely immobilised from the waist up. My legs shook below. The show of force was immediately frightening; coupled with his flat, entirely black eyes, I came very close to screaming from pure terror. ¡°What do you know about Dure?¡± The voice was low, suspicious. I spoke quickly. ¡°The Lizard¡¯s coming, right? It¡¯s coming? You have to stop it.¡± He let me go and sighed. ¡°It¡¯s not that simple, Orvi.¡± ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter.¡± I rolled my shoulders and blinked, trying to reclaim my confidence. ¡°We can¡¯t survive another god. You need to move it somewhere else.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not up to me¡­¡± ¡°Convince them, then. Convince someone.¡± Jackson said nothing. He turned away. My fear melted into rage. ¡°What in the blood-¡° I sneered, knowing this was a mistake ¡°-is the point of betraying us if you don¡¯t do anything?¡± I could hear his teeth gritting. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare-¡° ¡°Dare what?¡± I shouted. ¡°Dare to defy the mighty Oxblood?¡± ¡°You need to be quiet.¡± Jackson¡¯s voice shook. ¡°Right now.¡± ¡°Or? Are you going to kill me? Maybe betray the-¡° ¡°Orvi.¡± His voice was cold. Flawless. ¡°Enough.¡± I shut up. It took me several seconds to notice his hand was trembling, then suddenly his entire body was in motion, blurring. Dust kicked up, there was a sharp crack, and suddenly I felt a pain in my ear. I touched it. My hands came away bloody. ¡°You have no idea what it¡¯s like,¡± a deep growl cut through the murky air. I coughed, something having got into my throat. ¡°To have this much of a god inside you.¡± A sudden gust of wind slid down the street, clearing my vision. Jackson¡¯s arm was stuck in the building beside us. Cracks travelled up its walls. ¡°I need the Guard. The discipline.¡± He stopped. ¡°The promise that if I do something, there will be enough Blooded around to stop me.¡± ¡°I¡¯m more Enn than Jackson. Esfaria knows how to control Oxbloods. And I know that at the very top, the person giving orders is still human.¡± I found my tongue again. ¡°Isn¡¯t there some other way?¡± ¡°Maja knew.¡± His voice was a whisper. ¡°She warned me. Yet even if there was, they would just kill me and take the blood back.¡± ¡°We need help, Uncle Jackson.¡± ¡°I know. I¡¯m trying. I just¡­¡± I could hear him swallowing. ¡°The House doesn¡¯t want Dure here either. The Foot is neutral territory. They can¡¯t monopolise his blood. But¡­ The desert past us is empty. Less people will get hurt.¡± ¡°Then our home will never be free of the Houses!¡± ¡°No one is, Orvi.¡± He drew in a shuddering breath. I felt my lips quivering. ¡°Anywhere there is blood, there must be Houses. Otherwise, the Blooded will run rampant.¡± ¡°Then just-¡° My voice choked. ¡°-Just get rid of the blood!¡± ¡°We can¡¯t.¡± He sighed. ¡°We¡¯re only human. Of course we can¡¯t let go of a god¡¯s power.¡± I sat down, shaking. The giant turned, and squatted down, gently placing a hand on my shoulder. ¡°I¡¯ll try. That¡¯s all.¡± I wept, and Jackson held me. Interlude - Dream. There was always a dream: Corvin walks through his home. The walls are uneven, pitted, and tower over him, transitioning from ochre to stone to sandstone to ochre. It is where he belongs: his hole in the ground. Though he knows, in a vague sense, that it is hot outside ¨C for that is what his parents always complain about ¨C he is deathly cold. The hall opens into a wide, circular room, its walls studded with blazing lamps entirely bereft of smoke ¨C as the boy knows all lights are. At the centre of the room is a pit, into which the effulgence fails to penetrate. He walks to it, each step a hundredth of what they should be. He reaches the edge and looks down. Bodies roil, clashing against one another, blanketing darkness making each look indistinct. Every time he stares at one, it puffs into plumes and vanishes; only memory hinting at a former existence. ¡°Look, Corvin.¡± His father is beside him. ¡°They are us.¡± A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. ¡°Yes.¡± His mother now, slighter and softer than her husband. ¡°We will return them to us, as all things should.¡± Mumma''s gentle hands steer him around. Maja stands behind him, her towering figure brushing the cavern¡¯s roof. She has countless shadows; despite the room¡¯s lambency he can see nothing besides her fathomless eyes and the spear in her hand. ¡°Take it.¡± The monster commands, extending the weapon to him. ¡°Save yourself.¡± Corvin takes the spear. It is too large for him, its weight threatening to drag his body to the ground. He feels sluggish. A small figure is on the ground, eyes closed. He does not know them, yet there is something familiar about their features: the white hair and pale skin tickles a remembrance at the back of his mind. ¡°Now,¡± his three parents are speaking ¨C he must listen. ¡°Stab them. Kill them. Bring them back.¡± He does not want to. It is too terrifying; like thrusting hands into an inferno. He does not want to hurt anyone. But he must be a good son. Corvin strains, slowly lifting the spear above his head, and then brings it down, impaling his siblings through the chest. The boy can feel them dying, everything that they are slipping away. He dips his fingers in their blood- And woke up. Chapter 12 - Tools of the trade Sleep was fleeting, fragmented. I left it for another night. Dawn found me slashing the air with my stolen sword, hidden in an abandoned building. Ma had always said that it was better to practice with the weapon you planned on using, thus aiding in adapting to its heft and size. The blade was heavier than I remembered, especially after the thousandth swing, however my talents at doing the same thing over and over were unmatched. It was a simple matter to empty my mind, and focus only on the burning in my arms. I stopped once the rosy light outside became enough to see by. Wrapping the scabbard and stashing my ill-gotten gains back into their nook took longer than I would have liked, however by the time I got home it was still far earlier than I usually rose. Ma was in the dining area, meditating. I tried not to disturb her while I moved into the kitchen and grabbed the largest of the three staves Ma had prepared not long ago. The pole was long and surprisingly thick, made from smooth, varnished wood of a rich hue I rarely saw. It had probably been expensive. On one of the ends were three sacks filled with stones, each lashed to the staff using plant cordage. Where Ma had found the time to make them, I didn¡¯t know. Hefting it over my shoulder, I lurched out into the courtyard. The practice weapon was weighted awkwardly. Its shaft was heavy ¨C it was obviously filled with more than wood ¨C however coupled with the incredibly bulky end, the stave became impossible to move as I intended it to. I could only barely lift it. Placing my feet shoulder-width apart like I had seen Ma teach Jackson, I began heaving it around, only to stumble and fall almost immediately. Getting up, I tried again. And again. And again. Eventually, I managed to swing it without toppling like a drunkard, however doing so required me to lean back, making it feel more like spinning one of the twins around than delivering a blow with a weapon. ¡°Orvi.¡± That was Ma¡¯s voice. I wheeled around, accidentally tripping over my own staff. She was looking out one of the shutters, which had been opened in order to watch. ¡°Use your left hand to grip the bottom of the stave, and your right to hold the middle. Try stabbing.¡± I adjusted accordingly, then thrust. It was far easier, even if the difficulty of making manoeuvring the hefty rod made my arms shake. ¡°Very good. Avoid mimicking an Oxblood ¨C you have neither the mass nor the strength to do so.¡± I shuffled my feet sheepishly. ¡°Place your feet as if you were punching. Don¡¯t be afraid to move with your blows.¡± I stabbed forward, stumbling slightly. ¡°Keep your balance. Once more.¡± Again, I stabbed, stumbling again. ¡°Once more.¡± We continued like that for a time, with Ma explaining how to correctly move the awkward weapon and myself trying and failing to meet her expectations. It was disheartening to witness my own incompetence, yet my mother¡¯s cadence never changed from the rough, patient rumbles I was familiar with. By the time the twins emerged, I could make a thrust while moving forwards or backwards. Any other direction was too difficult ¨C accidentally turning a thrust into a swing was easy with such an imbalanced weapon, and doing so caused me to wobble like I had a concussion. Despite this, Ma judged my work decent, and called Dash and Sash to join me. As I practiced what she had taught me, the twins were given the same lecture I was ¨C with varying adjustments for each of them. It was embarrassing to see both starting with stabs rather than haphazard swings, however each had specific problems. Sash¡¯s footwork was terrible, and Ma spent the bulk of her time attempting to correct a child who stubbornly insisted that hers was the best methodology. She was just too used to flowing movements. They were good for unarmed spars, yet the staff was just too heavy for them. Dash was leagues ahead of both of us, able to move any direction in a proper stance, yet had a tendency to lean backwards instead of moving into his thrusts. It was good for retreating, not so much for delivering a powerful blow. After an hour of running us through the most basic of basics, Ma readied us to spar ¨C this time only to first touch. The results were less bombastic than our hand-to-hand competitions: Dash and I were evenly matched ¨C his skill clashing with my much heavier weapon ¨C while Sash finally managed to admit that Ma¡¯s decades of combat experience made her qualified to alter Sash¡¯s footwork, if only for heavy weapons. With the spars done, the three of us stood listlessly, likely thinking the exact same thing. I thought I was good at fighting, yet that was absolutely disgraceful. Of course, the only one with evidence to back up the first part of the thought was me; neither Dash nor Sash had ever been in a proper brawl. Still. Our showing, collectively, was shameful. Ma clapped her hands together, the sound sending us out of our stupor. ¡°Good first try, you three. Now, I will tell you my personal recommendations for your choice of weaponry.¡± I blinked. What? Was I dreaming? A hesitant smile clambered its way onto my face. I imagined the twins had the exact same expression. ¡°Sash, yours is the easiest to recommend. Provided you can see an attack coming, you can generally avoid it. A dagger would aid you in making use of those skills, while still allowing you most of your dominant arm to control your opponent¡¯s movements. However, your awareness of your surroundings will need some serious work. In a battle, focusing on one enemy alone is a death sentence, and it is impossible to dodge a blow you don¡¯t know is coming. I would also recommend you train with a spear or pike, in the event you must fight monsters or larger Blooded." This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. Sash bobbed her head so hard she nearly fell over. ¡°Dash. I am training you with polearms,¡± the boy in question opened his mouth, his face still scrunching at the memory of his earlier showing, yet Ma continued regardless. ¡°Despite what you may think, you have considerable talent at controlling larger weapons. You¡¯re also excellent at reading a situation, and a longer reach gives you more opportunity to control opponents. But be aware that fear is not always an asset. There are other factors contributing to this decision, which I will explain later.¡± I grinned, excited to hear her take on my particular talents. ¡°Orvi. Of my children, you are the most unsuited to combat in life-or-death situations.¡± Oh. ¡°Your ability to hit and be hit is an asset in any hand-to-hand fight. With your sturdiness,¡± she shot me a meaningful look, which I tried not to think about, ¡°there is no doubt that it truly is. However, in real combat your methods are more likely to get you impaled or delimbed. You will have to learn how to avoid and deflect to be able to use the traits you have cultivated. A sword and shield is the most versatile for that purpose, however training in ranged weaponry and polearms will give you more options, and help you stay out of range of many blows.¡± She inclined her head. ¡°Of course, given you have not informed me of any plans to become a soldier, this is less relevant than with the twins. Still, if you plan on defeating them, you will need to train as if your life depends on it. And knowing how to wield multiple weapons will assist you in that regard.¡± Ma looked at both Dash and Sash. ¡°That goes for you two as well. It is always beneficial to have experience with a variety of weapons. A dagger will not shield you from a cavalry charge, whilst a spear is useless in close-quarters. However, you can only use one set of weapons at a time. It''s important to have a mainstay, one that you are capable with. An all-rounder will be defeated by a more specialised warrior, if on equal footing.¡± The three of us nodded our understanding. ¡°Dash, you already have decent sparring equipment. Hopefully, we¡¯ll be able to acquire a proper weapon for you to practice with.¡± She turned to my sister and tossed her something. Sash fumbled slightly, but managed to catch it ¨C a kitchen knife. ¡°It¡¯s blunted, but should do. I¡¯ll devise some perception training for you. Are you willing to practice some meditation?¡± Sash winced ¨C she hated sitting still ¨C and reluctantly nodded. ¡°Orvi. A sturdy stick and perhaps a pot-lid should do for sparring-¡° I was slightly disappointed by the mundanity of it- ¡°however a proper blade and a heavier shield is a priority. If you have any ideas on where to get one,¡± she smiled threateningly, ¡°let me know.¡± I gulped and nodded. She tossed me a metal lid from the kitchen. It still had condensation from a soup''s steam. ¡°For now, Dash and Sash will attempt to bypass your guard. You must avoid that.¡± And so an hour of hellish sparring began.
Ma kept me in the kitchen for the rest of the day. There was no part of my body that wasn¡¯t reddened, no part that wouldn¡¯t turn black or blue by the end of tomorrow. It wouldn¡¯t be a good look for customers to see a teenager so thoroughly beaten, so I was confined to cooking duties. I felt like emerging and placing myself in full view of the city, just out of spite. Dash and Sash had taken to their weapons like fish to water. I, on the other hand, had taken to the shield like a fish to a hook ¨C I¡¯d swallowed Ma¡¯s bait, and now I was in a world of pain. I couldn¡¯t blame her. She was protecting us the best way she knew how. It just so happened the best way she knew involved me getting beaten. A lot. The twins were hosting the customers. After our sparring was finished and their fervour had worn off, both had suddenly looked at my face and nearly burst into tears. The sight of them sniffling had actually pissed me off; they had been the ones to do it to me. In addition, I was still slightly angry that Ma had decided her son would make a decent substitute for a training dummy. The fact that I had gotten better rapidly was a point in her favour, but one against her was how the twins had gotten more skilled far quicker than I had. The bruising had only accelerated over the hour of sparring. As I stewed in the kitchen ¨C both figuratively and literally ¨C Dash knocked on the doorway. ¡°Orvi. The little stalker¡¯s here, for you, this time.¡± I scowled at him, ignoring the question in his eyes. ¡°Sure, sure.¡± I turned to Ma. ¡°Is it alright if I leave for a little while? I need to help a friend with something.¡± She nodded, also refusing to look at my face, which continued to piss me off. Grumbling several curse words, I emerged from the kitchen. It was mid-afternoon, and the restaurant was packed. Bab stood, awkwardly fidgeting in the corner. He carried a bulky satchel far too big for him. It was an impressive looking backpack ¨C jet black, complete with straps and a buckle to keep it closed. This time, the awkward boy actually made eye contact, though he looked away immediately afterwards. He grabbed my hand and tugged me out the restaurant, his bag clinking as we went. I let him, curious as to what the urgency was about. He pulled me down the street, then around a corner, frantically looking around. ¡°Ca-can you see anyone?¡± he whispered. Bemused, I glanced around as well. The secrecy was warranted, I supposed. Though it felt a bit¡­ lame? Especially when the meeting was headed by a chubby boy who couldn¡¯t be more than ten years old. ¡°No.¡± I attempted to look him in the eyes, but he glanced away. ¡°What¡¯s this about, Bab?¡± ¡°Th-the Guard!¡± The kid blurted. ¡°They, um, they¡¯re leaving! On an expedition!¡± I gestured for him to continue. ¡°We-we have to, uhm, have got to break in before they go!¡± Squinting at him, I spoke. ¡°Why is that?¡± ¡°They, uhm, they, uhm,¡± he stuttered, then suddenly began talking faster than I could comprehend. ¡°When they go they lock up and then we won¡¯t have any chance of getting in and then everything will go wrong and I¡¯ll be stuck here and I¡¯ll never be able to leave!¡± ¡°Okay, okay.¡± I said, trying to soothe him. ¡°Let me just grab the other two-¡° ¡°There¡¯s no time,¡± he interrupted. ¡°We¡¯ve got to go now!¡± I blinked. That was bad. Breaking into the offices of the most dangerous group in the Foot with only a pre-pubescent scribe for back-up was very close to a worst-case scenario, only beaten by actually being caught. But Bab¡¯s fear was too raw to be faked; if this was our only chance, we had to take it. ¡°Alright. I just need to go grab my picks, I¡¯ll be only a minute.¡± Bab lit up into a relieved smile. ¡°Thank you for believing me, Orvi.¡± Running to my stash, a thought struck me. I had never introduced myself to him. How did he know my name? Chapter 13 - The Heist We rushed into the city, our positions switched. Bab lagged behind, puffing and panting, his stubby legs failing to propel him through the Foot at anything approaching an acceptable pace. I pulled him along, though at the rate we were going, slinging him over my shoulders would most likely be faster. I settled for taking his jingling satchel, stripping it from his back before he could protest. He stretched an arm after it, too out-of-breath to stop me. The pack was surprisingly heavy; I nearly tripped and fell at the suddenness of its weight. ¡°Gods, Bab.¡± I panted. ¡°What¡¯s in here? Rocks?¡± ¡°No-¡° he coughed, ¡°-it¡¯s just-¡° huffed, ¡°-a few-¡° puffed, ¡°-potions.¡± The boy gasped for breath; each inhale accompanied by a dry wheeze ¨C a sure sign Bab was nearly at the end of his rope. ¡°For the expedition.¡± ¡°Hold on, buddy,¡± I reassured him, ¡°we¡¯re almost there.¡± It wasn¡¯t a lie: the abandoned buildings we stomped past had morphed into several storey-brick homes, the occasional store flashing past us. People began appearing in the street, some dashing faster than us, some urgent task driving them ahead. Slowly, the streets filled, and then the trickle of people became a lake as we crashed into the market. The seething crowd enveloped us. The clatter of feet and roar of peddlers was omnipresent, the abruptness of the noise making it seem all the louder. The peppery stench of unwashed bodies was awful ¨C worse for how short the both of us were. Usually I would have time to acclimatise, but today there was none. I kept a tight grip on Bab¡¯s hand. It would be too easy to get separated, and then any hope of completing our task would vanish. Neither of us could break in, alter the documents, and then break out on our own. Forgoing my usual finesse, I shoved and battered my way through the crowd, hoping we would be able to make it before the expedition left. ¡°Where are the offices!?¡± I shouted, just loud enough to be heard over the din of the mob. ¡°The berths!¡± Bab was barely audible, only just close enough to hear. I nodded and ¨C despite my aching legs and pounding chest ¨C accelerated, the satchel on my back lending me the mass required to barge through the crowd. The mass of people was too thick to make out any landmarks, so I operated purely on instinct, trying to cross-reference the crowd¡¯s thickness and my sense of direction with an internal map of the city generated from years of scampering through the streets. My tactics paid off; soon enough the horde of people thinned enough I could make out the lake. With it, barely a hundred paces distant, were various dingy fishing boats, and behind them were the docks. We picked up more speed. By this point, even I could feel a stitch developing in my side. My respect for the chubby scribe I dragged behind me grew. It astounded me that someone so obviously used to sitting at a desk could keep up. Whatever fuelled his willpower was incredibly powerful. He truly must have despised the Foot if he was willing to work this hard to leave it. As we sighted the building our sprint slowed to a jog, then a complete halt. The two of us keeled over, panting. I took deep breaths, attempting to stabilise my breathing and still my pounding heart. Hearing a splatter, I turned, only to be greeted by the sight of Bab hurling the contents of his stomach onto the ground. I rubbed his back as he retched. I used the time to inspect the offices in front of us. It was three storeys tall, yet far narrower than the squat edifices I was used to. Unassuming, were it not for the emblem studded above its double-doored entrance. It depicted a red hawk in the process of catching something. Probably the Lizard, if House Es-something had its way. Sturdy brick was in the process of being concealed by crimson paint from the ground-up. The most worrying component was the complete lack of windows ¨C we would have to enter through the front door. ¡°How are we getting in, Bab?¡± I asked as the boy¡¯s heaving slowed down. He coughed once more, then straightened, still grey. ¡°Just¡­ we¡¯re just going to walk in.¡± That was a horrible plan. ¡°That¡¯s a horrible plan.¡± I stated blandly. ¡°You, uh, you look like an Oxblood has just taken an axe to you.¡± It had been easy to forget my aches, in our rush. ¡°Gee, thanks.¡± ¡°No-no, I mean you look sick. Just¡­ hunch a bit. Pretend you¡¯re hurt.¡± ¡°Will they even let me in?¡± Bab gave a heart-hearted shrug. ¡°Maybe? Probably? It¡¯s a bad look, to turn injured kids away.¡± I thought for a moment. ¡°So¡­ what you¡¯re saying is that we need to make a scene.¡± Bab looked at me quizzically. ¡°I guess?¡± This was going to be great.
It took less than two minutes to put my makeup on, applied with the assistance of an alley and a shard of broken pottery. And by makeup, I mean vomit and blood. Lots and lots of blood. Bab stumbled forwards, trying and mostly failing to shoulder my weight. His efforts were hindered slightly by the satchel now on his back ¨C it would have looked strange for me to carry it. The young scribe shied away from the filth caking my skin; I would¡¯ve shied away too, if I had the opportunity ¨C the stench of Bab¡¯s regurgitated lunch was awful. The sharp pain of fresh cuts didn¡¯t help. Still, all the greatest artists made sacrifices ¨C it was only right that I did as well. ¡°Help!¡± Bab called as we lurched towards the offices. I let out a groan to help sell the performance. ¡°Help! Please!¡± There was a legitimate note of panic in his voice. The poor kid seemed truly scared; he was a natural method actor. As was completely natural for a person covered in puke and gore, I drew stares. Bab¡¯s yells were ceaseless, however there wasn¡¯t yet enough eyes on us. Purposefully loosening Bab¡¯s grip, I collapsed to the ground, letting out a cry of pain. That would probably be sufficient. A few members of the crowd began to head towards us, so I let my co-star pull me upright, towards the building¡¯s entrance. The moment we reached the door, Bab immediately began pounding on it. ¡°It¡¯s me! It¡¯s me! I have an injured boy with me; I need help!¡± The door inched open, revealing the green eyes of a tall, blond man, dressed in leather armour dyed red. ¡°Tasmaronian?¡± I was reminded his name wasn¡¯t ¡®Bab¡¯. It was easy to forget, especially with such an awful name. His parents must hate him. ¡°What- who is that with you?¡± ¡°Uh, I don¡¯t know.¡± His voice shook ¨C I hoped the soldier wasn¡¯t too perceptive. ¡°Please, Peeler,¡± I barked a laugh, then disguised it with a coughing fit. What kind of name was ¡®Peeler¡¯? ¡°Look at him. He needs help.¡± Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. Peeler ¨C I supressed a chuckle ¨C opened the door, yet stood in our way before Bab could pull us through. I could see the refusal in the lines of his face. I spluttered, retched, and bit my tongue hard, spitting blood onto the dirt, all in an attempt to draw as much attention as possible. The man wore a look of pure disgust, yet simultaneously began to notice the gazes on us. He schooled his face in an impressive display of acting ability. ¡°Come in, then. Let¡¯s get him fixed up.¡± His next words were spoken in a whisper. ¡°If he makes any mess, little scribe, it¡¯s on you.¡± Bab nodded rapidly, and we entered the building. The entranceway was impressive, even as dark as it was. Plush red-and-black patterned carpet brushed against my bare feet. It was a pleasant sensation ¨C though I could see from Peeler¡¯s expression that he wished I didn¡¯t have the opportunity to feel it. Coupled with the red brick walls and wide wooden ceiling, the area felt strangely welcoming. Someone had a good eye for interior design. The furnishings were sparse: there were only a few chairs arrayed against the walls and a large desk bisecting the room. The desk was entirely bereft of any paperwork or receptionists. The air even smelled nice ¨C someone had burned floral incense recently. ¡°Keep quiet.¡± Peeler snapped. He jangled as he moved; there was a scabbard alongside a hoop of keys buckled to his belt. ¡°If you interrupt the meeting in any way, I¡¯ll have your head, little scribe.¡± Bab nodded. ¡°And the what in the gods¡¯ blood is in your pack?¡± ¡°P-potions, sir.¡± ¡°I see.¡± ¡°Could I, um-¡° ¡°Enough with the stuttering. Spit it out.¡± Peeler¡¯s words were themselves accompanied by a spray of spittle. ¡°Take him to my workspace?¡± The soldier scowled. ¡°Just to fix him up a bit. Sir.¡± He considered Bab¡¯s request. ¡°Fine. Better than him bleeding on the carpet. But remember ¨C any mess, and it¡¯s your head.¡± The conditions of Bab¡¯s decapitation had changed slightly, but I was wise enough not to point it out. My assistant shot the man a worried look, but continued lugging me around the desk, revealing a set of stairs behind. The steps were large, and I had to actually use my own legs instead of making Bab drag me up all of them. As we thudded our way up them, I whispered the most important question on my mind: ¡°Is your workspace where we need to be?¡± Sheepishly, he shook his head. ¡°No. The storeroom is opposite the room I work in.¡± ¡°Is it locked?¡± ¡°Always.¡± ¡°Does anyone have the key?¡± ¡°Uhm. My boss? Her boss? And, uhm, Peeler, I think.¡± ¡°Why in the blood does that jackass get a key?¡± ¡°Usually he¡¯s a bit nicer.¡± Only a bit? ¡°Peeler guards the building. I think he¡¯s upset he has to stay here. Uh, while everyone''s out. On the expedition¡± ¡°Right. Okay.¡± I thought for a moment. ¡°I¡¯ll try to pick the lock, but if I can¡¯t, we need his key.¡± ¡°What?¡± he turned to me, his face so close I could see the veins in his eyes bulging. ¡°I thought you were some sort of, uhm, master thief?¡± ¡°Uh, no.¡± I rubbed my head in embarrassment. ¡°Blake¡¯s the one who usually gets into places. That¡¯s why I wanted to get him.¡± Bab hung his head, mouth drawn in a trembling line. We had cleared the lip of the stairs, revealing a narrow hallway with two doors. His eyes were wet. ¡°What are we going to do?¡± ¡°You¡¯re going to keep a lookout, and I¡¯m going to try to get in.¡± I knelt in front of one of the doors, drawing my picks from their hiding spot in my trousers. Bab tapped me on the shoulder and gestured to the other one. Still on my knees, I spun around and slid over to the door opposite. I inserted my torsion wrench to apply torque and one of the picks, wiggling them through the lock in order to get a feel from it. Tactilely, I rooted around and realised there were at least six or seven pins: an amount I had never dealt with before. Bab nervously fidgeted behind me, tip-toing back and forth through the hall. I fiddled around with the lock, rapidly realising this task was far beyond my abilities. Hands shaking, I painstakingly set the first pin to its correct place, then moved onto the second. More confident, I was able to set the second more rapidly than the first. I met far more resistance at the third, and with a sharp tap, accidentally overset the pin, shoving it upward in a way that would prevent the lock from opening. I swore quietly and started again, applying the tension the opposite direction and tapping the third pin gently. From behind me Bab breathed heavily, so close that I could feel his exhales brushing my hair. I snapped at him to move backwards and he shuffled away almost immediately. The obstinate pin loosened and fell to its default position, and once again I tried moving the pin upward. Once again, I applied too much pressure and shoved it too high. I sighed and reset the pin, then withdrew my picks, tucking them back into my pants. ¡°Did you do it?¡± Bab whispered. ¡°Can we get in?¡± I shook my head. ¡°I¡¯ll break the lock if I keep trying. We need the key.¡± ¡°Gods¡¯ guts.¡± Bab swore. I startled and held my laughter, amused at the filthy curse portrayed by such a squeaky voice. ¡°Ho-how are we going to get it?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll fake a seizure,¡± I said, thinking quickly. ¡°Get him to hold me down. We¡¯ll go somewhere I can knock a bunch of stuff over. If he wants to stop me from making a mess, he¡¯ll have to get close.¡± ¡°Al-alright.¡± Bab led me into the other door, which opened up to an expansive area filled with six low desks, the legs carved with ornate swirls, arranged against every wall. Most were empty, however two were littered with sheafs of paper, pencils, several fancy folders, a handful of jars of ink, and a few feathered quills. Wood shelves had been hammered into the wall, each neatly labelled things such as ¡®applicants¡¯ or ¡®requests¡¯. I noticed that the former was nearly empty, while the latter extended for several rows. Unlike the entranceway of the building, the room was lit by radiant bulbs loosely attached to the walls. Bloodtech. ¡°Nice place.¡± I commented, resisting the urge to swipe any writing implements. ¡°Yes,¡± Bab chuckled lightly, ¡°I suppose it is.¡± ¡°So.¡± I clapped my hands together. ¡°Let¡¯s get this show on the road.¡± My companion yet out a yelp as I smashed a fist onto the shelves, then, when that proved ineffective, grabbed a chair and splintered it against them. Bab recovered his wits quickly enough, and dashed out of the room. I took his departure as a sign I should make as much mess as quickly as possible. I shoved desks around, slid everything off them, and in a rare display of acrobatics, attempted to flip onto one of them, only to crash my back against the edge and be sent sprawling across the ground. I groaned, rubbing my back. Footsteps began emanating from outside. The noise shocked me out of my reverie. I slapped my cheeks and began performing my best convulsions, adding a few unique twists to ensure I knocked as many things over as possible. Seizures were mostly foreign to me ¨C the only ones I had ever seen had been eight years ago, while Ma helped Stitch triage injured soldiers after the Raven¡¯s death. The scent of urine, faeces, and blood was difficult to forget. I had huddled with the infant twins in a corner, terrified at the sensation of so many passing from the world barely feet away from me. Feeling something die was always awful; it was far worse when they were human. I embodied the distant memory as best as I could, arching my back and shaking my limbs. The thump of Peeler¡¯s steps entered the room, and from the corner of my vision I could see his face contorting with hatred. The severity of it was so great I wondered whether he had seen through our ruse, but rather than draw his blade and gut me, the man knelt and grasped my hands, demanding Bab get my legs. Twisting my knee upwards, I struck him in the stomach and rigidly slapped my arm around his waist. I had never stolen a loop of keys before, and unbuckling his belt would be too obvious, however after a long moment of my groping and Peeler groaning, I managed to work the hoop off his belt. I headbutted him, hoping it would serve as a decent distraction, and flung the keys across the room, under one of the desks. I continued convulsing, only encumbered by Bab placing his entire body across my legs. Peeler stumbled upright, nose bloodied, and kicked me on the side of the head, the blow turning me onto my side. The world flickered for a moment, and I took that opportunity to roll onto my face and still entirely. Beyond the guard¡¯s laboured breathing, the room became silent. Then there was the sharp retort of a slap. ¡°What did I say?¡± That was Peeler¡¯s voice, anger restrained to a whisper. I could imagine his face contorted in rage. ¡°What-¡± another slap, ¡°-did-¡± another, ¡°-I-¡° the sound was duller, ¡°-say?¡± Still immobilised, I wished this man was someone else, anywhere else, so I could rise and break his bones. Yet he wasn¡¯t. All I could do was lay like a log, hoping the sociopath didn¡¯t try anything else. Bab muttered something inaudible. Peeler whispered something back, then stomped off. I stayed still for a time, cautious of him returning and catching me getting up. Eventually, I felt a light tap on my back. ¡°He¡¯s gone.¡± I used a desk to yank myself upright and staggered. My head was still ringing from the earlier hit. Sitting on one of the few upright chairs helped slightly. I glanced at Bab, then rose. His cheek had been reddened by the hits he had taken, and tears ran down his cheek. I stumbled over and folded him into a hug. ¡°I hate this place.¡± The child sobbed. ¡°I know.¡± I said quietly. ¡°I want to go home.¡± ¡°I know.¡± I whispered gentle assurances into his ears and rocked back and forth, hoping to make him feel safe. Chapter 14 - Honour among thieves Barely a minute had passed before Bab¡¯s shaking body had stilled and he began fighting his way out of my embrace. I let him go. Bab¡¯s eyes were still wet, and he kept them firmly pointed at the ground. ¡°That Peeler guy is a real piece of filth, isn¡¯t he?¡± I commented dryly. Bab nodded; his face was still grim. ¡°Come on,¡± I told my friend as I scooped the keys from their hiding place, ¡°Let¡¯s do what we came to do.¡± The chubby boy¡¯s mouth fell open. ¡°Yo-you actually got them?¡± He had thought I had failed. The kick must have thrown him off. I bowed. ¡°Who do you think I am? Now, Mr. Bab, would you be so kind as to join me for a spot of¡­¡± I spread my hands dramatically. ¡°Sabotage?¡± He bobbed his head and together, the two of us left the room. My head had mostly cleared by that point, so I was able to stride over to the door that had rebuffed my entrance unaided. I had to try every single key on the ring to open it, but eventually, upon inserting the very last one, the lock clicked and I shoved my way into the storeroom. Unlike the entrance to the building ¨C which was faintly lit by a glow under the door ¨C and the offices proper ¨C which contained vibrant bloodtech bulbs ¨C the storeroom was blacker than a moonless night. After walking a few steps in, I immediately drove my knee into something and keeled over, clutching my throbbing kneecap. Bab scuttled away, returning a few moments later with some sort of metal contraption. He pressed a button on its side, and the device illuminated the room with gentle, bluish tones. My surroundings looked exactly as I expected them to: a small space filled with cabinets, wooden crates, several small paperweights, and a few mops and brooms. It was missing some key elements: there was no dust, no scent of mould, and any wood was not yet mossy, however for the most part the room was the picture of a neglected storage closet. ¡°What are we looking for?¡± I asked. Bab didn¡¯t answer, instead heading straight for one of the crates. He attempted to open the top, then let loose another vicious curse. The lid had been nailed on. Opening it bare-handed was impossible for all but the stoutest of Blooded. ¡°Here.¡± I withdrew two of my picks, handing one to the chubby boy. ¡°It¡¯ll take a while, but we can probably lever the nails out with these.¡± I thought for a moment. ¡°Use the thick ends. Please. They were expensive.¡± He gave a grunt of assent, and we both got to work. It was almost absurdly difficult; the picks were too large to fit under the nails, so I ended up having to retrieve two quills from the room over, using them to scrape the wood beneath the nails away. Predictably, the process was slow, so much so that I became concerned that Peeler would return and see the door hanging open. After his actions, I doubt he would be surprised to find the two of us gone from the office, however the disappearing act would be far less convincing if we were just next door. I closed the door and locked it, praying that he wouldn¡¯t link his missing keys with the storeroom somehow. The room was entirely silent, save for our irritated grunts and the scraping of quills against wood. It was the kind of grating sound that gave a person the shivers ¨C it was even worse when the noise was coupled with the sensation of wood slowly being peeled away. Maybe that was why, despite the quiet, it took the two of us some time to notice the faint murmur coming from above us. ¡°Hey,¡± I muttered, ¡°Do you hear that?¡± Bab looked confused for a second, but indulged me. He tilted his head, and slowly, his eyes widened. He gave me a thumbs up, then pointed upwards. I placed a finger on my lips and carefully began stacking crates. Bab frantically shook his head, however I ignored him ¨C I was just too curious. Luckily for me, the room wasn¡¯t very tall. Two crates on top of one another allowed me to press my ear against the ceiling, another box helping me climb up. The sound remained somewhat garbled, but it was clearly distinguishable as voices. I focused, trying to make out as much as I could. ¡°¡­assemblage of persons involved in the expedition.¡± The clipped cadence of the speaker, directly above me, was familiar ¨C where had I heard him before? ¡°Some of you may notice additional faces. Hunter Dirk is a representative of the group selected to guide us to the monster and back. Medic Sara will offer assistance to Doctor Rafi, and, in the event that he is incapacitated, take his place.¡± Dirk¡­ and Sara? That was Stitch¡¯s name! There was another voice who spoke briefly. Their words were too faint to make out. ¡°Both were chosen due to their veterancy: the two assisted in felling the Raven. They should be familiar with the standardised training offered to most conscripts. It should not be an issue.¡± The familiarity burgeoned into a realisation: it was Representative Fedor. The Dolphinblood. There was an exchange of two recognisably distinct voices, still inaudible. The first I had heard before, while the second was rough, cutting the ends of words ¨C Dirk¡¯s. From what I could make out, they seemed to be arguing about necessary qualifications. A deep rumble emanated from the roof. It seemed to come from the same area as the other two, however it was loud enough to hear clearly. ¡°I recommended them.¡± Jackson¡¯s voice sent motes of dust falling from the ceiling. ¡°They are both competent.¡± Silence reigned for a few seconds. Someone spoke a single word, and Fedor hummed his approval. ¡°Excellent. If there are no more objections?¡± There were none that I could hear. ¡°Let us move on to the beast in question. By all reports, the monster is large, approximately nine feet tall. It is quadrupedal, and capable of moving slightly slower than a galloping horse. Identifying the godsblood of the creature has proved difficult ¨C the many attributes it demonstrates suggests it is a Ravenkin. Given that has survived for eight years, it is not unreasonable to assume it has accumulated powers from several different monsters. Clearly it is part Oxblood, and by Dirk¡¯s account it seems to have weak Dolphinblood. Multiple eyes suggests Spiderblood as well, however it could have originally been a three-eyed creature.¡± Dirk said something, briefly. ¡°Hmm. Foxblood is unlikely. It may be fast, however from the way you described it the Ravenkin seems not to be very dextrous.¡± Bab waved beneath me. I ignored him. ¡°We will make preparations in the event it is a Lizardblood. Now, the plan is as follows: we will prepare a fortified basecamp some distance away. Jackson will approach, while I attempt to daze the creature.¡± Bab was whispering something. ¡°Vernon will provide support in the case it proves stronger than anticipated. We will use this as an opportunity to evaluate its abilities. Now-¡± My tower of crates shuddered as Bab punched it. It teetered, and I came close to falling off. ¡°What?¡± I hissed. Bab flinched, and I mentally berated myself. Go on, scare your junior after he¡¯s just got the snot slapped out of him. Great idea. ¡°Uhm it-it¡¯s open.¡± He managed to get out. ¡°I need your help.¡± Murmuring an apology, I hopped down. The crate wasn¡¯t quite open, however the nails were most of the way out. I wrapped my hand in my tunic for protection, then grasped each nail and pulled them from the wood, one by one. With them gone, I was easily able to shove the roof off the crate. The lid fell to the ground. Inside the box were a dozen jangling bottles filled with blood-red liquid. Potions. ¡°Bab.¡± I said slowly. ¡°What is this?¡± ¡°It¡¯s, a, uh¡­¡± He was sweating softly. ¡°We¡¯ll get to the do-documents next.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Uhm, why what?¡± ¡°Why did we open this gods damned-¡° He placed his hands over my lips, cutting off my shout pre-emptively. ¡°Uh, well, I need to add more potions anyway,¡± his eyes rolled in his head, looking at everything but me, ¡°I thought you could, um, take a few?¡± I levelled a stare at him. There was something off. He wasn¡¯t telling the full truth. Or maybe he had been lying the whole time. ¡°Do you promise?¡± Bab finally managed to look me in the eyes, though he immediately looked away. ¡°Yes,¡± he quietly whispered. ¡°I promise. We¡¯re getting the Old Guard out.¡± The plump boy had proved himself a friend. I thought I could trust him. Or at least trust him to screw the Guard over, and not me. I nodded my head, and began helping him load the bottles from his backpack into the crate. They would be identical to the other potions, were it not for the yellow liquid swirling inside them. I swiped two of them, however Bab gently took them from me, placing them back in the box. He offered the red potions to me, instead. I sniffed, then silently took them, stuffing them in the scribe¡¯s satchel. My suddenly mysterious friend began rifling through the cabinets, each drawer filled with paper, sorted haphazardly at best. I busied myself with sealing the crate again, using a stone figurine of a hawk to hammer the nails back in. During the process I managed to break both its wings off; I stuffed the pieces in the satchel as well. No point in leaving evidence. The fact it looked nice was definitely not a part of my reasoning. The cabinet drawers were mostly full of paperwork it was too dark to read, and the crates were all closed tight; there was nothing to interesting to look at while I waited. Nothing worth taking, either. Instead of allowing boredom to dominate my mind, I scurried back on top of my tower, placing my ear against the ceiling once more. ¡°¡­as Dirk pointed out, being aware of any other monsters. However, Ravenkin are solitary creatures; we should be able to travel mostly unmolested. Our supplies should last for at least two weeks longer than we need. Now, are there any more questions?¡± For a moment, no one spoke. Then, the ceiling shook: ¡°There is a more pressing matter that has not been mentioned.¡± Jackson rumbled. ¡°Dure is approaching the Foot.¡± Two separate voices both swore ¨C Dirk and Stitch. ¡°Given that the city is situated around one of the only sources of water for leagues, the Lizard will probably attempt to drink from it before heading to the desert. What is the Old Guard doing to combat it, Representative?¡± If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Jackson¡¯s tone seemed serious. I supressed a yawn. The severity of his tone was offset by the sudden urge to go and do something less boring. Perhaps helping Bab might be a good idea? Several voices above seemed to share my opinion. However, a dangerous groan from the ceiling stole my attention back. ¡°How dare you attempt to use your powers on me, Fedor?¡± Jackson¡¯s voice was dangerous, far more so than it had been during our talk the night before. ¡°Me, the successor of General Maja¡¯s blood? In a discussion so clearly important?¡± A soothing sensation flooded me; I steeled my will against it, now aware of the Dolphinblood tugging at my mood. Biting my tongue, I pressed my ear against the ceiling once more. ¡°Calm yourself, Captain Jackson.¡± The Representative¡¯s intonation was off, almost sheepish. As if he were a child caught stealing sweets. ¡°I was only attempting to expedite the conclusion of the conversation ¨C of course I was planning to have this talk as soon as we returned.¡± The Oxblood spoke once more. ¡°What are House Esfaria¡¯s plans regarding this threat?¡± ¡°Well, I am not free to make claims on Lord Irwin¡¯s behalf. Ideally, we will have the troops to redirect the Lizard back into Esfarian territory, thus keeping it as a resource for the House. However, we will most likely simply scare Dure into the wastes; with only a few more Blooded, our manpower will be sufficient.¡± ¡°And if it is not?¡± ¡°It will be.¡± ¡°I think it best not to be overconfident where gods are concerned.¡± Was Jackson allowed to be so bold? His words seemed to have impact ¨C was it his status as one of the only living Godslayers? His strength? Or was it simply the weight of his blood? Whatever the reason, the Representative was forced to tolerate Jackson¡¯s rudeness. The Dolphinblood responded to Jackson¡¯s rebuttal angrily. ¡°The Lizard¡¯s offensive ability is lacking-¡± Jackson interrupted. ¡°The Lizard is a god.¡± ¡°If we are overwhelmed, we will send for more help.¡± ¡°It seems prudent, then, to send a message to his lordship to pre-emptively ask for assistance.¡± ¡°House Esfaria needs all the soldiers it can get.¡± ¡°Representative, more soldiers increases the likelihood of Dure shedding its blood. Undiluted Lizardblood should be worth far more to Lord Irwin than a few warriors.¡± Jackson paused, then continued. ¡°The prestige to those stationed here will be immense.¡± Fedor clicked his tongue, apparently annoyed at being argued into a corner. ¡°Your request is reasonable. The message shall be sent upon our return.¡± ¡°Before we leave. More time to prepare is always better.¡± ¡°Fine.¡± Fedor spat. ¡°A courier will leave before we depart. And I will hear no more of this!¡± ¡°Not a peep.¡± Jackson shot upwards rapidly in my esteem; standing up to a superior, from what Ma had told me, was an act with potentially fatal repercussions. It took a brave person to do so. ¡°If that is everything,¡± the Dolphinblood continued, ¡°then the meeting will be adjourned. Talia, please file the minutes before we leave.¡± Uh oh. I dropped from my pile of crates, and rapidly tapped Bab on the shoulder. ¡°Hey, they just finished. We need to get out of here.¡± He turned to me, teeth clenched. ¡°Yo-you can read, yes?¡± I nodded quickly. ¡°Help me find documents RBB eight through fifty. The letters and numbers in the top right. They should all be in the same section.¡± I began slamming open cabinet drawers, then carrying documents over to the light in order to examine them. The first pile I grabbed were labelled LCP. Briefly glancing over them, I could tell they contained information to do with the Lizard, complete with various illustrations and diagrams, however it wasn¡¯t what I needed. Then there was UDU ¨C to do with waste disposal ¨C NIH ¨C regarding some sort of mountain geography ¨C and BMT. The latter was the most interesting ¨C it seemed to contain methods for teaching volatile Blooded self-control. I discreetly shoved the file into Bab¡¯s satchel, for later. By the time that was done, footsteps were echoing down the hall. Making a snap decision, I formed a makeshift wall by dragging boxes, then tugged Bab behind it, dragging the light and satchel with us. We huddled behind it, Bab clicking off the bloodtech lamp. Darkness enveloped us for several seconds, however soon afterwards faint light entered the storeroom as the door scraped open. We both held our breath as two or three pairs of feet stomped their way inside. They halted barely a foot away from us. ¡°Which ones do we need?¡± a sonorous voice drawled out. One of the others grunted, and after a few more steps, a knocking sound resounded as they tapped the top of a crate. With my limited field of vision, I could only see at an angle upwards; the rest of the room was blocked by my cover. The relatively low light and obscured vision gave reason for me to question what I saw next. Like they were lighter than air, boxes began drifting upwards. I looked at Bab, wide-eyed, and he looked at me, wearing an identical expression. I closed my eyes tightly, then reopened them ¨C they were still floating. Someone stomped over, and I flattened Bab and I to the floor, covering both our mouths. There was the creaking of a cabinet being opened, the shuffling of papers, then the gentle sound of a drawer being shut. The trio strode out, the boxes drifting after them, and the door swung shut, casting us in complete darkness once more. The lock clicked. Both of us stayed completely still for a time. My curiosity swiftly got the better of me, however. ¡°What in the eight gods¡¯ quivering sacks was that?¡± I blurted. Bab giggled. ¡°Uh, well, we have an Owlblood. Vernon. Uhm, Captain Vernon, but he doesn¡¯t do all that much captaining.¡± ¡°Owlbloods can make things fly?¡± ¡°Well, if their blood is strong enough. Among other things.¡± I blinked. ¡°Woah.¡± Bab nodded. ¡°Woah indeed.¡± The diminutive scribe clicked the lamp back on. With a more casual pace, Bab and I continued our search for documents RBB. Some of the files I glanced through were interesting ¨C containing standardised tactics for fighting certain monsters or people ¨C but most contained relentless lists of numbers, next to meaningless words, next to more numbers. ¡°Do you write all of these out by hand?¡± I inquired idly. Bab had submerged his head in a cabinet¡¯s drawer, however I could still see his shoulders shrugging. He lifted himself out and spoke. ¡°Some of them. Most are copied by Owlbloods.¡± ¡°That seems like a waste of their time.¡± I sniffed. ¡°No, uh, they use their power.¡± He clarified. ¡°To copy text from one place to another.¡± I grunted. ¡°I thought they were rare?¡± Bab bobbed his head. ¡°Yoot¡¯s blood is. A lot of scribes are given the tiniest amount. Fr-from what I gather, copying patterns is quite easy.¡± I thought for a moment, then furrowed my brows. ¡°Do you have Yoot¡¯s blood?¡± I asked. ¡°Uhm, we¡¯re not- that is, I, uh¡­¡± He swallowed, then began again. ¡°No. Only Captain Vernon is an Owlblood.¡± We lapsed into silence once more. From there, it only took a few more minutes for Bab to produce the pages we were looking for. My competitive spirit was slightly annoyed that he found them first, but I squashed the feeling. He then pulled a thick folder of paper from his satchel, swapping it with the originals. ¡°I thought you had to alter the original documents?¡± Bab coughed. ¡°I, uh, no. No, I prepared these beforehand.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± Briefly, I considered asking to check through the forged papers, before dismissing the idea. If something was wrong with them, I had absolutely no chance of figuring out the problem. Slinging the bag now filled entirely with pilfered goods over my shoulder, I moved to the door, pressing my ear against it. The building was completely quiet again ¨C the Old Guard must have all left on their expedition. Slowly, wary of any sounds the lock could make, I inserted Peeler¡¯s key and opened the door. It swung open. Warily, I poked my head out, swinging both ways. The hallway was empty. Bab and I entered the office once again. He replaced the quills and bloodtech lamp while I crammed Peeler¡¯s keyring in the gap between a desk and a wall ¨C hopefully, he would have to overturn the entire room to find them. I began to leave, but my companion pulled me aside. ¡°P-Peeler is probably by the entranceway.¡± I hummed thoughtfully. ¡°Alright. You¡¯ve patched me, the son of a prominent farmer, up somewhat. Call me¡­¡± I wracked my brain for Jasmine¡¯s family name. ¡°Master Frond. I don¡¯t remember anything about the seizure. I¡¯ll ask you to escort me home.¡± ¡°Uh, Orvi, are you sure this will-¡° No. ¡°Absolutely. There¡¯s no way he¡¯ll see through it.¡± I draped my arm over his shoulder, handing him the bag. ¡°Come on. Let¡¯s get out of here.¡± Partially supported by Bab, I walked down the stairs. As we descended, I began speaking. ¡°Thank you very much, young sir. I will confess that I did not think much of the Old Guard, however upon being accosted by those ruffians, you were the first to extend a hand. I will be sure to inform my father of your assistance. I am sure he would be delighted to spread word of your good deeds.¡± ¡°Uh. Yes,¡± belatedly, he added, ¡°Master Frond.¡± I kept my tongue flowing with as much nonsense as possible, regurgitating terms like ¡®crop output¡¯, ¡®fallow fields¡¯, and ¡®trusted farmhands¡¯ I had heard Jasmine use before. Soon enough, we had reached the entranceway proper, and I was delighted to see Peeler¡¯s face was as pale as a corpse. He knew who the Frond family were. ¡°Ah!¡± I exclaimed, ¡°you must be one of the guards. I do appreciate you allowing me shelter. Your man here has done such excellent work.¡± Looking like a whipped dog, the soldier nodded. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I must ask you for another favour, sir. My head aches something terribly ¨C the scoundrels must have gotten a few good kicks on me,¡± Peeler¡¯s teeth clenched, and I resisted the urge to cackle madly, ¡°so would you be so kind as to lend me this young scribe for an hour or two? He has been such a good friend to me, and I do not trust my legs to carry me home.¡± The piece of filth cleared his throat. ¡°Uh. Yes.¡± He regained his composure somewhat, which was disappointing. ¡°Of course, Master Frond.¡± He opened the door for us. We wobbled our way out, the sudden bright light sending shards of pain through my skull. I turned my head over my shoulder. I couldn¡¯t resist myself. ¡°Oh, and if you see the fellows who did this to me, be sure to inform my family. We¡¯ll have them quartered in no time!¡± Peeler looked like he was about to puke. ¡°Goodbye for now.¡± As soon as we were a hundred paces from the offices, the two of us burst into hysterical laughter.
The day was hot enough that even after being drenched in several buckets of water, cleansing myself of blood and vomit, I still wasn¡¯t cold. I strutted back home like a king. Even the usually reserved Bab couldn¡¯t resist the urge to grin wildly. Our return journey moved at a far more sedate place than our rush to the offices. We spent most of it chatting. Though it was mostly myself talking, my speech punctuated with a few impromptu dance-moves, and Bab listening, occasionally nodding. I was in a great mood. It had been an excellent heist. After a few dozen minutes of travel, we had reached the front of the restaurant. ¡°Do you want to come in?¡± I offered Bab. ¡°I can make you something. Free of charge.¡± The urge to overcharge him was still present, however I had learned from my argument with Blake. Bab rubbed the back of his head. He seemed somewhat nervous. ¡°W-well I would love to, but I, uhm, have to be somewhere e-else.¡± ¡°Are you sure? I could introduce you to Sash.¡± I wiggled my eyebrows. He blushed fiercely. ¡°Though, if you try anything with her I might have to put you in a stew.¡± ¡°Uh, no, sorry. I-I have got to go.¡± ¡°Okay, okay. But wait here for a second ¨C I¡¯ve got something to give you.¡± He nodded. I snatched the stone wings from the bag and ran inside. Rushing past several customers and an inquisitive Dash and Sash, I slid into Ma¡¯s room, looting a small hand-drill from a pile of tools in the corner. An idea had niggled at me the entire way home. It took me a few minutes, but finally one of the broken wing¡¯s had a small hole in it ¨C I would do the other one later. I scrambled up to the attic and grabbed a piece of string from my sewing kit, and hurriedly made the trinket into a makeshift necklace. I hurried back outside. Bab was still waiting, shifting from foot to foot. ¡°Here.¡± I said, holding out the necklace to him. It seemed like a good idea a few moments ago, but in practice the gift was incredibly embarrassing. The chubby scribe glanced at me inquisitively. ¡°It¡¯s a¡­¡± I struggled to put words to my feelings. ¡°A keepsake. Because¡­ we¡¯re friends now. Uh, if you want to be friends, that is.¡± Reverently, Bab took the wing from me. ¡°Yo-you¡¯re sure?¡± I nodded. ¡°Robbing a place together makes us pals. You might want to hide it from the Guard, though.¡± He smiled widely, then started and looked around quickly. He removed the pack from his back and handed it to me. I nodded, and began taking out the potions and set of papers I had stolen. ¡°No.¡± He shoved the backpack towards me. ¡°Y-you can have it. The whole bag. If you want it.¡± I blinked. ¡°Really?¡± The backpack was extremely impressive, at least to me. It was a large and jet-black, with two straps to buckle it closed. Bab nodded. ¡°You¡¯re sure?¡± He nodded again. I blinked. ¡°Thank you.¡± I grinned. ¡°This is such a cool gift. I¡¯ve only ever had little bags to carry my stuff in. Are you really sure you don¡¯t need this?¡± The scribe nodded once again. ¡°It¡¯s yours. I, uh, I would have had to, uh¡­ not have it, anyway.¡± That was a strange choice of words. Still. I flipped the pack around, admiring it. Bab began walking away. I called after him. ¡°Swing by sometime! Our door is always open!¡± He turned around and waved, then began jogging away. I smiled. It was a good day. I had made a friend, stolen some nice trinkets, and gotten a great bag. The worst mistake I had ever made had passed me by, and I didn¡¯t even know it. Chapter 15 (1/2) - Things fall apart... Dirk rubbed Pat¡¯s head as sludge rained from the sky. It was a bad day to be out near the Raven¡¯s bones ¨C whatever abominable spirit haunting its corpse had extended to the clouds, blackening what should have simply been water. A noxious scent accompanied the falling drops. The gunk didn¡¯t contain Ravenblood, but it was mildly poisonous. He had dressed his hound in a coat prepared for this exact scenario, wearing his own less expensive rain-jacket. Pat deserved the best, after all. Upon his advisement, the rest of the group had donned similar outfits and covered the mules, horses, and supplies with a tarp. Even so, the wind whipped the shower back and forth ¨C often causing the disgusting substance to somehow shoot beneath a person¡¯s hood and directly into their face. The weather made Dirk uneasy; black rain was never a good omen. The expedition had set a basecamp a few leagues out from where he and his squad had encountered the monstrosity months earlier. They had been chasing a small critter: an Oxkin formed from what used to be a rabbit. Even with the rabbit¡¯s inflated size, its innate flightiness had caused it to flee instead of fight, leading Dirk and the gang on a long and wild chase. Then the monster had unfolded itself from behind a rock, devouring the rabbit with one massive bite. Suddenly and inexplicably terrified, they had fled, Dirk only stopping to scoop Pat up onto his horse. Glances behind had revealed a sprawling aberration, endless maw snapping after them, with doughy skin and four legs splayed like an ant¡¯s. Eventually, the beast stopped chasing, though they rode for what seemed like an age afterwards. When they slowed to a halt, there were two less hunters to be found. Of his crew, only a pair of hunters had joined Dirk and Pat on the expedition; Tam and Blunts. The other four were too scared of the monster or too furious at the Old Guard to join. Tam was a good, reliable partner ¨C a veteran of nearly six years¡¯ worth of hunts ¨C however Blunts had become far more volatile. Her lover had been one of the two eaten, and the usually fiery woman now moved with subdued, fatalistic movements. He had seen the look in veterans after the Raven''s fall - she was searching for a way to die. If they weren¡¯t so short on hands, Dirk would have never allowed her to come. He shook himself out of his reverie. There were still fortifications that needed to be made, tents to put up. They couldn¡¯t half-arse their preparation if they wanted to kill the beast. He huffed, then went to yell at Tam and Blunts, Pat dogging his heels. After driving in several sharpened stakes and erecting their portable wall ¨C a surprisingly sturdy object woven from the desert¡¯s native plants and purchased at a heavy mark-up ¨C the hunter was ready to begin setting camp for the night. The clouds were beginning to darken, the sun setting behind them. They could strengthen their position in the morning, maybe dig some pitfalls if the Esfarian soldiers were willing to get their hands dirty. Yet none of the Guard¡¯s troops were readying for the night. The past week had seen camp being set with military precision, night after night. Dirk¡¯s companions, Stitch and Jackson were left twiddling their thumbs; the construction had just been too meticulous to interfere. Yet, on what promised to be the most disgusting and rancid night since the expedition¡¯s beginning, they did nothing. Dirk scowled and wandered over to where Jackson was, puffing on a pipe full of dullweed. The fumes stunk, and the air currents blasted the smell throughout the camp, so he covered his mouth and nose with a bandana. For some reason, Oxbloods loved the stuff. What would put regular men in a coma only gave the giants a mild buzz. General Maja used to constantly smoke; he hadn¡¯t seen her with a pipe for eight years, yet it was always a mild shock to see it missing, though it was less of a shock than seeing her bumbling attempts to care for children. She had gotten better at it recently - Dirk still felt bad for poor little Orvi, having to put up with the General for years. Somehow, her smoking habit had spread to her successor, though Jackson still took it a bit less seriously than the General had. ¡°Oi, Jackie,¡± Dirk called as he approached, ¡°can you tell some of your boys to start gettin¡¯ ready for the night?¡± The giant shook his head as Dirk sidled up beside him. ¡°No. We¡¯re killing the monster today, then we will leave.¡± The hunter scowled. ¡°Whaddaya mean? We can¡¯t do it today.¡± Pat, sensing his irritation, began pacing anxiously. ¡°Look at the bloody clouds. Awful day for a hunt.¡± He gestured towards their camp. ¡°Place might survive a stiff breeze, but not some old salt Ravenkin. Thing might¡¯ve been sucking up godsblood for eight years.¡± Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. ¡°Captain Vernon believes it will not let up for another week.¡± Jackson let out a deep rumble of a sigh, then continued. ¡°Representative Fedor wants to return to the Foot as soon as possible.¡± Dirk spat a wad of phlegm onto the brackish dirt. ¡°Bleedin¡¯ Fedor. What¡¯s his rush for?¡± ¡°The Old Guard needs a presence in the city more than it needs this godsblood.¡± Jackson reverberated. ¡°Besides, the sooner he can report his success, the more likely it is that Lord Irwin will send more soldiers.¡± ¡°No good if we¡¯re all dead.¡± Dirk grunted. He made a subtle gesture with his fingers, and his hound barked. ¡°See? Pat agrees.¡± Jackson chuckled, however his mood quickly darkened. ¡°Pat¡¯s thoughts don¡¯t matter. Neither do yours or mine. The Representative and Vernon have the only say that matters. And Vernon couldn¡¯t care less.¡± ¡°Well, Fedor¡¯ll haveta care if Pat can¡¯t track in this downpour.¡± The Oxblood tutted. ¡°Maybe. But Vernon might not need help to find the monster.¡± ¡°Tch. Guess we¡¯ll see.¡±
Dirk, Pat, Vernon, and Fedor all rode out barely a half-hour later. Jackson ran alongside them; his bulk would break even the most robust non-Oxblood stallion in two, however his long legs allowed him to easily keep pace. The hunter hoped in vain that a horse would break a leg - not unlikely given the weather - thus forcing them to stop for the night, yet the putrid rain failed to topple a single one of their steeds. The downpour made visibility poor, however even with the wind sending filth in their faces it was easy to see the boulder where his men had been killed; it was the only landmark as far as the eye could see. The five of them slowed, then halted. Dirk sniffed. ¡°You better keep Pat and me from bein¡¯ monster-chow.¡± With no small amount of trepidation, he dismounted, pulling his dog from a large saddle-bag. He grabbed a pike as well, though he knew it would be little use. Slowly, he approached the rock, looking for any signs of recent activity. It wasn¡¯t difficult to find some ¨C the stone was covered with asymmetrical scrapes. The beast had been testing its claws on it. Underneath the puddles of darkness beneath them, Dirk felt sudden depressions. He prodded them with the butt of his polearm, and it immediately became obvious that there were tracks. Four legs and two talons, if he judged it right. Pat let out a small yip, and the hunter knew the hound had somehow caught a scent. It must have stunk fiercely, for the dog to have smelled it through the blackened rain. He yelled the news through the whistling wind, then gestured for Pat to continue tracking it. The four humans and their horses followed the hound for a few hundred paces, before Pat suddenly made a large turn back to where they came. The trail must have been older than Dirk had thought: they should have seen the monster on their way over if it was fresh. This observation was belied by far more potent evidence; the area stunk of the sharp and potent smell of sweat. It was a queer scent for a Blooded creature to have: such potent sweat was a very human trait. They continued onwards as Dirk pondered this thought. The monster must have been close, but its behaviour was¡­ he swore ferociously, scooped Pat back up, and swung them both up onto the horse again. With a sharp kick, he set his steed galloping back towards the camp. The Dolphinblood and Owlblood lagged behind, startled by the sudden change in speed, yet Jackson was astride him almost immediately. ¡°What is it?¡± he rumbled, voice easily thundering above the deluge of rain. ¡°It used to be human!¡± Dirk yelled, wind screaming in his ears. ¡°Probably Spiderblood in it too! It¡¯s headin¡¯ back to the camp!¡± The giant stumbled, then caught himself. Withdrawing his halberd from its holster, he spoke. ¡°Why? For what reason?¡± ¡°Dunno!¡± Dirk spat. ¡°It¡¯s strange! Ravenkin should want more godsblood ¨C I guess it figures this is its best shot at gettin¡¯ some. It''s queer though: you three are the only Blooded in a hundred leagues!¡± Jackson cursed, then began pumping his legs faster. The Oxblood pounded his way through the sludge, outpacing the hunter¡¯s horse quickly. His broad back dimmed as he moved further away, finally vanishing into the deluge moments later. The urge to spur his steed faster tore at him, but Dirk slowed instead, to allow the other two Blooded to catch up. If the two of them got lost in these featureless plains, they would starve before finding their way back. Representative Fedor entered earshot, gleaming red armour now black with sludge. ¡°What is this about, hunter?!¡± he bellowed. Dirk could feel the faint hum of the Dolphinblood¡¯s rage thumping at him. He recounted his observations as quickly as possible, giving Captain Vernon time to arrive. For the first time since Dirk had met the Owlblood, his gaze was sharp. Whether his focus was due to the excitement or Fedor¡¯s influence, it was impossible to know. Pat barked, signalling something to Dirk, so the hunter trained his ears. There was a faint whining in the wind, gaining clarity the closer they got to the camp. Barely moments after Dirk recognised it as screaming, the smashed remains of their fortifications raced into sight, and the group rapidly thudded to a halt, shocked. Half of the company bled into the dirt, screaming into the storm. The monster bellowed its fury, and Dirk felt terror once more. Chapter 15 (2/2) - Things fall apart... The monster was larger than Dirk had remembered. Somehow, somewhere, it had killed more Oxkin; its muscles split its skin like overripe grapes. A ring of quivering spears surrounded it, held by half a dozen soldiers, the rest maimed, unconscious, or dead. Tam lay in the dirt, disembowelled ¨C both Stitch and Blunts were missing. The Ravenkin loomed above the cowering squadron, an aura of fear as cold as ice spiking from it. The horror set his legs quaking in their stirrups, and Pat whimpered in his saddlebag. The teeth covering its maw were sharper than any blade. Courage radiated from Representative Fedor, but the feeling was like a candle in a storm; liable to be snuffed out at any moment. The monster¡¯s doughy skin had been opened, bleeding strange liquid akin to pus, the milky substance mingling with the blackened rain pouring from above. Its innards looked like they belonged in a plant, not a moving creature. Yet move the beast did, three eyes whirling in their sockets as it swiped at Jackson, who somehow fought despite the hellish terror his combatant provoked. They battered back and forth, Jackson parrying or slipping its large, telegraphed blows, opening small wounds with the tip of his halberd. He looked to be winning, however the giant was clearly outmatched. Next to the monster the giant looked like a child fighting a bull. If it hit him, the Oxblood was dead. Dirk fumbled his crossbow - already loaded - from a saddlebag and fired a bolt at the creature. The quarrel vanished into its hide, however it wasn¡¯t enough to distract the thing from Jackson. He let out a quavering curse and spurred his horse forward, yet his steed startled and reared, refusing to move any closer. The hunter dropped out of his saddle as the horse bolted, Pat slipping out behind him. He whistled a command to the hound to stay clear. ¡°Rep!¡± Dirk shouted towards Fedor. Both Vernon and the Representative had been transfixed by the battle; the two startled out of their reverie. ¡°We need to get closer!¡± He didn¡¯t wait for their reply to sprint in. The hunter veered around the melee, searching for the Doctor or Stitch. It took moments to find the former ¨C his skull¡¯s contents were spread across the dirt, the sight enough to set Dirk¡¯s gut roiling ¨C however the latter was better hidden, taking nearly half a minute of racing through the tiny encampment to spot. Stitch and Blunts were attempting to lever open a crate with a spear, the two of them partially concealed by the tarp covering the rest of the supplies. The torrent of gunk was causing their fingers to continually slip, and the pair¡¯s hands shook so fiercely reinserting the spear took seconds of floundering. Dirk proved no better, yet somehow, with his help, the two of them managed to crack the box open. It was full of bottles, the poor light making their contents indecipherable. ¡°What¡¯re they?¡± Dirk asked, then spluttered ¨C the tarp was funnelling brackish water into his mouth. ¡°The Doctor said they were healing potions!¡± Stitch yelled, voice barely audible above the torrent. ¡°We got any oil?¡± Dirk¡¯s voice quavered. ¡°No, boss!¡± That was Blunts, eyes steely, objecting to the hunter¡¯s half-vocalised plan. ¡°Can¡¯t burn the monster ¨C this rain¡¯s thick enough to smother any flame!¡± ¡°Bloody Godkin,¡± he swore. ¡°What do we do?¡± Stitch found her voice again. ¡°The Blooded can handle it! Get me the least wounded; hopefully this mix is potent enough to put them back in the fight!¡± Dirk nodded and dashed back onto the battlefield, just in time to see the Ravenkin¡¯s paws blur with impossible speed, smashing into Jackson¡¯s halberd with enough force to send the weapon flying away. The hunter cursed for the umpteenth time, scooping up a spear to toss to the Oxblood, however the halberd glowed purple mid-air and reversed its course, accelerating back into the giant¡¯s outstretched hand. Dirk blinked. Even obscured by the torrential rain as his vision was, he could still see the glint of Vernon¡¯s mad grin. The hunter picked up speed once again, sliding in the muck to a stop next to a soldier with a mangled arm. The man howled as Dirk began dragging him through the encampment, sliding over dropped spears and splintered chunks of wood. Soon enough he had dumped the man beside Stitch and sprinted back to repeat the cycle, Blunts following his lead by pulling more wounded over to their medic. Between carrying soldiers over to Stitch, Dirk caught glimpses of the fight. The monster had been hiding its true strength before, and now moved at incredible speeds, circling the Oxblood like it was a fractions of its immense size, whipping claws towards its quarry at different moments, or occasionally charging in attempts to knock him over. Pat¡¯s barks punctuated every one of the beast¡¯s movements. Jackson responded by whirling his eight-feet long halberd around like a toothpick, batting away taloned claws with inhuman precision. Any blows too powerful were stepped aside with a few strides from his long legs. However, as incredible a warrior as Jackson was, he made mistakes. Claws would rake his chest, or a swipe would be powerful enough to break ribs, sending the giant stumbling sideways, almost losing his footing in the muck. Purple light would glow around the beast¡¯s limbs, stopping it from taking advantage of Jackson¡¯s openings. The work of an Owlblood. Fedor¡¯s contribution was less visible, yet despite the agony Jackson must have been in, he continued as if the pain was completely foreign. Around them, the soldiers quivered. Dirk didn¡¯t blame them; this wasn¡¯t a battle mere humans could meddle in. Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. Jackson ducked a swipe from behind, his feet slipping beneath him from the sudden movement. The Oxblood fell to his knees, and there was no violet glow to save him. The monster leapt at the soldier, lipless mouth gaping, however Jackson only smiled. The Ravenkin flailed as it fell, its own momentum too great to divert, as the giant braced his halberd, sending it straight through the beast¡¯s flabby skin and out its back. It flailed its claws, pulling itself down the weapon¡¯s shaft in order to reach the warrior. Muscles bulged as the giant strained, attempting to cause as much damage as possible before it beheaded him. Blunts was recovering the last injured soldier, so Dirk cranked his crossbow and loaded another bolt, sending the quarrel flying towards the creature¡¯s three eyes. The shot was decent, considering his shaking hands and the constant downpour, however even still the monster flinched backwards, causing his shot to miss entirely. However, Vernon¡¯s power lit the Ravenkin¡¯s head, and the slight movement turned into a jolt as it was yanked backwards, giving Jackson the space needed to rip his halberd out and slice the monster so deeply its head was half severed. The beast slumped to the ground, twitching. The Oxblood stumbled backwards a few steps, then fell to his knees, panting. Fedor and Vernon kicked their horses towards their comrade, faces obscured by the downpour. Dirk managed to breathe a sigh of relief, only for the hairs on the back of his neck to tingle. Pat¡¯s barking turned rabid, and the screams coming from behind reached a new octave. A sensation pressed at Dirk, like a bow aimed directly at his spine; something full of weight was pressing down reality behind him. He knew it from years of pursuing monsters: the Lizard¡¯s ilk. Voices recognisably Stitch and Blunts'' wailed. He twisted around, seeing the medic sprinting towards him through the murky rain. Dirk blinked, then squinted at the grotesque image coalescing through the brackish torrent. A dozen monsters pursued, skin blackened and sloughing off with every movement, then growing back just as quickly. Tumours bulged from them at disgusting rates, occasionally exploding into masses of twisting fibre. Any wound was healed within moments. They let loose animal shrieks, a different pitch for every monster. Dirk knew that for them, all sensation was pain, and only maddened instinct kept their legs moving. Their flesh, amidst its constant shedding and regrowth, sometimes peeled away to reveal human bones. Beneath the tumours and constant healing and decay, the creatures wore red, lamellar armour. They were the wounded soldiers. Dirk grabbed Stitch and pushed her onwards, from behind. The three Blooded were their only chance of survival. ¡°The potions!¡± she panted. The hunter swore, and pounded his feet faster. The healing potions had been dosed. The poor men and women had consumed Lizardblood. Unlike regular Blooded, who imbibed their divinity slowly, over the course of years, Dure¡¯s monstrous power had taken their body and mind all at once, moulding both in its cursed image. Their forsaken souls had no chance at all. A god¡¯s blood was too powerful to be handled so lightly. Then the first monster, bleeding white pus behind Jackson¡¯s back, blurred into movement. For a moment, everything seemed to stop; Dirk and Stitch had the perfect view of what happened next. Lifting its massive bulk out of the mud, the beast stumbled upright, bleeding its life onto the ground. It moved, like nothing the hunter had ever seen, and Fedor¡¯s horse spooked, throwing the Representative off. With a slash from one of its massive legs, the monster split the Dolphinblood in half as he fell, covering its surroundings in a sudden burst of blood. It moved towards Vernon, figure blurring. A purple glow slowed it, and its pale blood sprayed like a geyser. It spun, then headed for Jackson. The Oxblood spun, scooping his halberd off the floor. But he slid, ever so slightly, the weight of his massive frame and the sludge beneath his feet just enough to throw Jackson off balance. And the hunter knew if Jackson died, then they all would be next. Its glaive-like claws blurred towards the giant, and Dirk was there just in time to throw himself in front of them. He hoped someone would take care of his dog.
Pat knew as soon as the Quarry finished its swing that the Friend was dead. He howled his grief to the sky, forgetting his pain and terror as he dashed towards the Friend. The Big Man was killing the Quarry with his long fang, but it didn¡¯t matter. Nothing mattered. The Friend was dead. The Ever-Dying were coming, the Healer running, screaming. From behind him, the Strange One howled his deep howls. The Friend was dead. The Big Man¡¯s arm crunched like a bone between teeth as the Quarry hit him. He responded by cleaving its head off, long fang clutched in only one hand. The Friend was dead. Pat ran faster than he had ever run. Faster than when the Friend asked him to track a Quarry. Faster than when the Friend gave him food. Faster. Faster. Yet even though he arrived faster than he had ever arrived anywhere, it made no difference. The Friend was dead. He howled and howled at the Friend¡¯s feet. The sky fell down around him, yet the world could have ended and Pat would have cared less. The Friend was dead. The Big Man slashed at the Ever-Dying, leading them away. The Strange One worked his magic, and their incredible healing slowed enough for the Big Man to kill one. Then another. The Friend was dead. The Healer tugged at Pat¡¯s collar, but he pulled against her. No one would pull him away. The Big Man was swarmed by the Ever-Dying. The pointy humans came to help, but the Ever-Dying beat at them, their muscles exploding as they did so. The humans died, for the Ever-Dying had the strength of the dying. Why wouldn¡¯t the Friend get up? How could the Friend die? The Big Man broke away, bleeding from a thousand wounds, then killed another. Light flashed around one of the Ever-Dying, and it crumpled into a little ball, smaller than a rabbit¡¯s eye. The Friend was dead. The Big Man tore two of the Ever-Dying in half, and the Strange One made sure they didn¡¯t rise. One broke away from the group, coming for Pat, and he growled his rage. The Friend was not to be touched. The Healer moved first, catching it with a long tooth taken from the ground. The Ever-Dying screamed its agony, body tearing itself apart, and pulled it along. Pat tore at its leg. A blow hit his side and he flew away, a strained whimper emerging from his snout. Pat rose again and attacked, avoiding a kick. He pulled its strange flesh, however it simply tore away. The Healer screamed as the Ever-Dying came closer. Pat barked and barked. Then it was cleaved in half, because the Big Man was there, and the Big Man was strong. The last Ever-Dying¡¯s body split apart, as the Strange One worked his strange magic on it. The Strange One then fell, slumping off his horse. The Friend was dead. The Big Man went around the battlefield, taking the Ever-Dying apart, then stabbed the Quarry over and over again. The Healer fell to her knees and wept. The Big Man slumped to the floor, bleeding and bleeding and bleeding. The sky was black as it fell. The Friend was dead. Chapter 16 - Palette cleanser I cooked in the kitchen, alone. It had been a slow day. One of the rare moments where routine can no longer be relied upon; normalcy falling apart like ash in the breeze. The regular customers were busy with whatever hand life had dealt them, and rush hour passed by with only two or three visitors. Ma, sensing a rare opportunity, had left to attend to some ¡®business¡¯, leaving her three children to look after the restaurant. My thoughts spun in dark patterns. Solitude didn¡¯t suit me, and when coupled with the kind of grey idleness that blanketed the morning I was left feeling particularly grim. Given the lack of business, I had shooed the twins away to study ¨C Spider knew they could make better use of it than I could. Sullen clouds swirled above, robbing our home of the light that would usually filter through it at this time. It had been ten days since I had last seen Bab, and every day I looked forward to him visiting again. Properly introducing him to Sash was a prospect that filled me with wordless glee; the image of him fumbling and stuttering his way through one of my sister¡¯s rants was uniquely hilarious. Yet his morning visits had halted. All too slowly, I was beginning to figure out that I had been used. One of the pans gurgled as oil overheated and popped, spraying speckles of boiling liquid over my arms. I swore, resisting the urge to smash everything around me, then extinguished the stove. There were more productive things to do than puttering around the kitchen ineffectually; activities arduous or complicated enough to empty my skull of thoughts. Maybe I could persuade one of the twins to spar with me. Recently, Ma had begun to extend our morning practice. The time spent bare-fisted had halved, while the hours spent with weapons in our hands had doubled. Sash and Dash were having a great time beating the snot out of me. It was fun for me as well, but a significantly more painful breed than the twins were subjected to. Ma knew I could train for longer than they could, so while one of my siblings were resting, the other was sparring with me. It was frustrating and exhausting, however the end result was that I was improving slightly faster than they were. They were hitting me less, and my blunted stick was whacking them more. My hope of stopping them from joining the Old Guard was seeming like less and less of a pipe dream. Though, whenever I practiced with my pilfered sword, I was becoming increasingly aware of how little I knew of real combat. Was I slicing correctly? Would my blows even break skin? I had no way of knowing. After all, the only opponent I had fought with a real weapon was air. I heard Dash greet a customer from the front, then scowled. If I had to relight the stove, I was going to throw a serious temper tantrum. Then Sash began cussing someone out. I strode out of the kitchen, only to see a face I had forgotten existed. Dash sat on the floor, nursing a split lip. In front of him, his sister stood, swearing up at a fat fellow ¨C whose vast bulk threatened to flow out of his shirt ¨C flanked by two large men, each easily a foot taller than me. One of the big men was completely bald ¨C his black scalp shone despite the complete of light. Besides Dash, the rest of the room was curiously undisturbed ¨C tables and chairs were still upright, the floor shone, and the shutters facing the courtyard rattled in the wind. My face contorted into a strange expression. I was half-angry and half-relieved. Something was happening. The owner of Bushwhack had arrived. ¡°You people are the scum of the earth, fat to be dropped in the rubbish!¡± Sash spat. ¡°Nothing would make me happier than for you to sink into the ground and be eaten by the Owl!¡± ¡°Puh-lease, little girl.¡± The plump man¡¯s jowls jiggled as he spoke. ¡°To call us trash? After dipping your hands in dung and smearing it across my lovely restaurant?¡± Sash sneered. ¡°The words coming out of your mouth are complete and utter nonsense.¡± Both Dash and I knew they weren¡¯t. I inserted myself between the arguing parties. ¡°Excuse me, sirs, but I¡¯m going to have to ask you to leave.¡± The shiny-pated guard shook his head, overly-muscled neck cracking as it moved from side to side. ¡°Not until head chef says so.¡± I turned to the person in question, speaking through gritted teeth. ¡°Well, Mr. Head Chef, would you be so kind as to leave? We were about to close up shop, and we keep nothing valuable on the premises anyway.¡± Only one of those statements was true ¨C I was reasonably sure Ma stashed the shop¡¯s earnings inside the well. The owner of Bushwhack opened his mouth to speak, however my sister beat him to it. ¡°Can I fight them, Orvi?¡± she pleaded. Apparently, the lesson she had learned from attacking Blake had stuck with her. I was glad; as skilled as she was, I couldn¡¯t see her winning a fight with men so large on her own. ¡°Please?¡± ¡°No, Sash,¡± I said, despite my own burgeoning fury, ¡°let¡¯s hear what they came for first.¡± The rotund chef cleared his throat. ¡°E-hem. As I was saying-¡° he glared at Sash, ¡°-my lovely eatery was vandalised by ruffians ten days ago. Now, usually I wouldn¡¯t do anything so crass as to invade another restaurant, however your little hole is the only other restaurant in the area.¡± He looked meaningfully at me. ¡°The only one who could possibly profit off such behaviour.¡± ¡°What¡¯re you implying, Mr. Chef?¡± ¡°Did I not make it clear enough for you?¡± He scoffed. ¡°You. Did. It. And I¡¯m here for reparations for the damages caused.¡± I wracked my brain, my fury dulled somewhat. I hadn¡¯t expected anyone to come after us for Dash and I¡¯s petty crime. ¡°You¡¯ve got evidence for this?¡± ¡°Do I need any? Who else would do such a thing?¡± I let out a sharp exhale. ¡°I don¡¯t know. What do you think the Guard will say about this? About your act of, erm¡­¡± I searched for the word. ¡°Vigilantism.¡± Sash supplied. ¡°Vigilantism!¡± I announced proudly. ¡°And even if we did do it, which we didn¡¯t, does that give you the right to come in here and punch a nine-year-old child?¡± This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. The other large man ¨C this one with a thick head of brown hair ¨C shuffled nervously. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to do it, he just, y¡¯know, came at me!¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t!¡± Dash protested, slowly getting to his feet. ¡°I was coming to greet you! I thought you were customers!¡± ¡°Oh.¡± The hairy guard looked down. ¡°Sorry about that, kid.¡± The greasy cook let out an exasperated grunt. ¡°Don¡¯t apologise.¡± ¡°But chef-¡° ¡°No buts! We¡¯re rivals! They overstepped-¡° I interrupted him. ¡°Allegedly overstepped-¡° ¡°-their boundaries, and this is what they get!¡± I would¡¯ve spat at him, but that would have run the risk of dirtying the floor. ¡°What are we ¡®getting¡¯, Mr. Chef?¡± I spoke in an imitation of Jackson¡¯s voice, hoping to intimidate the trio. Of course, the effect was lessened somewhat coming from a fourteen-year-old teenager. ¡°We are ¡®giving¡¯ you front row seats to your shop being wrecked.¡± Sounded about right. ¡°You can¡¯t do that!¡± Dash protested. Sash echoed his sentiments. ¡°I, just¡­ how dare you!¡± she stuttered, slightly stunned, I clicked my tongue, anger simmering. ¡°Alright, dear guests. Just¡­ wait a minute, I need to check something.¡± Without waiting for a reply I spun on my heel and marched back into the kitchen, the rival business-owner¡¯s voice calling after me. ¡°I refuse to wait! Now-¡° ¡°Stop it! Ma¡¯s going to-¡° That was Dash. ¡°Calling for mummy-¡° ¡°And Jackson will-¡° ¡°Who?¡± ¡°Just stop!¡± My brother, in an uncharacteristic display of valour, managed to distract the trio for the few seconds I needed to bring a frying pan from the kitchen. Its contents were no longer as scalding as they were, however that was for the best. I wouldn¡¯t want to permanently disfigure anyone. Baldy noticed my return, however the chef was too busy attempting to win an argument with a prepubescent, and Hairy simply stared at the ceiling, likely wishing he were anywhere else. I flung the scalding oil at the three of them. Baldy wasn¡¯t loyal enough to risk his life for his boss, so he ducked away. The bulk of my payload splattered across the fat fellow¡¯s bulging shirt, some speckles touching his face and arms. He screeched, only to be silenced by Dash jabbing him in the throat. I followed through by smacking him in the head with the still scalding pan. The Bushwhack¡¯s owner dropped, groaning like an overfed pig. Hairy¡¯s expression morphed into one of absolute horror, and he reared his fist back in preparation to punch my brother. Sash ducked behind him and looped her arms around his beefy biceps, placing all her weight on the man¡¯s thick arm. He stumbled slightly, but remained upright. I was too busy worrying for my siblings to notice Baldy socking me in the jaw. I dipped back slightly, but bereft of any sort of guard the glancing blow was still enough to send me stumbling against a table. I dragged myself upright, then scrambled away, a powerful kick knocking the table on its side. I used the momentum to slip past the massive man, scooping up the pan as I did so. I twisted to face him, seeing Sash coiling her body around both of Hairy¡¯s arms while her twin laid into him with a chair. My opponent was fractionally too slow spinning around, slightly distracted by the sight. I took advantage of his torpor by springing off a chair to slam my still-heated pan on the man¡¯s hairless pate, the handle of it breaking off in my hand. He yelled and batted the pan on his head, but his dark skin stuck. Baldy hissed, then heaved the hot metal off his head, pieces of skin peeling off with it. Mimicking Dash, I grabbed a chair and smashed it on the man¡¯s back, the impact sending the wood juddering out of my hands, the fumble giving him enough time to turn and face me. He roared, then charged, only to stumble over the chair at his feet. Unbalanced, my ensuing tackle was enough to take both his feet out from under him, despite my significantly smaller size. We both toppled to the ground in a mess of limbs, however his bewilderment gave me room to wriggle out from under him. The man attempted to rise, but I sent my bare heel smashing into his temple. Baldy rolled sideways, grunting. A glance over to my siblings saw them having the situation well in-hand ¨C Sash was choking the poor guard while he keeled over, clutching his gonads. My brother looked guiltily horrified. Mr. Head Chef was dizzily making his way to his feet, so I kicked him in the side of the head, ending his attempts. I turned back to Baldy, only to see the man in question hurling a right hook my way with frightening speed. The punch was too fast to dodge, so I instead caught it on my guard, but the dulled blow was still hard enough to set my ears ringing. Two jabs to the huge man¡¯s jaw failed to make him flinch. I ducked another hook, then backed away towards the kitchen, Baldy still pursuing. The large fellow decided to steal one of my moves ¨C which I had stolen from Dash ¨C by grabbing a chair and sweeping it towards me. I hurriedly backed away, the wood swishing past, only for Baldy to reverse his grip and slam it down in an overhead blow. I leapt backwards, the poor seat shattering into splinters. I felt a stinging pain beneath my eye as a shard of wood embedded itself there. Gripping the fragmented remains of a once-noble chair, Baldy charged once again and I flung a table into his way, buying me the precious moments needed to enter the kitchen. I was mildly upset he didn¡¯t lose his grip on the chair throughout the process ¨C obviously the man was a better furniture-wielder than I. I barrelled into the tiny room, gaze alighting on my prize: a metal potlid still gleaming with condensation. As soon as I grabbed it, Baldy was inside the tiny room, only for his eyes to widen as I flung steaming noodle soup at him. He immediately retreated back outside. Jumping over the now-ruined meal, I followed. My opponent was waiting, and swung his dual chair-legs down at me. I slipped aside one, letting the other glance off my makeshift shield, then smashed the potlid against a white-knuckled hand. Baldy yelped, releasing one his weapons, and I snatched it as it fell. Now properly equipped, I pursued, letting loose a flurry of blows against Baldy¡¯s skull. Having to swing upward took some of the force out of my strikes, however I could still see my opponent reeling from the hits. He blocked my slapdash club with a beefy forearm, then threw his chair-leg at me. I let the awful toss miss me, only to frown as the man drew a dagger from his pants, taking a wide-legged stance. It seemed he was a poor loser. He stabbed at me, and once again I smashed the dented kitchen implement against his arm. Despite keeping a grip on the knife, he howled and stumbled backwards, giving me a truly massive opening. I pre-emptively flinched as I visualised my next move. I dropped my shield and gripped my stick with two hands, swinging it upward to crash between Baldy¡¯s legs, squashing the delicate organs that lay there. He fell to his knees and groaned, dropping his weapon and clutching what once was his greatest hope for siring future generations. I broke the chair-leg over his bald head, and he fell face first into the ground. I bent over, panting, then paused. An almost tactile feeling hit me, as if another piece of my body sat aching meters away. A sensation I hadn¡¯t felt in some time hit me. Someone was about to die. I looked upwards to see my sister choking her unconscious opponent, Dash repeatedly punching him in the jaw. ¡°Stop.¡± I whispered, trying to avoid the quiet voice telling me to let him die. They continued. ¡°STOP!¡± I yelled. ¡°You¡¯re going to kill him!¡± Dash¡¯s fists shuddered to a halt as I stumbled my way through a dining area full of overturned furniture. Together, the two of us managed to pull a flailing Sash off the hairy man. She strained against our grips, manic in her desire to continue attacking. ¡°He¡¯s done, he¡¯s done.¡± I told her. Her struggles slowed, then halted, her rage finally quenched. The three of us leaned against a wall, adrenaline still quivering through us. I began taking deep breaths, and the twins quickly copied me. I closed my eyes and gave both of them a silent thumbs up. They had done a pretty good job, excepting the near-murder. Still, Sash had stopped far faster than I thought she would; I guess she was getting better are controlling her emotions. ¡°What-¡° Dash¡¯s voice broke. He tried again. ¡°What do we do?¡± I opened my eyes to a restaurant full of splintered furniture. My siblings looked at me with wide eyes. ¡°Uh. I guess we¡­ get these Bushwhack people out¡­ and then get some new chairs.¡± They nodded, and we got to work. Chapter 17 - ...The centre cannot hold... The sky was grey as ice. As always, the Foot¡¯s streets were quieter than a mausoleum. Two men and two women dressed in brown stalked their prey from roof to roof, unassuming were it not for the ravenous look in their eyes. They looked like a pack of starving wolves ¨C minus the sleek fur and noble visage. Divine dexterity fuelled their movements; their movements were fluid, bringing to mind snakes dancing to an inaudible tune. Their quarry was oblivious; the killers were impossible to spot without first knowing they were there. Captain Jackson of the Old Guard stumbled beneath them, a thousand wounds curdling with rot. The giant¡¯s face was pale and strained, his eyes bloodshot. He sweated and gasped like someone hanging from a noose. The red lamellar armour that served as his badge of office was splintered in several places, now less than functional. His weapon ¨C a halberd covered in blackened flesh ¨C was dragged behind him by a limp arm. Here was the visage of a dying man. Nevertheless, the Oxblood continued onward. The boy who was once Tasmaronian Barberfellow watched the group approach. He had been given many names: ¡®Tas¡¯, ¡®Master Barberfellow¡¯, ¡®boy¡¯, ¡®spy¡¯, ¡®hostage¡¯, ¡®meat¡¯, and, most recently, ¡®Bab¡¯. There were enough to get lost in. It had been a long time since he had been sure which one was him. He liked Bab the best, though. Bab stepped out into the street, directly in front of the Captain. The gargantuan man barely managed to avoid trampling him, instead falling against the side of a building. He turned to issue a rebuke to the scribe, vague recognition in his gaze, however Bab was already scampering away. An assassin leapt from a rooftop, daggers plunging towards Captain Jackson¡¯s neck. The giant twisted around and thrust his weapon upward, impaling the woman through the chest. However, the motion gave him no space to dodge or deflect the arrows flying towards him. Two embedded themselves in his left arm, while another narrowly missed his knee. The killers were silent from their vantage. Jackson spun, and flung the weakly struggling assassin towards the trio. They scattered, one falling to the street while the two others jumped to separate roofs, their comrade crunching where they had stood moments ago. As the fight began in earnest, Bab ran into a nearby building. If he interfered, chances were a stray arrow or swing would end up killing him. He wouldn¡¯t put it past his so-called ¡®allies¡¯ to use him as a shield either. Even so, he wanted to stay nearby; the fate of his family was riding on the outcome of this battle. Peeking out the window saw Captain Jackson decorated with five more arrows, using his meaty fists to send vicious jabs at one of his assailants. His halberd had fallen beside him ¨C too slow of a weapon to match the Foxbloods attacking him. With inhuman agility, the dagger-wielder flowed around the Oxblood¡¯s punches, opening cuts on his trunk-like arms. Yellow pus dripped where his rotting wounds were reopened. Yet the slices remained relatively superficial ¨C Jackson always managed to pull away just in time. Time was not on the giant¡¯s side. Two more wounds opened as he attempted to hit his combatant, every attempt dodged or slipped minutely, while arrows began peppering his body from the rooftops. The Blooded was flagging under the onslaught. With infection ravaging his body, it was astounding he was only just beginning to run out of breath. With a thrust of a dagger, the assassin buried his weapon to the hilt in Jackson¡¯s arm and began ripping it through his forearm. That turned out to be a fatal error; the killer was too busy trying to cause more damage to avoid a blurring fist, which punched through flesh and bone like a hammer through butter. Gore splattered across the street, and the Oxblood lifted the corpse with his still undamaged right arm, using it to block several arrows. Once again, he tossed the body towards his remaining foes. Then he charged towards Bab¡¯s building. The scribe cursed and hurried away from the wall as Captain Jackson crashed through it, shattering the sandstone as if it were made of leaves. Bab scrambled behind a cabinet, yet a hand was already curling around his leg, hurling him against an unbroken wall. The boy curled on the floor, breathing heavily, wondering why he wasn¡¯t dead. ¡°I HAVE YOUR BOY!¡± came a sonorous bellow. Bab covered his ears, wincing, but the words managed to penetrate anyway. ¡°LEAVE ME BE, AND HE WILL LIVE!¡± The response came in the form of a high-pitched voice, almost completely obfuscated by the ringing in Bab¡¯s skull. ¡°Do you have any proof, Sir Oxblood?¡± This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it Jackson nudged him with a booted foot. ¡°Speak,¡± he commanded in his deep, rumbling tones, ¡°speak, and you¡¯ll live, little scribe.¡± Bab gulped. The Captain had recalled who he was. ¡°I-it¡¯s me!¡± he called. ¡°Uh, uh, Jackson, he uh, he¡¯s got me!¡± Everything was silent for a moment, besides the Oxblood¡¯s laboured breathing and the slow drip of blood falling to the ground. Then, from outside: ¡°Alright! Get yourself gone, Sir Oxblood!¡± ¡°IF YOU DON¡¯T MIND¡­¡± Jackson panted, then spat a gob of phlegm on the ground. ¡°I¡¯LL BE TAKING THE KID WITH ME!¡± ¡°Okay, okay!¡± He grabbed Bab by the scruff of his shirt and hauled him upright, then began dragging him backwards through the derelict house. They emerged out the opposite side. The remaining male assassin stood on the street, an arrow cocked in their direction. ¡°ALRIGHT!¡± the ground shook with the force of the Oxblood¡¯s expansive voice, ¡°LET¡¯S TAKE IT NICE AND EASY!¡± The Foxbloods let them retreat further before they struck. The archer fired his shot directly at Bab. Jackson cursed, then flung the boy away, catching the arrow with his left arm once again. He began charging towards her, only to be intercepted by the remaining killer, who leapt off a roof, daggers poised, in nearly the exact same motion that saw their comrade impaled moments earlier. This time, however, the giant was missing his halberd. Captain Jackson thrust his fist upward, missing the falling assassin slightly as the woman twisted her body mid-air, wrapping herself around the Oxblood¡¯s thick arm. He howled as she plunged her dagger into the giant¡¯s good arm, repeatedly. Arrows flew constantly, however most missed his madly staggering form. Jackson weakly battered at her with his other arm, yet studded with arrows as it was, the motion lost all force, his efforts next to useless. The killer slithered like a snake, ripping open flesh, sinew, cartilage, and veins. Pus and blood spewed across the street. With a roar, the giant leapt onto the ground, crushing her under his weight. Bab watched as the woman shrieked, one of her legs twisting unnaturally. Jackson staggered upright, and the killer began hopping away, only for her back to be crushed under the immense weight of the giant¡¯s boot. She wailed, and with his opposite foot, he squashed her skull like an overripe grape. An arrow glanced off of his thick skull, opening a small cut. The injury paled in comparison to his mangled arm, dangling uselessly in a waterfall of severed muscles and bursting blood. He turned his back to the marksman, hunching into a ball as he tore strips of fabric off the dead woman¡¯s clothes. His fingers shook as they clumsily wrapped the fabric around his ruined upper-arm, tying it tight enough to turn the skin around it white. Yet the blood didn¡¯t stop. Arrows pierced his monstrously muscled back. The onslaught suddenly stopped. The archer had run out of ammunition. Bab saw the man sprinting towards another quiver, still attached to the second assassin killed. Captain Jackson staggered upright, shafts sticking out of his entire left side, looking like the victim of some overzealous acupuncturist who had then taken a saw to an unprotesting client. Bab watched in a stunned stupor as the Oxblood began stumbling forward. He picked up speed. The killer slid for the quiver, yet Jackson was faster. The final assassin was trampled into a gory paste. Bab stilled, hoping the giant would forget he existed. Jackson turned, and began slowly walking back down the street, in the direction he was originally heading. His steps became smaller and smaller. The giant¡¯s fall sent a cloud of dust flying into the air. The gambit had succeeded. It had cost House Leyden four Foxbloods, but they had the blood of one of the world¡¯s greatest generals. It was worth ten times its weight in gold ¨C generations of Blooded would have added their mark to the Oxblood, inscribed remnants of their life into the godsblood. The effect was usually minor, however this particular strain had been in human veins for a long time, accumulating more and more power with each generation. Taking it from the Esfarians would be a massive blow. Bab saw the logic, yet all it meant to him was him and his family¡¯s heads were back on the chopping block. If Leyden¡¯s cell in the Foot was wiped out, the execution of three generations of Barberfellows would immediately follow, orchestrated by dead-eyed Blooded on dark, clouded nights. It was the House''s promise to him. But they had succeeded, and so Bab would be threatened back into slavery. And he was sure Master Reagan would be livid at being denied whatever secret he pursued so vehemently; the expedition was meant to provide an opportunity to steal it. The Master was never pleasant, but his fury was always painful. The worst part was, they would probably kill him when their business in the Foot was done. All he had been through, only to end up at the bottom of a shallow grave, in the middle of nowhere. Like he had never existed at all. Still. The scribe¡¯s thoughts moved at breakneck speed. There were five Blooded, dead or dying in the street. The Leydenese would recover the spilled divinity by the end of the day, he was sure. Things would go back to how they used to be. He would spy, steal, and betray, and then he would die. Or, he could take a chance, and commandeer the power splattered across the street. Maybe, if he made himself important enough, he could keep his family, his new friend, and himself all safe. He could live. Everyone could live. The hope was thin and strained and an executioner''s blade hung above it, but it was all he had. He knew there was no other choice. The sky was grey as ice. He gripped the broken wing dangling from his wrist. Bab lowered his lips to a corpse. Chapter 18 - ...Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world ¡°Come on, little brother,¡± I panted, my arms straining around a stone table. ¡°Heave!¡± I had led my siblings to Butcher Boys territory. The area was relatively unmolested by scavengers, given the local¡¯s propensity for taxing adults half their teeth for the privilege of passing through. Uninhabited houses filled the area, already stripped of all of their valuables, however abandoned furniture wasn¡¯t particularly pricey given the city was full of them. The opportunity saw us looting any decent tables or chairs and piling them up on a makeshift cart my sister had put together. It would take two or three trips to gather enough to refurbish our battered home, but eventually, it would be done. Hopefully before Ma got back and realised my delinquent behaviour had trailed me home. Of course, all that required us to actually be able to remove the best pieces from each house. My brother and I were trying to lift one out. It wasn¡¯t working. ¡°I do not believe the table will fit through the door, Orvi.¡± Sash spoke from behind, carrying a much smaller chair. I was rapidly coming to the same conclusion, however my pride wouldn¡¯t let us give up so easily. ¡°What if we¡­ widen the doorway somehow?¡± I suggested. Dash¡¯s legs were buckling. ¡°Let¡¯s put it down, please?¡± I nodded, and together, we gently placed it on its side. He leaned over, panting. Almost immediately the weighty table lilted, then began falling. I yanked my brother out of the way as it fell where he stood moments ago. The floorboards collapsed beneath it, and it slumped down to the foundation of the house, a few inches below. The twins became even paler than usual. I opened my mouth to speak. ¡°It¡¯s a shame, but maybe we leave it for now.¡± The two of them bobbed their heads so rapidly they nearly lost balance. Our failure was infuriating ¨C it was a really nice-looking table, with little carvings and splashes of faded paint as ornamentation. However, it would almost certainly break the scrap cart Sash had built. We exited the building and stood in the street, looking over our pile of purloined objects. Despite sprawling across the avenue, at its highest point the mound still came very close to being taller than Dash. I had also thrown a few lovely looking dressers and cutlery sets into the mix. Surely the restaurant could use more of those, right? ¡°I think we have enough, Orv.¡± Exclaimed my brother, who had been staring at the small hill of unassorted furniture. I tutted. ¡°You¡¯re thinking too small, oh brother of mine. There¡¯s an entire-¡° Sash interrupted me, shaking her head. ¡°No, we have gathered enough. It is about time to pick a few and take them home.¡± That was bad. It was rare for me to have two additional people to help me hoard things; I couldn¡¯t let them go without a fight. ¡°Now hold on a second, you two.¡± I protested, scouring the dark corners of my brain for anything to use. ¡°What if more things break? Shouldn¡¯t there be some sort of back up? There are plenty-¡° ¡°Orv.¡± Dash was looking somewhere behind me. Losing a target¡¯s focus was a death knell for any swindler. ¡°Come on, help me help Ma.¡± I sighed, and brought out my most lethal of weapons. ¡°I carried you two across a-¡° ¡°Orvi.¡± Sash whispered fiercely, having joined her brother in ignoring me. I sniffed. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to have-¡° The twins grabbed my arms and spun me around. I struggled gently, only to realise what my siblings had been trying to tell me. At first, I thought the silhouette was human. It was bipedal, had four limbs and a head ¨C what else stood like that? Yet the grey light revealed something far stranger: a malformed creature dressed in the tattered remnants of human clothes, hairless face bulging with a wolfish snout, its feet flat and long like the back legs of a dog. One arm was lean and long, tipped with yellowed nails, while its left was far smaller. The flesh was distended, rippling, like it was filled with maggots, surging towards its wrist. The hand at the end was tiny, resembling a child''s. I gently pushed my two siblings behind me, and we began slowly creeping backwards. The monster sniffed the air, its disconcertingly human nostrils flaring. My thoughts raced. It tilted its head down, staring directly at us. Its ashen body was completely still. Beneath a tattered shirt, its sunken ribs barely moved. I had seen enough feral dogs to know what was going to happen next. ¡°Sash,¡± I whispered, ¡°you need to find Ma, bring her to the old storehouse nearby.¡± Sash began to protest, but I shut her off. ¡°We need her help, and you¡¯re the fastest.¡± Without turning, I addressed my brother. ¡°Dash. Do you know where my stash is?¡± There was no reply. My eyes flicked over to him, seeing the boy entranced by the monster. Slowly, careful not to make any sudden moves, I pushed the side of his head. He startled slightly, then turned to me. I repeated the question. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ near the garden¡­ I think.¡± His teeth were chattering. ¡°There¡¯s a small hole in the rubble nearby. A sword and two bottles filled with red liquid are on the other side. They¡¯re potions. I need you to bring the sword to me. If you or Sash or anyone else gets hurt, make sure they drink those potions. ¡°I¡¯m going to lead it to the storehouse,¡± I continued, pointing at the three storey building a few hundred meters away. ¡°Trap it inside, hopefully. Do you two understand?¡± They nodded, Sash¡¯s eyes blazing while Dash¡¯s lips quivered. ¡°Alright. When it comes after me, you run.¡± I pushed them backwards, and began approaching the creature. I opened my arms wide, keeping my palms open, squatting slightly. It stayed almost perfectly still. ¡°Easy,¡± I crooned, ¡°easy there, pal.¡± The black eyes of the beast were inscrutable, twin pits of endless darkness buried in its skull. ¡°No need to fight, no need to fight.¡± In my mind, I only knew one thing for sure about the thing: its gaze was focused solely on me. The twins had been all but forgotten. Closer, I crept. ¡°Let¡¯s not have a bad time, yeah?¡± Fifteen meters. ¡°There¡¯re no problems, no problems.¡± Ten. ¡°Leave my family alone, please.¡± At eight, it struck. Suddenly it was moving, galloping on three limbs, its small arm tucked limply against its chest. Despite its impairment, the creature crossed the distance between me and it like a stone from a sling. I kicked a stray chair towards it and ducked into a house, slamming the flimsy door shut behind me. The sound of splintering wood echoed from outside, quickly followed by a clawed hand punching its way through the door. I moved through the small building, scooping up a stool and diving through an empty window ahead of me. The monster panted, moments behind me. Its deformed snout poked through the window, breath stinking of blood and too-fresh meat, and I smashed the stool against it, immediately turning to continue fleeing. A shockingly human howl shattered the silence of the area, and I began yelling, telling the world that something horrible had been let loose. Still gripping a flimsy fragment of wood, I sprinted away, air coming out of my throat heavy as lead, more from fear than exertion. The street was wide and empty, the nearest door nearly a dozen paces away. I could hear the strange, stuttering gait of the beast¡¯s three limbs hitting the ground, coming closer and closer. For a brief moment, it slowed, then the sound stopped. I dove to the side as the monster came crashing past me and into a wall. My feet pounded packed soil, and I crashed into another building. We had visited this one what felt like hours before. Distantly, I remembered a bookcase, metal inlays torn from their casings. Even still, it was a handsome piece of furniture, just too heavy to carry home. Now, I heaved it in front of the entrance, intending to block the beast¡¯s progress, only to accidentally squash the monster beneath instead. I backed away. The creature flailed, screeching at me. I searched for another way out, but the house had no windows. The only path out was guarded by a rabid thing. Its struggles halted. Pops began resounding from beneath the heavy furniture, its joints and limbs beginning to flop in unnatural ways. I blanched as it slowly began to slither out, and placed a nearby chair on the top of its head. Its vision blocked, I leapt on top of the rich wood of the bookcase, only for claws to slash at my calf in a boneless motion. I staggered, slightly off balance, however the wound was superficial. As I ran down the street, an awful realisation struck me like a pile of bricks. If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Its nails had grown longer. It was still growing.
For a whole minute, my journey through the streets remained unmolested. Mud and sandstone brick flashed by. Adrenaline rattled through my body. The world was suddenly completely clear, outlined in shining precision, while my limbs pumped with seemingly endless energy. Yet my mind was unclear, muddled, and my thoughts moved like snails on a knife¡¯s edge. Maybe that was why I didn¡¯t hear my hunter approaching. Abruptly I was rolling across the ground, a human wrapped up in the inhuman. Lines of pain coursed down my back and I felt blood dripping down the back of my shirt; in an almost random movement, I twisted my neck to get a better look at my assailant, only for a mouth full of teeth to snap past my larynx. My throat had nearly been torn out. I plunged my shard of wood into the monster¡¯s eye, and it reeled backwards, screaming. I screamed too; the fear temporarily dispelled any rational thought. Instinct controlled my limbs as I scrambled backwards, scuttling like some primordial crustacean. It took a moment to find my feet, and then I was picking up speed and crashing into a nearby building. The front door was more hole than wood, so I searched nearby for some way to slow the creature¡¯s advance. There didn¡¯t seem to be anything, just rusted bits of junk and assorted tools; not that the two seconds I spent parsing it was enough for a decent look. I spent far too many moments trying to decide whether to grab a chisel or a hammer ¨C I ended up grabbing both, then rushing out the back exit. Howls echoed through the streets madly; I couldn¡¯t tell whether the beast was right behind me or dozens of yards away. Still, the immediacy of the danger was less ¡®about to disembowel¡¯ and more ¡®going to disembowel¡¯ ¨C a marginal difference, all things considered, but I felt fractionally more myself for it. The human psyche works in mysterious ways. The shock of nearly dying having temporarily left me, I began crafting theories as to what my dogged hunter was. Undoubtedly, it was a monster, the raw physicality of its abilities making Fox or Oxkin seem the most likely. Dirk¡¯s stories featured them prominently: both were common as far as monsters went, given the Ox¡¯s propensity for gaining wounds and the Fox¡¯s tendency to give blood away. I had no idea where it had come from. My best guess was that one had wandered into the city from the desert, however this particular beast was growing rapidly: a sure sign its blood had been acquired recently. The thought was bizarre though; the Foot had two or three resident Blooded at most. And I couldn¡¯t imagine that those who survived the Raven would fall on some random day, eight years later. A murky idea began to coalesce, however it evaporated as soon as I realised the monster was loping across rooftops behind me. If it was a Foxkin, which I thought likely, then when it matured into its blood it would be able to kill me faster than I could blink. In that regard, its stunted hand was a handicap in my favour. Unfortunately, my role was to buy time, and the more time I bought the more powerful my foe would grow. And there was no way of knowing if or when its arm would mend. At moments like these, I wished I had done the homework Stitch set for me; I vaguely recalled Blooded biology being amongst her lessons. The storehouse was only a few alleyways away, but moving through them would leave me with no space to dodge. Intending to cut through another building, I dived through another empty window, and began moving towards the door opposite. Some strand of errant intuition stopped me. Something felt wrong. My mind caught up to my gut. The skittering of the creature¡¯s nails on the sandstone roofs had stopped, directly above me. It was waiting to ambush me. I moved away from any entrances slowly, trying not to make a sound. I was in a house much like all the others around here. Like most, it was only a single room arranged around a fire pit, filled with moth-eaten tapestries and unpleasantly rotted furniture. Luckily, it wasn¡¯t one of the ones I had looted earlier; there was a table big enough to prop against the window I had come through. Moving slowly, I carried it across the room and placed it sideways, blocking that entrance. A few stacked cupboards handled the door ¨C or at least, would trip up the monster chasing me. There was one more window, which I handled with a stinking straw mattress. Maybe the smell would chase it away. I crouched in a corner, as far away from my shoddy barricades as I could get. I strained my ears, listening for any signs of movement, but there was nothing. My heavy breathing remained my only company. We waited like that for a time. The tension was unbearable. Had an hour passed? A minute? Had the creature left? I had no way of knowing. The stand-off seemed to be in my favour: the longer I stalled for, the more likely it was that Sash would bring Ma. Yet terrible premonitions flashed through my vision. Dash coming back, carrying my sword and potions, sliced open like a cleaver through meat, his only mistake to trust that I would be where I said I would. Sash and Ma approaching the storehouse, focused on its doorway, dead before they knew what killed them. The monster¡¯s sharpening claws and grotesque form would feature in my nightmares for years, if I survived. Its teeth snapping past my throat replayed through my head, over and over. Only once had I ever been more terrified. Yet I had to do something. I was scared of the monster, but I was more scared of my family dying because of me. A way out. I needed a way out. One that wouldn¡¯t get me eviscerated. And then I needed to get to the storehouse. Without being eviscerated. And then trap the creature in the storehouse. Without being eviscerated. Stitch always told Sash that breaking problems into steps can help make them seem more manageable. It didn¡¯t seem to be working. I whacked my head like I was trying to get jam out of a jar. The process didn¡¯t make my brain work any better, however it did convince me that I was getting nowhere squatting in an abandoned house. It wasn¡¯t like me to sit and agonise over things. That was for other people to do. Like Dash, after we vandalised the Bushwhack. Or Blake, after we robbed someone. The line of thought was familiar. I felt like myself. Still holding the hammer and chisel, I inspected the floor, trying hard not to think about what sat above me. Wood lay beneath me, boards nailed haphazardly across one another. Mouldy, like the rest of the house. I recalled the table crunching through similar floorboards earlier, opening a passage down, beneath the building. In my hand were the right tools to do something similar, just more quietly. I thanked the stars that the floor wasn¡¯t just dirt. It took a long time to wiggle the floorboards up. Progress was slow and halting, the occasional scratching of nails from above causing me to freeze. I was dead if the monster came in. Every scrape of my rusty chisel or tapping of the hammer was excruciating. Yet my fears weren¡¯t realised; the monster never came in. Maybe the splinter through its eyes had struck a bit of mortal terror into it. Maybe it had already mapped my every move. Regardless of the reasons, I managed to open up a gap large enough to squeeze through. The boards scraped my stomach as I slid down. I was forced flat on the ground, the crawlspace too small to kneel or crouch in. Slivers of light cut through mud bricks blocking my route out. I shuffled forward, and even more cautiously than before, began unstacking the bricks. Fortunately, they weren¡¯t glued together with mortar, so moving them was a soundless affair. An opening was made. I stared through it, into the pale light of the afternoon. My destination was close. One more building, a bit of quick thinking, and then I was done. The temptation to sit and map out a route was seductive, however I knew any plans I made beyond the next few seconds were useless. I wasn¡¯t the Spider, and even if I was I was too far out of my web for any amount of brainpower to matter. Licking my lips, I crawled out. My bare feet crept across the earth. Ma had always told me that rapid movements draw the eye, so despite the urge to break into a sprint, I leaned into the shadow of a nearby building, shuffling along it towards an alley ahead. Slowly, slowly, I sidled along. A glance back saw the beast on top of my previous residence, staring intently at its feet. Its claws had elongated by several inches and its teeth gleamed cheerfully. The tiny hand seemed even smaller. In a strange inversion of childhood fears the darkness of the alleyway was comforting. I had reached it unseen, exonerating a lifetime of petty crime in the dead of night; at least thieving had taught to move unnoticed. As soon as I was out of its line of sight I was running, silently padding across the ground. I reached the front of the storehouse, undid the exterior bolt and yanked open one of its large double doors. It was bizarre to think I had fallen off of its roof in an effort to save some kid just two weeks before. I was struck by the vain hope that Blake was around and whispered into the black interior, but there was no response. A creak resounded through the street as the door complained at its mistreatment, and I hurriedly went inside, merging back into the shadows. My eyes adjusted a tad too slowly, causing me to smack into nearly every crate, plank, and pile of stone on my way to the back. A silhouette passed across the crack of light coming from the entrance, and suddenly I knew the monster was in here with me. Once again, I felt trapped. Survival seemed distant, like the sky from inside a well. I didn¡¯t know where it was, and even if its eyes weren¡¯t good enough to see me creeping across the street I was certain its ears or nose would be able to track me in the darkness. Yet I was completely blind. Any movement risked exposing me. I was reminded of another hole, in another place, a long time ago. I lied and tricked my way out of that one. I could do the same here. I threw my hammer across the room, and began feeling my way across the room. There was a dull thump as the tool hit the dirt floor, then the rattle of objects being knocked over. Sniffs echoed, quiet as death. I was halfway to the exit. I threw the chisel to the corner behind me. A hiss sounded as something moved very quickly, followed by the shattering of a dozen or so bottles. I ran blindly, holding my breath, reciting every distantly remembered prayer I knew, hoping that there would be no trips or fumbles, that my legs would move true. They did, and moments later I was back in the light. I shouldered the door closed and slammed its bolt shut. I walked forward limply and fell to my knees, spent of all energy. My breathing was thick and ragged. ¡°Sash!¡± I yelled, victorious. ¡°Dash! I¡¯ve done it!¡± There was an answering bellow, faint and indecipherable. Even so, I knew the twins had found Ma. I blinked away the tears forming at the edges of my eyes. If anyone asked, I had got dust in them. I was going to brag about this for years. This was almost an ¡®I dragged you across- Wood splintered behind me and I wheeled. It had punched through the heavy door, its previously stunted hand now fully grown. The beast groped at the bolt, but my focus was on a torn bracelet that had been sent flying outward, the force of the impact flinging it off the creature''s wrist. It landed at my feet. I stared. At home, a nearly identical accessory was tied to my new backpack. Strung on a cheap piece of thread was a broken wing. I looked up as what used to be Bab opened the door and stabbed its arm through my stomach. Chapter 19 - Innocence drowned There¡¯s a feeling that comes before a fall, at the precipice where a stumble transforms into a complete loss of control. A sudden wrenching of the gut, a sensation of emptiness rippling out from a point, the shock potent enough to draw all attention towards the inevitable. Balance has been stolen, and past that point nothing can be done to stop the indefatigable movement downwards. The only action left to take is to flail fearfully and try to minimise the damage. As the monstrous Bab withdrew his claws from the hole in my abdomen, that moment extended for an eternity. The world was cast in crystal; I could see, feel, and hear everything. The brown of the dirt below. The outlines of objects in the storehouse. The hint of Bab¡¯s blue eyes in the bottomless stare of the beast. Thoughts flashed like lightning through my mind. I had been arrogant, stupid, idiotic ¨C how could my wit match divine power? Would my family be alright? Was I about to die? The musings turned more concrete: the best way to block Bab¡¯s next attack, how to fall in the safest way, what I should say to inform Ma that Bab had escaped. Then the agony hit and I screamed. I hit the floor and somehow it increased. I screamed, and then the monster was falling onto me, and I screamed as I raised my arms, the motion twisting my mangled organs. I screamed as Bab closed his savage muzzle over my arm, shredding them like a chef shreds cabbage. I kicked and punched and screamed and screamed and screamed. Bab halted, cocking a vulpine ear. I shoved him away and began hauling myself across the dirt, but all the strength had fled my body. My fingers weren¡¯t moving properly, and my legs had no energy. I looked downward, seeing the bones of my forearm and the sprawl of my organs and my blood running from my body in terrible, terrible clarity. The horror of it hit me and I wailed. The creature that was once human rose on his haunches and stared at something down the road. My vision swum. Exhaustion hit, harder than it ever had before. I strained myself, grasping for something to focus on, to keep me awake. Some fell thing had taken hold of me, and was trying to drag me somewhere I¡¯d never return from. I refused, panting and groaning, blind obstinance keeping me conscious. Then Ma was crashing into Bab, smashing him against the storehouse¡¯s wall. There was a flash of onyx as a sword blurred towards him, and he ducked, springing off the wall to flank her far faster than she could move. Yet somehow, she had anticipated the movement, and her weapon was already there. With a fluidity belying her seven-foot frame, the blade snaked through the monster¡¯s arm, severing it at the elbow. A howl emanated from Bab, and he sidled backwards, stumbling and off balance, however the Oxblood was already there. Any avenue of retreat had been sliced away; a wall was behind him, Ma was in front of him, and her sword seemed to know whenever he was trying to move left or right. He leapt at her, only to be met by a large fist mid-air, sending him crashing to the ground. Bab bounced back upright and blurred across the ground towards my mother¡¯s leg. She moved her foot slightly and then all his momentum was returned in a kick that flattened him against the wall. He avoided a swinging fist, then lunged backwards, avoiding a decapitation yet still a hair too slow to avoid a detached jaw. The lower half of his face hung loosely, and a serpentine tongue dangled from his mouth. I gurgled, blinking away the desire to give in. I would not turn away. Bab jumped towards her once again and Ma intercepted, only for him to slip aside, the movement sending blood spurting around. It splashed on my face. I felt the hum of power within it, and desperately tried to wipe it away, but I was too weak. Meanwhile, Bab had managed to take advantage of his timely dodge and was scurrying away. My head lolled backwards, darkness creeping in. The street flipped upside down. I watched the monster gallop across the skyward earth. Spots danced before my eyes, obscuring two figures in the distance. I squinted. They revealed themselves as Sash and Dash, staring at Bab in mute terror as he approached them. Desperation filled me. I clawed at the ground behind me, kicked at the dirt, trying to heave myself towards them. Then, Bab¡¯s hollowed chest exploded in a geyser of blood, and he collapsed to the ground. Ma had thrown the sword like a javelin. I could feel my friend dying, up ahead. My blood sang in response. Panting, I heaved my hand upright and attempted to clear the splatter of Bab¡¯s blood on my forehead. I failed. Clenching my eyes shut, I concentrated on the sensation of his draining life, the sudden link between him and I. I tried to squash it. I failed.
You live in a large house, filled with the gentle yellow of an ending day. There are many, many people in it. They take care of you. Sometimes you leave, and run with sheep and cattle with your brothers, herded by various manservants. It takes some time to realise you are the second last of the eleven children borne to the family of Barberfellow. There were shouts coming from above me. Images fluttered into view. Orvi¡¯s mother ¨C no, the monster ¨C no, my mother ¨C held a bottle of something. It was the potions I had replaced, assisted by¡­ myself. I screamed, clutching at myself, trying to remember who I was. This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. You grow, but are still always small. The house has turned darker, and now things are slightly different. You are loved, and you love in turn, however expectations are being placed upon. People expect you to speak, yet there are always too many different words to say. The opportunity to respond passes, and you are humiliated for your failure. It burns at you, and you hate it. Something cool streamed down my throat. A mangled screech left me, driven out by fierce pain radiating from my arms and stomach. Strong hands were lifting me. ¡°¡­he will be fine, Dash, but you need to help¡­¡± a deep voice grumbled. Spitting blood, I felt someone¡¯s life slipping away. You find solace in the written word; linear, straightforward, predetermined. A story only ever has one answer. There are no fumbling attempts to find the perfect response. There is no need for you to open your mouth. You ravenously consume every book and story in the house, then go through them, again and again. Here, in this two-dimensional world, you are reduced to a bystander. A spectator to tales of gods and hunts and heroes and clans, where there is an unspoken promise that everything will be alright. That knowledge swaddles you, reassuring and truer than life itself. Words were being spoken. I was being rocked. The person carrying me was running. The dying boy drifted further away, yet it was too late to stop. You submerge yourself in a world of ink and tablets, your understanding of the medium burgeoning. Your tutors notice, and suddenly you are praised for your ability to remember things, your exceptional penmanship, the speed at which you can process information. The house is light again, and you have found your place. You are not proud; the ability is the natural consequence of countless hours in the library. But you are being supplied with books and quills, and suddenly you are doing everything right. The knowledge of metaphor, rote memorisation, and how to best wield a quill flowed into me. I tried to spit it back, return it to its rightful owner. My eyes rolled opened and the world became a cacophony of colour and agony. I closed them again. You are met by your father and mother. They tell you what they believe is good news: you are to become an apprentice scribe, in the service of the house your family is vassal to. You do not know what to think. In a whirlwind, you leave home and are thrust into a world of files and documents, where men and women can make ink appear on paper with a wave of their hand. Someone was whining. I tried to tell my younger brother that everything would be alright, but before I could formulate a method of speech, a much deeper voice drifted into focus. ¡°¡­he¡¯s tough. He won¡¯t die¡­¡± Flashes struck, and her next words echoed before she spoke. More than anything, I wanted her to stop. ¡°¡­he¡¯s got Lizardblood, we just need¡­¡± Then reason spun away again. You work hard. Things are different here; no one looks after you, and your inability to voice the right words is tolerated less. Your fumbles and stutters earn you no friends. But your family loves you, and even if you cannot speak correctly, you know how to write. No matter what task you are given, the words are always the same ¨C one comes after another, and everything is right. Another person¡¯s experience was shunted into me ¨C or was I being shunted into another person? Distantly, I understand my body is failing, yet it feels like nothing compared to the phantom pain of a boy fading away, his dying light funnelled into the hungry mouth inside me. I didn¡¯t want this, because if I did, I was a monster. You are given a posting somewhere even farther away. Your family is proud, and you do not want to disappoint them. Yet letters begin appearing on your nightstand as you sleep, promising a slaughter if you do not obey. You are fearful, but ignore them. They return, with a lock of hair from every member of your family. You obey. Sympathy, empathy, understanding; all are far too agonising to bear. My good will revolted against me. In the distance I heard screaming. You are now in a hot, stinking place. Punishment is swift and unforgiving, no matter where you are. Every scrap of free time is spent running mysterious errands. You are eventually judged obedient enough to meet your captor ¨C he is every bit as cruel as you imagined. You live and breathe fear. The dissonance between the two lives disappeared temporarily. For a moment, in that memory of tyranny, I found a piece of myself to cling to. You meet someone during your errands. There is a family you have been tasked with spying on. The two sons are wildly different, the elder filled with an exuberant energy while the younger reminds you of you. The daughter is your age, confident and elegant and she moves like a dancer. A door opens, and I open my eyes to a familiar ceiling. It¡¯s Maja¡¯s ¨C Ma¡¯s ¨C restaurant. My home. The environment twisted and shook around me, the terrified faces of my family wavering in and out of reality. An apology was on my lips. I attempted to inform them I hadn¡¯t meant to become this thing, that I was sorry, but I couldn¡¯t. You are given the order to sabotage your workplace, while also implicating the family¡¯s eldest son. You hate it. You do not want to do it. And the boy is nice and funny and he looks after you, and you feel safe for the first time in a long time when you are with him. You ensure your co-workers'' ends, but when the opportunity arises you can¡¯t bring yourself to betray your new friend¡¯s trust. My teeth creaked as I clenched them. My conscience fought against my nature, trying to return what I was taking, but it was too little, too late. I wanted to believe that the holy instinct flowing through my veins was someone else¡¯s, but the truth was writ deep in my flesh ¨C I was Avri, and Avri was me. You are given a chance. You take it. A sea of instinct and savage cruelty smothers you. You are simultaneously obsessed with tormenting your friend and desperately trying to save him. You succeed, and you fail. Then death comes, and even as you struggle you are relieved. The nightmare is finally at an end. Only, something is happening. An anchor has wrapped around your soul. It grips you. You are being sucked away, swirling and roiling outward- -and finally, he was drawn into my blood, and I knew that Tasmaronian Barberfellow had breathed his last. Chapter 20 - Tomb of minds Awareness returned like a shot of ice. I clenched my eyes shut, hoping that I could ignore the world for just a little longer. Yet information assailed me; the smell of old blankets, the lingering scent of cooking oil, the feel of rough fabric on my skin, the taste of dust on my lips, and the breaths of someone sitting next to me. Every sensation was sharper than it used to be. That knowledge cut me like a blade. I still recalled the feeling of a sword flying through Bab¡¯s chest. He was dead. I had known that the moment I realised the monster was him. He had taken the blood of a god too quickly, without any plan, periods of acclimatisation, or mental training. It had ruled him in body and soul, transforming him into a beast. Divinity transcended all. Gradually, I reopened my eyes. The ceiling was alien, full of ineffable contours and granular textures, leaping at me as bold as an arrow to the head. Yet the angles were familiar. I squinted, and my mind readjusted, compensating for my newly-enhanced senses. I was in Ma and Sash¡¯s room. Rolling onto my side, I stared at large person, sitting on a small stool next to the bed. For a moment, I thought it was another monster; they were human shaped, but everything was wrought in terrible detail. Then the image coalesced, and I realised it was Ma. She was still inhumanly ugly, with dark skin rolled into flaps of loose leather, and face lined from her old age and mangled from decades of combat and her departed divinity, though the embers of her Oxblood, still glowed within. Her dark hair was greyer than I remembered. My eyes cast all of this in grotesque detail ¨C I rubbed them and hoped I would be used to these new abilities soon. Finally, I could voice a question that had been tearing at me for a long, long time. ¡°Are you going to kill me, now that you know?¡± I asked. Her expression folded. She covered her face with a huge hand, and her shoulders shook. For several moments I watched, unsure of what was happening. It was only because of my bolstered perception that I heard her sharp inhales. Ma was crying. I moved my legs over the side of the bed, wincing at the stiffness of my limbs. Rising to my feet was more difficult, but stumbling the few stops over to my mother helped me work some of the rigidity out. Somewhat hesitantly, I wrapped my arms around her head, having to stand on my tip-toes to reach her seated height. She sobbed harder, but I didn¡¯t know what else to do, so we stayed there. A former warrior and her monstrous adopted son. When her heaving body stilled, I let her go. I didn¡¯t want to talk yet, so I walked over to Ma¡¯s pile of tools and grabbed a chisel, short enough to hold between my thumb and forefinger. I sat back down and stared at it. Slowly, I raised it, and began tracing words in the air. After a sentence, I stopped. ¡°No,¡± I mumbled, ¡°no, no, no.¡± My writing was messy and slow. But that hadn''t been my writing ¨C it was Bab¡¯s. He was dead, yet a part of him had stowed away in me. Insidiously, a line had been cast into him, and my blood had reeled pieces of his soul into mine. No, calling it the work of my blood would be an injustice ¨C my blood was me. I had done this. Suddenly I was a little less myself and a little more someone else. It was all my fault. His memories were fragmented, displaced ¨C I hadn¡¯t got as much from him as I had from Drue ¨C however skills were far easier to sort. And the Foxblood that had turned him into a monster was now inside me. Diluted, and partially defanged by the divinity of a dead god, but still there. I felt hollow. Wrung out. It was only right to weep, yet the tears I was supposed to shed had dried up. Who would cry for Bab, if not me? A large hand grasped my shoulder. I flinched. Ma gently tilted my head towards her. ¡°I knew.¡± She said. It wasn¡¯t surprising. There were many things you could hide. Strength, intelligence, empathy. Concealing rapid healing from your martial trainer was far more difficult. I had failed, despite my efforts. ¡°Since when?¡± ¡°I have had my suspicions ever since I started training you. Perhaps the final straw was when I realised you often forgo sleep entirely.¡± That was what had revealed me? ¡°What¡¯s so strange about that?¡± ¡°Orvi, children need sleep far more than any adult. If they avoid it, they cannot operate the next day as is usual.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t think you knew so much about kids.¡± ¡°I asked Stitch why the twins slept so often.¡± Ma chuckled lightly, my ears picking up every vibration in her rumbling laugh. ¡°She was furious when she realised how little I let you rest.¡± When I was younger, I had hated sleeping. There were too many dreams, all about killing or being killed. I usually woke up more exhausted than when I put my head down. Ma had terrified me, but, with the exception of her frequent rages, I always found cooking with her through the night to be meditative. Seeing her many failures in the kitchen was reassuring, and helping her cook or taste-test made me feel important. Wanted. ¡°It wasn¡¯t a big deal.¡± I told her. ¡°Not for you.¡± She shook her head. ¡°I¡¯m glad I did not force your siblings.¡± We sat in companionable silence for a time. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you kill me?¡± I blurted. The Oxblood rubbed the back of her head, looking uncharacteristically sheepish. ¡°There were many reasons. The most truthful one is that¡­ I don¡¯t think I could.¡± I shifted on the bed. ¡°You are my son. And I love you very much.¡± She paused, then sighed. ¡°However, even if you were not, I think you can be trusted with the power. I ask you to promise me something, though.¡± I waited. ¡°You¡­¡± she scratched her face, then started again. ¡°Don¡¯t kill someone for their power. That is¡­¡± Ma closed her eyes, and exhaled deeply. ¡°That is a dark path.¡± I didn''t want anyone''s power. Nodding was easy; effortless. I should have thought harder. ¡°I promise.¡± She bobbed her head slowly. ¡°Thank you.¡± The room had an ambient light, motes of sunshine piercing their way through cracks in the walls. I wondered how long I had slept. ¡°Orvi?¡± Ma said. I looked over to her. She fidgeted lightly. It was a comic motion with her size and appearance, but I wasn¡¯t in the mood to tease her over it. ¡°What?¡± ¡°¡­Do Sash and Dash have godsblood?¡± I quietened. ¡°¡­I don¡¯t think so. They¡¯re¡­ missing a few things.¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°Every type of blood has traits. You had your anger. Avri''s blood..." I paused. "I want to possess beautiful things. The twins don¡¯t¡­¡± I tried to think of a way to conjure an explanation without admitting how many trinkets I had stolen. ¡°They don¡¯t want like I do. But maybe they only have a little bit.¡± ¡°¡­How much do you have?¡± I thought for a moment. My recollection of gaining the Ravenblood was hazy; it had been a long time ago. And it had happened twice. Both times had hurt, and I had hated it. ¡°A lot, I think.¡± ¡°I see.¡± She lowered her eyes briefly. ¡°And do you¡­ want, a lot?¡± If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°Less, now.¡± My mother hummed. ¡°Is that why you stole Jackson¡¯s sword?¡± I blinked. ¡°Wha- I didn¡¯t-¡° ¡°Orvi.¡± She gave me a flat look. ¡°It¡¯s a nice sword!¡± I protested. ¡°Orvi, you would have been quartered if they had realised you took it.¡± ¡°No!¡± I was adamant. ¡°You, or-or, or Jackson.¡± The stutter diminished my fire somewhat. It reminded me of Bab. ¡°Maybe.¡± Ma stated. ¡°You never know with a House. It¡¯s fine work, besides. Alloyed with a god¡¯s bone, if my guess is right.¡± I blanched. ¡°¡­It was expensive?¡± She nodded. ¡°The kind of craftmanship money can¡¯t buy. Though, it was commissioned for me, so they may not mind you keeping it.¡± That made sense. The scabbard had been engraved with an Oxblood fighting the Raven, after all. General Maja was the first who sprang to mind. If the sword was so valuable, though, there was no way it was just a gift. ¡°Why¡¯d they do that?¡± ¡°They wanted to recruit me.¡± Ma tutted. ¡°They did?¡± I spat. ¡°I refused.¡± ¡°Damn right!¡± ¡°They insisted on Jackson instead.¡± ¡°Wait, so that¡¯s why he joined?¡± I asked. ¡°He joined because he wanted to, Orvi.¡± I scowled. ¡°Ass-¡° She slapped the back of my head. I grabbed the rapidly-forming bruise, wincing. ¡°You will be glad to know, then, that he was beset upon by assassins. As was I.¡± My groaning paused. ¡°What? Why?¡± ¡°Someone wanted our blood. It was a brazen move; they must have also weakened House Esfaria¡¯s presence in the city beforehand.¡± She growled. ¡°Fools. They may have almost single-handedly destroyed the Foot.¡± That was a lot to process. ¡°Is Jackson alright?¡± My brain worked through the rest of her words. ¡°Are you alright? What¡¯s going to happen?¡± Ma sighed, and rubbed her eyes. There were deep rings set underneath them. ¡°Jackson breathes still. Miss Tran is treating him while Stitch is... otherwise occupied.¡± She paused. ¡°I imagine the Foxkin drunk the blood of the assassins he fought. Stupid.¡± ¡°Bab didn¡¯t have a choice!¡± I snapped. ¡°Th-there was no other way!¡± She gave me a strange look. ¡°You knew the person?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± I nodded. ¡°Yeah, I did. He was the, uh¡­¡± My voice caught. I frowned, then opened my mouth. ¡°He-¡° I couldn¡¯t get the words out. I blinked rapidly. ¡°My friend.¡± I choked. With excruciating detail, I could feel liquid seeping out of my eyes and down my face. It was my turn to cry. Ma leaned over and enveloped me in her arms. I tried to stifle my sobs, but ended up letting the tears flow. Was the pity I felt for him mine or his? The feeling that his death had been as certain as the sun setting? Had his memories been distorted somehow? How much of me was still me? I mourned him, and I mourned myself. I wondered if I had become more, or less. The room quietened after a short time. Weeping was exhausting, and I didn¡¯t have the energy to do it for long. Besides, a splotchy face would make me look like some sort of misshapen squid, and surely mark me as a cry-baby. The twins wouldn¡¯t make fun of me after what had happened, but that just made it worse. I felt a need to explain myself. Explain Bab. ¡°He was being blackmailed by some House. To sabotage the Old Guard. Bab thought they were going to kill his family.¡± Ma nodded, then leaned back into her seat. ¡°When did he tell you this?¡± I squinted at her. ¡°He didn¡¯t.¡± ¡°How do you know, then?¡± I attempted to express my confusion. ¡°You do know I¡¯m a Ravenblood, right? We weren¡¯t talking about something else just then?¡± Ma rolled her eyes. ¡°Yes, Orvi, I know.¡± ¡°I got some of his memories.¡± Ma stared at me, eyes wide. The silence was awkward. I scratched my head. ¡°What?¡± ¡°You didn¡¯t know that?¡± ¡°No. It was¡­¡± She stopped, gathering her thoughts. ¡°It was thought that Avri only assimilated skills and blood.¡± ¡°Why just those two?¡± ¡°I¡­¡± she rubbed the back of her head. ¡°I do not know. I have seen Ravenbloods kill in battle and remain mostly unaffected. It is a strange oversight. It might be prudent to let the Houses know.¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± I asked. ¡°The Raven is dead. It¡¯s just me, now, right?¡± ¡°The Conditions-¡° she saw my blank look, and sighed. ¡°The Heltian Conditions formed the alliance that felled the Raven. Every House, excepting the Albrights, had a hand in it, though Albright intervened at the end.¡± ¡°Who¡¯re the Albright¡¯s?¡± ¡°Our monarchs.¡± ¡°What in the blood¡¯s a monarch?¡± Ma looked genuinely stunned, more so than when I confessed to being a Ravenblood. ¡°The king? Queen?¡± I sniffed, slightly offended she thought I didn¡¯t know what ¡®kings¡¯ and ¡®queens¡¯ were. Though, before I obtained Bab¡¯s blood, I might not have. ¡°We have those?¡± ¡°Yes, Orvi, we have those. Or the Houses do, anyway.¡± She rubbed her chin. ¡°We might not for much longer. The fact they were not originally included in the Conditions was a sign their star was waning.¡± ¡°Huh.¡± I didn¡¯t really care about some Bright people I¡¯d never heard of. ¡°So, what¡¯s that got to do with the Raven?¡± ¡°Yes, the Raven. The Conditions''s objective was specifically the eradication of Ravenblood. That is what we hoped. Most believed that the blood would lose its potency upon the death of the god. It did not. Moreover, it hasn¡¯t decayed.¡± I tried to parse what she was trying to say. ¡°So. There¡¯ll be more Ravenbloods?¡± She nodded. ¡°There will be more. Some day. And all the problems with them will arise once again. Telling the Houses will allow them to better combat the eventual threat.¡± ¡°There¡¯s good reason to let the Houses burn.¡± ¡°It will be the Foot burning first.¡± I paused. ¡°Alright. You¡¯re¡­ how did they not know this?¡± ¡°Well,¡± she was somewhat defensive, ¡°capturing Ravenbloods alive is almost impossible. They¡¯re volatile, with a madness directly proportional to their power. Most Ravenbloods need at least three other Blooded to take them down, and if they manage to kill even one, it¡¯s almost guaranteed the other two are dead. Non-lethal force is too risky, when every loss is more divinity permanently corrupted by Avri.¡± ¡°Huh.¡± It was upsetting to hear it put so plainly. I had no doubts General Maja would have killed me when we met, had she known what I was. ¡°You couldn¡¯t, I don¡¯t know, negotiate? Talk to them?¡± ¡°The Raven¡¯s Cult was never keen on cooperation.¡± Ma was right. I knew their nature from personal experience. The cultists weren¡¯t ones for playing nice. Still, had not even one defected? Or had they not acquired even a drop of Ravenblood? It was bizarre to think the Houses had never found out. My musings were interrupted by a light thump. I focused on the creaking of floorboards, a pair of halting footsteps, and the twin pair of breaths approaching the doorway. I let Ma know with a tilt of the head, and she nodded. I opened my mouth and yelled. ¡°Oi! I¡¯m up!¡± There was a large thud and then Sash was bolting into the room and leaping on top of me. Surprisingly, she decided to forgo her signature elbow this time. Dash limped in afterwards, smiling widely as soon as he saw me. ¡°Orvi!¡± Sash exclaimed. ¡°You¡¯re okay!¡± My brother limped over to me and burst into tears. I pulled him back onto the bed, nearly being squashed by the two of them. ¡°I thought,¡± Dash sobbed, ¡°I thought you were dead.¡± I put on my brave face. ¡°Pfft, no. There¡¯s no way some-¡± my words stuttered to a halt. ¡®Monster¡¯ had been on my lips. Suddenly, I was disgusted with myself, but a longer pause would give me away. I continued. ¡°-no way I¡¯ll ever die.¡± ¡°It¡¯s all because I brought Ma!¡± my sister proclaimed proudly. ¡°No, it¡¯s because I brought the potions!¡± Dash countered. I cackled evilly. ¡°No, it¡¯s because I am just that incredible.¡± In unison, they protested, each talking over the other, making it impossible to get a word in. The noise cut into my ears, all-consumingly loud. I braced myself for agony, yet despite the nauseating abundance of sound, there was no pain. I looked over to Ma for help, but she seemed more amused than anything. After a minute of babbling, they both agreed on a single line of questioning: ¡®What was it like being a Ravenblood?¡¯ ¡°It¡¯s a lot like being me,¡± I answered. The twins looked at one another. ¡°Does that mean you are evil?¡± Sash asked, characteristically bereft of all tact. Sighing, I answered. ¡°Yes. I¡¯m afraid you caught me. I¡¯ve been evil this whole time.¡± She flinched. Dash looked at her. ¡°He¡¯s being sarcastic.¡± She let out a small ¡®ah¡¯. ¡°Be serious, Orv.¡± ¡°Look, I don¡¯t know.¡± The question was too close, too much; giving a truthful answer meant exposing too much fear. ¡°I¡¯ve had it for longer than you two have been alive. I don¡¯t remember what it¡¯s like to be normal.¡± The inhabitants of the room gave me a sceptical look; I felt the lie hanging in the air, volatile as any explosive. I turned to other things. ¡°Anyway, how long was I sleeping for?¡± ¡°Three days.¡± Ma grumbled. ¡°It was expensive getting a doctor over to look at you and Dash.¡± ¡°What happened to Dash?¡± I blurted. He pointed to his ankle, swollen like some dark apple. ¡°I tripped coming back.¡± ¡°Stitch couldn¡¯t see us?¡± My eye twitched ¨C for some reason, guilt was bubbling up. A recollection tickled, freshly grafted into my mind. I supressed it. My mother looked away. ¡°She only returned recently. Now, Sash, Dash: I need you to leave us for a moment.¡± They groaned, but she cut them off. ¡°You will have him back afterwards.¡± They filtered out of the room. I heard their treads entering the dining area, too far away to eavesdrop. The twins were more filial than I was, that¡¯s for sure. We sat for a time. Ma was making sure we were alone, or perhaps trying to uncover the best way to phrase a question. The light filtering through the room¡¯s cracks were darkening; a cloud must have been passing over the sun. I didn¡¯t want to hear what she was about to say. She leaned over, moving her face close to mine. ¡°Can you recall any specifics about the assassins?¡± The gesture wasn¡¯t meant to be intimidating, however it dispelled any remnants of contentment my siblings had placed within me. It felt like I was drowning in mud. Bab¡¯s memories of the past year were unclear. Figures were cloaked in terror, their faces warped like the surface of scrap slag. Whether that was due to my incomplete assimilation of them, or simply his own fear, I didn¡¯t know. I clenched my teeth, and tried to talk straight. ¡°They had Bab spying on the Esfarians.¡± I wracked my brain. ¡°They¡­ Captain Vernon, the, uh, Owlblood. He had¡­ no, he knew something important. And then¡­¡± Furrowing my brows, I thought harder. ¡°O-Orvi and I¡­ Representative Fedor and Captain Vernon were, uh, going on an expedition and I¡­ They wanted to¡­ get more blood, and isolate Captain Vernon¡­ O-Orvi and I, uh, swapped healing potions with¡­ I think they were doses of Lizardblood. ¡°They died.¡± I realised. Shakes wracked my hands, and my jaw wobbled ¡°They must have died. Because of me. Because I was stupid, and Bab thought I wanted them to.¡± Ma hugged me. She must have known, must have already forgiven me. But I had known Bab was doing something. The death of the Old Guard had always been an option. Vaguely, I had known people would suffer. And now the Guard had been obliterated, and the Foot was free of them at last. For some reason, I didn''t feel satisfied. Chapter 21 - Hunting ignorance To me, introspection felt like a pointless act. Scouring the depths of your mind seemed more than a little self-indulgent. The expectation that something new or unique would be found, despite years of inhabiting that same strand of consciousness was foolish and promised only minor rewards. Besides, how could a mind entirely comprehend itself? It would be like trying to fit a box into an identical box: entirely impossible. It was a point Sash had made, albeit phrased in a more meandering fashion. Ma had told her the point of introspection was to simplify the mind just enough to understand what mattered. Though I said nothing, I disagreed. Nearly every adult I was close to had had their characters altered by godsblood, trauma, or even something as simple as a bad mood ¨C what was the point of understanding yourself when you could become someone else at any moment? Unlike a person''s nature, their choices were carved into the world as soon as they were carried out. They were reliable. Even if I changed, the past would not. The knowledge was not as reassuring as it used to be. A distant intuition told me I was fooling myself. There were uses in knowing yourself ¨C I could see it in the control and drive many of my friends and family could display. The truth of the matter was, I didn¡¯t want to. My soul was not like other people¡¯s; it was a grotesque, patchwork thing. If I made the wrong move, it would be unstitched and undone. Introspection could be excruciating, so I spun away from it, a dancer evading lethal arrows. It was impossible to dance forever. Yet, each day spent in ignorance was another without pain. A profoundly distorted way of living, but it was mine. Ma left soon after she determined I was in good health, leaving me instructions to clean and maintain her sword. She wanted to find the remnants of the Old Guard, or, at the very least, the Owlblood Vernon. I wiped blood off the blade, then oiled and attempted to sharpen it. The small amount of Foxblood remaining on it went into a bottle ¨C it could be sold later for a hefty bundle of chits. However, most of Kani¡¯s power was still in Bab¡¯s body ¨C it would take a transferral device to suck it out. Ma only had one keyed for Oxbloods. Though, any aspiring Blooded could just eat Bab''s corpse. At risk of becoming a monster. I hoped someone had gone back to bury him. Our restaurant had been shuttered ¨C there were no customers anyway. The city was emptier than usual, with the spree of superhuman violence scaring the few inhabitants into hiding. Over the horizon, the Lizard loomed, its divine weight promising death to anything in its way. Without any business, I searched for something to keep my mind occupied. The house had already been cleaned meticulously, to avoid any rot getting into my wounds. Dash¡¯s ankle was still too swollen for him to do anything besides the most basic of chores. In contrast, my sister was training maniacally. I thought about joining, but my stolen Foxblood was still affecting my senses. I didn¡¯t trust myself not to startle at the nearest loud sound. Even if I avoided any sensory overloads, my kinaesthesia was altered, every movement writ with the flexing of muscles and tendons. The motions ingrained into my body by years of scampering through the streets now seemed lumbering and inefficient. The smallest misjudgement in movement was disconcertingly obvious. I felt like an oaf just by walking around. My new instincts would take some getting used to. Reminders of my actions hung over me; in my altered mind, in the emptied city, in my siblings'' hurried glances; introspection threatening to fall and crush me like a boulder crushes a wormy apple. Sunset found me sitting in the dining area, drumming my fingers against a table, with Ma¡¯s sword across my knees, when a knock came from the door. Caution and relief filled me in equal measures. Someone was here. Something was happening. I strode over, stopping short of the entranceway. I could hear heavy breathing outside. The visitor had been running. Or was scared. With my left hand I drew the borrowed blade from its sheath, and with my right I opened the entrance. Outside I saw panic carved into a familiar face. ¡°Blood, Orvs,¡± Blake exclaimed, raising his hands, ¡°put the damn sword down.¡± I lowered it. ¡°Blake.¡± I said. ¡°Sorry.¡± He walked inside before I could give him permission, and sprawled on one of our chairs. I bolted the door and dragged another opposite him. ¡°What in the gods¡¯ names happened here?¡± Blake asked. After I was mauled, no one was eager to leave and drag our looted furniture home. ¡°We were a bit busy.¡± ¡°Busy doin¡¯ what? Yoinkin¡¯ fancy swords?¡± he gestured towards my weapon, still bared. I sheathed it, feeling slightly foolish. ¡°I was attacked. A monster. Foxkin, I think.¡± ¡°Raven¡¯s bones, Orvs.¡± Blake¡¯s expression flicked halfway into disbelief. ¡°How¡¯re you alive?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know. I was running. It got me. Ma killed it, then gave me potions.¡± I paused, trying to figure out the best way to tell him. ¡°I think it was Bab.¡± I had already told Blake and Erin most of the details of Bab and I¡¯s heist. The only thing I left out were details about the potions ¨C I didn¡¯t want them to know I had let Bab do something so obviously suspicious. My friend¡¯s face twisted, confusion and horror mingling. ¡°How do you know?¡± ¡°The monster was wearing the wing I gave him.¡± He clenched his eyes shut, deeply disturbed. ¡°Yeah.¡± I agreed. The whole scenario had been horrible, and only promised more to come. I felt like some malformed aberration was laying in wait, brandishing an insane smile. I was struck by the irrational belief it stood, long claws splayed to tear out my throat¡­ I tilted my head backwards. Chairs and tables, and an empty kitchen. I looked back at Blake. He rubbed the side of his head. ¡°Poor kid.¡± His eyes were turned downwards, looking at some distant spot on the floor. ¡°What do you think happened?¡± ¡°Ma says she and Jackson were attacked. Assassins. Foxbloods. Bab must¡¯ve known something. Drunk their blood.¡± I was lying to him; I knew their exact relation. But the only way I could possibly know it was if I could speak to the dead. Or, if Bab had told me, I supposed. ¡°Something¡¯s going on. Bab knew. He was scared, all the time.¡± The teenager across from me nodded. ¡°Got that feelin¡¯ from him, yeah.¡± He leaned forward. ¡°Everything¡¯s off. People¡¯re gettin¡¯ out of the Foot. Those with the means, anyway. Rest¡¯re just runnin¡¯ scared. Old Guard gone, a god on its way¡­¡± he shrugged. ¡°I thought your Ma would be takin¡¯ you out too.¡± I thought about it for a moment. ¡°You¡¯re right. It is weird. Why hasn¡¯t she taken us away?¡± ¡°Maybe she knows something we don¡¯t.¡± I grunted. ¡°Or maybe she¡¯s planning on leaving as soon as she returns.¡± He raised his eyebrows. ¡°You¡¯d let her?¡± I shot him a quizzical look. ¡°Do you really think I could stop her?¡± ¡°You are a bit of a wimp.¡± ¡°Oi.¡± He chuckled half-heartedly. ¡°Nah, I get it.¡± His eyes turned dark. ¡°City died eight years ago. We were all just playin¡¯ make-believe with its carcass.¡± Blake could be eloquent, when he wanted to be. The feeling wasn''t isolated to just me, then. But if my family was fleeing, like he suggested, I had to do something before I left. I owed the Foot that much. If I could just... fix things, somehow make everything better, then it would be like none of this ever happened. The thought rang hollow. But I had nothing else. ¡°It¡¯s still too early to give up.¡± I said. ¡°Bab was being blackmailed by another House.¡± He gave me a sharp look. ¡°How¡¯d you know?¡± ¡°He told me.¡± I brushed it off. Blake was perceptive ¨C he would know something was off ¨C but hiding what I knew wasn¡¯t worth the cost. Especially if this was the last thing I could do for him. ¡°I think I can probably track down their base. Probably. Maybe.¡± If Bab had been there, I might be able to recall the way. He waved his hands in front of me. ¡°Woah, slow down. How¡¯re-¡° he shook his head. ¡°No, even if we do find it, what¡¯re we gonna do? If they can cough up Foxbloods like you an¡¯ I cough up spit, there¡¯s no way we can just bust in there. Even if I brought of all the Butcher Street Boys ¨C which I can¡¯t, because my Boys''re all busy prepping ¨C we¡¯d still end up as smears on the dirt.¡± I tousled my hair, trying to formulate a plan. ¡°Look: we just need to find it, tell Ma or Jackson or Captain Vernon ¨C then they can do something.¡± This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. ¡°Do what?¡± he spat. ¡°Die?¡± I threw up my hands. ¡°I don¡¯t know!¡± Blake was taken aback ¨C I always had an excuse. ¡°It¡¯s something. They¡­¡± I grit my teeth. ¡°They killed Bab as sure as they stabbed him through the neck themselves, and they¡¯ll get away with it. It¡¯s stupid! They¡¯re not even supposed to be here!¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± I blinked. ¡°About what?¡± ¡°What do you mean, ¡®they¡¯re not supposed to be here¡¯?¡± Furrowing my brows, I answered. ¡°House Esfaria submitted a proper request for the Foot through the Albrights¡± All of those words were foreign to me, yet I spoke them nonetheless. Gritting my teeth, I continued wracking my brain. ¡°They¡­ promised to pay the other Houses in blood regained from the battle site.¡± I shouldn¡¯t have known this. ¡°They... want some secret.¡± A spike of pain struck me, but I soldiered on. ¡°House Leyden is here... unofficially, I think.¡± Blake squinted at me. ¡°You¡¯re sure?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± the pain in my skull was fading, yet I remained unsettled by this new knowledge. ¡°I am.¡± ¡°Right.¡± He stared at me. I imagined me suddenly turning purple would be less disturbing to him. ¡°If you¡¯re right, we can use this.¡± ¡°How?¡± ¡°We find their base. Suss it out. Get some proof, if we can. If we can¡¯t, we call in someone else. Head back.¡± His next few syllables were embellished by him thumping the chair. ¡°Black. Mail. Them. If they¡¯re still in good shape, they might be able to spare Blooded to protect us.¡± I chewed on a fingernail. ¡°They might just kill us.¡± ¡°We tell your Ma, or bluff. Make ¡®em think if we die word¡¯ll get out.¡± It wasn¡¯t a bad plan. Except, unlike with Bab and I¡¯s heist, failure would be met with an overwhelmingly high likelihood of death. ¡°Are you sure you want to do this?¡± There was no hesitation before his response. ¡°Aren¡¯t any better choices, Orvs.¡± I nodded. After telling the twins I was heading out, I tied Ma¡¯s sword to my back with a bit and cloth. Then we left, barring the door behind us. Silently, I was glad to be taken away from myself. For a few more moments, I could avoid the inevitable.
The shadows of the day were at their longest, stretching down the street and mingling with the yellow light of the setting sun. Distantly, I had recalled that Bab¡¯s days would usually start with a trip to the central farmlands. The specific location was hazy, but I hoped that the impression would get stronger the closer we came. The walk also gave me an opportunity to get used to my new senses ¨C I would run and jump and jog back and forth, my friend giving me a look of bemusement. Between my shenanigans, Blake and I chatted about small things. The most interesting occurrence was that Bran, Blake¡¯s former second, had tried to challenge him to a fight, his position going to the victor. My friend laughed at the recollection, because there was no actual precedent for such a thing happening. They weren¡¯t ancient warriors, duelling for a god¡¯s honour. Erin had promptly beat the surly adolescent black and blue. ¡°Really?¡± I wondered. Bran was a decent brawler, and had given a good showing the few times we fought. ¡°On the rooftops, Erin didn¡¯t seem that good.¡± ¡°You¡¯re a freak, Orvs. She didn¡¯t expect you to keep takin¡¯ hits.¡± He sniffed. ¡°She¡¯s a strange one, to be sure. Gets better the more she knows about her opponent.¡± ¡°Do you think she¡¯d beat you in a fight?¡± He scratched his head. ¡°Maybe I could¡¯ve when we first met, but now? Yeah,¡± he said, unashamedly. ¡°Knows me too well.¡± All these talks of losing were firing my ego. ¡°What about me?¡± Blake gave me a long look. ¡°You can¡¯t even beat me.¡± ¡°What are you talking about? I¡¯ve beat you plenty of times.¡± ¡°Pfft.¡± I could tell he was intentionally riling me up. That knowledge didn¡¯t stop it from working. ¡°Don¡¯t count.¡± ¡°You little rat. What do you mean ¡®don¡¯t count¡¯?¡± ¡°Exactly what it sounds like. None of them count.¡± ¡°Why not?¡± He snorted. ¡°I was goin¡¯ easy on you.¡± ¡°You absolute dog,¡± I went through the motions of anger jokingly, in an attempt to hide my very real irritation. ¡°If I hadn¡¯t just been bedridden for several days, I¡¯d have your eyes for that slander.¡± ¡°You¡¯re mad, aren¡¯t you?¡± I was. ¡°I¡¯m not.¡± ¡°You are!¡± Blake grinned triumphantly. I pointed a finger at him and opened my mouth, only to cock my head. Between the wind rushing through the streets, the flapping of old fabrics, and the scuttling of small creatures, something else lurked. ¡°You can¡¯t-¡° Then I heard it: clear as day. A set of near-silent steps were hidden behind us, flitting in and out of alleyways as we moved. While motioning for him to continue, I simultaneously mimed a person sneaking about. I withdrew my sheathed blade and handed it to my friend, wary of stabbing an innocent pickpocket. Besides, swinging a sword in an alleyway was exactly the kind of poor move I was always tempted to make. Blake would have more use for it, in the open space we stood in. Blake kept up the mindless chatter, while I snuck closer, the sounds of the person¡¯s movements becoming clearer and clearer. Around five paces away, the breathing was well-defined enough to identify the stalker. ¡°Sash!¡± I yelled. ¡°Get your butt out here!¡± A quiet ¡®oh¡¯ echoed down the empty street. My sister emerged from the shadows, doing her best impression of a cute puppy. Unfortunately for her, she had never been a good actor. ¡°What are you doing here?¡± I scowled at her. ¡°I am coming with you.¡± Her calm words were belied by her inability to make eye contact. I looked at the sky, stars barely visible. ¡°No, you¡¯re not.¡± ¡°Yes, I am.¡± ¡°No, you are not.¡± She imitated me, likely meaning nothing by it. ¡°Yes, I am.¡± ¡°Sash, it¡¯s dangerous. You can¡¯t help us, you have nothing to offer.¡± ¡°You are incorrect.¡± She emphasised the point with a shake of her head. ¡°You have been in a coma for several days. You¡¯re not functioning at your best. I am smaller and quieter than both of you.¡± Blake approached. ¡°Listen, kid, we can¡¯t afford to be looking after you.¡± ¡°Considering how thoroughly I trounced you, it¡¯s more likely I will be looking after you.¡± Sash stated blandly. It was difficult to stifle a smile as Blake reeled from the impressive insult, the blow made worse by the lack of malice in her voice. I changed tactics. ¡°Dash will be alone at home. He might need you to look after him.¡± Her guilty look was promising, but after a pregnant pause, she shook her head once again. ¡°My brother knows how to hide, if needed, and Ma will be back soon. If we run into trouble, he will be able to tell her where we¡¯re going.¡± Panic threatened to worm its way into my voice. ¡°You told Dash?¡± She nodded. There was no rebuttal on hand. I searched for another argument. ¡°You coming will make me very worried for you.¡± I made sure to speak clearly. ¡°I know.¡± I was surprised by her quick answer, but my feelings were probably obvious, even to her. ¡°However, I¡¯m coming, no matter how you two feel about it.¡± I drew my final card. ¡°I carried you across a battlefield, you know.¡± It sounded weak, even to me. Blake looked at me, and I realised I had never told him the story. Sash nodded, her tangled ponytail bobbing. ¡°I know. And now I¡¯m going to help you.¡± The day had come ¨C I had lost an argument with a kid five years my junior. I ground my teeth. This wasn¡¯t the time for jokes. Blake looked at me for a verdict. I scratched my head, and considered turning back. Short of knocking her out ¨C which I would never do and was probably incapable of anyway ¨C there was no way of stopping her. Yet, if our lead ended up bearing fruit, we might be able to save the Foot. Or at least stop it from being completely destroyed. That line of thinking felt familiar. This time would be different, I promised myself. ¡°Alright,¡± I sighed. ¡°But if you¡¯re coming, you stay back. You don¡¯t do anything unless I say. You don¡¯t fight anyone, and if things get bad, you run and get Ma, just like with the monster.¡± I glared at her. ¡°Okay.¡± She agreed. ¡°Promise me.¡± She reiterated my demands. ¡°I promise I will stay back, not do anything unless you say, not fight anyone, and if things get bad, run and get Ma.¡± I rubbed my head and swore quietly. It would have been easier if she didn¡¯t cooperate. We could have just turned back. Or maybe we couldn¡¯t have. I don¡¯t know.
By the time we made it to the fields, night had fallen. We walked through trails cut through seas of plants, ripe with the cloying scent of mud and damp. If not for Sash, we would have blended into the darkness. They stretched endlessly, crossed with beaten pipes sporting the occasional leak. Grain swayed madly in the night¡¯s wind. Sometimes, we would pass a swathe of land that was completely barren, bereft of any plants. They looked lonely, underneath the starlight. I wondered if Jasmine ever felt lonely here. Immediately, I cringed at the overly-romantic thought. Blake and Sash passed the time by trading guesses about what was being grown. This wasn¡¯t our territory ¨C even my sister, usually world-class in her ability to recall pointless factoids, didn¡¯t know most of them. I had a different task: leading the three of us in the approximate direction. In a place bereft of any landmarks, I wasn¡¯t doing too well. The darkness didn¡¯t help. My only saving grace was having entered from the same direction that Bab should have. I could recall Bab trudging through unending orchards and vast swathes of grain, but it all coalesced into one distinct impression ¨C a seemingly endless march towards the place he would be buried in. An hour of wandering saw my companions grow increasingly irritated. Sash was more forgiving ¨C she vaguely knew what was going on ¨C however Blake, having smelled my justifications were garbage, began voicing his doubts openly. ¡°You¡¯ve got no idea where we¡¯re going, do you?¡± ¡°I have a vague idea.¡± ¡°Were you tellin¡¯ tales?¡± I scowled at him, though he couldn¡¯t see my expression. ¡°Why would I lie?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Despite the shadows, my Foxblood helped me see his frustration clearly. ¡°You¡¯ve fibbed for less.¡± ¡°This is serious. We¡¯re close. I can feel it.¡± I wasn¡¯t lying. Something was different. A growing pressure from above, and anxiety brewing in my stomach, carved into Bab¡¯s blood by months of abuse. Even if my head couldn¡¯t find the way, it seemed my legs remembered enough to bring us nearby. I attempted to use this new fear as a makeshift compass, heading whatever way made me feel the worst. The wrenching in my gut could only mean we were getting closer to the source of Bab''s terror. My focus was so great that despite my enhanced senses, it was Sash¡¯s nose that noticed the smell first. As we walked, she began wincing. My sister sniffed, her inhalations growing increasingly violent. I was on the verge of asking her if she was having a stroke when her she spoke. ¡°Something¡¯s burning.¡± A distant thought struck me, from a foreign section of my mind. I didn¡¯t question it. ¡°Sash, get on my shoulders. Tell us if you see fire.¡± She was acrobatic enough that I didn¡¯t need to bend over; in a few seconds my shoulder muscles ached as her full weight was pressed down upon them. She straightened and began turning around, as naturally as I would on flat ground. I wondered if this had been a good idea - her pale complexion would make her easy to spot. As I was about to put her down, suddenly terrified of an arrow emerging from the dark, she spoke from above me. ¡°Yes, I see it.¡± Sash hopped down. ¡°It¡¯s this way,¡± she said, pointing directly through one of the grain fields. I grabbed her by the hand and began rushing in that general direction, pushing my way through long, green stalks. Heavy footsteps and harsh breathing followed from behind as Blake followed. Flickering light began shining through the grain. It grew closer and closer, until the three of us burst into a clearing. In a depression in the ground was a small mansion, built of expensive wood and pockmarked with glass windows. Flashes of rich tapestries, countless veiled faces and bloodied knuckles withdrawing from my face struck me. A place full of richly appointed rooms, fit for the son of an Earl. This was it; our one hope for helping save our home. All of that was obscured by the red light exploding from it. The manor was aflame. Chapter 22 - Defenestration & Me The three of us stared at our hopes turning to ash. Beneath, a small estate burned, alongside proof of House Leyden¡¯s wrongdoings. The light was radiant, blinding; I could barely stand to look at it. Someone had torched the place. ¡°The evidence,¡± Sash muttered, ¡°it¡¯s all on fire.¡± Those words were enough to spur Blake into action. He started forward and began stumbling down the incline, towards the manor. I ran after him, yelling at Sash to hide somewhere nearby. I was still an uncoordinated mess, new instincts screaming at me to move faster, to move better, but Blake moved as if he¡¯d been hit in the head. Only moments later I was grabbing the back of his shirt and tugging him towards the grain field. ¡°We can¡¯t do anything,¡± I hissed at him. ¡°Let¡¯s go get some help, sift through what¡¯s left.¡± I wasn¡¯t always the best at knowing when to quit, but even I couldn¡¯t visualise making it through the fire alive, even with the Lizardblood I had assimilated from Drue eight years ago. He shrugged my hand off and continued forward in a stupor. I quickly grabbed his arm. ¡°It¡¯s over. We¡¯re not fireproof.¡± He pointed towards the house with his free hand. I squinted through the bright light, and somehow, I was able to see what he had been heading towards. One section of the mansion, along its rightmost side, was built of tough looking redbrick, unmarred by moss or mould ¨C probably a recent extension. Though there was a flickering light coming from its upper windows, compared to the inferno tearing through the rest of the house, it was pristine. ¡°You¡¯re joking,¡± I said. Getting to it required either going through the front entrance ¨C currently on fire ¨C or through one of the lower windows, too high off the ground for either of us to break effectively. ¡°There¡¯s no bloody way.¡± Blake spun around, glaring fiercely. ¡°This is all we got, Orvs. It¡¯s this, or my Boys get stomped by an oversized Lizard.¡± I wilted under his stare, yet kept a grip on his arm. ¡°There¡¯ll be another way.¡± He gritted his teeth. ¡°You don¡¯t know that.¡± ¡°Look, I¡¯m not letting-¡° My protest was interrupted by Blake swinging his fist at my head. Despite being unprepared for it, I instinctively managed to slip out of the way, only to stumble and trip as I attempted to place my legs in the exact position my new Foxblood demanded. He used the opportunity to tear himself out of my grasp and sprint towards the burning house. I rose and ran after him, muttering obscenities. I was almost certain Blake had no plan, and the suspicion was proved correct when he reached the front entrance and began kicking it. Seconds later, I was there, yanking him away. He whirled and tried to headbutt me, but I tucked my chin, forcing him to crunch his nose against my forehead. He staggered backwards, and I front-kicked him to the ground, the movement provoking only mild disapproval from my blood. He swore and began shoving himself upright, however the attempt was halted as I placed a foot on his chest, pushing my full weight onto him. ¡°There¡¯s no better time,¡± Blake wheezed, struggling to draw a breath. ¡°Can¡¯t be any in that mess.¡± ¡°You¡¯re an idiot,¡± I spat. He let out a strained laugh. ¡°Says you?¡± The words were cold as ice. ¡°I¡¯m goin¡¯, whether you like it or not.¡± A punch to my calf unbalanced me, and a sweep of my legs toppled me. He sprang upright, only for his ragged tunic to be caught by my hands. He cursed. I spoke before he could throw me off again. ¡°Okay!¡± I sneered. ¡°We¡¯ll go in, and check it out. A few minutes, then we¡¯re out again. That¡¯s the deal I¡¯m offering, otherwise I¡¯ll hold onto you all night.¡± Blake breathed out. ¡°Alright. Come on then.¡± He made to kick the door again. I shook my head and gestured to the lower windows. In a routine we had performed a worrying amount of times before, I braced myself against the brick wall, while my friend stood on my shoulders, smacking the window. A few moments passed. Impatience ate at me ¨C I could sit here for hours, even with Blake¡¯s weight, yet if we didn¡¯t move fast we would have the weight of the entire house on top of us to contend with. I passed up Ma¡¯s scabbarded sword, to Blake¡¯s muttered thanks. In a concerningly unbalanced motion, he reared backwards and shattered the glass, sending a few pieces raining down on top of me. He vaulted inside, and briefly, I wondered whether he would leave me and our deal behind, then search the manor until it collapsed on top of him. Then Blake stretched his hand down. I grasped it, and began a mad scramble upwards ¨C me scrabbling up the wall, him heaving me. It was always a struggle for others to lift me - Lizardblood made a person more dense - but I must have gained weight recently or something, because neither of us seemed to be making much progress. Just as I became certain I was too heavy to get up, my fingers caught on jagged glass and I pulled, slicing skin, our combined efforts throwing me through the window. Smoke and heat clutched at me like the hand of some omnipresent god. I could see Blake about to make a quip about my weight, but he coughed instead. As I sucked my bloodied digits, I surveyed what looked to be some manner of study, already half-obscured by inky smog. I pulled Blake down, squatting underneath the darkness swirling above. ¡°You-¡° I spluttered, the dry air turning my throat into a desert. Resisting the urge to cough, I continued. ¡°You find a way up. I¡¯ll look in here.¡± It was a good plan ¨C Blake couldn¡¯t read, and I doubted my ability to navigate with overwhelmed senses. He nodded, then passed me the blade back. We split. My friend crawled out of the room, ducking beneath the noxious fumes with one hand over his mouth. I stayed, scouring the furniture around me. The office was surprisingly bare, containing only a few cabinets, shelves, and a single desk; tearing everything open revealed them all conspicuously empty of any documentation. The smoke made investigating any nooks far more difficult, however, beyond a few quills and drying inkwells, almost nothing remained. Either this area was rarely used, or someone had removed everything important already. If the rest of the manor was like this, we would have risked our lives for nothing. The search finished, I leaned out of the shattered window, gasping deliciously smokeless air. I resolved to hold my breath; in perfect conditions, I could go nearly ten minutes without needing to breathe. Blake slid out beside me, spitting a wad of yellowed phlegm. ¡°Found it,¡± he rasped, ¡°but we needa get through some fire.¡± I tsked, self-recriminating. What had I been thinking, to have led the three of us here, in the dead of night? Having gotten his fill, Blake grasped my hand, placing his mouth in the crook of his elbow, and dragged me back into the blaze. Ubiquitous smog and shimmering air made our surroundings insubstantial ¨C I would¡¯ve thought we were walking through a mirage were it not for the impossible heat. Around us, the manor cracked, groaned, and fell apart. Hopefully, neither of us were next to be crushed. If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. We scurried like rats, avoiding bonfires made of armchairs and dining tables with plates swapped for pyres. A pang of grief tore through me at all the lovely furniture reduced to firewood, however another part of me was ecstatic to see the place turn to ash. The latter sentiment had been taken from Bab, I was certain. After a few tense moments of navigating the flames, the brick walls ended, to be replaced with wooden ones, rapidly being consumed by the inferno. Blake pointed, and through the orange swirls I could see a staircase, only a few paces past the divide between wood and brick. I peered at him, about to discuss a plan, only to be interrupted by my friend¡¯s heaving coughs. Underneath the ash, my eyes picked out a sickly pallor seeping into his skin. We didn¡¯t have time. I wracked my brain, and produced a hodgepodge plan - one of my worst. However, the dumbest method of ingress I could think of was also the only one I could think of. Barehanded, I grabbed the side of a flaming table and shoved it length-ways towards the stairs, forming a raised platform between us and the second floor. Resisting the urge to gasp, I tore my palms off the table, leaving strips of skin behind, and immediately curled around the wounds. I was grateful the Foxblood didn¡¯t enhance my perception of pain, but my awareness of the precise contours of the injury was almost worse. I could feel blisters rising on the surface of my mangled skin. Blake stared in horror, but neither of us could afford to mope - we were fresh out of time to lose. I kicked him, the agony in my hands making the blow weaker than I would¡¯ve liked, and he righted himself, hopping on the table and then leaping to the stairs. I followed, somehow retaining my balance despite my instincts castigating my poor acrobatics. He sprinted upwards and I followed. Despite having no flames, the second storey was both hotter and smokier than its brother beneath. Luckily for me, the hallway we found ourselves in had only two doors. The first was unlocked, and completely empty of anything but a single window. Its twin, identical in every way, refused to budge. I attempted a few half-hearted kicks, only managing to make the door rattle. Blake muscled me aside and smashed it open. We stumbled inside. Immediately in front of us was a massive cupboard, complete with embellished glass doors revealing it packed with paper, stamps, and even a small rug. It was positioned in the centre of the room, which was otherwise filled with ransacked cabinets and desks, various miscellany spilled onto the ground. A pale face peeked around the side of the bizarrely-arranged piece of furniture. He let out a string of accented curses, then a feeling of profound peace filled me. The house was seductively hot. I felt like just laying on the floor and having a nap. Blake seemed to agree with me, dazed as he was. Pain from my seared hands pulled me back. I dug my fingernails into my palms, tearing open bloated skin, the wound forcibly tearing me out of the stupor. I lunged forward, kicking the cupboard over. The Dolphinblood swayed out of the way, but unfortunately for both of us, the weight of the falling wood was enough to smash through the boards beneath us, presumably weakened by the fire beneath. Standing as close to it as I was, I fell too. I twisted around, reaching out for a ledge or a hand, yet all I caught was the sight of Blake¡¯s eyes, fog draining from them. The tranquillity fled alongside the air in my lungs as I smashed through the cupboard¡¯s glass. My face bulged as I supressed the urge to gasp, inhaling the smoke around me. Instead, I removed the scabbard of Ma¡¯s sword, which jabbed into bruising ribs. With unprecedented speed, I rallied my senses and extracted myself. Nearby, someone was screaming; I glanced sideways to see the ugly man batting at the black robes draped over him, the thick cotton being eaten by the blaze. Emotions cycled within me; anger, sorrow, depression, hatred ¨C all replaced by another at a moment¡¯s end. Kept afloat by the agony dripping from my hands, I stood on the lip of the cupboard and kicked the strange Blooded in the chin. He fell flat into the fire, and began wailing and moaning. I dragged him upright by the scruff of his clothes, his skinny body preventing most of the flames from reaching me. The emotions became increasingly tense, only the excruciating feeling of rough-hewn fabric rubbing against my blisters keeping me sane. A glance upward revealed Blake¡¯s writhing form, dangling halfway through the newly-formed hole ¨C Blake was experiencing the same thing as me, only without the pain keeping him centred. He¡¯d asphyxiate if I couldn¡¯t stop the Dolphinblood in time. The suffocating heat and smog swirling around us resembled my own mind ¨C wracked with foreign detritus that refused to dissipate. A half-arsed idea cut through my hazy brain. I swore, cajoled, abused, and punched my opponent over to the nearest window. Gripping his head with both hands, I smashed it through the glass, then repeated the motion, using his skull to clear out the remaining shards. A manic glee filled me at the violence, and laughter bubbled out of my throat. After the window was emptied, I threw him out of it. Still cackling, I jumped after him. The drop wasn¡¯t high, but having a supernaturally heavy adolescent land on your back, knees first, is enough to knock the wind of anyone. Foreign sentiments licked at me, yet beneath a shroud of mindless glee I was unassailable. It felt as if I had the entire world in my grasp ¨C ready to be crushed or released as I saw fit. I heaved my quarry to his feet, and he stumbled away from me, drawing a small dagger and waving it towards me. But I was a god ¨C unstoppable ¨C and I remembered all the times this little ape spat towards me, stirring my emotions to make them easier to manipulate; easier to blackmail me into doing their dirty work. I had been a coward, then ¨C knowing the insidious incursion into my mind, and powerless to prevent it ¨C yet here he was, eyes full of fear, fully comprehending his own helplessness. He stabbed towards me ¨C weak, lazy, undignified motion ¨C and my instincts guided me as I used one hand to hold his wrist and the other to break it. A concerto of snapping bone was accompanied by a shriek of agony. His knife dropped, and I snatched the blade mid-air, snubbing my own weapon in favour of his. Like a viper, I struck his skin, careful not to cut anything vital, for this was a meal best savoured. My prey spun, fleeing up the slope, towards the fields behind him. I let him run for a few dozen seconds. It was a simple thing to imagine his thoughts: the happiness at having evaded his pursuer for a few more moments, the hope of a brighter future brewing in his gut. All of that torn away like a blanket from a baby as a blade tore open the tendons in his leg. He turned towards me as he fell. A flash of white approached from the green stalks behind. It was a small girl, sprinting towards my possession. She was so incredibly irrelevant. As she leapt on the man¡¯s back, choking him using his own charred robes ¨C dextrous, elegant ¨C I became infuriated with her interference. Yet, the thought filled me with a strange unease so I discarded it, like trimmings from meat. She was unnecessary for my pleasure. I approached the man, vainly struggling, his pupils two black moons embedded in his skull. The girl stopped and started her strangling, moving according to the weak beat of the emotions he was sending out. His attempts were worth less than dirt to me. I could almost taste the veins and arteries throbbing under his skin, flowing to the terrified beat of his heart, and the panic in his sweat was more divine than any of Ma¡¯s cooking. Ma. My mother. I stopped. Let the knife fall from my hands. The sadism permeating my mind dissipated like breath on a breeze. What was I doing? The beast inside my skull vanished. Nausea gurgled in my gut. I felt myself collapse to the ground, however that was something happening very, very far away. The memories of what I had just done and the thoughts that had sparked through my head, all replayed themselves a thousand thousand times. The Dolphinblood was crawling, Sash perfectly still behind him. Apathy tried to crush me, but I was shielded by horror at myself. I saw with supernatural clarity as he picked the dagger up from next to me, and began to draw it back, angling it towards my neck. I knew, more than I knew anything else, that letting him kill me would be the best gift I could give to this world. My sister was getting up, screaming, and internally I apologised, but it was an older brother¡¯s duty to protect his siblings from the dangers around them. My existence was evil, I had known it all along, in the depths of my soul. Then he thrust the blade downwards and I was scared and I wanted to live but it was too little, too late. A foot crashed into the side of his head as Blake flew past. The robed man fell. Fear departed. Blake panted. Sash slumped backwards and sobbed. I got up, and vomited into the grass. Interlude - Memory Here¡¯s a memory: Corvin plays with a small figure of the Raven. It is whooshing around, saving people from all the monsters in the world and bringing them back home and making everyone together again. Around him are all the other boys and girls, children he has known since birth, and the nice Uncle and Aunt. The other Uncles and Aunts are nice too, sometimes, but sometimes they change and get mad or sad or strange. He likes it here better than with Mumma and Dadda, because sometimes they change too. A chubby hand snatches away the figure. Corvin is surprised. He looks up at one of the bigger, older girls, turning the Raven over in her hands. ¡°I was playing with that,¡± he says. She looks at him and scoffs. ¡°We¡¯re meant to share.¡± Corvin doesn¡¯t know what her tone means, but it¡¯s mean and he doesn¡¯t like it. She¡¯s right, though, because all the adults share and they¡¯re also meant to share. He doesn¡¯t like that she¡¯s right either. ¡°Can I have it back?¡± he asks, because it¡¯s important to ask. Otherwise sometimes the adults get confused and scared, and Corvin knows it¡¯s not nice to be confused and scared. The nice Uncle says it¡¯s because you can¡¯t know what someone is thinking unless they say it out loud. ¡°No,¡± she says, and there¡¯s a little dip in her refusal that makes him feel like the girl is calling him stupid. ¡°Go get another one.¡± ¡°But I was using that one!¡± he protests. ¡°Now I¡¯m using it.¡± Corvin, small face twisted in anger, gets up and carefully walks around children chasing one another and playing with toys and talking. He reaches the Aunt; she is talking with a crying little girl ¨C more a baby than anything else ¨C about something. The girl¡¯s face is very red ¨C one of the adults probably changed and hit her. Corvin tugs at the Aunt¡¯s sleeves, but she shushes him. He tries to tell her the injustice of what just happened, however the Aunt shushes him again. Corvin breathes out heavily. If there were any problems, he¡¯s supposed to tell her. The Uncle is also busy talking to some other adults outside room, and the children get in very big trouble if they disturb the Uncle then. Corvin doesn¡¯t like the Uncle as much anyway ¨C he never plays Gods and Monsters with Corvin like the Aunt does. Corvin toddles back to the bigger girl, half-heartedly playing with the Raven toy. She doesn¡¯t even look like she¡¯s having fun. ¡°Please can I have my Raven back?¡± he says. Sometimes, adding ¡®please¡¯ is all that¡¯s needed. The big girl grins malevolently. ¡°No. It¡¯s not yours - it¡¯s ours.¡± ¡°No.¡± The denial slips out, because even if she¡¯s right, he doesn¡¯t like her enough to admit it. ¡°Are you not going to share?¡± she giggles, then continues in a sing-song voice. ¡°Chi-LD, Chi-LD, don¡¯t know how to share. Chi-LD, Chi-LD, Avri pecks you bare!¡± Corvin knows the song well, and he knows that if it goes on for any longer, all the kids will be singing it. Even if they don¡¯t know why. He stops it the only way he can think of: by shoving her to the floor. She gets up and slaps him across the face, and it¡¯s all downhill from there.
Corvin and the older girl are in trouble. Big trouble. They managed to hurt two other kids during the scuffle, both bruised by blocks flying everywhere, but their worst crime was scaring the adults outside. One started hitting a child, and the other curled into a ball and started crying. Corvin apologised, but it wasn''t enough. The nice Aunt and Uncle weren''t nice anymore. They were angry. You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. Saying sorry isn¡¯t enough this time, they had told the two of them. You¡¯re going in the Pit. Corvin sobs as he and the girl stride across an expansive cavern. Every few steps, a hole is carved into the ground, at least three times as tall as the Uncle. The only way out is up. He doesn¡¯t want to look down, yet even if he closes his eyes, he can still hear the incoherent mutterings of the people trapped in each pit. The big girl reassures Corvin as the Uncle lowers her down into one of them. She has been in the Pit two times before, and it¡¯s okay as long as he doesn¡¯t bother whoever he shares a hole with. He might have felt more reassured if she wasn¡¯t trembling. The Uncle takes him to the other side of the room. They walk in almost-silence, though occasionally yelps or laughter will echo, sometimes seeming right next to him. Corvin feels bad for being scared: these are heroes, the beaks of the Raven, the ones who will bring the people home. He just wishes they were happier about it. The Uncle lowered Corvin down, into one of the quieter holes. He keeps his eyes closed the whole way down, and doesn¡¯t even open them when his feet touched the floor. But shutting his eyes made him feel like a scaredy-cat. He isn¡¯t a scaredy-cat, even if he did cry sometimes, no matter what the other kids said. He¡¯s brave. He had to be brave, Dadda always said in his better moods, because Avri asks a lot from its aspirants, and saving people is hard work. So Corvin opens them, and stares at the person huddled in the corner. Corvin doesn¡¯t know how old the boy is. Not an adult, but still older than Corvin, but beyond that he has no clue. It¡¯s hard to guess, because the only part of the boy¡¯s body exposed is his face. He has the same traits as all the best apirants do: black clumps of hair that look almost like feathers, throbbing veins stark under his skin, and deep, dark eyes that seemed very, very lost. For a little bit, the two inhabitants of the hole look at one another. The larger boy speaks first, his words like a puzzle fitted with all the wrong pieces. ¡°Hi, hello, greetings, young man. Why are you down in this sanctified-¡± he narrows his brows, repeating ¡®sanctified¡¯ over and over again. Corvin doesn¡¯t know what that word means. The older kid looks up, expression panicked. He springs upright and lunges. Corvin shrieks and presses his back against the wall, only for the big boy to trip over his own feet and topple to the ground. He rolls over quickly. ¡°Child!¡± he yells up at Corvin, sprawled across the stone floor. ¡°Please leave. Please! I can¡¯t watch another die to those wretched¡­¡± He trails off, confused by his own words. ¡°What¡¯s going on? When can I go home? Do ya-" His eyes squint, concentrating on something Corvin can''t see. ¡°I have ta¡¯ get back. My kid¡¯s ¡®bout yer age, real quiet, jus¡¯ like you. Who?¡± Corvin tries his best to hide, but the only things in the hole are him and the crazed boy. Corvin shuffles around the sides of the hole, doing his best impression of a wall. The big boy stares at the wrought stone beneath his feet for a few moments, then begins mumbling. ¡°I gotta-¡° he says, and then he keeps saying it. He doesn¡¯t stop. Corvin slumps to the floor, sure that he¡¯s not going to die anymore. Not as long as the boy remains trapped in that loop, anyway. He waits to be rescued. The Uncle never said when he would be back, but he wouldn¡¯t just leave Corvin here. Maybe. Time passes, slower than a candle melting on skin. He hopes it¡¯s nearly over. Then the older kid shrieks a piercing ¡°No!¡± and begins bashing his head against the rock wall. Corvin startles, then closes his eyes and covers his ears, but through his hands he can still hear the cracks of the boy¡¯s skull getting wetter and wetter. Someone leaps down into the hole. It¡¯s an adult, her hands wrapping around the maddened child¡¯s neck. Her back faces Corvin, but her clumpy black hair was familiar. The older boy gurgles and flails, but he¡¯s just a smidge too little to make a difference. ¡°Shh,¡± the woman whispers, ¡°shh, baby, shh. You¡¯ve done so well, my son. I¡¯ll take you home, now, to be with your father. ¡°Let¡¯s meet Avri, now. Don¡¯t be scared; I¡¯ll be along shortly.¡± The boy¡¯s struggles slow, then cease. His face is blue. Is he dead? Corvin stares as a rope is dropped in the hole, the woman tying the boy¡¯s limp form to it, for a shadowy figure to hoist it up. She follows shortly after, leaving the same way as her son. Corvin stays in the Pit, alone, until he falls asleep. The Uncle collects him when Corvin is hungry and thirsty. After that, he always shares, he always says ¡®please¡¯ and ¡®thank you¡¯, he stops bothering the adults, and he never, ever causes any trouble. But he stops playing with the Raven. And he starts thinking that maybe he doesn¡¯t want to be saved by Avri. After all, the big girl was saved. The Aunt said so. Corvin never saw her again. As the cycles of eating, playing, sleeping, and learning continue, Corvin sometimes thinks about that boy in the hole. For some strange reason, despite the distance between Corvin and the mad boy increasing every day, the more time passes- -the more familiar he becomes. Chapter 23 - Build Up in the Basement ¡°I dunno,¡± Blake told Ma, motioning towards my lifeless gaze, ¡°he¡¯s been like this since we caught this guy.¡± We were in Butcher Boy territory, crammed into a rotting basement so small Ma had to rest on her knees in order to comfortably inhabit it. Blake had posted some younger children up above, including Davey, the boy I had saved from splattering across the floor just over two weeks ago. It felt like longer. The Dolphinblood sat, his malformed head dangling, between the three of us, secured to a weighty stone chair using rusted chains ¨C apparently all Blake could get a hold of on such short notice. Beyond the rise and fall of his chest, he could¡¯ve been confused for a corpse. He would¡¯ve been a corpse, had I not stopped. Even lowered, Ma was still several inches taller than Blake. ¡°I was only told that you caught a member of House Leyden. Sash is not always the best at explanations.¡± The gang leader nodded. ¡°Not surprised.¡± He closed his eyes in thought. ¡°Orvs tracked down the¡­ Leyden¡¯s?¡± ¡°Leydenese.¡± Ma corrected. ¡°Right. Leydenese. Orvs tracked their place down ¨C don¡¯t ask me how ¨C and when we got there, the whole house was burnin¡¯. Then, we went in-¡° my mother shot him a sharp look, and he blanched. ¡°Just Orvs and I! Orvs made sure your daughter weren¡¯t involved.¡± Ma scowled, exposing massive, blunted teeth. ¡°Did you make sure my son wasn¡¯t involved?¡± He gulped. ¡°I, uh¡­ No. Ma¡¯am.¡± She gestured, still frowning. Blake continued. ¡°Uh, we got this guy out. Or Orvs did, I guess. He¡¯s Blooded ¨C Dolphinblood, I think ¨C and made me feel like I was dying. Your son ignored all that, somehow, and punted him out of¡­ range? I dun-¡° he cleared his throat, ¡°Don¡¯t know. Slapped the snot out of this guy, then stopped and fell over.¡± ¡°Do you think it was due to the Dolphinblood¡¯s influence?¡± He breathed out, the force of the exhale setting his lips flapping. ¡°I couldn¡¯t tell you. Didn¡¯t feel nothin¡¯ myself, but maybe Wump¡¯s mind-control thing can focus on just one?¡± ¡°What happened after that?¡± Blake scratched his head. ¡°I knocked the guy out, then Orvs had a chuck. We dragged the¡­ Leydenese back here, I called some of my boys, then Sash went and got you. Your boy¡¯s been like this the whole way.¡± He pointed at our captive, sneering. ¡°Did this ass mess with his head, somehow?¡± Ma shook her head, her grey hair sweeping across the ceiling. ¡°I don¡¯t believe so. Even if he has been influenced, there are techniques to remove him from such a stupor. Give me a moment alone with Orvi. I should be able to snap him out of it.¡± Blake didn¡¯t leave. Instead, he fidgeted. Ma sighed. ¡°Out with it, child.¡± He wet his lips. ¡°Are you¡­ going to take your kids and run?¡± My mother¡¯s expression was unchanging. ¡°No. And if you have any way out, unless it¡¯s into the wastes, I recommend you do not take it.¡± ¡°Why?¡± he asked, gaze inquisitive. ¡°I will inform you later. As it stands-¡° she tilted her head towards me, ¡°-I¡¯m busy.¡± Blake frowned. ¡°It¡¯s not something-¡° ¡°It is not the best time, Blake.¡± ¡°But-¡° Her glare stopped him from going further. ¡°I. Am. Busy.¡± She closed her eyes, and after a short pause, opened them again. ¡°You will know later. However, for now, I need some time with my son.¡± Blake nodded in a manner that made me think of a small, yappy dog that has just learned provoking wolves wasn¡¯t the best plan. He hastily ascended a rickety ladder, smacking his head in his haste to leave. Ma had that effect on people. Her gaze lingered after him for several long moments. She faced away from me, her thoughts inscrutable. After an elongated silence, she sat on the floor in front of me. It was a strange experience ¨C I could count the amount of times I had looked down on Ma with half a hand. Still, my eyes didn¡¯t so much as flicker. All of this seemed distant. I was a spirit haunting my own body, and it was impossible to shake the feeling that I was closer to a wraith than anything benevolent. She didn¡¯t seem to notice, or care. Like me, her vision was somewhere else. Bereft of any ceremony, she began speaking, huge form squeezed into a dirty, dusty basement. ¡°I can still remember when I became Blooded.¡± Ma closed her mouth, then opened it again. ¡°I would have been around your age. A monster ¨C less potent than the one you fought ¨C attacked my family in the dead of night. We were in our yurt. It tore through it, killed two of my brothers, then left through the other side. The guards had gotten drunk and fallen asleep, you see. Our fortifications had been shifted, slightly, by a pair of young lovers sneaking out. We had been unlucky.¡± My attention had been dragged, kicking and screaming, towards her deep voice. Whatever lesson she wished to impart, I didn¡¯t want to hear; I wanted to wallow, forever, in my own horrific nature. But Ma knew all the tricks. The pauses; the tone; the most effective way to deliver a speech. ¡°I pursued, and the rest of my people were too drowsy to stop me. The tale is long and unimportant: all you have to know is that I found it, and I killed it. And, according to the traditions of my people, the Oxblood was all mine. ¡°I could have rejected it. Traded it away and made my family rich, or put it towards my dowry. I did not. I made it mine. Do you want to know the first thing I did with my newfound power?¡± I wanted to know. Yet the question wasn¡¯t rhetorical, and as the silence continued, I realised she would only tell me if I asked her to. Ma placed the decision firmly in my hands. She understood me too well. It wasn¡¯t my nature to be quiet. ¡°What¡¯d you do?¡± My gaze locked onto her chin, too afraid to venture anywhere higher. My mother breathed out. ¡°I killed the guards. Then I killed the two lovers. All done according to my clan¡¯s laws. Even so, after that, no one could tolerate me anymore. Not even my own family. I was forced out. I wandered. I became a vassal of Esfaria. I became strong. I became alone. And now I¡¯m here.¡± I don¡¯t know what I had expected. Ma had no answers. ¡°For most of my life, my humanity and my Oxblood have been aligned. But, Orvi¡­¡± Unwittingly, I looked her in the eyes. ¡°You did not kill this man. He¡¯s not dead. And even if you did, it would not stop you from being yourself.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not true.¡± There was a quaver in my words. ¡°Blooded or not, you will always be you. And as long as you are yourself, you are capable of changing your actions. All those years ago, I chose to kill those people. Last night, you chose to let the Dolphinblood live.¡± My teeth cracked in my mouth as I squeezed them. ¡°It¡¯s not that simple.¡± Her gaze was constant. ¡°No, it¡¯s not. But at the core of it all, it is.¡± ¡°How¡­ How do I stop it?¡± ¡°You become aware of yourself. Of your moods, and of how you respond to those moods. Of what sets your blood alight. Then you account for all of it.¡± I let out a strangled sound, somewhere between a yell and a groan. ¡°I¡¯m not good at any of that.¡± Ma chuckled. I scowled at her, suddenly realising just how quickly she had turned what should¡¯ve been a monologue into a conversation. ¡°No, Orvi, you are not.¡± I scowled harder. ¡°However, there is one key advantage you hold over most Blooded.¡± Snorting, I interjected. ¡°My good looks?¡± ¡°Ravenblood does assist with that. More than that, though, is your good nature.¡± ¡°You¡¯re just saying that.¡± I said, blushing. ¡°Of course my mother would think I¡¯m nice.¡± Ma shook her head. ¡°The people who gain Godsblood are ambitious. You are not. Maybe you aren¡¯t extraordinarily kind by the standards of most, but you are far, far better than most Blooded.¡± I wasn¡¯t sure whether she had just complimented or insulted me. ¡°I am ambitious. I have things I want.¡± ¡°Hmm?¡± She raised a bushy brow. ¡°Like¡­ uh¡­ I want to¡­ Make our restaurant the most popular in the Foot!¡± This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. ¡°I had no idea my son was so very greedy.¡± The undercurrent of sarcasm was impossible to ignore. ¡°Shut up. There¡¯re things I want. Your sword is pretty.¡± Ma shot me a bemused stare. ¡°My sword?¡± ¡°Jackson¡¯s sword, I mean.¡± ¡°Is that why you stole it?¡± I sniffed. ¡°Yeah. What of it?¡± ¡°Very ambitious.¡± I scoffed, then quietened. ¡°How did you know what I was worried about?¡± ¡°It is something most Blooded agonise over.¡± She breathed out through her teeth. ¡°The more¡­ human ones, at least. You simply arrived earlier than most.¡± ¡°Ravenblood is different from other Godsblood, though.¡± Ma gave a grunt of assent. ¡°You are correct. The potential for change is far greater. It makes me glad you reached this point so quickly. You are scared of your blood.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not scared.¡± ¡°Fear is a good thing. It keeps a person from becoming complacent, encouraging understanding, and control.¡± ¡°Well, call me complacent and uncontrollable, because I¡¯m not scared. I never have been.¡± ¡°Alright, alright,¡± Ma raised her palms in surrender, ¡°just keep my words in mind. You¡¯ll-¡° A nasal voice sounded from behind her. ¡°The kid¡¯s trying to pull blinders over you, Maja. Your so-called son has more secrets than anyone else in this room.¡± I swallowed. Ma faced the Dolphinblood chained to the chair, his bulbous forehead and protruding chin making him seem more fearsome than a captive has any right to be. ¡°Funny.¡± Her tone was dark, promising blood. ¡°You might even be correct. But yours are the only mysteries I care to know.¡± ¡°Is that so? Then you¡¯re a fool, Maja. Your child is a monster, born and bred. He laughed and revelled as he broke me.¡± A burst of shame and self-hatred coursed through me. ¡°He freely chose to poison the Esfarians.¡± I shuddered. ¡°There is something terribly wrong with him. Adopting him does you credit, but you had no way of knowing the creature you were raising. It would be kinder, to him and to the world, if you cut his throat.¡± The Blooded was correct. I felt it in my bones. Yet Ma didn¡¯t so much as glance in my direction. In a burst of motion I could barely follow, she smacked him across the side of the head. The force would have thrown him off his seat, were he not chained to it. The fires of my self-hatred were suddenly diminished, reduced to embers. He blinked, mouth opening and closing as blood trickled out of his ear. Ma squatted, lowering herself to look him in the eye. ¡°There is only one reason I have not killed you.¡± She rumbled, deadly as an avalanche. ¡°You have information I want. If you try to manipulate me into hurting my family again, I will start breaking bones. And when I am out of patience, I will break you. Do you understand?¡± He licked his lips. ¡°I¡¯m trying- ¡° Ma interrupted him with an exaggerated groan, then reached around the side of the chair. A large hand enveloped his, and with a sharp wrench, one of his fingers snapped. I involuntarily yelped, however the sound was smothered as he began howling. Ma clamped his jaw shut. ¡°Do not focus on the boy. Focus on me.¡± He nodded. My mother smiled, lips a thin line. ¡°Start by introducing yourself.¡± ¡°Serl,¡± he spat. ¡°Rank?¡± ¡°Stripped of any that matters before this posting.¡± Ma slowly nodded. ¡°Alright, Serl. What brought House Leyden to the Foot?¡± His laughter was strained. ¡°You know the answer.¡± ¡°Blood, then.¡± She paused. ¡°Your people are too few to gather any significant amount. I¡¯ll rephrase the question. What, specifically, did your people want to take from the city?¡± ¡°Your Oxblood. Or Captain Jackson¡¯s, as it were.¡± Ma sneered, reaching around to grab his hand. ¡°Lies. There was no need to sabotage an entire Esfarian expedition for one man¡¯s blood. Try again.¡± The corners of his mouth twitched upward and almost immediately fell, his bravado spent. ¡°What makes you so certain?¡± ¡°The scribe.¡± He swore ferociously. ¡°The boy. He knows nothing, and he can tell you nothing.¡± ¡°But you can, Serl.¡± ¡°You¡¯re funny,¡± he chuckled hollowly. ¡°Not if I want to keep my head.¡± ¡°No, Serl,¡± Ma huffed, ¡°you might find telling me your goal is beneficial for both you and your House.¡± The ugly Blooded stared at her suspiciously. ¡°Let me tell you what I want. In a little under a week, Dure will visit this city.¡± He scoffed. ¡°Compared to the other gods, the Lizard¡¯s as gentle as a lamb. I doubt a warrior as accomplished as you will have any trouble steering clear.¡± ¡°You are correct, of course. However, I¡¯m less concerned about the Lizard, and more about the diseases it carries. If the plagues manage to infest the lake, the city is finished. Even if they don¡¯t, my children may die in the fight.¡± Serl glared. ¡°Why do you care? Leave before it gets here.¡± ¡°Are you truly so ignorant?¡± Her brows were furrowed. ¡°The Lizard leaves hundreds of parasitic monsters in its wake. I may be able to fight through them, but my children would surely perish. Fleeing towards the Raven¡¯s corpse is even more foolish. I¡¯m no explorer ¨C unmapped lands are more likely to starve me than save me.¡± I hadn¡¯t known that. Were my siblings and I preventing Ma from fleeing? ¡°What does that have to do with me?¡± His words were accusatory. ¡°All I care about is saving this city. To do that, I need the Blooded that you were with. If you tell me what your cell came here for, we can make a deal.¡± The Dolphinblood¡¯s eyes widened. He straightened in his chair. ¡°Are you not part of House Esfaria? You would risk angering them?¡± Ma smiled warmly. The expression sent shivers down my spine. ¡°I am certain the Foot is more valuable to them than whatever it is House Leyden wants. If it is not¡­¡± She paused, her expression growing cold. ¡°Then I will bring the full force of my name down upon them. If that is what it comes to.¡± Serl breathed out, heavily. ¡°It¡¯s the Owlblood. Vernon. He knows how to separate Ravenblood from the other types.¡± She nodded. ¡°I thought as much. And you need the exact methodology?¡± ¡°Yes. But we¡¯ve searched and searched ¨C he uses no runes. The technique is all in his head.¡± Ma¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change. ¡°Even if he uses none, I imagine Vernon is skilled enough to craft some runes imparting the technique.¡± ¡°He won¡¯t agree.¡± ¡°He will when he hears what I have to say.¡± Our captive smirked. ¡°Can you let me go, then?¡± ¡°No. If negotiations fall through, you will help with the Lizard.¡± ¡°Or what?¡± ¡°Or I¡¯ll give your blood to someone more willing.¡± He groaned. ¡°Alright, alright. You¡¯ve convinced me.¡± My front-row seat to Ma¡¯s interrogation methods was more unsettling than I would¡¯ve liked. As she continually pressed the man for the Leyden cell¡¯s specific route through the wastes, I took my leave. Blake waited in the house itself, which was emptied of everything but the shutters on the windows. He gave me a wide smile as I climbed into the room. ¡°You feelin¡¯ better?¡± I scratched my head. ¡°I really don¡¯t know, Blake.¡±
Ma left to pursue the Leydenese, giving me a description of where they should be, just in case she was waylaid on the journey there. Dash, supported by our sister, arrived shortly afterwards. We settled in an adjacent shack, hopefully out of the Dolphinblood¡¯s range. Dash and I were discussing what we thought was happening while the other two dipped in and out of consciousness. The night had been long, and neither had the Lizard¡¯s endurance to fend off fatigue. ¡°No,¡± my brother was arguing, ¡°Ma will try and keep it outside the city. If the water source is so important, she would want to keep Dure as far away as possible.¡± ¡°I get what you¡¯re saying, brother, but do you really think it¡¯s a good idea to fight a god on open grounds?¡± ¡°They did it with the Raven.¡± He protested. ¡°¡¯They¡¯ didn¡¯t have the best survival rate. I really doubt a fraction of that number is going to do anything against the Lizard.¡± ¡°The Lizard¡¯s meant to be less violent that the Raven was.¡± ¡°The Lizard also carries around a bunch of monsters.¡± He brightened. ¡°Do you think Sash and I could get Godsblood from them?¡± I knew our strategizing was irrelevant. I had seen a god before, and four children in a run-down shack weren¡¯t enough to make a difference. Blake had an inkling ¨C he was old enough to remember just how many of the Godslayers died ¨C however the twins had no clue. Our talks normalised it, somewhat, turning their trepidation into excitement. The wisdom of encouraging this was questionable, but I didn¡¯t want to see my siblings scared. ¡°What do you think it¡¯s like?¡± Dash asked. Sash tilted her head, tangled hair swishing. She was far worse at pretending to be asleep than she thought she was. ¡°They call Dure ¡®the Plague¡¯ sometimes, don¡¯t they?¡± He bobbed his head. ¡°Yes. And I think I¡¯ve heard it called¡­¡± he looked at the ceiling, riddled with holes, in thought. ¡°¡¯The Painful¡¯?¡± I tilted my hand back and forth. ¡°It¡¯s something like that.¡± ¡°¡¯The Suffering¡¯,¡± my sister blurted from the corner. ¡°Yeah, that.¡± Her twin shuddered. ¡°It sounds gross.¡± I grunted my assent. ¡°Still, it can¡¯t be worse than getting dung in your hair.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know-¡° he paused, realising what I was referring to. ¡°Hey! That was your fault!¡± Sash shifted in the corner. ¡°What did you two do?¡± ¡°Dash fell in a toilet.¡± I answered quickly. He gasped in horror. ¡°I did not!¡± I cackled while Dash spluttered. Sash demanded an explanation, which he promptly delivered in an excessive amount of detail. Despite the conversation being a ripe opportunity to mess with both siblings, I found myself feeling somewhat detached. The twins talking, one talking far too quickly to be comprehensible while the other listened in rapt attention. Blake snoring in the corner. The stars shining through the holes above us. I wished this moment was a tapestry or painting, so I could steal it, and keep it with me forever. It passed. They were looking at me. ¡°What? I wasn¡¯t paying attention.¡± My sister tutted, and reiterated the question. ¡°Ma only just left, correct?¡± ¡°Yes¡­?¡± Where was she going with this? ¡°You could catch up with her, correct? I clicked my teeth. Oxbloods were the fastest over short distances, however Lizardbloods could run day and night. It was Ma, though. ¡°Maybe? I doubt I¡¯d be much good in a negotiation.¡± ¡°What if you take the Dolphinblood from the Blooded downstairs?¡± ¡°¡­Sorry?¡± I wondered whether I had heard that right. Dash continued in our sister¡¯s place. ¡°Ma¡¯s heading into a very dangerous situation. I¡¯m sure she could use a Dolphinblood on her side.¡± I peered at the two of them. Their faces were eager, as if they¡¯d found a jewel in a pile of coal. ¡°That would kill him. You¡­ know that, right?¡± Dash¡¯s pale eyebrows lowered in confusion. ¡°He tried to kill you, though. He¡¯s a bad guy.¡± Sash nodded in agreement. ¡°In helping our mother, his own life is irrelevant.¡± It was an opinion born of ignorance. In that moment, I hated both of them. ¡°No, you idiots.¡± My tone was uncharacteristically harsh. ¡°I¡¯m not murdering a captive just because you two say so.¡± They were taken aback. ¡°But Orvi,¡± Sash protested quietly, ¡°Ma might need your assistance.¡± I couldn¡¯t stop my lips from curling. ¡°You don¡¯t have the slightest idea about what you¡¯re asking me to do.¡± Dash frowned angrily. ¡°You¡¯re just a coward.¡± The best move would¡¯ve been to leave. I was too heated, yet their innocent callousness was an injustice I just couldn¡¯t stand. ¡°Whatever help I could offer isn¡¯t worth the price.¡± ¡°He¡¯s not worth anything!¡± His anger was rising in response to my own. ¡°You have no idea what kind of woman Maja is. She can-¡° ¡°So you¡¯re just going to leave her?¡± Dash shouted. Blake stirred at the yell, while Sash raised her hands, mouth opening and closing like a broken doll. ¡°She killed my godsdamned parents,¡± I snarled. ¡°There¡¯s nothing in this world she cannot destroy.¡± The twins stared at me. Gradually, I realised what I had just told them. ¡°Why, Orvi?¡± Sash squeaked. I rubbed my forehead. ¡°They were cultists. They were godsdamned cultists, and Ma killed them. So-¡° ¡°You¡¯ll let her die, then?¡± Dash spat. ¡°Just because she rid the world of that filth?¡± The vitriol in his voice set my blood boiling. I saw how I could destroy them with surgical precision: exposing their full hatred of the Cult, then revealing that their parents were cultists as well. I could reveal their true nature. The thought of their suffering smothered the fire of my rage. They had asked about what I knew of their biological parents before, and I had lied. Over and over again. It was the only story I made sure to keep straight. I wouldn¡¯t ruin it for them. ¡°I just¡­¡± I shut my eyes. Any explanation would expose too much. I wasn¡¯t brave enough to reveal myself like that. ¡°No. She¡¯ll be fine. Just¡­ respect my decision, okay?¡± My brother scoffed. Without another word he stormed out. Sash looked from me to him. ¡°Go after him, sis.¡± I told her. She rose and hurried away. Blake¡¯s soft snores filled the old, crumbling shed. I wondered if I had made the right choice. Chapter 24 - Slaughterous Negotiations Maja panted as she jogged up the pass. Her long legs had eaten the leagues, and, despite the ever-present concern she would miss the Leydenese, their tracks had become visible nearly an hour ago. Even so, it was a struggle. Pain emanated from her knees and tendons, her body creaking as it worked to move her mass upwards. Her heel cords had began throbbing several hours ago ¨C she did not know whether they were simply strained or on the verge of snapping. Maja recalled it all being easier. She had never thought age would be a barrier for her. An Oxblood that grew old was one working against their nature. Death had always seemed to be lurking, just over the horizon. Yet, somehow, she had become elderly. Perhaps it would have been easier, had she not already passed most of her blood on. Blooded aged more gracefully than normal people, after all. However, Maja found it hard to regret the decision. She had her worries, and her regrets of course, but even so, she was more at peace than she could remember. Running through a desert and then up a mountain was not her idea of a tranquil retirement, however. At least the desert was flat. Her legs and lungs were punishing her for eight years of sedentary living, her wheezes cycling through various breathing exercises. Had Maja not performed more arduous journeys before, she may have collapsed. Willpower forged through decades of enforced marches pushed her unwilling body along. Compared to some of the skirmishes she had participated in, before she had any authority, it was idyllic. There was no one poisoning her water, no Foxbloods dropping out of the trees, and no monsters deciding to interfere with her run. The return trip may be different. She would have to beat the Lizard¡¯s parasites, but had little intelligence on where the Lizard actually was. All she truly knew was that it was staggering its way towards the mountain range''s largest pass. It was too far away for her to feel its weight, but that meant nothing. Maja had fought four gods in her lifetime: the Fox, the Lizard, the Ox, and the Raven. A decade ago, she would have said the Raven was the worst among them. Now? She feared the Lizard more than her own death. No god had killed as many children as Dure. It was unstoppable; indefatigable ¨C it spread disease and sickness like an infant spread mucus. Other divine beings could be hidden from or avoided ¨C the Lizard¡¯s weapons cared nothing for concealment. And deterring it was next to impossible; whatever wounds humanity could inflict were nothing compared to its constant torment. Without more Blooded, it would be impossible to alter its course. Maja wished she had taken the children and left as soon as she had suspected it was coming. Yet House Esfaria was stationed there, and Representative Fedor and Captain Vernon possessed some of the strongest Godsblood she had ever seen. They were a step beneath a general, and several below a Great General, however Dolphinbloods were singularly effective against the Lizard. She trusted Jackson would ensure whatever plans they made would prioritise the city¡¯s wellbeing. Then House Leyden struck. Using ¨C if her suspicions were correct ¨C her own son as an unwitting knife. She was unsure whether that was a coincidence, a thinly-veiled threat, or fuel for future blackmail. Regardless of the cause, she could not afford to ignore the god much longer. Orvi¡¯s blood would grant him resistance to its festering rot, but the twins had no such guarantee. Doing nothing meant their death. Maja grunted as her foot ploughed through an errant pile of dirt, sending her stumbling. Frowning, she paused, attempting to recover her rhythm. The path veered drunkenly between freakishly hot and cuttingly cold, the temperature dictated by whenever the wind deigned to change directions. The pass snaked up the red mountain range, beaten flat by centuries of passing animals and the occasional monster, constantly pressed by sheer drops on at least one side. Maja was no mountaineer, and would have missed the path had she not been told its location. The large woman looked at the soil she had unwittingly kicked, only to find the mound was something she was far more familiar with. Horse dung. Heat was still emanating from it. Maja smiled faintly. She was close.
The Leydenese spies were waiting for her; nine of them spread across a thin ridgeline. A single misstep could send a would-be hiker tumbling down the abyss that waited on either side of the trail. It seemed likely that one or more of the Leydenese were Foxblood, and had spotted her approaching. It was a relief. Maja could stop running, if only for a moment. Had they been much further, she might have snapped a tendon. That was less than ideal. She feigned idleness as she approached, looking down at the drop that greeted her on either side. Vertigo had ceased being a problem for her long ago, however she would not be surprised if the sight inspired enough dizziness to send most would-be travellers stumbling to their doom. It was no wonder this path remained mostly unknown. Yet, one of the men ahead sat on the thin path atop a chestnut stallion, obviously bred for war even to Maja¡¯s untrained eyes. A misstep would send him his death. He had courage. Years of working as a chef had taught her to admire a gut with that much steel in it. Even if they worked for a House she loathed. Her passage forward was halted by a pale man, cloak flapping in the wind. Sharp canines, orange sclera, and heavy sideburns marked him as a Foxblood ¨C one with an excessive amount of divinity in his veins. She was taller than him by over a foot and likely nearly his weight, however that was no reason to underestimate him. The Blooded, like all Foxbloods, would be sadistic, volatile, and eager for bloodshed. ¡°State your name, woman,¡± he commanded, voice warbling and unpleasant. They knew who she was. By the blood, she hated Houses. ¡°Maja of the Oxblood,¡± she announced. The words repeated themselves as they rattled down the mountains, as if the land itself were heralding her arrival. Or mocking it. ¡°Ah,¡± the man on the horse replied, a toothy grin stretched across his pale face. Despite the wailing wind, his voice was clearly projected ¨C a symptom of regular vocal training. ¡°The former General Maja. Or would you prefer ¡®the Slaughter¡¯?¡± It was an old epithet, one she had accidentally stolen from a renowned bandit after butchering him and his men. The title had stalked her through the years, though she had minded its company less and less as time went on. However, it would be impolite to say as much. ¡°Maja will do,¡± she rumbled. ¡°May I have the pleasure of knowing your name, young man?¡± If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. He barked a strained laugh, fury lurking beneath. ¡°Master Reagan, third son of Earl Tridor, of the House Leyden.¡± Spite was in the air, accompanied by a mocking danger barely concealed by his words. Reagan Tridor was clearly itching for a fight. If she had not come seeking a deal, Maja would have been happy to acquiesce. Despite her objective, she hadn¡¯t the skill to defuse his bloodlust ¨C only to demonstrate that it was unwise. Fighting at least one of the Leydenese seemed inevitable. Perhaps more, if she were unlucky. The extent of the violence would be determined by their Master. Reagan¡¯s sneering smile was fixed, hollow. His eyes were that of a cornered wolf, awaiting its death. Few of the Houses were kind to those who wasted their investments. Less so to a third son. ¡°I suppose the name Maja is more fitting, now,¡± he taunted, ¡°given that you¡¯re eight years away from the warrior you used to be.¡± Maja chuckled. ¡°That is still eight years closer than any of your posse will ever be, considering I have already killed the two you sent after me.¡± Over politeness would do her no good. Not when the man seemed to be as desperate as she was. The scion¡¯s smile widened further. ¡°So, Maja.¡± His eyes carried dark bags beneath them, and were riddled with tiny red capillaries. ¡°Are you here to show us the Slaughter firsthand, diminished as she is?¡± ¡°I was hoping to keep her stowed, at least for now. I have an offer for you, Master Reagan.¡± ¡°Ha!¡± he barked. ¡°I don¡¯t care for any offers coming from the Ox of Esfaria. As a matter of fact, you could say that I,¡± Reagan gaze throbbed with suicidal mania, ¡°don¡¯t care for any offers, at all. Now, Blooded Aston,¡± he jerked his head towards her, ¡°send Maja on her way.¡± The feral Foxblood in front of her began approaching. Maja considered drawing her sword ¨C at this point in her transference of her blood into Jackson, Aston¡¯s Godsblood was likely more potent than hers ¨C however doing so would mean killing the man, robbing the Foot of a Blooded they could scarcely afford to lose. She risked injury by fighting without a blade, however a non-fatal victory would be a decent show of goodwill. Besides, the fact that Reagan hadn¡¯t ordered any of his thralls to interfere meant he was testing her mettle. Or, had accurately evaluated that the narrow path and fierce winds made more interference useless. Either way, the only thing Maja was truly concerned about was pulling a tendon or accidentally killing Aston. Mercy was something she remained a novice at. The Foxblood walked in a deceptively casual manner, strutting towards her in a way Maja knew could go any direction, on flat ground. Traditionally, this kind of match-up was considered bad for the Oxblood. A Fox was better at reading movements than an Ox, so as long as they were not woefully outmatched in strength or smarts, the Fox would simply avoid getting hit. Unfortunately for Aston, this was not the case here. Maja slashed forward with her scabbarded sword. From there, the man had only two choices: jump or duck. Any horizontal movement would send him falling to his death. Wisely, he chose to crouch underneath the blow, avoiding the vulnerability inherent in leaping into the air. She then kicked towards him. Something cracked in her heel, the sensation like a heavy blow. For a second, she thought her opponent had somehow stabbed her there, but a flicker of the eyes downward revealed only flat dirt and empty space on either side. Aston twisted, allowing the foot to go sailing past his shoulder. He sneered in the way Foxbloods tended to do, and charged forward, knife in hand, only for Maja to fold her kicking leg, trapping his torso in the crook of her knee, between her thigh and calf. Her leg slammed to the ground, serving to both immobilise the man and helping her maintain her balance. She pressed her full weight onto him. As a muted click emanated from his shoulder, the product of it dislocating from the pressure, she grabbed his opposite wrist with her meaty hand, forcing him to drop his knife. With her remaining hand, Maja smacked Aston in the head until he stopped struggling. It was simply a bad location for the poor Foxblood. If this were a game of Web, Aston should have forfeited several moves ago. His divine gifts were rendered useless by the narrow path. She looked up at Master Reagan, his horse shifting nervously. ¡°Are we finished here?¡± The Master scowled. Maja could see him considering sending more men, so she pre-empted his command. ¡°Unless you have an Albright in your back pocket, all your men will end up in similar positions. None of them can beat me alone, and that is what this path requires.¡± She paused for a moment, then continued. ¡°I should inform you I come unaffiliated with House Esfaria.¡± Reagan''s eyes narrowed. ¡°Is that so?¡± Maja nodded slightly. ¡°I retired from their service, alongside most of my blood.¡± He frowned, madness fading somewhat. ¡°You have my attention.¡± ¡°Do you have good reflexes, Master Reagan?¡± The man shot her a bemused look. ¡°As good as any unblooded can be, yes.¡± Maja threw a stone tablet at him. Its weight carved through the wind almost lazily, before landing in Reagan¡¯s hands. He fumbled slightly, almost allowing it to slip off the mountain, before managing to close all of his fingers around it. The fire returned to his eyes as he stared at it. ¡°A sixth of the Ravenblood separation technique,¡± Maja claimed, ¡°imprinted by Captain Vernon.¡± He let out a disbelieving huff. ¡°How in all eight gods did you persuade him?¡± ¡°Captain Vernon believes the Foot is a vital asset for reclaiming lost Godsblood.¡± Her words were infused with as much sincerity as she could manage. ¡°He has promised another third in exchange for your assistance in preserving the city.¡± With that information, House Leyden might be able to extrapolate the rest of the technique. It would not be a complete success for Reagan, but it was enough to afford him some prestige. He would keep his life, at least. It was also a lie; the Esfarian Owlblood had made no such assurances, only providing a convoluted set of runes to assist her bluff. Reagan must have suspected the untruth, given the political education most noble scions receive. But much like the earlier fight, Reagan only had two options - agree, or disagree - and Maja had a counter for each one. ¡°I could always take this and leave.¡± His smile had lost some of its edge. ¡°There are other people who know the technique, I¡¯m sure.¡± Maja nodded, as if she were considering his statement. ¡°Of course. None as vulnerable or as willing as Vernon, however. Besides,¡± she said, examining the unconscious body beneath her casually, ¡°if you refuse the offer, your blood is still useful.¡± The Leydenese straightened, readying themselves for combat. ¡°Is that a threat?¡± inquired Reagan, equally casual. ¡°Yes.¡± Maja stated. His expression froze. She cracked her neck. ¡°What will it be?¡± ¡°Let my Owlblood verify it, first.¡± She nodded. Reagan carefully passed the tablet off to a woman with large eyes, maintaining eye contact throughout the process. Maja judged his thrall''s Godsblood weak, but even the most dilute of Owlbloods could read runes. Several minutes passed in silence as the woman stared at the tablet, unblinking. Finally, she gave her master a nod. The man deflated. ¡°You leave me with no choice, Slaughter.¡± Brushing dirt and dust from the road off his shirt, Reagan gave his answer. ¡°I¡¯ll come with you. But if your promise rings hollow, I¡¯ll make sure your children suffer for it.¡± Maja let him preserve his ego. Hopefully, she could convince Captain Vernon before their confrontation with the Lizard began. Her services as a trainer for some of the greener Oxbloods may be worth something. If it wasn¡¯t, she would ensure Reagan died before the battle¡¯s end. ¡°Lead the way,¡± she commanded, her smooth smile belying the growing unease in her gut. Reagan sneered at the affront to his authority, yet he allowed the Leydenese to shuffle past her. Maja kept her guard up for any attempts to shove her off the mountain, however she was not worried. Reagan had been offered a reason to accept her offer, and a reason to not refuse it. A drowning man would clutch at any straw - especially when a shark was biting at his heels. After a few awkward moments sliding past her large body, Master Reagan and his thralls were ahead of her, carefully treading down the ridgeline. Maja gritted her teeth and ambled forward, attempting to conceal her limp. A torn tendon in her heel was the least of her worries. Chapter 25 - Still Heart It was never clear to me how the lake the Foot revolved around functioned. Despite the combination of farmers and the general lack of rain in the desert conspiring to empty it, the oasis always appeared to remain relatively full. The older I got, the more that fact struck me as bizarre. Amongst everyone I knew, only Stitch, Jasmine and Sash seemed to understand how it avoided drying out. My sister had tried to explain the process to me dozens of times ¨C something about groundwater and regular maintenance ¨C but I never truly understood how the large deposit of water could exist in such a dry and desolate place. The lake was like magic to me, as arcane as any of the Owl¡¯s machinations, waxing and waning according to the beat of some inaudible tune. I recalled a day, years ago, when I had visited the market to find the oasis closer to a puddle than a body of water. A stupor fell on me, then, which slowly transformed into a potent combination of fear and anger. Incensed, I had proceeded to find Blake and explain, in an incoherent tumble of words, how the Foot was being cursed; telling him we needed to stop whatever Owlblood was doing this. I think my friend understood that I had no clue what was happening, yet decided to search with me anyway; right up until a stranger explained to us that the city was in a drought. The story would be funny, were it not so embarrassing. Much like that moment of uncomprehending fear all those years ago, when I entered the market, I shook. Except this time, I understood exactly what was happening ¨C yet my terror was no better for it. Gone were the uncountable stalls, the diverse masses, the worn clothes of labourers and the faded dyes of the merchants. Gone were the crowds. The heart of the city was silent. Most stalls were absent, and the journey over had been surrounded by shuttered buildings, their brick facades concealing barren stores. My surroundings were empty of all but a few dozen people, going about their business with hunched backs and haunted eyes. Some wore the same expressions of mute horror that I did. The Foot was dying. This time, I was aware of the caster of this curse. It was a god. I shivered despite the morning¡¯s heat. There was one upside to the barren market: it was easier to locate my destination. Miss Tran¡¯s stall stood proudly in the centre, littered with containers filled with stinking concoctions. The crone in question exposed her few remaining teeth in a rictus grin. The lack of customers, the bedridden Jackson reposing in her house and the encroaching god didn¡¯t seem to bother her; instead, she appeared inordinately pleased at having gained such a good spot. Her eyes snapped to mine with a predatory intensity. ¡°Ah, Little Crow!¡± she shouted in her bizarre accent, cutting through the silence like a puppy through a funeral. ¡°Come, come! What do you need? Healing potions? Something for skin? Unique spices? I have cures for sickness ¨C very good for Lizard coming. Or has cheap Maja broken more pots?¡± I smiled ¨C at least some things remained the same. ¡°I¡¯m in need of some sleeping draughts, Miss Tran. The kind that can keep a man asleep for as long as he drinks them.¡± Her hairless brows fell. ¡°Not usual, not usual. What are they for?¡± I scratched my head. There didn¡¯t seem to be much point in lying. ¡°We¡¯ve got this guy in a basement. He¡¯s not very nice, and we don¡¯t have that many people with the¡­ right mental state to guard him.¡± ¡°Hmm.¡± Miss Tran frowned. I shifted nervously. ¡°I have none prepared.¡± She interrupted my sigh almost immediately. ¡°But! I can make some in a few moments. You do not care if this man gets liver damage, no?¡± ¡°Uh¡­¡± ¡°Eck!¡± she turned her head to spit at the dirt. ¡°So squeamish, Little Crow! Poor Ox is nearly dead, and you worry for a bad man?¡± It took me a few seconds to parse who she was talking about. ¡°How is Jackson?¡± The stolen memory of his bloodied body flashed, and I winced. ¡°Is he okay?¡± ¡°Eh.¡± The aged alchemist grunted. ¡°He is a big boy. He will be fine.¡± "No, but-" "Ox is fine if I say he is!" she barked, spraying spittle over my face. "Now, to business!" She picked up several of the wooden cups, mixing their contents together in an empty bottle ¨C one of the only pieces of glassware on her table. I stepped back several paces. ¡°Are you sure that¡¯s safe?¡± ¡°Bah!¡± Miss Tran exclaimed. Her yellowed fingers moved with surprising dexterity. ¡°Nothing is safe! You eat fish ¨C could choke on bone. You forge knifes ¨C could burn hands. You¡­ ehm¡­ what is the word¡­¡± I waited patiently; whatever term she was thinking of would be outside my expectations. ¡°You persuade for love with farmer girl! Could be buried by her father.¡± Suddenly, her words became extremely relevant. ¡°That is..." I chewed a fingernail. "It''s only theoretical, right?¡± I blurted out. She waved her hands, nearly toppling several flasks. I flinched. ¡°Does not matter. Point is, nothing is safe.¡± ¡°No, but, would the farmer girl¡¯s dad get mad?¡± I asked, taking a few more steps back. ¡°The question is purely for my own edification.¡± The old proprietor shot me a blank look. I should¡¯ve known she didn¡¯t know what ¡®edification¡¯ meant, seeing as the exact definition remained vague even to me. An echo of Bab¡¯s knowledge approved of the use, but it was always possible that I had used the word incorrectly. I would have to ask Sash when our brother calmed down. Visible fumes wafted into her nose as she glared at me. Her face scrunched, then erupted in a volcanic sneeze. ¡°Be tough, Little Crow. Back in Korla-¡° the name was one she threw around often ¡°-it takes more than dirt to stop a man.¡± ¡°Did your husband rise from the grave, then?¡± Miss Tran scowled. ¡°He can barely rise from bed. Useless, useless! I tell you, Little Crow, never marry a useless man.¡± Stolen novel; please report. I indulged her with a nod. ¡°I¡¯ll be sure to take that under advisement.¡± ¡°Tell Maja too. She¡¯s the type.¡± She dropped what looked like a purple chili into her brew. I took a few more steps back. ¡°Like me when I was younger. Slightly taller, less pretty, but mostly the same. Anyway, this done.¡± The crone poured the angry-looking potion into a wooden container, punching a cork into the top. ¡°Now. Three-hundred chits for me.¡± She nodded, self-satisfied. ¡°Excellent deal.¡± ¡°You¡¯re killing me, Miss Tran. I don¡¯t even have that much.¡± This was one of the few times during a haggle I wasn¡¯t lying; the savings I had squirreled away numbered less than half that. ¡°Puah. Two-fifty, and that is because Maja is an old friend.¡± ¡°Look, I can do one-twenty-five. I¡¯ll throw in a few pieces of silverware, too.¡± I was loath to part with a member of my hoard, however the drought was slightly more important. ¡°And a few of your nice rocks.¡± ¡°What?¡± I was incensed ¨C the silver was a good offer, especially for an alchemist. ¡°No! How do you even know about my stones?¡± She cackled. ¡°You traded me one when you were little.¡± ¡°Leave my rocks out of this!¡± They were the most venerable members of my stash ¨C the first I had collected. ¡°Then I will take this and drink it myself.¡± I swore. It would be in character, even with the liver damage she had warned me about. ¡°Alright, alright. I¡¯ll bring one ¨C just one ¨C next time I buy something.¡± Miss Tran treated me to a wide smile in response. She hummed as I whacked the chits and a handful of spoons on the table, counting them with a mocking lethargy. I tapped my foot. She pointed to each chit individually, muttering numbers under he breath. Supressing an exasperated sigh was a monumental effort. After a minute of watching her count less than a fifth of the chits, I spoke. ¡°Hey, Miss Tran?¡± The old lady looked up. ¡°Yes, Little Crow?¡± ¡°Could I go¡­ do something else, just while you count the money?¡± She waved me off. Now with leave to do more interesting things, I set myself to examining the space where the market used to be. The strange interaction with Miss Tran had left me calm enough to view it through clearer eyes. Unsurprisingly, in the clarity emptiness delivered, the place was absolutely filthy. Carrot and potato peels, spilled cabbage, strips of rotten meat and other miscellaneous substances had been pounded into the ground by the near constant hammering of boots. The peppery stench of sweat lingered, despite the absence of many people. Without any inhabitants, the area was a sad, dirty thing. Idly, I kicked my way through the various scraps littered throughout my surroundings, occasionally glancing at the lake; somehow, it remained unaffected by the approaching god. I supposed that, to water, a man with a bucket was as much threat as the Lizard. I was prodding at a particularly promising pile of detritus ¨C the feeling of grease and kebab skewers against my bare foot was disgusting, however there was something gleaming beneath all the garbage ¨C when a familiar voice called out to me. ¡°Orvi!¡± Jasmine¡¯s voice was pleasant, but my admiration was quashed by the circumstances. ¡°You¡¯re a tad early for your order.¡± I approached her stall, still rife with an impressive assortment of fruits and vegetables. It was far less welcoming without her guards being concealed by a crowd, but the evil-eyes they shot towards me were undercut by a hearty wave from the gap-toothed guard I had talked to during my last visit. My long-time crush seemed even more done-up than usual; her braided hair shone with some sort of lotion, her black skin seemed looked after, and her tunic was dyed a vibrant green ¨C the whole ensemble was probably worth at least a hundred of Miss Tran¡¯s sleeping draughts. I stopped a few paces away from her, fighting the unseemly glee encroaching on my bad mood. ¡°Jasmine. Hi.¡± I tried to figure out how to phrase my next question politely. ¡°Why haven¡¯t you left the Foot?¡± She cocked a pruned eyebrow. ¡°How have you been Jasmine? It¡¯s been so long.¡± Her tone was mocking. The sarcasm might have been amusing if the delivery was less brutal. ¡°Do you treat all your long-time customers this way?¡± The sigh she let out was strained. ¡°No. Sorry. It¡¯s been a bad week. I wanted my whole family to leave, but Bobar has the final say.¡± I tsked. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t let your dad get in the way of, y¡¯know, life.¡± The young woman waved her hand. ¡°I understand where he¡¯s coming from. Our fortune is invested entirely in the oasis. We lose everything if we run away.¡± Rebuttals balanced on the tip of my tongue, but I knew Jasmine would be aware of all of them. She was smart, and entirely overeducated for her role as a produce saleswoman. It was too late for any of her circumstances to change anyway. The future was a kinder topic to discuss. ¡°What are you Fronds doing to prep for Dure?¡± ¡°We¡¯re going to hide wherever the Lizard isn¡¯t,¡± she answered. ¡°Though, if we¡¯re not doing anything to combat its plague, we may as well not exist.¡± I squinted. ¡°Why¡¯s your dad so insistent on staying if he¡¯s not going to do anything?¡± ¡°He couldn¡¯t change his mind even if we wanted to. Dure''s too close; there''s no direction to run in that won''t see us diseased or dead.¡± ¡°You¡¯re rich, though.¡± I stated blandly. Jasmine snorted. ¡°Money can only buy Blooded if some are around.¡± The Foot¡¯s Blooded could be counted on one hand. I thought for a moment. There had to be a better way for the Fronds to use their resources. The idea of them doing nothing was ridiculous. I snapped my fingers. ¡°You should talk to Ma.¡± ¡°Your mother.¡± Her response was flat. ¡°Look, even if I don¡¯t know the right spots for you to shove your chits, Ma will.¡± ¡°Orvi¡­¡± She spoke condescendingly. ¡°What can your mother do? I get she¡¯s an Oxblood, but¡­¡± I frowned. ¡°She¡¯s not just any Oxblood, Jasmine. Ma is short for Maja.¡± Jasmine blinked once. Then a second time. ¡°General Maja? Maja the Headsman?¡± ¡°Oi,¡± I snapped, ¡°that¡¯s an incredibly rude thing to call one of the soldiers who saved the city.¡± ¡®Headsman¡¯ was a reference to Ma killing most of the surviving Godslayers in the aftermath of the battle. Some bard had bestowed the title onto her, and it had stuck. The name portrayed her as some sort of villain; incredibly ignorant given someone else would¡¯ve had to kill the soldiers she had, had Ma had rejected the duty. Most inhabitants of the Foot were torn between begrudging respect and a full-bodied hatred for her ¨C it was why none of us went around advertising her past, despite the reputation it may have lent. ¡°Ah. Okay.¡± This was the first time I had ever seen Jasmine at a loss for words. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± She looked out at the lake. Almost immediately, her eyes flicked back to me. ¡°Are you sure?¡± I stared at her. ¡°Yes, I¡¯m sure. There aren¡¯t that many women over ten-feet walking around.¡± ¡°Ma isn¡¯t ten feet, though.¡± She retorted, slightly confused. ¡°She was. She¡¯s just given most of that height to Jackson.¡± The young woman nodded, slowly. I was finally getting through to her. ¡°She¡¯s so nice, though.¡± I groaned. ¡°I met her immediately after the Raven died, Jasmine; I can assure you she was very much a general at that point.¡± The young woman squinted. ¡°What do you mean, you ¡®met¡¯ her?¡± ¡°I¡¯m adopted,¡± I claimed, entirely past exasperation. ¡°Do I look like an Oxblood? Have you secretly thought I was uglier than oatmeal, and that Ma had broken the law to give birth to me?¡± Jasmine flicked her luxurious braid, frowning slightly. ¡°Of course I know a Blooded giving birth is illegal ¨C I just never gave it much thought. There are no Albrights out here to punish the act, anyway. Ma could have decided to have a child, if she wanted.¡± ¡°How do you know about the Albrights?¡± My crush squinted at me. ¡°Doesn¡¯t everyone?¡± I scowled in an attempt to hide my embarrassment. I hadn¡¯t, up until a few days ago. The ploy failed. ¡°Did you not know who they were?¡± A smile began to dawn on Jasmine¡¯s face, radiant as the sun. Her delight promised to burn my ego to ashes. ¡°I did.¡± I answered, feigning nonchalance. ¡°I just know several who don¡¯t.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t know them!¡± she beamed at me. I looked at the lake, light reflecting of its waters like dancing spirits. At that moment, I felt a kind of kinship with it: being trod on by beautiful things was something it and I had in common. ¡°I think Dure is a far more pressing topic of conversation, right now.¡± ¡°Aww.¡± She grinned down at me. ¡°That¡¯s so cute, Orvi.¡± Never had more hurtful words been uttered. I closed my eyes, trying to prevent myself from screaming. Chapter 26 - Sins of the Mother ¡°That¡¯s so cute, Orvi.¡± The words rattled in my skull, impacting explosively every time they made contact with bone. They were like an arrow to the head; a knife to the heart; a scythe to the neck; a brick to the face. The initial impact was painful, but as time went on and the phrase hit me, again and again, I began to feel like I would die. Naturally, flight was the only option. I had said my goodbyes and scurried back home to scream into my pillow. After a little while I grew bored of that and fed Miss Tran¡¯s sleeping draught to our captive Dolphinblood. Serl seemed slightly intimidated by me; avoiding any attempts to manipulate my emotions and drinking the potion without complaint. His broken wrist must¡¯ve been painful, for him to crave unconsciousness so badly. All my procrastination amounted to nothing as I found myself on a boat with Jasmine, sailing across the oasis. The dinghy Jasmine¡¯s guards used to ferry us across the lake was one of the largest I had ever seen, sitting somewhere between a kayak and a large shack in size. It was large enough to carry Jasmine, myself, and four large escorts easily ¨C though her excess produce was more than enough to fill the remaining space. My seat was a sack of oddly-shaped tubers, digging into my admittedly scrawny bum. A cloth satchel ¨C the backpack I had received from Bab was too valuable to carry around for no reason ¨C was bundled into my lap. Its only inhabitant was a small sheet of paper. Wind buffeted my face and unbrushed hair, freezing my ears and removing most liquid from my eyes. It was probably the most uncomfortable place on the boat; Jasmine had an actual chair, glued onto the deck, and the guards ¨C two on each side ¨C had small benches to sit on, which they used to leverage their rowing. I had tried my hand at one of the oars, only to immediately be kicked off by a frowning guard. Name-dropping Ma had earned me some respect, but I was still only a step above gutter-trash to them. My purpose here was slightly unclear, even to me. Ma had limped her way back into the restaurant a few hours before sunset. After a brief explanation of the Frond¡¯s situation, Ma hastily scrawled a letter and handed it to me. She was adamant that I had to deliver it directly to the Frond patriarch. I liked to think myself an experienced diplomat, but for the life of me, I couldn¡¯t figure out why Ma thought that. Even so, I had no choice. Never mind that I would have to share a small space with the sole witnesses to the most embarrassing encounter of my life. I chatted incessantly to get my mind off my aching arse, as well as Jasmine¡¯s brutal blow to my self-esteem. ¡°Is a boat really the best method to get your goods to the market? Ma and Stitch, my tutor, always mention carts when they¡¯re talking about farming, but most farmers I¡¯ve seen use dinghies.¡± Jasmine drew her eyes away from our surroundings ¨C several kilometres of rocking water, twisting with the orange light of late afternoon. ¡°Neither of them are native to the Foot, correct?¡± I nodded. ¡°I don¡¯t know about the greater continent, but it only makes sense to use boats.¡± She gestured to the liquid we drifted across, just falling short of stretching from horizon to horizon. ¡°How long do you think it would take to pull a cart around the circumference of the lake?¡± I opened my mouth to answer, but she cut me off. ¡°That was rhetorical. Over a day, I would think, and the activity would be strenuous enough to exhaust whatever beast is saddled with all the produce. It¡¯s much easier to just¡­ float across.¡± I scratched an itch behind my ear, buying time to figure out a question that would fill the silence. ¡°How much land does your family own, anyway? Your dad seems pretty desperate to keep a hold of it.¡± She clicked her tongue in thought, the annoying sound somehow charming when it came from her mouth. ¡°It¡¯s less the amount of land and more that we¡¯ve had it for so long. If Jippi is to be believed, our family has been around the oasis for almost as long as the place has existed. That might be an excuse, though. We own most of the fields around here. I wouldn¡¯t give it up if I were the head.¡± ¡°No, but how much, exactly?¡± Bashfully, she looked away. ¡°Probably about three fifths of the area around the lake.¡± I blinked. ¡°You¡¯re messing with me.¡± ¡°Well, there¡¯s still the residential district, and the land further away from the oasis!¡± She seemed almost embarrassed. Filled with a vengeful spirit, I began prodding. ¡°And how much arable land is there further away from the oasis?¡± She fell silent. I wasn¡¯t oblivious to the deathly stare the guards were sending me ¨C except the gap-toothed one who was silently chuckling ¨C however the opportunity to tease an embarrassed Jasmine was too rare to pass up. ¡°Jasmine?¡± Quietly, she answered. ¡°Not much.¡± ¡°So, what you¡¯re saying is that your family owns the majority of the land in the Foot.¡± ¡°My family,¡± she corrected, ¡°not me.¡± I considered that for several seconds. ¡°No.¡± She turned back to look at me, braid swaying in the wind. ¡°No?¡± ¡°You¡¯re rich.¡± ¡°Compared to the House¡¯s, my family¡¯s wealth is nothing.¡± ¡°You¡¯re rich.¡± Jasmine¡¯s brows furrowed, and her mouth contorted into a scowl. ¡°Stop being so childish, Orvi. I¡¯m not all that well off.¡± I grinned manically. ¡°Rich girl doesn¡¯t think she¡¯s rich.¡± My smile stretched wider. ¡°That¡¯s so cute, Jasmine.¡± In that moment, I was the cleverest person on the planet.
The Frond¡¯s docks were situated in front of a few beaten paths, barely a hundred meters away from the greater estate. It was crowded with boats ¨C most barely large enough for two or three people. Surprisingly, the ship we had rowed in on was one of the largest there ¨C Jasmine¡¯s stall must¡¯ve been a larger investment that I thought. The Frond estate was less ostentatious than I had imagined. It wasn¡¯t humble, not by any means ¨C the building could encompass my family¡¯s restaurant and have room for at least half a dozen more ¨C however it was flat, and entirely bereft of any gold trimmings, fine furniture, or just general ornamentation. I was incredibly disappointed ¨C I had expected silver candelabras, immaculately carved tables and chairs, chandeliers, maybe even a butler ¨C but it was probably for the best. Frankly, the inside was a mess; filled with discarded toys, random piles of paperwork, small paintings and sculptures, and entirely too many rocking chairs. Resisting the urge to steal was far easier in such incoherent surroundings. My guide had left her guards outside, to sojourn in a nearby building, and muscled her way through a mob of screeching children ¨C her nieces, nephews, and cousins ¨C who were entirely too interested in the new visitor, however handsome he may be. The crowd melted away to a slightly smaller gang of women, aging from Jackson¡¯s age to older than Ma, which Jasmine cut through like a fish through water. The final barrier was a group of men ¨C less talkative but more difficult to butt through ¨C which she got through with a combination of a raised voice and several well-placed shin kicks. I was getting the sinking feeling that Jasmine was a powerful force around here. Who I had, just half an hour beforehand, goaded into hitting me multiple times, to the delight of her guards. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Despite the aching in my arm, I avoided rubbing it. Jasmine¡¯s punches were stronger than I expected, however it would be foolish to do something so undignified in the middle of foreign territory. Having passed built-in defence mechanism of the Frond family, we finally managed to push our way into a large office, containing four women ¨C three Ma¡¯s age, one older than dust itself ¨C and one bearded man. Somehow, it was even more cluttered than the rest of the house ¨C five desks and five chairs were islands in the middle of a sea of antique cabinets, constantly being riffled through for various documents. House Esfaria had fewer. Jasmine brushed her clothes and flicked her braid over her shoulder. I hastily fixed my dishevelled clothes; ragged fabrics that made me feel like gutter trash. ¡°Jippi. Bobar. Mamers. This is Orvi, adopted son of General Maja.¡± All of them stared at me. Silence stretched past awkward and into dangerous. It was so quiet I could¡¯ve heard an ant walk. Suddenly, the bearded man, whose charcoal skin was almost entirely concealed by large swathes of black hair, slammed his hands on the table. Sneering, he spoke. ¡°Ippa, I love you, but what in the blood are you doing bringing the child of the Slaughter into this house?¡± ¡°Bobar, I know you hate her, however-¡° His voice shattered her rebuttal, solid as a hammer. ¡°She killed Glade, Ippa.¡± His eyes burned. ¡°Your brother!¡± ¡°There was no other option-¡° ¡°There is always another option.¡± ¡°The Lizard is coming!¡± ¡°Langli is nothing! The oasis has endured Memras for centuries. We can survive a god for a few-¡± ¡°Enough.¡± The words were punctuated by the old woman slamming her fist on her desk, sending a pile of documents slumping to the floor. Her face was like black sand ¨C gravelly, harsh. ¡°You are being foolish, ignoring the offer of a great warrior.¡± ¡°Jippi.¡± The patriarch¡¯s voice shook with restrained fury. ¡°This is my house. I will-¡° The senior shook her head, and he quietened. ¡°You are not in your right mind. You cannot be the Frond in such anger.¡± I resisted the urge to raise my eyebrows. The Frond? Did she not know how to speak properly? ¡°The Frond does not bend to his enemies.¡± ¡°People die in war, Amos.¡± Her response was harsh enough to drive the rest of the room into silence. ¡°They always have. Young men more than anyone else. It is a truth as fundamental as the gods themselves. You knew this. You know this. The General Maja may have killed Glade, yes. But it was her duty. And she had the integrity to tell us personally, as she did with all her victims'' families.¡± I restrained a small gasp. Had she told all of the relatives of the dead what had happened? No wonder the city hated her. Still, my pride grew alongside my amazement. The patriarch ¨C or the Frond, I supposed ¨C steepled his fingers, lowering his eyelids. He stared at a point on the floor. His exhale was small; pained. ¡°Boy. Give me the letter.¡± I walked over, removing the rough sheet of paper from my satchel and handing it to him. His expression was unchanging, even as his eyes flicked through its contents. I hoped Ma had been diplomatic while writing it; if she wasn¡¯t, I might be walking home with a few more bruises than Jasmine gave me. He finished scanning it, levelling his dark gaze at me. ¡°Tell me, boy: what do you think Maja¡¯s chances are?¡± I frowned. I had never truly considered the question. ¡°I¡¯m not a general or anything. I wouldn¡¯t know.¡± ¡°Try.¡± ¡°¡­Ma¡¯s the strongest person in the Foot. She¡¯s also probably the only one with much experience with gods. If anyone knows how to keep the city ¨C and the lake ¨C safe, it¡¯s her.¡± ¡°Your mother is significantly weakened compared to her heyday. Why do you believe she¡¯s the strongest?¡± I sighed. ¡°It¡¯s not just because she¡¯s my mother. I¡¯ve seen her fight. Even missing most of her Oxblood, a Foxkin ¨C a strong one, mind you ¨C couldn¡¯t even scratch her. I think even if you sucked every ounce of Godsblood out of her, she¡¯d still be the strongest in the city.¡± ¡°And you think I should trust her?¡± ¡°There¡¯s not a lot of other options, Mister Frond.¡± Meeting his eyes was difficult, but I managed. ¡°The Lizard¡¯s going to make our home unliveable. You won¡¯t be able to grow food if the oasis is full of disease. No one has a better chance than Maja. But¡­¡± I winced, making the realisation at the same time as I spoke it aloud. ¡°She can¡¯t protect the entire city on her own. Not from a god.¡± The Frond took my argument in, breathing slowly through his nose and out through his mouth. He nodded slowly, beard touching his desk as he did so. ¡°I will come to your mother¡¯s meeting, then.¡± He narrowed his eyes, piercing my body with his gaze. ¡°Tell her I expect a plan that will save my family. Anything less, and I¡¯ll offer no support.¡± I let out a heavy breath, relieved. Jasmine spoke from beside me. ¡°Should I prepare a guest room, Mamers?¡± Two of the younger women looked to a third one, unassuming were it not for the frown marks around her mouth. ¡°I think not, Jasmine. Send him home.¡± Jasmine spluttered, the undignified display far more surprising than the answer. ¡°Mamer! He is a guest!¡± The intimidating lady sneered. ¡°He is not a guest. He is an emissary; one whose missive has been delivered.¡± ¡°But Mamer!¡± ¡°But nothing, child!¡± she shrieked. ¡°A deal has been made, do not push your luck. The kin of the Headsman is not welcome in this house.¡± My guide said nothing, only grabbing my arm and marching us both out the door. Our journey outward was more subdued; the dozens of relatives moving to swarm her took one look at Jasmine¡¯s expression and decided retreat was the better option. Some of the children even burst into tears as she passed. Her anger came as a surprise. Much like the sensation that arrives seconds after getting punched in the head, I was still stunned; emotions muted by the thrumming of a failed fight-or-flight response reverberating in the base of my skull. My stupor had no room for rage, and I struggled to empathise with a girl who suddenly decided to be indignant on my behalf, despite having hit me multiple times in the past hour. A more optimistic person would¡¯ve taken it as a sign of attraction, but I wasn¡¯t so sure: if an afternoon of getting yelled at was enough to make someone like me, then half the city would be crushing on me. We stomped out of the house, then out of the estate, then down a path. By this point, I had recovered enough composure to speak. ¡°Are you alright, Jasmine?¡± ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± She replied. ¡°I¡¯m more worried about you. Will you be able to make your way back in the dark?¡± ¡°On my own?¡± I blurted. ¡°Bobar won¡¯t let me stay up past curfew, and the guards are done for the day.¡± Jasmine spat in the dirt. I backed away slightly ¨C I¡¯d never seen her perform such an unrefined action before. ¡°I thought we were better than this.¡± We kept walking, giving my mind time to catch up with her statement. ¡°Huh?¡± I said eloquently. ¡°I don¡¯t know!¡± Her dark hands raised, as if she were trying to hold an armful of air. ¡°I thought¡­ it wasn¡¯t anyone¡¯s fault! And now, when our livelihood is on the verge of being destroyed by a god of all things, they refuse to let go!¡± ¡°Well, y¡¯know,¡± I fumbled, ¡°it¡¯s not that easy when someone you love dies, right? All that affection melts into hatred. At least they¡¯re not trying to kill Ma ¨C that¡¯s a plus.¡± ¡°Even so, I wanted us to be better.¡± ¡°If it makes you feel any better, I don¡¯t blame them. I doubt Ma does, either.¡± She nodded her head, yet said nothing else. She left me with a small canoe and a paddle. I watched her silhouette fade as the sun sank. The hospitality was flattering, even if it left me flummoxed; it hadn¡¯t occurred to Jasmine that I had never operated a canoe before. With the only options available being to either cut through the lake and potentially capsize the boat, or attempt to find my way back in the darkness of night, I chose the one more likely to kill me. I had a bit of Dure in me ¨C I wouldn¡¯t tire even if I had to swim all the way back. Besides, the opportunity to use a canoe was rare; this might be the only chance I would ever have. Sand shifted beneath my toes. Holding the canoe in knee-deep water, I attempted to clamber in, only to accidentally flip the boat, sending myself and the oar into the water. Luckily, the water was rather clear, so retrieving the paddle wasn¡¯t a difficult task. A second attempt was similarly fruitless; however the third saw me mastering the art of wobbling my way into a seated position, only partially assisted by my Foxblood. For several embarrassing minutes, I propelled my craft in wide circles, stubbornly refusing to paddle on the right side. My hand shivered as the heat of the day departed, my wet clothes smearing an icy coldness all over me. I had watched fisherman with similarly-sized vessels; they managed to steer their boats almost lazily, without changing sides. However, soon enough I managed to puzzle out the barest forms of their technique. With every stroke I let my oar trail behind, using it as a rudder to steer the canoe. The longer I spent paddling, the more accustomed I grew to the rhythm of the movement. I stripped my wet clothes off, and paddled in my undergarments. Soon the heat of exertion began to fill me, and in combination with my Lizardblood, I felt almost comfortable. By the time the shore was disappearing into the falling darkness behind me, I was able to raise my head and take in my surroundings. Water. Twisting shadow. And between them the dappling of moonlight, sliding playfully through and around the contours of both. I hummed tunelessly. The shore was invisible, but the stars were bright enough to help me navigate. Rowing across the lake was a solitary task. There were no distant voices or scuffles, like in the city, and no sounds of insects, like in the fields. Just my oar pushing through water and the silence of dusk. It struck me as ironic, that the most central location in the city, both literally and metaphorically, was also its most isolated. But, contrary to my fears, my thoughts did not take the quiet as an opportunity to lay siege to my mind. It was peaceful. I wanted to pluck the scenery from its roots and squirrel it away somewhere safe, but I knew it was impossible. The Lizard was coming, and the night was that much colder for it. Chapter 27 - Mortality in Unlikely Places After donning my damp tunic and pants, I finally made it back to the market. Initially, I had reached shore several hundred paces off, and had to trace my way to the nearby docks. Recognising landmarks was difficult in the dark, even with the bright moonlight, however I eventually recognised House Esfaria¡¯s building, its front lit by gentle, bluish tones. Several moments of squinting revealed a bloodtech lamp, held aloft by Peeler, the guard who had harassed Bab and I the last time we had entered. As soon as I had sighted him, trepidation filled me; the remnants of Bab¡¯s fear. The emotion provoked an opposite reaction ¨C I felt the need to exonerate myself from the cowardly unease within me, to prove that I was brave, and that I was myself. I had to confront Peeler, somehow. Plumbing the depths of my mind for a reason to approach, I vaguely recalled Ma mentioning she would head to the Esfarian office to review some documents. The quickest way to deliver the Frond¡¯s response would be to head straight there. I left my canoe tied to the docks, hoping Jasmine would retrieve it during her next visit, and approached the azure light. The guard¡¯s tall frame stiffened as I approached. ¡°Stop!¡± he announced, haltingly, levelling a spear my way. ¡°State your name and business!¡± His words echoed through the darkness of night. ¡°Hello, Peeler,¡± I replied. ¡°Don¡¯t you recognise me?¡± He shuddered ¨C I must¡¯ve sounded particularly creepy. ¡°N-No. Name and business!¡± ¡°Bab brought me in, around a fortnight ago. I was injured; he helped me.¡± ¡°Oh!¡± The exclamation was breathy; relieved. ¡°Master Frond! What are you doing out so late?¡± That was the name I had gone by? My ingenuity astonished even me. ¡°I have a message for General Maja from my father. I heard that she would be inside.¡± He nodded. ¡°She is, yes. I¡¯ll let you in right away.¡± My gut churned. Shouldn¡¯t security have been tighter, given the sabotage that had occurred barely weeks ago? I asked Peeler as much. ¡°We¡­ haven¡¯t had time to launch an investigation.¡± His back was turned to me as he sorted through his keys. ¡°There are only a few scribes remaining.¡± ¡°What about Captain Vernon?¡± ¡°He¡¯s an Owlblood. An excellent asset, but a poor commander.¡± I glanced upwards, at the hawk emblem above the door. ¡°It seems foolish to badmouth your superior.¡± ¡°Captain Vernon doesn¡¯t care.¡± I grunted, unwilling to continue the conversation. The first key he tried failed to open the lock. The second, similarly, failed. I might have felt more sympathetic, were he not a piece of human filth. ¡°Why did you think House Esfaria has been sabotaged?¡± His words were casual ¨C unnaturally so. I stifled a grin. This was the kind of confrontation that I had been looking for. ¡°Most of your comrades have disappeared. Why else would you have Maja ¨C who isn¡¯t a part of your cohort anymore ¨C orchestrating preparations for Dure¡¯s arrival?¡± Peeler turned. ¡°Give me the specific reasons you think we were sabotaged.¡± He fingered his spear purposefully. There it was ¨C beneath his obsequiousness to my Frond guise, laid an aggressive, domineering man. ¡°Only if you give me the reasons you kicked me in the head, and slapped m-¡° I managed to stop myself from saying ¡®me¡¯, ¡°-my scribe companion.¡± His gulp was almost audible. ¡°You¡­ were awake?¡± ¡°No, you stupid flap of foreskin, I was having a seizure.¡± I wasn¡¯t, actually, but he didn¡¯t need to know that. ¡°However, I¡¯m not oblivious enough to ignore a new bruise on both Tasmaronian and my heads.¡± A remnant of a dead boy twisted inside of me. Bab would have hated the conflict, yet I ¨C no matter what my blood contained ¨C wasn¡¯t Bab. Letting him get away with what he had done to my dead friend was against the few principles I had. I would torment this scum scraping to my heart¡¯s content. The guard recovered enough composure to challenge me again. ¡°That¡¯s besides the point-¡° I scoffed. ¡°Besides the point? The boy you abused, day in and day out, is dead.¡± I spat onto the ground, not bothering to hide my hatred. ¡°You made his life hellish.¡± ¡°Tas is dead?¡± The soldier¡¯s mouth hung open, slightly, as if he had the right to be surprised. The shock had torn his attention away from the phrase I had used. ¡®Hell¡¯ was a cultist term ¨C I was lucky Peeler was a foreigner, or he might¡¯ve figured out my origins. It was a stupid mistake, one I had never made before. The close shave wasn¡¯t enough to quell my rapidly rising fury. ¡°You don¡¯t care. You never cared. You beat, abused, and castigated a boy more isolated and alone than he had ever been.¡± ¡°That¡¯s-¡° ¡°Maybe if you were better at your job, he would be alive. Maybe they all would.¡± His green eyes narrowed. ¡°How dare you?¡± I refused to be cowed. ¡°How dare I? You pathetic dung muncher.¡± Distantly, I recognised my words were growing increasingly comprehensible. It seemed irrelevant. ¡°You did this.¡± Peeler tightened his grip on the spear. ¡°Frond or no, I can¡¯t let this disrespect stand.¡± ¡°You¡¯re not even denying it.¡± His lips curved backwards. ¡°I-I, failed, alright? But that¡¯s beside the point.¡± The easy admittance of guilt only further inflamed my anger. How could he make such a claim so blandly, then dismiss it with the same breath? I hated him; I loathed him; I wished he would disappear. Peeler was nearly one and a half feet taller than me, however that didn¡¯t stop my swinging fist from clipping him on the jaw. He stumbled back against the door and I struck his gut, only for my knuckles to erupt in pain as they impacted on his lamellar armour. I swore furiously, clutching my fist and invoking the name of at least four different gods, too distracted to notice Peeler swinging his spear at me. The haft impacting against my ribs barely hurt; our close proximity stole most of the force from the blow. More worryingly, the soldier was reaching for the sword on his waist, face contorting angrily. My Foxblood, in concert with years of Ma¡¯s training, worked to help me trap Peeler¡¯s spear beneath my arm. With a sharp twist, I tore it out of his grip, but my adversary already had his blade halfway out its sheath. Unfortunately for him, the wooden butt of my new weapon was already in the optimal location to smash into his face. I managed to get another two hits in before he waved both hands in front of my weapon, managing to ward off further blows. However, his rushed defence lent me the opportunity to twist the spear sideways and shove it beneath his arms, reducing their range of movement. I slammed my shoulder sideways, into his gut, then attempted to unbuckle his sword. My fingers were supernaturally dextrous, like fish leaping from a stream, and in less than a fraction of a second I had hurled the sheathed blade away, into the darkness of night. Despite my stolen finesse, I still wasn¡¯t quick enough to stop Peeler¡¯s knee flying into my stomach. I coughed lightly, unable to prevent air from leaving my lungs, and managed to grab his leg. Inspired by one of Sash¡¯s favourite moves, my foot snaked backwards, through his legs and around the crook of his other knee ¨C the ungainly motion impossible were it not for the kinaesthetic awareness the Fox lent me. With a heave, I sent both of us tumbling to the ground. I slithered out from underneath him as he grunted, trying to rise, and kicked him in the side of the head. The tall man rolled with the force of the blow, yet was still to dazed to clamber to his feet. I kicked him again, but this time there was nowhere to flee to: he was against the brick wall of the offices. Bending down, I grabbed his arms and forced them to his side, then knelt on top of them. With him immobilised, I began swinging. It had been too easy. I wanted Peeler to be more skilful ¨C to hurt me more. The blood beginning to coat my fists felt slick; a twisted harmony to the tears sliding down my cheeks. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.
Ma stopped me, as I knew she would. The moment she dragged me through the threshold, I stopped struggling. Peeler would talk with a whistle from now on, but he still breathed. He fared better than Bab, at least. I followed her up to the offices. Two scribes watched me enter, entirely mute. Ma limped in behind me, and heaved her bulk onto two distinct, armless chairs ¨C I supposed it took a pair to support her mass. She stared at me for a short time. ¡°It went that badly?¡± she rumbled. It took me a moment to figure out what she was talking about. ¡°No, the Fronds are attending the meeting. Begrudgingly.¡± My mother bobbed her head for entirely too long a time. ¡°He kicked me in the head last time I came here.¡± ¡°Ah.¡± Ma lowered her head, looking me in the eye. ¡°Is that what the fight was about?¡± I looked away, and nodded. She stared at me for a little bit longer, then sighed and leaned backwards. ¡°Where¡¯s Vernon, anyway?¡± ¡°The Owlblood?¡± She made a vague gesture. ¡°I have him working on something for me.¡± ¡°So,¡± I glanced around, catching the scribes hurriedly turning their gaze back to their work, as if they hadn¡¯t been staring at me, ¡°what¡¯re you doing, then?¡± ¡°I am getting an idea of what needs to be done.¡± A pile of maps and documents filled with tiny letter and numbers covered the desk of her. ¡°Until I meet with the Fronds and get a better idea of what resources we can use, little can be put in place. However, I can still determine the best arrangement of Blooded.¡± ¡°That includes me, right?¡± Ma¡¯s eyes widened, briefly. ¡°You know I¡¯m a Blooded, Ma. I can help.¡± She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. Ma¡¯s eyelids concealed her thought process. ¡°Are you sure?¡± She asked, sightless. ¡°You will be fighting monsters. There is a not insubstantial chance that your¡­ condition will flare.¡± My Ravenblood. I hadn¡¯t considered that ¨C if I got blood on me, I could accidentally incorporate more Godsblood. I didn¡¯t want any more cursed divinity in my veins. The power wasn¡¯t worth the price, at least not to me. Even so, I couldn¡¯t just do nothing. I grunted my assent. ¡°Alright.¡± Ma exhaled, and opened her eyes to look at me. ¡°You will obey all of my commands, Orvi. Otherwise, I will tie you up in a basement somewhere.¡± I flinched, and nodded rapidly. A question pressed at me, yet voicing it might make her revoke her permission. After a brief internal struggle, curiosity won out. ¡°Not that I¡¯m complaining, but why did you agree so quickly?¡± My mother rubbed her temples. ¡°It is not ideal, however you are old enough to make your own decisions. And even if I wanted to, I cannot prevent you from fighting. You will be safest ¨C and most effective ¨C by my side. Still. Are you sure you are unwilling to remain, and protect your siblings?¡± I frowned. ¡°The problem isn¡¯t protecting them from monsters, right? It¡¯s the sickness.¡± ¡°I¡¯m surprised you know that.¡± ¡°Of course I know,¡± I proclaimed, scowling slightly. It was common knowledge, though¡­ it might not have been my knowledge. ¡°What do you take me for?¡± Ma gave me a flat look. ¡°Oh, very mature Ma. Let¡¯s not forget you needed the help of a six year-old to learn how to cook.¡± ¡°Yes, yes. You are very clever.¡± I could detect the sarcasm in her voice. The temptation to pursue the argument was almost unbearable, but sometimes ignorance is bliss. Prodding Ma was sometimes like digging in a minefield, and I could feel myself getting closer to being on the receiving end of a pithy, brutal insult. The Blooded spoke as I continued my ponderings. ¡°Orvi, there is another topic we must speak of.¡± I grunted vaguely. She took that as assent. ¡°Scribes. Clear out for a moment.¡± Belatedly, she added a ¡®please¡¯ ¨C a word that rarely emerged from my mother¡¯s mouth. The other occupants of the office ran outside, stumbling slightly, unmindful of Ma¡¯s half-hearted niceties. I understood completely: asking politely was so out of character for her it seemed to stretch past appreciative, wrapping back around into something more malevolent. Knowing it was unintentional didn¡¯t change the effect. The door slammed shut, and Ma grit her teeth. ¡°The Lizard¡¯s arrival will be dangerous for everyone. I know you will not like this-¡° I held up a hand and squinted. Acclimatising to my new senses had been initially difficult, but now my hearing was acute enough to make out three faint sets of breathing, just outside the office. Grinning, I yelled at the top of my lungs. ¡°Oi peepers! Get out of here, before Ma comes out and throws you through a wall!¡± Two sets of footsteps hurriedly scurried away, while a third managed to produce a massive thump as they fell onto the ground. I laughed ¨C people getting injured had always been my most beloved style of humour. My mother was looking at me, wearing a slight smile. She raised an eyebrow. ¡°Making my allies afraid of me is less than ideal, Orvi.¡± I paled, scrambling to recover my bravado. ¡°It¡¯s funny, though.¡± At her silence, I sheepishly directed my gaze towards the floor. ¡°It is.¡± Her deep voice was uncharacteristically light. I tilted my head back towards her. Her smile was infinitesimally wider. It vanished when she opened her mouth to continue. ¡°However, we have other issues to talk about.¡± I schooled my face into a severe expression. ¡°I am going to remove more of my Oxblood-¡° ¡°What? That¡¯s a stupid-¡° ¡°There are reasons-¡° ¡°None good enough for-¡° ¡°Orvi.¡± She snapped, tone harsh. ¡°There is a chance I will not survive. And-¡° ¡°What are you talking about?¡± My voice sounded whiny, even to me, but I couldn¡¯t help it. ¡°You¡¯re not going to die! Why would you even say something like that? Are you making some sort of stupid plan that¡¯ll get you killed?¡± She narrowed her eyes. ¡°No, of course not. However, there is always a chance. You are old enough to handle that possibility.¡± I grit my teeth, searching for some sort of rebuttal. ¡°Am I going to die out there?¡± Ma¡¯s answer was immediate. ¡°Not if I can help it.¡± My lips curled into a grim smirk. ¡°¡¯You are old enough to handle that possibility.¡¯¡± I parroted in a faux-deep tone, a hollow mockery of her own. ¡°Of course I¡¯m not going to handle it well! Why would you make yourself more likely to die?¡± She growled. ¡°If you would listen, child, I might be capable of telling you!¡± I leaned backwards, away from her sudden outburst. ¡°As you have likely noticed, my heel cord has snapped.¡± I had noticed her limp, and it only took a handful of seconds to puzzle out what a ¡®heel cord¡¯ is. ¡°It is not unusual ¨C Oxbloods often accrue tendon injuries due to our weight. It has happened to me before.¡± ¡°Maybe you need to go on a diet.¡± The joke was half-hearted, but habit is a difficult thing to break. ¡°Maybe you need to be quiet.¡± A poor riposte, yet Ma had the presence to pull it off. ¡°Losing Oxblood will reduce my weight. It will make it easier to move during the battle.¡± ¡°Can¡¯t you get some potions or something? I¡¯m sure Miss Tran would offer a discount.¡± Immediately after the word ¡®discount¡¯ left my mouth, I realised how foolish the proposition was. ¡°Or some other alchemist would, at least.¡± Ma shook her head. ¡°Even with alchemical remedies, it would take at least three or four weeks to heal. Most likely longer. I¡¯m no Lizardblood, unlike you.¡± With such an injury, it seemed wiser for her to stay out of the battle. I said nothing; even if I managed to persuade her, without Ma fighting, we might outright lose. I couldn¡¯t imagine her dying anyway. ¡°Before the battle, I¡¯ll be using a bloodtech device to acquire and hold my Oxblood. The process will leave me mostly immobilised.¡± I startled, somewhat surprised. The transferral stone we used had never interfered with Ma¡¯s day-to-day activities before. She just jabbed it into her arm and continued cooking, cleaning, and occasionally smacking rude patrons. ¡°Why? Do injuries make it harder to drain Godsblood or something?¡± ¡°No,¡± she grunted, ¡°Vernon is making me a more efficient tool.¡± ¡°The Esfarian?¡± I spluttered. ¡°Why would you trust him? He could make it¡­ poison you, or suck your brains, or steal your blood, or, or¡­¡± Struggling, I tried to recall what Owlbloods could do with their particular brand of magic. Plenty of stories went into great detail about the dark work their sigils could wreak. She snorted, though the sound was empty of humour. ¡°You haven¡¯t had a conversation with him, have you? I believe he spends more time staring at clouds than thinking.¡± ¡°That¡¯s just what they want you to think.¡± ¡°Sure.¡± An exasperated wave of the hand was all it took to convey her opinion of my theory. ¡°I need you to carry some messages for me while I¡¯m bedridden.¡± My first instinct was to complain jokingly, but I supressed the impulse. ¡°Okay. Why me, though?¡± ¡°Lizardbloods are known to be the best couriers. And, excepting Oxblood, Foxblood lends itself best to raw speed.¡± ¡°So¡­ when¡¯ll I have to start?¡± I needed to mentally prepare myself. ¡°As soon as the meeting finishes, tomorrow. In the meantime, I¡¯ll need you to help inform the inhabitants of the north and west sections of the city that we will be fighting there.¡± I blinked. ¡°That¡¯s where we live.¡± She gave me a flat look. ¡°And?¡± ¡°Isn¡¯t that a problem?¡± ¡°It¡¯s the least vital area of the Foot, it offers the best cover, and the Lizard will be approaching from that side.¡± I swallowed. ¡°What about the restaurant?¡± ¡°We will find a new place.¡± ¡°But Ma, that¡¯s our home!¡± The protest was foolish, yet I felt someone needed to make it. ¡°Where¡¯re we going to feed people without it? How are you going to make chits?¡± ¡°Orvi, even if it does get destroyed, we can cook anywhere.¡± I was too stunned to offer a rebuttal. Dure seemed far closer than it had been, just seconds before. Ma rubbed her temples. ¡°It¡¯s necessary. And people need to know what is happening. You know people ¨C more than I do, anyway ¨C get them to help.¡± A thought struck me. ¡°Where is everyone going to go?¡± She breathed out heavily, closing her eyes. ¡°We will figure it out at the meeting.¡± ¡°But, don¡¯t they-¡° She ground her teeth, eyelids still shut. ¡°Orvi, I do not know. I am tired, I am stressed, and there is still far more work to do.¡± A retort bubbled inside my throat, driven by eight years of being obstinate, then died as I looked at Ma. Her dark skin hung off her body in large drapes, while her eyes reflected something great and terrible. With a sudden clarity I saw her as a stranger might: a large, aging woman being smothered by the hide of a more powerful beast. For the first time in my life, I realised my mother was more human than god. Swallowing the lump that rose in my throat, I answered. ¡°Okay.¡± My voice wavered, and I tried again. ¡°Alright. Is there anything else you need?¡± A sigh of relief slipped through her lips. ¡°Take care of your siblings. Ensure they eat. I won¡¯t be able to cook for them.¡± ¡°Got it. I¡¯ll see if I can clear the areas out.¡± I rose and strode towards the door, avoiding pieces of paper scattered over the floor. ¡°Orvi?¡± I turned around, facing Ma. Despite her size, something about the way she sat behind the desk made her look hunched. Far smaller than she had any right to be. ¡°Yeah?¡± Her voice was gentle. ¡°Make sure to take care of yourself, as well.¡± I nodded. I exited the building, nearly tripping over Peeler, still senseless in the dirt. Blood slowly dripped from his mouth. I dragged him inside, using half-remembered medical knowledge to ensure he didn¡¯t drown in his own gore. Afterwards, I locked the entrance using his keys, sliding them under the front door. I walked into the night. Pressure built in my eyes and I felt like weeping, yet tears never came. Chapter 28 (1/3) - God of Weight We stood atop the same warehouse where Ma had killed Bab, weeks ago. Three storeys of elevation provided a decent enough vantage to showcase the entire district. My mother had determined that this would be the best position to plan out the battle. It might¡¯ve even been pleasant, were it not for the pile of reeking meat inside the building ¨C treated with some sort of concoction from Miss Tran to make the stench more potent ¨C and a mad-eyed warrior dressed in plate armour. The sight of him set me flinching away in instinctive fear. The terror was blood-deep, and the product of someone else¡¯s life; he was Master Reagan ¨C Bab¡¯s tormentor. All this in addition to an omnipresent buzzing, fraying the edges of my nerves. I found it difficult to ignore his presence, however he had no trouble ignoring mine. His unblinking eyes swept over the Foot, occasionally settling on two small shapes in the distance. I doubted his unblooded eyes could make out any details, but I could; they were the two other piles of meat the citizens had painstakingly built, each surrounded by a variety of haphazard fortifications, built using furniture, loose brick, and the occasional sharpened stake. One was near the restaurant, whilst the other was near the outskirts of the city. Silhouettes manned the slapdash architecture, too far away to make out any details. Feeling relieved that I was beneath his notice seemed cowardly, and warred with the anger boiling in my gut, but Ma had told me dozens of times that we needed him. I sniffed, idly fingering the short-sword strapped to my belt. I didn¡¯t see why I couldn¡¯t just shove him off the roof ¨C he wasn¡¯t Blooded, so we only needed his men ¨C yet Ma had been adamant. She shot me a stern look, my thoughts transparent to her. My mother turned to Captain Vernon, whose large eyes were narrowed at something across the wastes. ¡°The attractors are set?¡± He blinked owlishly and turned to her. ¡°Pardon?¡± ¡°The attractors. They are operative?¡± ¡°Can¡¯t you feel them?¡± She shook her head. Every time I saw Ma, her reduced size struck me. During the week the city had spent preparing, she had shrunk rapidly. Every time I delivered a message, she seemed just a fraction smaller. Now, she numbered only six and a half feet tall ¨C barely a few inches taller than Reagan. ¡°Hmm,¡± Vernon smiled, revealing a mouth full of mishappen teeth. ¡°You must need more Godsblood, then. What about you?¡± He directed his massive eyes towards me. I pointed to myself. ¡°Me?¡± ¡°Can you feel it?¡± ¡°I can¡¯t feel a whole lot besides the horrific smell and that annoying buzz.¡± He clapped his hands. ¡°Yes, yes! That¡¯s it! You have enough Blood. It is annoying, yes, but it should be very alluring to Dure¡¯s parasites.¡± Our entire plan revolved around the parasites being attracted to three specific locations, designed to kill them before they could reach the lake ¨C if it wasn¡¯t alluring, the city was dead. The amount of blood I was encouraged to ¡®donate¡¯ to ensure the attractors worked was tremendous ¨C enough to fill a similarly-sized boy three times ¨C however Ma had assured me that, despite common conceptions, the machinery was only taking blood, not divinity. Specialised equipment was needed to extract Godsblood. That, or the Blooded would need to be dead already. I had known that already. When I was younger, I had tried to get the Ravenblood out manually. It was messy. None of my attempts bore fruit. Master Reagan ¨C no, Reagan ¨C gave Ma a look upon hearing of my blood. ¡°Your son¡¯s a Blooded?¡± She tilted her head in acknowledgement. ¡°Lizardblood.¡± ¡°Strange that you would allow one so young to partake, and of such great quantities.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a small amount. And he didn¡¯t seek my permission.¡± ¡°He had none better?¡± ¡°A pubescent has few options.¡± He grunted, then set his ravenous gaze upon me. ¡°Ambitious, are we?¡± Despite feeling the urge to flinch away, I met his eyes. ¡°It just seemed like a good opportunity.¡± His gaze didn¡¯t waver. ¡°I¡¯ll be watching your performance in the coming battle, Orvi.¡± ¡°Okay¡­?¡± I suppressed a shudder at hearing my name emerging from his mouth. ¡°I will, uh, try not to disappoint.¡± The man turned away from me, without even bothering with a dismissal. Immediately, my shoulders sagged with relief. The relief was quickly replaced with anger. Why am I relieved? Am I scared of this man? Obviously, the answer was yes, and that fact infuriated me. But the idea of engaging in an actual confrontation with Master Reagan threatened to send my lunch spilling across the rooftop. An idea popped into my head, and before anxiety could dissuade me, I opened my mouth. ¡°Why aren¡¯t you Blooded, Mast-, I mean, Mister Reagan?¡± Ma¡¯s glare could boil stew. Luckily for me, I wasn¡¯t a broth. ¡°I mean, it seems perfectly natural for a man with your status to have some.¡± My tongue instinctively curled into the most obsequious shapes possible. The manic energy of a rabbit in the shadow of a hawk filled me. ¡°But you don¡¯t,¡± I ended flatly. Reagan¡¯s armour clanked as he faced me. His expression was manic, maddened ¨C the kind of face I never expected a human to make. I swallowed. He smiled viciously in response. ¡°It¡¯s a symbol of my right to rule. Blooded aren¡¯t human. It¡¯s foolish to let a creature so¡­¡± his mouth quirked, turning his smile into a sneer. ¡°Sullied, govern others. How could one corrupted with the divine govern mortals?¡± A hateful response danced on the tip of my tongue. I had met dogs with more humanity than the man facing me, after all. And, anyway, would a third son be ruling? Shoving the words back down was easy, with Ma fingering her onyx blade behind him. I could easily see Reagan killing me, then Ma killing him. Jeopardizing the plan the entire Foot had so painstakingly put into place was not the ideal outcome for this day. ¡°Yup, sounds about right,¡± I said, bobbing my head up and down. He squinted at me, before turning away. As soon as he did so, Ma strode over and smacked me in the back of the head. I stumbled forward, nearly slipping off the side of the roof before she pulled me back. ¡°Foolish child,¡± she hissed. ¡°Do not involved yourself with that man.¡± ¡°He makes it so eas-¡° She whacked me again. ¡°That is not a request, Orvi. You are smart enough to know my reasons. Say nothing.¡± I nodded sheepishly. My mother was right. Ma sighed heavily. ¡°I will not be here for much longer. We will leave to intercept Dure as soon as Captain Vernon senses him.¡± She walked away, shaking her head the entire while. She, accompanied by the rest of the Blooded, would attempt to dissuade the Lizard from moving any closer. Unfortunately, that particular god was renowned for its obliviousness. They would have to hurt it ¨C badly ¨C to get it to notice them. I didn¡¯t like it. I had argued against it. However Ma was uniquely qualified to lead the detachment. After all, General Maja was the only person in the entire Foot who had fought Dure before. No one would listen to a kid, anyway. The adrenaline lingering from my exchange with Reagan faded gradually. The Leydenese scion seemed content to ignore me, a fact I was unendingly grateful for. I began regretting my concession to Ma at around the twenty-minute mark. Boredom had settled with the force of a thousand Oxbloods, and the constant buzzing from Captain Vernon¡¯s attractors rattled my nerves thoroughly. The last time I had been this bored, I had vandalised a restaurant. This time all I could do was idly toss shards of masonry and watch it fall down, down, until they hit the dirt below. I had survived that fall, a few weeks ago. It seemed impossible, now. ¡°Captain Vernon?¡± I spoke plaintively. I had spent what felt like the past two years deciding whether to voice my thoughts aloud. The monotony got the better of me. He blinked as he processed my words. Several moments passed, and he finally responded. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°When¡¯s the Lizard arriving?¡± His eyebrows furrowed. ¡°What do you mean?¡± I resisted the urge to groan. ¡°Do you have an estimate for when Dure will arrive?¡± ¡°Dure¡¯s already here.¡± And suddenly, as if Vernon¡¯s words had cleared sand from my ears, I felt it. My body was twice as heavy as it should¡¯ve been. The air was thick, its pressure crushing. I panted. Breathing in was easy, but it felt impossible to exhale it back out. My bloodshot eyes found the pieces of shattered masonry on the street beneath us, gazing as they rolled to the northwest. Except the Foot was almost entirely flat. Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. I looked upwards, into the distance. The wastes had a new mountain. The mass was streaked with hundreds of white stripes, covering the length of its entire form. The distance made it difficult to tell, but from front to back the shape was tens of thousands of paces long, and ten times as tall as any building in the Foot. The image coalesced as I focused, revealing the white stripes¡¯ true form ¨C exposed ribs, peeking through necrotised flesh. Yellow liquid squirted from rotting hide, and seemed to hang in the air as it fell hundreds of meters to the compacted sand below. As I watched, the shape lurches, and a chunk of flesh large enough to house a hundred men sloughs off its body, revealing flesh teeming with hundreds of thousands of monsters, burrowing ever deeper, forming what I know is a network of parasitic organisms, harvesting, consuming, feasting. What is dying but never dead? Coming infinitely closer to eternal sleep, yet never managing to pass through the threshold? Every man, woman, and child knows the answer; Dure; The Lizard; The Plague; The Undying; The Suffering; The one who endures. Twelve massive milky eyes stared into the distance, each orb covered with pustules and the writhing, wormlike forms of its parasites. Their gaze was fixed at some point beyond the horizon, and slowly, it dragged itself towards that point. The Foot just happened to be in the way.
The Blooded departed, taking my mother with them. I watched them ride out of the city ¨C Ma seated on a great white stallion ¨C until they transformed into specks amongst the nothing of the wastes. The Lizard loomed, its body stretching across a quarter of the horizon. Every second, it dragged itself a little bit closer, and I saw it with a little more clarity. Agony given life; nightmares given home. Belatedly, I realised I had been staring for nearly an hour. My eyes flicked around. I had forgotten what I was supposed to do. ¡°Boy,¡± a voice warbled out. I flinched and whirled. The owner of the voice was a pale man with strange, orange eyes; a Foxblood named Ass-something, the only of the Leydenese Blooded to remain within the city. ¡°The parasites have smelled the city.¡± I looked towards the Lizard. Black masses were leaking from its ravaged form, taking to the air or scuttling across the ground towards us. ¡°Check the other groups.¡± Ass-something was right. His job was to keep an eye on the other locations from a distance, and engage if they were close to being overwhelmed. Mine was similar, except instead of watching from afar I asked them if everything was okay, and ferried messages if needed. I sloppily saluted him ¨C I didn¡¯t know how to properly salute anyway ¨C and clambered down the side of the warehouse. Having a sword ¨C however short ¨C and a leather shield strapped to my back would¡¯ve made the descent unwieldy, but I had the poise of the Fox with me. Two walls of the building had been torn down to allow the scent to spread more effectively. Unfortunately for me, it was extremely effective. The reek of rotting meat was worse than when Ma accidentally sealed meat in a pot for three months. It was almost as putrid as the taste of that same meat when Blake bet chits I couldn¡¯t swallow a mouthful. Easy money. As soon as my feet hit dirt, I pinched my nose and ran inside, eyes watering. The inside of the former warehouse was dominated by a massive pit, filled to the brim with reeking carcasses in the process of putrefying, and treated with the most wretched concoctions the Foot had ever seen. Never had I felt the burden of Foxblood more. Surrounding the hole were sharpened stakes embedded into the dirt and several layers of barricades, their only entrances windows a grown man would have to crawl through. Squatting around behind the barricades were two dozen men and women, some with a stump for an arm or a peg for a leg; they were Godslayers who had stayed in the Foot after the Raven¡¯s fall. I would¡¯ve been more impressed, had they not all been wearing pegs on their noses. Huddling in a grimy corner was Blake. Alongside Erin, he was the only member of the Butcher Street Boys old and skilled enough to participate in the mission. Ma had refused the service of any children younger than me, and a significant chunk of my time preparing had been spent thumping kids who pretended to be older than they were ¨C my siblings included. After all, any unblooded near Dure¡¯s parasites would inevitably catch the plague. There were no guarantees of survival. It was better to keep the numbers low, and competent. Greater numbers of volunteers increased the chances of disease devastating the Foot. It had happened before, and ¨C if we didn¡¯t act carefully ¨C it would happen again. I shook my head, clearing the sudden bout of sorrow from my head. Moping was useless, and if everyone did their job properly, we would all make it out alive. ¡°Oi!¡± I squawked, ¡°is everyone set in here?! You have everything you need?¡± One of the men pushed off his haunches and his mouth split open in a smile entirely bereft of front teeth. I blinked. I hadn¡¯t noticed during any of the training manoeuvres, but this was one of Jasmine¡¯s guards: the one who always seemed amused by my presence. ¡°We¡¯re fine in here, kid.¡± His pegged nose rendered his voice nasal, though no one seemed to care. The other members of the militia nodded. Blake gave me a thumbs up, his shaking hand undercutting the effect slightly. ¡°You¡¯re sure? You don¡¯t need ointment, weaponry, oil? The explosives are working?¡± ¡°Well, I don¡¯t wanna tetht the bomb,¡± a few of the veterans chuckled lightly, apparently unbothered by his speech impediment, ¡°but it theems tho.¡± ¡°You¡¯re absolutely sure? They¡¯ll be here soon.¡± ¡°Relaxth buddy. We¡¯re a damn machine at thith point.¡± Ma had spent dozens of hours drilling formations into their skulls. It was a refresher course for nearly everyone but Blake, and the more seasoned warriors were kind enough to take him under their wing. I nodded. ¡°Alright. Be careful.¡± I shot my huddled friend a meaningful look. He bit a well-gnawed fingernail. The rest of the team begrudgingly began painting their faces with another alchemical concoction and sidling into various hidden alcoves, where they would wait for the parasites to swarm. I waved in a manner so awkward I immediately cringed, then broke into a sprint, heading towards the closest pit. Ruined sandstone and mud-brick houses blurred past, many with large holes in their side ¨C each breach carefully made to extract any pieces of furniture too large to fit through doors. Scratched wardrobes, empty armoires, industrial ovens; all formed the centrepieces of various barricades thrown together throughout the area. My route forced me to scrambled over one, then another in rapid succession. Ma wagered on the parasites having difficulty climbing anything that wasn¡¯t Dure. If she were wrong, the horde of monsters would reach each pit too quickly ¨C overwhelming the militia ¨C or otherwise bypass our trap entirely, wreaking havoc within the Foot¡¯s granaries and food stores. The Fronds had hired a hundred well-built men to stand in a line and kill any that made it past. In the quiet of our home, my mother had laughed at them. Suddenly, something yanked at my booted foot and I tumbled forward. For a moment I lay on the ground, stunned. That shouldn¡¯t have been possible. Bitter hatred surged at nothing at all, but a sudden shadow fell over me, shaking me from my foetal rage. I rose to a seated position, witnessing several pieces of brick slide across flat dirt. I looked upwards. Dure had gotten closer. Now, it was large enough to block the light of the setting sun. An invisible weight settled on my shoulders. I ran. My shield slapped against my back, while my blade slapped against my thigh. The repeated impacts would bruise by the day¡¯s end, however I was certain that would end up the least of my wounds. I sighted something ahead and before my conscious mind had properly processed the image I was leaping, sailing over a hole full of sharpened wood and stone, landing smoothly on the other side. Obstacles like that were the main reason Ma had wanted a Foxblood for a runner. Another three hastily-scrambled barricades, a pair of hurdled pits and an incredibly close encounter with a pot of flaming spirits thrown by a twitchy militiaman, and then that godsawful buzz was too loud to ignore and I was there, nearly running into the pile of stinking meat set in the middle of an intersection. A familiar voice set me scowling. ¡°Kid. Report.¡± It was Peeler, face still blue from the vicious beating I had given him. The first few times we had spoken, he had flinched all the while. Everyone I knew had pushed me to apologise, if only to make the oncoming operation easier, but I didn¡¯t. I hadn¡¯t been wrong. Peeler knew it, too. I could almost smell his shame. I still feared him, but it wasn¡¯t inherited fear, this time. I had said ¡®hell¡¯ in front of him. The guardsman had the means to destroy me, though he hadn¡¯t realised it yet. The moment he realised what the term actually meant, I was done for. I wouldn¡¯t let him know that, though. ¡°Before that, I need to know the current situation.¡± Several of the veterans guarding the pit chuckled, seemingly unbothered by the sheer weight the Lizard pressed on everything around it. The Godslayers had been abandoned by House Esfaria. Disdain was their right. Peeler squinted at me, green eyes sparking with every muted laugh, but acquiesced. ¡°There are no problems here. Everything is operational, and we require nothing.¡± I nodded. ¡°Same with the central pit. The monsters are coming. Be ready.¡± He saluted, and somehow I recognised the gesture as sloppy and mocking. Mirroring it back to him alleviated my petty spite somewhat. Bizarrely, he winced in response. I spat at his feet and bolted. The third lure would be the first hit. It was the closest to the city¡¯s edge, and as such the most heavily invested in. Successes there would trickle through the rest of the battle. I had checked it several times over the course of the morning, and each time it had been fine. My pace remained unchanged. It was a long way out. My calves strained. Leaping obstacles and climbing barricades saw them screaming. Buildings became shorter; smaller. Spit evaporated from within my mouth, and for a moment I resented Ma for disallowing water on the battlefield. My lungs heaved air outwards, then pulled it back in. Any loose object slid away from me. Their speed accelerated. It felt like the Lizard was the centre of the world. I scaled another wall ¨C thrown together from stone chairs mostly. The sight atop it all froze my body. A seething mass of darkness had entered the city. It spread like pus through an abandoned beehive. Smears of rot covered the ground behind, leading all the way back to Dure. I scrambled downwards, only for my brow to furrow. The buzzing had gotten louder. I was a second too late in realising the sound wasn¡¯t coming from the lures. Now, there¡¯s a reason flies are small. A month ago, I hadn¡¯t thought much of it. To me, a fly¡¯s purpose was being smacked away from steaming dumplings, or occasionally an excessively sweaty Ma. Now, I knew that it was because if they got much bigger, they wouldn¡¯t be capable of flight. The monster that rammed into me hadn¡¯t been informed. I caught a flash of it and found myself bracing, then I was in the air. Then I was against the wall. Then I was on the ground. Then something was on me. Punching it saw stinking yellow ichor coating my arms. Insectile legs covered in a thousand tiny spurs sliced my arms up and down, and my attempt to draw my sword saw my elbow smacking into a mud-brick wall before it was fully out. The angle was too poor to fully unsheathe it. I drew my legs to my chest and shoved, but its chest simply sloughed away, allowing me to embed my feet halfway through its chest. Massive orbs, segmented into a thousand dead, lifeless segments, stared at me. A brick slid past and I snatched it and buried it into the fly¡¯s head, splattering it like an overripe melon. Despite the traumatic injury, I felt its life surging, so I pushed forward. With a howl, my arm sunk into the crevice of its skull, churning it until¡­ I swore. You are born amongst thousands of others, into agony, rot, and indefatigable life. There is no thought; no consideration. Only instinct, pain, and unending hunger, briefly sated by sinking your throat into the island you live upon. It¡¯s- Snapping back with a scream, I flexed my will and blocked the link between the monster and I. It strained against my efforts. Wordless yells left my throat in a desperate attempt to ground myself. Still yowling, I clawed my way out from underneath the monster¡¯s corpse and snatched a handful of dirt from the ground, rubbing it against my forehead. As the dead¡¯s yellow blood was scraped away, the link slowly fell away. Behind me, some ineffable fire flickered and died, and I knew my mind was safe. I took a moment to catch my breath. A bug. I had nearly been undone by the death of a bug. A thought struck me: had I also absorbed the minds of all the mosquitos and flies I had killed? Wouldn¡¯t I know if I had? Kicking the wall brought only pain. Tears pricked at my eyes. The whole world struck me as brutally dishonest. Running was as hard as it had ever been. I ran anyway. My body didn¡¯t just belong to me, after all. Chapter 28 (2/3) - God of Weight My dramatic dash lasted all of thirty seconds. The sky above thickened with darting parasites, their movement leaving behind a trail of putrid slime and rotted chitin. One of the chunks splattered across me, like the world¡¯s biggest bird-poo. The rancid goop oozed into my hair, then beneath my tunic, working its way through every crack it could slide into. The stench had me retching while I frantically wiped my forehead. I would¡¯ve rather been submerged in writhing cockroaches than dunked in blood-smeared pus. Once the initial panic wore away, a more horrifying realisation dawned on me. Any unblooded exposed to this horrid mass of sickness would inevitably catch the plague. And they were dropping their wretched payload all over this side of the city. There couldn¡¯t have been more than one-hundred of them, but each represented more danger than a thousand of the crawlers. I was sure Ma knew this. But even so, how could we fight against hundreds of flying monsters? I couldn¡¯t think of a way, yet even so, I wasn¡¯t particularly worried about the rest of the city. Ma was Ma, after all. The militia, though¡­ They were going to die, weren¡¯t they? Alongside Blake and Erin. Everyone fighting, besides me and the Foxblood. My hands shook, so I clenched them shut. There had to be a way. Ma wouldn¡¯t throw so many lives away for a win. Despite my best efforts, the thought rung hollow. Another pus-smeared projectile cut that line of thinking off. The middle of a battlefield wasn¡¯t the place to begin questioning the chain of command. Even so¡­ A parasite screeched downwards. I barely managed to raise my shield before it rammed into me, sending me stumbling backwards. Only my preternatural sense for where my limbs were kept me upright. I hadn¡¯t been the only one affected; the monster¡¯s skull had crunched inwards from the impact, and it lay twitching on the ground. I drew my sword and wildly hacked at its head, each gouge sending a spray of yellowed gunk upwards, splattering my face. Its lifeforce flared madly, but it couldn¡¯t heal faster than I could destroy. I steeled myself against its death, gathering my will to stifle the ineffable link between me and it. As it died, its being surged against that barrier. I bit my lip and clenched my eyes shut until the tide passed. The wake of the denial left me dizzied, with the beginnings of a migraine throbbing in my temples. Blood dripped from my nose. That wasn¡¯t normal. I wiped at it, then blinked. The colour was far darker than it used to be. Before I had enough time to make sense of that, I felt another creature diving at me. Stumbling forward allowed it to splatter against the dirt, but I couldn¡¯t turn back and slaughter it myself; killing the creatures meant giving it an avenue into my mind, and denying it entrance wasn¡¯t an activity I wanted to repeat. Of course, just because I didn¡¯t want to fight the monster didn¡¯t mean it wanted to eat me any less. Behind me, it rose, bent wings flicking awkwardly, and began scuttling after me. Its pace didn¡¯t quite match the monstrous Bab¡¯s, but- Disgustingly tricky prey, ducking and diving, though I savoured the smell of its fear¡­ My stride stuttered as an alien memory overtook my own. I nearly tripped, yet managed to continue. Despite my quick recovery, the oversized pest managed to stab its mandibles into my calf. I swore ferociously, and used my still-drawn sword to sever the front of its head and brusquely yank the offending body-part out. I barrelled into a nearby hovel. The interior was bereft of any furniture to block the doorway, so I slipped through a hole in the wall and continued onward. That had been Bab¡¯s memory. Suppressing a shudder, I breathed out, and focused on running. Movement became an exercise in avoidance. I exerted more energy avoiding the flying parasites swooping down on me than moving forward. My route went from a disciplined, structured thing to one that swayed back and forth like a wine-drunk customer. I dipped through alleys; cut through buildings; hurdled windows; yet wherever I went there were more soaring abominations, ready to force me away. It felt like they were operating under the order of some sort of malevolent general, but I knew the truth was far simpler. Isolated from the rest of the militia, I seemed an easy target. It wasn¡¯t exactly a riotous endorsement of their intelligence ¨C I had killed two other monsters, and every parasite after me was one that posed far less of a threat. Yet what was once a single monster became two, then five, then ten. What once felt like a game of tag with Sash and Dash became more like hide-and-seek with a gang of stupid murderers. More time was spent waiting for them to splatter themselves against the ground than actually moving. Had Ma planned this? I couldn¡¯t know. After narrowly dodging four flying monsters, I scaled a wall of sandstone, finally sighting my destination. The third pit was in the most open area by far ¨C four buildings had been demolished to make space. It was also the largest, having been dug by hundreds of labourers over several days. The buzzing in the back of my mind rose to prominence as I looked at it. The lure was buried underneath. Barriers of sandstone and mud surrounded the area, excepting the side facing northwest. It had been built at the city¡¯s boundaries, and beyond the Foot were only the wastes. For leagues, there was only packed sediment and sun-scorched cracks. A dust storm flew away from us, blotting out everything but the approaching tide of monsters. Nearly forty individuals faced outwards, equipped in a motley of padded clothing and nervously clutching pikes. One large man wore a pot on his head. Several others waited atop the barricades, dozens of bottles full of spirits sitting next to them. One of the more well-built militiawomen noticed me, giving me a quizzical expression. It was Erin. She moved to turn away, then jerked back as an impact smashed into my back. Gawking was a bad habit. I tumbled off the wall, barely managing to turn a broken neck into a head-over-heels roll. Half a second¡¯s passing saw me raising my shield as the weight of several bugs pressed down on me. Despite their size, they were surprisingly light. That didn¡¯t stop me from letting out a shriek as one wrapped its mandibles around my head. I shoved my shield in-between them, the pressure carving deep furrows into its leather. Still screaming, I frantically squirmed my way out of the dog-pile and through someone¡¯s knees. Squelches sounded from behind me. I scrambled further and turned to watch a dozen bellowing individuals repeatedly stab their pikes into the pile. Something flew down, then the grating sound of breaking glass resounded as the pile was covered in flame. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. They continued getting stabbed. One middle-aged woman continued screaming. ¡°If you heard anything from me, it was a battle-cry,¡± I specified to empty air. ¡°Sure,¡± Erin¡¯s amused voice responded from behind, ¡°designed to pierce straight into the hearts of your enemies.¡± ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± I said, ignoring her sarcasm. She offered a hand and I accepted, only briefly considering pulling her down with me. Erin had joined the militia alongside two other adults. Despite their radically different appearances, they were apparently family ¨C I took that to mean she was one of the lucky adopted children in the Foot. Each of them ¨C including Erin ¨C had duelled every other unblooded member of the militia and won. She hadn¡¯t seemed that good when her and I fought, all those months ago. Had she been practicing? I squinted at her. She grinned back. ¡°You¡¯re chipper.¡± ¡°Well, fighting a god is the stuff legends are made of.¡± I squinted harder. ¡°It¡¯s definitely related to my mother.¡± ¡°She just looked really good riding-¡° I waved my arms madly. ¡°No. No!¡± ¡°You have to admit she cuts a pretty gallant-¡° I grabbed a piece of gunk stuck in my hair and raised it a manner I thought intimidating. ¡°I will smear this all over you if you don¡¯t stop.¡± She blanched. Belatedly, I realised I had essentially just threatened her with the plague. ¡°Alright, not really. But I do not want to hear-¡° Erin exploded. ¡°Come on, Orv, what¡¯s the big deal?¡± ¡°I do not-¡° ¡°I¡¯m just admiring!¡± ¡°Listen,¡± I hissed, ¡°I¡¯m fine with you ¡®admiring¡¯, but I¡¯m sick of you ogling right in front of me.¡± I only had a vague idea of what ogling was, yet I remained certain that whatever it meant, Erin was doing it. ¡°But-¡° ¡°It¡¯s weird! And stop gushing about my mother to me!¡± She¡¯d rambled on about Ma every time they trained together. ¡°Orv¡­¡± I opened my mouth to continue yelling, only to pause as the chunk of plague in my hand entered my vision. That wasn¡¯t fair to her. I breathed in, and held the breath. Clenched my eyes shut. ¡°Sorry.¡± I forced out. I owed her more words, yet I couldn¡¯t seem to get them out. Erin nodded. ¡°I get it.¡± I¡¯d had her pegged as a strange girl. She was too well put-together to be anything else. However, what kind of adolescent was completely unbothered by the situation? Maybe she could share the secret with me. ¡°How are you-¡° ¡°Orvi,¡± a scratchy voice announced from behind, ¡°I need you here.¡± It was the Frond captain ¨C the man in charge of this particular hole in the ground. The Frond¡¯s onyx skin was marred by patches of tight scarring, and he was apparently the only Frond Godslayer to have returned alive. His name was something long that I continually failed to pronounce ¨C full of ¡®ach¡¯ sounds ¨C so I just called him Leek. The only person who didn¡¯t take issue with that appellation was him. ¡°Uh, yes sir.¡± I saluted smartly. Peeler & Ass-something were both bastards of the most unholy kind, but it was difficult to dislike Leek. Leek stopped me a few paces from him. ¡°Forgive me, Orvi, but I¡¯d rather you keep away from me for now. You¡­ are slightly unclean.¡± I gave a grunt of affirmation, pretending that statement didn¡¯t hurt. He sighed deeply, running a hand through his frizzy hair. ¡°I¡¯ll put it plainly: the explosives aren¡¯t working.¡± My stomach fell. ¡°You¡¯re joking.¡± ¡°I¡¯m afraid not.¡± ¡°What about the back-ups?¡± ¡°We can¡¯t afford to send anyone to retrieve them. Not with the ground-dwellers so close and the fliers running rampant.¡± Our auxiliary explosives were deemed an operational hazard to have close by. Vernon and Miss Tran had put them together, and there was very few in the Foot who trusted that particular combination. That number had dwindled to none after the first few batches failed rather violently. Leek was asking, but he didn¡¯t have to. My role was logistical support. This was one of the many scenarios I prepared for. After a rather spiffy salute, I scaled a wall and headed out. The cache of ordinance had been placed nearly two-hundred paces away. That distance had been a matter of considerable debate, however everyone had ended up agreeing that if it blew up, it wouldn¡¯t damage any barricades. Without my entourage of ravenous bugs, the trip was remarkably tame. I arrived outside the mud-brick building and barged inside. I grabbed a bulging sack ¨C filled almost entirely with cloth used for padding ¨C and waddled back onto the street again. It was then I realised that my commute had been a bit too care-free. Three parasites chittered as they buzzed from above. The first one I managed shuffle aside, letting it smash into the building behind; the second I rolled underneath, shielding my package and hoping my attempts were enough. The third I batted aside. Unfortunately, by that point, the first was ramming into my back and lifting me several feet off the ground. The blow jarred my elbow and sent my fingers spasming. My grip loosened. The package fell. So much for vulpine reflexes. The sack seemed to travel slowly. I craned my neck as I sailed through the air, believing for a moment that everything would be alright. Then a bug ran through it and everything blew up. My ears rung and the world went silent. I noticed the dust whirling above. ¡®How does Dure make everything travel towards it?¡¯ I wondered. Everything tilted downward and immediately glanced off the corner of a roof and towards the street below. I flung out my arms and one folded backwards like wet paper. The pain hit. Reality condensed into three parts: the pain erupting from my arm and back; the horror of seeing my limb folded the wrong way; the unfathomable weight of what I had just screwed up. My throat hurt, and all of a sudden I realised that though I could hear nothing, I was still screaming. Still bellowing, I staggered upright and tried to throw off my padded shirt, feeling the bones in my arm grind as I did so. My yells intensified as I tore chunks of skin off my back. Finally, I threw it on the ground. It was on fire. I attempted to work the shield off my broken arm. The limb bent backwards and the shield fell off. I looked away but the image stayed burned into my retinas; my body made wrong. There was nothing that wasn¡¯t wrong. My body. My mind. The agony. Would I die here? Picked off by an inconsequential gnat; a literal parasite? Thick tears rolled down my face. Would it matter if I did? All that I was revolved around taking. Take Ma¡¯s time. Take other people¡¯s possessions. Take House Esfaria out. Take Bab¡¯s life. And now, finally, I¡¯d taken whatever chance we had of saving the Foot. Would I have been this person, if I hadn¡¯t drunk Avri¡¯s blood? The first time I¡¯d laid eyes on the god, I knew it wasn¡¯t what I had been promised. A seething mass of multicoloured darkness, a million multicolour eyes and a thousand gibbering mouths, all resplendent in its madness. Bleeding from a million cuts. It had fixed its gaze on me, and for a moment clarity overcame insanity. It said: ¡°You will know them. You will remember them. Then, you will come back to us. To them.¡± Affixed by the expectant gaze of every person I had ever known, I consumed its essence. When I woke, the god had left. My parents had left. Most of the children had died before acclimatising, so I picked two that still breathed and started walking. I saw a monster kill my parents. A few days later, I saw her again. I knew Ma¡¯d want to kill the babies and so I lied. I gave the twins names because I didn¡¯t know theirs, and pretended we came from the hole. I pretended the three of us didn¡¯t have a god coursing through our veins. And I¡¯d maintained that lie from six years old. Until I¡¯d decided to stick my nose where it didn¡¯t belong. I sobbed and keened and wailed. I got up and ran. Chapter 28 (3/3) - God of Weight I got lucky. As I stumbled my way back to the third pit, none of the flying bugs assaulted me. Whether it was because the lures were finally doing their work, or because I smelled like explosive I didn¡¯t know. Whatever the reason, I managed to make it back as a detachment of militia finished executing several parasites feasting in the meat-filled hole. Initially, my arrival went unnoticed. I think it was one of the people atop the walls that realised first; my vision was swimming and sound didn¡¯t seem to travel right, so I couldn¡¯t say. I heard what was audibly a gasp, and then the only sound was the incessant buzzing of the lure. ¡°Gods, Orv¡­ Your back¡­¡± someone said. I realised it was Erin after she began hovering around me, using one hand to clutch her pike and the other to fuss. ¡°I can-¡° I coughed, my voice hoarse, and tried again. ¡°I can walk. Captain?¡± ¡°What is it, Orvi?¡± Leek was in front of me. I hadn¡¯t realised. ¡°Bombs¡¯re gone.¡± Silence, once again. It was impossible to raise my head. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± his voice quavered, ¡°for sending you alone.¡± The idea that he could¡¯ve sent back-up hadn¡¯t occurred to me. It still felt as if he were placing blame at the wrong set of feet. ¡°We¡¯ll have to retreat back to the second pit.¡± My head jerked up. Every single person present gaped at Leek. ¡°We can leave a detachment behind, to set fire to the pit. It should allow us to recoup some of our losses.¡± ¡°That¡¯s stupid!¡± I blurted. As if spurred on by my accusation, the air was suddenly full of protests. ¡°No way!¡± ¡°Thassa ¡¯orrible idea!¡± ¡°No, no, no¡­¡± ¡°Absolutely not.¡± ¡°Whadda ¡®bout the rest, hmm?¡± ¡°Can¡¯t waste this¡­¡± ¡°We¡¯re all dead anyway!¡± Amongst a sea of other words, the last stood out, quietening the rest. Leek calmly weathered the storm. ¡°The reason we have three pits is for scenarios like this. One failure was not unanticipated. Our manpower would be wasted, here. If we stagger our withdrawal, we can exterminate a significant amount.¡± ¡°No!¡± My voice cracked. ¡°We can still fix this.¡± Our leader turned to me. ¡°No, Orvi,¡± he said gently, ¡°we can¡¯t.¡± ¡°No, just listen! We just need another way of blowing things up, right? So¡­ what blows things up?¡± ¡°Bombs.¡± Someone said. ¡°Does anyone know how to make one?¡± retorted Leek. The answer, after some debate, was a resounding no. Desperately, I waved my hands. ¡°Uh, I mean, bombs aren¡¯t the only things that explode, right? What about, uh¡­¡± ¡°Gas?¡± a woman with greying hair supplied. ¡°Right, gas!¡± ¡°Don¡¯t know where no gas is.¡± Someone stated. After a long pause, everybody eventually shook their head in agreement. ¡°I was in a mine that exploded once.¡± This was from a short man. ¡°What made it explode?¡± I interrogated. ¡°Coal dust¡¯s what we was told.¡± ¡°Does anyone know where we could find coal?¡± called a bare-chested young man. Various answers were supplied ¨C the general store, one of the city¡¯s forges, a few houses. None were in high enough quantities to blow anything up. And an almost-geriatric man fervently insisted it would only work in an enclosed space. ¡°What about flour?¡± a thickset lady said. ¡°Flowers? Ox¡¯s balls, woman, what¡¯re flowers gonna do?¡± A chorus of ¡®shut up¡¯s immediately followed this statement. ¡°Flour, idiot. The white and dusty stuff? Had a cousin who¡¯s mill went up ¡®cause it was too fulla flour.¡± ¡°Our restaurant has flour!¡± I yelled. ¡°Heaps of it!¡± ¡°Enclosed!¡± shouted the old man. ¡°Enclosed spaces!¡± ¡°Don¡¯t wanna blow up the Butcher¡¯s place¡­¡± someone muttered. ¡°Stop being a sook. That¡¯s her son, he sez it¡¯s fine.¡± I wasn¡¯t actually sure it was alright with me, but this didn¡¯t seem the time to bring it up. ¡°People!¡± Leek¡¯s voice resounded, quietening most of us. ¡°How will we get the parasites into the restaurant? It won¡¯t be large enough to hold many.¡± ¡°We can take some to the restaurant.¡± I responded. ¡°Not all of them. I¡¯ll lead them over with the lure, and everyone else can keep setting them on fire here.¡± ¡°You can¡¯t go alone, Orvi.¡± The crowd supported Leek¡¯s comment loudly. ¡°No, I¡¯m going to fix-¡° ¡°It¡¯s wildly impractical, for one. You need enough hands to execute the ones that survive. And with your wounds¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯m feeling better already.¡± I wasn¡¯t quite lying; the dust and sand whipping across the city embedded painfully in my back, but the sharp spikes of pain helped my focus return. ¡°I¡¯m a Lizardblood.¡± ¡°You¡¯ll be fine taking ten with you. Unless your Lizardblood has made you Lizardbrained.¡± I stifled the urge to tell him that I was, in fact, extremely intelligent and well-educated, and very much not Lizardbrained. With one arm supporting its counterpart, saluting was made almost impossible, so I nodded deferentially instead. At my agreement, Leek immediately began assembling a group of volunteers. They were working out the specifics of the plan, and I wanted to get up and offer my two chits. However, the desire to let my eyes glaze over was far stronger. It was cold. There was no sunlight. Sand, dust, and dirt sped across the city like a million tiny arrows. My arm hurt. I wondered if everything whipping towards Dure hurt it. How was Ma doing? How were my siblings? Would we- A sharp pain emerged from my arm and I screeched. Leek was already walking away ¨C he¡¯d set my arm, after bandaging it and placing it in a makeshift sling, and somehow the sensation hadn¡¯t registered with me. Quickly, I scrambled to my feet and my gaze fixing on a group of departing militiamen. ¡°You weren¡¯t going to tell me when you left?¡± Amongst them was Erin, who shot me a sheepish grin. ¡°Crazy boy,¡± said the old man from earlier, ¡°none of us want Maja to-¡° he drew a finger across his neck and made a clicking sound. The group nodded. ¡°Thought you could¡¯ve used a break.¡± Exclaimed a wiry woman. I swore at them, and, somewhat wearily, the rest of the group began the journey outward.
The plan was reasonably simple: myself and the oldie would set the flour bomb while eight lay waiting for Erin to approach with Vernon¡¯s magic lures, at which point she¡¯d run through the restaurant and ditch the lure. Once she had exited, we¡¯d pelt it with fire-bottles until the place exploded. We¡¯d mop up the surviving bugs and all would be well. I didn¡¯t truly comprehend that our strategy involved destroying my home until we were there, shuttering the windows. The place looked barren ¨C it had been emptied of all our furniture ¨C but it was still home. In the corner was a stain shaped like a face ¨C what it most resembled more contentious between the siblings and I than life itself. There; a dark splotch of blood from a customer refusing to pay and, as an additional service, eating Ma¡¯s fist. There; an indentation in the floorboards where I¡¯d pretended to be hurt by a toddler Sash, and become actually hurt in the process. These amongst countless others ¨C stained pots, splattered walls, the stinking courtyard, a fractured shutter, my comb, Sash¡¯s least-favourite hair-clip. A collection of rag-dolls my siblings and I used to play with, the small comb that was the first and most passive-aggressive gift from Blake, a tiny, ragged, poorly-made tunic. Ma¡¯s work. My smaller, forgotten treasures. If only I had arms wide enough to take them all with me. But one was broken, and the other was full making preparations to destroy everything. I felt mute, stagnant; like a puddle left in the dirt for too long. Despite the oldie and I essentially being crippled ¨C myself by injury and him by age ¨C we soon emptied all Ma¡¯s stocks of flour into the dining area. Several sacks were dumped inside by the remaining militia ¨C scavenged from the few restaurants nearby, I assumed. By the time we ran out, there was enough flour floating in the air to feed a small family for a month. Neither of us was sure whether it would be enough. Without warning, the sound of cracking wood broke through the white fog. The oldie was smashing furniture. I jumped, and barely managed to smother my instinctive desire to defend our home. ¡°What the hell are you doing?¡± The oldie raised a floury eyebrow. ¡°Half the chairs ¡®n tables are full of sawdust,¡± he grunted. ¡°I¡¯m getting it all in the air.¡± ¡°Will that help?¡± ¡°No clue.¡± I opened my mouth to reply, to insist it wasn¡¯t necessary, then closed it. Just like him, I had no idea. Propping one of our cheaper-looking chairs against a wall at an angle, I repeatedly stomped on it, splintering and finally splitting it into two. Then I did it again. And again. And again. A sensation filled me; the ground beneath me was mud, and I was sinking further and further away from the world above. The oldie erupted into coughs and fled the building, leaving me alone. Even so, I kept going. I had no better ideas. Until the only things left were the pieces too sturdy to be broken. There weren¡¯t many. Once I had obliterated everything, we sat amongst the splintered remnants, saying nothing. The flour drifted around, casting a white haze upon everything. Something tickled at the edge of my awareness, my mind insisting that there was a puzzle I needed to put together. Yet try as I might, I couldn¡¯t figure out exactly what the puzzle was. Distantly, I registered the buzzing in my head grow louder. Then someone bellowed ¡°They¡¯re here!¡± and I was on my feet, muscles tensed. I drew my sword with my right arm, praying I wouldn¡¯t need the shield I had left behind. Before I had properly registered what was going to happen, Erin was barging through the front door, her pike covered in meat and gore. She tossed a cylindrical object ¨C the angular patterns covering every inch of it revealed it as Vernon¡¯s work ¨C into the pile of debris and halted beside me. ¡°Move back, move back!¡± she screamed. I hurriedly followed her orders. ¡°We need to get as many in here as possible, Orv,¡± she stated, face grim. ¡°But the doorway¡¯s too narrow to let them rush in. And-¡° A monster charged in, looking like an oversized beetle; body low to the ground and covered in what seemed to be protective carapace. Yet one stab from Erin¡¯s pike saw its natural armour give way like film on hot milk ¨C the rot inside of it destroying any hope of defence. Her thick arms bulged as she struggled to keep it in place, so before she ran out of strength I stepped forward and severed its head, my cheap sword stuttering as it caught on bone. With a heave, I tore its head off its body and felt its life fall away. We live to eat and- I swore and hurriedly wiped my forehead, nose dripping red as my willpower flexed against the overwhelming torrent. The vision receded, then fell away, leaving my vision blurry and my head pounding. ¡°Give me a second, Erin,¡± I yelled, dashing past the kitchen and up into the attic. She swore after me as another entered. I threw open my footlocker and snatched my horrid baby-tunic ¨C patchier than a mangy dog ¨C and tied it around my forehead. Unthinkingly, my good arm moves, grabbing one other thing: Babs¡¯ backpack, a broken wing tied to one of its straps. Then I stomped back down, slinging the pack over my shoulder and arriving to find my friend holding a parasite back with her pike and another with a foot, while a third seized and flipped around the room, cracked mandibles folding around the lure. I raised my sword above my head and smashed into the third. As soon as I made contact, I shoved the blade¡¯s point downwards, piercing the bug¡¯s skull and embedding in its tiny brain. Its lifeforce surged, attempting to heal the damage, but with a massive impediment still inside the wound, it quickly faltered. Its stinking, noxious blood was all over me ¨C except for the top of my head. I felt it die, yet no connection was established. I laughed, rejoicing. Erin¡¯s yell broke me out of my revelry, and I returned to help her dispatch the remaining two, only to find another four taking their place. Erin impaled two simultaneously while my blade, superhumanly dextrous, snaked through muscle and ligaments, tearing them in half. I moved, unencumbered by injury or backpack or memory, indefatigable. Glee filled me at the violence and I spun, searching for more incompetent prey, only to see there were five more in the room. The Fox¡¯s sadism vanished, replaced by a pit of ice in my gut. Suddenly, I understood what Erin had been trying to tell me ¨C we couldn¡¯t run, because if we did the lure would be destroyed, the parasites would stop entering, and the trap would only kill a handful. So we had to stay, slowly letting them fill the room, as I desperately hoped that the many cuts accumulating on my comrade¡¯s arms wouldn¡¯t fester and kill her. This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it The fight was arduous and disgusting, and frequently a monster I thought near-death would surge upright. The flour filling the air made the world seem surreal, as if our opponents were nothing more than spirits, but even as I deflected another charge I knew that was a lethal mindset to take. We were also, undoubtedly, giving ground. But the parasite¡¯s bodies began to form a makeshift barricade in the tiny room, slowing their advance. With Erin¡¯s strength and my ability to quickly dispatch the parasites, we may make it without being overrun. Then Erin, knee-deep in pus and blackened guts, muttered something, quieter than a whisper. ¡°Huh?¡± I inquired eloquently, the Lizard¡¯s relentless endurance keeping my breathing even. ¡°Orv,¡± she panted. Her hands shook, her previously collected demeanour having vanished. ¡°You¡¯re a Lizardblood, right?¡± I nodded, wondering what plan she was about to present. ¡°That¡¯s funny.¡± As the girl spoke, she turned, and even smeared with the remnants of dozens of dead monsters, I could still see the whites of her eyes. ¡°Because you move like a Foxblood.¡± Feigning nonchalance, even as I speared another monster¡¯s heart, I shrugged. ¡°I guess I¡¯m just-¡° A gasp erupted from my throat as agony erupted from my left side. Weakly, I fended off a pair of clacking mandibles and looked down, just in time to see Erin¡¯s pike withdraw from my side. I looked up. She stared back, pupils dilated. Her thickset frame quivered as it clutched the weapon, now reddened with my blood. ¡°What-¡° ¡°Ravenblood,¡± she stated. ¡°What?¡± I could barely force the word out. ¡°You¡¯re a Ravenblood.¡± I wobbled backwards, giving ground to avoid my skull being pierced. ¡°This isn¡¯t the time¡­¡± ¡°It¡¯s always the time!¡± My eyes flicked over to her. Her long weapon was smacking the parasites, redirecting them towards me. Despite managing to push nearly all of the Lizardkins¡¯ attention towards me, she still shivered, eyebrows tented. Erin didn¡¯t look away for a second. Her mouth moved silently. Abomination. She flicked her polearm and something scraped across the ground. Four, five, six parasites swarmed me, and having completely lost control of the battle I weaved between their blows, grunting as the movements exacerbated my wounds. As I slid beneath a beetle¡¯s legs, barely managing to keep my backpack from catching on them, I caught sight of the object Erin had sent over to me. It was the lure. Through a sea of skittering legs and a haze of white powder, I saw her dive through a window, shuttering it on the way out. With supernatural clarity, I heard her give the order to ignite the restaurant. I was still inside. The parasite above me shuddered as its peers began piling on top of it, pressing on all sides. A gap in the fray gave just enough space for me to kick the lure outside, and the horde moved like dogs chasing a ball. I scuttled on hand and knees between hairy, insectile legs, looking for the closest exit ¨C the kitchen. Pans and knifes tumbled behind me; a pot of week-old food was upended, spilling its contents on the ground. I charged towards the courtyard. Blood fell from my wound, mingling with the noodles strewn across the ground. I left it behind. I was outside, the sound of dust and sand whipping above filling my ears. Then I was in the air, diving. I tumbled into the well, head glancing of its side, then I was beneath the water. Suddenly, everything was silent. Yellow light reflected off the walls of the well. Then there was a sound like existence ending. Upwards, looking out of a tiny hole to the world, I saw countless monsters hang suspended in the air. My eyes picked out a thousand shards among them. The remnants of my home. Then it fell.
The well was blocked, with me still inside. A beam covered its opening, and atop it lay a thousand splintered pieces of wood. Yellow slime slides downwards, transforming the well murky; unfit for human consumption. The backpack had filled with water, and it weighed me down enough that treading water became impossible. I shoved my boots into the well¡¯s cracks and hoped they wouldn¡¯t slip. It was past time to start figuring out a way to leave. If Erin got her way, any would-be rescuers would set the well aflame. If the fire didn¡¯t kill me, the smoke would. Both were opponents I couldn¡¯t defeat. Instead, I ran Erin and I¡¯s conversation through my head, over and over. What could I have said to convince her? Each iteration of our exchange ran like a puppet show, the words changing slightly, myself searching for the exact combination that would persuade her. And at the end, Erin would say ¡®It¡¯s okay¡¯ or ¡®I was mistaken¡¯ or ¡®We¡¯re still friends¡¯. Every one of those responses sounded hollow. I had seen the fear and hatred in her eyes. The kind I saw in all of the adult residents when they spoke of the Raven. She wouldn¡¯t stay quiet, would she? I should¡¯ve been more subtle. But if I had toned down my kinaesthetic awareness, or my supernatural perception, would either of us have survived? Maybe I could have, with Dure¡¯s power flowing through my veins, but not Erin, with her long and cumbersome polearm in such an enclosed space. I was certain there had been a better way. Yet it evaded me. As my skull rattled with innumerable possibilities, my good hand appropriated my headband to staunch the blood on my side. Despite my efforts, the water around me bloomed with tendrils of red. I braced my back against one side of the well and pressed my legs against the other, and began crawling upwards. After a few faltering steps, my head brushed the blockage above. The possibilities I attempted to parse were cobwebs; I cleared them away. Tentatively, I pressed against the beam above me. No give. Something climbed from my stomach to my chest. The sandstone walls of the well distorted, shifting like a gargantuan gullet. I released my grip on the cloth ¨C now soaked through with blood ¨C and manoeuvred my sword out of its sheath. Water dripped from its blade. The well was less than two paces across; I used that distance to stab the side of the well, chipping a large piece off. It felt like the beast digesting me groaned, just a little. I align my blade¡¯s point and do it again. And again. And again. And again. And again. By the time it broke through to the other side, my weapon was entirely blunted; no more than a chunk of scrap. Even so, the hole wasn¡¯t wide enough to fit me. I continued. Both arms wept with pain ¨C one the dull throbbing of exertion, the other of mangled bone and muscle. The task engulfed me. Eventually, I managed to fit my head through. Babs¡¯ pack was shoved ahead of me, its fine black material scored with several marks. My good arm gripped the outside of the well as I hauled myself from it, tearing open blisters on my back and jostling my broken limb painfully. I bit my lip to keep from screaming and continued wiggling my way beneath the debris. Feverishly, I wondered if all worms hurt this badly. I kicked aside the chunk of wood above me. Metal jangled as a pot fell off the pile. I rose, blinking, and spat out a splinter. The sand and dirt above whirled dangerously. It felt like I had been underground for days, yet the sky¡¯s colour had remained unchanged. Every part of my body felt heavy. Slinging the bag over my shoulder felt like lifting the horizon. I looked around. Sandstone, mudbrick, and wood filled the area almost evenly. An occasional hunk of wood or stone stood out from the shards that littered the ground. Several Lizardkin crawled and chittered, most of their bodies missing. Yet, besides the devastation that was my home, the Foot¡¯s architecture continued unhindered. Like nothing had changed. For a time, I stood, attempting to muster the will to move. Pain was slowly ebbing back into my body. Exhaustion penetrated every aspect of my being. I hadn¡¯t felt this level of fatigue for eight years. Sounds and sights crossed my awareness, yet by the time my mind brought them into clarity, it was too late. Ten people surrounded me, pikes levelled at me. I was too tired to register their expressions. Nothing moved. ¡°You know me¡­¡± I mumbled. ¡°Let me go.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not about you, kid,¡± said the oldie. ¡°You won¡¯t be yourself forever. The corruption won¡¯t let you.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not a killer¡­¡± I muttered. ¡°You¡¯re the son of the Headsman,¡± growled a middle-aged woman. ¡°And wily enough to trick the whole city.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want to hurt anyone¡­¡± ¡°Ye¡¯ve killed, what, twenny monsters?¡± a swarthy man squinted at me. ¡°Don¡¯t matter whether it¡¯s human ¨C ye¡¯ll fall all tha same. Issa rot.¡± ¡°I can control it¡­¡± ¡°Can¡¯t take that risk,¡± growled a short man. ¡°No, I¡¯ve got¡­¡± I searched my memory, finding Ma¡¯s words to me after I nearly killed the Leydenese Dolphinblood. ¡°I¡¯ve got a good nature¡­¡± A young woman snorted. ¡°I¡¯m not ambitious¡­¡± I paused, struggling to find the words. ¡°I don¡¯t want anything¡­¡± ¡°It¡¯s not about nature, boy,¡± a large, dark-skinned man rumbled. His eyes were surrounded by smile-lines. ¡°Because no nature is unchanging. The stuff in you ¨C it¡¯s not right. I¡¯m sorry, boy.¡± ¡°No¡­¡± ¡°We should kill him,¡± yelled a wiry woman. ¡°He¡¯s dangerous, just like every cultist. He¡¯s got that same putrid, disgusting rot! You saw him. You saw them. How many people have to die before we learn?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not¡­¡± ¡°She¡¯s right,¡± a young man said. ¡°Let¡¯s end it.¡± ¡°Why can¡¯t you just listen to me?¡± ¡°Because there is no you!¡± screamed an greying woman. She was weeping. ¡°There¡¯s only the blood, and it¡¯ll swallow you.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want to die,¡± I said, even as I recalled how many of my old family I had seen succumb to madness. ¡°I¡¯ll do better. I¡¯ll be better. Just watch me.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not how Ravenblood works, Orvi,¡± spat Erin. The fear had left her eyes, replaced by a bitter hatred aimed somewhere beneath the horizon. ¡°Avri¡¯s power is twisted. It¡¯s insanity. Better you die while you¡¯re still you.¡± I entreated the ring around me with my eyes. The people who were, just a few moments ago, my comrades. But my secret was out. I was a Ravenblood. Everything flowing through my veins was toxic. They stared back. I looked at Erin. She looked at me. ¡°You all know what I can do,¡± I bluffed, attempting my best impression of Ma. ¡°You know what I am. Do you really want to do this?¡± My sword was a blunt hunk of iron. There were ten of them. I didn¡¯t have enough left in me to run very far. I didn¡¯t even have enough left to hold back. If we fought, people would die. But all they did was tighten their grips on their spears. What did I have to do? Fight, and kill? Let them kill me? Neither of those options were right. But, were they wrong? They were waiting. If I moved, they would lunge. My eyes flicked around. Broken things. Wood. Sandstone. Mudbrick. Pots. Knifes. A doll. And a Lizardkin, a few paces away, bereft of any legs. I closed my eyes and waited to die. Then something screamed. I heard the wail, like a thousand men dying agonising deaths. I saw it, as the dust whirling above reversed direction, flying back the way it came. I smelled it, almost as if a thousand alien scents crashed into my mind, far too quickly for me to comprehend. I tasted it, hot and cold and foreign on my tongue. And I felt it, as it shuddered up through my bones and flesh, emanating from my veins. The Lizard was in pain. I blinked, fatigue once again filling my legs. Nine of the ten around me frantically twisted their heads, watching as the parasites let loose hundreds of bizarre clicking sounds. Then there was Erin, shaking, quietly groaning. I had heard this kind of sound before. Nearly non-stop, for two days and two nights. There, a god had wept. And because I had heard it before, I recovered faster than Erin. I stumbled past her and bashed the legless parasite with my weapon, thrusting the hunk of metal into its skull. Its lifeforce reacted, and I jiggled my implement, finding the spot that killed it quickest. Then I ripped a handful of stinking blood from its hollow and slapped it on my forehead. You are born amongst thousands of others, into agony, rot, and indefatigable life. There is no thought; no consideration. Only instinct, pain, and unending hunger, briefly sated by sinking your throat into the island you live upon. It¡¯s constant, yet with every ounce of flesh you consume, the hunger only grows. But the ground beneath you always grows back, fanning the flames of your agony. The channel between boy and monster opened, even as I began dragging my unresponsive body away. Images flashed past as I stumbled forward. Despite that, I did my best to ignore both my body and its soul. Instead, I focused on the link between us and dissected its anatomy. Your life is unending, and more are born every day. The space runs out, so you eat those beneath you. The pain is exquisite, excruciating, everything, and all you can do is consume. Phantom pain fills me. An image overlays itself over my vision: my arms and legs rotting away, skin and flesh falling onto the floor only to surge back, impossibly generating from nothing. But it was nothing to me; I was clamping metaphysical fingers around the link, trying to find an answer before it was too late. You are pain. You are hunger. You are everything. You en- Then I find it and squeeze. The memories fell away, and the Lizardkin¡¯s power slowed to a trickle; just enough to vanquish the fatigue from my limbs. My stumbles transformed into steps, and then into leaps, fire-bottles and yells following in my wake. I tuned out the words, focusing only on the sounds of my pursuers¡¯ movement. I placed my feet with perfect precision, straightening my torso to maximise airflow and breathed with a perfect cadence. Blood squirted from my sides with every step, but I ignored it all. The derelict shacks around me fell away with increasing speed. With an exertion of will, I sealed the link, the only evidence left in its wake my assured steps and the gout of blood flowing from my nose. I risked a glance backwards. The men and women trying to kill me slipped further and further away, until even my supernatural vision could no longer distinguish their features. Only a girl ¨C a friend, or so I had thought ¨C remained close. Steely determination was writ across her movements, like a hunting hound chasing its prey. Yet as our distance grew, her expression transformed into horror. As if she were watching her own death unfolding. Then I left her behind.
For most of my life, I¡¯d been an excellent runner. Any other child that attempted to compete might have been faster, but after a short while they would be left in my dust. It seemed perfectly natural to me. But that hadn¡¯t been the case my whole life. Before I was Orvi, I had been slow. My memories of races and games of tag during that time contained mostly other children¡¯s heels. Or the cool floor, after I had collapsed in exhaustion. I hadn¡¯t been quick, or enduring. Even so, the adults always commented on how clever I was. How well I could memorise stories of the Raven. How quick I took to numbers, arithmetic, geography ¨C whatever skills my carers could rustle from the crowded depths of their souls. That doesn¡¯t sound like Orvi, does it? Eight years ago, the moment I buried a spear in that lieutenant¡¯s throat, my steps had become firmer. My will stronger. My wit duller. There¡¯s no six year-old in the world who could put that puzzle together, and no adult alive who had enough pieces to do it for me. But I wasn¡¯t a child anymore. The disconcerting feeling ¨C the terror of the nature that flowed through my veins ¨C came into clarity. Bile rose in my throat. For every soul I gained, I lost more of my own. But who was Corvin, anyway? And who was Orvi? Were either of them¡­ less whole? I didn¡¯t like the question, so I threw it into the back of my mind. What a fool I was.
By the time I made it back to the warehouse, my injuries were catching up with me. The former tunic I pressed against my side continually slickened with blood. My broken arm felt like it was stabbing into flesh with every step, and my back had gone numb. Previously steadfast steps had regressed back into awkward stumbles. The pain was everywhere, like I¡¯d been stripped of skin and forced to roll in sand. But I¡¯d made it. The corpses of the parasites filled the streets, and more often than not were in multiple pieces. If even one was alive, I would be in for a bad time ¨C I had ditched my mishappen lump of a sword some time ago. But the Lizardkin had been defeated ¨C they had swarmed into the pit, attracted by the stench of meat and Vernon¡¯s lure, and it had detonated. Here, at least, the plan had been successful. Somehow, the warehouse still stood ¨C missing two of its supporting walls yet still towering two storeys above everything else. Nothing moved. I couldn¡¯t see any human bodies ¨C or anyone at all. We had won. I had to keep telling myself that. Climbing the warehouse in my state would have been impossible for all but the most seasoned climbers. I¡¯d scaled my fair share of buildings, but I wasn¡¯t at that level. My heightened perception made up for that; I knew exactly where to place my feet, what handholds would give, when to lean into the wall and when to lean back. It took some time ¨C I needed to use a route that didn¡¯t rely on arm strength. Still, I eventually made it over the lip of the building and sprawled on top, preparing to wait for Ma. There were two Blooded there already. For whatever reason, I didn¡¯t feel like getting up to meet them. Two figures leaned over me. Aston; eyes replete with orange sclera, face adorned with faint sideburns and mouth contorted in a rictus grin. Serl; pale skin robed in black, one hand still covered with bandages from when Ma had interrogated him. A Foxblood and Dolphinblood, respectively. It was difficult for me to care. ¡®Ah,¡¯ I thought. ¡®I get it.¡¯ Bashing my broken arm against the sandstone beneath drew a howl from my lips, however it returned enough of my will to allow me to roll aside, Aston¡¯s club clipping my chin instead of temple. With a heave of my good arm, I propelled myself from a tumble into a squat, but sluggishness still permeated my form, allowing the club to catch me in my chest. I grabbed the weapon as it impacted, barely preventing myself from falling off the roof. Aston¡¯s wiry arms strained, and he yanked me back onto the roof. I let him fling me towards Serl, and smashed into the Dolphinblood, hooking his leg with my own. He smashed a palm underneath my chin, but as short as I was compared to him the blow lost most of its impact. Something hit my wounded side. I wheezed, and the two of us toppled to the ground. Sensing Aston¡¯s club whistling towards me, I rolled to the side, letting it crunch into Serl¡¯s head, however the Foxblood managed to flick the blow into my bad arm. I screamed and someone cackled. I managed to bat away another swing, only for Aston, grinning like a pleased child, to slowly scrape it across my bandaged back. I felt blisters break and my teeth sink into my tongue. The madman gripped me by the hair and dragged me to my feet. A wild fist was halted as he transferred his hold to my good arm. Somehow, he was stronger than me. Aston drew his face closer to mine, and instead of speaking anything comprehensible, he laughed, animal eyes arresting my own. Internally, I groped for something, anything that could beat him. Before I could concentrate on anything else, I resorted to my most foreign of senses. The Dolphinblood¡¯s lifeforce was radiant beneath my feet. I spat blood in the Foxblood¡¯s eyes. Then, in one fluid motion, I ran up his body, twisting my arm from his grip, and flipped backwards, my boot smashing into Serl¡¯s face on the landing, sending his blood into the air. I leaned forward, catching several droplets on my forehead, and moved to stomp the Dolphinblood¡¯s windpipe, crushing it. And then I remembered a man¡¯s throat, and how it had taken him too long to die, and all the memories I still held within. And I stopped. Something impacted against the side of my head. Chapter 29 - Blood upon Blood I dreamed. It was shattered, disjointed; a musing that belonged in the warped brain of a madman. Scenes were enacted in veins of black and yellow. Something monumental ending. Everyone I had ever known, dead before I opened my eyes. A burden carried over a large distance. A giant glimpsed from somewhere far away, my family lifeless at her feet. A choice that didn¡¯t seem like a choice. Terror; old as the gods themselves. And then something new; an addendum. Failure. Slowly, sanity returned. From experience, I knew that a head injury was a dangerous thing. I¡¯d waited in the corner of a tent, blocking my sibling¡¯s ears, feeling ostensibly undamaged soldiers begin to seize and die. Some would endure, only to find a part of their body or mind unfeeling; unresponsive. Ma, taller than most mountains, had watched all of it, expressionless. Her knuckles had been white where they gripped her halberd. I shuddered awake, eyes rolling wildly. An edge pressed against my neck. Night had fallen, but even through the darkness I could see Ma¡¯s face across the rooftop, empty of all emotion. She was covered head-to-toe in dust and blood ¨C most yellow, some red. One arm held the hilt of her onyx blade, lowered by her side. Were she anyone else, her stance would seem arrogant. But my mother wasn¡¯t anyone else. Even as reduced as she was, Ma could still promise violence without saying a word. It took a moment for me to realise that, after her bulging bicep, her other arm was entirely missing. Only a wad of reddened cloth tied around her stump hinted anything had been there at all. ¡°Ma!¡± I shouted, the shock driving the exclamation from my mouth. The edge pressed further into my neck. The sensation of it breaking skin silenced me. ¡°Your son is awake, Maja.¡± Master Reagan¡¯s voice ¨C no, Mister Reagan¡¯s voice ¨C was low and savage. It emanated from behind me. ¡°Look at him.¡± Her eyes didn¡¯t flicker away from the figures forming a rough semicircle around her. ¡°Poor Orvi. He¡¯s worked so hard to make you proud. Do you see where it got him? A burned back; a shattered arm; a hole in his side.¡± I focused on the figures. Reagan¡¯s Blooded; six of them, pus and dust filling every nook and cranny. The one holding me ¨C Aston, probably. Captain Vernon was missing, alongside four others. Either they had died or something else had happened. And, finally, Reagan¡¯s vast presence, looming behind us all. A gurgle sounded from Ma¡¯s feet ¨C someone bled from a hole in their neck beneath her. I felt their life falling away. ¡°I do not think I¡¯m being unfair, either,¡± Reagan said, disgustingly casual. ¡°You promised something you couldn¡¯t deliver. You threaten. You cheat. You lie. And you kill ¨C like no one else. You, General Maja, are a disgrace of a human being.¡± The corners of her mouth quirked for a moment. ¡°General no longer, Reagan.¡± ¡°That¡¯s Master Reagan to you, woman,¡± he spat. His composure returned as if it had never been gone. ¡°But your moral failings only endure for as long as you remain unendorsed. You could be a general. And not just any general ¨C a Great General.¡± ¡°You know what I think of your offer,¡± Ma gravelled. No one moved. ¡°Perhaps it remains unappealing to you. Yet, think of all the benefits delivered to your children. Safety. Education. Opportunity.¡± ¡°And you take a child hostage as a token of your sincerity.¡± Ma¡¯s stance was strange, I noticed. She didn¡¯t usually favour one leg so heavily. The line of thought dissolved. Her arm was gone. ¡°Let us not pretend you didn¡¯t plan on killing myself and my followers,¡± Reagan responded. I started. Had my mother planned on betraying them? ¡°Me? Never,¡± Ma intoned flatly. ¡°The Slaughter. The Headsman. Neither are meaningless monikers. You¡¯ll forgive me if I take some assurances.¡± She grunted. The figures nearby flinched. ¡°You can be redeemed, you know. Your reputation returned to you. Your loved ones safe, and esteemed above all others.¡± Ma stared. Reagan¡¯s voice remained level ¨C maddeningly sweet. ¡°Or your children can die.¡± Aston¡¯s knife was cold against my neck. Six of Reagan¡¯s other thralls were arrayed around the roof ¨C Serl, the Dolphinblood; a wide-eyed Owlblooded woman; a weak Foxblood, identified only by her sideburns; two Oxbloods, each a foot taller than Ma; a sickly-looking man who must¡¯ve been a Lizardblood. Their nonchalance made their eyes unnatural; eerie. My captor shook me threateningly, allowing my eyes to alight on Reagan. Besides a smattering of dust on his plate armour, his condition was flawless. The Master¡¯s gaze burned from within his helmet, and held all the ferocity of a rabid dog clutching its last bone. Ma faced the assortment, her loose skin telling of power long lost, her mouth stretched into a thin line. My captor¡¯s chest reverberated as he spoke. ¡°Now, Maja, if you unleash the slaughter you are known for, I will slit this boy¡¯s throat and shatter him on the ground beneath us.¡± Ma gave a long, thin smile. It failed to reach her eyes. ¡°Go ahead. Give the order, Reagan; I care nothing for the child.¡± I glanced towards Reagan, standing slightly behind us. His face contorted into a grotesque grin, eyes wide and unblinking. ¡°Aston. Stab Orvi ¨C nonlethally, if you¡¯d be so kind.¡± I felt the Foxblood shuffle as he produced another dagger. Unwittingly, I struggled, but my efforts were too weak to prevent the blade from plunging down into my shoulder. The sensation was like being kicked by a horse, and was almost immediately followed by incredible pain. My muscles convulsed, twisting my wounds. I tightened my teeth, however a groan still managed to slide out. Through my drunkenly twisting vision, I saw my mother flinch. ¡°There it is,¡± Reagan snarled, smug as a cat full of milk. ¡°So what will it be, Maja? Your family in the dirt? Or an esteemed life, full of the privileges rank can bestow?¡± For once, she wasn¡¯t the tallest person around. Even Reagan ¨C rictus grin and all ¨C seemed to tower over her. The tip of her blade wobbled as she sighed. ¡°It¡¯s quite the hole you¡¯ve put us in, Reagan. You should be careful of shoving your hand in.¡± Ma raised her arm, causing everyone around to flinch, but she was only rubbing her eyes. ¡°Alright. Let¡¯s discuss terms.¡± She continued speaking, but I wasn¡¯t paying attention. My mind was eight years past, remembering the hole General Maja found the three of us in. How I had stabbed Jackson when he poked his arm in. My eyes darted towards her. My mother raised a finger around her scabbard. It was a signal we used in the kitchen on the few times we were too busy for words. It meant: cook the noodles. It always remained unsaid that Ma would handle the rest. I repeatedly elbowed Aston in the kidneys and shoved my good hand underneath his knife. Almost immediately, it bit down, biting into my palm and sending spurts of blood through the air. I idly noted it was darker than a rich, human red, even as Aston and I strained against each other ¨C myself trying to ignore the pain of working my bad limb while he tried to work his free arm around my own. The deadlock was broken after less than a moment ¨C a black scabbard flew into his head and rocked it backwards, allowing me to wrestle myself from his grip. Then Ma was there, a flash of black taking Aston¡¯s head from his neck. I snatched his knife, hurriedly shaking a shard of bone from my hand. Belatedly, the desire to wet my pants and run emerged. ¡°You¡¯re dead first, Dolphinblood,¡± growled Ma. The urge wobbled and fell away as Serl began scrambling away, only for her to step forward and pierce his spine. He tumbled off the side of the roof, however Reagan was already speaking. ¡°Surround them. As we¡¯ve discussed.¡± Ma and I stood in the centre of the roof, surrounded by five Blooded. Their master stood at the edge of the roof, just out of reach of Ma¡¯s blade. The Oxbloods swung clubs at her simultaneously ¨C one high and one low ¨C while the Foxblood flicked a dagger at her. She parried the high blow, and ducked the dagger, but her foot gave way as she attempted to leap, allowing the second cudgel to smash into her knee. I heard a crack as the joint buckled, and Ma groaned slightly. I was still. The thought of killing¡­ But even as fear coursed through me the Lizardblood was already approaching, stomps supernaturally heavy. Ma slashed at him, only for him to dip behind the shield. Her blade snaked around it, and sunk into his neck. My mother turned to bat away another two blows from the Oxbloods ¨C each enhanced with the purple glow that could only be the Owlblood¡¯s doing ¨C and only I realised her mistake. The Lizardblood¡¯s lifeforce flared, and he raised his longsword to add a third strike towards her back¡­ And he missed me leaping atop his shield and ramming my dagger into his eye ¨C blood trickling out. He struggled, and I churned it around his skull, feeling his life weaken, then die. I yanked the short blade out and turned, ignoring the sick feeling that I had just crossed an important line. My murder of the Lizardblood had freed a corner of the roof, and Ma backed into it, her large body placed between me and the four remaining Blooded. ¡°You have something on your head,¡± she blurted, simultaneously parrying a club glowing purple, accelerating at unnatural speeds. I panicked for a fraction of a second ¨C was it blood? The back of Ma¡¯s hand ¨C still wrapped around her onyx blade ¨C lashed out in front of my face and rubbed at my forehead rapidly. ¡°It¡¯s gone, now,¡± Ma panted. She withdrew her hand, and I saw a dagger was embedded in it. Her dark skin trembled, slightly. She had taken one of the Foxblood¡¯s blows for me. The thought struck me that, even if I could follow the battle¡¯s individual movements, I still had little idea what was going on. But I wasn¡¯t a fool ¨C Reagan would use Ma¡¯s desire to protect me to force her into worse and worse positions. He¡¯d made a miscalculation, though ¨C even as a cripple, I wasn¡¯t helpless. I breathed in, and lunged past Ma. She shouted from behind, but the words flew past, incomprehensible. The two Oxbloods towered above me, their arms wreathed with a purple glow. Their eyes widened momentarily, but the surprise was not enough to prevent them from swinging with impossible speed ¨C one club high, one low. Yet the two had grown predictable, and diving between the blows was almost as easy as angering Sash. My wound twisted, and even as I gasped I was channelling Babs¡¯ monstrous instincts, digging into one¡¯s leg and ripping an artery open. Then I was past. The Foxblooded woman advanced towards me. As beat as I was, I had no chance in a fight, so I veered around her. Her footsteps trailed me, but I had the momentum. Reagan and the Owlblood woman stood at the edge of the roof. Reagan laughed, even as I tackled both of them off the side of the roof. We hung for a fraction of a moment, suspended three storeys above the ground. The vignette slipped away. We fell in a tangle ¨C Reagan¡¯s laughter ringing in my ears. Briefly, I wondered whether my luck would hold; I¡¯d survived this exact fall weeks ago, but this was still a gamble. Then we hit the ground, and something snapped, and my world was alight in agony. My arm; my side; my back. The pain erupting from them was my entire world. A cold, logical part of me wondered whether the breaking sound had signalled my death. My eyes couldn¡¯t focus, so I used a deeper sense. The mystery was solved immediately. The Owlblood was dying. Her neck had broken. Even as I felt the woman¡¯s life fade away, another abruptly disappeared on the roof. Not Ma¡¯s ¨C hers was weakened, but still stable. And Reagan¡¯s waxed and waned wildly. The mystery disciplined my mind, allowing me to finally look over at Reagan. He was upright, staggering through the field of dead monsters. He tore off his helmet, hurling it across the street. An image flashed by of him beating one of his Blooded in a mansion filled with luxury, even as I trembled in fear. Babs¡¯ memory. The Master gurgled. Somehow, my knife had found a way into his throat. And then he ripped it out and his lifeforce stabilised. He cracked his neck and turned towards me, lips peeled back in an animal sneer. The man¡¯s face was sickly, yellow; the white of his teeth was radiant in comparison. His eyes were two sunken holes, putrid embers burning within. ¡°You. You¡¯ve ruined my plan. I made the plan. I made the speech. You all just had to follow,¡± the Leydenese scion ranted, spittle flying from his lips. ¡°The plan, then get the conversion stone, then the blood out, and all of them none the wiser.¡± His gaze fixed me in place. Within was the weight of an unwavering conviction ¨C the same I had seen in the cultists that had raised me, in madmen, and in the Lizard¡¯s parasites. The cementing of belief and the discarding of flexibility ¨C a hallmark of every cautionary tale surrounding Lizardbloods, and their ensuing tragedy. It struck me that Dure¡¯s nature didn¡¯t bring stupidity ¨C it brought will. And the strongest will cannot be bent. Even if it were wrong. ¡°You¡¯ve ruined the plan. The words should¡¯ve been enough. How-how-how-how¡­¡± the madman raved. He paused, staring into space. ¡°I will remove you.¡± Only his mouth moved. ¡°With the offending agent gone, the plan can recommence.¡± My knees shook as I rose. ¡°Don¡¯t you¡­ need me? How can you persuade Maja without me?¡± Unwittingly, my gaze wandered to the roof ¨C someone screamed, and another font of lifeforce disappeared. Only Ma and one other remained. He bit a fingernail, gnawing wildly. ¡°I don¡¯t need you. I need the boy. Or¡­¡± his eyes narrowed. ¡°Or-or-or-or the¡­ the twins. Irrelevant. I need to rid myself of the obstruction.¡± In one swift movement, Reagan drew his longsword and swung it at me. I stepped backwards, managing to avoid any damage, but for some reason my jaw felt wet. My hand pawed at my face. The madman was neither an Foxblood nor an Oxblood, yet somehow his weapon sliced through the air fast enough to slice a long gouge across my lips. Every step forward from him was met with two steps backwards from me. My senses cast themselves backwards, warning me of a body or chunk of rubble ¨C any obstacle that would lead to a fatal stumble. Retreat wasn¡¯t a lasting strategy ¨C Reagan had openly threatened Sash and Dash ¨C however it was impossible to subdue him without a weapon. My vulpine eyes scanned the environment ¨C my knife, still behind him and too short besides; parasite bone, too fragile; loose bricks; shattered pieces of wood¡­ And there! A long haft missing a spearhead. I kicked a brick at Reagan and he dipped aside. The momentary distraction should have affected his follow-up swing, allowing me to cut through the range of his sword and grab the haft. But it didn¡¯t. His face lit up, as if I had given him the perfect gift, and his blade bit diagonally. I leaped yet it followed still, catching my injured side even as I sprinted across the street. I moved, even as my blood splattered the ground at an astonishing rate. The dark liquid covered the yellow ichor of Dure¡¯s parasites, droplets cast across their bodies. Readjusting my rag-tunic, I scooped up the haft and whipped it behind, hearing a sharp retort as it made contact with metal. It took effort to turn around and see Reagan¡¯s smile. My blow had reflected off his shin-guard. Our positioning had been reversed, yet Reagan still approached and I still retreated, even as I battered his body. None of my strikes had lasting impact. If I clubbed his torso, he would just grin at the dent in his armour. If I smashed his joints, he would limp or slow for a dozen seconds, then straighten out, as if he had never been hurt at all. And I couldn¡¯t harm his neck or face ¨C his sword would dance over or he would raise an arm, deflecting the attack. The biggest difference between us was more pronounced, though. I was flagging, my energy leaving one drop at a time as my mind darted like a capricious bird and my heart thundered in my chest and I wondered if the universe was sick of me and if I was going to die. And Reagan¡¯s expression never changed. But we were back to where we had started. I kicked the yellow-smeared knife to my hand and flicked it towards him. Reagan ¨C now entirely unafraid of me ¨C didn¡¯t bother to prevent it from sinking into his knee. He limped forward, inexorably, yet I knew I had won. Ma was the only one left on the roof. I grinned, even he swung towards me, his longsword splitting my haft in two and giving me barely enough time to hop backwards. I smiled as I readjusted my grip and moved past him, hammering at the dagger in his knee. My bloodied lips quirked as he turned around and stabbed, nailing my foot to the dirt. And then Reagan¡¯s gauntleted fist caught me in the head and I tore my foot away, feeling my toes sever and barely managed to keep my balance. I clenched my teeth, even as my jaw wobbled. My mother¡¯s lifeforce was on the roof, unmoving. She was going to let me die. Because I was a Ravenblood? Because I had messed up, and caused Dirk to die, Jackson to be grievously wounded, and Stitch to never stop shaking? Because I had let her down, over and over again? Because I was a bad son? Because I had never been her son? I noticed a sword blurring towards my neck. I flinched away, yet it was already too late. I raised my hand to dull the blow. And then some strange instinct filled my limbs. The arc wasn¡¯t any slower, nor less skilful, yet suddenly it was predictable. I caught the blade. But I wasn¡¯t paying attention to that. You move. Your father; your mother; your brothers; your sisters; your uncles; your aunts; your cousins; all are in constant motion. When the day¡¯s labour is done, your yurt is large enough to cover the stars themselves. But then a month or a week or a day passes and it is torn down, and everything moves. The yurt moves, the flocks and the herds move, the family moves. ¡°A god moves, now,¡± all the adults say, ¡°and so too must we.¡± My stupor allowed Reagan to wrench the sword from my hand. He sent it blurring towards me once again and unconsciously I stepped out of his range. Ma¡¯s lifeforce filled my attention. The channel between us yawned open. Everything you have, you get from your animals. Your horses lend their speed, allowing the hunters to bring back rabbits and geese. Your raptors lend their eyes and talons, watching for danger and occasionally bringing back rodents. Your dogs protect you and the animals. Your sheep give wool, milk, and cheese. You have a favourite ¨C Heti ¨C a ewe who has already mothered ten lambs, and you sit and watch the sun set with her every day. Heti is your first and most important lesson. It is your older sister¡¯s wedding. Your father butchers Heti, steely-eyed, and you watch the life drain from her body. ¡°It is a celebration,¡± he says, ¡°and we need the meat.¡± The madman¡¯s blade sliced through my cheek and I stumbled backwards. Where was I? Another swipe of his longsword blurred towards me ¨C too fast. I kicked up a brick and it clanged against the weapon, fouling the blow and allowing me to retreat further. This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. You trade with the walled villages for food with greater longevity. Everyone secretly disdains the Wallers for their foolishness and cowardice. You do too. Their elders are older, though, and there are more of them. Sometimes the villages disappear. ¡°The gods¡¯ work,¡± everyone says. They still ask for your father¡¯s cooking, though ¨C he is a legend, and as much as they hate them their coin is good. When your brother brings you to trade, you hear the word ¡®nomads¡¯ for the first time. You like the word. It has a nice sound. But sternly, your brother tells you ¡°We are warriors, not nomads.¡± And so, far earlier than your parents are happy with, he begins to teach you to fight. How? Ma¡¯s blood must have gotten on my forehead, but when? During the clash on the roof? I would have noticed if she had gotten any on her. It didn¡¯t matter. I needed to remove the blood. I reached my hand up to wipe it away, only for a snarling man to force me to bat his blade away. You grow and you learn. The ballad of blades appeals to you, because within it is a truth you know well ¨C movement. The bow; the sword; horsemanship; these fit like a tailored glove. Your responsibilities grow: you join the hunts, you shepherd the animals, you train the dogs. You butcher the sheep. The debate is fierce when you request a raptor ¨C you hear it even as you try to sleep. They call you a girl, and they call you unnatural. But the next day your brother brings you a juvenile and grins, his smile radiant even through the bruises on his face. He swiped horizontally; I ducked underneath the blow, grunting at the pain in my side, and slammed my boot against his knee. The joint buckled, but the reverb cut into the stumps of my missing toes and I clutched at them for half a moment. An Oxkin tears through the men¡¯s yurt in the night, and the next day he and your baby brother are dead. Your father and remaining brothers stare. You take your weapons and leathers and pursue, even as the rest call you a fool and refuse you your horse. In the time it took for me to recover, the sickly man¡¯s knee had snapped into place, the horrific sound accompanied by his screams. He slashed towards me again, and I was forced to use my hand to bat the sword away. It was agonising. I needed to save my son, and this stupid man was stopping me. No one follows. You track it for days. Through broken foliage, shattered trees, mutilated bodies and sobbing families, you pursue. You don¡¯t sleep. You have no food, so you persist on whatever crosses your path. You find it feasting on a boar. It charges and ¨C even as exhausted as you are ¨C you dance around it, sliding arrow after arrow into its hide. It is stupid and weak. Eventually, it slows. You hack its head off. No¡­ I needed to cut the connection. The pale man howled in frustration and thrusted his longsword towards me. I trapped it with my good arm, even as my mind¡¯s eye filled with the channel between myself and¡­ Ma. A village nearby rejoices. You request an ox and cart, and bring the monster home. But home has moved already, so you track your family for days, even as the body begins to decompose. When you find them, they are pleased. Your father and mother tell you what a fine dowry you have secured. You tell them what you intend to do and ask for instruction. They protest, calling you unfit for En¡¯s power ¨C you are too angry, too hasty. You eat the monster anyway, provoking days of agonising pain and castigation from those you love. You rouse, and, furious, you duel those that allowed your brothers to die. After killing five, your father refuses your challenge, as do the rest of your people. You look at them and learn another important lesson: they are stupid and weak. I rallied my willpower, even as my opponent struggled to yank his weapon from my grip. I pulled my mind together, straining to plug the connection between myself and the dying¡­ In the following months you become a nomad in truth. Curled in the crooks of trees; in the ruins of a village; in a bundle of dead grass; beneath the roots of an oak, waiting out a storm; no two nights are spent in the same place. But a lone traveller is nothing more than food for Godkin, and every few nights come with an unwanted visitor. You sell their corpses at villages. Soon, a Representative of a House approaches you. They shove words down your ears: ¡®fortune¡¯, ¡®fame¡¯, ¡®esteem¡¯, but none of them truly register. You accept anyway ¨C it¡¯s something to do. When you join House Esfaria¡¯s standing army, you are almost immediately taken aside by your senior officer for insubordination. The two of you fight, and he beats you. As you lay on the cool stone, blood oozing from your broken nose, all you can think of is how real the fight seemed. ¡­only for a monumental power to push through from the other side, shattering my hastily-formed blockage and further widening the channel. The training is excruciating. Whatever power you gained is offset by a vastly reduced stamina, and you struggle to endure through the hundreds of exercises you are pushed through. It¡¯s all worth it for the sparring ¨C hundreds of peers honing each other¡¯s skills, over and over. Even when you can no longer move, you simulate combat ¨C the correct technique, the perfect manoeuvre. It takes you less than a month to defeat the senior officer ¨C but he¡¯s not the only Blooded you cannot defeat. Blood dripped from my nose and I blinked, clearing stars from my eyes. The sickly man used the opening to reclaim control of his weapon, pulling it from my grip to send it sailing towards me. Why were we fighting? He was unquestionably well-trained, however all of his moves were formulaic, even against a superior opponent. Your first skirmish is incredibly exciting. You cut through the opposing House¡¯s forces like a reaper through grain ¨C they¡¯re chaff, but the ease you dispatch them with is a sign of growth. Your commander calls a retreat, and only after the fact do you realise how badly your House lost the battle. Your success meant nothing. That night, you do not sleep. The next day, you request officer training. I was unarmed, though, so his lack of creativity meant little. I slip aside two slashes and roll under a third, scooping up a discarded haft of wood and slamming it into the back of his head. You are lectured on the proper uses of Blooded and the best methods to counter them. Ox for Lizard, Lizard for Fox, Fox for Ox. The more obscure Blooded are too valuable to risk ¨C a Dolphin must be deployed stealthily, amongst soldiers in danger of breaking; a Spider only as a valuable consultant; an Owl only under the supervision of a commanding officer. Meditative techniques go against your nature, however the thought of a Dolphinblood influencing your will is enough motivation. He fell to one knee and I impaled his neck with my splinter. I backed away, looking to regain my bearings. What was I¡­ Ma! You and your 100 soldiers are deployed against bandits and rogue agents. You never lose, until you fight against a single decrepit old man. Holed inside a building, your men can only approach him one at a time. Your first soldier dies after nearly decapitating the man, leaving blood erupting from a shorn arm. Your second soldier delivers a dozen cuts, but dies anyway. Your third soldier is locked in combat for some time. Only his head emerges. Your fourth soldier dies quickly. Then the man emerges. At the end of the battle, the man escapes, leaving you and ten other soldiers alive. Later, you are told he is a Ravenblood. He dies a month later, having slaughtered several villages. Secretly, you are relieved you weren¡¯t commanded to fight him again. That shameful thought drives you harder than any before it. I tried once again to block the passage between myself and her. Even I could recognise my attempts as amateurish, but they were all I had. I didn¡¯t want it ¨C I didn¡¯t want this. But against my wishes, a greater will than my own cleared the channel once again. Years pass. You succeed, often by personally taking the field. Your successes are met with rewards. You only ever want one: Oxblood. As your personal power grows, you find your temper fraying more and more. A flawed stroke sees you breaking walls; a poor tactical decision gnashing teeth. Any slights compel you to demand a duel, and you kill eight men before you are barred from challenging others. You are passed over for promotion more and more until you comprehend the problem: your emotions are too obvious. You learn to hide them, even as another¡¯s incompetency causes you to demolish your personal quarters. After you are raised to lead 1,000 men, you kill a subordinate in a fit of rage. The killings don¡¯t stop. But no one cares: you rarely fail, and your men have some of the lowest fatality rates in the entire House. The recoil caused me to black out for a moment. Yet something screams at me to move ¨C to move! ¨C so I roll aside as a sword pierced downwards to where my throat lay just a moment earlier. As a sign of esteem, you are asked to participate in a hunt. Ironically, it is En, the Ox. The god is large. It is impossibly fast. Your eardrums burst at its cries. The nets intended to slow it have little effect, and pits only stop it momentarily. It kills hundreds in less than twelve seconds, leaving only the obliterated remains of armour, weaponry, and what used to be your men. But you get the blood. You grow. The next night is torture. You wonder if you choose your life poorly. The notion eats you. The day after you ask to do it again. I lashed out with a leg, deflecting the next blow, but each wild swing kept me trapped on the ground as I twisted and shuffled between them. Though somehow, my perception had expanded ¨C I can sense the sword whistling towards me without seeing it, making avoiding the swings despite my twisting body trivial. Wait, no, that¡¯s the Foxblood. Decades pass. After a thousand bloody victories, the world has started calling you ¡®the Slaughter¡¯. You have met with few defeats ¨C Blooded like yourself, hundreds of stories dogging their wake. You walk among giants. Only gods matter now. So when people suddenly start dying and rumours of black-blooded men covered in eyes reach you, you are excited. The Cult has vomited its madness upon the world, and Avri is beginning to move. Heltia is the first House to make a move, and the rest quickly follow. You are there. The beginning of the meeting talks of transgressions and mitigating measures, but the attendees soon realise that such an alignment of interest is almost unprecedented. The Representatives and Heads discuss in private. When they emerge, their faces are full of awe. The proposal: killing a god. The promise: becoming a legend. But it is only when an Albright smiles that the room erupts in agreement. I slithered behind the man and thrust upward with a leg, sending him staggering forward. It gave me a reprieve; enough time to push myself to my feet. My opponent turned, but I had time to paw at my forehead¡­ You are the General House Esfaria sends. It is only appropriate ¨C the House has no Great Generals, and you are the closest thing to one. Your peers are legends in their own right. This, you think, is why I am here. Then the march begins and the army begins taking losses. People disappear in the night. Your closest aide is hung outside your tent, throat slit. The soldiery is poisoned. Your supply-lines are severed ¨C you and the generals agree the only option is to loot. You wake to three assassins stabbing you. You learn two other generals are dead, and fight monsters wielding their skills. You reach the wasteland with half the men you set out with. A trail of rotting heads stretches to the horizon. But it is only when you meet a Ravenblood who promises to ¡°Bring you home¡± that you begin to regret. ¡­and stop. My mind was a shattered, violated mess. I traced the events ¨C the Lizard, the battle, the fight. And the channel. Recruits are drafted from the only nearby city. Only a fellow general¡¯s persuasive power and their fear of the Raven prevents rioting. There is only enough time to drill them on the basics. Then the battle. Words fail. A thousand mad cultists, each capable of killing dozens. Some are a match for your finest. Some are a match for you. Then a mass of eyes and gibbering mouths, tendrils lashing to consume friend and foe alike. You see a dozen young men dying to protect a general. That same general is disembowelled and torn apart by cultists, before you finally reach the scene and dispatch all involved. The death is horrible. But the pointlessness is more horrific than anything else. The man ¨C Reagan ¨C carved the air in an upward slash, but I stepped out of the way. The channel was¡­ it was purposeful, wasn¡¯t it? A million moments pass, and not one is bereft of insanity. Veterans and green recruits bleed out, the triage units having long been conscripted to the front lines. The cultists are dead ¨C it feels like you killed a hundred yourself ¨C yet the god remains, reacting to its severed pieces with equal parts laughter and screams. Your bones chill. It isn¡¯t dying, even as you take command of the remaining troops. Can a god be killed? Is all this slaughter for nothing? His upward slash flowed into a downward blow. It impacted the dirt and I stepped on the blade. And then it falls. You¡¯ve grown accustomed to the screams of gods, yet Avri¡¯s death-knell is beyond anything a human has witnessed before. Half the remaining soldiery drop dead at the sensation. As you watch the Raven collapse, you feel your heart stop. Too old, too tired. Such a life ¨C such a pointless, horrific life. The terror causes you to beat at your chest, and suddenly you are alive again. Yet the fifty years behind you are now full of regrets. Could I save her? I had never witnessed someone in the process of being assimilated survive, but if there was a chance¡­ I needed to get up to her. And to do that, I needed to kill Reagan. Your resolution is quiet. You are owed an end after your service. With no one else to shoulder the burden, the final task is left to you. Valorous service awarded by execution. It is necessary. Yet even after it is done, you are left with one last chore. Somehow, a trio of children survived. They emerge from a hole in the ground, and you admire the will of a six-year-old boy with a ferocity that surprises you. You are certain he is lying. Yet they deserve to live ¨C but a final test is in order. You kill a man who deserves killing, and watch the boy for the mad ecstasy every cultist you have seen carries. He weeps instead. My steps faltered slightly at the esteem Ma had held me in. I didn¡¯t remember it like that. It had been terrifying. The contradictory thoughts were interrupted by a swipe from Reagan. His moves were still incredibly quick; underestimating him would lead to my death. You take care of the wounded, then leave with the children in your arms. You follow a daydream ¨C a restaurant and an occupation far removed from the battlefield. You are a horrible cook. The child ¨C Orvi ¨C speaks little but you can see that knowledge in his eyes. You are a worse mother. The boy does not sleep. You struggle to feed the twins; to change their soiled garments; to stay awake at all hours. You regret your decision to take them several times. One night, you are so frustrated you bellow at the three of them. In Orvi¡¯s eyes you see yourself. A fearsome, furious monster. The Godsblood isn¡¯t worth it. You find a transferral stone ¨C its runework tarnished ¨C and foist the burden onto one of your few remaining comrades ¨C stable enough to bear it, young enough to want it. You care for the children, and attempt to make your food palatable. You become more and more human by the day. I quickened. An open-handed deflection of the blade transformed into a shove. Reagan stumbled and tripped over a parasite. You grow and you learn. Dash babbles his first words ¨C ¡®Ma¡¯ and ¡®Vi¡¯ ¨C a month after his adoption, and you¡¯ve never been happier to exist. The feeling is overwhelmed when he toddles into the pantry and nearly cracks his skull open with a falling jar. Sash is more concerning ¨C she does little, and you wonder whether her head-injury has turned her simple. It is only when, under the advice of Stitch, you carve several toys that she begins to engage with the world. You make an effort to become gentler, and your boy starts to become more comfortable around you. You sew clothes out of cloth fragments; you give fortunes away to hire wetnurses; you burn your eyebrows off cooking; you accidentally make every single child cry simultaneously, again and again. Mid-way through the year a mob of angry Footers burn your home down; the children¡¯s tear-filled eyes almost drives you to kill the civilians, but those same eyes stop you. You move and decide to stay inside, having former soldiery deliver supplies. They occasionally take the children for walks as well ¨C the separation stabs at you, and you are terrified every second until they get back. The feeling fades with time, but never dissipates. I dove onto him, knees first, and slammed a brick into his skull. The dent was sizeable, but not enough to kill him outright. Once a year has passed, you are small enough to play at being a lesser Oxblood. Despite that, plague is running rampant through the Foot ¨C you keep the children inside and purchase all food personally. Ensuring the building will eventually be fit to serve customers is an entertaining hobby compared to tutoring Orvi. He already knows half the things you teach him, but stubbornly refuses to sit still long enough to learn more. You give up, and foist the task onto Stitch ¨C though she negotiates a disproportionate fee after one session. Sash and Dash see Orvi trip and burst into giggles ¨C he repeats the manoeuvre several times, with escalating dramaticism. Your girl¡¯s first word is ¡®More!¡¯ and Orvi, ecstatic, obliges until both twins grow bored and toddle away. You watch the entire scene, and know your wide smile is unbecoming. Orvi sees it and asks if you need to poo. I struck again, cracking the skull, and leave the brick embedded in his head. His mouth opens and closes wordlessly. Years pass. You shrink; your children grow. The plague eventually leaves the city, and you start sending the children on more and more chores. The twins begin becoming more mobile, and their individual personalities become more apparent. They join in on tutoring. The restaurant opens for business; you run at a loss for over a year, but your pockets are deep. Orvi¡¯s free afternoons will occasionally see him return covered in cuts and bruises. He demands you teach him how to fight. You think for several days on the matter. Eventually, his wounds convince you. Upon beginning training, you begin to notice the signs ¨C or maybe they¡¯ve simply grown too great to ignore. He heals too quickly ¨C you try to wave it off as youthful vigour, but it¡¯s still too fast. He has a penchant for stealing shiny or impressive objects. You aren¡¯t familiar with all the signs, but he¡¯s clearly a Ravenblood. You quietly rage at how blatantly he has lied, even as you know he did so out of necessity. Your responsibilities demand you kill him. You witnessed the Accords; you know the agreement. Yet your son wept for the one he assimilated. And you are no longer that woman. The longsword was still in his hand, somehow. I tried to wrench it away, yet his convulsing fingers still held an iron grip. I thought I could no longer feel the pain, but my other arm disabused me of the notion when I tried to persuade it to assist. Then, one day, House Esfaria returns. Their lackeys corner you in an empty street, offering you a fine blade in exchange for continued service. You direct them to your successor with terse words and veiled threats. You¡¯re terrified ¨C Orvi hates the Houses, and they have reason to kill him. You accelerate the children¡¯s training. The three of them are a match for one, maybe two adults, yet the twins have both quietly expressed the desire to join a House and accrue glory. You¡¯re furious ¨C at them and at yourself ¨C and know through distant memories of childhood that you can¡¯t stop them, only persuade them. The House begins to pull everything into its orbit ¨C Jackson is pulled into their service; donations and constant proselytising spread unease over the city; Orvi¡¯s anger flares and he returns horrifically wounded; a young spy sniffs around your restaurant and before you can kill him befriends your son. You have a plan to drive them away, if not for the tipping point: the Lizard is coming. Then my opponent¡¯s other arm rose and tore the brick out with a sound like breaking eggs. I barely avoided a wild fist, and then we were both staggering to our feet once again. It all falls apart anyway. You visit House Esfaria to negotiate a plan for Dure. You find it devastated and Jackson grievously wounded. Sprinting back home finds the place in shambled. Sash and Dash burst in, plead for your help, producing Jackson¡¯s stolen sword and ¨C more concerningly ¨C concoctions Orvi stole ¨C military standard. On the sprint over you understand how deeply you¡¯ve failed. You arrive, kill the Foxkin, and hurry Orvi back home. He has Lizardblood ¨C he¡¯ll survive ¨C but that night you weep for the first time in decades. After days of worrying ¨C were you wrong? Were you too slow to prevent permanent damage? ¨C he wakes, and you find the courage to tell him you know what he is. Then he leaves anyway, and the stupid child comes back in shock with a captive Blooded. He swung the blade and I went for the brick. I must¡¯ve been getting too predictable, because he thrust downwards. My leg moved fractionally, and a pierced knee was downgraded to a cut calf. You cajole Orvi out of his stupor, telling him what you¡¯ve always known: he¡¯s a good boy, and he can handle the Godsblood. Then you use the opportunity he delivered. The skills you cast aside eight years ago are still there, just below the surface. But in using them, you accrue tendon damage ¨C it¡¯s not the first time, but you don¡¯t have a team of potions & Owlbloods to fix you. Negotiations begins, and then preparation; there¡¯s not enough time to worry about the strange rift forming between the twins and Orvi. Your son insists on helping, and the only way of keeping him out of the major battles is to make him a runner. Even that is a risk ¨C the flying parasites are deadly ¨C yet a dual Foxblood/Lizardblood should be able to survive. And he knows better than to take their blood. When you face Dure, you are still worrying for him. I could feel Ma¡¯s lifeforce running out. There was no time. There was no time! Reagan swung again and I jabbed his neck twice, feeling cartilage break. He made choking sounds, and I dove for the brick. It¡¯s a fight. Dure has always been the most placid of gods, however a god is a god. The Houses have him down to an exact methodology, and you mimic it as best as you can with one percent of the manpower. Make it hurt ¨C it¡¯s innards and head are the most vulnerable ¨C and hope it changes direction. The Owlbloods help you up, and you along with several others burrow through it. But your muscle-memory is from someone much stronger, and less old. You dodge a pair of pincers, and your heel fails you. In a moment, your arm is gone, and half your blood flees your body before you properly staunch the wound. But you succeed in burrowing back out, and an emergency cauterisation from the loathsome Reagan prevents you from dying. You¡¯re still waiting for the betrayal, and it comes in a nightmarish form: you severely weakened, and your broken son with a knife to his neck. The man was laughing by the time I turned around. I went for him, but a wild swing forced me to deflect using the brick. It broke apart in my hands. You try to look strong despite battling the urge to pass out. Reagan says words, and you look for an opening. The offer would be good were it honest, but it would transform your children into eternal hostages. The ones surrounding you are weakened. There is no better opportunity, but¡­ Then Orvi wakes, and like the good boy that he is manages to pick up on your messages. The fight breaks out and you kill several, but once again you¡¯ve overestimated yourself. You¡¯re missing an arm, can barely move and on the verge of collapsing due to blood loss. Every exchange takes a bit more away, and they¡¯re making good use of your need to protect your son. But, if¡­ you die, your death can become your son¡¯s strength. You trick Orvi, smearing some on his forehead, and tremble. You hope he forgives you. No. I flicked a shard of clay at him, and it embedded in his throat. It wasn¡¯t enough. Orvi kills one. The horror of the sight outstrips anything else you¡¯ve seen. Then he takes Reagan and the Owlblood off the roof. You have a chance, now. Three opponents become two, at the cost of your knee. Two becomes one, at the cost of your shoulder. And, finally, one becomes zero, though you have to use your teeth. The wounds are grievous ¨C crippling, even ¨C but you can survive. You crawl to the edge of the roof and watch your son edging closer and closer to death. Reagan ¨C the rat ¨C has taken Lizardblood. You didn¡¯t notice; you failed again. Your mind mechanically surveys the possibilities. All but one requires strength you no longer have. Your blood is still there, though, drying on Orvi¡¯s forehead. He stumbles backwards, and Reagan prepares the death-blow, so you slit your own throat. No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. Your gambit is working. You drown in your blood. That¡¯s fitting, you think. The link between you and him is open. You feel your son¡¯s despair. Distantly, you claw at your neck. He¡¯s not in danger anymore. He¡¯s terrified. He wants you to live; you can¡¯t. Not if it means him dying. He tries to stop it, to cut off the flow, but it''s all you have to help him. You can''t let him. He needs to kill Reagan. He doesn¡¯t have a weapon. He needs a weapon. Not much longer now. Movement. Like always, you need to move. Your spasming fingers flail, and grasp the onyx blade. You think that, despite everything, you might have lived a good life if you can save him. You cast it off the edge of the roof¡­ ¡­and I reached upwards and grasped its hilt. I howled as I swung, and the flawless sword cuts through skin and cartilage and flesh, separating Reagan¡¯s head from his body. But it was too late. You need him to know that you¡¯re proud. Proud of everything that he is. And then you let go, and go somewhere very, very close¡­ ¡­and Ma''s body hit the street with a muffled thump. I screamed. Interlude - Midnight Orvi!? Orvi! I heard screaming! What¡¯s going on? The, the big one and the eyes and the mouths and¡­ No, no. It is all gone, child. It will not hurt you- I don¡¯t like it! I don¡¯t like it! It¡¯s okay- I don¡¯t understand! It¡¯s okay. You are going to be alright, Orvi. I don¡¯t- I don¡¯t- So long as I am here, nothing can hurt you. I want Mumma! I don¡¯t like it! I apologise¡­ She is no longer¡­ ¡­ I¡¯m sorry. ¡­ ¡­ That¡¯s okay. You¡¯re not Mumma, but I like you, General Ma. Just¡­ Ma is fine. Is the babies okay? They are fine. They¡¯re not hurting? They are fine. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Sash is upset. What? She¡¯s only little. She¡¯s- Sash is fine, Orvi. No, she¡¯s always upset. What makes you think that, Orvi? She looks like she needs to poo. Heh- Did you laugh? No, it is simply a¡­ prescient observation. That¡¯s mean! It¡¯s only ¡®cause you¡¯re horrible at nappies! I keep having to show you! ¡®Prescient¡¯ is a good thing, Orvi. And you are very good with the twins. Oh¡­ Sorry¡­ ... What does ¡®pre-seent¡¯ mean? It means¡­ very¡­ good at seeing things. So I have good eyes? Specifically, you are good at using your eyes. ¡­ What is it, child? I don¡¯t want good eyes¡­ ¡­ I¡¯m not scared. I do not think you are scared, Orvi. I¡¯m not. You¡­ uh¡­ I¡¯m not a baby. I¡­ do not think you are a baby. You think everyone¡¯s babies. You¡¯re too big. That¡­ might be true, yes. How did you do that? Do what? Be so big. ¡­ ¡­ I ate all my tomatoes. No! Yes, I ate all my tomatoes. No! It¡¯s true. That¡¯s not fair! All the adults have eaten tomatoes. ¡­ ¡­ ¡­are you sure? Positive. But they¡¯re so yuck. Even so. ¡­ They are simply too healthy. ¡­okay. But Stitch cooks them! No, I will cook them. You¡¯re horrible at cooking! ¡­ Don¡¯t be mad. I am not mad. You¡¯re mad. I am just reflecting. Punching walls is for bad kids. I will not punch a wall. ¡­ Don¡¯t give me that look. I¡¯m not. You are. If I¡¯m giving you a look then you¡¯re mad. Hah! Are you mad? Alright. Fair is fair. I am a bit put off, yes. Grk. What was that sound? I thought you would say you weren¡¯t mad. I am old enough to admit when I am mad. ¡­ ¡­ I admit I gave you a look. ... Do I still have to eat your food? You still have to eat my cooking. Pleh! Orvi! Don¡¯t spit on the floor! Yuck. ¡­ ¡­ ¡­ You¡¯re mad. Yes I¡¯m mad. Chapter 30 - Failures upon Failures I stared at the body for a time. It didn¡¯t look like anyone I knew. It didn¡¯t look like anything at all. It was night. My shoulders hunched together and trembled. My torso rose and fell in quick, harsh gasps. It was freezing. I needed to get the body home. Making a travois requires two long poles, several smaller sticks, and some sort of material to lash it all together. I hadn¡¯t made one for decades before the Raven¡¯s death ¨C that task had been delegated to my subordinates. Fortunately, the surrounding area was rife with shattered furniture ¨C an ornate wardrobe had a pole stuck through it to hang clothes, and what looked like the haft of an abandoned spear seemed well-suited. Two shorter sticks ¨C the halves of a longer pole ¨C could work. One¡¯s splintered end was covered in yellow blood. They slipped out of my hand as I carried them over. I picked them up, and they fell again. I vomited against the side of a building. I retrieved them a third time and willed my fingers closed. My vision blurred. It was hard to see. Binding material was taken from strips of cloth ¨C the remnant¡¯s of a corpse¡¯s underclothes. A head moved its lips silently next to me. Wild eyes were embedded in its skull. They flickered back and forth. Its neck appeared to be regrowing. Its mouth worked quietly, whispers of words passing. I took it underneath my boot and stomped. Then I stomped again. A few minutes passed and it wasn¡¯t a head anymore. There was a fine backpack cast over the side of the street. A broken wing was tied to its side. It would work. The poles were placed in like the sides of a long triangle. The sticks were placed across, like a ladder. I kept fumbling the poles out of place. After a while, I managed to position them properly. It needed one more stick, though. The body had a scabbard. My singular hand struggled to sheath the sword. The scabbard kept falling over. I tried and failed. Eventually, I held the sheath between both legs and forced the blade within. It would function as a third stick. The satchel was layered atop the travois, using its straps to keep it in place. The entire construction was in place. The strips of cloth were wrapped around each edge. Shaking fingers made the process much harder. The travois was placed behind the body. It seemed very far away. Touching it felt wrong. I did so anyway, looping my arm underneath the body¡¯s and dragging it onto the contraption. My stomach heaved, but there was nothing more to give. A clacking sound repeated, over and over. Someone¡¯s teeth were chattering. It was just too cold.
The ground rushed up at me. My bad arm crunched and I screamed. Getting to my feet was difficult.
It was slow, hard work. The travois stumbled over every crevice it could find. When it got caught, whether on a rotting parasite or piece of debris, extricating it meant either brute-forcing it over the impediment, or moving the offending object out of the way. With only one hand, it was impossible, and I was far weaker ¨C or stronger? ¨C than I used to be. Over the entire city, myself and my burden were the only things that moved. I imagined myself as an ant scurrying through an endless expanse of sand, a grain of rotting meat across its narrow shoulders. It didn¡¯t take much effort to believe it was true. Then I arrived at the restaurant. Where had it gone? Everything was destroyed. I had forgotten. I searched my mind for my family¡¯s location. Sash and Dash would be with Jackson. Had I asked Stitch to stay with them as well? And¡­ Ma¡­ The information shoved itself into my mind, and the shakes that wracked my body vanished. There was more to do.
I leaned against a wall and a thin trickle fled from my stomach.
The body was dragged atop the travois. Its location was an ever-present reality of my world. It was more important than anything else. The Foot¡¯s dimensions were so familiar that navigating it was a thoughtless activity. The body was new. I needed to be careful. Vaguely, I noticed it was night. Had it been day when I left? When had the sun set? The stars were out. They twinkled ¨C just a little bit. I wondered when the moons would show. Gods, it was cold.
¡°Orvi?¡± I looked up. I hadn¡¯t been paying attention. A person stood alone in the street. Three, maybe four buildings distant. His voice cast itself perfectly. It was Jackson ¨C taller than the shacks around us. He was covered in bandages. His halberd was shoved under his armpit, like a crutch. ¡°Why aren¡¯t you in quarantine?¡± His face was pale. The Oxblood didn¡¯t look very well. I had warned him. A god¡¯s nature was a difficult thing to master. ¡°You need to stop, Orvi.¡± I couldn¡¯t make sense of his expression. ¡°You¡¯re jeopardising your sibling¡¯s safety.¡± ¡°What?¡± I managed. ¡°Stop pulling¡­ whatever that is.¡± ¡°Need to¡­¡± I furrowed my brows. ¡°Need to get it home.¡± ¡°Orvi¡­¡± his voice caught, and his eyes expanded into moons. ¡°I¡¯m coming closer.¡± The words were a whisper. ¡°Alright?¡± Jackson approached. Each step was a slow, measured thing ¨C even his limp. From a dozen paces away, he paused and stared at me. ¡°Gods, Orvi. You¡­ Are you¡­ okay?¡± The words ¨C they didn¡¯t make sense. I could only nod. He breathed in sharply. ¡°Alright. Okay.¡± He continued on, then whirled around. ¡°No,¡± he muttered. ¡°Stitch!¡± he bellowed, his voice repeating itself against every wall it hit. I flinched and groped blindly for the sword beneath the body. ¡°Keep the kids away!¡± This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it There was a response. Sounds. ¡°Raven¡¯s bones!¡± he swore. Then he turned back to me. I was leaning away, fumbling behind me. ¡°No, no, uh, it¡¯s okay. You¡¯re safe.¡± It was easy to pin down the exact moment Jackson realised what my payload was. He glanced at my trembling hand, then stared. He stared at the body. ¡°¡­kids away,¡± he murmured. Jackson¡¯s eyes were huge. He looked like he was on hash or something. I let out a short bark of laughter at the thought. Silence followed. ¡°Stitch! Keep the kids away!¡± he screamed. It was too late, though. Sash and Dash stood, side-by-side. My sister¡¯s hair gathered around her shoulders, bereft of its usual ponytail. Each strand stuck out in impossible directions. Her eyes squinted. Her twin was covered in dust, turning his shorn hair grey. His mouth hung open slightly. ¡°Hello Sash. Hello Dash,¡± I intoned. ¡°How-¡° ¡°What is that Orvi.¡± It was my brother speaking. His words were empty of all expression. For a beautiful, glorious second I was ignorant. I stood swaddled in the same cold nothingness that had swallowed me for the past hour. Then I was suddenly aware of the tears that had been streaming down my face since Ma had hit the floor, her legs broken, smeared in every drop of blood she possessed. I choked. My vision blurred. There were words that needed to be said, but I couldn¡¯t get them out. ¡°Ma?¡± Sash said quietly. ¡°Ma¡¯s gone,¡± I managed. Jackson, my sister, and my brother all looked at me. My throat closed. They still stared. All was silent. It wasn¡¯t enough. ¡°Dead,¡± I spat. No one spoke. Then Sash screamed, long and loud, and ran towards us. Jackson intercepted, scooping her into a hug even as she flailed and wept, all skill and elegance forgotten. ¡°Why¡­¡± I turned. Dash shook, slightly. His eyes were fixed on mine, unmoving, alight with something I refused to recognise. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you save her?¡± What? I protested, even as his words pierced me. ¡°I-I tried, Dash¡­¡± ¡°You tried?¡± he cocked his head. Tears flowed from his eyes down to his chin. They slipped off his face, thick and heavy, yet he didn¡¯t blink once. His eyes were wild with raw need; the need to blame someone. Anyone. ¡°You tried? Did you do everything you could?¡± Language fled. He raged, however it was all incomprehensible. ¡°Everything.¡± I said, but he and I both knew it was a lie. ¡°If you had backed me, if you hadn¡¯t hated the Houses so much, if you had let me help, this never would have happened!¡± he howled. Dash was wrong ¨C he couldn¡¯t have done anything. Not without learning of his blood. He was also right. ¡°I never would have let you,¡± I spoke rapidly, defensively. ¡°It would have been the end of you both. When you told me, that night, I wanted to lock you two up, and ¨C by the blood ¨C you should be grateful I didn¡¯t.¡± Dash¡¯s eyes narrowed and his mouth opened, his face radiating a disgusted confusion. ¡°What are you talking-¡° ¡°We didn¡¯t tell you that.¡± It was Sash. ¡°We told Ma.¡± The three of them stared again. Something began to rise on their faces. I squinted. ¡°What? No, you told me. I was in the kitchen, Orvi had¡­¡± No. They had told Ma. Ma had told me. ¡°You killed her?¡± I didn¡¯t know which one of them spoke. ¡°No¡­ she had to-¡° ¡°Did you kill Ma?¡± ¡°No! It wasn¡¯t-¡° ¡°You sick, cultist monster.¡± That was Dash. Jackson¡¯s eyes twisted to the twins, then back to me. His confusion vanished. His body shook. Sash slipped from his grasp, and she stared up at him. I knew that shaking ¨C I had felt it every time I killed a subordinate. Jackson¡¯s anger, multiplied a thousand times by the Ox¡¯s. With an immense bellow, he hefted his fist and swung, lightning-quick- -and I rolled underneath the blow, screaming, and slammed the scabbard into the back of his knee. It buckled, just enough to force him to kneel, taking enough off Jackson¡¯s height to allow me to swing upwards at his temple. A sharp retort emanated through the street and he toppled, eyes rolling wildly. A second blow closed them. Silence descended, only breached by my panting. The agony sparking through my body was almost unbearable. Stillness enveloped me, for movement promised only more pain. My head flicked up at a soft voice. ¡°Dash is right, isn¡¯t he?¡± Sash let out a great sob. ¡°How could you do this?¡± Dash¡¯s gaze burned. He said nothing. ¡°It¡¯s not-¡° All anyone knew about the Ravenblooded was that they stole the memories of those they killed. I was the only one who knew they could take without killing. They didn''t know. Over the years, I''d figured it out: their Ravenblood was latent. Once upon a time, mine must''ve been as well. Until I''d killed and died at the end of a spear. They couldn''t have known. I wouldn''t let them. So long as they stayed safe, neither of my siblings would have to bear the knowledge of what lay within their veins. But what they were saying wasn¡¯t correct. I hadn¡¯t killed Ma, not with my own hands. I hadn¡¯t coveted her power. I had never wanted anything more than what I had. But if I had been more willing to kill, the fight would never have gotten that bad. If I had accrued more power ¨C if I had killed Serl, or more Lizardkin ¨C then my mother would be alive. If I had never trusted Bab, the Old Guard would still be around. Ma would never have had to fight. No. The problem stretched further back. If I had died with the other cultists, none of this would have happened. Their words weren¡¯t correct. But they were the truth. For once, I said nothing. I sensed that someone wiser, older, or more charismatic would have the words to convince them ¨C to make everything just a bit better. But whoever that person was, they weren¡¯t here. I looked at Dash and Sash, and I saw their hatred. I looked away. Guilt burned. ¡°Don¡¯t kill,¡± I told them. ¡°No matter what. Keep away from blood.¡± ¡°Shut up-¡° ¡°You listen or I¡¯ll split you open,¡± I screamed. He silenced. ¡°Don¡¯t be like me.¡± My brother and sister stared. I reached into the travois and unslung the backpack. The scabbard was awkwardly buckled to my belt. ¡°She wanted to be cremated,¡± I told the air above their heads. ¡°And she wanted to stay with you, always.¡± I could make out the form of Stitch approaching. A dog ¨C Dirk¡¯s dog ¨C followed on her heels. ¡°You need to-¡° I choked. I swallowed a pool of saliva and tried again. ¡°Ma wanted you to stay away from the Houses. From Godsblood.¡± Stitch arrived. Her thin lips contorted into horror at Jackson¡¯s unconscious form. ¡°What happened here?¡± I had to trick them. I had to let the city know the twins had no part in it all. ¡°I fooled you, didn¡¯t I?¡± A smile was too difficult to conjure. I could only manage a watery sneer. ¡°Maja thought-¡° I choked up. ¡°She thought she could tame a Ravenblood.¡± I wished I could have extended it. Made it into a proper, villainous rant. But I couldn¡¯t. The dog panted. Dash mouthed a word. Monster. The breath left my body. My legs weakened. I staggered backwards, the stumble transforming into a turn, then into a run. Dead monsters and empty houses leered at me, watching as I sprinted through the streets, pack against my back, sword smacking against my leg. How? Why? I retched, only water and stomach acid emerging, yet continued running. The world was a dream; a nightmare; every single sensation was sharp, more cutting than even my Foxblood could make. It was all too close, yet somehow far away; as if my mind had been cut in two pieces, one grieving mindlessly, the other watching, muted. I ignored my pain and ran. Slowly, the derelict architecture thinned. Then, it all fell into the wasteland. Dure had vanished from the moonless night, leaving only dust in its wake. The battle was over. The Foot was safe. And I had lost everything.
I¡¯ve wondered, more times than I can recall, how much of what happened was my fault. If I hadn¡¯t decided to follow Bab, would the Esfarians have been able to protect us from the Lizard? Would Bab be alive? If I had been better at fighting the monstrous Bab and avoided getting hurt, would we still have had the healing potions? Could I have used them on Ma? If I been more secretive with my powers, could I have tricked Erin? If I had taken less wounds, could I have defeated Aston? If had killed Serl and stolen his Dolphinblood, could I have saved my mother? If I had been a better person, could I have stayed? My life would have been different. I could¡¯ve been a better brother. I could¡¯ve helped care for the Foot, remained with Blake and Erin. Maybe I could have eventually wooed Jasmine, though I somehow doubt it. I could have had a home. But that¡¯s not what happened. All my agonising was ¨C is ¨C pointless. I know, and I¡¯ve always known, that the past is hammered into reality, driven into the earth by the weight of my own foolish actions. Nothing can be taken back. Despite all the gods that roam the lands ¨C horrific, monstrous, and savage ¨C that is the truth that scares me the most. No matter who I become, my actions will remain; like a thousand shattered bodies, their crushed bones forming the bedrock of my existence. And only a monster could live with such a weight. I am monstrous. Stay away. Blood & Noodles Epilogue That was a long time ago, now. An eon? A millennia? A century? A decade? No. That¡¯s not right. Back then- The youth walks across stretches of fissured dirt, baked red by exposure to the sun. It seems to extend until the end of time. Yet, the landscape is broken by white spurs cutting through the ground and reaching for the sky; surrounding shrubs transitioning from brown to red. Occasionally, a small creature dashes across the landscape, only to be killed by a thrown stone and eaten by his blunt teeth. Occasionally, something much larger crosses the horizon, and he digs a hole with his sword and lays in it. His skin had turned from brown to a deep red; blisters cover nearly every inch of skin. Despite the shirt covering his head, every time he brushes his scalp the teenager¡¯s fingers come away wet with pus. There is the sensation that he is moving at an incredible pace, yet little changes beyond the occasional shrub, critter, monster or concealed patch of muddy water. Every time he stumbles over liquid, he kneels, immersing as much of his body as he can, and drinks deeply, grains of dirt scraping against his teeth as the water makes its way down. He then fills his backpack ¨C layered with cloth ¨C and scabbard, its blade tucked loosely between his pack''s straps. He stumbles onwards. Sometimes, people he knows travel with him. His uncles and aunt. One lays on the floor, a dog howling beside him. A young boy. Every part of his movement betrays anxiety. He is scared, all the time. He disappears like smoke in the wind. His best friend. The teenager walks beside him, shrouded in shadow. Sometimes, the darkness parts, and the friend¡¯s face is revealed: laughing at an unsaid joke or foolish gaff. Sometimes, the darkness parts: pustules and unmoving eyes. When he sees the latter, the youth unwittingly allows precious water to be drained away ¨C falling down blistered cheeks, to be licked by a tongue. A guard clad in red lamellar armour. He pursues, and the youth finds himself running until the guard vanishes. A circle of men and women. They are terrified. He pushes through them. A well-built young woman. She used to be his friend. Now, she knows who he is. She clutches a bloodied pike in one hand. His siblings. They do not walk; they appear together, standing perfectly still, staring from somewhere far away. He gives them a wide berth. He is known, now; he is marked. He is no longer safe for them. His first parents. Those familiar wraiths, nurturing yet hateful; soothing yet painful. As unpredictable as a Summit storm, and to be regarded just as fearfully. They whisper inaudibly, yet for the first time, he knows what they are saying. ¡®Your future,¡¯ they say, ¡®is us.¡¯ His mother. The one who raised him, and taught him how to be a person. In some ways, he fears her. She is mighty. She could destroy the world, if she wanted to. But he knows she is not mighty enough. He wonders when he last told her he loved her. His only solace is that she knew. Her neck¡¯s smile is crimson. Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. He stumbles onward, towards a certain future. Towards- -me. I was him, wasn¡¯t I? Or¡­ wait. There¡¯s no guarantee of that, is there? Was I him? Or was I- The consultant follows orders. And his orders are to operate according to his master¡¯s best interests. He has found a position ¨C a step below another ¨C and he maintains it, quietly carving ruts into the ground, to allow the present to move towards a better future. He craves that future; he craves change. He moves towards- -me No¡­ it couldn¡¯t be. Could it? Or was I- The knight watches over her charge. It is her reward for a long and just service. Too long, some might say. But her liege is worthy of the utmost admiration. He is worthy of following, and so her charge is worthy of protecting ¨C even if the girl is a brat. On the other hand, her own family is worthy in a different way. Serving her liege serves them, but their gripes often hit the mark. It is true; she is heading towards- -me. Was that who I was? Or was I- The farmer quietly tends to his land. In many ways, it is a cruel, futile endeavour; the plants grow ¨C fed by water and soil and blood ¨C and flower into beautiful, crimson things. Their veins throb gently. But he harvests them to feed himself; to pay his dues; to feed others; and then Aching tears his land apart. And then he does it again. This cycle is his birthright, and he must be satisfied with it, as his forefathers were. Yet the solitude is a brutal thing, and he finds himself wondering whether even the dullest of Lizardbloods would work towards ¨C -me. Was I ever so sullen? So dissatisfied? Or was I- The pariah finds space to exist. There has never been much ¨C not for Strains like her. Her very existence is a sign of mishandled Godsblood; that two people chose lust over duty. A birth was implausible; it is her reality. She bears the scars of that unmerciful union. She is inhuman where she should be human. But in the grotesque eyes of monsters, there is even room for mishappen creatures like her. Maybe here, she can finally progress towards- -me. To live with disgust dogging my steps¡­ That¡¯s not so foreign. Is he me? Or was I- The young woman kills a man with a flick of her blade. It is easy, now. No longer does she contend with the shame of bile in her throat or a roiling in her guts. She turns around, however the fight is already over. Her companions have won. She leaves the taking of spoils to others and immediately begins searching for her mother. She catches the blow before it lands and disarms her assailant with a quick strike to the wrist. The sword falls from her mother¡¯s hand. The incomprehension on her progenitor¡¯s face quickly transitions to cold fury. She should not have won. It will only take her towards- -me. Such a strange person. Wouldn¡¯t she be fitting, then? Or was I- The magician sits amid walls of inert stone, and watches his family die. It¡¯s a slow and silent thing, this death. And it is his fault. Spiting all his genius ¨C all the divine blood flowing through him ¨C is the ultimate ending. His helplessness is agony. It is a confiscated tablet that saves him. It is dangerous; it is harmful; it is hope. ¡®Save¡¯, ¡®Together¡¯, and ¡®Bring them home¡¯. So you stir, and slow their death. And you begin to search, desperately trying to bring that hope towards- -me. The failures¡­ the incompetence¡­ doesn¡¯t that feel familiar? Or was I- Far beneath the surface of the earth, I/We/The Seed grows/expands/progresses/changes as bone/structure/spine/cartilage/piercing/tearing/growing flesh/body/mind I/We/The Seed hurts/aches/rejoices/changes and sees/feels/witnesses my/our/the Seed¡¯s form/mass/canvas/body and weeps/reviles/despairs/castigates/hates. I/We/The Seed is trapped. But there was still potential/hope. I/We/The Seed could move/question/impossibility/paradox/contradiction/change towards- -me. That¡­ Is that me? It has to be, right? It makes the most sense. Or was I- -no. No. Stop. This guessing is pointless. There¡¯s too much. I can¡¯t- No, I must be- I know! It hasn¡¯t been a decade, or an hour, or an eon. I think it was¡­ Five years. Maybe more? Maybe less? Not that it matters, though. It¡¯s only time, after all. The Story So Far & Glossary Blood & Noodles In the wake of a world-shattering battle against the god Avri and its Cult, General Maja wanders the battlefield, executing those who have been corrupted by exposure to Ravenblood - including her own soldiers. Returning to her few remaining forces, she encounters three children: Orvi, and the infant twins Sash and Dash. Maja tests Orvi for Ravenblood by forcing him to kill an incompetent soldier, and concludes he shows no symptoms. Eight years later, the three children have been adopted by Maja - now dubbed ''Ma'' by the children - and live in ''the Foot'', a city made derelict after much of its population died in the battle and to sickness. The four of them operate a restaurant. Orvi is now fourteen, and the twins are both nine. He has befriended the leader of a gang of children, Blake, and Blake''s second-in-command, Erin. House Esfaria''s forces have been sent to the Foot, and are attempting to curry favour with the local populace, using promises of safety, various trade-goods, and bloodtech devices. This infuriates Orvi. Jackson - Orvi''s ''uncle'' - had been groomed as a successor by Ma, and has now joined House Esfaria. After Orvi confronts him, Jackson confides a quiet fear: that he, under the influence of his Oxblood, will lose control and hurt those around him. He professes a need for the Houses, and the discipline they provide. Ma reveals to Orvi that the twins wish to join House Esfaria as soldiers. He is approached by a young scribe - Bab - who informs him and his friends that House Esfaria is in the Foot to recover Godsblood, aided by a mechanism which can separate Ravenblood from other types of Godsblood. Bab offers to alter paperwork, which will encourage the House to leave earlier - however he requests help in breaking in. Bab offers an additional piece of information - the Lizard Dure is approaching the Foot. Orvi, accompanied by Bab, breaks into House Esfaria''s local offices - tricking the abusive guard Peeler - and helps Bab alter documents. In the process, Bab persuades Orvi to switch a collection of potions with a set he has brought. Bab encourages Orvi to take a few of the original potions. Orvi creates a necklace, using a broken wing he had pilfered, and gives it to Bab as a sign of friendship. This embarrasses him greatly. Bab gives him a bag. Afterwards, House Esfaria - alongside Jackson, and Orvi''s ''uncle'' and ''aunt'' Dirk and Stitch - and local monster hunters journey into the Wastes on an expedition to hunt a Ravenblooded monster. This goes horrifically wrong when the creature proves more powerful than anticipated. Potions intended to heal transform drinkers into maddened creatures. The expedition loses most of its forces, including Dirk, and Jackson stumbles back home. Upon his return, Jackson is ambushed by Foxblooded assassins, alongside a reluctant Bab. Jackson kills the four Foxbloods, but collapses from his wounds. Bab partakes in the dead assassins'' Godsblood, in the hope it will grant him power to free him from an uncertain master. Orvi and the twins are attacked by a beast as they loot abandoned furniture. The monster is far faster than Orvi, however he manages to send the twins away and evade the creature for long enough to reach a warehouse. He traps the creature inside, however it breaks out and disembowels him. Preventing growth on the creature''s wrist is a broken wing. Ma arrives and swiftly kills the creature, however the execution splatters blood on Orvi''s forehead. He watches a vision of Bab''s life, wherein he is threatened by House Leyden to spy for them. Ma manages to force the stolen potions into Orvi, and he survives. Several days later, Orvi wakes to unnaturally adroit senses and new skills (which are a source of great panic), and Ma at his bedside. He asks if she will kill him, to which she reveals she has known he was a Ravenblood for several years. The twins are let in on the secret. Orvi realises he has enabled the death of almost the entire expedition, and weeps. Ma leaves to join a meeting, and Blake and Orvi leave to find House Leyden''s base and extract blackmail. Sash follows, and Orvi reluctantly lets her come. They arrive to find the manor in flames. Both Blake and Orvi enter, and find their way to a lone Dolphinblood. Orvi easily defeats the Blooded, and proceeds to wound and torment the man. However, he halts, horrified at himself, and nearly allows the Dolphinblood to kill him before Blake knocks him out. The Dolphinblood is tied up. Orvi is entirely silent, horrified at his own actions, but Ma manages to convince him to open up, and persuades him of his goodness. After the Dolphinblood is tortured by Ma and interrogated, he reveals the location of House Leyden. Ma pursues them, and persuades the group to assist her in deterring the rapidly approaching Lizard - who is now too close to flee - in exchange for the technique to extract Ravenblood from Godsblood it has incorporated. She does not have this technique. Reagan, a scion of the House and leader of the group, agrees. The Foot''s inhabitants, led by Ma, prepares for Dure''s arrival, attempting to put in measures to ensure the plague its parasites carry does not spread through the Foot. Ma begins to extract her Oxblood at an accelerated rate, just in case she perishes. Orvi is posted in the city as a courier. Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. Dure arrives, provoking a maelstrom of dust. While Ma, House Leyden, and House Esfaria''s one remaining Blooded rides to meet it, its parasites approach the Foot. Three groups are gathered in the city, preparing traps for the parasites, however one has lost a crucial explosive. Orvi retrieves a spare, however it detonates when he is attacked. This breaks his arm. The third group craft a plan to use flour to create a dust explosion by luring parasites into Ma''s restaurant. They do so, and Orvi, accompanied by Erin, uses a strip of cloth as a bandana, manages to avoid getting enough blood on him to trigger his Ravenblood. The two repel a horde of parasites. Erin realises Orvi is a Ravenblood, and stabs him in the side, leaving him to die. Orvi barely survives the ensuing explosion. Upon extricating himself from the wreckage, he is surrounded by several people, all of whom want to kill him. He is readying himself to die when the Lizard cries in agony, and Erin reacts, allowing him to escape. Orvi remembers how he and the twins were the only survivors after the Raven fed the Cult''s children its blood. Orvi returns to the warehouse and manages to scale it, where he is attacked by a Dolphinblood and Foxblood. He comes close to killing the Dolphinblood and incorporating that power, but stops. He is knocked out. Orvi awakes to himself being held hostage and Ma - having lost an arm in the battle against Dure - negotiating. The two of them manage to free him, and fight atop the roof. Orvi kills one to protect Ma. Realising Ma is being wounded protecting him, Orvi tackles two figures, an Owlblood and Reagan, off the roof. The fall kills the Owlblood, and Reagan is stabbed in the throat. He rips it out and reveals himself as a Lizardblood. Maddened, he overwhelms Orvi with his skill and inability to die. Orvi barely fends the blows off, when he receives a vision of a woman''s life - Ma''s. In the final moments of Ma''s life, she drops her sword off the side of the roof, and connected by the vision, Orvi manages to catch it and use it and Ma''s skills to decapitate Reagan. Ma dies, and her body hits the ground. Orvi retrieves her body and carries it across the Foot, accidentally taking it to the decimated restaurant. He finds the twins, Stitch, and a wounded Jackson. During the ensuing confrontation, he lets slip a piece of information only Ma would know. The group assumes he has killed Ma. Jackson attacks him, and is quickly defeated. Dash, enraged, castigates him, while Sash weeps. Weakly, Orvi pretends to have planned the whole thing, and flees. A future Orvi accepts himself as a monster. Glossary Below are terms listed so far, and the information made available about them in brief. Gods: Powerful entities regarded with great fear. Seven are well-known, Godsblood: Blood from one of the gods, which alters those that incorporate it into themselves both mentally and physically. Blooded: Humans that have partaken in Godsblood. The strength of their powers and mental changes correspond to the amount of Godsblood partaken in. Past a certain point, the physical changes make a Blooded obvious. Godkin: Also known as monsters, Godkin are creatures that have imbibed too much Godsblood, becoming dangerous in the process. Dure, the Lizard: Also known as ''the Plague'' and ''the Suffering''. A gargantuan entity, the Lizard is the carrier of innumerable parasites, and despite being in a perpetual state of rot, rapidly heals. Lizardbloods: Humans or animals altered by Dure''s blood. Lizardbloods have rapid regeneration. They are regarded as stupid by most. Lizardbloods also have strong wills. Notable Lizardbloods: Reagan, Orvi (via Ravenblood). En, the Ox: Strong. Oxbloods: Humans or animals altered by En''s blood. Oxbloods are large, strong, and physically imposing. They are easy to enrage. Notable Oxbloods: General Maja, Jackson. Kani, the Fox: Fast, capricious. Foxbloods: Humans or animals altered by Kani''s blood. Foxbloods are skilled combatants, and have enhanced senses. Sadistic. Notable Foxbloods: Aston, Bab (monstrous), Orvi (via Ravenblood). Siik, the Spider: Calculating. Spiderbloods: Humans or animals altered by Siik''s blood. Wump, the Dolphin: Dolphinbloods: Humans or animals altered by Wump''s blood. Dolphinbloods are capable of manipulating the emotions of those around them. Notable Dolphinbloods: Representative Fedor, Serl. Yoot, the Owl: Arcane. Owlbloods: Humans or animals altered by Yoot''s blood. Owlbloods are capable of using magic, which manifests alongside purple light, and can comprehend runes. Notable Owlbloods: Captain Vernon. Avri, the Raven: Killed eight years before the bulk of the story, at great cost. Avri was worshipped by a cult, which held the Raven to be capable of ''saving'' people. Avri had innumerable eyes and mouths, which gibbered madly. Ravenbloods: Humans or animals altered by Avri''s blood. Ravenbloods are capable of sensing the lifeforce of others, and can incorporate the &*(#!& of the dying, so long as the dying''s blood is smeared across their head. Ravenbloods are known to be insane, and immensely dangerous. Notable Ravenbloods: Orvi, Sash & Dash (latent). The Shrike: Mentioned once. Little is known about the Shrike, besides that it strikes quickly, and disappears just as suddenly. Appears little, known by few. There are no Shrikebloods. Houses: Organisations/Families that control resources, territory and Blooded. House Esfaria: Emblem is a hawk. Uses red colours, and wears lamellar armour. Militaristic, disciplined. General Maja was a member of this House. House Leyden: Infiltrated the Foot and sabotaged House Esfaria in an attempt to steal a technique. Reagan was a scion of this House. House Albright: Supposedly the monarchs of the continent. House Heltia: Mentioned only in reference to the Heltian Conditions. Heltian Conditions: A treaty between Houses for the purpose of killing the Raven and destroying the Cult. Bloodtech: Recent technological advancements powered by runes and sometimes Godsblood. Memory & Madness Prologue Bhan took off his Face, and the villagers erupted in applause. He allowed himself a moment to pant, to be intimate with the exertion that comes after playing the Divinity. His audience¡¯s expressions varied: the children¡¯s mouths and eyes were wide, the men tried to keep their awe from showing while the women openly displayed theirs, and the elders cackled or hooted or applauded, or remained stone-faced. A few had wandered off during the performance ¨C always a blow ¨C but most had been enamoured enough that he¡¯d performed the full hour without rest. ¡°And that,¡± announced Bhan, speaking from the stomach, ¡°is why Dure searches without end ¨C to find that which can never be regained.¡± He paused, allowing silence to settle. ¡°So take heed, good people ¨C and keep close what is loved. Loss waits always, but to obsess is to lose something greater. I am the Face Bhan ¨C and from you I want one thing¡­¡° ¡°Humanity,¡± the crowd attempted to chorus. Most of the younger ones visibly panicked as they missed both the word and the timing, which was one of the most amusing parts of being a Face. They were nudged by the adults around them and, belatedly, managed to echo the sentiment. The young man bowed, marking the end of a successful Divinity. He was moderately proud; he¡¯d spun the classic relationships in a decent way, working off the intrigue ¡®the Godslayers¡¯ and ¡®Slaughter¡¯s Last Dance¡¯ had bestowed upon the Raven and the Lizard. Divinity¡¯s featuring the two had become popular, and Bhan had eaten only speartree tubules and cricket eggs for the past three days. He needed a good show. In the end it had been a derivative showing. The audience cared little. One by one, small children were sent forward with offerings: a carved statuette or a well-knapped blade, a pretty rock or a colourful shirt. Only two approached with actual food ¨C red onions and potatoes. The villager¡¯s sunken cheeks and tired eyes obligated Bhan to refuse. He took them anyway. He was hungry, and the nearest trade outpost was weeks away ¨C if his map was accurate. He¡¯d refused food last Divinity, and it had nearly killed him. He bowed deeply once again, and his audience began to disperse, returning to houses of mud and straw. The settlement was¡­ pitiable. Very little could overshadow the gaudy House cities, the gargantuan Spires of Heltia or even the ice caverns of his homeland¡­ but this village was the shadow. It was dying ¨C that much was plain to see. There were no dogs, or animals. What little clothes the villagers possessed were far too worn for the bitter cold. Most wore sandals, the tips of their toes blackening. The few enclosed shoes were little better: missing pieces and full of yellowed grass. People looked at Bhan, yet refused to make eye-contact with those around them. Some were covered in bruises. The potatoes and onions were small and shrivelled. The walls surrounding the settlement had gaps large enough to fit a man through. Parts of their hovels were made from mud and trunks of sturdy trees, but an unsettling amount was built from speartree ¨C rigid and bone-white, sharp as spite. Undoubtedly poor material for a home, but inflammable. The passing Frost season had been cold, Bhan knew. Sometimes, the only thing that can provide warmth are the walls around you. A bad place, Bhan silently concluded. Sick with a terminal disease. He would mark it off his map upon leaving, as he had done with the last two villages he had visited. And he needed to leave soon ¨C as soon as they noticed he was only a man, they would recoup their losses. There was a saying about Heartlanders: ¡®Three steps from a meal, two steps from fertiliser, and one step from you.¡¯ They were too fond of their sacrifices. With the Aching so late, they had only grown fonder. A Face¡¯s reputation could only stretch so far. The young man moved to accept the final offering, only to pause. A ragged greybeard held aloft a flute carved from spearwood ¨C a material loathed for its difficulty to work and prized for its sturdiness. It wasn¡¯t food, but it was possibly the most valuable thing this village had ever produced. Bhan took it with a nod and slid it into his pack, and began hurriedly striding away, boots squelching in the muddied snow. The warbling rattle of a cleared throat stopped him. Inwardly, he cursed. He should have sprinted. The geezer proceeded with a rusty formality. ¡°Face Ban, if you ¡®ould be so kind as to¡­ sup, at my home.¡± Bhan turned, expression carefully neutral. ¡°We ¡®ave a, uh¡­ spirit¡­ matter.¡± ¡°Eyah old man,¡± Bhan drawled. The senior¡¯s eyes widened slightly. ¡°You lead.¡± Inwardly, the Face seethed. What so strange about my voice? If anything, the way he spoke during the Divinity was stranger ¨C the gods had strange tones ¨C yet it never provoked this kind of reaction. With a small gesture, the greybeard began hobbling deeper into the village¡¯s housing ¨C just as cramped and desolate as the rest. His stride constantly listed to one side. Clearly, the man needed some sort of crutch. Bhan considered offering a hand, but dismissed the idea. It would have been refused. ¡°What the problem un?¡± Bhan allowed a small amount of impatience to seep into the words. A fine line needed to be tread ¨C make the man uncomfortable enough to kick him out quickly but not uncomfortable enough to refuse him food. ¡°W-well, Face Ban, y¡¯see there¡¯s a forest nearby.¡± The old man¡¯s eyes flicked towards him, then away. When the silence began to extend, Bhan spoke again. ¡°Eyah, un. Saw it on the way. Why you not harvest it?¡± All other forms of vegetation ¨C besides speartrees ¨C had been harvested or uprooted. The land around the village was desolate, empty of everything beyond the gleaming white of spearwood, the occasional wood stump, and snow mixed in with the faded red of dead grass. The greybeard licked his lips. ¡°That¡¯s the, erm, issue.¡± He paused, then blanched. ¡°Face Ban. There¡¯s a¡­ spirit, ¡®aunting that forest.¡± Bhan stopped. The geezer hobbled forward a few more paces before glancing backwards and stopping as well. ¡°What it do?¡± The Face kept his features still. ¡°W-well, we tried all the usuals. Lit up some ¡®erbs. Gathered together and walk in. Arranged a sacrifice: th¡¯ last goat we had. Even got some clubs, tried to spook it. It still attacked us, all the same.¡± Bhan¡¯s mouth fell open. ¡°It attacked you? You attacked it? You stupid?¡± He threw up his hands, nearly flinging his pack of his shoulder. ¡°Ox¡¯s swinging ballsack! Why you not tell me, uh?¡± ¡°Ah, it¡¯s just, I figured you-¡° ¡°What the wounds like?¡± the Face interrupted, spittle flying from his mouth. ¡°They bruise? They cut? Anyone sick? Anyone die?¡± ¡°No!¡± the old man shrieked. ¡°No one¡¯s dead! Just bruises. Broken bones-¡° ¡°Broken bones?!¡± Bhan bellowed. ¡°You sure? Absolutely sure?¡± ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m sure!¡± The old man stumbled backwards slightly. Bhan sucked in a breath, held it, then let it go. The greybeard watched; eyes wide. ¡°Apologies. I get fierce ¡®bout this stuff. This serious business. Got to ask ¨C you sure no one¡¯s died?¡± ¡°Y-yes, Face Bhan,¡± the geezer responded, voice quivering. ¡°I¡¯m sure.¡± ¡°By the blood. Just had-¡° Bhan¡¯s eyes flicked to the elder watching him, perfectly still. ¡°Apologies, old un. Need to skip dinner. I go visit your ghost. I manage to clear it ¨C you see big cross.¡± The geezer let out a short bark. ¡°Th-thank-¡° Bhan turned and began striding out of the village, trying to ignore the gurgling in his gut. The hovel¡¯s reeked like a god had done its business in them. That stench ¨C they probably burned dung. It would have ruined his appetite anyway. He swore. *** The forest was impossible to miss. Amidst an expanse completely absent of anything beyond speartrees, snow, tree stumps, and the occasional blood-red scrub, sat a densely-packed collection of trees nearly a thousand paces across. It practically dripped with promises of food and firewood ¨C all the townsfolk needed to survive for just a few months more. Unless the Aching came soon, it wouldn¡¯t save them. And even if it did, the quakes might kill them before they could take advantage of the renewed resources. The village didn¡¯t scream sturdy. Yet Bhan was a Face ¨C it was his responsibility to bring spirits back if they strayed from the path. He stood at the edge of the tree line and sniffed. The skeleton of an oversized elk was draped across a branch. Godkin. Most likely a Strain as well ¨C the Ox hadn¡¯t torn this area up for a few decades, now, so the monster had to be several generations removed from the original Blooded. There was an extra set of ribs as well ¨C an obvious mutation, practically confirming his suspicion. Bad luck for the ghost. A more potent monster might have absorbed the spirit into its blood, priming it for reincarnation upon the eventual bloodletting. Without any gods nearby, a Godkin or Blooded remained its only hope. Unfortunately, Bhan was neither of those things. He could only hope to contain it. Still, all that begged a question: what kind of ghost slaughtered a Godkin, yet left humans alive? It was a strange combination. And if it wasn¡¯t a ghost ¨C maybe a timid monster or human Godkin ¨C Bhan could only hope he could nail it with his sling. Or run faster than it. It could probably run faster than him. ¡°Stupid idea,¡± he muttered. The young man sniffed again. He didn¡¯t have to go in. He could- No, he did have to go in. If he didn¡¯t, his Face would only be for show ¨C and he had spent months making the thing. He shuffled his feet. He didn¡¯t have to- *** Bhan strode inside, undergrowth snapping beneath his feet. As soon as the boundary was crossed, he felt invigorated ¨C alive. Certain death had a way of getting the blood pumping. It had only taken him ten minutes of self-reflection to make it inside. Internally, his mind worked. If the being haunting the forest was a spirit, trapping it wouldn¡¯t be easy. Its power marked it as either a former Blooded or someone with intense emotions ¨C perhaps a combination of the two. Either were particularly volatile. Most ghosts were more subtle creatures; formed of shadow, perceptible to the very young, the very mad, or the spiritually gifted. That had been the case with all shades Bhan had encountered before. This one was different. It could only be a hungry dead. The forest sung beauty like nothing outside the Heartlands did. Blood-red fronds stretched to impossible heights, entwining and separating in their search for sunlight. The bark of most trees was darker than black, each crack allowing fleshy heartwood to peek through ¨C much like a punctured skull exposes brain. Their branches carved through the sky above, interrupted by speartrees puncturing through trunks and branches. Beneath, roots fought and tangled with one another, vying for space alongside crimson shrubbery and the wilted remnants of dead branches. Lichen and fungus of all varieties crawled across every surface: brightly spotted; covered with faded stripes; possessing unearthly reds. And Bhan knew that no botanist could place any piece of vegetation in the same species. The scene was a stunning glimpse into a madman¡¯s fever-dream. Only the occasional sunbeam hinted an outside world existed. It was no surprise the dead wanted it. Two short huffs left Bhan¡¯s mouth. The sound of breaking twigs dogged his steps ¨C almost silent yet somehow unnervingly loud. There should have been birds. There should have been animals. Only bugs ¨C ants, beetles, grubs ¨C lingered, slowly moving through an alien reality. Dark eyes flickered across the landscape. Shapes danced at the edge of his vision; yet when he looked at them, they disappeared. A gaze burned his back. Behind him was a dreadful quiet. He whirled, revealing the same landscape he had passed moments ago. Fearful delusions ¨C or ravenous ghouls? He stepped over a fallen log, sensing death approaching ¨C yet crossed it unmolested. He paused. A clearing was up ahead. He had been walking for a little while, now, so Bhan thought himself reasonably close to the centre. Against the unknown, a man like him had only one weapon. Fascination. Bhan drew his Face from its satchel on his belt. ¡°Before humility and before Houses, before certainty and before security¡­ there was Blood.¡± He spoke in a measured cadence, each syllable heavy as a drumbeat. ¡°And alongside Blood came gods. Dure the Lizard, Enn the Ox, Kani the Fox, Siik the Spider, Wump the Dolphin, Yoot the Owl and Avri the Raven.¡± His spectator wasn¡¯t human, so he could play the eighth, but doing so would only muddy the waters. ¡°The gods are wild and full of secrets ¨C yet through this Face,¡± he raised the mask and turned around, so the audience could see its beige contours, ¡°they will speak to you. The Artful Divinity is part history, part secret, and part fabrication ¨C but none of it is untrue.¡± A variation of his usual introduction ¨C massively abridged and bereft of ceremony. He turned around, attempting to get a grasp on his audience. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Nothing revealed itself. A Face worked off their witnesses ¨C without them, Bhan performed blind. Still, even without eyes, he could speculate. There were three gods that suited such a territorial witness. The first and final were erratic enough to push his witness to anxiety ¨C a sure-fire way to getting Bhan mauled. Only one god could star in this Divinity. Stolen story; please report. ¡°Have you ever wondered why the world twists the way it does? Why rivers run along their beds? Why an arrow can fell a deer? Why things fall when thrown? Siik never did ¨C the Spider sees actions and outcomes as one. But even it is not all-knowing. And when something comes and disturbs its carefully collected web, there was only one thing Siik could do.¡± He let the silence stretch, then continued, ¡°Remove the obstruction.¡± Slowly, Bhan buckled on his Face. He pressed two indents and twisted the mask; rotating it halfway and turning the pattern of the mask into one with eight piercing eyes, four oversized fangs, deep chitin and a lattice of web-like patterns, connecting it all. Siik¡¯s Face ¨C one of eight he had lovingly constructed. As soon as it clicked into place, he stretched his limbs out and lowered his torso slightly. Then, he went rigid, breathing as shallowly as he could manage. The quiet stretched ¨C one heartbeat, ten, twenty, forty, sixty ¨C then his head twisted. An intake of breath somewhere in the canopy ¨C the Spider¡¯s eight eyes fixed on it. A silhouette, squatting atop a branch. There, Bhan thought, now I see. The stillness stretched. Then he rotated his body at a mundane speed made rapid by contrast. His body went rigid again. ¡°Something,¡± the Spider spoke, words perfectly enunciated and almost mundane; excepting the rattling clicks occurring almost simultaneously, ¡°meddles with Web.¡± He scuttled across the clearing and stopped, then slowly panned his head from left to right. He did it again. And again. ¡°They are loud; they eat more than they should; they come into my mountain and create mess.¡± ¡°Something,¡± the Spider said, tone cold, clicks agitated, ¡°is incorrect.¡± The clicks continued, growing increasingly rapid. The Spider continued its patrol with a heightened fervour. Suddenly, his gaze fixed on a spot on the forest floor, and he grew still. ¡°There!¡± it exclaimed. ¡°What is this small, wrong, thing?¡± He paused. ¡°What will it do? Will it sing like a bird; flow like a river; fall like a stone; run like a wolf; rot like a dead thing?¡± He scuttled backwards and forwards, even as his gaze remained fixed. ¡°What must I do? When I wrap it in my cocoon, will it starve; will it burn; will it fall apart; will it break my silk?¡± He continued to pace back and forward with the Spider¡¯s peculiar gait. The clicking stopped, and he grew rigid once again. ¡°Outcomes ¨C consequences. I need to know.¡± He tilted his head. ¡°Perhaps the Ox, in its rampage, has seen them before.¡± He chittered over to one side of the clearing, keeping his Face visible to his only viewer. ¡°Enn, look at this ¨C have you laid eyes on it at all?¡± In one fluid movement, Bhan depressed the indentations and rotated his Face once again, transforming Siik¡¯s fangs into two curling horns, its eyes becoming the tumultuous brows of the Ox. Alongside his Face¡¯s transformation came a change in mannerism: the Spider¡¯s stillness melted into a constant trembling. His shoulders lowered, and a deep rumble began to sound in his chest. Bhan was relieved at the transition ¨C his tongue was beginning to hurt from all the clicking. ¡°This thing,¡± the Ox rumbled, ¡°is a loathsome, hateful thing.¡± He bellowed suddenly, swishing his head back and forth. ¡°Destroy it ¨C and leave! There are more gnats to squash.¡± He twirled, using the brief moment his Face was turned away from the silhouette to turn back into the Spider. Leaving a god so quickly always felt slightly wasteful ¨C but a spiritual showing of the Divinity was much shorter than a human one. Some concessions had to be made. He froze, rigid. The Spider chittered, ¡°the Ox, that furious fool, has said little. A calmer god is needed: the Lizard, always cool?¡± Bhan blanched as a scoff rang it. That was unusual. Rhyming in a Divinity felt somewhat alien to him ¨C it used a radically different method of speech than he was used to. Attempts tended to feel lacklustre. Yet the audience rarely cared ¨C for a ghost to be coherent enough to do so? He used the transition from Spider to Lizard to make space to think. Some knowledge regarding a spirit¡¯s individual traits were required to trap it. That was part of the purpose of using a Divinity: to trick the spirit into revealing its nature. If he were Blooded, it would be a far simpler matter ¨C but the best Face¡¯s weren¡¯t. It made them lean too heavily towards a single facet, instead of dealing equally in all eight. For this particular ghost, its cohesion could mean a few things: it was an Owlblood, it felt very strongly about something, or¡­ But none of that truly mattered. Whatever it was, his goal remained the same: learn about it, and lure it into a dialogue, trapping it if necessary. But it was only a chance. More information was required. The thought nearly made him laugh. Was he playing the Spider, or himself? The rotation had been extended to an excessive amount ¨C yet the Lizard¡¯s facet was his favourite by far. Every Face was biased in some way. To Bhan, Dure seemed like a romantic figure. It was, after all, a god who never stopped wandering, despite the many reports of it being constantly wounded. Despite those facts, most Faces played it as a dull-witted mute, more comic than anything else. Lizardbloods tended to be a bit thick, after all. But gods were gods, and a Face who taught their audience disrespect was, in Bhan¡¯s opinion, an abject failure. The rotation turned the Spider¡¯s fangs into great chunks of flesh falling off the Lizard¡¯s body, while its eyes became crawling parasites. Its eye-holes were deep-set and blackened. Bhan slid to his knees and began crawling forwards at an agonising pace. His body drooped, and movement forward became a constant battle not to fall over. It was hell on his wrists. It was custom to ensure Dure¡¯s words were incomprehensible. Whether that was due to it speaking in gibberish or simply because it couldn¡¯t speak was left up to the Face. But just because the Lizard could not be heard did not mean it had nothing to say. ¡°The creature,¡± the Lizard murmured, whispers too quiet to be heard by any but itself, ¡°does not still. But it can. And it can still others.¡± He spun back into Siik. ¡°No answer. Dure does not see,¡± the Spider said evenly, even as its clicking rose to a crescendo, ¡°it only moves. Perhaps a more perceptive god is needed ¨C the Fox, ever-hearing?¡± He clicked the mask to its final aspect on this side. Kani¡¯s design was minimalistic compared to the others ¨C two massive ears formed from the Spider¡¯s fangs and thin eyes from the Ox¡¯s angry brows. In a moment of panic, Bhan decided to play down the Fox¡¯s twitchiness ¨C any surprises could provoke his audience. Bhan felt the Divinity fall into place. The story had been put into motion. The hardest parts were always the beginning; improvising past the fumbles, awkward phrasings, and last-second adaptations. Nothing he did could conquer that. Yet now that he had pushed this cart forward, all he had to do was ride downhill to the finish. He breathed in and out, tension falling from his mind. All the Face had to do was read the audience and finish the show. The Fox vividly described the being the Spider was investigating ¨C its four limbs, clever talons, blunt feet, and hairless body ¨C before advocating the torture and eventual murder of the creature. The Spider, growing increasingly agitated, turned to the Dolphin for aid, which forced Bhan to invert his Face, turning it inside-out and revealing the other four aspects. That manoeuvre resulted in an exhale barely audible in the quiet of the forest. Another piece of the puzzle slotted into place. The other side was covered in what could be construed as either feathers or scales. It made sense ¨C three had birds as their namesake, and the Dolphin was a fish. It was also the only god Bhan had ever laid eyes upon. He was good at playing it, though. Even as his teacher had criticised all his other facets, the Dolphin always passed perfectly. Whenever the young man performed a Divinity, his Wump almost always got something thrown at it. It was closest to human ¨C in an arrogant, distorted, and psychopathic way ¨C and that made it all the more loathsome. Of course, the Dolphin could only endorse slavery of the most brutal kind. Bhan wouldn¡¯t allow it to give any other response. That wasn¡¯t information, though, so the Spider consulted the Owl ¨C the wisest of gods. The Owl, rarely moving from its perch, gave Siik something close to an answer. According to tradition, that tended to be the Owl¡¯s role ¨C an expository device or, alternatively, a dispenser of misinformation. This time, it was the former. Yoot informed Siik that it had dubbed the creatures humans, and were indeed creatures that could bleed, and could be killed. ¡°Muuuch like hungry wooolves,¡± said the Owl, ¡°oooooor rabid beaaars.¡± Siik took the words, but remained suspicious. If they were indeed living things, and could hold memories and eventually die, then one god should be most familiar with them. Avri; the Raven. Bhan moved to transition to that particular facet, only for a blur to cross his vision. Before he had time to react, a stone impacted against his hand, jarring his fingerbones. He clenched his eyes shut, supressing the urge to keel over and clutch at the injury. The Divinity wasn¡¯t over. Breaking character could aggravate the spirit more. He tried again. A sound emanated through the clearing; the twisted offspring of a growl and a cough. The hair on Bhan¡¯s arm stood. Opened eyes found the silhouette gone from its perch. ¡°Liar.¡± The voice crackled like dead wood. ¡°The gods. They don¡¯t speak. They aren¡¯t people. Monsters, all monsters.¡± Bhan twisted his body around and around, inwardly cursing at the narrowed vision his Face imparted. ¡°You¡¯ve seen. The warnings. Or heard them. Yet you come here. And-and lie?¡± ¡°The Artful Divinity always true.¡± The Face cast his voice across the forest, letting it search for his audience. ¡°It not a god¡¯s truth. It not the world¡¯s truth. It a human¡¯s truth.¡± ¡°Wrong audience, then.¡± It was behind him. He whirled, and there it was. The hungry dead, the ravenous ghoul, skin cast in scabs and blisters, wrapped around emaciated bones and muscle. Yet dying hadn¡¯t robbed its form of power. Despite its state, it was large, possessing limbs thickly corded with muscle. Dark hair like dead weeds trailed down its head, concealing its face. ¡°Y-you.¡± The ghost¡¯s words tripped, stumbled over themselves. ¡°You. Leave.¡± Bhan slowed his rapid breaths. He was a Face. He had a duty. ¡°Leave!¡± Death stalked this place. Yet there was greater shame than dying. Here was a soul in need. And before it was a man with a duty. ¡°No,¡± Bhan whispered. Then it moved, and reality fell away. *** He woke up with blood in his mouth and the stars above him. The young man¡¯s braid was spooled behind him, wet with melted snow. Bhan sat up, and immediately winced. There was a blacksmith in his head, filling it with the awful screech of blades being sharpened. Undoubtedly, this beat the worst hangovers he had ever had. Most times he got punched in the face, he deserved it. This time, it felt more difficult to judge. Slowly, he rose. As he did, something slid off him. A blanket. His blanket. All his other possessions were missing. Bhan frowned. Then snorted. *** ¡°¡­a Face something like a¡­ theatre troupe, uh? Except it just one person ¨C maybe apprentice, too. And it only speak of gods.¡± Besides his words, the clearing was silent. Night reigned in full, casting the crimson forest a much deeper red. Yet Bhan knew how to project his voice, and the forest was small. If there were creatures within these woods, they would have to be deaf not to hear him. ¡°Gods important. But most people never see gods. And then the Ox comes running through, and they don¡¯t know what should be done, and they die. Divinity teaches about gods. What they like. Teach about Blooded, too. What Blooded like.¡± He was seated on red grass, in the process of mending his Face. There was a crack running through it. It hadn¡¯t been struck ¨C he had been hit in the jaw ¨C so it must have hit something tough at some point. Sap from some heartwood would keep it from fracturing further, at least until he could get the materials to fix it properly. ¡°Little fib, there,¡± Bhan muttered. ¡°Everyone knows gods. Most know Blooded, too. Face teaches people. Gods make good people. Even though they not.¡± He used the ends of his fingernails to coat the gap, then spat angrily. ¡°Ox¡¯s bollocks, that frustrating. Messed up. Didn¡¯t set. Clear it out; start again. Anyway-¡° ¡°Leave.¡± There it was. At the edge of the clearing, just shy of six feet, stood a figure Bhan recognised as human. A human man, unfortunately. It would be nice if it were some primal warrior-woman. He kept his eyes fixed on the mask, and his movements slow. Any hints of hostility would lead to him beaten and bruised. ¡°Eyah big un. You Blooded?¡± ¡°By the blood, leave you stupid bastard!¡± ¡°Och, good voice.¡± He thought about that for a moment, then corrected himself. ¡°Good projection. What you doing in this pile of trees?¡± At the corner of his eye, Bhan saw the man splay his hands in frustration. ¡°Funny thing ¨C villagers thought you a ghost.¡± ¡°Then they¡¯re idiots,¡± the savage spat. ¡°Even bigger fools than you.¡± Bhan covered his mouth just in time to avoid a smug grin. ¡°Uh?¡± ¡°Ghost¡¯s aren¡¯t real.¡± The tones grew smoother the longer they spoke. For the first time, Bhan turned around and looked at the man. The ¡®ghost¡¯ looked worse than a beaten dog. The wounds covering his skin were ceaseless, making it difficult to determine its original colour. Bruises; blisters; festering cuts ¨C all laid atop a body barren of an inch of fat. Lizardblood, Bhan thought, only Lizardblood can live like that. He schooled his expression. ¡°Ghosts real, un.¡± ¡°How come I¡¯ve never seen one?¡± The words allowed flashes of surprisingly white teeth. ¡°God got yours. Drew ¡®em in, sucked ¡®em up. Or monsters did.¡± The Face narrowed his eyes. ¡°Maybe even Blooded.¡± The man hunched over his stomach like he¡¯d just been slugged. Bhan continued quickly. ¡°Not you, big un. Stronger Blooded. Barely human. Have the god¡¯s features in full.¡± ¡°¡­Yeah, okay.¡± Bhan rubbed the back of his head. He drummed his fingers. ¡°How old?¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°You twelve?¡± ¡°Fifteen.¡± Hook, line, and sinker. ¡°You hate people? That why you want them out?¡± The Blooded¡¯s silence was thick, full of anticipation. ¡°Yes,¡± came the answer. ¡°Mm. You know, Face does a bit of walking. Bit of lonely walking, place to place. Days. Sometimes weeks. I come out of it, I like to talk. Chat-chat, can¡¯t stop. You like a talk, too.¡± The boy made a choked sound, eyebrows scrunched. ¡°No, it true. You a talker too. Got to ask: you hate me?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± the adolescent hissed, ¡°I do.¡± ¡°You very pleasant, then.¡± ¡°I knocked you out!¡± ¡°You cover me with a blanket, too.¡± The Face sniffed. ¡°Do that for people you hate?¡± There was a long pause. ¡°Don¡¯t hate people,¡± he said, nodding. ¡°I people. Villagers people. Haven¡¯t killed us. You could; you don¡¯t. The boy¡¯s silence continued. ¡°What is it, uh? What you think? Why you here?¡± Bhan allowed the silence to extend, this time. There was a point, here. A fulcrum, on which this conversation would swing. It was a delicate situation. He had an opportunity to pry this boy away ¨C but only one. ¡°Quiet place, here. Empty. Nothing moves.¡± He cast his eyes downward and nodded. ¡°Lot of places like this.¡± His listener was frozen. ¡°The Spider ¨C Siik ¨C I taught for you. Siik lives in a cave. Quiet. Like you. My Spider ¨C scared, always scared. Cannot move.¡± The boy¡¯s breaths were audible. Bhan looked at him, squinting past the curtain of tangled hair and to the deep brown eyes beneath. Something familiar lay inside of them. Gently, he smiled. ¡°But, see, you said it. Gods not people. You people. Siik can only do one thing. Can only be one thing. Spider is trapped in itself.¡± He took his mask and twisted it, showing it to the boy. ¡°Look at my Face. There are seven,¡± Bhan lied, ¡°seven gods crammed in here. Monsters, all. And I put it on ¨C I all those monsters. Every one of them is me. ¡°I can be scared. I can be angry. I can be mean. I can be violent. I can be something better off dead. And I can take it off, and be a person again.¡± For a moment, the boy stopped breathing. Bhan wished he could read minds. ¡°You like the Spider. But more than that, you,¡± said Bhan, pointing at the boy, ¡°like me,¡± he pointed to himself. ¡°More than any god.¡± ¡°Leave,¡± the boy whispered. ¡°Before I kill you.¡± ¡°You could,¡± Bhan crooned, nodding. ¡°You could. But you gave me a blanket. You killed no villagers. You didn¡¯t kill me. You don¡¯t hate people.¡± The boy¡¯s gaze lowered, falling between his feet. Bhan staggered upright, and the boy flinched. The Face sighed. ¡°I want you to look at me.¡± The boy¡¯s shoulders began shaking. Bhan took a step closer. ¡°Look at me.¡± The boy kept his eyes downward. His breaths emerged and withdrew ¨C ragged as old bandages. Slowly, the Face walked until he could reach out and touch his audience. ¡°Look at me.¡± Hesitantly, the boy¡¯s eyes met his own. They gleamed. Trails of tears left clean lines through the grime covering his face. All the pieces were in place. Bhan breathed in, and out. ¡°You won¡¯t kill me.¡± He took his Face, and tapped the small rupture. ¡°And see the crack, here? You did that.¡± The boy blanched. ¡°Took years to make this Face. You owe me, big un. I need a new one.¡± The Face¡¯s expression concealed the lie perfectly. ¡°Need you to make it. And you work for me until you do.¡± The boy swallowed. Something incomprehensible passed beneath the tears, and for a distended moment, Bhan thought he would die. Then the tears grew heavier, and the boy¡¯s chest began raising and falling minutely. Quiet sobs emerged from clenched teeth. The young man wrapped his arms around the adolescent, and held him for a time. Then the weeping slowed. The adolescent managed a nod. At that, Bhan let out a deep sigh, and after a brief pause, let him go, took a step back, and bowed deeply. He straightened. ¡°I am Face Bhan.¡± There was a long silence. Bhan shot him a meaningful look. ¡°Vin,¡± the boy responded. ¡°I¡¯m, uh, Vin.¡± The man¡¯s face opened, revealing his yellowed teeth. ¡°Eyah, Vin.¡± He offered an open palm. Vin wiped his face, and shook it. *** Past a crimson forest, a young man and a much younger one walked through a ravaged landscape; picked clean of value, leaving only dead stumps, shrubs, and branches. White trees jutted out of it all like the bones of an enormous beast. The older youth looked back, keeping an eye on his fellow. The other¡¯s back was hunched, as if the air above weighed a world. His gaze was fixed on the besmirched snow beneath his feet. Yet, hesitantly, it began moving upwards, until his eyes were cast skyward. Above it all, the stars shone, and the moons watched. Briefly, his lips quirked. Then his eyes fell on the earth beneath, and any hint of a smile vanished, as if it had never existed at all. Chapter 31 - Four Years Distance Vin fell ¨C wait, I fell? I watched Vin fall? I¡­ hit the ground? Was I even there? ¡­Let me start over. I was subsumed in a darkness that implied no light. It was all-encompassing: lacking form, colour, and motion. In such a space, thoughts were an impossibility, and memory a delusion. There was no ¡®I¡¯ ¨C there was no one at all. For a brief, blissful moment, there was nothing. Then my eyes blinked open and someone was screaming at me. ¡°Vin!¡± they shouted. ¡°Move!¡± I rolled backwards over rough stone, bones creaking as my vast weight shifted, and barely avoided a chitin-clad leg stabbing down at me. Another three immediately followed, one ¨C surrounded by a purple glow ¨C cracking painfully against the floor beside me, while I barely managed to catch the other two in each hand. The full weight of the Godkin above began to press downwards. A guttural yell erupted from my chest. ¡°Kit, cut the legs! Ronnie, hold it!¡± Two pairs of human legs settled behind me and suddenly I was holding two severed chunks of monster as its brackish blood rained on me. Ronnie¡¯s deformed shoulders braced against the creature, preventing it from collapsing on top of me. I scrambled backwards, rising to my feet in time to avoid another gout of blood. ¡°Kit ¨C its blindside!¡± The young woman shoved past me, helmet smacking painfully against my shoulder, and managed to duck and slip into the Godkin¡¯s blind spots ¨C four of its seven eyes were blinded by arrows ¨C and jam her longsword between a chink in the chitin. A low keening filled the air. Blood pounded in my head. Kit yanked, but her sword was stuck. ¡°Ronnie, let go!¡± The Ox Strain let go, forcing the monster to collapse ¨C just in time to throw off the limb crashing towards her. ¡°I need a crack!¡± I yelled. Immediately after my request, a blur of purple slammed into the Godkin, accompanied by the ringing retort of splintered chitin. The bolt juddered, pierced atop its bizarre abdomen. Kit ripped it out, and I called upon stolen memories to jam the severed leg into the gap created, shoving it deeper and deeper until I felt its life begin to- You- I threw the blood-soaked bandana off my head. My eyes shuddered in their sockets as deep gasps tore themselves from my lungs. ¡°Is it dead?¡± came the slow drawl of Gast. Ronnie ¨C several paces away from the corpse ¨C shook their head, the motion sending her scrap armour jangling. ¡°It will be in a moment,¡± proclaimed Davian from behind. ¡°Excellent word, Whip ¨C your orders saved Vin from a hole in his chest.¡± I could practically feel the girl¡¯s sheepish smile. I regained my breath enough to straighten. ¡°And Kit,¡± Davian continued, ¡°that was a very-¡° ¡°Kit.¡± I whirled on her, a furious scowl spread across my face. ¡°What¡¯s my one condition?¡± She paused where she stood, wiping her blade down. ¡°You little rat. We really gonna do this?¡± ¡°My one condition?¡± I hissed. ¡°How ¡®bout yer shield?¡± she exclaimed, gesturing to the splinters still strapped to my arm. ¡°Let¡¯s chat ¡®bout that. What happened there? ¡°No, you stupid reprobate,¡± I snarled, ¡°why did you get godsdamned blood all over me?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not your mam. I saved yer life-¡° ¡°I would¡¯ve rather-¡± ¡°-so sorry I couldn¡¯t baby you-¡± ¡°-gotten stabbed than gotten blood on me ¨C I¡¯m a Lizard, let me take it.¡± Her eyes gleamed. ¡°Oh, we can st-ill work somethin¡¯ out.¡± Ronnie placed their vast bulk between us, placing their thickly-muscled arm against her, and the twisted, tiny one against me. ¡°Ox¡¯s balls, Kit, I ask for one thing!¡± I bellowed down at her. ¡°And you can¡¯t even give me that?¡± She let out an angry huff. ¡°I didn¡¯t come here with a plank of bloody wood for a shield. Where in everythin¡¯ green and good did your proper one go?¡± My eyes widened, and my lips peeled back. ¡°Not your business, girl.¡± On the edges of the red haze, I saw Ronnie gesture at someone. ¡°Girl? What are you, twenty?¡± She¡¯d overshot by two. ¡°I¡¯ll show you twenty.¡± ¡°Come on, big man.¡± Her eyes looked up at me, sneering. ¡°Take a swing. See where it gets ya.¡± Then Davian was there, both hands on my chest. I let him push me out of the cave, while Kit yelled obscenities after me.
¡°Whoever heard of an Oxkin spider, huh?¡± I hacked a leg off a monster corpse as Davian nattered on. Even after I had sown the gash in his side closed, the old man fought through the pain, unwilling to let silence lie. ¡°We have fought Oxkin spiders before, though?¡± Whip¡¯s voice was tremulous; uncertain. I heard him chuff quietly as I severed another limb. Monster parts were valuable, but we didn¡¯t have enough space to take every dead body. Most would be left to the harvesters waiting just outside of the area ¨C and they would ensure we didn¡¯t see a single chit of profit. It was important to get the best pieces early. ¡°That¡¯s not what I meant, kid. It¡¯s¡­ well, it¡¯s-¡° ¡°It¡¯s just an expression,¡± I explained without looking up. ¡°Davian¡¯s trying to get a conversation going.¡± I saw Whip nod from where she sat, inventorying the pieces we gathered using some chalk and a tablet. Her bad leg made it difficult for her to perform laborious tasks, and no one was certain whether the knocks she¡¯d taken had fractured anything, or if her padded armour had deflected the worst of it. She herself couldn¡¯t even tell us if it hurt; Whip was incapable of feeling pain. We¡¯d collectively yelled her into relative inactivity, at least until we could rent a runestone to check her bone density. Her massively oversized crossbow laid beside her, unloaded. Gast, Ronnie and Kit were bloodletting the progenitor monsters. The offspring ¨C Strains, though it seemed cruel to place my teammates in the same category ¨C would lack divinity in their blood, so they had just a few corpses to drain. It was easy enough work, especially since the three of them possessed only superficial wounds, though Gast¡¯s arm had bruised so badly it was immobilised. Ronnie had taken several brutal hits, but their armour had helped them avoid injury, and the blood covering Kit hadn¡¯t been her own. Not injuries that demanded immediate mending. Which was helpful, given that we were also entirely out of healing and enhancement potions ¨C Gast had taken a bad gash protecting the backliners and Ronnie had needed to chug the enhancers to avoid snapping their tendons when things got dicey. My wounds had already closed, for the most part. Fortunately for us, Gast knew a set of runes for cleansing rot. It only took a bit of Godsblood to function, which was handy. I wiped my bloodied hands on the crimson grass beneath. The heartwoods outside the man-made clearing were dense, packed closely together. Visibility was poor. Felling a patch of trees and relocating fallen logs and brush had taken the better part of two days, but trying to fight in the forest would have been a death sentence given how the quantity of trees prevented most swings. We had entered the Godkin¡¯s cave reluctantly ¨C the queen had been savvy enough not to play on our terms. The decision had been rewarded with a ruined shield and half a second of unconsciousness. ¡°Do spiders usually have so many children?¡± I shrugged. ¡°Ah, well, it depends,¡± Davian eagerly responded. ¡°They tend to have a few dozen, but it varies by species. It¡¯s difficult to tell in the Heartlands.¡± Whip chewed on a piece of her black hair. ¡°But at least half of its children must have died.¡± ¡°What makes you think that?¡± ¡°They¡¯re Strains,¡± she stated blandly. ¡°Ah, well, yes.¡± Kit and I were the only non-Strains in the team. Davian¡¯s face was twisted into a whirlpool beneath his straw-like hair and leathery skin. Gast was entirely hairless and ate less than the most malnourished child, yet she remained bizarrely obese. Ronnie, despite their considerable size, had a child¡¯s arm and an inability to speak. And Whip¡¯s leg required daily draining, lest it fill with pus. Even beyond their most noticeable traits, their mutations forced idiosyncrasies they needed to structure their lives around. I had thought Kit would bond with me most readily, given how Strains were viewed. A na?ve conception. A yell echoed through the forest. I kept my eyes on the task. ¡°What¡¯re ya lippin¡¯ a-bout?¡± The voice was deep for a woman, yet smooth as the surface of a lake. It would¡¯ve been enjoyable, had a less obnoxious person wielded it. I scowled. If only draining took longer. Kit strutted into the clearing. Her fur armour was still damp from its cleaning, yet bloodstains remained. Ronnie copied her, a wry smile placed on their strangely infantile face. My lips quivered, but it was an extravagant flick of their white hair ¨C as if it weren¡¯t ear-length ¨C that finally broke me. I snorted. The young woman grinned mirthlessly in response. ¡°Came lookin¡¯ for intelligent conversation ¨C was stuck out there with dumb and dumber ¨C yet here¡¯s a brain too big for me. C¡¯mon, Vin,¡± her drawling accent transitioned to one with careful enunciation, ¡°enlighten us ¨C what is your splendiferous joke?¡± ¡°There¡¯s none.¡± My face was straight, humour having withdrawn. ¡°Ah, but something must have been hilarious!¡± ¡°I¡¯m just that funny.¡± ¡°Yeah?¡± she said, accent reasserting itself. ¡°It wasn¡¯t ya just bein¡¯ snarky?¡± My eyebrows tented, and I turned from my butchery for the first time. ¡°Snarky?¡± ¡°Sassy.¡± ¡°Right.¡± I thought for a moment. ¡°No. I¡¯ve cooled down.¡± The lie was effortless. ¡°Sure.¡± Her words were terse. ¡°Then let¡¯s have a cool talk about your godsdamned shield.¡± I closed my eyes for a moment. ¡°That¡¯s not your business.¡± ¡°No.¡± Her tone was harsh. ¡°We both know that¡¯s a mound of steamin¡¯ dung. Yer equipment matters.¡± ¡°If I get myself killed-¡° ¡°I¡¯m not worried ¡®bout you. We all need you takin¡¯ hits. You mess up, one of us dies.¡± My teeth sunk into my lip. ¡°If I admit I messed up, can you make an effort to keep blood off me?¡± The breeze carried a scent of stale sweat towards me. Gast emerged from the treeline, huffing and panting as she heaved her vast bulk towards us. Kit squinted at me. ¡°You can¡¯t keep ¡®way from blood. Not in this work.¡± A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter,¡± I said, shaking my head. ¡°That¡¯s my condition. Back there ¨C you should¡¯ve let me get stabbed.¡± ¡°Enn¡¯s greasy crack,¡± she exclaimed. Ronnie¡¯s face contorted in disgust, and Davian made a gagging sound. ¡°No! You gettin¡¯ hurt risks everyone else. Die on yer own time.¡± ¡°I¡¯m a Lizardblood. I can fight ¨C have fought ¨C with holes in me.¡± ¡°That¡¯s-¡° ¡°Vin,¡± Gast interrupted. Her large green eyes were piercing. ¡°Time for dinner?¡± Kit spat on grass, then strode over to Whip. The girl started as the woman plopped down beside her and started squinting I nodded. ¡°Give me a hand?¡± She inclined her head. I straightened up, stretching to my full height ¨C taller than anyone present except Ronnie. My stature was a memento of a dead time, carved directly into my bones. The hairless lady and I set to starting a fire. Gathering materials and digging a pit was my job, while putting the fire together was hers. We settled on a decent spot mostly free of bodies. I used my scabbard to shovel earth away ¨C tiny roots tying chunks of dirt together ¨C while Gast tried not to doze. We¡¯d been operating on minimal sleep while the extermination was ongoing, and she had been hit the hardest ¨C Gast usually needed to spend half the day resting to function well. Small sticks were easy to find, and there were enough branches around to fuel a smithy. A few chops created manageable chunks, at the cost of a slightly blunted blade. Barely moments passed before I had enough to use, and when I return Gast already had an ember burning in some dried grass. It only made sense ¨C all it took her was two rubbed hands, a press of her runestone and a flash of purple to gain a spark. ¡°Can you make it a bit hotter?¡± The only response was a shuffle as she poked the runestone within her pouch, accompanied by the flame flaring purple for a moment. ¡°Thanks.¡± I cleared my throat, then yelled: ¡°Is everyone alright eating the Strains?¡± Ronnie stopped working chitin off a corpse to whirl and adopt an expression of exaggerated fear. Their underdeveloped hand accompanied an overdeveloped one, contorting in a few short, purposeful gestures ¨C even as the hands shook. I only caught ¡®food¡¯ and ¡®prevent¡¯. ¡°Don¡¯t eat me,¡± Whip translated blandly. Ronnie made another series of gestures, and Whip cleared her throat again. ¡°Don¡¯t eat me!¡± she screeched with a pitch closer to a bird¡¯s than a human¡¯s. I winced at the sound. ¡°Is that better?¡± The giant smiled crookedly. ¡°Are you sure I can¡¯t eat you?¡± I asked, exceedingly polite. Whip¡¯s lips quirked awkwardly. ¡°No?¡± ¡°Damn. I¡¯ll settle for the spiders, then. Is everyone alright with that?¡± There were nods all round. Ronnie gestured something. ¡°Can you put them in the little dough-balls?¡± Whip translated. ¡°Uh¡­¡± My gaze stretched upwards as I tried to remember if we had the ingredients. ¡°Do we still have potatoes?¡± ¡°No,¡± supplied Whip, ¡°we ate those three days ago.¡± ¡°Dumplings are off the menu, then. We¡¯ll have stew.¡± Kit groaned. I plastered a pleasant smile across my face. ¡°What? Stew¡¯s good.¡± She imitated my expression. On her, it looked mocking. Or perhaps it had looked poor on me as well. ¡°Sorry to tell ya, but yer stew¡¯s dog-chow.¡± A vein my forehead popped. ¡°Ronnie can have your portion, then.¡± The giant in question smacked their lips loudly. Kit¡¯s face scrunched up, and after a long pause she opened her mouth to speak. However, it was Davian that spoke first. ¡°Come now Vin,¡± he protested, overly loud, ¡°that seems a mite unfair, does it not?¡± I cocked an eyebrow. ¡°If she doesn¡¯t want to eat it, I won¡¯t force her.¡± Turning to the tall woman, I asked, ¡°Do you want to eat my ¡®dog-chow¡¯?¡± The black skin around her eyes scrunched up. ¡°No,¡± she spat. Nodding, I turned back to the pot, just in time to conceal a victorious smirk. Sometimes, it really was too easy. Unfortunately, she couldn¡¯t let me get the last laugh. I chopped and stirred. Davian and Whip looked for edible plants. Ronnie continued levering chunks of chitin off the monsters, occasionally throwing me a strip of edible meat. Gast napped. And Kit threw pebbles at me. I managed to dodge and catch the first few, even with my back turned, however that only escalated the barrage. By the time the stew was ready to sit, my patience had worn down to a single thread. Twisting my body to glare at her, I said, ¡°Can you stop?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± She stared blankly, and continued pelting me with tiny stones. ¡°Will you stop?¡± ¡°No.¡± I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. ¡°Ronnie, can you watch the pot?¡± They paused, and nodded. At that, I grabbed my backpack, turned around and jogged to the edge of the clearing, then pulled myself up onto one of the sturdier trees. The black wood of the branch was curled and thorny, but it was good enough. Kit followed, and stood below, looking up. ¡°Yer runnin¡¯, then?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± I brushed aside the broken wing tied to my pack, and flipped open its scarred leather flap. I removed a carving I¡¯d been working on, drew my knife from my belt, and started whittling at it. ¡°Really?¡± she intoned. Her voice grew darker. ¡°Yer just gonna leave and not say what¡¯s up with the shield?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± I was working on the stump of a severed arm. ¡°Look ¨C it¡¯s a problem. Yer gear keeps us in one piece. If you don¡¯t have a shield, how¡¯re you gonna shield us?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll get a new one.¡± ¡°That¡¯s-¡° she began, then paused. ¡°What?¡± I turned the carving around, trying to perfect the finer details of the cloth around the stump. It wouldn¡¯t work. It never did. ¡°You¡¯re right.¡± I tried not to think of the meaning behind those words. ¡°I¡¯ll get a better shield.¡± ¡°Ah. Right. Yer not lyin¡¯?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°O-kay¡­¡± At that, she turned slowly, and began meandering back to the pot. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her shoo Ronnie away from the stew and begin watching it. I continued scraping at the wood with my blade. It was spearwood ¨C bone white, and tough as anything. Poor material for most woodworkers, however I needed the extra resistance. In a way the entire process felt meditative, bringing to mind working on my Face years ago as Bhan crooned instructions at me. With a flourish, the knife gouged a final crease in the cloth. A puff blew away the splinters, and I scowled. It was imperfect, once again. The fold was slightly off. I growled. It had been going so well: the proportions were accurate; the clothes were rendered well; the blade¡¯s filagree was done correctly. But the stump ¨C the godsdamned stump- ¡°Mess up again?¡± intoned Gast, splayed across the forest floor. I sighed, allowing the embers of rage to die. ¡°Yeah.¡± ¡°Whip¡¯ll be happy.¡± Kit looked up from the pot. ¡°Why?¡± The butchering had finished at some point, so Ronnie sat sharpening their axe, using their tiny arm to run a whetstone along it. They used the weapon to make a circular motion, then settled back in to continue. ¡°She collects carvings,¡± I said, shuffling off my perch. Circumnavigating the gleaming spikes in the wood was difficult. ¡°She likes mine, for whatever reason.¡± Gast snorted, sending jiggles through the fat beneath her leathers. ¡°¡¯Collects carvings,¡¯ huh.¡± I grunted. Ronnie grunted immediately after. Kit giggled; then laughed; then erupted into a fit of cackling. The giant in question began wheezing, and continued making grunting noises. I chuckled. ¡°Shut up.¡± Momentarily, the young woman quietened, wiping tears from her dark eyes. A grunt from Gast defeated the silence, and Kit heaved back into explosive laughter. As the giant and the swordswoman bayed like hyenas, I, somewhat awkwardly, dropped off the branch and settled down to maintain my weapons. My knife was the first. It¡¯s possible to fight without a dagger, but entirely impossible live without one. This particular knife was rather beat, its bronze twisted and warped ¨C Gast had borrowed it to make modifications to some of her runestones, which blunted the tip badly. Bronze and rock didn¡¯t mix well. That, combined with my efforts carving, placed the knife rather worryingly on the ¡®ruined¡¯ side of things. I inspected my halberd, next. It had been leaning against a speartree. Everything was fine there ¨C I hadn¡¯t used it this extermination. There simply wasn¡¯t enough room to swing it. We had brought actual saws to fell the trees this time as well, so it hadn¡¯t been blunted against gnarled heartwood. Even if I had used it, it was made of Lizardkin bone ¨C it wouldn¡¯t break so easily. My sling¡¯s knots needed tightening. An easy fix. Which was good, because my ¡®shield¡¯ was completely irreparable. I had accepted that fate the moment I decided to use a barrel lid. I sighed. Bad call. But the dice hadn¡¯t been in my favour last week ¨C the only option had been to pawn my metal one. My teeth ground. Bad call nonetheless. The sword came last. Inwardly, I told myself it was good, Owlforged iron. Yet a part of me cringed at the sight of it. Angular; simple; well-wrought; yet it paled in comparison to the blade I was accustomed to. It wasn¡¯t extraordinary. It was too light; too unbalanced; too blunt. It was just another piece of detritus, strewn across the forest floor. The sound of a set of haltering steps thumped over to me. By the time I was done, Whip, crutch snug under her arm, and Davian, silent as an ant, walked back into the clearing, each carrying a sack full of herbs, roots, and vegetables. They whispered to one another; I deliberately tuned out the details. Kit offered no such courtesy. ¡°What¡¯s goin¡¯ on with you two, uh? Bit of late-night romance?¡± Whip ¨C a little over sixteen ¨C and Davian ¨C just shy of fifty ¨C blanched. The former¡¯s countenance twisted, and while the latter¡¯s unusual facial features made him more difficult to read, his visibly recoiling body revealed his exact thoughts. ¡°Why do you have to be so gross?¡± screamed Whip. The older man shot her a look. Kit lips tilted. ¡°Uh, alright, sorry. I jus¡¯¡­¡± she paused, and threw a glance back at me. I shot Whip a meaningful look. The girl straightened, and instructed, ¡°Say why you did it.¡± ¡°Uh¡­¡± Her gaze flickered all over the clearing; everywhere but the person she was addressing. ¡°I was¡­ Just wanted to know what you were talking about.¡± The young woman paused. No one except me noticed her eyes widening. ¡°Jus¡¯ want ta know.¡± The girl growled like a small dog, and placed the arm unoccupied by crutch firmly on her hip. ¡°Well, we were talking about monster Strain breeding habits.¡± I hummed quietly. Whip had gotten stuck on another topic ¨C it¡¯d be all she wanted to speak about for the next few days. Davian nodded as he knelt and warmed his hands beside the fire, next to Kit. A tired gust was blowing smoke in the opposite direction. ¡°It¡¯s a rather arcane subject, from my understanding. It seems that whatever alterations divine blood makes to a person is intergenerational, however absent of the blood itself, much of the capabilities run stagnant. It¡¯s most pronounced in the bird-Blooded-¡° ¡°Bird-Blooded?¡± I spluttered. ¡°Did- did you come up with that?¡± ¡°Well, yes,¡± Davian answered, eyebrow cocked. I grinned. ¡°That¡¯s great. Like you¡¯re calling the gods ¡®bird-brained¡¯, or something.¡± The old man¡¯s lips flapped. ¡°Uh, yes, well, that wasn¡¯t my intention.¡± ¡°No, it¡¯s great. Sorry for interrupting.¡± He frowned. ¡°Right. Where was I?¡± ¡°¡¯Capabilities run stagnant¡¯,¡± supplied Gast, who otherwise lay completely unmoving. ¡°Thank you. It seems that a Blooded¡¯s power is at least partially supplied by what lays in their veins-¡° ¡°Keen eye, there,¡± stated Kit. ¡°-however certain changes can endure, even absent of divinity. For instance, Gast can interpret runestones, and even create some sparks unassisted, however she requires Godsblood for greater acts.¡± I got to my feet and struck an extravagant pose. Ronnie orbited around me, shaking their hands dramatically. Davian stared, then glanced back at Kit. ¡°Uh. Yes. Which is what Vin supplies Gast, at certain intervals.¡± ¡°Thanks,¡± muttered the layabout. I gave her a thumbs up, however she wasn¡¯t looking. ¡°Well. Anyway, those are the central principles surrounding Strains: alterations endure, however little can be done with them.¡± ¡°Which¡¯s why ya can¡¯t have kids,¡± finished Kit. Silence dropped like a stone. The crimson grass between my boots was sharp and jagged. I pulled up a clump and rubbed it between my fingers, feeling my skin open. An evening breeze ran through the trees, carrying the scent of earth, sky, and rotting bodies. For a moment, I tried to imagine how far the wind had travelled. Through the Heartlands? Across the Wastes? From the Foot? In the end, it didn¡¯t matter. The wind was the wind, and home was years gone. The enduring quiet ate away the thoughts, bringing me back to the present. It was damn awkward. Ronnie had already walked off. Eventually, as I was gathering the spit to break the quiet, someone fractured it for me. ¡°My parents were Strains.¡± Whip¡¯s whisper carried, buoyed by the tension in the air. Kit blundered ahead. ¡°They¡¯re not actually yer parents, though.¡± The girl sorted herbs and vegetables from her and Davian¡¯s pouches. Her back was to me. ¡°What do you mean, not actually?¡± ¡°Strains can¡¯t-¡° ¡°Can¡¯t what? Can¡¯t have children?¡± I played with the grass between my fingers. ¡°Yeah,¡± said the young woman. ¡°S¡¯not possible.¡± Whip turned around. ¡°Of course we can.¡± ¡°But, that¡¯s-¡° ¡°Just stop, Kit,¡± I murmured, eyes gazing into the forest. Whip¡¯s face was blank. ¡°I want to hear this.¡± I scowled. ¡°Fine. Wait until I¡¯m gone. Whip, give me what you¡¯ve sorted. I¡¯ll test them for poison.¡± Before she could respond, I strode over and shovelled one of the piles ¨C the one consisting of foreign herbs and mushrooms ¨C into one of the sturdy bags. After I¡¯d gathered most, I continued past her. Davian murmured something and followed, taking his unstrung bow with him. By the time I had passed the trees, Kit was already continuing. I caught ¡®they¡¯re not really yer parents¡¯ and then tried my best to ignore the argument that followed. We hurdled overgrown logs, shrubs, vines, and ant mounds. Occasionally, a bird twittered. They¡¯d already begun to return to the area. If I were them, I would¡¯ve stayed out. The argument tickled the edge of my hearing for a few minutes. I reached my hands down and began manoeuvring my ear plugs out of my pockets. Davian reached up and grabbed my arm. ¡°Could we talk, for a moment?¡± he asked. I stopped and turned to him. ¡°Why do we keep her around?¡± I blurted. He sighed. ¡°We¡¯ve been over this, Vin.¡± ¡°She¡¯s abrasive, inconsiderate, and just¡­¡± I searched for the words. ¡°Generally a bad person.¡± Davian¡¯s eyebrow cocked; one of the few expressions his face allowed. ¡°A bad person?¡± ¡°Yes!¡± ¡°She¡¯s not a bad person, Vin.¡± ¡°Alright,¡± I spat, knowing the conversation was meaningless, ¡°fine. She¡¯s still a bad fit for the group.¡± He squinted at me. ¡°Even if she were irredeemably evil, the fact remains: we need her.¡± ¡°Lizard guts!¡± I swore. ¡°We were doing fine before.¡± Davian huffed, disbelieving. ¡°I cannot count the amount of times you nearly died.¡± ¡°That¡¯s because there were no times I nearly died,¡± I lied. ¡°I¡¯m a Lizardblood.¡± ¡°You are not Dure itself, Vin ¨C you can¡¯t heal a broken neck, or a pierced heart.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t know that,¡± I hissed. ¡°And it¡¯s not your business, besides.¡± The old man¡¯s face twisted even further. ¡°You little¡­ Should we have to watch you die, then? And what, daresay, happens to us when you are gone? Who will negotiate contracts for a bunch of Strains?¡± he snarled. ¡°We needed another front-liner, and Kit is, frankly, an excellent fit for the role. It¡¯s a miracle she settled with us.¡± I blinked at the outburst. ¡°There¡­ has to be someone better.¡± ¡°There isn¡¯t. She¡¯s one of us, now ¨C abrasiveness and all.¡± He stared at me, unbalanced eyes rigid, unmoving. I shook my head. ¡°You¡¯ll regret it.¡± He smiled, weakly. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter.¡± After a brief pause, he brushed down his shirt and straightened his belt. ¡°Now, before you start imbibing poisonous-¡° ¡°Potentially poisonous,¡± I interjected. ¡°-plants, we need to discuss your shield.¡± I groaned, and turned to the forest. ¡°I¡¯ve already talked to Kit about this. I¡¯ll get a new one, Davian.¡± His swallow was audible. ¡°No.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°No.¡± This reply was firmer. He straightened his body, bringing the top of his head just below my neck. ¡°The group will buy a shield. And it will be the property of the group.¡± I allowed myself to face him again. ¡°What is this?¡± Davian looked up at me, stretched jaw quivering. ¡°It is with startling frequency that your kit goes missing. Your armour. Your sword. Now your shield?¡± ¡°That¡¯s not on you to fix.¡± ¡°You are a friend, Vin.¡± He continued before I had the opportunity to interrupt. ¡°However, more than that, you are an asset. Your death hurts all of us.¡± ¡°No,¡± I spoke from between clenched teeth. ¡°No. I refuse.¡± ¡°Let us help-¡° ¡°No,¡± I said, louder this time. ¡°I¡¯ll get a shield.¡± ¡°Fine,¡± he responded tersely, ¡°but we¡¯ll keep a backup. That is our choice. You cannot take that from us.¡± I scowled, and, not trusting my own silence, shoved an ominous-looking mushroom in my mouth. Immediately afterwards, I spat it out. Davian toed a stick on the ground. ¡°Is it bad?¡± I pawed my tongue and retched. ¡°Uh, well. I¡¯ll get Whip to add it to our findings. You¡¯ve most likely saved some poor family from-¡° Gagging, I leaned against a tree. The dry wood scraped against my forearm. An eruption of coughs exploded from within, trying to dislodge a phantom poison from my throat. Davian¡¯s hands hovered over my back, entirely ineffectual. ¡°Maybe continue this¡­ later? You still need to finish furnishing the stew.¡± I blinked the tears from my eyes, and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. A thumbs up was the only instruction I could give. There would be more time for poison tomorrow. Chapter 32 - Price of Admission From the moment I had stepped foot in it, I had recognised the Heartlands as a very unusual place. My only real experience with nature had taken place in what was undoubtedly the most barren and inhospitable region the continent had to offer, but even I was familiar with what a tree was supposed to be ¨C even if I¡¯d only seen three or four malformed specimens in my lifetime. Yet the first forest I had seen was red. Varying shades of red, to be fair, but red nonetheless. The trees were a dark, burnt colour, yet peeled to reveal a fleshy pink. The grass was a bright crimson, and so strangely sharp that they would constantly sink into my bare soles, seeming to seek the crimson liquid within. Vines curled around everything, alternating colours yet always dark and ominous, like a hangman¡¯s noose come to life. Even the dirt was red. The only exception were the speartrees ¨C eerie things that stood even amongst the most unnatural devastation, white as bleached bone. No one area was the same, either. At first glance, most things in the Heartlands appeared similar. Yet every new step forced me to relearn its contours: What was edible; What was safe; What was poisonous; What wanted to kill me. It was always shifting. I wouldn¡¯t have been surprised if the ground shattered beneath me, one day. The place was eerie. Weird; ominous; unpredictable. Clarity came in the form of birds, bugs, and the occasional skittish animal ¨C blessedly familiar in form ¨C yet their ranks concealed monsters. Movement was an exercise in wading through an increasingly thickening tension. It was impossible to shake the feeling that, despite its incomprehensible diversity, the place had a singular will. And it wanted me out. I had thought I would go insane, living amidst it all. But people can get used to anything, given time. That was what I had to believe. Gast, asleep and partially submerged in a pile of monster parts, seemed perfectly at home. The Missus, our donkey, chewed on a few clumps of lichen I¡¯d found to be edible. Whip fed him from atop the mound of butchery, teetering precariously atop our cart. Davian inspected a lump on the ground. And Kit quietly attempted to light a cigarillo perched in her mouth with a flint and steel, each failure sending her into a fit of silent profanity. All this, despite the fact our cart was thoroughly wedged in a root. ¡°Do you think we can just¡­ lift it up?¡± I asked Ronnie. They tilted their hand in a ¡®so-so¡¯ gesture. ¡°It¡¯s either that or we unload the cart.¡± The giant walked over to the offending wheel, and mimed yanking it. I squinted. ¡°Is that even possible? How are we going to get it off?¡± ¡°Rotate th¡¯ cart mebbe?¡± Kit contributed, having given up her efforts entirely. Scratching my head, I hummed. Unable to find anything wrong with her idea, I quietly nodded. ¡°Lucky our cart¡¯s so awful, huh?¡± she continued. ¡°Hard to get the wheel off a better one.¡± ¡°Eyah,¡± I agreed. Kit and I stood at opposite ends of the cart, while Ronnie braced their leg against the cart and latched onto the wheel. We waited. And waited. And waited. Until- Kit hawked a yellowed wad onto the dirt. ¡°Whip, Gast, get your stinkin¡¯ behinds outta there!¡± Whip tumbled head-over-heels onto the Missus, who brayed and sunk its teeth into my waist. I swore ferociously, and barely managed to catch Whip before she slid onto the ground. With a fierce scowl, I placed her beside me. Kit stared straight ahead. Once Gast had rolled her vast bulk out of the wagon, Kit and I heaved it around, and Ronnie managed to smack the wheel off its hub. A quick pull saw the wheel extricated, and a repeat of our earlier manoeuvre had it seated back in its rightful place. While we were working, Whip and Davian bribed the Missus back to his harness with a few choice bulbs, and we were back. It was my turn to lead the Missus and ensure he didn¡¯t lodge the entire cart again. The Missus and I got along well. I occasionally swapped places with him, so it felt like we occupied similar rungs in the hierarchy. Whip was still the favourite ¨C no one doted on the donkey like her ¨C but I think the two of us were kindred spirits. The many, many times he attempted to bite me were signs of affection. We normally wouldn¡¯t take our cart into a forested area, however the trees here were, as Davian described them, ¡®piney¡¯, meaning the ground was relatively flat, borderline rocky, and the only real detritus in our way were the occasional brush or felled trunk. The most difficult part was finding a route wide enough for our dray. That, combined with the sizeable amount of tools we needed to deforest a small area, had had me arguing ferociously for our donkey¡¯s presence despite the danger the monsters pose. Otherwise, I would¡¯ve been carrying most of our supplies, and most likely Gast as well. I clicked my teeth. ¡°So¡­ What¡¯re we thinking of doing about the annulment?¡± I said, resuming an earlier conversation. The topic was on everyone¡¯s minds: the Albrights had dissolved their treaty with Heltia ¨C which had endured for a century ¨C a month ago, leaving the Heartlands open to invasion from other Houses. ¡°Staying within Heltia is the best option for us,¡± responded Davian, reiterating his earlier opinion. Kit snorted. ¡°What kind of ninny calls Spires Heltia?¡± We ignored her. ¡°Houses aren¡¯t safe,¡± came my retort, ¡°and we can¡¯t be certain that whatever chaos their invasion inflicts won¡¯t be deadly.¡± ¡°They might be nice¡­?¡± offered Whip. Davian nodded. ¡°And there¡¯s no guarantee they will invade.¡± ¡°What¡¯re you, stupid?¡± came our resident instigator¡¯s inevitable response. ¡°Baylar¡¯s not gonna let such a juicy fish go. And ¨C what was the other one, the one next to the Heartlands?¡± ¡°Esfaria,¡± I stated. ¡°Yeah, Esfaria. Doubt Esfaria¡¯s any better. But Baylar hates Heltia, so definitely them.¡± Ronnie made an inquisitive grunt. ¡°Uh, s¡¯that about Baylar hatin¡¯-¡° They nodded, tapping their shoes impatiently. Kit grinned and stuck her nose in the air. ¡°Well, I¡¯ve heard Heltia¡¯s failed to deliver on most trade agreements with Baylar for the past¡­¡± She paused, crinkling her nose. ¡°Two years? Pissed them off some, I¡¯m sure.¡± ¡°Wow,¡± Whip exclaimed. ¡°How do you know that?¡± I had been wondering the same thing. The swordswoman tapped the side of her nose. ¡°I have my sources.¡± Her sources were probably some drunk with a severe case of ¡®wanting-to-impress-people¡¯, an affliction that seemed to have spread to her as well. I traced the phantom of a sad tear rolling down my cheek, mourning those poor, afflicted souls. No one paid my quiet chuckle any mind. I snapped back to the conversation at Davian¡¯s quiver rattling while he began walking backwards. ¡°That doesn¡¯t change the fact that the Albrights discourage infrastructural damage.¡± Whip chimed in from atop the cart. ¡°And, according to the Terms, civilians are infrastructure!¡± I couldn¡¯t believe my ears. Blind optimism, at best. ¡°The Albrights made this situation. They¡¯re the ones who annulled their treaty with House Heltia, they must¡¯ve known this would happen. And no battle is absent of casualties.¡± Ronnie nodded, and made a few gestures. Whip translated. ¡°¡¯It¡¯s probably a ¨C political? Is that right?¡± Ronnie nodded. ¡°A political move to destroy Heltia. Bloodtech has made them too strong.¡± ¡°That doesn¡¯t mean they would encourage breaking the Terms,¡± Davian responded, quick as a bird. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. ¡°They don¡¯t follow rules if they don¡¯t have to,¡± came my retort. ¡°And they never have to.¡± Kit¡¯s short hair bobbed as she made a slashing motion at her throat. ¡°Nah, there¡¯s too many witnesses. Need ¡®em to keep bloodtech production up.¡± ¡°Come on,¡± I spat, ¡°Spires is practically isolated from the rest of the continent. No one can leave ¨C how would they eat? There¡¯s barely any food left in the Heartlands, so any witnesses- ¡° Someone interrupted. ¡°What ¡®bout us?¡± That was Gast¡¯s flat, smudged tone, spoken from the back of the cart. ¡°What about you?¡± ¡°You want us to leave.¡± I couldn¡¯t see her face, buried in the cart, but I could imagine it: smooth and serene as a resting stone. ¡°Where our food?¡± Our archer pointed to the cart, his arms quivering excitedly. ¡°Gast is absolutely correct. That is, by far, the most pressing issue with your proposition. Outside of Heltia, there is no guarantee of consistent meals ¨C not within the Heartlands, anyway.¡± Kit shrugged her shoulders. ¡°We¡¯d have to feed my family s¡¯well,¡± she stated, then chuckled at something. ¡°And any of yers, I guess.¡± Ronnie nodded in agreement. I failed to conceal a sneer. ¡°That¡¯s most people. You guys can live off the land.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not exactly safe, Vin. And what happens when we make it to civilisation again? Who will hire Strains?¡± Kit barked mirthlessly. ¡°And whaddaya mean, ¡®you guys¡¯? Yer not comin¡¯? You godsdamned hypocrite.¡± My grip tightened on our donkey¡¯s lead. ¡°I might, still. I just need to get a friend out. So shut up you-¡± I stopped myself. ¡°You what? You what?¡± Her tone was high-pitched, mocking. My heart thrummed. ¡°By the blood, I¡¯m just trying to keep you safe!¡± My bellow shattered the forest¡¯s peace. Somewhere close, wings beat against the air and birds took flight. Like always, clarity visited a second too late. I ran a hand through the back of my hair. ¡°Sorry. I¡¯m¡­¡± ¡°Go ahead.¡± Gast¡¯s flat tones had never seemed so artful. ¡°Let them know we finish.¡± I checked my sword was seated on my hip and snatched my halberd from its holster on the side of the cart, then broke into a jog. Techniques to curb anger ran through my mind, but I dismissed them. Less than a minute later, footsteps began to rapidly pursue. Perhaps I could¡¯ve outdistanced them, but part of me had been waiting to have this talk for weeks. Kit caught up far more quickly than I would¡¯ve liked. I slowed to a walk, and she followed suit. She was barely out of breath. ¡°What¡¯s yer problem with me, Vin?¡± the young woman inquired. Out of the corner of my eye she peered at me. I kept my gaze fixed ahead. ¡°No problem.¡± ¡°Owl pellets, Vin.¡± Her tone was flat; her gaze ambivalent. ¡°You¡¯ve taken offense to everythin¡¯ I do.¡± ¡°There¡¯s a lot to take offense to,¡± I snapped. Immediately afterwards, I sighed and hung my head. ¡°There he is,¡± Kit chuckled. ¡°Yer a ragin¡¯ arsehole to me, Vin. You got a problem.¡± ¡°I know,¡± I said, ¡°I know. I am sorry.¡± The simple truth was that even if she deserved my attitude, I shouldn¡¯t have let her get to me. ¡°It¡¯s not¡­¡± I searched for the right words. ¡°You just rub me the wrong way, is all.¡± The swordswoman shot me a toothy grin. ¡°Well-¡° ¡°I¡¯ll try to be better,¡± I concluded. Part of me craved for my words to be authentic. The rest smelled dishonesty. ¡°Well,¡± she continued with a pointed glare, ¡°as I was sayin¡¯, the feeling¡¯s mutual.¡± I stopped walking. ¡°What?¡± Her grin returned as her eyes took on a rabid, familiar light. ¡°I think yer a coward, Vin.¡± She gestured towards me. ¡°Look at you: my height an¡¯ a half, built like a brick wall, but usin¡¯ none of it. How much more could you be doin¡¯?¡± Her features feigned a condescending humour, but there was something furious behind her gaze. I felt my hackles rise in response. ¡°Yet you whine and moan about blood of all things ¨C what do you think we¡¯re here to do? Why¡¯re you huntin¡¯ monsters? You do nothing. You are nothing. All that power, and for what?¡± Leaves shook and rustled as a burst of wind swept through the forest. Yet, though the breeze should have stolen it, an echo remained. ¡®For what?¡¯ ¡®for what?¡¯ ¡®for what?¡¯ it asked. The blackened trees twisted through one another, forming an indomitable canopy. I imagined their branches snaking downwards, piercing my skin, flesh, bone and then carrying me downwards, letting my blood drain and be consumed by the earth. They loomed. I shook myself from my stupor. ¡°What in the blood are you prattling about?¡± I whispered. A weak response. I rallied my anger. ¡°I culled as many as anyone, even you.¡± Though Kit shook her head, her eyes remained fixed on mine. Their sclera were shockingly white against her black skin. ¡°Doesn¡¯t change that yer a pathetic little man. You want perfection from everyone, but you don¡¯t try nothin¡¯ for yourself.¡± I flinched, and a slow smile began stretching across her face. It provoked something in me. I looked at her, and I knew her. ¡°Fine. Do you want to know why I hate you, Kit? It¡¯s because you¡¯re a godsdamned killer,¡± I stated. Her brows flattened, while her pupils dilated fractionally. ¡°I don¡¯t know who, and I don¡¯t know why. And maybe I could forgive that, but it¡¯s not just that. You¡¯ve got the soul of a murderer, too. You look at everyone around you like they¡¯re pieces of meat.¡± My lips curled. ¡°You treat us like garbage ¨C or, or like we¡¯re something you scraped off your boot. Like we¡¯re a¡­¡± I paused, searching for the right word. ¡°Like we¡¯re a game or something. You think I¡¯m nothing?¡± I glared down at her. ¡°You think everyone¡¯s nothing.¡± Kit swallowed. A short huff of air emerged from her nostrils. ¡°I can¡¯t help it if the world¡¯s incompetent.¡± ¡°Gods, Kit; you¡¯re so alone,¡± I mocked. Something pricked at my eyes. ¡°All alone, in a sea of nothing people.¡± Carried by momentum, my face twisted into a sneer. ¡°I hope you drown.¡± I turned away. ¡°At least I¡¯m not a failure of a person.¡± I whirled, growling, and opened my mouth to speak, only for my eyes to fall onto her right hand. White-knuckled, it wrapped around the hilt of the longsword buckled to her waist. With unnatural clarity, I heard the wheels of the cart trundle closer. Kit waited, tense. I squinted at her. ¡°Really?¡± I said, the word slipping from my mouth like rotten meat. I didn¡¯t know if I was addressing myself or her. A moment later I left, and continued jogging ahead. My journey into the distance was accompanied by too many eyes.
Scouting was an important duty. I wasn¡¯t half the hunter Davian was ¨C I had too much self-respect to sit in a bush or chase a goat for hours ¨C but all scouting required were good ears and keen eyes. Upon encountering anything of note, there were three options: leave it, scare it, or kill it. Usually, such a decision was made after consulting with the group. I hadn¡¯t been sent out to scout. Even so, I was seriously considering the third option. ¡°Boy, there¡¯s more work to do,¡± the foreman of the harvesters stated, looking up at me. His thick frame spoke of a lifetime of labour, yet his clothes hung loose on his body. The several dozen workers loitering around were worse off ¨C starvation darkening the shadows of their faces. I must¡¯ve looked gluttonous to him ¨C a tall young man covered in thick muscle. The truth of the matter was, I ate as little as everyone else ¨C Dure¡¯s power allowed me to subsist on less, and Enn¡¯s maintained my strength. I liked to think I understood them, at least a little. Everyone in the Heartlands contended with the same problem. For over half a decade, the land had been stripped clean in anticipation for the renewal that accompanied the Aching. The Aching never came. But neither my team nor myself were responsible for that. ¡°We¡¯ve exterminated all monsters in our assigned area,¡± I retorted, barely able to keep the tension from my voice, ¡°at significant personal risk. That¡¯s our job done ¨C that¡¯s what we¡¯re paid for.¡± The foreman massaged the arch of his nose. The landscape around us was a wasteland of red grass and felled trees, half-empty carts containing axes, saws, scythes, cleavers, and ropes scattered semi-randomly throughout. One was stuck in mud. It wasn¡¯t Frost season ¨C though we were in Bite, so it wasn¡¯t far off ¨C so snarling scrubs and tangled bushes remained, alongside the heartwood stumps, their fleshy cross-sections smeared with dried sap. The harvesting crew milled about, playing cards, talking, or impromptu games of Web, pretending not to be looking. They¡¯d done good work. The sharp tips of the Spires peeked at us from over the horizon. He spat on the ground. ¡°Teams 1 and 2 haven¡¯t returned. We need you-¡± I immediately interrupted. ¡°We didn¡¯t agree to do the work of three teams.¡± ¡°If their areas aren¡¯t cleared, then people will starve.¡° His words were a matter of fact. Everyone present was aware of that. ¡°Sorry,¡± I said, though I couldn¡¯t manage to inject an apologetic note in, ¡°let me correct myself. We can¡¯t do the work of three teams. We¡¯ve spent three days clearing our zone. My group is wounded. They¡¯re tired.¡± He snorted derisively. ¡°Have some compassion, boy. You look fine.¡± ¡°I¡¯m a Lizardblood.¡± ¡°Ah.¡± The foreman looked me up and down. ¡°Could you tell your leader to talk with me?¡± A groan burst out of me. I should¡¯ve pretended to be unblooded. ¡°We don¡¯t have a leader, but I am the negotiator.¡± ¡°Strains,¡± he spat, as if the word was an affront. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to do this, but if you¡¯re insisting on allowing hundreds to go without food, I¡¯m withholding your stamp.¡± If he didn¡¯t stamp our team¡¯s register, then we wouldn¡¯t receive any chits. A memory flashed ¨C executing a soldier for a lesser offence ¨C then receded into the back of my mind. My grip around my halberd tightened. The foreman flinched as I silently stabbed it into the ground, leaving it quivering in the red earth. Its point had seemed far too seductive. The harvesters stilled, discarding their nonchalant pretence. My hands fell to my sides, involuntarily flexing. ¡°What about Team 3?¡± The man¡¯s sunken eyes wavered. ¡°They finished early,¡± he said, licking his lips. ¡°We¡­ hadn¡¯t learned about the other teams.¡± ¡°And they got stamped?¡± He paused, then slowly nodded. ¡°And we¡¯re not getting stamped?¡± The foreman¡¯s gaze gravitated towards the ground. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you what, foreman,¡± I spoke blandly. ¡°Either you can stamp me, and I can inform the Reclamation Committee that they need to send more monster hunters.¡± I leaned downwards. ¡°Or, you can take your little axe- ¡± I prodded a finger into his chest, ¡°-and go kill some monsters yourself.¡± His eyes remained fixed at his feet. I gripped his head between my hands, forcing his eyes to meet mine. They quivered in their sockets, brown pools that belonged in the skull of a frightened animal. I loomed within them. ¡°People are starving, foreman. Have some compassion.¡± At that moment, the worker¡¯s gazes were tactile. They pressed against my skin at a low murmur. My performance was impeccable. Rendered as perfectly as any Divinity I had ever performed; a work of art coincidentally written in the language of intimidation. They feared me. I exalted in it. And I noticed my exaltation. I needed it to be an act. Something dark and empty settled in my gut. Whose feelings they were remained a mystery. I let the man go, and uprooted my halberd. Moments later, when my team rolled past the tree-line, the roster was stamped. Chapter 33 - the Spires of Heltia ¡°Raven¡¯s charred bones, Vin, those godsdamned criminals fleeced you! What in the blood were you thinkin¡¯?¡± Kit, with admirable ease, seemed to have almost entirely forgotten the tension laying between us. Airing our grievances must¡¯ve made our relationship clearer. It was an unusual reaction. Or maybe I was reading her wrong. Either way, I was grateful; the awkwardness would¡¯ve been unbearable otherwise. So it was with great grace and dignity that I deigned to ignore the offence her comment had delivered. The two of us were standing outside the Reclamation Committee offices, which was on the outskirts of Spires, so as to avoid monster hunters smearing blood, guts, and other less savoury substances throughout the city. Or, at least, that had been the original intention ¨C by this point, the city had swelled with so many refugees that the outskirts had become far less ¡®out¡¯ than originally intended. I¡¯d left my weaponry with the others. It had been a good decision, considering my sudden urge to thump Kit on the head. ¡°Vin? Vin? Vin, you oaf, say somethin¡¯!¡± she shouted, right into my ears. The swordswoman had taken to calling me oaf, and in a moment I was still paying for, I had responded by clarifying that I was actually very smart. Which was an unimaginably stupid thing to do. ¡°Shut up, you little gremlin.¡± I still searched for a moniker that seemed capable of offending her ¨C judging by her amused smirk, this one had failed. ¡°I got the maximum either of us were going to get.¡± Ten silver chits weren¡¯t a bad haul, for us ¨C especially seeing as it would take a more peaceful profession over a month to earn even one. That didn¡¯t include the money that would be gained after selling the monster parts we¡¯d harvested. Granted, a significant portion of it would go to maintenance, potions and allowing Gast to rent a bone density checking runestone for Whip, but that would still leave half a silver for each of us. It felt like a lot to me ¨C before coming to Spires, I¡¯d only ever seen a silver chit once or twice, when I was doing errands for¡­ ¡°Ten silvers, Vin ¨C that¡¯s half of what the other teams get paid,¡± Kit hissed. ¡°Gods, Vin, I thought you were skimmin¡¯ off the top; turn¡¯s out yer just incompetent. Honestly, I¡¯m not sure what¡¯s worse: stealin¡¯ from me or bein¡¯ so worthless at barterin¡¯ that yer practically stealin¡¯ from me.¡± So that¡¯s why she had demanded to come with me. Supressing the urge to groan, I spoke, ¡°Kit, do you want to know how much the team got paid before I joined?¡± The young woman paused in her tirade, and adjusted her armour awkwardly. ¡°Sure.¡± I could see it in her eyes: she sensed a trap. ¡°A quarter,¡± I stated. ¡°Oxdung.¡± ¡°Ask anyone. They were getting a quarter of the job¡¯s actual value.¡± She huffed. ¡°No way they were that bad ¨C I mean, Ronnie¡¯s a mute an¡¯ all, Whip¡¯s a kid, and Davian¡¯s a pushover¡­ but you seen Gast¡¯s eyes? That lady could snap someone in two just by lookin¡¯ at them.¡± I had to nod. ¡°Yeah; have you seen her angry? By the blood, it¡¯s like she can make Frost hit in the middle of Summit.¡± ¡°Uh-huh,¡± she agreed, bobbing her head rapidly. ¡°So what¡¯s goin¡¯ on with that?¡± ¡°Well, people aren¡¯t big fans of Strains.¡± ¡°Uh-huh.¡± ¡°In fact, you could say that they¡¯re scared of them, or even disgusted by them. They¡¯re taken as a bad omen.¡± ¡°Alright.¡± ¡°So it¡¯s hard for them to get work, because no one wants to hire them.¡± ¡°Mm-hmm.¡± ¡°So when they do get a job, everyone knows that it¡¯s probably their only option.¡± ¡°So they underpay them,¡± she concluded. ¡°Yep.¡± ¡°That¡¯s messed.¡± ¡°Yep.¡± ¡°I should go in there and break some stuff, let ¡®em know who they¡¯re dealin¡¯ with.¡± ¡°Ye- Wait, no.¡± I grabbed her arm before she could turn and stride back in. Her dark eyes met mine. ¡°Come on, Vin,¡± she pleaded. ¡°They need us. More than we need them. Especially with all the hunting squads gettin¡¯ wiped.¡± ¡°What if they don¡¯t?¡± I responded. ¡°What if they throw you and me in a cell, and the rest of the team is left with only Strain faces?¡± With a muffled ¡®Bah!¡¯ she shook my hand off. ¡°Don¡¯t be a coward,¡± she said. ¡°We have to make a move.¡± ¡°Kit, there¡¯s no shortage of people desperate to try their luck. We¡¯re making a decent wage ¨C that¡¯s more than most of them.¡± I gestured towards the camp that had sprung up around Spires. Hundreds of carts, covered in moss and mildew from months of immobility, were shoved beside a beaten trail, bearded men, tired women, and emaciated children huddled underneath them. The more fortunate had tents, which afforded a small amount of privacy. The least fortunate¡¯s only shelter were boxes looted from the city, draped over with thick blankets or hides. Most shivered under or atop their small carts. Kit¡¯s protests were nothing in the face of such poverty. Adults, clad in restitched clothes beneath worn coats, convened in small groups, quietly talking. From experience, I knew they were discussing what locations were hiring, and where to find the next job. Occasionally, a man or woman would return to a family with a bundle of bread, dried meat, or potatoes. More often, they returned empty-handed. Harvesters and hunters returned from their work in groups, usually leading a cart. Deft hands snatched chunks of monster from the back, while less deft ones were rewarded with a cracked rib. Some enterprising individuals tried to sell their less essential belongings to the workers walking past. We watched, enraptured, as a middle-aged woman sitting behind a rug hawked collections of carvings, grass sandals, and knapped axes and knives. From within her wares glinted stunning necklaces, wrought from wood or spearwood and studded with radiant stones. Heirlooms, I thought, and likely intended for a dowry. Beautiful enough to set my fingers twitching. But the city was flooded with similar jewellery, and the harvester perusing ¨C clad in a thick tunic, cloak, and sturdy trousers ¨C offered barely enough to buy two meals. I saw the woman¡¯s expression fold in on itself, the beautiful lines on her face deepening into an emotion too intense to share. Then, with shaking hands, she handed a necklace over, to be shoved into a trouser pocket and carried away. Something resembling shame settled onto the harvester¡¯s face as he strode away. It was swept away by a tightening of brows. ¡°When do you think the next Aching¡¯ll be?¡± Kit asked, her gaze still fixed on the woman, whose hand had covered her eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t think there will be a next Aching,¡± I said quietly. The swordswoman nodded, running her hand up and down her blade¡¯s hilt. ¡°Yeah. Makes me think the world¡¯s endin¡¯ or somethin¡¯.¡± ¡°The Raven died, and the Aching stopped,¡± I murmured. ¡°Maybe the world can¡¯t handle a dead god.¡± Her face closed. ¡°If they¡¯re too weak to make it, that¡¯s on them.¡± I watched as the woman sat, frozen. Children walked between the tents and carts, listlessly toeing rocks. Two people argued with one another, which ended with one shoving the other into the mud. A woman cut open a child¡¯s hand, allowing it to leak into the dirt; a blood sacrifice made on barren ground. Somewhere in the distance, a man lay on the beaten dirt pathway, wearing only one shoe. His chest neither rose nor fell. And the scenery repeated, over and over again, encapsulating hundreds of people. I looked away. ¡°Yeah. Let¡¯s go.¡±
The Spires of Heltia were unique; like nothing else within my memory. The streets on the ground level were wide and contained more people than I¡¯d ever seen in one place. And, through an incredible feat of engineering a foreign recollection dubbed ¡®plumbing¡¯, were almost entirely absent of faeces. What would young, stupid boys throw at pedestrians now? Somehow, the city proper spanned only a league. In that regard, even the Foot was wider. Yet all of that was secondary; a perception restricted to the horizontal dimension. There was one thing that no being that visited Spires could forget. It was one thing that Bhan told me was entirely unique to this one city, made possible only by Neelam Heltia, an Owlblood and the only Blooded House Head in the entire continent. According to Bhan, several inebriated Heltian guards, and at least two beggars I had gotten drunk with, the city had been founded a little under a century ago, after Neelam had assisted the first Albright king in subduing the other Houses. He had been given leave to form a House, with the Heartlands ¨C possibly the most absurd place in existence ¨C as his stomping grounds. I¡¯d always imagined that when founding a city-state, water, food, and just¡­ resources in general would be a priority. Not Neelam. He went straight for the largest speartrees in the entirety of the Heartlands ¨C and considering speartrees only grow in the Heartlands, probably the tallest in the world. Eight pairs, equidistant from one another, tougher than bone, two hundred paces around and taller than a hundred men stacked on top of one another. They didn¡¯t quite pierce the clouds, but they made a better attempt than most mountains I¡¯d seen. And Neelam wanted to build inside them. I had laughed when I¡¯d first heard that. That was a stupid feat; the kind of feat the Fox would convince the Ox to perform in one of my Divinities. Then we¡¯d arrived, and I¡¯d just stared. I muscled my way through the ground-level crowd, Kit following in my wake. The space beneath Spires was always shadowed by a purple glow. Pickpockets darted like minnows, but steered clear of the two of us. A woman in purple robes ¨C likely a member of House Heltia ¨C scowled as I smeared weeks¡¯ worth of filth over her finery. I ignored her, but apparently Kit didn¡¯t; a few paces later I realised she had ceased walking and instead began staring down the bewildered individual. Once I had shoved my way back towards the swordswoman, I picked her up by her belt and gorgot and hoisted her overhead. She flailed, screaming obscenities down at me. The people around studiously attempted not to stare. Standing on a set of crates, a thin boy called out, announcing for the umpteenth time that House Heltia had finally caught the Jackal ¨C a bandit who terrorised the surrounding regions for years ¨C which was apparently a glowing endorsement of their military might. She¡¯d be executed soonish, though apparently his script-writer seemed leery about giving a specific date. We¡¯d arrived after the crier¡¯s spiel about the Albright¡¯s ¡®antagonism towards Heartlanders¡¯, their ¡®disregard for the inherent value of humanity¡¯, and ¡®fabricated claims of harbouring the Ravenblood¡¯. A man nearby spat at the word. I placed Kit back down. We continued pushing through in silence. We arrived at a queue of people at the edge of one of the Spires. Officially, each Spire had a specific moniker, usually pivoting on the theme of dead heroes. It seemed an incredibly bad omen, and part of me wondered why no one had beat the idea out of Neelam¡¯s head. The rest of me knew it was because he could probably turn any would-be assailant into a thin paste with the snap of his fingers. Thankfully, no one bothered to memorise any of the real names ¨C they were too long, or difficult to pronounce ¨C and just called them by nicknames. Some exceptionally gifted poet had named this Spire Greens. Because it was covered in moss. Green moss. Heartlanders truly were a breed apart. We had been waiting for several minutes when Kit finally broke. ¡°Can¡¯t we just walk straight in?¡± she groaned, gesturing towards a large opening in Greens. Smooth blue light emanated from within, revealing a vast hallway. I nodded. ¡°Yeah, go ahead.¡± The swordswoman joined the stream of people trickling into the opening. My line shuffled forward. Kit¡¯s voice ¨C deep and smooth yet clad in a cumbersome accent ¨C yelled ¡®con-artist¡¯, ¡®bald-faced scam¡¯, and ¨C this one had me cackling ¨C ¡®racism ¡®gainst violence¡¯. A moment later, she re-joined me. ¡°You knew,¡± she stated, eyes piercing me from behind. ¡°Knew what?¡± ¡°That they charged silver for entry.¡± ¡°Whaat?¡± came my drawling monotone. Yoot¡¯s extended vowels were perfect for rubbing salt in wounds. ¡°Mee? Nooo.¡± I placed my hands on my chest, as if I¡¯d been struck. ¡°Yer not even hidin¡¯ it.¡± ¡°I think you¡¯ll find they¡¯re just ¨C how did you say it ¨C ¡®violence racists¡¯.¡± I snickered. Her feet shifted, and I watched her punch me in the liver. I keeled over, groaning. Not for the first time, I wished I hadn¡¯t pawned my armour. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°What,¡± I coughed, and spat a thin line of drool, ¡°what¡¯re they feeding you?¡± ¡°Smart-arses.¡± Her grin was audible. ¡°Godsdamn it, Kit, this is how violence racists are formed.¡± She went for another shot, but I managed to trap her arm beneath my own. Supernatural instincts urged me to humiliate her ¨C hurt her in a way that never stopped hurting ¨C but I tried my best to pretend they were someone else¡¯s. Instead, I put her in a headlock and began kneading my knuckles into her scalp; a shade of humiliation that was fun for the whole family. Eventually we made it to the front of the line ¨C me grinding her scalp and her slugging my abdomen ¨C to be met by the bewildered face of a guard. His purple tabard was draped over his abdomen, revealing a gambeson that was, despite the chill, drenched in sweat. ¡°Chits or Godsblood?¡± ¡°Chits,¡± Kit and I chorused. The temporary weakening that came with losing blood to bloodtech wasn¡¯t worth the chits saved. ¡°Ten chits for, uh, two.¡± I smiled and forked my five over. Kit wriggled her way out and shot me a glare. ¡°Not payin¡¯ for the beauty?¡± ¡°What beauty?¡± A classic response. ¡°Ah, you don¡¯t know, do you? I¡¯m so sorry ¨C I imagine most mirrors crack-¡° She swung at me and I slipped aside. ¡°Oaf,¡± she muttered, reluctantly unthreading the chits from the string around her neck. The guard motioned us through to one platform placed amongst dozens of identical ones. It was crafted from pink heartwood, and a short railing covered either side. They distinguished themselves by the pulleys tied to each corner, connected to a small altar in the middle. The altar was emblazoned with an enormous amount of angular lines, spiralling into detail so intricate that even I couldn¡¯t see the finest details ¨C runes, the brains of bloodtech. I grinned and rubbed my hands, pressing a single button labelled ¡®3¡¯. At my touch, it flared purple. The lift rattled, then shot upwards, the acceleration driving my companion to her knees. The wind whipped my face. The world sunk further beneath us with incredible rapidity. I laughed and laughed. It was impossible to see the entire city as we flew upwards ¨C the Spire we scaled blocked all but four Spires from our view ¨C but the parts that were visible were stunning. Arrayed between each Spire was a network of platforms, linked by sturdy chains. Their bottoms were crowded with metal plates and pipes, each glowing a reassuring turquoise. Then we passed the level, and the top became visible. Hundreds of people walked the artificial streets under the azure light of ever-burning lamps, venturing across platforms using small, flexible bridges. Their flickering revealed a lack of Godsblood. Stores lined the edges of each section, while small stalls were studded evenly across the edges of each thoroughfare. I¡¯d heard that the latter would sell cheap foods in better times ¨C roasted corn, yams, potatoes, soups, dumplings, breads, noodles ¨C but now they were filled with other types of businesses: jewellery, tools or weapons, musical instruments, or boardgames. A few street performers played: juggling, cartwheeling. There was even a Face hosting a Divinity. The stores had enclosed roofs, pipes erupting from their tops, but I¡¯d been inside enough to know what would be within. Some would be cobblers; some tailors; some with bloodtech ovens long gone cold. But the vast majority of them would be Owlblood smiths and artificers, given the most diluted droplet of Yoot¡¯s blood to allow them to comprehend runes. There would be at least one on every platform. The artificers would create bloodtech ¨C to sell to individuals ¨C or be contracted to maintain Spires¡¯ vast network of magic. The smiths were capable of raising the temperatures in their kilns to outstanding heights, allowing them to forge iron and steel, instead of the bronze that most used. Neither were unique to Spires ¨C the Foot had been flooded with iron and steel after the Raven¡¯s death ¨C but few doubted that Heltia had the highest concentration of Owlblooded talent anywhere on the continent. And the best bloodtech; after all, Neelam founded the field. All that, passing by in a stretch of diluted seconds. The wind snatched my laughter away, the people below shrunk into twigs, and then were blocked entirely by the next level. It was slightly finer than the last. Rough-spun tunics and greasy, matted hair became adorned with dye and jewellery. The shops and stores were arguably better, and inarguably more expensive. Pipes glowing with runes snaked across the underside of each platform, forming a network that travelled to the Spire opposite us: dubbed Wastes. Wastes hosted the Spires of Heltia¡¯s most expensive and exceptional magic: plumbing. Inside Wastes, the pipes would propel excrement and urine to its very top, as well as smoke from the city¡¯s many forges. Like the bloodtech girding each platform, the runework filigreeing the pipes glowed steadily. Heltia knew what could and could not be risked. Atop Wastes, all the gunk would somehow be transmogrified into either drinking water or fertiliser. Whenever I talked about Wastes, I always tried to make it sound more romantic. The truth was, it stunk quite a bit ¨C which was why it was the Spire at the edge of the city ¨C and getting there was impossible, unless one used the well-guarded cages at its top. Or walked across the pipes, empty space yawning beneath them. I wasn¡¯t the kind to belittle my home, though. But clean drinking water? A sterile way to dispose of waste? Those that didn¡¯t think it magic simply hadn¡¯t smelled disease. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw Kit turning slightly green as our lift rocked. She¡¯d refused to hold onto the railings. Beside us, a platform carried a pile of butchered meat and bundles of plants to the top of this Spire, where they would be frozen by some contraption. I¡¯d never seen it before ¨C those areas were barred to the public. I turned back and closed my eyes, feeling the world go by. Wind buffeted the platform ¨C I rode it like it were a horse. I opened them and looked out again. The Spires, and the city suspended between them, spread out in front of us in all its glory. Neelam, the madman, had succeeded. It was a vertical city. The only one of its kind. Inhabitants could go lifetimes without placing a single toe on the earth. Tens of thousands could live, suspended by magic beyond my comprehension. Godkin would pass beneath, danger passing with them. Perishables could be kept for years at a time. Disgusting, disease-riddled faeces was shot away, and no one went thirsty. But there was no scent of cooking or frying on the air. For all its marvels, House Heltia couldn¡¯t create food where there was none. My cackling slowed, then halted entirely. A deep pit filled my gut. In the recesses of my mind, someone mouthed a word. I shouldn¡¯t have laughed.
The lift began to slow. Right as the platform crossed the third level, it stopped. We exited quietly, and merged into the bustling crowd. My sluggishness let Kit take the lead. It was interesting watching her walk through the masses. She could¡¯ve slid around every single pedestrian on this platform ¨C I had seen her avoid blows from Godkin that were almost incomprehensibly fast. However, she instead attempted to barge her way through every single person in her way. Most of the time, she succeeded: Kit was a tall woman, and her lithe frame bristled with muscle. But sometimes circumstances defied her ¨C she¡¯d bounce off a person or two and let loose with a string of threats. It worked too; most would rather lose a few seconds avoiding her than risk an encounter with a red-faced maniac, especially when an errant shove could send a person into a terminal fall to the level below. Occasionally, the person would sneer back. This time, she bounced off a tall, dirty man, his skeleton pressing against the surface of his skin. My eyes caught a stone knife in his hand, and then he was swinging. The swordswoman grabbed his dirty tunic, using a timely foot to shove him to the ground. Then she was dragging him, and I was desperately trying to catch up. Walking the thoroughfare was different to watching it from above. The blue lanterns were bright, but in the wrong moment they could feel ghastly, as if the world were suspended in a dream gone bad. Stall-owners screamed their deals, people murmured to one another, and only those directly beside us knew enough to look away. By the time I caught up to Kit, she was in the process of shoving the man¡¯s skull in a crack between platforms. They swayed, gently, under their own impossible weight; that gentle movement would crush his head like an overripe fruit. I leaned forward and pulled him out, just before the gap inched closed. The young woman beside me hammered at my arms. ¡°What-¡° ¡°What in the seven gods are you doing, Kit?¡± I bellowed. Kit flinched. ¡°Killing him?¡± A sneer worked its way onto her face. ¡°He tried to kill me, you daft whoreson!¡± she growled. ¡°Look at him!¡± I gestured towards his skin, lined with countless scars. Spiderweb was crammed into fresh wounds, barely staunching the bleeding. ¡°Look at the knife!¡± Its edge seemed sharp, yet remained too blunt to truly injure. ¡°And, see here?¡± I yanked open his coat, revealing several vials. I had heard them clinking. Most were empty, but some were filled with a red liquid. ¡°The man¡¯s just looking for blood. A sacrifice.¡± She licked her lips. ¡°He attacked me, Vin. He can¡¯t be mad when I hurt him back.¡± ¡°I can.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not your business,¡± she hissed. I stilled. The dirty man shivered in my arms. ¡°Fine.¡± I threw him to the ground. ¡°Are you still going to murder him?¡± ¡°It¡¯s my godsdamned right,¡± she hissed, her volume building, ¡°and I¡¯ll be Avri itself before I let you take it from me.¡± My hands shook. She drew her blade, which gleamed in the harsh blue lights, and held it to the man¡¯s throat. Kit snarled down at the kneeling man. Then she looked at me. Suddenly, she kicked the Heartlander in the gut, forcing him to keel over, and spat on his head. A moment later, and her sword was sheathed again. She squatted down. ¡°You do that again,¡± she whispered to him, ¡°and you know what happens.¡± Kit whirled and shoved her way past the onlookers. It took me a few moments to catch up. ¡°Thanks,¡± I murmured. She inclined her head. ¡°Lucky boy back there.¡± Her voice was smooth. ¡°Where we goin¡¯?¡± ¡°Botany & Alchemical Association.¡± ¡°Plants an¡¯ potions.¡± ¡°Eyah.¡± She twisted her head to look at me. ¡°Aren¡¯t we goin¡¯ the wrong way?¡± ¡°You¡¯re going the wrong way.¡± Kit squinted. ¡°Why didn¡¯ ya tell me?¡± I scratched my head. ¡°It was funny.¡± A mostly honest statement. Seeing a belligerent acquaintance get the snot kicked out of them was prime humour. Unfortunately, the swordswoman was a bit too good at fighting. She punched my arm, harshly. ¡°Well, where is it?¡± The bellow had members of the crowd looking at us. ¡°In Greens.¡± ¡°What¡¯re they, made of chits?¡± ¡°Heltia runs both,¡± I explained. ¡°It¡¯s why they pay so well for information.¡± ¡°Ah, Ox¡¯s bloody balls,¡± exclaimed the swordswoman, ¡°why can¡¯t they just live on an overhang? What person would assume that they¡¯d be in a Spire?¡± I stayed quiet. ¡°I mean, wha- what¡¯re they thinkin¡¯! Why not just have it in the monster hunter place-¡° ¡°Reclamation Committee.¡± ¡°Shut up,¡± she responded. A growl rose in my throat, but I shoved it back down. ¡°Why make us pay to come up here an¡¯ do their work?¡± She made a fair point. A decent answer bounced around my skull. ¡°Delicate equip-¡° ¡°Shut up.¡± I spread my hands in defeat, even as I involuntarily ground my teeth. Wrapping my head around her seemed impossible. Then I remembered a man had nearly died and wondered how I had forgotten so quickly. A conceit, that; I knew exactly how.
We exited the Association offices, poorer as both individuals and as a group. Selling a list of edible plants used to be enough to net a handful of chits, however times had changed, and there were enough refugees willing to gamble their lives away for a loaf of bread. Empathy came harder when income was undercut, and Kit had reminded me several times to stop glaring. My skin crawled at the memory. Eventually, we¡¯d shuffled our way to purchasing half a dozen healing concoctions, and two or three enhancement potions for Ronnie. The large mute couldn¡¯t use their full strength without tearing themself apart, which the enhancers helped avoid. Upon seeing them, Kit had asked whether they were male or female. Several minutes later, and I was still mocking her for the question. It had enabled me to pull her attention from the vial of inky liquid I bought. At the time, it had seemed a good idea, but soon enough, I would have to admit that I didn¡¯t know either. ¡°¡­how truly perceptive of you, Kit,¡± my voice dipped like a stalking predator. I spoke in the Fox¡¯s aspect, one I always found myself dipping into when there was mockery to be had. ¡°It¡¯s absolutely wonderful that you don¡¯t judge by appearances, truly wonderful.¡± Before I began, she had cajoled a match off someone, allowing her to puff on a cigarillo. A damn expensive habit, especially in Spires. No fines or beatings were levied ¨C speartrees were as close to inflammable as a material got ¨C yet I had no idea where she found leaves to smoke. She spat a plume of smoke in my mouth, and only the fact I was holding my breath saved me from a fit of spluttering. ¡°Though, come to think of it, is it because you choose not to, or because you can¡¯t?¡± I had to stop myself from slipping into letting my body twitch: my Kani was never still, and prowling around her was a step too far. ¡°Hmm? What a seer you are!¡± ¡°Alright, enough you oaf,¡± she said, rolling her eyes. ¡°Give me an answer.¡± I pursed my lips. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t know?¡± ¡°Ronnie never tells us. We just call them¡­ they.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t know.¡° She paused, taken aback. ¡°What? Why? What was- What? That was five minutes of you- ¡° ¡°Yeah, yeah, seer.¡± It hadn¡¯t been entirely a wash. Although the swordswoman covered her face by sucking her cough-stick, it failed to conceal the tightening of her face. ¡°Seer,¡± I repeated. There it was again. I smirked. ¡°Shut up, oaf,¡± she snapped. Got her. Finally, I possessed an annoying nickname. ¡°Of course, wise one.¡± Kit crushed the glowing end of her cigarillo and began to walk away. Except there wasn¡¯t very far for her to walk; the innards of Greens were a collection of rooms spiralling around a pit, which the lift flashed through. Some rooms were offices, storefronts, or rooms, while many others were vigorously guarded, filled with the purple light of glowing runes ¨C bloodtech that kept Spires¡¯ heart pumping. Speculation abounded on whether that was the same all the way to the eighth level ¨C personally, I thought Heltia would keep the more important things higher up. As such, visiting the inside of a Spire was a rare treat. The elevators inside were prohibitively expensive unless the would-be rider had a specific pass, and entry from the outside was discouraged under threat of violence. Everything a person needed was located on the platforms between Spires, so there was no real reason to enter. In fact, there were very good reasons not to enter: the House¡¯s guards were more zealous ¨C patrolling in teams of three, constantly massaging their clubs ¨C making it far too easy to draw their ire. They¡¯d cock their eyes at any wanderers, daring the foolish or brave to make eye contact. The result was that the main infrastructural nodes of Spires ¨C the Spires themselves ¨C were strangely empty. Despite all the life in other parts of the city, its cores were almost entirely abandoned. It reminded me of a dying creature, extremities red from the blood pooling within. We passed a trio of soldiers beating a teenager against the white spearwood walls, their truncheons growing increasingly wetter. They had crossed a line Heltia was usually wary of. The boy was past the point of begging. The sight arrested me, forcing me to stop and stare. Kit continued walking. I envied her. It took me a moment of staring to realise that the victim wouldn¡¯t survive. After a moment, I followed. Her gaze was fixed ahead, so it surprised me when she spoke. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you help him?¡± she asked. The answer was slow in coming. ¡°It¡¯s not our business.¡± ¡°You wanted to.¡± Finding a response felt impossible. ¡°No?¡± I shook my head. ¡°Let¡¯s speak of something else.¡± She opened her mouth, then thought better and closed it again. ¡°What¡¯re you doin¡¯ now?¡± she finally inquired. ¡°The Spiral,¡± I managed, ¡°then home.¡± ¡°Oh, the Spiral? The, uh-¡° ¡°Games and beer hall. It¡¯s at the foot of Wastes.¡± ¡°Right, knew that.¡± Something told me she didn¡¯t. ¡°D¡¯ya mind if I come?¡± ¡°I do mind.¡± She snorted. ¡°Well, give me the group¡¯s chits, then.¡± I imitated her snort, injecting an ounce of piggishness. ¡°What am I, stupid? You¡¯d piss it away.¡± ¡°Wump¡¯s salty teats, Vin,¡± Kit spluttered, eyes rolling, ¡°I¡¯m not the one goin¡¯ to the gambling hall.¡± Almost involuntarily, my arms twisted into a rude gesture. ¡°Games hall,¡± I emphasised. ¡°Oh, excuse me,¡± she said, splaying her hands ¡°thanks for the ¡®lumination.¡± I shook my head. ¡°So I should just give ten silver chits to someone I¡¯ve known for little more than a month?¡± Kit¡¯s features settled into a thoughtful frown. ¡°Yes,¡± the young woman answered. ¡°No.¡± I closed my eyes and sighed. A muting of sound on my right side allowed me to avoid colliding with a wall. Purposefully, she placed two hands on her hips. ¡°Fair enough,¡± she intoned. ¡°Well, then I¡¯m comin¡¯ with you to make sure you don¡¯t throw it all away.¡± As her statement finished, a throbbing pain began to make a home inside my head. My plan had been simple: ditch Kit, head to the Spiral, gauge some rumours, win my sword back, go up to Wastes, water my plants, and sleep. Listening to my team chatter and bantering with them was enjoyable, but spending over a week with them was draining. Everything was jumbled, chaotic, and the longer I spent with them the worse I felt; I needed a quieter space. In that regard Kit¡¯s demand was grotesque. But it was a demand. Losing her in the twists and turns of the city was possible, if I hadn¡¯t told her my destination. The swordswoman would track me down, and our relationship would sour further. The easiest solution was just to go with her flow. Really, there was no choice. Besides, introducing someone new to the Spiral gave credit. It¡¯d save me a few chits. I groaned as if some monumental weight had settled on my shoulders. The opposite was true. ¡°Fine.¡± Kit grinned and adjusted her sword¡¯s sheath. ¡°The Spiral, then.¡± Chapter 34 - Gamblers Fallacy I went- Vin went- No, we went- That¡¯s not right. It is right. Gods, where do I start?
Vin entered the Spiral slightly ahead of me. For once, I was happy to let someone else take the lead ¨C the ¡®beer and games hall¡¯ was a dump, the kind Father would tell me monsters and spiders lived inside, and Mother would shove me into. The place was made of logs stacked on top of one another, over and over, with the gaps between each likely filled with mud and someone¡¯s runny bowel movements. It was caked with moss, more than even Greens, and the roof drooped under its own weight. At least it was large enough to fit a couple dozen people; if it didn¡¯t manage at least that I would¡¯ve burned it down. The oaf in front of me exchanged a few terse words with the bouncer, then looked over his shoulder and beckoned me over. My fingers closed around the hilt of my sword as the bouncer shot me a broken-toothed grin. ¡°Careful there, young lady,¡± he drawled, tonguing blackened gums. ¡°Can¡¯t trust your man there. ¡®F I were you, I¡¯d- ¡° ¡°Do us all a favour and put on a godsdamned mask,¡± Who¡¯d he think he was, talking to me like that? ¡°How am I supposed to drink after seeing that?¡± I said, gesturing towards his face. In front of me, Vin let out a deep sigh. ¡°Kit, don¡¯t mind Len.¡± ¡°It¡¯s impossible not to mind him, with a face- ¡° ¡°Kit.¡± There was a warning note in Vin¡¯s voice. My arms trembled with the urge to punch something, but I stilled them. Had to do better; had to show him I was better. The bouncer smirked. ¡°Get a leash on yer- ¡° ¡°Len,¡± Vin spat, ¡°if you don¡¯t shut your stupid mouth, you¡¯ll join your gang as fertiliser.¡± The dirty man blanched and stepped aside. Vin ducked through the doorway, and I followed, slightly less annoyed. The guts of the Spiral were exactly as charming as its skin. That is to say, it wasn¡¯t charming at all: it stunk of dangerously cheap alcohol ¨C the kind used to clean wounds ¨C was filled with smoke from cheap torches, had insipid chatter permeating every scrap of empty air, and the bard¡¯s singing was out of tune. Around us were a variety of tables, most hosting some shade of game bet with carved bone. Cards seemed to be the most popular, with dice being the next contender. Web ¨C of course it was Web ¨C came a distant third, with only two or three people playing. The patrons all wore weapons, dangling down past the stools they perched upon. They were clearly fellow monster-hunters, though I hadn¡¯t been around long enough to recognise most of them. A few big men stood against the ramshackle walls with their arms crossed. Scratching my chin, I sized them up. There wasn¡¯t a single person in the room I couldn¡¯t kill. Vin might¡¯ve been a struggle; he was a decent warrior, falling just a fraction short of myself. His Lizardblood might be annoying ¨C always tough to keep Dure¡¯s ilk down ¨C but his wasn¡¯t overly strong. Bastard was too clever for that. No one looked at us, though. They were too busy gambling and yammering. And ¨C overruling talks of food or Ichor or bloodtech or Spires or jobs or family or the Jackal ¨C came the only thing anyone wanted to talk about: the Albright¡¯s declaration, and whether the other Houses had the guts to follow through. Part of me wanted to sit down and join them. As soon as I¡¯d stepped inside, I regretted coming. I had to, no doubt about that ¨C gods only knew what Vin¡¯d do with our chits ¨C but I loathed every single one of these ¡®games¡¯. The crew would make me play for hours every week, and it took until my fourteenth year to realise they were cheating every time. What would I do while I waited for my companion to lose his chits? I spat a hunk of phlegm on the floor. ¡°What¡¯s with you an¡¯ toothless out there?¡± Vin¡¯s olive features remained neutral. ¡°I killed his teammates.¡± ¡°What?¡± I spluttered. That was juicy. ¡°Why?¡± He shrugged, running a hand through his onyx hair. A shriek from the bard forced me to miss the first half of his reply. ¡°¡­came after me, for my blood.¡± ¡°So Vin, gentlest oaf of all, is a killer?¡± I cooed. ¡°Colour me surprised.¡± The big man smiled tightly. ¡°Come on, seer. Let¡¯s get some chips.¡± I resisted the urge to swear. Somehow, I¡¯d finesse the meaning of ¡®seer¡¯ out of him. Then I¡¯d be the one laughing. We headed to a grimy bar in the centre of the room, around the hall¡¯s main support pillar. I shoved my way past a wiry, cloaked woman teetering on a small stool as Vin slammed sixty chits down on the filthy heartwood. That was everything he had, after buying that little black vial. How in all seven gods would he eat? ¡°Ah, Vin! A drink?¡± My companion scowled. ¡°I see. One-hundred-and-twenty chips, then,¡± announced the thin, hairy man behind the counter. ¡°Gimme a moment to count them up.¡± Vin waved his hands indulgently. Then he looked up, and donned a face like someone had killed a puppy in front of him. ¡°Thum, what the hell is that?¡± I followed his gaze. Hitched on the pillar behind the bar was an exquisite sword, black as the most ominous darkness. Making out the fine details was impossible in the poor light, however it glinted; the scabbard was engraved with silver. The hilt was clearly godsbone. An ache to see the blade within filled me. ¡°Oh, that?¡± He tilted his head and looked at it. ¡°Beautiful, eh? Figured it¡¯d best to show my new sword off.¡± ¡°It¡¯s going to get stolen up there,¡± Vin growled through his teeth. A crunch sounded. I looked back at my companion, and came perilously close to flinching. The wood where he gripped the bar had splintered. I squeezed the material. There wasn¡¯t an ounce of give in it. ¡°Either Herva or myself are here at all hours,¡± the barkeep reassured. ¡°No chance of that.¡± ¡°It¡¯s collateral. It¡¯s not yours.¡± ¡°Oh, it¡¯s mine until you buy it back, friend.¡± ¡°How much do I owe?¡± ¡°One-hundred silver chits.¡± He pursed his lips, thinking. ¡°Rounded down, o¡¯ course. We¡¯re pals, after all.¡± Vin looked downward, teeth clenched and finally nodded. ¡°Alright. Okay. Don¡¯t lose it.¡± ¡°Wouldn¡¯t dream of it, Vin.¡± He pulled two bundles of bones from beneath the counter. ¡°One-twenty,¡± he said, then looked up at Vin. ¡°Pick some weaker opponents, eh? Don¡¯t want a repeat of last week.¡± The oaf grunted, and retreated from the counter. ¡°You lost that sword?¡± I asked. ¡°Seriously?¡± The man scowled, reaching under his bandana to scratch an itch. ¡°I didn¡¯t lose it. Thum took it.¡± I shot him a look of disbelief. ¡°Then take it back!¡± ¡°No,¡± was his instantaneous reply. ¡°I¡¯ll get the money- ¡° ¡°One hundred silver chits?¡± Even before the crew had been disbanded, it had taken us several good hauls to accrue that kind of money. Vin didn¡¯t have a chance. ¡°-and I¡¯ll get it back.¡± ¡°Hello?¡± I said, reaching up and knocking on the side of his head. His hair was surprisingly soft. ¡°Anyone there? You don¡¯t have a sliver of a chance.¡± ¡°I¡¯m good at Web.¡± I had to resist the urge to roll my eyes. Of course he thought he was good at Web; I¡¯d never met any would-be smartarse that didn¡¯t believe that. A game of minds, they say. I thumbed the hilt of my sword. ¡°What¡¯m I supposed to do while you lose?¡± ¡°There¡¯s booze,¡± said Vin, giving me a pointed look, ¡°and conversation.¡± ¡°Blood and eels, Vin, that¡¯s dull as dirt.¡± ¡°You asked to come.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t know why I expected compassion from an oaf.¡± ¡°Gods, fine.¡± He withdrew four chits from his purse-string and slapped them into my palm. ¡°Take this to the bard, and tell him to play¡­¡± He paused. ¡°¡®Sitter Wendy the Scissor Whizzer¡¯.¡± I glared. ¡°That¡¯s fun?¡± ¡°There¡¯s no such song.¡± That didn¡¯t¡­ My mouth opened as the epiphany struck. ¡°¡­And he¡¯ll try to play it anyway?¡± ¡°Absolutely,¡± he grinned, teeth a startling white. ¡°He¡¯s half a hair away from getting booted out. He needs to fulfil all requests.¡± That still left me with far too much time. ¡°And then what do I do?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not going to hold your hand- ¡° ¡°Fine. I get it.¡± I made a shooing motion. ¡°Go, rid yerself of all wealth.¡± Vin saluted stiffly, and marched over to one of the tables playing Web. Off to the side of the room sat the bard, warbling his way through a broken song I vaguely recognised as ¡®Slaughter¡¯s Last Dance¡¯. ¡°And in the Wastes of bloody gold ¡°The Slaughter breathed her last, ¡°Lizard fled and city saved ¡°And a dagger through her back. ¡°Madness nurtured at her breast ¡°Had slithered through the cracks, ¡°The Ravenblood, the Ravenblood-¡± Simultaneously, everyone in the room spat. ¡°Avenged itself at last.¡± His choice of ballad made his tone-deafness even more frustrating. A story about a mother being killed by her son? Tragic in every sense of the word. No one had even known General Maja had been alive until the song about her death had appeared a few years back. Yet, despite the subject of the song, the bard sung it as if it were a tale about a chipmunk finding seeds. Though, the rhymes always seemed a bit too upbeat to me, like the person who wrote it were somehow pleased at the whole thing. That bastard Ravenblood was still around, too. In Heltia, if the Albrights were to be believed ¨C though their claim that the city ¡®sheltered a Ravenblood¡¯ seemed to mean the same thing as ¡®we needed a reason to throw Heltia down a well¡¯. Their spiel about not allowing a Head to be Blooded made more sense; who would let someone with Godsblood in their veins govern? The Albrights, apparently, having given Heltia¡¯s Head a ringing endorsement for nearly a century. A knife in the back was more honest. I chuckled quietly to myself, and kicked the drums out from beneath the bard¡¯s hands. The man ¨C though judging by his acne scarring he was closer to a boy ¨C flinched backwards against the log-and-dirt wall. I grinned toothily at him, handing him the chips with great deliberation. ¡°What- what¡¯s your request, miss?¡± he stuttered. A tongue stuck out from my teeth as I tried to recall the name. ¡°Sister Wendy the Whirlin¡¯ Hurler,¡± I answered. It seemed more amusing than the original. Wide-eyed, he stared up at me, completely still. ¡°Come on.¡± I snapped my fingers repeatedly. ¡°Get a move on, boy ¨C and tone down the voice-cracks. For Kani¡¯s sake, if no one else.¡± Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. He nodded rapidly and righted his drums, beginning to tap a lively tune. My glare was constant. He licked his lips. ¡°Sis-ter, Wen-dy-¡° For a few minutes I squatted in front of him, watching as he felt his way through a song that didn¡¯t exist by gauging my reactions. At times I would snicker quietly, and he¡¯d turn whiter than spearwood. Eventually, I grew bored and shot him my endorsement in the form of a thumbs up. Kid didn¡¯t have enough of a spine to try and fight me. Back at the bar, I ordered a drink from the greasy bartender, avoiding his attempts to get me to buy chips. After a few minutes of him cajoling and myself growing increasingly terse, he finally came to the radical realisation that maybe, just maybe, I wanted something to drink. He leaned below the bar and slammed a wooden pitcher in front of me ¨C far more than the three chits I¡¯d paid should¡¯ve gotten me. I suspected that this place had the only one quantity of beverage to serve. Probably only one type of drink, too. Hesitantly, I looked inside. Within, muddy liquid waited, gently swirling. Pinching my nose shut, I tilted the concoction into my mouth and swirled it around. Grains of dirt brushed along my teeth. My eyebrows furrowed. The so-called ¡®beer¡¯ seemed to be some sort of heavy spirit mixed with water. Muddy water, in a city where clean drinking water was available at every corner. All forgivable; I¡¯d drunk worse, in worse places, in worse amounts, with worse company. However, one feature was irredeemable. ¡°Why¡¯s it warm?¡± I gurgled, ejecting the swill back into the pitcher. ¡°Ah,¡± Thom startled, ¡°well miss, our cooling bloodtech is out of Godsblood-¡° ¡°What a surprise,¡± I droned. ¡°You can¡¯t afford blood in a city that doesn¡¯t have enough? Woah. Who woulda thunk it.¡± ¡°I see you under- ¡° ¡°Get a cellar like the rest of the world.¡± ¡°Well- ¡° I leaned over the counter and moved to grab his shirt, then halted as soon as I realised it would mean gripping a handful of chest-hair. Giving him a stink-eye was all I could manage. ¡°Well, what? Yer place is a dungheap, Thom.¡± ¡°Ah, but it¡¯s- ¡° ¡°Shut up,¡± I snapped. ¡°Who said you could talk? I¡¯m givin¡¯ you advice, bear-boy ¨C you better listen.¡± He closed his eyes and let out a huff of air. ¡°Now you better- ¡° The man was a predator. I could see it in the way his face moved, and the way his eyes did not. The way he talked: clean and polite ¨C the kind of diversion that hid a partner sneaking up behind. Not an honest predator, either ¨C not like me. The barkeep wouldn¡¯t take a swing himself. He¡¯d kick me out, and I¡¯d have to clean my way through a couple of his cronies before I could rearrange his face. ¡°Shut up, I¡¯m talkin¡¯ to someone else now.¡± I turned to the middle-aged woman next to me. Her hair trickled out from beneath her cloak, revealing grey strands mixed with black. ¡°Old lady, how¡¯re you enjoyin¡¯ yer swill?¡± I snorted. ¡°S¡¯it taste good ¡®cause yer tastebuds¡¯re dead?¡± She turned to me slowly, bringing her cold, scarred face into clarity. I stilled. The white, razor-thin remnants of healed hurt crossed her entire face. ¡°A swordswoman.¡± She didn¡¯t seem surprised. ¡°Are you decent with a blade? A scoff propelled itself from my throat, handily concealing the sigh of relief that threatened to escape at her words. Despite how she looked, she spoke nothing like Mother. ¡°Lady, I¡¯m about as ¡®decent¡¯ as a warrior gets.¡± The strange woman hummed in agreement. ¡°You are certainly muscled appropriately. I imagine swinging a heavy blade all day is no trouble for one such as you.¡± I recoiled. ¡°Uh, thanks,¡± I stuttered. ¡°Listen, I¡¯m not, uh, I¡¯m not really-¡° Her eyebrows narrowed during my tangent, then raised quickly. ¡°I have a partner.¡± ¡°Uh, I don¡¯t really, do it with three-¡° ¡°I am not interested in you like that.¡± I frowned. ¡°Why not?¡± ¡°You- you are too young.¡± Fair enough. ¡°Fair,¡± I nodded. ¡°So what¡¯s all the talk about my muscles for?¡± ¡°Can I not simply admire a warrior¡¯s physique?¡± she asked. I shrugged. ¡°Why you gotta be weird about it, though?¡± ¡°Apologies, then,¡± she stated. ¡°You simply seem powerful.¡± I preened. This woman had a good eye. Though, it was difficult to imagine what brought her to this place, given her posh speech and fine cloak. ¡°What¡¯re you doin¡¯ here, lady? It¡¯s a damn hole.¡± The scarred woman glanced around. ¡°This is where the hunters spend their free time, is it not?¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± I sniffed, ¡°looks like most everyone here¡¯s into monster huntin¡¯. Or,¡± I paused to spit on the floor, ¡°they¡¯re a godsdamned harvester.¡± The scarred woman swirled her pitcher. ¡°It truly is awful, isn¡¯t it?¡± ¡°I¡¯d wager you¡¯d find better drink at th¡¯ top of Wastes.¡± The corners of her mouth quirked, slightly. ¡°Mm. Young swordswoman, who do you think the best hunters in the room are?¡± ¡°Myself,¡± I answered immediately. ¡°An¡¯ Vin, I guess. Everyone else s¡¯not worth the spit in their mouths.¡± She nodded slowly. ¡°What makes you think that?¡± I chuckled. ¡°You stick around, an¡¯ I¡¯ll show you.¡± The woman rotated, facing her whole body towards me. Her eyes drifted up and down my body. ¡°You are part of the Strains¡¯ team?¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± I answered, eyes narrowing. For a moment her expression shifted, like she¡¯d sucked on something sour. ¡°Prove your worth and I will have a job for you.¡± Silence stretched. I imagined taking a pitcher and staining her hair with it. ¡°How much we talkin¡¯?¡± ¡°Enough to leave the Heartlands,¡± she whispered. ¡°And employment thereafter.¡± My jaw dropped. Bread cost a pretty chit. Bread for six, for months of trekking? ¡°You havin¡¯ us bring you Ichor or somethin¡¯?¡± I spluttered. I refocused my eyes on the lady. Only a House had unrestricted access to rations. Only a House could guarantee employment so readily. That kind of attention was bad. But we could always use more chits¡­ ¡°Impress me and I will tell you.¡± Abruptly, I stood, grabbed my discount booze, and strode through the sea of tables, chairs and gossiping hunters. The smoke was awful: like I was sucking on six cigarillos but without the high. An armoured woman¡¯s sudden shifting had me colliding with her during a tight shuffle between people. She turned around, eyes narrowed and mouth open, only for me to give her a tight-lipped smile and thrust my pitcher into her hands. Usually I would¡¯ve accepted her invitation, but there were more pressing problems at hand. Vin sat at a Web table, his eyes fixed on the board. He looked comical, perched on the seat ¨C a serious-seeming man so large you¡¯d mistake him for a weak Oxblood if you didn¡¯t know better. The wrinkled, sun-scorched old man opposite him licked his lips, continually rambling. ¡°¡­never mind Ichor, you see the real news is about the Jackal, because ¨C I mean, have you heard ¨C she¡¯s been tormenting our traders and travellers for years now, and, well, now her Get¡¯s gone it¡¯s been real easy work taking her down, and I mean, what did she expect, for there to be no consequences, puh-lease, a woman can¡¯t go around murdering ¨C not even having the good-grace to hide it! ¨C and think she¡¯s gonna get away with it all¡­¡± I hissed and resolved myself to ignore the endlessly talkative man. Vin had clearly decided to the same. Glancing down at the board, I could immediately see the big man was winning, so long as the gods didn¡¯t get good rolls. Web was the kind of game that had outlasted history itself. It lingered like a bad smell, clinging to every bored, semi-cerebral person that witnessed it. Two sides of twelve pieces ¨C six Blooded with unique moves, and six unblooded with uniform ones ¨C each vying to occupy eight randomly-chosen spaces on the board. The goal was to gain control of the majority of points, while ensuring the opponent¡¯s army was too decimated to pose a counterattack. Despite all the ¡®randomly-chosen¡¯ spaces being closer to rambler¡¯s side, Vin had occupied all but two. The thing about Web, though, was that gods roamed the board. Every four turns, a die roll would determine how they moved, and whether they¡¯d obliterate half of someone¡¯s army or simply brush past. The real trick of Web was accounting for the way the gods moved ¨C calculating the odds and taking risks or avoiding them entirely. This game in particular had all six possible gods in play; usually, the challenged would pick one or two. Vin¡¯d done decently, though just from the arrangement of the board it was difficult to know whether it was because he was good or his opponent was bad. More importantly, his soldiers were out of range of all but two gods ¨C the Fox and the Dolphin ¨C and they would need to both roll sixes to negatively impact his position. And while my companion glared at the dice so hard they threatened to burst into flame, his opponent continued rambling- ¡°¡­and I mean, Ichor¡¯s probably just a pool of Lizardblood somewhere but that bounty, hoo, that bounty¡¯s something else, though have you noticed that all the crier¡¯s have stopped talking about it, which seems strange to me because why would Heltia give up a replacement for Godsblood when we¡¯ve already got too little, though I guess they might¡¯ve figured it might not exist; funny how easily they¡¯ve put stock in rumours, though I guess Owlbloods can¡¯t help twitching their beaks in hope of more fuel¡­¡± -selected two dice, and rolled two sixes, ensuring both gods rushed in and vaporised six of Vin¡¯s eight remaining pieces. The man paused suddenly, eyes flicking to Vin. The large man placed his hands on his face. ¡°Bad luck, Vin.¡± Vin slid over every one of his chips, apparently not bothering to play for a draw. ¡°Yeah,¡± he sighed, removing his hands, ¡°that seems about right.¡± He tapped the table twice and forked over another handful of chips, eyes narrowed. ¡°Another round, then.¡± I chuckled mirthlessly. The two players looked at me. ¡°Vin, it¡¯s clear as cracked eggs that he¡¯s cheating.¡± The wrinkled man¡¯s tan lightened suddenly. His eyes darted around. ¡°Look at him!¡± I laughed. ¡°Like a pig on a stick. It¡¯s obvious.¡± Vin looked at him, then at me. His lips curled upwards, then sunk back down. ¡°How?¡± ¡°Dice¡¯re loaded. Check this out.¡± The challenged was always the one rolling for the gods. I plucked up the rambler¡¯s ¨C who was now growing increasingly pale ¨C six dice and rattled them around in my cupped hands. ¡°Let¡¯s start with this one,¡± I said, plucking one out. I began rolling it. Each time, the wood came up three. Each time, Vin¡¯s face grew darker. ¡°Next one,¡± he demanded. Slowly, we went through each dice. Two were truly random, but the rest were clearly weighed to give specific outcomes: five in every six rolls came up with the same number. Vin¡¯s expression was unnaturally neutral. Only his wide eyes ¨C more whites than pupils ¨C revealed anything but serenity lay beneath. Silently, he pushed himself from his stool and began walking across the hall. Instead of weaving around tables and stools, he simply walked through them, knocking people and games to the ground as he went. Those that protested turned, saw his frame and face, and returned to playing. It seemed unfair that he could do that. His destination was another table set for Web, a slight woman drumming her hands atop it. She saw him and brightened. ¡°Vin! You comin¡¯ t¡¯get yer- ¡° ¡°Give me your dice,¡± he interrupted. His words were terse. Something began seeping into her face. ¡°C¡¯mon, Vin-¡° ¡°Give me your dice,¡± he bellowed, voice like crumbling stone. She fell over backwards, then staggered to her feet and placed six dice, carved from spearwood, on the table. When he began rolling them, she stared. Then she ran, frenetically pushing her way through the hunters, smoke, and stink, all the way to the entrance of the hall, and then taking her flight outside. It was a good choice. The outcomes were the same as before. After the third die came out rigged, he pegged it across the room, then turned and began moving again. I followed. As we walked, I realised Vin¡¯s mouth was moving. I wasn¡¯t sure if he himself noticed. ¡°Come on, Orvi¡± he whispered, inaudible to anyone but me. I blinked. ¡°Come on, son.¡± The third and final table waited in an increasingly quiet room. Gamblers turned as Vin cut a furious heading through the hall. The man seated at the Web board saw us coming and fled, a move that was immediately countered by Vin scooping up a stool and hurling it at the man. After half a moment of flight, it splintered against his back. He stumbled, giving me time to rush over and kick the side of his knee, taking him to the floor. Instead of sparing me a nod, Vin squatted over the fallen scammer and flipped him over. ¡°Dice,¡± he hissed. The man fumbled at his clothing. It took too long. I recoiled as Vin smashed a fist against the earth next to him, sending a cloud of dirt into the air. When the cloud cleared, my companion clutched a die in his fist, and the man lay insensate, blood dripping from a squashed nose. Three rolls in the dirt, yet only one outcome. Vin rose to his feet. His body was tense and tightly wound, like a crouching lion. I stifled the urge to rub my hands together. His eyes clenched shut for a handful of seconds, his face contorting. It was only when he opened them that he began to move. Quiet murmurs mixed with the smoke and smell of cheap drink. Thom stood behind the counter, pretending he hadn¡¯t noticed the ruckus Vin had been causing. An expression of mock surprise plastered itself over his face. ¡°Vin!¡± he exclaimed. ¡°Another losing streak? Don¡¯t worry, friend.¡± Vin¡¯s back grew rigid. I couldn¡¯t see his face from where I stood behind him. ¡°The cooling box is out of fuel; if you want chips, you can pay in Godsblood! I¡¯ll double- ¡° ¡°Every single game of Web in your hall is rigged,¡± Vin stated. ¡°Did you know anything about that?¡± The hairy man¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Really?¡± He placed his hands on his tunic. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, Vin ¨C I had no idea! I¡¯m- ¡° A bark cut through his words. ¡°I don¡¯t care. Give me the sword.¡± He looked downwards, grimacing. ¡°I can¡¯t do that, Vin. You lost most of those chits at cards- ¡° ¡°I bet the cards were rigged, too. See, I won at first.¡± Vin inhaled sharply, then turned to the rest of the room. ¡°Does that sound familiar, anyone?¡± His gaze panned across the crowd. Thom tried to speak, but Vin¡¯s voice completely overruled his. ¡°A month-long lucky streak, followed by a year of losses?¡± ¡°Vin, I understand that you¡¯re angry, but to make those kinds- ¡° The large man thumbed underneath his bandana, craning his head over his shoulder. ¡°Give me the sword, Thom, and I¡¯ll stop.¡± From the corner of my eye, I detected the guards on the sides of the room begin moving closer. ¡°Is it chips you want? Is that what this- ¡° ¡°I want my godsdamned sword, you bastard!¡± The words rumbled across the room. ¡°Half this room is bloody starving and you¡¯re still taking their chits? You spidery little rat. What was all this about? Money? Why me? Were you¡­ ¡° He paused, revulsion panning across his face. ¡°Were you trying to put me so far in debt I had to work- ¡° ¡°Vin!¡± the barkeep snarled. ¡°That¡¯s enough. I thought we were friend- ¡° ¡°I didn¡¯t want to have to do this, Thom,¡± Vin bellowed, his voice dominating the air, ¡°but I will.¡± Silence reigned as Vin unslung his pack and began rifling through it. The hairy conman pressed his back against the pillar in an effort to get further away. As he did so, the guards accelerated their pace. Vin didn¡¯t draw a weapon, though. With a flourish, he withdrew a black object from the beaten leather satchel. It took me several seconds to realise it was a mask. ¡°I am the Face Vin,¡± he announced. The four facets arrayed outwards shone eerily. ¡°I have hosted Divinities, I have calmed ghouls, I have released spirits from monsters¡­¡± He turned, showing it to the room. ¡°¡­And I have been entrusted with a cursed blade.¡± The scarred lady seated at the bar watched, her face split with a thin smile. He brandished the mask like a torch warding away darkness. The room stilled. A woman behind me whispered, ¡°Did Thom really cheat a Face?¡± Her body shifted awkwardly. Another man flinched as his eyes settled on the sword above the mantle, drinking in the ominous contours of the blade. The gamblers abandoned any illusion of routine. All eyes were fixed upon the exchange at the centre of the room. Internally, I swore. If I¡¯d known Vin was a Face, I would¡¯ve been nicer. I sniffed, then acknowledged that as a lie. Vin let the quiet stretch, then split it with a cry. ¡°Then cheated of that self-same blade!¡± His expression twisted in a rictus of regret. ¡°Despite my role, I am only a man.¡± His eye twitched. ¡°I make mistakes.¡± For a fraction of a second, the emotion on his face fell into something realer, more wretched. Then the moment passed and it was gone. ¡°These past months, I have been trying to remedy them.¡± The Face looked at the crowd, eyes wide. ¡°I¡¯ve been trying.¡± His lips trembled. After a moment, they firmed. ¡°But I can¡¯t let that¡­ thing stay here. Only a Face knows how to properly handle it; how to calm the spirits within¡± Even as the crowd watched, enraptured, Thom¡¯s expression calcified. There were no good choices for him left to make. Handing over Vin¡¯s sword was an admission of guilt: of rigging the games and cheating a Face. The other option¡­ ¡°You¡¯re lying, Vin,¡± the barkeep stated, eyes blank. ¡°You stole that Face. You¡¯re trying to renege on your debt.¡± He scoffed quietly as my companion stared. ¡°Come on, fellas. Get this cheat out of here.¡± The guards closed in. Wooden walls narrowed. Vin continued speaking. I ignored him. My vision sharpened. The hilt of my sword was smooth in my palm. Everything made my skin crawl. Thom: cheating an entire hall of the destitute. The scarred woman: watching as if the world were a game without stakes. The hunters and harvesters: their families starving yet gambling away full bellies. The guards: working for a dishonest man, lacking the strength to say no. My own calloused hands. I looked at Vin, his pleading lost in his lies. He wanted a bloodless solution. He would allow them to live. The scarred woman stared at me. I could only be one person. I¡¯d show her. I¡¯d show everyone here. In a single motion, I sprung atop the bar, flicked the beautiful blade from its holster, and jammed it into the side of Thom¡¯s skull. The hall froze. Then everything started moving. Chapter 35 - Method Acting A guard lunged at me, spear extended. I slipped around it, and with a closed fist struck his throat. There was a moment, horrifically distended, wherein knuckles received the feedback of cartilage rupturing. The look of horror on the man¡¯s face as he realised his windpipe had just ruptured. Death loomed in his eyes, taking the form of a monster. Taking the form of me. People had become so delicate. He was the nineteenth person I had killed personally. My memories told me of thousands more, using darker, more worn hands. And there remained an unknown quantity: every person dead by my actions. An exact count remained elusive. The math was beyond me. But nineteen were certain. The man toppled to the liquor-stained dirt, clawing at his throat. Images flashed: my own slit throat, my own impending death. Blood on the head of the boy below. That would not be a problem in this instance. He wasn¡¯t bleeding. A bloodless murder. I could¡¯ve laughed. When Kit had hacked my sword into the side of Thom¡¯s head, I had been stunned at first. The crowd had been on my side. I could¡¯ve convinced him. Or at least, I could¡¯ve grabbed the sword and Kit and ran. But instead, she¡¯d killed him. I had been walking a knife-edge, and she¡¯d simply pushed me off. All my efforts, swept away like footprints after rain. Somehow, I wasn¡¯t surprised. At least I could finally move. A sword sunk into my shoulder from behind and bounced off my collarbone. Blunt, I thought, lucky me. I snarled and groped behind me, managing to grab a handful of fabric. My tensing muscles were rapidly followed by me heaving a woman over my shoulder, hurling her over the bar and into the support pillar behind it. Kit cackled to the side of her, thrusting my onyx sword down, to cut a life out of my sight. I turned as my mind worked. A distant part of me recalled thirteen guards ¨C warriors ¨C when we had entered. I saw eight approaching through a horde of tables, fighting through the crowd that was only beginning to flee just now. Despite Kit¡¯s display of skill, a few of the gambling hunters drew weapons and began walking towards us. And that was just on my side of the hall. A snarling guard shoved his way through a set of tables and stools, brandishing a thick club. He levelled it at me and opened his mouth, at which point I gripped it and repeatedly slammed my fist into his stomach. The second, third, and fourth blows were all met with tensed muscle, however the first had sunk in with a dangerous lack of resistance. His grip loosened, and a sharp tug sent his weapon into my hands. He begun straightening, but with a bellow I raised my knee and thrust my boot straight into his stomach. The guard toppled backwards with a strangled groan, his weight splintering a cheap table. Two more stepped over his huddled form: a guard and what looked to be a furious patron. Even if the pair had never spoken, animal instinct bid them to shuffle in opposite directions, giving each other space and surrounding me more effectively. Heat filled me at their audacity. My face twisted. A tension gathered in my gut, and with a snarl I let loose a roar. The sound echoed through the hall, smashing through the panicked yelps of runners and the frantic whispers of onlookers. The duo facing me flinched. I chucked a club at one, and kicked a stool at the other. An unconscious evaluation had me thundering towards the less armoured guard. She winced slightly as the seat smacked against her knees, only barely managing to avoid a blurring uppercut. Her alacrity wasn¡¯t enough to prevent her from eating a straight to the face. The woman¡¯s nose exploded beneath my fist. My knuckles ached ¨C stupid ¨C and my tendons strained. It was unwise to move this fast, this strong, with so many witnesses. I didn¡¯t care. A flash of orange at the corner of my vision gave enough warning for me to hop sideways between tables, making space between the hunter and myself. He wielded a copper sword ¨C thick and heavy ¨C in two steel gauntlets. The man¡¯s expression tightened, and he slashed diagonally again. I slipped underneath, snatching a table and managing to interpose it between myself and him on the return swing, the motion sending a deck of yellowed cards fluttering through the air. The blade caught on the edge of cheap wood. Someone said, ¡°mai bloodeh damn nose!¡± to my side. The guard was bent over, clutching her bleeding face. The sword began sliding out, so I spun the table, feeling the hunter¡¯s grip loosen, and hurled it against the woman. Cards obscured my opponent¡¯s upper body, but his legwork revealed his position. I lunged through the fluttering paper rectangles, caught my elbow around his throat, slid behind him, and squeezed. As the two of us staggered around, knocking tables and chairs over, I choked him and evaluated our surroundings. The numbers had grown: ten were approaching, and would arrive in a few moments. Unless I picked up a weapon, I¡¯d have little chance. I wouldn¡¯t even have time to incapacitate the man in my arms. A glance behind showed Kit spinning my blade through the chest of a man, his own spear paused mid-thrust. A body was slumped over the bar, and Siik only knew how many lay dead behind it. However, a handful of guards and moralistic hunters still approached. It¡¯d only been two dozen seconds since the fight started. No one present had fully comprehended what was occurring. They wouldn¡¯t know they should run. There were a few possible outcomes here: Kit and I got surrounded and promptly mutilated; the two of us managed to flee; just Kit managed to flee; or, finally, we defeated everyone in the room. The latter would¡¯ve seemed unlikely, were I with anyone else. A quick glance backwards revealed my companion burying a sword through dirtied lamellar and into the gut behind it. Next to her, another man wailed silently as his left arm grasped at the stump of his right. After a moment, he collapsed to the floor, insensate. But Kit was still moving, flicking her blade through the delimbed man¡¯s throat and vaulting the counter to attack the coming group of five. When I¡¯d first seen her fight, I thought she was a Foxblood ¨C an extremely strong one. Despite their idiosyncratic cruelty matching her own, she displayed none of the physical characteristics of such Blooded. Her sword was not preternaturally fast; it was simply always in the right place. Kit¡¯s bladework was measured, precise, and graceful, full of large arcs and small, rapid movements. Unusual forms that were always motion, taking advantage of momentum and almost entirely bereft of any guard ¨C her movements paid very little mind to blocking blows, instead either dodging aside or allowing an offensive manoeuvre to double as a deflection. It was likely meant for a larger weapon, and impossible to use effectively were it not for her bizarre comprehension of her opponent¡¯s movements. The sight of it was eerie; unnatural. But she was no Blooded. Thirty years of military experience recognised a simple fact: with a blade, Kit was a genius. Even so, she only had one sword, and two hands. And she didn¡¯t have eyes on the back of her head. Every warrior had the same losing match-up: too many people in too wide a space. Given a handful of seconds, they¡¯d gather and overwhelm us. The solution here was simple. Finish them quickly. The table slid off the broken-nosed guard, then caught on something. The short sword trapped in the edge of the table had pierced the woman¡¯s chest. Her glassy eyes rolled, sliding across the room. I felt her life flicker, then vanish. Like a candle in a storm. Part of me longed to dip my fingers in the blood, save something from this incredible waste, but the rest of me cringed away from the crimson leaking from her chest. Twenty, I thought. Behind me, I felt Kit end another life, even as three more slowly approached. In front of me, warriors splayed out, delaying their attack until a good angle could be retrieved. Their lives flared, good and healthy and strong. Infinitely valuable. My hands trembled around the hunter¡¯s throat. I¡¯d tried. It hadn¡¯t mattered. Within me, a beast licked its chops. I looked at the Face slid beneath my belt. One arm remained wrapped around the man¡¯s neck, constantly clawed by desperate hands, while the other tugged the mask out and pressed it against my head. With seasoned precision, I tightened the buckles around the back, pressed two indentations, and rotated it to the facet I needed: Kani¡¯s aspect. A long, vulpine snout, four ears and eyes, and a wide, face-splitting grin full of endless teeth. Supressed energy unleashed itself filling my ligaments and limbs and fingers and toes and tendons and veins and arteries and setting it all quivering, all shaking like some maddened giant had risen from beneath earth and stone and said ¡®I will wait no longer¡¯ and then cast its arm across the world and severed the necks of everything breathing and he smiled a black smile as finally in their death he was lord of a lifeless land because in their corpses his power was writ indefatigably undeniably irredeemably beyond the ability of any creature to deny except outside my shadowed chasm of bone and blood there was no giant; there was just me, twitching, smirking, ready to perform. I redirected my hands away from the fragile flesh of the man¡¯s neck, instead grasping his skull with one palm and using the other to hammer his temple. He dropped instantly, and a small, silent part of me wondered whether the blow would bleed his brain. It was merciful, though ¨C as merciful as I could manage. Radiant delight penetrated my mind as I stomped his arm, the excruciating crack permeating the room, as loud as any drum or scream. Those approaching hesitated, allowing me to grasp his hair and drag him backwards, towards the bar, my body shaking with uproarious laughter. Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. With a heave, I lifted my quarry and slammed him atop the counter, its sturdy heartwood groaning at the pressure. I hurdled it, then scooped up a pitcher from beneath and hurled it at one of the people Kit was fighting. I turned, and a fraction of a second later I heard the agonised scream of a man being butchered. I needed to be faster. From beneath the bar, I brought up more jugs of stinking swill, reeking of diluted disinfectant, and began pouring them over the unconscious man in front of me. While I did so, I spoke, voice reverberating through the hall. ¡°I¡¯ve got three; what about you?¡± Mercifully, Kit replied instantly. ¡°Six,¡± she panted. ¡°Six, uh?¡± I repeated loudly, ¡°that¡¯s damn good work there, pal.¡± My teeth peeled back behind the Face, a human reflection of the impossible smile facing the rest of the room. While I did so, I leaned across the bar and snatched my companion¡¯s cigarillo pouch from her belt, placing it on the counter and removing the flint and steel from it. ¡°How many before this is all over?¡± ¡°Ten,¡± she coughed, even as another wretched bellow emanated from behind. ¡°Ten,¡± I laughed, ¡°ten!¡± The ten on my side of the room shuffled, faces blank. Their weapons were gripped in bloodless hands. I began striking the flint as I continued. ¡°I think I can do¡­¡± ¡®Chink, chink,¡¯ accompanied sparks. The liquor over the man in front of me caught alight, spreading across his body rapidly. ¡°Four,¡± I said, pointing at him, ¡°Five,¡± at another, ¡°Six,¡± the hunter awoke and began screaming, ¡°Seven; Eight; Nine,¡± I pointed, and then with both hands I grabbed his head and twisted his neck, leaving only a resounding crunch, the echo of a scream and a pyre of a dead thing. ¡°Ten; Eleven; Twelve.¡± At that, they finally broke. The corpse in front of me burned. Twenty-one, I thought. One of the hunters began backing away. A woman to his left saw the sudden absence in their formation, gritted her teeth, and followed suit. The others hadn¡¯t noticed. I heaved the body over my head and hurled it at them, and those remaining made the wise decision. There was nothing to be saved here, after all; only more losses. The room drained into the darkness of Spires. Kit leapt over the counter and moved to pursue, only for her nearly to be taken off her feet as I grabbed her shoulder. The fabric beneath was wet with blood. ¡°Leave it, Kit,¡± I said, returning my Face to its satchel. ¡°It¡¯s over.¡± The swordswoman turned, onyx blade still smeared with gore. ¡°They¡¯ll tell- ¡° ¡°What in all seven gods did you think would happen?¡± I seethed, wincing as I flexed my blistering hands. ¡°There were nearly fifty people in the Spiral.¡± ¡°But- ¡° She paused, seeing my expression. I paced around the bar, looking at the wreckage. A cloaked woman straightened from behind a table. Nine were dead, including Thom. The flames from the body was spreading. A guard ¨C one I had kicked earlier ¨C staggered upright and stumbled from the hall. The Spiral was irrevocably ruined. There would be no recovery. As I completed my circuit around the bar, I found Kit brandishing the sword at me. She wiggled her eyebrows and flicked it, sending a smidge of blood and gore through the air. I blanched and barely managed to cover my head in time. ¡°Stop,¡± I said. She giggled nervously and did it again. I floundered over to her, vision concealed by trembling arms. After tripping over a stool, I stumbled into her, grabbed her wrist, and twisted. My blisters felt excruciating against her skin. Kit growled and struck with her free hand, only for me to lower my head, allowing unprotected knuckles to crunch against the hardest part of my skull. She winced and shook it, giving me time to twist around her back, catch both her legs with my own, and heave us to the floor. After the ground thudded against us, her grip loosened and I yanked my sword free, then immediately rolled to my feet. Hung on the pillar was its scabbard. I reached up and awkwardly wiggled it off its holster. A few seconds later and I managed to buckle it to my belt. I turned around to find Kit conferring with a cloaked figure. Despite the interaction, her eyes were fixed on my own. The person whispered something, then patted her on the waist and began walking outside. My blade slid along the clothes of the broken-nosed corpse, leaving a trail of blood and gore. The sight was nauseating. A brief examination revealed more human detritus along its edge, which I began wiping on an unsullied patch of the corpse¡¯s clothes. ¡°What was that?¡± That was Kit¡¯s voice. I looked up for a moment. ¡°That¡¯s what I want to ask.¡± I waved my arm around, feeling the air caress my blistered palm. ¡°What was the point of all this?¡± ¡°What was that?¡± she repeated. ¡°Nine people died, Kit ¨C and for what? For a whim? For- for what? Why? Nine people.¡± Bile rose in my throat. The smell of organs and faeces permeated the room. ¡°I don¡¯t- I can¡¯t¡­¡± ¡°How¡¯d you take the sword?¡± ¡°¡­And now we¡¯ve got to leave,¡± I yelled, eyes wide. ¡°Nine people don¡¯t die quietly. Don¡¯t die without family, without friends. And they all know exactly who¡¯s to blame. And Thom had friends, too. By the blood, if they¡¯re not dangerous, too.¡± ¡°How¡¯d you do that? Yer not that good. Have you been- ¡± I hissed, coming to a realisation. ¡°Raven¡¯s bleached bones, what about Whip? What- what about Ronnie; Gast; Davian?¡± I clutched my head and continued pacing. ¡°We¡¯ve got to go. But where?¡± It seemed impossible to keep my breathing steady. ¡°How do we eat? How do I keep them safe?¡± My hands and shoulders burned. The world wobbled. ¡°Oh no, no, no, no. Please. No.¡± ¡°Vin?¡± My stomach heaved and I retched, a thin stream of bile splattering against the floor. Nothing was within ¨C I hadn¡¯t eaten for some time. ¡°I¡¯ve gotta- I-¡° ¡°Vin!¡± Kit¡¯s arms reached up and grabbed my shoulders. Blood was spattered across her face, slicked through her furred armour. Her face bore an uncharacteristic expression: panic. ¡°We¡¯re dead meat, Kit,¡± I panted. ¡°Do you really hate me so much that you¡¯d kill us for it?¡± She swallowed, patting me on the shoulder. ¡°Uh, I don¡¯t hate you.¡± I screamed, ¡°Then what below and above the earth was this butchery about!?¡± The swordswoman rocked backwards, as if struck. ¡°That was¡­¡± She licked her lips. ¡°You were gonna let ¡®em go.¡± ¡°What¡¯s the problem- ¡° ¡°Didn¡¯t deserve it.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°They didn¡¯t deserve it.¡± ¡°So you killed- ¡° She cocked her head, gazing up at me. ¡°Look here, Vin. Some people¡¯re better off dead. We did Spires a favour.¡± I shook my head. ¡°You don¡¯t know that.¡± ¡°I do.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t, Kit,¡± I hissed. Without our voices, the hall was silent: empty but for the crackle of burning fat. Breathing through the nose was a bad idea: the scent of burning flesh set mouths drooling easily. Especially ones that hadn¡¯t seen food for a while. This whole affair had been none of my business. Part of me wished I¡¯d stepped away and left Kit to her fate. But at the time, I hadn¡¯t been aware that was an option. Violence had a way of stealing choice. Another mistake. Another slip. Another hand where it did not belong. Eventually, Kit finished rolling my words around her skull and scoffed. ¡°We¡¯ll just have to agree to disagree,¡± she drawled. ¡°Anyway, we¡¯re here now.¡± More accurate words had never been spoken. ¡°Might have a way out.¡± Kit hands slid beneath her belt, and plucked out a thin strip of paper. The material was fine and bone-white; quite unlike the rough parchment that was usually used. She offered it to me. ¡°Here. Read it.¡± I raised my hands, sneering. ¡°You read it.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t know how.¡± I swore, then plucked it from her hands. Out loud, I read: ¡°Employment as caravan guards through Heartlands. Find me between¡­¡± I paused. The writer used the official names for the Spires: the name of a Heltian general and a¡­ playwright? I remedied that. ¡°Smokes and Bleeds, lower markets, three days from now. Look for the carriage. Bring your team. Rations provided. Employment if service is decent. Silver paid, quarter up front¡­¡± My mouth opened slightly. ¡°What?¡± Kit asked. I rubbed my eyes, and held the paper closer to my face. My first reading had been correct. ¡°Two-hundred silver chits.¡± ¡°Ox¡¯s balls that¡¯s dodgy.¡± A nod was my only response. ¡°It¡¯s a lot, though.¡± I nodded again. ¡°But why? After seeing us murder- ¡° ¡°No one¡¯s gonna call that murder, Vin. Godsdamned¡­¡± she squinted, running her tongue over her teeth. ¡°Pre-emptive defence.¡± I scrunched my nose as if I¡¯d smelled something rotten. ¡°Oxdung.¡± ¡°It was always gonna be a fight.¡± ¡°Well why the blood would that lady want a bunch of ¡®pre-emptive defenders¡¯, Kit?¡± ¡°Aw, believe you me, she wanted t¡¯see us fight, practically invited me to.¡± She cocked her head and affixed my gaze with her quivering eyes. ¡°An¡¯ we¡¯re just that good, Vin.¡± ¡°Or she¡¯s got something over us.¡± Before Kit could reply, I made the connection myself. ¡°And we don¡¯t have a better option, anyway,¡± I said, closing my eyes and rubbing he bridge of my nose. ¡°Well, if that lady was tellin¡¯ the truth, it¡¯s a damn good deal.¡± I clicked my tongue. ¡°The Heartlands aren¡¯t safe, though.¡± Kit hummed her assent. ¡°No better ways to travel than in a group, though. An¡¯ we can leave this sinkin¡¯ ship.¡± I ran my hand through my hair. ¡°I¡¯ll have to tell Bhan.¡± ¡°Ban?¡± ¡°Bhan. My mentor.¡± At her blank look, I added, ¡°He¡¯s a Face.¡± ¡°Ah¡­¡± Her eyes flicked around. She leaned closer towards me. ¡°Yer really a Face?¡± Kit whispered. ¡°Yeah.¡± She groaned and slapped her face. ¡°Damnit. Shoulda been nicer.¡± I shook my head sadly. ¡°Too late. I¡¯ve already cursed you,¡± I joked half-heartedly. Had I the power, I probably would have. ¡°Har, har, har. I¡¯ll needa uproot my family, too.¡± ¡°Will that be difficult?¡± I inquired. ¡°Nah. They hate it here. Like the woods better.¡± I thought for a moment. ¡°So. We need to contact the rest of the team, visit Bhan, see your family, and spend three days laying low.¡± Kit nodded her assent. ¡°Needa buy some stuff too.¡± ¡°Gods,¡± I said, running a hand through my matted hair. My patchwork bandana was slick with sweat. ¡°Gast still needs to rent that runestone.¡± The swordswoman laughed. ¡°Heh, ¡®rent¡¯. If we¡¯re leavin¡¯, she can ¡®rent¡¯ it permanently.¡± I grunted. ¡°That¡¯s still a lot to do.¡± Clacking my teeth, I thought out loud. ¡°Whatever¡¯s going to happen, we have to leave. Maybe we should get everything done first, then hole up at home.¡± Kit shook her head. ¡°Nah. Give it two, maybe three days. Let ¡®em look, let ¡®em come up empty.¡± I sighed. ¡°That will give them time to gather, make plans.¡± ¡°Chances are they¡¯ve already told people,¡± argued the swordswoman. ¡°All those details¡¯re fresh.¡± She patted me on the shoulder, right atop the shallow wound I¡¯d received at the beginning of the fight. The pain forced a slight wince. ¡°Give us some time to think. Come up with some, uh¡­ disguises, or somethin¡¯. Find a quiet route through Spires.¡± ¡°And clean the blood off you.¡± She looked down. The blood was beginning to thicken, matting the fur of her armour. ¡°Godsdamnit,¡± she said, then continued with a series of escalating swears. When she finished, I wasn¡¯t sure whether to be impressed or not; she¡¯d referred to the gods¡¯ genitalia at least eighteen times. Kit noticed me staring. ¡°I just cleaned it,¡± she offered as explanation. My lips curled. ¡°Avoid murdering people, then. You can wear my tunic until we get to Wastes.¡± Her face twisted in confusion. ¡°Wastes,¡± she asked, ¡°the poop Spire?¡± ¡°Yeah. No one¡¯s going to find us there.¡± I licked my lips. ¡°It¡¯s also where I live.¡± She wrinkled her nose. ¡°Ugh.¡± For a moment, I considered laying into her again, going over the horrible thing we had just done in excruciating detail. Or leaving her here, to find her own hole to hide in. In the end, though, I gritted my teeth, shrugged off my satchel, and peeled off my shirt. The fact that I hadn¡¯t washed it in weeks was a small victory. Chapter 36 - Crossing Throughout our journey up the side of Greens we received a variety of looks. That fact was no surprise: amongst the Owlblooded smiths, hunters, harvesters, and craftspeople poor quality garments were a common sight. Clothing maintained via dozens of patches were the norm. Even the fine purple tabards of the Heltian guards were frequently cut with a rougher material. But a large, shirtless, shivering man with a bulging satchel and a woman wearing a tunic several sizes too big? That was rare, even amongst a group as destitute as Heartlanders. Even so, nobody stopped us. The denizens of the bar we¡¯d ruined must have fled further, which was hardly a surprise. If I were running, I wouldn¡¯t stop in the middle of the street. I¡¯d find somewhere with walls. The two of us were once again on the third level, walking across the rows of chained platforms that formed the streets ¨C or bridges ¨C between Spires. On either side of each platform were storefronts or smithies, many of which had been closed for some time. They were usually rented out to the savvier harvesters and hunters as a place to sleep. The places had their own blue lights, and occasionally heaters and stoves; all hallmarks of the extremely wealthy in a different city, yet mundane in Heltia. There were less chits flowing through Spires than ever ¨C lack of trade and general starvation tended to do that to a place ¨C yet, the result was a surplus of bloodtech. The result of too little money and too large a workforce, I guessed. Every time we passed by such a place, we lowered our heads beneath the crowd, though the closer we got to Wastes the sparser it grew. Kit frequently failed to, forcing me to shove her head down myself. Every time I did it, I had to stifle a sneer. Eventually we ran out of platforms to walk. They ended three quarters of the way to Wastes at every adjacent Spire: the only reasonable way to get there was using a platform suspended at its highest level. For the most part, the chains keeping the platforms together and loose clusters of pipes were the sole link between where we stood and Wastes. Despite the rapidly approaching twilight, the purple glow emanating from the runes stamped into the pipes made them easy to see. As was usually the case for the levels that ended abruptly, a gaggle of more than a dozen children ¨C mostly boys aging from about five to twelve ¨C sat in a loose circle in the middle of the pathway. The hollow cheeks present on most adults were absent; their parents were well-off enough to feed their children, if not themselves. At the centre of their circle, a swarthy boy and a much girthier one grappled with one another. The pair were younger than the rest, looking less than eight years old. The swarthy boy eventually managed to drag his counterpart to the ground after his opponent got his feet tangled, resulting in an eruption of hoots, jeers, and laughter from their peers. Swarthy exited to a crowd of claps, while Girthy received a few sympathetic back-pats. Judging by his clouded face and gnashing teeth, the reassurance helped little. On other levels adults would occasionally steal the spot, though starvation had stolen much of their vigour as of late. I never competed myself, given that common sense barred Blooded from all sports. Due to their increased weight Lizardbloods were especially well-suited to wrestling, meaning that even disregarding my skills there wasn¡¯t a hope of anyone besting me. As we approached, the children stared. A few new faces ¨C including the two young wrestlers ¨C begun to back away slowly. A fair reaction, given my state of dress. It was only when one of the older boys spoke up, saying, ¡°Vin, did you get robbed?¡± that they realised that despite my strangeness, I wasn¡¯t a stranger. The rest mobbed me and erupted into inquiries, most asking if I was going to linger and give them a few tips, as I sometimes did. ¡°Woah,¡± I said, waving my arms. The kids settled down, somewhat. ¡°I won¡¯t be sticking around today.¡± I shivered, half out of dramatics and half because I was legitimately freezing. ¡°It¡¯s colder than Wump¡¯s soggy teats.¡± The children laughed at the cuss, which was all it really took to buy their enjoyment. If only all audiences were this easy to please. ¡°Got to go home; get a shirt; sleep. You should all head in as well.¡± A few groaned. ¡°Come on. There¡¯s another day tomorrow.¡± When I was younger, I had usually blanked out during similar lectures. Luckily, amongst this lot I had enough social credit that they paid attention. But acquiescing meant they needed to save extra face. ¡°We¡¯ll watch you cross,¡± claimed a taller, straw-haired boy. ¡°Then go.¡± The rest chorused their assent. ¡°Do you promise, Aitch?¡± He nodded. ¡°Well, I¡¯ve got a guest today, too. It should be entertaining.¡± I gestured to Kit, who was staring at me, squinting. The rest of the kids oohed. ¡°Not that kind of guest.¡± I raised my palm to the side of my face, as if telling a secret. ¡°Word of advice,¡± I whispered, ¡°don¡¯t bring your lovers to a Spire filled with dung.¡± The younger children laughed, while the older ones concealed the sober glints in their eyes with wonky smirks. ¡°Anyway,¡± I continued, ¡°as always, don¡¯t mention our crossing to anyone. Wouldn¡¯t want to get arrested. If you do¡­¡± I lunged at the littler ones, making fangs with my index fingers. They shrieked. ¡°I¡¯ll get you.¡± After a stern warning not to do what I was about to, I smiled tightly, ruffled a few heads, and extricated myself from the crowd. Behind me, I heard the swarthy boy whisper to the girthy one, ¡°Check this out. He¡¯s crazy.¡± A vendor sat at the very end, goods arrayed on the strip of cloth in front of her. There wasn¡¯t much business back here, however no guards would bother coming this far to check permits. For a kid selling trinkets to other children, there was a meagre profit to be made. Mostly via barter, coupled with no small amount of smooth-talking. In that sense, the girl reminded me of a younger, less polished Jasmine. Quibbling over chits with her felt nostalgic. I probably made up a large portion of her income. ¡°Somethin¡¯ here you might like, Vin,¡± the vendor said. She held up a set of polished studs, glimmering under the light of the ever-burning lamps. ¡°A real good set of earrings, bright and shiny.¡± My fingers twitched. I folded the offending digits, crushing them in the palm of my hand. ¡°No, not today.¡± ¡°No chits?¡± she asked. ¡°No chits,¡± I agreed. ¡°I can give it to you for fr- ¡° I shook my head, and she quieted. ¡°Not today.¡± ¡°Alright. Be safe crossing.¡± I nodded in response. As we approached the edge, Kit tugged my head down. ¡°That¡¯s fun and all, but we¡¯re really crossin¡¯ here?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± ¡°Vin, it¡¯s just pipes.¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± ¡°Godsdamnit, Vin,¡± she hissed, ¡°the wind¡¯ll knock us off. We¡¯re dead if it does.¡± I scoffed. ¡°Maybe,¡± I said, turning to look her in her black eyes, ¡°you should have thought of that before you killed Thom. Hmm?¡± She stared at me. ¡°We¡¯re here now. We¡¯re crossing.¡± A thin smile spread across my face. ¡°If you fall, at least you¡¯ll traumatise some kids on the way down. That ought to make you happy.¡± Before she could respond, I whirled and continued walking. After a few steps, I sighed and turned around again. ¡°I do this most days. You will be fine. Look,¡± I said, unslinging my bag and wrestling out a short spool of rope, ¡°if you tie this in a loop around the pipes, you can have something to hold onto the whole way across. If you fall off, you¡¯ll just¡­ dangle off the bottom, and I can pull you up.¡± Her eyes were wide. ¡°This¡¯s stupid.¡± Ignoring her, I squatted where the platform ended. Far beneath us, the crowds and expanse of carts swayed gently. Metal tubes stretched from underneath the platform, each as wide as a dining table. They bridged the gap in pairs; purple runes ensuring their weight wouldn¡¯t send them plummeting to the earth below. After a moment of thinking, I hopped down and swung one end of the rope around the bottom of a pipe, pressing it down with my foot when its momentum snaked it back around. A flaw in my plan was immediately apparent when I had both in hand: the cordage was too thickly wound to tie both ends together. I scooted my bottom back onto the platform and pushed myself upright. ¡°Come over here.¡± Kit leaned away from me. I tutted. ¡°If you want to be a coward about this- ¡° ¡°I¡¯m not a coward.¡± ¡°Then come over here.¡± She walked over. I placed both ends of the rope in her hands and closed her fingers over it. Her palms were much whiter than the rest of her body. The contrast was striking. ¡°Hold both of these ends tightly, alright?¡± She bobbed her head like a pigeon. ¡°Okay.¡± I gave her a nod. ¡°Follow me.¡± ¡°What?¡± I saluted, then turned and hopped down onto the pipe. Though its diameter was wide, it was also curved, meaning there was only a stretch the size of a large man¡¯s torso to place my feet. At this point in the journey it was less of a problem, however the middle of the crossing always had fierce winds. Across the divide lay Wastes itself, where the tubes ran through a large stone box, then abruptly rotated and ran up the side of the Spire. Behind them was a small heartwood walkway, which existed to maintain the bloodtech within the box, which powered the runes. Or at least, I thought it did; custodians came to dump blood in it every month or so. It could¡¯ve been where a serial killer hid bodies for all I knew. The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. The walkway led into Wastes proper. My hideaway was inside. It was a long way there. After a few ambling steps along the pipe, I turned to find a considerably paler Kit staring down at me from atop the platform. She clutched the rope tightly. ¡°Wrap it around your wrists,¡± I said, miming the motion. Jerkily, she did so. ¡°Jump down.¡± She plopped down on her bottom, then stretched her legs, pointing the toe of her boot towards the metal pipe below. However, the distance was too great for her to dismount without a drop; each level needed to be thicker than a tall child to avoid snapping. It was less of a problem for a man as big as myself, but for Kit the pipes vomiting from its underside were kept just out of her reach. I strode back and offered a hand. The swordswoman shot me a derisive glare, then dropped down on her own. She released two quick huffs of breath, then, rope taut, shuffled past me. I sniffed, then followed. As the two of us made our way over ¨C Kit hunched and sweating, myself shivering from the bitter winds ¨C the Heartlands stretched beneath us. Astride a great expanse of nothing, with only a strip of metal and our own sense of balance keeping us from death, I watched as the blazing orange light of the falling sun spread across the landscape. Beneath, thimble-sized people queued at the edge of each Spire, returned to ramshackle huts at the base, or slid beneath mossy carts to sleep. In the distance, beyond a sea of stumps, the crimson forest infringed upon the horizon. The dying light set its fur ablaze, transforming the red leaves into a sea of fire gently pulsating in the wind. There was no way to know what lay shrouded beneath its canopy; whether the earth lay dead and quiet or rife with ghouls and spirits. Silently, I reacquainted myself with my nature. One was Lieutenant Drue of the Lizard, his inheritance as an Esfarian and last name stolen by the blood within him. It had been the only option available to him, after rejecting a marriage in favour of a gentler love. His family had sent him to die, in the shadow of the Raven. They couldn¡¯t have known I¡¯d be his executioner. Two was another Lizardblood ¨C one of Reagan¡¯s retinue ¨C pierced through the eye by a dagger. Three was the Owlblooded woman, tackled off the roof. I didn¡¯t know their names. Four was Master¡­ Reagan. I¡¯d decapitated him, then broken his skull beneath my feet. He was mad, even before he became one of the most powerful Blooded I could recall seeing, in my memory or anyone else¡¯s. Five was Ma. Five was Ma. General Maja had killed hundreds personally, and thousands with her commands. She had helped kill a god, and saved the continent from being sacrificed at the altar of a god. She had killed her own subordinates, if they enraged her. She had driven a boy to murder. I remembered slitting her throat, before I dropped the sword to that same boy below. In the end, she¡¯d deserved better. Six through nine were a group of highwaymen, trying to cajole food from a Face and his apprentice. Yeli, Bartel, Homs, and Eil. I¡¯d been cocky, believing that my mother¡¯s skills were sufficient to render all of them unconscious. I had forgotten that Maja¡¯s blade was lethal, and only lethal. I¡¯d caught blood from all of them, and cutting the connection with all of them had sent me into convulsions. Each had buried children the past winter. One had sacrificed theirs and let their blood fall into the dirt below, wild grain springing in exchange. That one wanted to die. Ten through fourteen were monster hunters. My former teammates. They¡¯d introduced me to the Spiral in exchange for credit, then ambushed me when each had realised Lizardblood was worth more. By that point, I had started wearing my bandana at all times, to keep the blood off. Only Len had been spared, and his debt had shackled him to Thom soon after. Fifteen had been one of many teenagers throwing stones at a Strain. The rest had escaped with bruises. I hadn¡¯t meant to break his neck. Sixteen, seventeen, and eighteen had been Heltia¡¯s recruiters. Godsblood was a valuable resource amidst the Spires, necessary to keep its infrastructure afloat. They had told me that I owed the House, and if I wouldn¡¯t work for them I owed them my blood. Our argument had escalated. I¡¯d thrown all three off level five. It¡¯d been night; no one had seen. Then there had been the Spiral. Another three. And before. So many I¡¯d lost count. It was a long way down.
The crossing took three times as long as it should have. Despite the circumstances, neither of us were in a hurry. We were practically invulnerable moving across that yawning expanse: no projectile could conquer the winds, and the only people fool enough to pursue were the pair already present. Neither of us were in any true danger. Gusts threatened to knock us off, yet remained only that: a threat. Kit¡¯s balance was unnatural, and mine was supernatural. Eventually, though, Kit made it to the end. She clambered atop the bloodtech cube, then slid between the uprunning pipes to leap onto the walkway. I watched her fall to her knees through the crack, half expecting her to burst into tears. Her route wasn¡¯t available to me. I was too broad. Instead, I used the rope to shuffle around the outside of the box, then leap over the gap. Usually, I did this task unassisted. I landed next to her with a thump, causing the walkway to shake slightly. ¡°Are you alright?¡± I asked the woman kneeling next to me. ¡°Hate you,¡± she mumbled, too quietly for a Lizardblood to hear. I pretended her words had passed me by. ¡°Let¡¯s go inside.¡± We hugged the outside of the Spire, curving around its immense circumference to squeeze through an opening in the back. Unlike the publicly accessible Spires, Wastes¡¯ openings were too small for even a child to walk through without ducking. I had to crawl through, while Kit managed with a mere crouch. Once inside, I waited a few moments for my eyes to adjust. In place of the elevator shaft most Spires possessed was a large, bone-coloured wall. Behind it lay hundreds of tanks connected by small tubes: septic tanks at the top of the tower which were gradually sorted into purified water and fertiliser at the bottom. A masterpiece of Owlblooded engineering, albeit an unsung one. Though I appreciated the sealing on the containers slightly more, especially after spending a filthy day figuring out which ones contained water and which ones¡­ didn¡¯t. We stood in a hallway, cast in dark grey by the lack of light. To our right lay a set of stairs, which led to the next level up. To our left, the passageway snaked away, small openings glowing a dull purple. I started down it. ¡°Vin?¡± came Kit¡¯s low drawl. I couldn¡¯t make out her features. ¡°Yeah?¡± ¡°I can¡¯t see.¡± I startled. ¡°Oh. Damn. I, uh, usually go along the wall.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t use light?¡± ¡°My lamps are up ahead.¡± ¡°There¡¯re none on you? What in th¡¯ blood¡¯s that pack of yers for, then?¡± ¡°Look, if you hadn¡¯t left your bag with the Missus- ¡° ¡°Oh believe you me, I woulda brought it I¡¯d known- ¡° ¡°Known you were going to murder someone? I¡¯m surprised you¡¯re not always prepared for such an eventuality.¡± ¡°Shut it, oaf.¡± ¡°Heh, would¡¯ve expected a seer to know her way- ¡° ¡°Seriously, Vin, I¡¯m not gonna godsdamn grope my way through the dung Spire.¡± ¡°Kit, they don¡¯t leave¡­ poop just lying around.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t believe you.¡± ¡°What do you want me to do about it?¡± ¡°Let me hold onto you.¡± ¡°¡­What?¡± ¡°Yer satchel or somethin¡¯. Or even the rope. Isn¡¯t that usual in dark places?¡± ¡°Right. Yeah. Okay.¡± ¡°¡­What were you thinkin¡¯?¡± I¡¯d never been more glad Kit wasn¡¯t a Foxblood, if only so she couldn¡¯t see my face. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± ¡°We¡¯d hold hands?¡± ¡°It¡¯s why I thought it was a strange request for you to make.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Because, you know¡­¡± She let out a throaty chuckle. ¡°Vin: King o¡¯ romance.¡± ¡°Oh, be quiet.¡± ¡°Not interested, big man.¡± ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m aware.¡± ¡°You never stood a chance- ¡° ¡°Kit, I really don¡¯t want to permanently injure your ego,¡± I said, which was one of the biggest lies I had ever told, ¡°so just take the rope and drop it.¡± I whacked it against her face. She mumbled a swear. ¡°Mmhmm. My charms are simply- ¡° ¡°Kit, you reek of mud and whatever Oxdung you put in those cigarillos.¡± ¡°I do not.¡± ¡°And ¨C and I swear this on my honour as a Face ¨C I¡¯ve known boars with more pleasant dispositions.¡± It was a good thing she was blind, otherwise her flailing kicks might have landed. Eventually, she grew tired and stopped physically attacking me, though our bickering lasted for the several minutes needed to arrive at my room. ¡°Alright,¡± I said, interrupting a tirade as we slowed to a halt. ¡°I¡¯m going to go in and turn on a light. Don¡¯t come in until then: you¡¯ll trip.¡± I heard her grunt. It only took a few moments for me to enter the room, weave my way through the objects scattered across the floor, and snatch up an ever-burning lantern. It was a defunct version, replaced by a model only fractionally distinct from its elders. Apparently, the entire initiative was a means for Heltia to ensure the Owlblooded craftspeople had work during the famine. Everyone else had their hands full finding food. I bit my thumb and smeared a drop of blood on its base. The lamp thrummed to life, revealing my hideaway in all its glory. Kit poked her head inside, blinking owlishly. When her eyes adjusted, she finally spoke. ¡°Wow. This is¡­ a lot.¡± Lining the walls were dozens of pots filled with varieties of fungus I had taken from the forest. Pressed between them were dried wildflowers, their vibrant colours in the process of fading. Leaning in front were other objects of interest scavenged from the wilderness: monster teeth and claws, pretty-looking stones, pretty-feeling stones, a large scale, and a collection of dried meat and nuts. Random items I¡¯d never bothered to categorise were spread across the floor. Several screws. A horn. Many nails. Several spare Faces that I¡¯d never bothered to finish. Some failed bloodtech experiments Gast had worked on, one of which shot liquid at high speeds. A hand mirror. The cot I slept on, though my legs hung off the side. Those were just a few. Arranged around the room were various small boxes, filled with wool or fabric. Each contained either jewellery, which ranged from carved wood, bone and stone all the way to bronze and silver, or scrolls and maps I had bargained for. The maps were, by and large, out of date ¨C each Aching altered the contours of the Heartlands ¨C however a few displayed the entire continent: from the Wastes in the south all the way to the coast of the north. It was the scrolls I valued more, though. There was a guide on smithing, one on botany, a list of the most valuable pieces of House Heltia¡¯s jewellery, complete with descriptions I''d drooled over endlessly, and an illustrated guide to carving. I¡¯d only read a few, but just owning them had its own rewards. But my favourite items were kept in an ornate box lined with faded red silk. I¡¯d bought in from a hawker in the camp below. It was most likely stolen; judging by how fiercely she¡¯d worked me over, the woman was a brazen thief. Within were a handful precious items. Handwritten tales of folklore collected by a traveller, masterfully illustrated within the covers of an actual book. The ¡®BMT¡¯ documents, stolen from Esfaria all those years ago and carried across the Wastes, mostly by accident. It contained a record of techniques to assist Blooded in controlling themselves. Nothing for Ravenbloods, however the recommendations for Dure, Enn, and Kani¡¯s ilk were helpful, if general. A few carvings. The ones I was satisfied with. I looked at Kit expectantly. She pursed her lips. ¡°It¡¯s nice.¡± I frowned. ¡°It¡¯s more than nice.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not.¡± Her eyes surveyed the room once again, fixing on. ¡°Wait ¨C is that a lute?¡± I looked over at it. It was a chunk of worked tortoiseshell attached to a piece of spearwood as long as my forearm. A few fiddly knobs sat at its end. ¡°Is it?¡± I furrowed my brows. I was currently using it to drape spare clothes. ¡°That¡¯s an instrument,¡± the swordswoman asserted, nodding. ¡°Just needs some strings.¡± Her gaze fell upon me. ¡°Can I have it?¡± Reflexively, my mouth began to form the refusal. After a few painstaking moments, I managed to close my jaw, swallow, and open it again. Then closed it again. Then opened it. Kit squinted. Eventually, I simply pointed my thumb upward. ¡°You can, ¡° I rasped, ¡°probably find some string around here.¡± I wasn¡¯t using it anyway. As my companion set herself to sorting through my hoard, I slumped atop my cot. Slowly, I took off my satchel and placed it between my knees. After unlatching the beaten leather, I removed a bundle of cloth from the straps: my sword, wrapped in a few stolen shirts. The scabbard told the same story as always. Filigreed in silver, a giant struck down a massive bird, large enough to blot out the sun. The blade sung as I removed it from the sheath. Black as night. A channel ran down the middle, to ensure blood could run off the cold metal. It absorbed light, as if it were woven from the spaces between stars. A few swings revealed its nature: weighted perfectly, yet heavy as sin. A Blooded¡¯s weapon. It used to be longer. Esfaria claimed it had been forged from Avri¡¯s bones. It screamed as I sheathed it. Wrapping it up again was a silent process. Then, I rooted around in my satchel and withdrew a knife. I¡¯d looted this one from the man I¡¯d burned. For a handful of moments, I sat, staring at it. It was good, Owlforged iron. I fumbled around for another short shaft of spearwood, and began whittling away at it. Kit plucked at strings, having wedged herself in a corner. An hour later, the beginnings of a person emerged. I licked half a drop from the black vial I¡¯d bought, letting the foul liquid coat my throat, and fell asleep. Interlude - Vial Chemicals pull consciousness into sleep¡¯s expanse. The mind, encouraged by the concoction working its way into blood, apes oblivion. Upon waking, it will recall nothing. Yet this a lie. Memory is exquisitely packaged by an overdeveloped hippocampus, tucked into the recesses of the brain and the unfathomable liquid that courses through veins. Memory. Dreams. Inextricably bound. The dream was forgotten. Remember: There exists a cavern. It is entombed in stone without end, stretching eternally in every direction. The rock is white, smooth, featureless. The cavern¡¯s roof traces a past, eons ago, where it was composed of a collection of plates. They are now merged. Yesterday¡¯s truth is hinted in scars, their contours the steps of a terrified ant evading the thumb of a feckless child. If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. There exists a web. It lays suspended in the cavern, lit and warmed by the fire of a burning corpse. It is small, touching every part of the cavern. This is no surprise. It is, after all, formed of only four threads. There exists a thread. It is the outermost part of the web. It is the longest. It is the strongest. Hanging from it are countless corpses. There exists a thread. It is the second part of the web. It is the shortest. It is the sharpest. Beneath the bloodied silk is a pristine white. There exists a thread. It is the second last part of the web. It is the sturdiest. It is the steadiest. When it is flicked it snaps back without err. There exists a thread. It is the most central part of the web. It is the fulcrum. It is the scaffold. All light is stolen at its touch. Warrior. Innocent. Dreamer. Saviour. Killer. Coward. Fool. Liar. Past the stone is a monster. Its hairless head sits on an unending neck. Its jaw unhinges, far too widely. Sightless eyes peer out of endless sockets. It approaches. The rock is bone. The cavern hollow. At the core of the web is a hole. In time, it will grow. Chapter 37 - Pursuing the Past Rolling mountains stretched towards a horizon of crimson forestry, each peak too high to support anything other than the lowest of bushes and most resourceful of insects and rodents. The landscape was only interrupted by the occasional speartree, standing rigidly as if they were the fulcrum of the world. Gusts of wind buffeted from every angle, chilling bones on even the sunniest days. The mountains jutted like a collection of benign tumours, slopes gentle and seemingly low were it not for the way they overlapped one another, transforming from hills into smooth, flat summits, far above the world. An errant move would send the unwary rolling down the side, where the only hope of survival were torn and bloodied fingernails accompanied by a ferocious struggle for traction. Amidst a collection of thorny shrubs, a monster stood. Its leonine form had been warped, made hairless and wiry. It shivered as a breeze caressed it with frosty tendrils; an unnatural amount of tendons and muscles rippling beneath its skin, like they were a writhing colony of parasites making a home in a space belonging to organs and veins. The Godkin lowered its broad head to the broken red grass beneath it and flared its nostrils repeatedly. Foggy eyes traced the contours of every shrub. Eventually, it huffed and loped back towards the forest, and was swallowed by the hill¡¯s gaps. For a time, the area was entirely still. Though the winds still sung, no bird of prey rode them, or cried mightily from the skies above. Then, like a bolt from the heavens, one of the shrubs spoke. ¡°We are going to die out here,¡± it said in a low, feminine voice. Another bush shook as it replied. ¡°Nah,¡± it drawled, ¡°we¡¯re good.¡± A tanned young man erupted from the bush¡¯s head, and even beneath his furred coat his form was apparent: tall and lithe as a twisted rope. On his back sat a bulging pack, a wood-axe strapped to its side. His pockmarked face grinned as he reached into the other bush. ¡°Blake,¡± it hissed. ¡°Blake! No!¡± Blake chuckled and with a sudden yank managed to pull the better part of a heavily-muscled young woman out of the bush. The upheaval was accompanied by a wooden jangling emanating from the holster on her back, filled with three long javelins. She sprawled onto the ground, scowling at her travelling companion. ¡°What if the monster is still nearby?¡± she whispered fiercely. Blake scratched the side of his nose. ¡°Well, better get goin¡¯, Erin.¡± He smiled, and started walking away. ¡°¡®Les you wanna be kitty chow.¡± ¡°Wrong way,¡± came the reply from behind him. He snorted. ¡°How d¡¯you know?¡± Her words were terse. ¡°I have the map.¡± The young man turned to face her as she rifled through her pack. ¡°Map¡¯s useless if we don¡¯t know how to read it.¡± Erin shot him a brief glare before returning to her task. ¡°I know how to read maps.¡± ¡°Sure,¡± he chuckled, ¡°and I can walk on water.¡± ¡°The map¡¯s wrong.¡± He waved his arm. ¡°Blame the map, then. We¡¯ve still gotta go; let¡¯s just head back to the road.¡± ¡°This route save us at least three days.¡± ¡°Or,¡± he said, pursing his lips, ¡°it¡¯ll pile on another thirty. Maybe we¡¯ll fall down the slopes and kiss the ground headfirst.¡± Her green eyes carved strips from him. ¡°You and I both know we¡¯re on a time limit. We have to find him before Esfaria does.¡± ¡°We¡¯re probably months ahead of them,¡± he disagreed, ¡°and getting lost ¡®n starving¡¯ll do us no good. Anyway, you said the map¡¯s wrong.¡± After punching the alpine grass three times she immediately sprung to her feet, revealing her full stature: a few inches taller her travelling companion, and nearly half again as broad. ¡°Fine.¡± Blake dipped his head in mock acquiescence and began carefully treading down a mossy slope, screes of pebbles accompanying his movements. Erin¡¯s steps were heavy as she followed. ¡°We had a better map, I¡¯m sure you¡¯d lead us straight,¡± he offered. A hiss emanated from behind him. ¡°Don¡¯t patronise me. We¡¯re lost because of my directions.¡± He shook his head as his boots skidded across damp moss. ¡°If not for you, I¡¯da never made it this far. Glad you¡¯re here.¡± A muted swear resounded as Erin fell onto her backside. She swore quietly and rose again. ¡°It¡¯s not as if we¡¯re making good time,¡± she muttered, the wind nearly stealing the words. Blake waved a hand. ¡°It¡¯s bloody miraculous we even know where to go. Good thing he¡¯s with a Face, huh? Might¡¯ve crossed half the world askin¡¯ after him if he wasn¡¯t.¡± After a long pause, he added, ¡°What is a Face?¡± ¡°Performer,¡± she grunted. ¡°And we don¡¯t know he¡¯s at the Spires.¡± He looked over his shoulder at her stormy expression. ¡°Where else would ¡®e be? Blooded or not, a boy¡¯s gotta eat.¡± The young man turned back just in time to grasp onto a speartree and us it to support himself. ¡°It¡¯s been four years, Blake. Four years for a Ravenblood. He¡¯s not going to be- ¡° As she said that, he raised a finger and squinted against the wind. To his eyes the sight was barely larger than grains of sand, however weaving its way through creases between mountains seemed to be a small animal trail. ¡°Look!¡± he exclaimed, overly loud. ¡°That¡¯s the road, right?¡± Erin slid beside him, supporting herself against the white shaft of the speartree. She shielded her eyes. ¡°Yes, that¡¯s it. There are a few people travelling along it as well.¡± The young man¡¯s pock-marked face broke into a wide smile. ¡°D¡¯you think they have food? I¡¯m bloody well starving.¡± His companion¡¯s lips quirked humourlessly. ¡°Well, two days without eating will do that to a person.¡± She shook her head. ¡°If they do, I doubt they¡¯ll share.¡± ¡°We can ask?¡± he offered. ¡°Try to trade, maybe?¡± ¡°Unless you want to sell your clothes,¡± Erin stated, ¡°the only thing left to trade is the jewellery. And we need to save that.¡± ¡°Well, we can ask.¡± She pursed her lips. ¡°It¡¯s just as likely that they¡¯ll attempt to sacrifice us.¡± Blake tilted his head, conceding the point. ¡°How many¡¯re there?¡± She squinted again, then turned back to him. ¡°Four.¡± He sighed. ¡°You reckon? S¡¯not good. Can we take ¡®em?¡± ¡°You are an Oxblood,¡± asserted Erin, smirking. The young man snorted. ¡°I¡¯m just enough Oxblood to keep from dyin¡¯ of plague.¡± ¡°That¡¯s still Blooded.¡± ¡°Erin,¡± said Blake, tone incredulous, ¡°I can¡¯t even beat you in an arm-wrestle.¡± ¡°You would if you exercised.¡± ¡°Gods know how many leagues a day s¡¯enough exercise for me.¡± She waved her hand. ¡°What I¡¯m trying to say is yes.¡± ¡°Two each,¡± Blake stated. He shook his head zealously. ¡°You¡¯re off it, Erin.¡± A glare plastered itself over her face. ¡°Do you want to starve? Because we¡¯re getting there.¡± His expression wavered. Finally, he closed his eyes and groaned. ¡°If our blood¡¯s used to water plants, it¡¯s on you.¡± Her only response was a sharp nod. They scrabbled down one of the less steep inclines, aiming to cut the travellers off on one of the lower parts of the trail. Mossy rocks and a sporadic patch of crimson grass were caught under his heels or toes and uprooted, throwing the unlucky young man into a frantic battle to recover footing. It was a strange experience: losing hours of intense hiking in exchange for minutes of downward sliding. Despite their speed and the absence of burning calves, Blake preferred the upward climb. Controlling his momentum was similar to balancing on top of a fence, except at either side lay a lethal drop. Erin seemed to maintain her equilibrium effortlessly. Her stare never left their target. Blake¡¯s jaw clenched so fiercely it ached, and his eyes rarely left the ground beneath his feet. Even so, he couldn¡¯t afford to slow down. They might not have another chance. Then, a patch of moss slipped beneath his feet, sending him falling forward. Countless falls taught him to transform his trip into a roll, yet it was only after he did so that he comprehended the stupidity of the manoeuvre. Instead of falling flat onto his stomach, his tumble built speed. An image of a skull, contents spilled over dirt, flashed through his mind. Then something tugged at his back and he stopped. His heart pounded. Mouth dry, he turned to find Erin leaning back, hands wrapped around the axe strapped to his pack. ¡°Thanks.¡± His voice wobbled. She nodded and continued taking long strides downwards. He followed, unblinking gaze fixed on the ground in front of him. After an immeasurable length of time spent warring with dirt, his travelling companion spoke. ¡°Be ready. We¡¯re close.¡± Blake glanced up. Somehow, they¡¯d found themselves on the mountain ¨C though it had more in common with a hill at that point ¨C adjacent to the animal trail. The four travellers waited below. He swallowed, and took the last few stumbling steps downwards. The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. Finally, the ground beneath him transformed into something more beaten and less perilous. A yard down the path, two scruffy men and two teenagers ¨C a boy and a girl ¨C stood, eyes fixed on the pair of them. Tools hung off their belts: stone knives and hatchets for the men, something smaller for the youths. They were almost motionless, tightly wound in a way indicative of either predator or prey. Erin, standing beside him, gave him a gentle shove. ¡°Oi!¡± Blake called, tone casual. An echo mimicked his greeting, leaping between the adjacent mountains before being swallowed by the sky. ¡°¡¯Scuse me! D¡¯you fellas happen to have anythin¡¯ to eat? I¡¯m sure we¡¯ve got somethin¡¯ to offer in exchange!¡± A silence was born, stretching between them. Finally, one of the men responded. His beard was a fierce copper, almost concealing the shadows in his cheeks. ¡°Alright, friend,¡± he yelled back. ¡°What¡¯ve you got?¡± ¡°Lots o¡¯ water,¡± Blake supplied, ¡°a few nuts and grubs. A decent knife ¨C good, strong iron! And, uh¡­¡± Erin glared at him. They couldn¡¯t afford to trade any of it. ¡°Some jewellery. They¡¯ll sell for silver, at least!¡± They were from Orvs¡¯s hoard of ill-gotten gains. With his friend gone, only he had known where they were hidden. They were what had convinced the leery Heartlanders to share news of Face Bhan and his apprentice, years out-of-date. The allure of silver had gotten them attacked, or pursued, far too often. The two of them had agreed not to share them until they reached Spires, and could pursue another lead. It was what kept them ahead of the Captain and the twins. Only a fool trusted Houses; but only a fool disobeyed them. Two people travelling alone were faster than a group of soldiers. However, it was the silver that helped widen that distance. But starving wouldn¡¯t help anyone. Quietly, the copper-haired turned to his peer, covered in so much filth so as to make his original skin colour irrelevant. Blake internally labelled them Copper and Dirt. The two conferred for a moment, weighing the offer. Copper stabbed a finger in the interlopers¡¯ direction, whispering fiercely. ¡°That¡¯s not good,¡± muttered Erin. Blake¡¯s lips thinned. Eventually, after a few moments, Copper responded. ¡°Fine. We have some bread. The jewellery.¡± Blake started forward, but a quick bark stopped him. ¡°The woman. Not you.¡± A tight smile from Erin was their only reply. The young man unslung his pack, dropping it on the ground and pulling a small, chain-link necklace from a pocket. A jewel hung on the front. Orvs had filched it from an angry old customer who¡¯d shouted at his brother. He¡¯d been very proud of it. After a moment¡¯s pause, Blake handed it over to his companion and rose to his feet, using his body to conceal the axe gripped behind his back. Slowly, she padded over to them. The four of them spread out slightly. Their hands were held behind their back. The hatchets had vanished from the men¡¯s belts. In one fluid motion, Erin drew a javelin from her back and hurled it at the group. The men ducked sideways, causing an otherwise lethal hit to pierce Dirt¡¯s shoulder, spinning his body around to topple in the ground. Then the remaining three were moving forward and Erin was shuffling back and Blake was running. By the time he reached Erin, the three had already caught her. He sprung forward, winding his long axe for a swing but misjudged the distance, and instead of the axe-head catching Copper¡¯s ribs the haft did instead, preventing him from pulling it back. Someone howled but Copper was swinging his stone hatchet inside Blake¡¯s guard, so he dropped his weapon and grabbed the man¡¯s wrist with both hands. They grappled for a moment, then Copper reared back and threw his forehead down but Blake had already let go and leapt back. A kick pushed the man backwards, giving him a moment to see Erin striking the male teenager bare-handed, the girl howling at the javelin impaled in her chest. Then Copper was there again, bellowing as he drove his hatchet downwards, the arc making stepping aside the blow a simple matter. Blake slid his knife out of his belt and stabbed at his enemy¡¯s head, but the iron was turned away by bone, skidding a gouge in skin but ultimately sliding off the skull. The man stumbled backwards, clutching the side of his head spurting blood, and then Blake was running forward, wrapping his arms around Copper¡¯s waist and driving both of them to the ground. He lifted his blade above his enemy and brought it down only for the man to catch the blade. Copper grunted as Blake placed his full weight onto the blade. The man¡¯s beard swayed under the force of his desperate pants. Blake¡¯s name was screamed and he looked up to see a hatchet swinging towards him, Dirt¡¯s agonised face behind it. He threw himself backwards and the axe ate air, yet it gave Copper space to throw himself on top of the young man. Their positions were reversed: the knife in Copper¡¯s hands and Blake¡¯s arms trembling beneath his wrists. They remained like that for a moment, grunting and panting as each attempted to break the stalemate. With an agonisingly slow speed, Blake adjusted his grip, bringing his left hand to wrap fully around the hilt. Then his right released it, and with a heave of his left the knife flew down, burying in the dirt just beside his neck. Accompanied by a strangled roar, he hammered his right fist into the side of the man¡¯s head. Copper rolled away, and halted as he faced the corpses of two teenagers. Blake seized the knife and leapt on him, jamming into the side of his torso. The man released a strangled groan, just before Blake¡¯s fallen axe buried into his skull. It fell lifelessly from Erin¡¯s hands. Blake scrambled backwards. After a moment surveying his surroundings, seeing each teenager gurgling, javelins erupting from their torsos and the filthy man¡¯s throat embedded with a dagger, he collapsed backwards, panting. Within a second, Erin fell beside him. The sky was impossibly blue. Bile swirled in his stomach. He closed his eyes and listened to the children die. They lay there for some time. The cries ceased. ¡°Good job,¡± Blake managed. ¡°You hurt?¡± Erin¡¯s reply came amidst desperate inhales of breath. ¡°No. You?¡± Hands trembling, the young man pushed himself into a seated position, and then to his feet. ¡°Nope.¡± An offered hand was seized, and his friend pulled herself upright. ¡°Alright.¡± Blake¡¯s gaze turned to the forest, a little way down the trail. ¡°We better get their blood to th¡¯ woods.¡± She gave him a disbelieving stare. ¡°We need the food,¡± he explained. The stare narrowed. ¡°Blake. We¡¯re not sacrificing them.¡± ¡°They¡¯re already dead.¡± He tilted his head. ¡°It¡¯s a bloody waste. Almost worse than killing them.¡± The pale skin around her nose crinkled. ¡°No.¡± Blake cocked an eyebrow. ¡°No?¡± ¡°I won¡¯t allow it.¡± They stared at each other. He scratched the sparse hairs growing on his chin. ¡°You wanna starve?¡± Blake challenged. Her reply was terse. ¡°There are better ways to get food.¡± ¡°None quicker though.¡± ¡°Then wait,¡± the muscular woman hissed. ¡°Do the godsdamned math, Erin,¡± he retorted. ¡°Watering the ground with four corpses ¨C that¡¯ll do nothing but rot ¨C and plucking out some food or wasting the next few days scramblin¡¯ for a bloody mouthful.¡± She glared down at him. ¡°If you want my help, that¡¯s the condition.¡± He tilted his head slightly upwards, bringing his eyes level with hers. ¡°You can go back,¡± he spat, lips curling, ¡°at any time.¡± ¡°So can you.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not home anymore. S¡¯not the Foot. S¡¯whatever the Council wants it to be.¡± ¡°Is that so bad?¡± ¡°It¡¯s not the same!¡± he bellowed. Afterwards he paused. The response came late. ¡°There¡¯s, uh¡­¡± He swallowed. ¡°There¡¯s no room for people like me.¡± Erin¡¯s eyes flickered. ¡°You can go back and learn a trade,¡± she said gently. Blake shook his head. ¡°Orvs¡¯s never let me down.¡± He chuckled. ¡°The three of us: we¡¯ll work somethin¡¯ out.¡± ¡°Blake.¡± Something morose sat in the lines of Erin¡¯s face. ¡°He murdered his mother.¡± Blake exploded. ¡°He had a reason, Erin!¡± he yelled. ¡°What possible reason could he have?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know! No one asked! He might not have even done it!¡± ¡°Sash and Dash say so!¡± He scoffed. ¡°Sure, trust the bloody twins. Sash¡¯s spent half her life tripping over her own tongue and Dash¡¯s an angry pile of Oxdung. What reliable witnesses.¡± The words dripped with scorn. ¡°Gods, what kind of person joins a troop to kill their own brother?¡± ¡°Dash saved your life!¡± ¡°Sure, he gave a fraction of a fraction of his mother¡¯s blood to fifty different people.¡± Blake threw up his arms, pupils quivering. ¡°Oh, and his body rejected the Oxblood. He couldn¡¯t even use it! What a hero!¡± ¡°He has no reason to lie.¡± ¡°Well, maybe Orvs got those memories another way.¡± ¡°He killed Maja, Blake; that¡¯s how Ravenblood works. They kill a person and absorb them.¡± ¡°Says who?¡± he sneered. ¡°Everyone whoreson who¡¯s seen one!¡± Blake¡¯s scowl shifted into a more disapproving frown. ¡°Language, Erin,¡± he chided, shaking his head. ¡°S¡¯not appropriate. Nothing wrong with someone who works with their body.¡± She stared at him. He stared at her. Finally, the young woman ran a hand through her short hair, voicing a single query: ¡°What?¡± ¡°The¡­¡± Blake¡¯s face maintained an unnatural equilibrium. ¡°The word, it¡¯s rude.¡± She rocked backwards, as if physically struck. ¡°What does that have to do with Orv?¡± ¡°Nothing.¡± His eyes darted. ¡°It just, uh, bears noting.¡± ¡°O-kay?¡± They stared at each other for a second longer. When Blake cracked a sheepish smile, she burst out laughing. Tears streamed from her eyes. Erin¡¯s chuckles had transformed into a single wheeze, punctuated with high-pitched ¡®Ah-Ah¡¯s. When her body could take no more, she bent over and continued anyway. The laughter lasted for so long, Blake eventually wandered off to loot the bodies. Amidst the gory remains he found little of note: bronze farming tools; a battered necklace from the copper-haired man; Erin¡¯s gore-smeared javelins; a handful of nuts and cricket eggs; a pair of stone earrings from the girl; a handful of well-wrought carvings from the filthy man. Only the nuts and insect eggs were valuable enough to take. Everything else was too cheap to risk a bad spirit for. It had defied his expectations, but most places in the Heartlands were far more wretched than the Foot. The people were unfriendly and ofttimes cruel, refusing conversation yet overly willing to cut a man¡¯s throat for a bit of food. Maybe it was bad air causing their aggression. Yet despite their strange ways, they did get one thing right: Spirits. When an old woman had first explained it to him, it had made too much sense. Four years ago, Blake had spent several weeks with his body ravaged by plague. He¡¯d seen dead people: those that had been eaten beside him, limbs severed and faces impossibly gouged; the early members of the Butcher Street Boys, heads dashed by a zealous shopkeep; his mother, body sallow and swarmed by flies. When he had woken, the Foot was a different place. Friends were dead, Bran was dead, Orvs was gone and despised by everyone that¡¯d known him, and the Old Guard had, somehow, taken control. His home hadn¡¯t bled to death from its wounds, or perished in a fiery battle; it¡¯d been consumed by something much larger, without any hint of a struggle. The Butcher Boys had slowly dissolved over the years, whisked away as apprentices or Esfarian infantry as Blake tried to claw out a living for them. It was only when Gab had finally left that he¡¯d comprehended what had happened. With nothing else to make the Foot his home, he¡¯d left. Erin had come, despite everything. That was half a year ago. Blake paused. Somewhere amidst his musings and looting, his friend¡¯s laughter had ceased. ¡°Sorry,¡± he announced to the air in front of him, ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have gotten so fierce.¡± He turned around, facing Erin again. She shook her head, bearing a wry smile. ¡°Alright, okay. I understand.¡± The grin faded. ¡°Just¡­ even if you¡¯re right, he won¡¯t be the same person he used to be.¡± ¡°He¡¯ll be my mate. That¡¯s all I need.¡± The muscular woman nodded. Blake walked over to her, sat down, and handed over an assortment of nuts. ¡°No sacrifices. This¡¯ll have to do us.¡± They crunched the nuts in silence for a time, feeling their stomachs roil and turn, slowly consuming themselves. He gave Erin her javelins and she gestured towards his wood-axe, laying in the dirt and still covered in a man¡¯s brains. ¡°Why¡¯re you even here if you think he¡¯s a murderer?¡± said Blake, his casual tone belying the butchered silence. She paused, and swallowed the last of her food. ¡°It¡¯s my fault. That the truth got out.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not true.¡± Her head shook from left to right. ¡°I should¡¯ve stopped them. The moment they realised what he was, despite all that he¡¯d done¡­ If I had, maybe it wouldn¡¯t have come to that.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not on you.¡± ¡°I just stood there, Blake.¡± She turned to him, eyes grim. ¡°I stood there and nearly let him die. They stabbed him with a pike, and I did nothing.¡± ¡°You couldn¡¯t have beaten them,¡± he comforted, then growled. ¡°Who was it that outed him?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know. We were fighting; someone saw how he moved, yelled ¡®Ravenblood¡¯¡­¡± Erin smiled sadly. ¡°That was that.¡± ¡°I wish they¡¯d survived the plague,¡± he muttered, scowling. ¡°Coulda had a long chat with them.¡± She patted him on the shoulder. ¡°It¡¯s an understandable reaction, Blake.¡± ¡°Maybe,¡± he sighed. ¡°I just wish things were¡­ He didn¡¯t deserve¡­¡° His tongue fumbled through the words, and he halted, eyes drifting. The young man¡¯s gaze settled on Erin¡¯s exposed navel, her coat and shirt having lifted up as she lay on the ground. He looked away immediately, rubbing the back of his head. After a short pause his brows crumpled and he glanced back. ¡°Is that a tattoo? When¡¯d you- ¡° ¡°Wait a moment,¡± Erin interrupted. ¡°Do you smell that?¡± Blake sniffed. The smell of charcoal ¨C of woodsmoke ¨C filled the air. Silently, his companion pointed at something in the sky. He followed the trajectory of her finger. A mass of smoke dominated the air above the forest. It must¡¯ve taken up residence while they were recovering from the skirmish. ¡°A fire?¡± he mused. ¡°I can¡¯t see any.¡± He turned to her, disbelieving. ¡°That¡¯s man-made then? Who in the blood makes that much smoke?¡± Without looking at him, she spoke. ¡°A war-camp.¡± Blake looked between her and the smoke. ¡°There¡¯s only one place they could be heading.¡± ¡°Spires?¡± ¡°Spires,¡± Erin agreed. Blake swore. Chapter 38 - Bars Between People People walked through the morning mists, stooped beneath the glares of guards arrayed around the two closest Spires. No crowds, refugees, beggars, hawkers or scavengers loitered in their shadows. Instead, the occasional civilian hurried towards their destination with shivering hands surrendered from the warmth of pockets, splayed as if in surrender. Above, a Spire loomed, its contours painted a patchy grey and scarred with ominous purple runework. Rowandine Castle, also known as Bars, was one of the two most central Spires in the city. Crawling with purple-tabarded guards and stern-faced soldiers, it was the home of the House¡¯s military and peacekeeping forces. Every entrance sat sealed by immense steel doors and had at least one obvious Blooded in front of each at all times. Its counterpart, sealed from the ground level and accessible only by a single adjoining platform, was dubbed ¡®the Nest¡¯ by everyone with a lick of sense and some awful fifteen syllable name by everyone else. Unlike any of the other towers, it was entirely unadorned, possessing only two pipes stretching from it to Wastes. Within were the homes of the main Heltian family, where they apparently lived their lives completely isolated from the outside world. If the rumours were to be believed, they frequently left in the dead of night -- either left to abduct criminals for their gruesome experiments or to maintain the intricate bloodtech throughout the city. I toed the ground outside one of Bars¡¯ entrances, hands tucked in the warmth of my armpits. Despite the chill, I¡¯d draped my heavy cloak over an arm. The risk of retaliation from those Kit and I had wronged was far lesser here than the risk of being on the wrong side of a guard¡¯s truncheon. No would-be assassin would dare killing me here. Kit¡¯s journey to the refugee camp was far less safe, however she wore the better disguise. I feared more for any attackers¡¯ safety than hers. Wiping my runny nose, I glanced back up at the Nest. My favourite idle speculation said that House Heltia had never existed; that its entire history was a vast and unfathomable conspiracy coordinated by the Albrights. It was easy to see why such a rumour arose. Experience had taught me that members of a House were liberal with their authority, whether for better or worse. A rare few were reclusive. But an entire House? The desire to hide inside an overgrown tree must¡¯ve been an Owlblood thing. Who in their right mind would isolate themselves for so long? A humourless smile smeared itself across my face. ¡°Wipe tha¡¯ eerie look off your ¡®ead, Vin,¡± boomed a voice. ¡°With a face like that, ¡®alfa the boys are wanting to smack you something awful.¡± I turned to find a man at least nine feet tall walking towards me, his long face and widely-spaced eyes betraying him as an Oxblood. His size, features and the violence hidden behind his affable smile reminded me of Jackson or a past version of¡­ However the similarities ended there. He was far paler, far more unrestrained, and far, far hairier. ¡°Hello, Dervin sir,¡± I greeted politely. Every type of Blooded required a different kind of approach, and treating Oxbloods respectfully was theirs. It was important to do so; all Blooded were volatile, but none were quite so explosive as those imbued with Enn¡¯s divinity. ¡°Thank you for coming out to see me.¡± Dervin waved a hirsute paw larger than most heads. ¡°Least I can do,¡± he said, ¡°given ¡®ow peaceful Face Bhan ¡®as kept th¡¯ prisoners since ¡®e¡¯s come into our care. ¡¯ow¡¯re you doing?¡± I tilted my hand in a ¡®so-so¡¯ way. ¡°Well enough, sir. I¡¯ve got some news.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± He jerked his head towards the large, ground-floor entrance, cracked open by his exit. ¡°Come on, then. You can tell me on th¡¯ way in.¡± He walked ahead, his massive frame naturally deterring a few pedestrians from his path. Despite my own height, I was forced to jog to keep pace; Dervin¡¯s strides encapsulated two of mine and he was the kind of man who hurried everywhere. Even, I imagined, to his own execution. The Oxblood exchanged a few greetings with the half-dozen guards by the gate, including a wide-eyed Lizardblood, and then sucked in his gut and shuffled sideways through the entrance¡¯s gap. I followed with significantly less issue. As soon as he yanked the door closed Dervin began speaking. ¡°Gods that man¡¯s lazy,¡± he complained, his rumbling voice far too deep to be concealed from the soldiers outside. Simultaneously, he gestured for me to leave my satchel at the door, which I did. ¡°You¡¯d think it were Wump¡¯s or even Yoot¡¯s ilk that¡¯re the most slothful Blooded, but lieutenant layabout out there¡¯s makin¡¯ a good effort for his kind.¡± Distantly, I recalled that Lizardbloods were prized as foot soldiers. Though their physical traits were desirable, it was their mental changes that made their formations unnaturally reliable. No other creatures were as disciplined as the Lizardblood, even if they could be rather dull. Had I just insulted myself? Regardless, even if he didn¡¯t know what I did, Dervin¡¯s bellyaching was absent of real weight. I nodded absently to his complaints, quietly evaluating the innards of Bars. I¡¯d been inside enough times to know that something was off about it. Usually, Bars¡¯ hallways were a stark contrast to its outside: with walls hung with antique weaponry and lit with the dull blue light of ever-burning lamps; errand-boys jogging lightly; guards glancing sheepishly at Dervin as they shirked work; inactive bloodtech embedded in the walls. Yet guards were placed at every intersection, their jaws uniformly clenched, and any individuals travelling the hall seemed possessed by a manic energy. ¡°We¡¯ve gotta take the stairs today, Vin,¡± announced Dervin. No one but a Foxblood would¡¯ve noticed the strained note in his voice. ¡°Elevator¡¯s out.¡± I paused, and slowly raised an eyebrow at him. ¡°You¡¯re not planning to stab me, are you sir?¡± I half-joked. The giant barked a laugh. ¡°Ah, I wish all my problems were so simple. Bam!¡± the large man sounded, miming a gutting motion, ¡°and there goes me rent an¡¯ taxes an¡¯ lacklustre love life.¡± ¡°Okay, okay.¡± I considered making a quip about showing him his place, but that would be a poor move considering his blood. ¡°Just be gentle with me, sir.¡± ¡°As a lamb, Vin, as a lamb.¡± As always, I walked in front as Dervin as he rumbled directions. Usually, Dervin¡¯s word were for the benefit of any suspicious onlookers and my biggest concern was ensuring the Oxblood didn¡¯t step on my heels, however this was my first time taking this route and I needed instructing. Despite that, making our way over to the steep flight of stairs downwards took only a few dozen steps. Bars¡¯ was an exception amongst Spires for many reasons, however the most outstanding one was that whatever mad Heltian had hollowed the massive speartree had also decided to dig into its subterranean portion. Unlike similar forms of vegetation, a speartrees¡¯ trunk thrust straight downward, with its stiff roots seeping from the main body and into the surrounding substances. Apparently, they could even worm their way through rock. They went down so far that I¡¯d never heard of anyone successfully uprooting one. The problem with attempting to burrow into the below-ground portion of a speartree was that, somehow, it became even harder. That didn¡¯t stop the Owlbloods working on Bars, though. A cleared throat interrupted my musings. ¡°So, Vin; what¡¯s the news?¡± My jaw worked silently. ¡°Well, the group¡¯s been offered a new job,¡± I began slowly, sounding out the phrasing, ¡°and it¡¯s supposed to pay pretty well.¡± ¡°You¡¯re sure it¡¯s not some¡­ trick?¡± ¡°It¡¯s a reputable client,¡± I said, facing forward. ¡°And the job¡¯s meant- ¡° A wheedling grumble interrupted me. ¡°But you know how people try to take advantage of Strains. Are you absolutely sure?¡± ¡°Well, we¡¯re meant to be caravan guards.¡± I paused. ¡°Leaving the Heartlands.¡± For several long moments, the only sound was our boots thumping against the spearwood stairs. ¡°You¡¯re leaving?¡± His face was hidden behind me. ¡°Yes sir.¡± My back prickled. For a moment, I feared he would kick me down the stairs. ¡°That¡¯s good,¡± he finally responded. My head turned before I could stop it, revealing Dervin¡¯s face, gazing somewhere far away. ¡°You all¡¯ll be much better off out of this place.¡± I nodded and looked back downwards as we continued to cut through the azure haze that filled the stairwell. By the time the Oxblood spoke again, we had already reached the bottom. ¡°Turn left here.¡± We did so, taking us to a large curved hallway with strangely bright lighting. ¡°How¡¯s the gang doing?¡± he asked abruptly. ¡°Same old,¡± I replied. ¡°Whip¡¯s keeping our feet straight; Davian¡¯s keeping our heads straight; Gast¡¯s keeping our eyes straight.¡± ¡°What about the new girl?¡± ¡°Uh, Kit?¡± He released an exasperated grunt. ¡°Wha¡¯ever her name is. She treating you all right?¡± ¡°She can be a bit abrasive sometimes, sir.¡± I hurriedly continued before Dervin got any violent ideas. ¡°But she¡¯s never looked down on the others for being Strains. And she¡¯s a wizard with her sword; we¡¯re all much safer with her at our side.¡± I felt him nod. ¡°And, uh¡­¡± The sound of his dry mouth was audible. ¡°Ronnie?¡± We arrived at our destination: a familiar door moulded from the same heavy spearwood as the Spire. Several deadbolts were placed on its outside. I turned to face the giant behind me. The concern on his face was easy to see. ¡°Ronnie is doing fine, sir,¡± I assured him. ¡°The kid¡¯s not ¡®urt?¡± His voice cracked on the final word. With a hacking sound, he cleared his throat and continued in a more subdued tone. ¡°Monster ¡®unting¡¯s a dangerous job, an¡¯ I know you¡¯ve had trouble with those Reclamation bastards driving you too hard. An¡¯ Ronnie can¡¯t speak for themself unless someone knows- ¡± he curled his fingers in a variety of motions, ¡°- hand-speak, so it¡¯s always too easy to ignore ¡®em.¡± ¡°Whip¡¯s always quick to translate, sir, and Ronnie¡¯s never slow to let their opinion be known. I¡¯ve been trying to puzzle out the words as well.¡± His thick lips stretched into a broad smile. ¡°Oh, tha¡¯s a relief.¡± Dervin paused, twisting his mouth. His eyes fluttered closed while his features returned to a neutral grin. ¡°You¡¯re a good man, Vin.¡± The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. I tried not to flinch. ¡°You too, sir.¡± ¡°And, eh¡­ ¡®ow¡¯s th¡¯ dog?¡± ¡°Ronnie¡¯s dog.¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± ¡°Yowler¡¯s fine.¡± ¡°Tha¡¯s good, tha¡¯s good.¡± He gave a lopsided smile, then began unbolting the door. ¡°Go on in,¡± he said. ¡°Bhan¡¯s a-waiting. Give us a few knocks before you leave, yeah?¡± The door unbolted. He would lock it after I entered, leaving me trapped in a room within a Spire full of strangely antsy guards. I stared at him, trying to parse his intentions. I¡¯d first met Dervin several months after Bhan¡¯s arrest, while snooping around for an entrance to Bars. Naively, I had assumed that infiltrating would be similar to entering the Esfarian offices, all those years ago. That assumption was squashed after a large Oxblood came after me, only relenting in his pursuit when I¡¯d mentioned Bhan¡¯s name. The two of them had some sort of passing acquaintance, but what really got me into his good graces was my association with the Strains. His brows crinkled as I stood there, attempting to read the lines of his face. The entrance was unlocked. The giant tilted his head towards me, his eyes growing increasingly frustrated. I forced my lips to quirk. ¡°Sir,¡± I began, ¡°could you tell me whether Ronnie¡¯s a boy or a girl?¡± He recoiled, then immediately exploded into a roaring laugh. Though I wanted to know the actual answer, there was no way of knowing how long his patience would hold. After a brief wave, I unceremoniously yanked open the door and stepped inside. A shudder forced its way up my spine as the bolts slammed shut. It was far from the first time, yet the enormity of being trapped in a hole in the ground struck me like an axe to the head. ¡°Vin? You okay?¡± The room was bare except for a small table, two chairs, and a shackled man. The lighting was almost blindingly bright, making his body a shock of dark colours against the whites of the walls. A wide grin revealed his yellowed teeth. Bhan was thirty-two years old. Anyone could tell from his leathery skin, lined-face and deep-set eyes that it hadn¡¯t been an easy thirty-two years. I nodded, the lump in my throat vanishing at the sight of him. As I took the seat opposite him, I gestured to his stubbly head. ¡°What happened there?¡± The Face frowned. ¡°¡¯Oh, how you doing Bhan?¡¯¡± His deep tones matched mine perfectly. He continued in his usual voice. ¡°¡®Very good thanks Vin. Having great time.¡¯ Blood, Vin, where your manners?¡± ¡°Sorry, sorry,¡± I intoned, waving a hand. ¡°Eyah, Bhan. How are you doing?¡± ¡°Very- ¡° ¡°That¡¯s great!¡± I interrupted loudly. ¡°Sounds like an excellent time. So, what happened to your hair?¡± He glowered. ¡°Poor Bhan, rotting in prison. One bright spot: little apprentice. But woe is Bhan! Apprentice is annoying turd sack!¡± I inhaled sharply. ¡°Turd sack! How dare you. You may be a Face, but I am a mighty Blooded!¡± Bhan¡¯s gaze evaluated me silently. After a few moments, he shook his head. ¡°Alright show. Your artifice obvious though. Fun, but respect the audience¡¯s cleverness. How your Divinity¡¯s going?¡± I shrugged. ¡°How many you done since we last spoke?¡± ¡°Four.¡± ¡°Ack, Vin. Four, in three weeks?¡± ¡°That¡¯s unfair,¡± I retorted. ¡°That¡¯s only a little less than what you did a few years back.¡± My teacher tried to throw up his hands, only for his shackles to halt the effort. ¡°You not in bushland, Vin. We in a city ¨C a massive godsdamned city. Centre of the Heartlands.¡± ¡°I spent most of my time hunting monsters!¡± He shook his head. ¡°A Face must perform. Freeing spirits is good, but the Divinity always, always first, especially when you learning. It everything a Face is.¡± I scowled. ¡°Well, maybe I just make a bad Face.¡± ¡°Hah!¡± Bhan exclaimed, slapping the table. ¡°Good excuse. You good performer. Have the¡­¡± He made a vigorous circular motion. ¡°¡­energy, the movement. Not everyone have talent; you do. You just lazy.¡± It was difficult to decide whether to be flattered or insult. I decided to ignore both options. ¡°I¡¯ve got to eat. I¡¯ve got to help my team eat.¡± ¡°Mm,¡± he hummed. ¡°You young. Suppose you have time.¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± I scratched my head. For some reason, it seemed wrong to suggest I had time. ¡°Anyway, what actually happened to your head?¡± ¡°Jackal,¡± was his immediate reply. My eyes widened. ¡°By the blood, Bhan; the Jackal¡¯s in with you?!¡± ¡°Where else they put her?¡± ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t know,¡± I said mockingly, then slammed my hand onto the table. ¡°In with the killers?!¡± His flat look forced me back to my chair. ¡°Vin.¡± I sighed. ¡°I know, I know.¡± Bhan was a killer. He¡¯d been caught barely a month after we¡¯d arrived in Spires. The Face had a bounty on him for a murder, placed by House Andoras, all the way up north. It had been nearly a decade old. In a way, he was lucky; murderers were usually executed or lynched and only the fear of spiritual repercussion prevented him from falling to the same fate. ¡°The Jackal¡¯s just¡­¡± Bhan leaned back in his chair, then winced against the bright light. ¡°She more, eh?¡± ¡°Eyah,¡± I agreed. ¡°Mm.¡± He nodded, slowly. ¡°She a beast, truly. Just last night ¨C bam, bam! ¨C she whack a woman for staring. Lady not weak herself. Jackal kill her with nothing but empty hands.¡± I leaned forward. ¡°Are you safe?¡± ¡°Mostly. She respect a Face.¡± He narrowed his eyes at a spot on the floor. ¡°Close shave, though, few days back; before she knew I a Face. Got blood in braids.¡± ¡°Not your blood.¡± The Face hummed affirmatively. ¡°Yes.¡± He looked up at me, shooting a yellow grin. ¡°Good read, Vin, well done.¡± He paused, then continued. ¡°Man died on top of me. Shaved hair off. Spirits get in.¡± ¡°Must¡¯ve smelled.¡± He grunted. ¡°You purge any spirits?¡± I shook my head, looking away. His eyes arrested my own. ¡°I know you not believe they real. It still important.¡± Once again, I shook my head. ¡°I don¡¯t know, Bhan. I honestly don¡¯t know.¡± ¡°It different for Blooded Face, I know. Easier, in ways. But the spirits stay in you. They keep in Godsblood. You need to release, sometimes.¡± I chuckled slightly. In response, he sighed. ¡°Keep with Divinity, Vin. Eye the audience. Eye the gods. Eye yourself. You done your Raven yet?¡± I licked my lips. ¡°I¡¯m not doing the Raven.¡± ¡°I understand,¡± he said, ¡°but- ¡° ¡°You don¡¯t,¡± I stated. Bhan sighed. ¡°Lot of people hate the Raven. Lot of reason ¨C Cult hurt many. And it dead. No reason to keep it going. I hate the Dolphin. But, like your Avri, my Wump is my greatest. Maybe that enough. But,¡± he said, meeting my eyes, ¡°the Raven important to people. All gods are. Important you play it.¡± I leaned forward, my speed a menacing crawl. ¡°No,¡± I spat slowly. ¡°Leave it, Bhan.¡± The man nodded, seemingly unperturbed. ¡°Okay.¡± After a moment¡¯s pause, the Face continued. ¡°But know this: your Divinity will never complete without it.¡± ¡°I¡¯m fine with that.¡± ¡°Are you?¡± I rubbed the arch of my nose and looked downwards. The spearwood beneath us was impossibly smooth. ¡°I don¡¯t even know if I want to be a Face.¡± Bhan shrugged. ¡°It there for you.¡± A short pause. ¡°When you need it.¡± I drummed my nails against the desk between us, creating a sequence of dull raps. The motion jarred my fingers. ¡°There¡¯s something else I need to tell you.¡± ¡°Mm.¡± He straightened. ¡°I, uh.¡± My throat suddenly felt dry. Bhan¡¯s gaze was gentle. I worked up some saliva. ¡°There was, uh.¡± He stared. I looked away. The room was too bright. ¡°Vin. Tell me.¡± My head found its way to my hands. ¡°We, uh, killed.¡± I swallowed. ¡°We killed some people.¡± His voice was soft. ¡°They attack you again?¡± ¡°Kit killed the guy who owned the Spiral. Then they attacked us.¡± ¡°Vin¡­¡± ¡°I wasn¡¯t there drinking, Bhan,¡± I stated. ¡°I haven¡¯t had a drop for months. I promised.¡± ¡°Why she kill?¡± ¡°It¡¯s what she does.¡± ¡°Not a reason.¡± I thought for a moment. ¡°They were conning me. The Spiral, I mean.¡± He huffed. ¡°Told you.¡± ¡°Go drown in it, Bhan.¡± ¡°Hah!¡± he snorted. ¡°That why?¡± ¡°They weren¡¯t giving my sword back.¡± Bhan hummed. ¡°Then Kit attack.¡± ¡°Yes. But I was about to get them to do it, without any bloodshed.¡± ¡°Make a scene?¡± ¡°Told them the sword was cursed. That only a Face could handle it.¡± He chuckled. ¡°Good man.¡± I nodded. ¡°And that they were scamming people.¡± ¡°Ohck,¡± he spat, ¡°idiot. Just like you. All bee, no honey. What they got to lose, then?¡± For a long moment I sat, thinking. Eventually, I spoke. ¡°It still could have worked.¡± ¡°Maybe.¡± ¡°And it certainly doesn¡¯t justify her actions. Nothing had started, yet.¡± My master grunted. ¡°That how the world be, Vin. People kill. People die.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not- ¡° He raised a finger, pale on one side and a deep brown on the other. ¡°You a good man, Vin, but no one live without hurting.¡± ¡°It¡¯s still- ¡° ¡°No. Not on you.¡± ¡°It¡¯s still on me!¡± I yelled before he could interrupt again. ¡°It was my choice. My hands.¡± The Face shook his head slowly. ¡°Some people- ¡° My eyes widened. ¡°-need killing.¡± The world turned hazy around me. My fingers twitched with the urge to hurt him. I breathed in, and out. Without my consent, my hands fumbled for my bag, left at the entrance of Bars. I breathed in, and out. Bhan watched me. ¡°Relax, Vin. You angry ¨C you no danger.¡± I bit my lip to stop from yelling. ¡°You never hurt anyone for angry. You allowed to be angry.¡± I swore at him ferociously, causing him to erupt into a cackling laugh, the kind I imagined a witch would have. Eventually, I ran out of energy and placed my head on the table. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have helped her,¡± I muttered. Bhan¡¯s hearing was surprisingly good, for an unblooded. ¡°Let her die?¡± he asked. Before I could answer, he spoke. ¡°No.¡± ¡°It wasn¡¯t my business.¡± ¡°Oh but it was.¡± I straightened abruptly. ¡°Well,¡± I said, voice strained, ¡°it means they¡¯re all hunting us, now.¡± His eyes widened fractionally. ¡°Ah.¡± My mouth opened and closed as I struggled to figure out how to continue. ¡°Someone slipped Kit a job offer,¡± I said. ¡°It¡¯s meant to pay well, despite the¡­¡± I waved my hands vaguely upwards, towards the city. Bhan grunted. ¡°Yeah. And it¡¯s, uh¡­¡± I paused, licking my lips. ¡°It¡¯s as caravan guards. Out of the Heartlands.¡± My master¡¯s gaze was measured; unwavering. ¡°It¡¯s dodgy, though,¡± I added quickly. ¡°It might be a¡­ I don¡¯t know.¡± ¡°Vin?¡± ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°Good for you,¡± he said, smiling with his crooked teeth. ¡°Take the job. I will be fine.¡± I¡¯d been hurt a lot in my time. His permission was like a blow sinking into my guts, stealing the air from my lungs and the strength from my legs. For an instant, I envisioned myself breaking of the cell with my mentor in tow, fighting my way through the Spire and hiding him in a cart with the rest of the Strains. As soon as the vision arrived, it departed. ¡°Vin¡­¡± he was saying. I ground my teeth. ¡°But, Bhan¡­¡± ¡°Go learn. Be outside Heartlands. As Face, or anything else.¡± ¡°But they might- ¡° He chuckled. ¡°No one does anything to you that you do not want, Vin.¡± The Face¡¯s expression was suddenly serious. ¡°Promise you will be safe.¡± We stared at one another. I looked away first. ¡°Promise.¡± I swallowed. ¡°Okay.¡± ¡°Good.¡± He glanced down and sniffed, then looked back at me. ¡°Come here.¡± I got up and shuffled over to him, awkwardly kneeling to bring myself level with his eyes. After a moment, an intense grimace fell upon his face. He opened his arms and I flinched, but he was only wrapping them around me, squeezing my large frame into the small space between me and him. ¡°Not goodbye, Vin.¡± Moisture spread through my tunic, and the fact he was weeping hit me with the force of a hundred gales. ¡°We meet again,¡± he sobbed. ¡°You be good to yourself.¡± I patted him on the back, blinking rapidly. ¡°I¡¯ll try.¡± We stayed in that white room for a while, his manacled form embracing my own. A few thoughts flashed through my mind, yet for the most part they were torn from my mind by the tears piercing from behind my eyes. Somewhere in that maelstrom, I realised that this could be the last time we saw one another and despite everything I¡¯d told myself, I was unprepared. That notion ¨C that monstrously unfair idea ¨C was what tore me away. I gently extricated myself from his grip. Then, I placed my feet under my body and rose. Bhan mirrored me as best as his shackles would allow. An offered hand was seized in my own. I released our handshake, and bowed slowly. ¡°Thank you for everything, Face Bhan.¡± He wiped the moisture from his face and breathed in deeply. ¡°It has been an honour, Vin.¡± Something hard lay behind his eyes. I strode over to the door I¡¯d entered from and rapped it three times. The bolts rattled on the other side, and Dervin¡¯s hairy paw pulled it open. I looked back at Bhan. He smiled tightly. With a deep exhale, I exited. It bolted shut and my hands twitched with the desire to rush back inside and steal him away. A dumb horror bubbled in my chest. I was leaving him. It felt like I was screaming. As the giant and I walked down the slowly curving hallway, an exertion of will snapped my senses back to me. Sparks of life force abounded through the area, roaming through Bars or standing in place until the limited range of my sense tore them from me. Holding them in my mind required intense concentration, but the route inwards was the same as the one outwards, and neither Dervin nor myself were inclined to talk. Bhan slid from my perception halfway up the stairs. I picked up my satchel in the grim atmosphere of the exit. Dervin slapped me on the back, and then I was squeezing out from the intimidating door. ¡°On your way,¡± the Lizardblood guard commanded. I stuck my thumbs beneath the worn leather straps of my backpack and forged away from Bars, into the sparse streets beneath the violet light of the Spires. Around the corner I saw several hunters I recognised from the Spiral arguing with a guard. I covered myself, hunched my body and pretended to be another confused soul, lost in a city slowly orbiting around its own demise. The act wasn¡¯t hard. It had been arrogance to think the guards would care for one small incident. Whatever had them running like a kicked anthill wasn¡¯t me. Something else had them scared. Once I was out of eyeshot, I broke into a jog. It was a good time to leave Spires. Chapter 39 - Fears Between Words Kit had given me directions to her home. Upon receiving them, I¡¯d mustered enough social awareness to avoid making any comments. After watching her swordplay enough times ¨C even throwing some sparring matches against her ¨C I¡¯d marked her style as deriving from some Foxblood techniques, as only a Foxblood had the kinaesthetic awareness and perceptive powers to handle its lack of defensive options. I didn¡¯t recognise it, though, so I judged that the style had likely originated from one of the northern Houses, given that I had no recollection of contacting either. And she¡¯d simply been genius enough to learn it, despite her lack of Godsblood. From that, I¡¯d assumed she was some sort of expatriate. All of this was extrapolated from a single judgement: it seemed too improbable that she¡¯d learned to fight so well without significant resources. Maybe I was right. But if I was, Kit had fallen far. Her home was out of the range of guards, closer to the wilderness than Spires proper. It was placed firmly in the outer edges of the refugee camp. Surrounded by a sea of carts pierced by the occasional tent, Kit¡¯s place fit right in. It was, after all, three carts arranged in a triangle, with a large rod stuck in the centre. A sheet of tough hides was slung over the top of it all. Even so, one didn¡¯t have to be Kani to hear the voices emanating from within. ¡°¡­absolutely unacceptable. How dare you bring such trouble to our doorstep?¡± ¡°Oh, I¡¯m th¡¯ one with the with the issue?¡± Kit¡¯s deep drawl was unmistakeable. ¡°How much¡¯ve you brought home, Jana? Oh, that¡¯s right: less¡¯n th¡¯ dirt spits up after a pinky¡¯s worth¡¯a blood.¡± The response came from a clipped voice, warbling with the weight of age. ¡°We ate because of my jewellery for weeks!¡° ¡°An¡¯ what didja do to earn ¡®em? Make notes in yer godsdamned book.¡± ¡°Oh, this again. I performed a service- ¡° ¡°You didn¡¯t shed a drop of godsdamned blood,¡± Kit yelled, voice cracking with emotion. ¡°I got us here. I keep us fed. Get off it. ¡®less you wanna starve, you¡¯d do well to come with me.¡± ¡°Girl, that won¡¯t do us any good if we¡¯re all ran through.¡± ¡°It¡¯s done, Jana, and we¡¯ve got to-¡° I turned my ears away from the conversation, instead looking out over the camp. The way the slums hugged the ground assisted my height in affording me a good vantage. My eyes made good use of the elevated perspective. My surroundings were strangely barren at this time of day, and the few adults that remained performed various tasks: squatting near boiling water; quietly breaking chunks of heartwood; holding muted conversations with others. Three men were playing dice on a square of smoothed dirt. My fingers itched around a phantom pair of cubes until I realised there were no stakes. Occasionally, I¡¯d see a man or woman meticulously cleaning their palms of filth. The next step was obvious: a blade¡¯s flash and they would open their palm, trickling blood onto the red dirt. As it drained, they stared with trembling eyes at the patch of muddy ground. And sometimes, tiny pricks would appear in the ground, revealing that their sacrifice would bear fruit. All that remained was to ensure it wasn¡¯t stolen. As adults went through their business, their children either watched on, poked at the ground, or played half-hearted games with one another. Two entirely unsupervised children squatted several carts down, staring at something on the ground. I leaned to get a better angle. It was a many-legged insect; a Heartland breed of caterpillar, were I to guess. One of them ¨C a blonde-haired girl who couldn¡¯t be more than six ¨C prodded at the bug, only to be shoved by the older boy beside her, whose eyes were covered by black bangs. She toppled to the floor and then straightened, scowling, and shoved him back. As I picked at my teeth, internally judging who was to win the ensuing scuffle, a strange pair of men weaved their way through the brown landscape and into my peripherals. My head snapped to them. Their clothes were far finer than any refugee, and far too rugged to belong to a mere harvester. The clubs at their belts seemed poor hunting gear ¨C weapons with edges or points were the norm for killing Godkin, unless they were armoured ¨C and even if their quarry were armoured, they themselves were not. Either they were very bad monster hunters, or they were after a different kind of prey. I hissed through my teeth. They were heading our way. The pair¡¯s argument continued from within the cart-hut. ¡°¡­the kind of manoeuvre I would have expected from your mother, but I suppose you are her spitting image.¡± An aggravated growl was the immediate response. ¡°You can scream an¡¯ shout all you want, but that don¡¯t change what¡¯s what. Get yer things; let¡¯s go.¡± ¡°Hey, Kit?¡± I called. ¡°You might want to hurry that up.¡± A murmured swear, and the swordswoman was ducking out the entranceway, tilting her scabbard so it didn¡¯t catch on the sides. She¡¯d abandoned the disguise I gave her ¨C though I noticed with no small degree of satisfaction that she still stunk slightly. Once she straightened, Kit stood staring at me with her body perfectly still. I looked away, more interested in the men approaching. ¡°How long you been there?¡± Nonchalantly, I responded. ¡°Long enough.¡± The men were close, having reached the two children. Their stride had been purposeful, with too much speed for anyone without a specific destination in mind. Yet contrary to my expectations, they stopped there. The broader, flat-faced man loomed above while his more reasonably proportioned companion squatted in front of the kids, rolling several wooden chits over his knuckles. He said a few words and pointed back towards Spires. ¡°Ox¡¯s bloody balls,¡± I swore. ¡°They¡¯re not after us. They¡¯re after bloodbags.¡± Kit was still staring at me. ¡°What?¡± ¡°The men over there ¨C see them?¡± I pointed. ¡°Kidnappers. Looking for bodies to drain as sacrifice.¡± ¡°I know what a- ¡° She paused as her gaze settled on the kids at the men¡¯s feet. Her face twisted. My first instinct was to grab her; stop what she was about to do. Instead, I watched her sword rise from its sheath as she strode over to the men. ¡°Tippi!¡± she called, concealing the blade behind her body. ¡°Crumpet! Argument¡¯s over. Go stand near the oaf.¡± The broad man caressed his club, levelling a blank stare at the approaching woman. I suddenly realised that he was taller than even Kit, and likely outweighed her by a factor of two. The squatting man and the two children turned slowly, the girl clutching a wooden chit in her hands. The sullen boy grabbed her arm and dragged her towards me. He paused a few paces away, eyes suddenly fixed on his feet. ¡°C¡¯mon,¡± I beckoned, patting the top of their cart-tent. ¡°Go inside for a second.¡± The boy nodded, gaze studiously avoiding my own. His smaller companion openly stared before being dragged inside the entrance. A muted swear emanated through the walls. I looked back over at Kit, who stood barely three steps away from the pair, whose clubs were drawn. They were banded in metal, I noticed. The nearby refugees watched quietly, their tasks forgotten. A group of five scruffy men and women hurried somewhere after exchanging a few meaningful looks. The broad man¡¯s eyes flickered as he watched them go. ¡°What in the gods¡¯-¡° came the old voice as an elderly lady exited the cart-tent. Her face was powdered to smooth skin; her eyes darkened to enhance their colour; her hair dyed black, a colour that gracefully faded to the grey of the hair¡¯s roots; her lips painted with an artful subtlety; and all the cosmetics only served to enhance the remnants of severe frowns and hateful sneers that age had lined in her face. Despite that, she would have been elegantly beautiful were it not for the intense burn scarring that cut down the right side of her face, misting over an eye and curling the skin down her neck, where it disappeared beneath the hem of her rough dress. It looked agonising. I kept the confrontation in the corner of my eye as I evaluated her. Kit was saying something, but the wind caught her quiet words and carried them away from me. The old woman had one good eye and no qualms about using it to blatantly inspect me. ¡°Kit was right,¡± she muttered to me, her green eye and cloudy orb unflickering. ¡°You are large.¡± I tried to think of a witty response. Then Kit¡¯s blade flashed and the broad man fell, howling and clutching his leg. The other swung his club, only for the swordswoman to step around it and sink a fist into his kidney. Bow-legged, the kidnapper remained standing until she broke his nose with the hilt of her sword. He toppled into a roll but she managed to nail him with a stomp. The crunch was audible. ¡°There she goes,¡± the woman beside me said, squinting with her good eye. Kit was straddling the man and beating him as his broader companion tried to quell the arterial spurting from his inner thigh. ¡°That girl is an unrepentant thug.¡± ¡°Have you¡­¡± I paused. ¡°Known her¡­ long?¡± The group of refugees who had left returned with knapped hatchets and scythes in hand. They paused upon reacquainting themselves with the scene. Kit slammed the man one more time with her fist, then winced and clutched at it, audibly supressing a groan. She was significantly less skilled in an empty-handed brawl: not that it mattered, given how thoroughly ruined her opponent¡¯s face was. ¡°Since she was a baby,¡± the lady replied. ¡°And she¡¯s always been like¡­¡± I gestured towards the scene. She kicked the broad man¡¯s head on the way over to the gawkers. ¡°This?¡± The lady inclined her head. ¡°More or less. Crumpet¡¯s heading the same direction as her, poor thing.¡± ¡°One of the kids?¡± Kit was talking to the nearby refugee men and women, attempting to wipe the blood from her blade with the dying kidnapper¡¯s clothes, the man¡¯s writhing making it difficult. From what I gathered, Kit was offering the men¡¯s bodies to them in exchange for their services in disposing of them. Disregarding the trouble the corpses would bring it was a generous deal, but growing less so as blood spurted from the men¡¯s bodies. ¡°The little girl.¡± The scarred lady sniffed sharply. ¡°Tippi is the boy. Silly name.¡± She eyed me without turning her head. ¡°Would you like to come inside for a cup of tea?¡± Given how easily everyone in the tent could be murdered by a cup of oil, a match, and a few heavy boxes ¨C or a long enough blade to pierce through the roof ¨C I did not. I was reasonably certain the question was for show anyway. ¡°Were it any other time, maybe, but it¡¯s probably best to get going soon.¡± ¡°So much trouble for one stupid girl¡¯s-¡° she spat the phrase as if it were a roach in her mouth, ¡°- actions.¡± A frown flashed across my face. I hurriedly wiped it away. ¡°Be that as it may, if anyone knows where she lives you¡¯re all in trouble.¡± ¡°Bah!¡± She smacked the hide roof, yelling: ¡°Out, children!¡± Her expression unchanging, she turned to me. ¡°Be a gentleman and help us load a cart, will you?¡± ¡°You makin¡¯ a guest pack?¡± said Kit, walking over to us with her dark face twisting in amusement. ¡°Shameless.¡± The scarred lady snorted daintily. ¡°And you weren¡¯t planning on doing so yourself?¡± ¡°Maybe if he were anyone else.¡± I raised an eyebrow. ¡°Shameless indeed.¡± The kids emerged, each taking a position behind the adult¡¯s legs. They peered at me. I waved. Kit introduced us. ¡°Tippi, Crumpet; meet Oaf.¡± ¡°Hi Oaf,¡± said the blonde-haired girl. The boy ¨C Tippi ¨C looked at her in horror. ¡°Are you stupid?¡± ¡°Oaf was my father,¡± I parried deftly. ¡°Call me Vin.¡± Tippi¡¯s brows crinkled. ¡°Vin Oaf?¡± I grinned. ¡°Vin Face, if anything.¡± Thinking for a moment, I continued. ¡°Hunter-Face, actually.¡± I heard the lady begin to slap Kit¡¯s arm rapidly. ¡°I didn¡¯t know, Jana,¡± whispered the swordswoman. Jana kept at it for several seconds, then sighed and stopped. The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°It¡¯s not a good look to have a Face packing our bags,¡± she mused, shooting Kit a dark look. ¡°Who else is going to pull the cart?¡± Kit responded. The scarred lady nodded, somewhat reluctantly. I whirled. ¡°What?¡± The swordswoman grinned, exposing her canines. ¡°You thought I invited you for your company? No. ¡°You¡¯re our mule.¡±
¡°Don-key,¡± Crumpet chorused in an imitation of Kit¡¯s mocking tones. ¡°You¡¯re very good at your job. Is it your first time?¡± The cart¡¯s weight, plus baggage, plus assorted adults and children, plus the lute Kit had taken, were all borne by my arms pushing a length of spearwood attached to the cart by several ropes. The exertion was constant and undiminishing, yet I could¡¯ve pulled it all another thousand leagues if I had to. Muscle fatigue was further out of my reach than it was for most people. That didn¡¯t mean the task wasn¡¯t frustrating. Most of the routes that had once existed in the area had been concealed by the endless expanse of the refugee camp ¨C the remnants of people¡¯s former lives scattered haphazardly through the area. All that remained were four beaten pathways ¨C one for each of the cardinal directions ¨C and each was constantly jammed with harvesters carrying food, wood, or minerals; all the essential nutrients Spires needed to subsist. All that remained was to somehow twist our way through the seething mass to get there, my only encouragement being unsolicited advice from Jana, Kit¡¯s uncharacteristic silence, and a jeering child. I knew very few six-year-olds whose insults were so sophisticated. I¡¯d be impressed, were I not struggling with the urge to make her pull instead. ¡°Hey, little grub?¡± hissed Kit. ¡°Maybe stop with the insults?¡± That was unusual. I came to the obvious realisation moments later. After a moment¡¯s consideration on how to play it out, I simply made my breathing heavier, slowed, then halted entirely. Bent over at the knees, I panted. ¡°Sorry.¡± I huffed to conceal my grin. ¡°Can¡¯t,¡± huff, ¡°go any,¡± huff, ¡°further.¡± The girl jeered, mocking with a brutality backed by ignorance. Kit slowly hopped off the cart ¨C which was layered with camping supplies ¨C and trudged over to me. ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± I whispered to her, ¡°you¡¯re almost there. Have fun.¡± Mutely, she heaved against the ropes, slowly managing to get the cart rolling again. I walked beside it, whistling to conceal how impressed I was. Jana barked a short cackle as it trundled forward. To my immense disappointment, Kit managed to curb Crumpet¡¯s harassment with a fierce glare. The girl sulked until I began making braying noises just out of our donkey¡¯s sight. Whenever she twisted her neck to swear at me, I would blame the sound on inanimate objects: a pair of axes; another cart; a rock. Both the kids giggled quietly, almost making it worth the dark aura leaking from Kit. I didn¡¯t know what she was so angry about. She was pulling it on flat ground, hindered only by the occasional pebble or rut. It was rather wimpy. I told her as much. ¡°I¡¯m gonna kill you,¡± came her reply. I looked at the children, who were walking beside me to better imitate the braying noises. Jerking my head, I said: ¡°No sense of humour, that one.¡± Tippi nodded seriously. Kit swore.
The Strains lived in a small house on the outskirts of Spires, on the border between the city proper and the refugee camp. It was nestled off the side of one the main thoroughfares, partially concealed between two much larger buildings. Officially, Ronnie owned it, but apparently the giant¡¯d claimed it was far too big for just them and their dogs. Despite its size, it was a nice place: equipped with three small bedrooms, a kitchen, a common area, a closet which Gast had appropriated as her own quarters, and a small shack out the back which had become our donkey¡¯s home. Granted: the kitchen¡¯s bloodtech stove never had any Godsblood; the toilet and filtered water sources were a hundred paces away; thieves kept breaking in during every expedition; and the outside was heavily graffitied with slurs; but none of its inhabitants seemed to mind. They had invited me to stay with them a month after I¡¯d joined their team. Generous, but ill-thought ¨C they¡¯d barely known me, and there wasn¡¯t any space besides. I had my hideaway. It was comfortable. I could tell the moment Davian noticed us. He was idly staring out on the street, seated atop our cart with his head placed on top of his arm. My halberd and steel sword were absent from their holsters ¨C they were too valuable to leave on the side of the road. His twisted features passed over us, then whipped back as he fell of the cart in surprise. I walked over to where he lay ¨C groaning and clutching his back ¨C picked him up, and placed him back on his feet. The old man leaned around my frame, squinted at Kit¡¯s family rolling up the street, then stared up at me. His gaze quietly reprimanded me. ¡°Did you make her pull- ¡° ¡°Absolutely,¡± I answered. The door to the house ¨C already open ¨C repulsed Ronnie¡¯s massive form, their good right arm holding their battle-axe while their underdeveloped left gripped the door frame. The giant¡¯s blue eyes flickered across the street before settling on Kit straining against her cart. They stared in bemusement for several seconds, then snorted, keeled over, and began breathing out heavily ¨C Ronnie¡¯s equivalent to raucous laughter. ¡°See?¡± I said to Davian, pointing at the wheezing Strain. ¡°They get it.¡± He frowned. ¡°Yes, well. Questionable taste.¡± The other wagon finally trundled in beside us, sliding into the spot just next to our work cart, allowing Kit to silently collapse to the ground. Jana stared imperiously from the top while the two children peered over the lip of the cart. I scratched the hair beneath my bandana. ¡°Davian, Ronnie, this is Jana, Tippi, and¡­¡± I stared at the small girl, smiling slightly. ¡°Cranberry.¡± ¡°Crumpet!¡± she yelled angrily. I nodded. ¡°That¡¯s right. Rumpet.¡± Crumpet threw a wooden peg at me, which I caught. ¡°Joking!¡± I announced, before she could hurl more. ¡°Kit¡¯s¡­¡± I looked meaningfully at Jana. ¡°¡­Family,¡± the elegant lady spat. Whip hobbled into the doorway, crutch under her arm, and surveyed the scene. She whispered something to Ronnie, who inclined their head, and then the two of them proceeded to lean against the outside of the house. A moment later Ronnie¡¯s dog, Yowler ¨C a slow, muscular old thing with greying fur and floppy jowls ¨C came outside, sniffed, and loped down to receive some pats from me. Ronnie signed something. ¡°Pleasure to meet you all,¡± translated Whip. ¡°We should probably talk inside.¡± With a nod, I leaned down and slung Kit over my shoulder. She punched me in the side of the head, causing me to dump her on the ground again. All nine of us filed inside, swordswoman belatedly following. The common area was far too small to fit all of us comfortably. In addition, it contained only four seats ¨C each a different flavour of padded chair ¨C and Gast was already napping on one. To no one¡¯s surprise, the scarred lady immediately occupied one, while Ronnie attempted to herd Whip and Davian into the two remaining, each insisting they didn¡¯t need one despite their faulty leg and age, respectively. Their humming and hawing was interrupted by Kit staggering in and collapsing on the closest seat. The giant and the elderly man exchanged a look, then shoved Whip into the final seat. I slumped against a wall, feet splayed. When Crumpet sat beside me, Tippi hovered awkwardly for several seconds, then quickly settled down next to the girl. Davian gingerly leaned against a wall, and began speaking. ¡°What did you two do?¡± His gaze flicked between Kit and myself. My jaw worked silently. The swordswoman responded before I could. ¡°How d¡¯you know there was trouble?¡± she confronted. Whip scratched her nose. ¡°You didn¡¯t meet us yesterday. It¡¯s unlike Vin to be late. And several people tried to break in yesterday.¡± I straightened. ¡°Are you okay?¡± ¡°Scared ¡®em off,¡± Gast muttered. ¡°Wasn¡¯t hard. Yelling for Face Vin and the angry girl though.¡± With a blank stare, Whip spoke. ¡°That¡¯s you two.¡± ¡°Think he knows,¡± responded Kit. The scar tissue on the side of Jana¡¯s face crinkled painfully as she glared at Kit. ¡°How many, girl?¡± ¡°There were twelve,¡± said Whip, ¡°but they ran away when Gast¡¯s runestone started tangling their legs.¡± Jana tutted. ¡°I wasn¡¯t talking to you.¡± The Strain furrowed her brows and looked at me. ¡°She was asking how many Kit, uh, incapacitated,¡± I explained. ¡°The looking- ¡° Jana cut in. ¡°That isn¡¯t necessary.¡± Whip¡¯s lower lip wobbled. ¡°Not your call,¡± I told the woman without looking, then continued addressing the girl. ¡°It¡¯s possible to tell who someone¡¯s addressing by the direction of their eyes.¡± The scarred woman glared. ¡°Vin- ¡° Kit scowled. ¡°Yer a guest, Jana. Be polite.¡± ¡°There are far more pressing issues than social niceties,¡± the lady snapped. ¡°How many did you kill?¡± ¡°Nine, in total,¡± Kit growled. ¡°Six for me, three fer the oaf.¡± All of the Strains turned to look at me. Ronnie signed ¡®question¡¯, however Davian pre-empted her. ¡°Vin, what happened?¡± I swallowed; eyes fixed on a whorl in the floorboards. ¡°They were cheating me. Things escalated.¡± All of them began speaking over the top of one another: angry gestures from Ronnie; Davian exclaiming ¡®Of course they were!¡¯ ; Whip¡¯s innocent ¡®Really?¡¯ ; Gast¡¯s amused snort. I buried my face in my hands. ¡°I would¡¯ve made so much money if Thom hadn¡¯t- ¡° ¡°Yer an idiot, Vin,¡± interrupted Kit, turning on her chair. Everyone in the room the room nodded ¨C even Crumpet, joining in a moment late ¨C except Tippi and Whip. I had to stop myself from yelling ¡®I would¡¯ve,¡¯ instead simply waving my hands. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter, anyway. Kit and I have to leave, and we¡¯ve found a way to get all of you out as well. Though,¡± I continued, ¡°it¡¯s, uh¡­¡± ¡°It¡¯s dodgy,¡± finished the swordswoman. We all sat on that for a moment. Yowler huffed in, turned in place several times, and settled at Gast¡¯s chubby feet. Resisting the urge to fidget was surprisingly difficult; neither of the children shared my qualms. The silence was shattered from an unlikely direction. ¡°How?¡± The word was childish, yet strangely smooth. I glance at Tippi, who hid behind his bangs. I¡¯d expected his voice to be more halting. I tapped the side of Kit¡¯s leg with my foot. ¡°We¡¯re to be guards,¡± she began slowly, ¡°protectin¡¯ a caravan on its way out of the Heartlands. Food ¡®nough for all of us. Huge pay out. Employment after the fact.¡± She sniffed. ¡°Too good a deal by far.¡± ¡°Come now, Kit,¡± Davian protested. ¡°It¡¯s an incredible chance ¨C is it really wise to be snubbing it so easily?¡± As she leaned back and stretched her neck, the swordswoman shook her head. ¡°S¡¯not just that. The woman who gave us the offer¡­ she was definitely more¡¯n she let on. An¡¯ she knew us; knew the gang.¡± ¡°You didn¡¯t tell me this.¡± The tone that escaped me was unwittingly accusing. ¡°I didn¡¯t wanna tell it twice,¡± Kit snapped. She straightened, then continued. ¡°She knew I was part of the uh¡­¡± She paused, then waved her hand lazily. ¡°Can¡¯t remember the words, but she knew I was workin¡¯ with Strains, though we¡¯d never met. An¡¯ the job was fer all of us, ¡®spite the fact she¡¯d never met you people. If I could prove myself.¡± ¡°Is that why you¡­¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± came the reply. She didn¡¯t look at me. Whip drummed her fingers against her knee. ¡°Was she deliberately trying to provoke you ¨C to get all of us in trouble? So we¡¯d have to leave?¡± ¡°Ox balls,¡± Kit swore, ¡°yer probably right.¡± Everyone chewed on that for a moment. ¡°It matters?¡± That was Gast, eyes half-lidded as her chair struggled to maintain her weight. ¡°What do you mean?¡± asked Whip. ¡°Like Dav said: good deal,¡± the large woman continued, perfectly still but for her mouth. ¡°Albright¡¯s Declaration. Heartlands starving. Maybe Houses closing in.¡± I shook my head. ¡°But why us?¡± Her response was simple. ¡°Because we¡¯re good. And they need good. Even if good¡¯s Strains. They want us. Probably too badly. Would we have said no?¡± Nine people breathed. Yowler snored. Crumpet¡¯s gaze flicked around the room, uncomprehending yet engrossed. ¡°Employment after the fact,¡± mused Whip aloud. Inside my mouth, my molars crushed one another. For the four Strains, there was nothing more alluring than good work. ¡°We¡¯ve got work here,¡± I vainly protested. Far too quickly for me to comprehend, Ronnie¡¯s under and overdeveloped hands twisted and warped, pausing for less than a moment in unfamiliar poses. ¡°One day¡­¡± Whip translated, ¡°one of us will die hunting under the orders of people who¡­¡± The girl paused, looking up at the giant¡¯s childish features. Ronnie nodded. ¡°Don¡¯t¡­¡± Whip swallowed. ¡°Don¡¯t care about us. And then the rest will follow. Hunting was the best we had. But, Vin¡­¡± Ronnie looked straight at me. ¡°Anything¡¯s better.¡± Faced with that, I could only nod. ¡°Maybe. But there¡¯s no guarantee.¡± ¡°Death is a guarantee,¡± Ronnie spoke with Whip¡¯s voice. ¡°I know that¡¯s what you want, but for the rest of us- ¡° Suddenly, I was on my feet. ¡°How dare you?¡± Before anyone could stop me, my hands were full of their shirt. ¡°You don¡¯t get to butt into my- ¡° Arms wrapped around my waist and heaved against my weight, yet they couldn¡¯t move me. I was too heavy. Too strong. Ronnie¡¯s arm pressed against my chest but this time, I didn¡¯t let them shove me away. ¡°That¡¯s my business,¡± I bellowed. ¡°You understand? Mine.¡± ¡°Vin!¡± someone was saying. ¡°Vin!¡± ¡°What, Sash?¡± I said, turning to look at the girl. Then I saw Whip and my grip loosened and Kit pulled me away. Everyone stared. Bile churned in my stomach. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I managed. Eyes followed as I returned to my spot. I repeated the apology to the wide-eyed children. ¡°Sorry.¡± With an exertion of will I smothered the sensation burning in my chest. ¡°You¡¯re correct, of course,¡± I stated, looking up at everyone. My gaze swept across the room, catching those that met it. ¡°But so am I.¡± ¡°Vin- ¡° Davian began. I waved a hand. ¡°I know. We¡¯re going. But if something¡¯s off ¨C if they¡¯re going to use us ¨C we don¡¯t keep going until we¡¯re all dead. We leave.¡± I swallowed. ¡°Is that fair?¡± The room weighed my words. In the end, they all acquiesced with a nod, though Ronnie and Davian¡¯s seemed more reluctant than anything else. ¡°Alright.¡± I clacked my teeth. ¡°We¡¯re meeting between Smokes and Bleeds, in the lower markets. It seems wise to scout it out beforehand. What¡¯s the plan?¡±
After I¡¯d kickstarted the discussion, I had excused myself. Were I a hardier person, I would¡¯ve stayed; my experience accounting for ambushes and planning for retreats was extensive, though I¡¯d only ever fought in a city a handful of times. But the languor that had risen in the spaces between their words proved too much. There was no helping them until my weariness levelled out. Unfortunately, there weren¡¯t many quiet places nearby. I¡¯d ended up in the Missus¡¯ shed, shovelling dung, loading his trough, and brushing his coat. Afterwards, he¡¯d deigned to let me lie down in his space and promptly laid on top of me. The more optimistic part of me believed it to be out of affection, while a more realistic voice whispered that he simply wanted to warm up. I rubbed my temples, staring at a peaked ceiling that had somehow become smeared with hay. There was far too much to purchase before we left: we¡¯d need more potions, warmer clothes and blankets for the coming Frost, extra feed for the Missus, and dried rations in case our employer offered less than anticipated. Even after pooling our savings, I wasn¡¯t sure we¡¯d have the chits for all that. If we did, it would certainly leave us with no nest egg. In addition to all that, neither Kit nor I could be seen buying them without exposing ourselves, so either the Strains or Jana would have to do it themselves. The former would undoubtedly get ripped off, and I didn¡¯t trust the latter not to piss off the vendors. When the door to the shed opened, I was gazing blankly into nothing and idly rubbing the Missus¡¯ side. Judging by the unusual gait, it was Whip. She stood for a moment, then carefully lowered herself onto the other side of the Missus, who immediately placed his head on her lap. A companionable silence reigned. She broke it first. ¡°Are you okay?¡± I nodded slowly. ¡°I¡¯ll be okay. I just need a bit of quiet.¡± The quiet returned, only sullied by the brushing of the donkey¡¯s coat. It stretched. ¡°Did you want to ask me something?¡± I asked. ¡°Yes. A few things.¡± ¡°Alright. Go ahead.¡± The girl took her time formulating the question. ¡°Do you want to¡­ be dead?¡± A shock ran through my body, as if someone dumped a bucket of ice-cold water on it. To anyone else, I could lie. It would be wrong to do it to her. ¡°¡­No,¡± I carefully replied. It was the truth. It wasn¡¯t honest. ¡°Okay.¡± My lips curled into a lopsided grin. I chuckled hollowly. Whip watched. ¡°Who¡¯s Sash?¡± ¡°She¡¯s¡­ She was my sister.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± Her hand scratched behind the donkey¡¯s ears, who leaned into her lap. ¡°What happened?¡± I rubbed beneath my bandana. I drummed my fingers. I swallowed. ¡°I don¡¯t want to talk about it. Maybe one day.¡± ¡°Okay,¡± was her only response. Another long silence. ¡°Please don¡¯t tell anyone about this, Whip.¡± ¡°Okay.¡± We sat for a while. She opened and closed her mouth, but it was only on her sixth such attempt that she spoke. ¡°I¡¯m sorry about your sister, Vin.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± I said. My mouth was dry. ¡°Me too.¡± There was nothing more to say. Whip left me there, the donkey trotting out into the cold after her. I lay there and wondered when I would learn. Chapter 40 - Lies Between Truths Smokes and Bleeds were the last of the eight pairs of Spires that formed the city ¨C or the first, depending on one¡¯s perspective. The refugee camp curved in an oval around the strip of land that formed the city, and there was a Reclamation Committee office at each cardinal direction, so the distinction was purely philosophical. Both were on the outer edge of the city for the same reason that Wastes was: they were generally unpleasant to be around. Smokes was named for the massive streams of smoke erupting from its top at all times, siphoned from the forges on this side of the city. Its white surface had become stained with an unpleasant mottling of yellow and brown over the decades, and its surface yielded a film of unidentifiable substance. Most of the major bloodtech development occurred in Smokes, though the few Owlblooded smiths I¡¯d chatted up were tight-lipped on what was manufactured behind its spearwood walls. The public could purchase the latest bloodtech at a premium price on the lower levels of the Spire, which proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that there were still people with more money than sense flitting about, even in a famine. On the other hand, it was Bleeds I truly struggled with. Within its curved circumference, most processing of grain, tubers, vegetables, and meat occurred. These were either gathered by harvesters or grown using the slowly expanding farmland surrounding Spires, left over after the hunters and harvesters finished their business. A dangerous job, farming: despite the efforts of patrolling soldiers, monsters could still wander out of the woods and ruin fields or slaughter the hapless farmhands wandering about. The surviving harvest was shipped back to the city and either cooled in specialised rooms or sent to Bleeds. Within the Spire, what wasn¡¯t distributed as-is was dried or smoked, with hides undergoing the tanning process ¨C hence the unpleasant scent. But I could tolerate a bad smell. Like the name suggested, Bleeds bled. From the top down, streams of oozing red substance fell, to be gathered in channels at the bottom where the offal was gathered and sent back up. Whenever I walked past, I avoided looking at it. Despite being at the opposite end of the city, Smokes and Bleeds required only twenty to forty minutes of pushing through crowds to get to. The area was familiar to most of us; the lower market between the two Spires sold the vast majority of products related to harvesting. That meant those visiting were here for vegetation, heartwood, spearwood, ores, edible flora and, most importantly, meat. It was where I sold our monster parts at discount rates. ¡°¡­So, they¡¯re just past Bleeds?¡± I asked. Months of regular visits to the market had lent me the opportunity to gain a passing acquaintance with most of the people who visited regularly. Kit and I¡¯d spent the past half-hour asking after the caravan we were supposedly meeting nearby. They were all giving similar answers. ¡°Thas right, Vinny,¡± replied a haggard woman wrapped in rags. She sold small trinkets carved from monster bones, which Owlbloods often used as a base to work bloodtech through. I¡¯d once spent several hours talking to her about jewellery. ¡°Mostly normal folk, bu¡¯ a few look t¡¯be tough customers,¡± the granny continued. ¡°Richly e-quipped. Merchant, or sumthin¡¯. Vinny you sure thas who you workin¡¯ for?¡± ¡°I think so. Did you see where they went?¡± ¡°Jus¡¯ pas¡¯ Bleeds.¡± I nodded. ¡°Thanks, Ima,¡± I said, leaning on my halberd as I slowly squatting in front of her. ¡°This might be goodbye.¡± Her mouth split into a smile full of blackened nubs. ¡°Gettin¡¯ out? Aw, well good fer you, Vinny. You take care of yerself, uh? An¡¯ mebbe get that girl ¡®fore she splits that poor fella in half.¡± I turned to find Kit caressing the hilt of her sword, eying up a beefy harvester. ¡°Kit!¡± I bellowed. ¡°We¡¯re done here.¡± She whirled. ¡°Finally!¡± the swordswoman exclaimed, eyes rolling intensely. ¡°Gods, who asks for directions six different times?¡± ¡°What do you think we¡¯re here for?¡± I hissed. ¡°This isn¡¯t a game, Kit. We¡¯re checking, double-checking, and triple-checking ¨C that¡¯s what we agreed on.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d be this bloody slow!¡± I groaned. ¡°Maybe it would help if you didn¡¯t stop to visually molest every well-built person we come across!¡± She leaned backwards, her lips flapping soundlessly. ¡°That¡¯s¡­¡± ¡°It¡¯s halfway to a crime,¡± I smirked. ¡°I¡¯m just glad you managed to keep your hands off them.¡± ¡°Ugh.¡± Kit leaned over and spat on the dirt. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡± My eyebrows vanished underneath my bandana at her uncharacteristic acquiescence. In the end, I led the two of us towards our destination, raising my arm and making a few pointed gestures to Davian and Whip, who lurked on the platforms above us. We had split into three distinct groups, each with differing routes and roles. Kit and I were a known quantity to our prospective employers, and were both undoubtedly the group¡¯s most capable close-range combatants. Those two traits made us the best suited to approaching the caravan and attempt to uncover any malevolent intentions. The fact that we weren¡¯t Strains meant that any negotiation would go smoother as well. Davian and Whip would occupy whatever elevated position they could find nearby, looking out over us with a spyglass from my stash. Whip would examine the caravan¡¯s movements and notify us if anyone was making untoward moves, while Davian would defend her and help Kit and I escape if necessary. They could also conceivably blend into a crowd, provided the old man hid his face and the girl pretended her limp was temporary. If the caravan had placed any lookouts nearby, the two of them could be trusted to notice. Ronnie, Gast, and Kit¡¯s family were all loitering several Spires back in a loaded cart. Ronnie had tried to convince us to let them come, but the giant was far too noticeable, and was needed to help the Missus pull the overburdened cart. Gast simply couldn¡¯t move fast enough to retreat effectively. If anything happened, Whip would let her know using a runeworked trinket and we¡¯d all reconvene in a different spot. As we rounded the side of Bleeds, I checked my halberd for any flaws in its monster bone working, quickly tightened the knots on my sling and ensured the pouch on the back side of my belt was full of stones. None of us had found armour large enough to fit me before we left ¨C though Davian promised he¡¯d be able to cobble something together from the next monster we killed ¨C so I was clad in some rugged clothes I¡¯d bartered off a large harvester. My sword remained strapped to my belt, its sheath wrapped in several layers of coloured cloth from my stash. I¡¯d made a conscious effort to leave nearly everything else behind. Everyone had insisted we bring only ¡®the essentials¡¯, categorically refusing to let any members of my hoard take their place. All of the objects I¡¯d lovingly gathered over the years? Left to rot in Wastes, with Bhan ¨C locked behind Siik knew how many layers of security ¨C the only person in the city who could make use of them. Begrudgingly, I understood their point. But Kit got to bring the lute. Why couldn¡¯t I bring my jewellery? I scoffed, looking at the woman in question. Kit¡¯s fur armour had been cleaned of most of the blood, though stains remained. She¡¯d sheepishly refused Gast¡¯s offers to thoroughly cleanse it of filth, which I judged a symptom of poor taste. Her helmet protected most of her head. It took a moment for my eyes to catch the group we were supposed to meet. They¡¯d cleared a section of the refugee camp to make room for four large wagons, three being built from sturdy heartwood while one was formed from worked spearwood. Each of the three heartwood wagons were equipped with canvas roofs and a pair of harnessed oxen. The single spearwood wagon had my eyebrows raising ¨C only a single bullock was hitched to it and it resembled a portable hut more than anything else ¨C but as our angle changed and our last charge was revealed even Kit had to scoff. An actual carriage sat behind the carts, and though it seemed to be made from cheap timber the decision to choose comfort over storage was baffling. While I wanted more than anything to call it a tacky waste of money, the spearwood wagon was legitimately impressive. Flexible and durable? The cost must¡¯ve been monumental, but much like a well-crafted pair of boots, a good form of transport was always worth the price. I nudged Kit and gestured towards the four guards stood around the clearing, clubs and swords on their belt with large crossbows in their hands. Beneath their leather overcoats glinted steel armour, worn yet impeccably polished. My companion hissed quietly, and I nodded. Crossbows were bad news. Gast had made us a few minor wards that could supposedly foul a projectile¡¯s flight, but I knew from experience that those weren¡¯t foolproof. Especially considering their material. If Gast were with us, we¡¯d have a better chance ¨C but not a good one. The more worrisome part? None of the guard¡¯s gear was for killing monsters. I swore quietly and unslung my shield from my back ¨C made from chitin and heartwood ¨C and strapped it to my left arm. It was small compared to my size ¨C closer to a buckler than anything else ¨C but it was large enough to catch bolts if necessary, so long as my reflexes were up to the task. The Strains had purchased it without my consent. They¡¯d apparently been right to do so. Kit slid behind my frame, twisting her body sideways. ¡°Whaddaya reckon?¡± she asked. I stared at the scene. ¡°It¡¯s broad daylight. They¡¯re probably not going to shoot us.¡± ¡°¡¯Probably¡¯ isn¡¯t good odds.¡± ¡°I know.¡± An itch started in the back of my head that I couldn¡¯t scratch without muddying my stance. ¡°If we can get between the carts we should be better off¡­¡± ¡°Tell ya what,¡± Kit stated from behind me. ¡°We¡¯ll get someone to come over, an¡¯ we¡¯ll walk behind ¡®em the whole way. Use ¡®em as cover. If they¡¯re angling for a shot we back out.¡± ¡°When we get there, you¡¯ll need to talk to the woman alone. Can you handle that?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll be up-front with her. If she wants us, she¡¯ll be fine talkin¡¯ in th¡¯ carriage.¡± I tightened my grip of the haft of my halberd. ¡°Alright. You understand how to operate Gast¡¯s runestones?¡± ¡°Vin, we went through this a million times.¡± ¡°Tell me.¡± She released a subdued sigh. ¡°Scratch out a little channel between the two rune arrays.¡± ¡°It¡¯s got my blood on it?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°And you haven¡¯t accidentally messed the talc up? It¡¯s easy to do.¡± ¡°Yes, Vin. You¡¯re worse off, goin¡¯ around chattin¡¯ to people.¡± ¡°A few holes look better on me than on you.¡± I paused, then drew in a large breath. ¡°Alright. Here we go.¡± I cupped my hands over my mouth and bellowed an ¡®OI!¡¯ to those waiting in the clearing. Two of the guards rotated to look at us, while the other two kept their gaze fixed in other directions. After a moment, a familiar face appeared from around the back of the spearwood wagon and began hurrying towards us. ¡°Kit,¡± I warned. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Stay calm,¡± I stated. ¡°It¡¯s Aron.¡± A short silence followed my announcement. ¡°Gods, are we protectin¡¯ th¡¯ bastard?¡± Only the halberd in my hand prevented me from slapping my own forehead. ¡°You might be right.¡± ¡°Well,¡± Kit muttered quietly, ¡°least we don¡¯t have t¡¯feel bad about killin¡¯ him.¡± I sighed. ¡°I¡¯ll talk to him.¡± ¡°Knock yerself out.¡± Aron was a member of the Reclamation Committee, and the man called upon whenever we complained about our poor wages. He was responsible for our extortionate rates. I¡¯d never gotten the feeling he bore us or the Strains ill will. We were just¡­ soft targets. A clean smile graced his bearded face. ¡°Vin!¡± he yelled. ¡°You came! I¡¯m so glad you ended up taking our offer!¡± We approached the man, ensuring the angle partially blocked us from one of the crossbowmen. ¡°Aron,¡± I greeted with a nod. ¡°Your offer, is it? This is your set-up?¡± ¡°Ah, Tully has done most of the work orchestrating this whole endeavour,¡± he said, shaking his bald head humbly. ¡°I¡¯ve simply had the good fortune to take advantage of her hard work.¡± ¡°I see.¡± Taking a long sniff, I looked over him. No weapons. ¡°The pay is quite nice.¡± I left unsaid how uncharacteristic such a generous payment was. ¡°Each of us-¡° he made a sweeping gesture towards the caravan, ¡°-have pooled our resources to hire your team and a handful of mercenaries.¡± He raised his hand to his mouth, as if telling a secret. ¡°I was actually the one to recommend your group!¡± Aron whispered conspiratorially. ¡°Huh,¡± I grunted. ¡°You must think very highly of us.¡± ¡°Oh, absolutely. You¡¯ve always done fine work ¨C and with no fatalities in the past year!¡± ¡°Hmm.¡± My fingers twitched around the halberd. He took my low growl as an invitation to continue. ¡°It¡¯s truly incredible how competent you all are! Never failing a commission ¨C and most often quite handily on schedule!¡± I sniffed. ¡°Why is that¡­ ¡®truly incredible¡¯?¡± I retorted in a mockery of his jovial tones. ¡°Um. Well.¡± Aron¡¯s eyes flicked at every angle. ¡°You do so well in spite of your limited equipment!¡± ¡°Why do we have poor equipment, Aron?¡± My voice was completely level. Kit elbowed me in the kidney, and I understood her point. As the man struggled towards a response, I waved my hand and plastered a genial expression across my face. ¡°Never mind that. Thank you so much for this opportunity! Oh, it¡¯s truly wonder-ful!¡± Aron looked at me in confusion. Kit drove her elbow into me again. I cleared my throat and continued in my usual manner. ¡°Sorry. I haven¡¯t gotten much sleep recently. My training as a Face takes over sometimes. You have a very dramatic way of speaking ¨C well-suited for the stage.¡± The sparse hairs on his brow shot up. ¡°No one¡¯s ever told me that before.¡± I smiled and nodded. ¡°It¡¯s true, it¡¯s true. I couldn¡¯t help but imitate it.¡± I jerked my head towards the caravan. ¡°Do you think you could introduce us to the rest of the caravan?¡± He shot me a quizzical look. ¡°¡¯Us¡¯?¡± I leaned aside slightly, revealing Kit. She flashed the man some teeth. Aron leaned back. ¡°She¡¯s been behind you the whole time?¡± ¡°She¡¯s shy.¡± ¡°Ah.¡± He pursed his lips. ¡°Okay.¡± I concealed her again. ¡°Could you take us to¡­ Tully, first? Was that the organiser¡¯s name?¡± My uncertainty was dishonest. The man flashed a clean smile. ¡°That¡¯s right. Come on then, you two.¡± We walked across the barren radius of the clearing. Aron made small talk, remarking on how pleased Tully was to have a Face on board, apparently oblivious to how tense Kit and I had become. But none of the crossbows targeted us, and we reached the group without incident. The three of us squeezed between two large wagons ¨C one silent and the other filled with incoherent squabbling ¨C to arrive in front of the carriage. Aron rapped on it three times, each impact accompanied by deliberate silences of varying lengths. I quietly noted the pattern. After a moment, a harsh voice spoke from behind the door. ¡°What is it, Aron?¡± I frowned. Unbothered by the uncanny exchange, the man replied. ¡°Two of the hunters are here, Tully.¡± She cracked open the door, revealing a round face marred by straight white scars and a pair of beady eyes. Immediately, I turned, leaned down, and whispered to Kit. ¡°Addendum: ask about how she identified Aron without seeing him and what her blood is.¡± The swordswoman¡¯s face stilled. ¡°You fer real?¡± she hissed. ¡°Yeah. Don¡¯t open with that.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not-¡° She stopped, then swore. ¡°Fine.¡± I turned back. During our exchange, the woman in the carriage had politely dismissed Aron. A small smile played across her face. ¡°Tully, right? I¡¯m Vin, and this-¡° I stepped aside, ¡°-is Kit.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± said the scarred woman, nodding slowly. ¡°I am aware.¡± I swallowed. ¡°I see. Are you alright if Kit negotiates with you inside the carriage?¡± She squinted, then after a moment snorted mightily. ¡°As a demonstration of trust, then. In exchange, I hope you¡¯ll accept one of our guards as a guide.¡± Drumming my fingers against the length of my halberd, I eventually nodded. Placing two pairs of fingers in her mouth, she blew a sequence of incredibly sharp notes. The whistles struck my ears like a scalpel. After a moment of loitering awkwardly, a short woman jogged over to us, crossbow pointed towards the ground. Though her hair was entirely brown, faint wrinkles had begun to form on her face ¨C a sign of her approaching middle-age. ¡°You called?¡± she asked amiably. Tully gestured towards me. ¡°Rita, this is Vin; both a Face and one of our monster hunters. While his companion talks to me in the carriage, could you introduce him to the members of the caravan?¡± Rita nodded. ¡°Will Maddie be staying with you two?¡± ¡°Hm. If it¡¯s alright with Vin, I¡¯d like her to go with you.¡± ¡°Alright, then.¡± The diminutive guard took a carved whistle from around her neck and blew into it several times. In the corner of my eye, two of the three remaining guards begin to face inwards, towards us. Rita noticed me looking at them. ¡°Maddie¡¯s the boss¡¯s daughter. She gets special treatment.¡± ¡°You¡¯re still wary of us,¡± I stated flatly. ¡°No offense big guy, but we don¡¯t know you. And the boss wouldn¡¯ta hired you if you weren¡¯t dangerous.¡± I shrugged. ¡°Well, know that I¡¯m not going to make off with a random girl.¡± She laughed. ¡°We¡¯ll see about that.¡± As we were speaking, a cloaked figure hustled out of the carriage and stretched mightily. They were even smaller than Rita. Tully beckoned from inside the carriage, and Kit slapped me on the back and stepped up, ducking inside the small entrance. It slammed shut a moment later. I fingered a small stone in my chest pocket. If it crumbled, its cousins ¨C given to Kit ¨C had been crushed. ¡°Maddie, is it?¡± The voice that returned was far less squeaky that I expected. ¡°And you¡¯re one of the monster hunters, are you? Do you do the-¡± She punched the air, nearly tripping in the process. ¡°- yourself?¡± I tilted my head. ¡°What?¡± ¡°You know,¡± the girl said. ¡°With that big spear.¡± Rita spoke up. ¡°S¡¯a halberd.¡± I noticed the guard¡¯s accent was less clean in Tully¡¯s absence. ¡°The big halberd,¡± she corrected herself. My head remained askew. ¡°Yeah. I do.¡± ¡°What¡¯s it like?¡± ¡°Dirty.¡± I wondered whether she was always so enthusiastic, or if she¡¯d been shut it the carriage too long. ¡°Ah, okay.¡± Some of her initial enthusiasm seemed to be slowly wilting, as if drained by my lacklustre responses. I rubbed the back of my head. ¡°Sorry,¡± I sighed, ¡°it¡¯s just never seemed very glamorous to me.¡± Clicking my tongue, I continued. ¡°Though that¡¯s probably the way of most jobs, after a while.¡± She looked up, allowing me to see the orange hair and pale skin concealed behind her hood. ¡°It must be interesting, though.¡± I thought about that for a moment. ¡°I suppose so.¡± Extending a hand, I introduced myself. ¡°I¡¯m Vin. One of the monster hunters, as you guessed.¡± She stared at my calloused paw for a second, then slammed her much smaller palm into my own. ¡°My name¡¯s Maddie. I¡¯m Tully¡¯s daughter.¡± I let her pump my arm for a moment. ¡°It¡¯s reassuring to have real, professional monster hunters here ¨C no offense, Rita.¡± The short guard smiled gently. ¡°None taken, ma¡¯am. We train fer more human threats.¡± I turned to the guard, my hand still trapped in Maddie¡¯s grip. ¡°I did notice that, yes. Does Tully anticipate a lot of, uh, ¡®human threats¡¯?¡± She shrugged. ¡°Thar¡¯s a lot of bandits around. Th¡¯ Jackal was th¡¯ worst of it t¡¯be sure, but thar¡¯s still far more kickin¡¯ around, eh?¡± Maddie finally released my hand as I continued speaking. ¡°So, we¡¯re to handle the monsters, and you¡¯re to handle the¡­ people?¡± ¡°Well, we do expect you to help when needed. S¡¯more like, uh, you¡¯re in charge of th¡¯ monsters, we¡¯re in charge o¡¯ the ¡®umans.¡± ¡°And you¡¯re¡­ Tully¡¯s retinue?¡± Rita chuckled lightly. ¡°Y¡¯could say that. We¡¯re mercenaries, like yerself.¡± I sighed. Somewhere in the conversation, the tension in my shoulders had lessened. ¡°It¡¯s good to be working with you. I¡¯ll introduce the rest of the gang when they get here ¨C in the meantime, could you two show me around?¡± Both answered affirmatively, and began moving towards the closest cart. I walked-
-up onto the carriage, gripping the upper edge of the doorway and hauling myself in. Its innards were claustrophobic, with the naturally cramped confines of the room being crowded with clothes and books haphazardly strewn across every surface. The cloaked woman ¨C Tully, Aron had called her ¨C slammed the door shut, allowing the bloodtech lamps embedded in the walls to light the carriage. She swiped her hand across the chaotic mess, clearing a space for me. I could barely make out Vin¡¯s low grumble as he exchanged words with the two outside. ¡°Take a seat, Kit.¡± I supressed a sneer, and adjusted my sword¡¯s scabbard to sit down, doffing my helmet and placing it beside me. The fur armour draped across my body was growing uncomfortably warm ¨C the carriage must¡¯ve been heated. ¡°Did you come to accept my offer?¡± Crossing my legs, I leaned forward, bringing my face far too close to hers. ¡°We¡¯re still considerin¡¯. D¡¯you think you could answer some question fer us?¡± She leaned backwards. I would¡¯ve taken that for a victory, were her expression not completely level. ¡°Be my guest.¡± I chewed my lip. ¡°What¡¯s th¡¯ caravan¡¯s destination?¡± ¡°We¡¯re aiming to reach Fort Vane.¡± I grunted. ¡°That¡¯s on the outside o¡¯ th¡¯ Heartlands, right? Borderin¡¯ House Baylar territory?¡± ¡°That¡¯s correct.¡± I hummed quietly, rolling that piece of information around my mouth. Absentmindedly, I drew a cigarillo from my pouch. ¡°Apologies, I¡¯ll have to ask you refrain from smoking in here.¡± As I held the tube a few inches from my face, I squinted at her. She didn¡¯t budge. Ignoring the temptation to throw her off, I slid it back. Mother would¡¯ve used it to unbalance her, but this was only half an interrogation. Pushing it would be a Lizardbrained move. ¡°What¡¯s th¡¯ route?¡± If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. ¡°We¡¯re following the Spur most of the way.¡± That was the Heartlands major river system, named for the way it spread from a central spring. Most travellers followed it, in one way or another. The old gang had never ventured far from it. ¡°Which branch?¡± I grunted. Her body remained almost motionless. ¡°Ien River.¡± I¡¯d never seen it myself. ¡°S¡¯got no road beside it.¡± That was the excuse Mother¡¯d always given for steering clear. Tully shook her head slowly, closing her eyes to give me a brief respite from her gaze. ¡°There is a small one. It¡¯s less suitable for carts, however.¡± ¡°Why take it, then? There¡¯re more direct routes.¡± ¡°It¡¯s likely there will be less bandits along its length.¡± I snorted. ¡°More monsters, though.¡± ¡°Hence your group.¡± ¡°An¡¯ you¡¯ll split off from the Ien towards the end?¡± ¡°That¡¯s correct.¡± Mentally, I tried to recall the geography. It wasn¡¯t accurate. No Heartlander made maps beyond a few general notes, because they¡¯d be useless by the time the Aching rolled around. Though I only had vague recollections of the last one given how young I¡¯d been at the time. Even so, one location stood out. I sat up straight. ¡°Ox¡¯s balls lady, that¡¯s near one of th¡¯ Fox¡¯s forests.¡± The Fox stalked four different forests throughout the continent. From what I¡¯d heard, Kani could appear in any without travel time. Only it knew whether that was due to its own power or some secret of the forests. Neither were good for humans. A wise traveller steered clear. ¡°We¡¯ll take a wide berth around it.¡± I chuckled humourlessly. ¡°We¡¯d better. None o¡¯ us are stickin¡¯ ¡®round if you decide t¡¯go through it.¡± ¡°We won¡¯t.¡± ¡°Good, good,¡± I muttered. ¡°How long d¡¯you think it¡¯ll take?¡± ¡°Two or three months.¡± I worked an imaginary piece of grit out from my teeth with my fingernail, watching Tully closely. ¡°Where you restockin¡¯?¡± Her gaze remained level. ¡°We¡¯re not.¡± ¡°Whaddaya mean?¡± ¡°There are several settlements near our path, but I imagine most are abandoned by this point. Between here and Fort Vane, there¡¯s little food to be found.¡± ¡°An¡¯ you¡¯ve got food for months? For us as well?¡± ¡°That¡¯s right.¡± I leaned forward, resisting the urge to speak through my teeth. ¡°I¡¯ll have to ask you to show us yer stocks.¡± Her gaze tore into me, precise as the edge of a honed knife. ¡°Of course.¡± I settled back into my padded seat. It was way too comfy. Like a second arse. ¡°Alright. So, the plan¡¯s to follow th¡¯ river, cut ¡®round the Fox¡¯s forest, and split up at Fort Vane. What¡¯s next fer you?¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± I hummed and raised a single eyebrow. ¡°¡¯Employment if service is decent,¡¯ remember? Whaddaya mean by that?¡± She paused briefly before continuing. ¡°I worked for House Heltia. My tenure expired, so we¡¯re moving to a place with better trade.¡± ¡°Hmm. Fort Vane¡¯s that much better off?¡± Tully nodded in her slow, measured manner. ¡°From what I¡¯ve heard: yes, very much so.¡± ¡°And,¡± I scoffed, ¡°what, Heltia just let you go?¡± ¡°Fort Vane is still within House Heltia¡¯s territory.¡± I snorted. By name, maybe, but it was too distant to be controlled. Mother said the family was mostly independent, and too rich by far to mess with. I allowed Tully¡¯s excuse, though. ¡°S¡¯more like a transfer, then.¡± ¡°That is correct.¡± The blue light cast her scarred face in a ghastly light, as if she¡¯d stepped straight from a nightmare. Her scars were unnerving ¨C they reminded me of a weaker time. I straightened, a harsh sneer vanquishing the weakness from my face. ¡°Well good fer you, lady. Now what in the blood does that have to do with employment?¡± Tully frowned. Though smaller in frame, the scarred woman still managed to seem as if she was looking down at me. ¡°I can put in a good word for you all.¡± ¡°A good word¡¯s enough to get two killers and a buncha Strains a job?¡± I snorted. ¡°Really?¡± Her beady eyes were motionless, like they were trying to strip the flesh from my bones. ¡°Depending on how outstanding your service is over the next few months, yes.¡± I glared at her. ¡°What kinda role did¡¯ya have?¡± ¡°I was a¡­ former aide to a General.¡± ¡°Former?¡± ¡°General Bina. She died.¡± My eyes widened. ¡°Fox¡¯s greasy vulva, Bina was a Godslayer, wasn¡¯t she?¡± For the first time, Tully glared. ¡°General Bina, and yes, she was.¡± ¡°Did you- ¡° ¡°No,¡± she interrupted. ¡°I remained here. But my skills were recognised.¡± I let out a low whistle. ¡°That¡¯s somethin¡¯ alright. Vane¡¯ll be glad to have you.¡± I paused, then continued. ¡°Whaddaya do now?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve been relegated to a more bureaucratic function.¡± Her manner remained unchanged. ¡°Haven¡¯t lost the bearing. You move like a soldier.¡± ¡°So does your friend, Vin.¡± I squinted. ¡°Vin? He¡¯s a warrior. ¡®Course he¡¯d move like one.¡± Tully shook her head slowly. ¡°No. He was trained to hold a line, at some point.¡± I paused. In an attempt to conceal how badly that¡¯d rattled me, I stretched languidly. The truth of the matter was, even after hunting alongside the man for several months I knew little about him. He¡¯d only told me he was a Face a few days ago, and that only because the situation demanded it. None of the Strains could tell me so much as his age. Though, to be fair, I played my cards close as well. Everyone was allowed a few secrets. ¡°Maybe,¡± I agreed. ¡°Pretty godsdamned rude to talk ¡®bout a man that¡¯s not around, though.¡± She tilted her head, acceding the point. While I caressed the hilt of my sword, I moved on to the next question. ¡°What¡¯s with the payment?¡± ¡°The payment?¡± she inquired, feigning ignorance. ¡°Two hundred silver chits. Never mind where you got it from ¨C why spend it on us?¡± The woman¡¯s greying hair caught in the azure light as she slowly scratched at one of her scars. ¡°Do you really want us to pay you less?¡± ¡°We¡¯re not comin¡¯ for less,¡± I lied, ¡°but you an¡¯ I both know that kind of money¡¯s strange. ¡®Specially for a buncha Strains.¡± ¡°I am aware. But despite your group¡¯s¡­¡± Her lips thinned. ¡°¡­unusual origins, I¡¯ve been assured of your competence.¡± My face tightened. ¡°How?¡± I enunciated precisely. ¡°Aron has shared your group¡¯s stamp records. Even before your addition to the team, they consistently cleared areas of wide swathes of Godkin ¨C usually both larger and more heavily populated than other hunting teams. And you and your companion¡¯s showing in the bar was quite impressive.¡± After I failed to respond, she continued. ¡°I won¡¯t risk my daughter¡¯s life on lesser service, and I won¡¯t risk your loyalty faltering in the face of the Heartland¡¯s ire.¡± ¡°How¡¯re you affordin¡¯ it, though? Even splittin'' it between you all, that¡¯s¡­¡± I furrowed my brow, raising my fingers to begin figuring the numbers. ¡°Forty silvers per group, yes. I¡¯ve barely bought anything for the past two decades, so such a price is affordable.¡± I splayed my hands. ¡°Why open with that, though?¡± I said, my voice betraying legitimate bafflement. ¡°Why not negotiate, lower the- ¡° ¡°This way,¡± she stated, ¡°you will not refuse.¡± At that moment, I almost turned her down on principle. But she had me ¨C and anyone with an empty chit-string and half a brain ¨C pegged. Tully filled the silence before I could respond. ¡°The Face was a bonus.¡± ¡°Vin?¡± ¡°Yes, Face Vin. There¡¯s always a chance to encounter fell spirits along the way.¡± ¡°You believe in ghouls?¡± I blurted out. She narrowed her tiny eyes. ¡°Yes. You¡¯d do well to take their threat seriously.¡± I¡¯d lived in the Heartlands all my life without ever taking their threat seriously. ¡°Sure.¡± I coughed, clearing my throat, and continued in a more practiced tone. ¡°Before we continue, d¡¯you have any questions regarding us or our group?¡± ¡°Will your Strains slow our progress down?¡± My knuckles ached as I squeezed my blade¡¯s hilt. ¡°No.¡± ¡°Then there is nothing else.¡± I closed my eyes and let out a breath. The choice of who¡¯d be our negotiator had been between Vin and me. In the end, everyone decided the oaf was better suited to looking over the caravan from the outside, while I¡¯d be decent at digging answers out of our employer. Neither the Strains nor Jana were wary enough ¨C the whole plan¡¯d been put together like it was all some low-stakes game of Web. As if the pieces weren¡¯t real. Vin was too tightly-wound about the whole thing, but I got his point. It all stunk. I drew air into my lungs. Time for the harder questions. ¡°You mentioned gettin''- ¡°
-after Rita and Maddie as they rounded the first wagon. The cloaked girl slowed as the figures within became visible behind the two glum oxen hitched to the wagon, through the frontward opening in the wagon¡¯s canvas bonnet. She took shelter in the shadow of my large figure. The three men squatting within were invariably large and sullen, their words quiet as they leaned forward and conferred with one another. Even my hearing only hinted at a handful of words ¨C ¡®out¡¯, ¡®patience¡¯, and ¡®hurry¡¯. Rita cleared her throat. ¡°Gents. This¡¯s Vin, one ¡®a th¡¯ monster hunters.¡± The trio turned to me, revealing a variety of colourations. Despite that, two of them gave us almost identical looks ¨C wide-eyed ambivalence ¨C while the third simply nodded disdainfully, his chin sticking out like a rude gesture. I nodded to them, and the three mirrored the gesture sullenly. After a moment of eyeballing each, Rita pulled me away. As we exited earshot, I leaned downwards. ¡°That¡¯s it? I wanted to have a chat with them.¡± ¡°Not much for talkin¡¯, them. Don¡¯t take it personally.¡± I harrumphed dramatically. ¡°I¡¯ll damn well take it personally.¡± Maddie chuckled at my side. ¡°Oh?¡± I remarked, smiling weakly. ¡°My suffering¡¯s funny, is it?¡± ¡°Maybe,¡± she replied. I angled my head towards Rita. ¡°When you introduce me to the next ones, maybe they¡¯ll beat me over the skull with a stick. That¡¯d send the boss¡¯s daughter into hysterics, I bet.¡± Rita cocked a bushy eyebrow. ¡°Whaddaya think, Maddie? Should I get ¡®im clubbed?¡± ¡°Rita¡­¡± the cloaked girl sighed, her concealed expression belying the amusement in her voice. ¡°You know Vin, if I said yes she might actually do it.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t do it,¡± I said instantly. ¡°Aw, but you seemed so eager.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not.¡± ¡°Are you sure?¡± Maddie said, light and mocking. I groaned. ¡°Look, if you get Rita to hit me over the head then I¡¯ll hit you- ¡° ¡°You won¡¯t,¡± interrupted the short guard. ¡°Or you¡¯ll lose th¡¯ job, an¡¯ mos¡¯ likely yer head.¡± Throwing up my hands, I began walking away. ¡°Oh, such wanton cruelty from my employers,¡± I monologued, channelling the Dolphin¡¯s mannerisms, ¡°how can a poor, helpless hunter like myself refuse their requests? Ah, this world only exists for their benefit!¡± From behind me, Rita muttered to Maddie, ¡°¡¯e¡¯s a Face alright.¡± The cloaked girl hummed her assent. With my back turned away from them, I felt my expression suddenly grow flatter. They seemed nice. Authentic, even. It might be better if I left the job to Kit and the Strains, and stayed away. But even in the throes of a suddenly sombre mood, I knew that was a foolish idea. Who would protect them? I wiped the scowl from my face as we approached the next two wagons. They were placed close together, apparently in order to allow their occupants the proximity to argue with one another. ¡°¡­An¡¯ you thank we should carry that much o¡¯ yer Owlblooded witchery?¡± said a tremulous voice at truly prodigious volume. ¡°Raven¡¯s feathery balls! ¡®F you weren¡¯t mah daughter¡¯s-husband¡¯s-mother I¡¯da smack you upside the head!¡± ¡°Pa¡­¡± someone hissed. ¡°Ha! How very bloody dare you, sir!¡± quavered another elderly voice. ¡°Your mind is as addled as your skin! There¡¯s nothing wrong with runic arrays ¨C and you were more than happy to take the chits gained from them, despite your pitiable dowry!¡± ¡°Mother¡­¡± came a short whisper. ¡°Silver¡¯s good an¡¯ honest, bu¡¯ Siik only knows what in th¡¯ blood yer so-called ¡®rune-ic a-rays¡¯ do. Probably gonna give us all some sorta sickness, jus¡¯ bein¡¯ around. That purple light ain¡¯t safe ah tell ya.¡± ¡°This is my son¡¯s craft! Of course they¡¯re safe!¡± ¡°Yeah, sure, so long as he¡¯s givin¡¯ ¡®em to other people an¡¯ not to us!¡± As the argument continued, I turned to the two accompanying me and raised an eyebrow. Maddie pulled down the top of her hood, yet Rita smirked unabashedly at the bickering. ¡°They¡¯re fun, eh?¡± the short guard remarked. The statement provoked a single snort from me. ¡°Sure. Right up until we¡¯ve travelled with them for several weeks.¡± Both women blanched. I scratched the back of my head. ¡°Do they stop?¡± Rita frowned, and nodded. ¡°Sometimes.¡± ¡°Oh no,¡± murmured the cloaked girl. A long breath escaped me. ¡°You get to sit in a bloody carriage. I¡¯ll have to walk next to them.¡± ¡°Me too,¡± Rita said, shaking her head wryly. ¡°Ah, s¡¯not that bad. Bit of entertainment, eh?¡± Shrugging, I began approaching the carts. After a moment of awkward hovering, my eyes alighted on an opening behind one, which I promptly stood behind. Within the wagons¡¯ beds, ten figures sat split between two carts, each lit by the azure light of an ever-burning lamp. Five were adults attempting to ignore the argument; two were bawling infants; one was a child with glazed eyes; and the remaining two were comprised of an old man and an old woman quarrelling across the divide between their two wagons. Every one of them were dressed in new clothes ¨C soft and undamaged by wear ¨C yet those in the elderly lady¡¯s cart possessed finer dyes and more lustrous materials. I cleared my throat. The child turned to me and gaped, while the others continued to studiously examine the canvas ceiling. Once again, I cleared my throat ¨C loudly. A few of the adults turned to look at me and immediately startled. ¡°Mother!¡± a bespectacled man hissed. The elderly lady turned to the man, a scowl on her face. ¡°Odrin, don¡¯t interrupt me. You should- ¡° She suddenly paused as her eyes fixed on my figure. ¡°What?¡± said the old man, his clouded pupils flicking wildly. ¡°What¡¯s happenin¡¯?¡± A woman sitting beside the bespectacled man ¨C Odrin, he¡¯d been called ¨C spoke. ¡°There¡¯s a man just outside the cart.¡± ¡°Miriel, what in th¡¯ blood¡¯s he doin¡¯ thar?¡± he asked, then squinted mightily. ¡°He a lil peeper? Gods, that¡¯s embarassin¡¯.¡± ¡°Snapper, shut yer mouth you blind old lump of dirt,¡± the old woman exclaimed. ¡°Mah left buttcheek,¡± Snapper retorted. ¡°An¡¯ that¡¯s Ol¡¯ Snapper ta you, Atifi.¡± ¡°Old¡¯s right.¡± The greybeard turned to Miriel. ¡°She¡¯s fambly now ¨C that mean I can take a hide outta her?¡± Atifi scoffed. ¡°You couldn¡¯t take a hide outta a dead rat.¡± I cleared my throat again. ¡°Both of you, shut up for a moment,¡± demanded Odrin. Old Snapper opened his mouth to retort, only to be silence by Miriel smacking him on his bald pate. As the retort rung, the bespectacled man raised his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose. ¡°Apologies, young man. I¡¯m Odrin, and this¡¯s my wife Miriel. The angry lady¡¯s my mother, Atifi. The angry man¡¯s my father-in-law, Snapper.¡± ¡°Ol¡¯ Snapper,¡± the elderly man interjected. ¡°We had a Young Snapper bu¡¯ he died some years back, poor lil thang.¡± Odrin sighed, then introduced the remaining members of the family: a young couple who were the parents of the two infants, and a quiet man who was apparently the only parent of the child. I silently catalogued their names. ¡°¡­and we¡¯re the Smiths, on account of my occupation,¡± finished Odrin. ¡°Bah!¡± Old Snapper exclaimed, his bald head shaking wildly. ¡°Ahm a Grower, as is th¡¯ rest o¡¯ mah get.¡± ¡°Oh, and what a prestigious lineage it is,¡± said Atifi slyly as she looked at me. ¡°Dirt and mud and blood sacrifices all the way down.¡± ¡°You and yer Owlblooded son¡¯re hardly Heartlanders, livin¡¯ up in yer big tree ¡®n that.¡± As the grey-haired woman began to mock her nemesis for his family¡¯s fortunes, my brows crinkled. ¡°Well, I¡¯m Vin ¨C a member of the monster-hunting team guarding your caravan.¡± Miriel smiled. ¡°Reassurin¡¯, that.¡± I nodded. ¡°Do you mind if I ask a personal question? About you and your husband?¡± She leaned back on her seat in the wagon, a suspicious frown splitting her features. After a pause, Odrin answered for her. ¡°Shoot,¡± he said. I pursed my lips. ¡°I¡¯m a Blooded myself,¡± I slowly began, ¡°and I never really¡­ entertained the idea of¡­ marriage, on account of the, uh¡­¡± Instead of relying on my faltering eloquence, I pointed at the two infants, who had been rocked into sleep. The explanation was incomplete, but the real reason wasn¡¯t something I could say out loud. ¡°Ah didn¡¯t want kids,¡± said Miriel. ¡°Like ¡®em ¨C don¡¯t wanna raise ¡®em.¡± ¡°But what about¡­¡± A short, barking laugh cut my question off. ¡°How to avoid bein¡¯ in a fambly way?¡± cackled Old Snapper. ¡°Geld the bastard ¨C like he¡¯s a horny dog! Ha!¡± Immediately, Miriel started repeatedly smacking her father, while the bespectacled Owlblood shrugged. ¡°My blood¡¯s weak ¨C like yours ¨C but none of th¡¯ Houses like risks.¡± ¡°Right.¡± I scratched my head. ¡°I understand. I should tell you that in addition to myself and Kit ¨C the woman I came with ¨C there¡¯re four Strains in the group.¡± Though the other¡¯s were too busy arguing to notice my statement, Odrin¡¯s eyes widened behind his glasses. A silence hung between the two of us. I drummed my fingers along the length of my halberd. Eventually, the quiet was dispelled by him slowly releasing a breath. ¡°It¡¯s good you told us early,¡± he sighed, rubbing his balding head. ¡°As long as they¡¯re competent, no one¡¯ll say a word.¡± I nodded. ¡°Just¡­ know that before anything else, they¡¯re good people.¡± ¡°We¡¯ll see.¡± The man turned away, face falling as he attempted to quell yet another argument between his mother and Old Snapper. I ran my tongue through my mouth, gathering saliva as a bulwark against sudden dryness. ¡°Wait a moment,¡± I began. ¡°Do you mind if I ask you a few questions? For security¡¯s sake, if nothing else.¡± Odrin¡¯s face, darkened by the shadow of the wagon¡¯s canopy, fell into irritation. ¡°Another time might be best.¡± ¡°It would- ¡° ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Vin, but there¡¯s a lot to do still and I¡¯m in no mood for talking.¡± He rubbed his head. ¡°Maybe after I¡¯ve put the old folks to bed.¡± ¡°I¡¯d appreciate that.¡± I left the Smiths and Growers to their arguing and returned to Rita and Maddie, who had wisely chosen to stand back from the entire affair, instead loitering in the clearing alongside the three other guards. Once again, Rita looked at me with unmitigated amusement while her boss¡¯s daughter tried much harder to conceal her own. We stared at one another in silence for a few short moments. Eventually, I settled on a succinct statement. ¡°This is not what I expected.¡± Rita inclined her head, while Maddie looked up at me, her orange curls escaping from her hood. ¡°What did you expect?¡± I stuck a thumb underneath my cloth bandana while intermittently squeezing my halberd¡¯s shaft. ¡°It¡¯s very¡­¡± ¡°Routine?¡± the short guard offered. ¡°Yes. Routine. Everyone here is uprooting their life; why¡¯re you all so¡­¡± I looked up, clicking my tongue. ¡°Casual?¡± I enunciated carefully. ¡°You¡¯re no different,¡± stated Maddie. ¡°I certainly feel different.¡± ¡°I understand big man,¡± said Rita, ¡°I do. But what makes you think our time here¡¯s somethin¡¯ to hold onto? Erryone knows Spires¡¯s goin¡¯ down. Not a lotta hope left, here.¡± I threw a hand towards the wilderness. ¡°What makes you think it¡¯s different, out there?¡± ¡°Better than doin¡¯ nothin¡¯, eh?¡± ¡°That¡¯s a load of dung,¡± I scoffed. ¡°There¡¯s plenty of things you can ruin by ¡®doing¡¯.¡± ¡°Rather live with th¡¯ mess than live with the regrets,¡± said the middle-aged guard, as if reciting from verse. ¡°Oh, save me the platitudes,¡± I hissed through clenched teeth. ¡°You can have the mess and the regrets ¨C how about that?¡± The hooded girl shuffled nervously between us. Her movement caused her heavy cloak to sway, and beneath it something flashed silver. My gaze fixed on the phantom of the flash and I seized on the opportunity to halt my darkening mood. ¡°Do you have a necklace?¡± I asked, the words spilling from my mouth. Both the guard and the girl turned to me quickly, their eyes wide. ¡°Looks nice,¡± I continued, somewhat taken aback. ¡°Did ya see it?¡± demanded Rita. ¡°Can I? It¡¯s silver, right? Must¡¯ve been expensive.¡± The guard¡¯s jaw clenched, provoking a cocked eyebrow from myself. Maddie answered in her stead. ¡°Tully got it for me at one of the lower markets.¡± ¡°Damn. Can¡¯t believe I missed it. She must¡¯ve snapped it up quickly.¡± Her rosy skin lit with a weak smile. ¡°She¡¯s always had her ways. Come on. Let¡¯s go introduce you to the last ones.¡± I waved my free hand. ¡°I already know Aron.¡± ¡°Do ya know ¡®is wife an¡¯ kid?¡± Rita responded. My only response was a shake of the head. Somehow, I hadn¡¯t realised that such a man could have either. ¡°Well, then,¡± she concluded. ¡°Try not ta scare th¡¯ two with yer stompin¡¯, eh?¡± Rita didn¡¯t wait for an affirmation before striding away, lightly pushing Maddie¡¯s back to ensure the girl walked with her. The spearwood wagon was barely a handful of paces away, allowing my large strides to catch up with their smaller ones almost instantly. Unlike the other three wagons we¡¯d visited, Aron¡¯s was both large and well-furnished, with a grand ribbed bonnet of some sort of onyx monster leather complete with an entrance-flap, which hung open to reveal padded seats for those seated inside. The finery was slightly undercut by a mound of luggage eclipsing the light that should¡¯ve come from the wagon¡¯s open backside, leaving the two figures inside ¨C a woman and a girl ¨C silhouetted in darkness. For whatever reason, my supernatural senses struggled to pick up their hearing. An excessively large bullock was hitched to the front of the cart, staring passively into the middle distance. Unlike the other wagons, this one had no partner. Disproportionate imprints beneath its hooves made me believe it was a weak Lizardblood; its docility, large frame and excessive weight hinted at the fact. It must¡¯ve costed almost as much as the wagon. Aron waited out the front of the cart, staring at the ground. As soon as he noticed us, his face rearranged itself into a wide smile. ¡°Ah, Vin and Rita!¡± he turned to Maddie, beaming. ¡°And you must be our little stowaway! Tully¡¯s daughter, correct?¡± ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± muttered Maddie. ¡°Vin¡¯s here ta meet yer kin,¡± Rita cut in, moving in front of the fidgeting girl. ¡°Make sure they don¡¯t scare at th¡¯ big man followin¡¯ ¡®em around, eh?¡± ¡°Of course, of course,¡± the man said, stroking his bearded chin. ¡°Willow! Buttercup!¡± With excessive care, the two figures in the wagon slowly extracted themselves from the deluge of baggage. Both were helped past the ox¡¯s bulk by Aron¡¯s proffered hand, which lowered them with surprising tenderness. The woman ¨C presumably Aron¡¯s wife ¨C straightened, holding both hands in front of her demurely, her flaxen hair forming a striking contrast with her caramel skin. It took me a moment to realise I was staring. She was strikingly beautiful, and that fact that I recognised her beauty stirred a deep sense of discomfort in my gut. The woman¡¯s brows scrunched, and my gaze snapped to the child mimicking her mother¡¯s posture. If my guess was right the girl was about twelve, and her unruly mop of hair and light skin was somehow reminiscent of both parents, without resembling one too closely. I looked back to Aron, finding him shooting me a knowing look, coupled with a gleeful smile. ¡°This is Daisy, my daughter¡± he said, ruffling the kid¡¯s already messy hair, ¡°though we all just call her Buttercup. And this is Willow.¡± He took the woman¡¯s face in his hands and kissed her deeply. The kiss extended. Unwittingly, I turned away to look at my two escorts, who¡¯d donned similarly confused expressions. Neither of them seemed to understand why Aron chose here and now for such a display of intimately I rubbed my temples silently. After a moment, I sighed and squatted to address the daughter. ¡°My name¡¯s Vin. I¡¯m pleased to meet you, Daisy.¡± She stared at me blankly for a moment, then nodded hesitantly. ¡°Myself and a few others are employed to stop monsters from getting too close,¡± I continued, smiling gently. ¡°You¡¯ll see a few of my partners soon enough. They¡¯re a bit strange looking, but they¡¯re all good people. Let myself or one of them know if you see anything strange ¨C or even just want to talk, okay?¡± ¡°Okay, sir,¡± Daisy replied quietly. ¡°Or,¡± Aron¡¯s voice interrupted, ¡°you could tell me or your mother.¡± I straightened, giving the man a dead-eyed stare. ¡°Or that.¡± ¡°Anyway Vin, I¡¯m glad you and your team accepted our job offer.¡± Aron announced suddenly. He smiled mightily. ¡°I know no other hunters who deserved it more.¡± ¡°I see,¡± I grunted. Turning to the two beside him, I continued. ¡°Well, it was a pleasure meeting you two, but I¡¯ll have to talk with my escorts.¡± Before anyone could respond, I walked away. Silently, I ground my jaw. There were five groups in the clearing ¨C or more accurately four, given that the Smiths and the Growers seemed reluctantly bound ¨C and I¡¯d failed to extract information from a single one of them. It was stupid to bet on Kit¡¯s persuasive powers ¨Cthe swordswoman could find a way of provoking a wet towel into combat ¨C yet despite that I¡¯d stomped away from Aron. I rubbed my eyes. That assessment was unfair to both myself and to Kit. She¡¯d find something, and I knew that those within the caravan were, for the most part, tolerant of my presence. None seemed too interested in us. None ¡®seemed¡¯ interested? ¡°Oxdung,¡± I swore, throwing my halberd to the ground in disgust. Scowling ferociously, I stomped its hilt once, sighed, rubbed my eyes, and leaned down to pick it up. ¡°Not a fan, eh?¡± said Rita, eyeing me sideways. She and Maddie had belatedly followed me back into the clearing. ¡°Yeah,¡± I spat. ¡°I¡¯m not.¡± My fingers trembled around the hilt of my halberd, while my mind¡¯s eye regaled me with images of the weapon cleaving the short guard in two. I breathed in, then out. ¡°Do you mind if I ask you two something?¡± Rita glanced at the cloaked girl, who nodded her head. ¡°Sure.¡± ¡°What¡¯s going on with them?¡± I gestured towards the three other mercenaries forming a triangle around us, as opposed to the whole caravan. ¡°What do you mean?¡± Maddie asked. I snorted. ¡°Oh, come off it. Don¡¯t play dumb.¡± I turned to the older woman beside me. Her eyes were inscrutable. ¡°You were hired to protect the caravan, yes? Why are they stalking us, specifically? Is there something you want to tell me?¡± Rita stared at me. The cloaked girl fiddled with the tresses spilling from her hood. ¡°Either they¡¯re just protecting this kid- ¡° I gestured at the girl, ¡°-or they¡¯re about to put a bolt through my head.¡± Rita shook her head. ¡°Rotating positions is standard procedure- ¡° ¡°Don¡¯t lie to me. What kind of half-arsed squad are you, to do so around a constantly moving point?¡± Once again, the guard shook her head. No explanation followed. ¡°Give me something.¡± ¡°Tully¡¯s very protective of me,¡± Maddie squeaked. I whirled on the short girl. ¡°Oh yeah? Let me get this straight ¨C Tully is the one who is exclusively giving the orders, and those orders aren¡¯t to protect the caravan?¡± The two of them stared at me, having retreated several paces. Rita held a protective arm in front of her charge. ¡°Do you understand how suspicious this whole thing is? Oh, and look at that- ¡° I flicked a thumb towards the other guards, all of whom had turned inwards to face us. ¡°Yer causin¡¯ a commotion, Vin,¡± said Rita blandly. ¡°Fine. Fine. But if you want our team to stay on this job, you¡¯ll need to explain some things to me.¡± Both of my escorts stared. For the first time I caught sight of Maddie¡¯s eyes ¨C wide and green like emeralds. Her freckled skin was flushed, as if she were a rabbit faced with a tiger. The expression was like a bucket of cold water over my head. I thumbed beneath my bandana, turning my gaze towards the guards. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to be aggressive. This is¡­¡± I jerked a hand in front of me. ¡°Strange. Ease my mind. Answer the questions. Please.¡± It took a moment for the reply to come. ¡°Alright,¡± Maddie agreed. My brows furrowed. ¡°We¡¯ll answer to the best of our abilities.¡± Rita frowned, but acquiesced. ¡°I kin see why you¡¯d be spooked, aye. Look: th¡¯ money¡¯s erryone¡¯s, but Tully¡¯s th¡¯ one givin¡¯ orders. We signed th¡¯ deal with her.¡± I sighed, looking out at my surroundings. Kept separate by the stern faces of the patrolling guards, the refugee camp stretched almost endlessly; a ubiquitous mass of carts, tents, and sunken-eyed adults and children attempting to track down their next meal. Whatever abject poverty they¡¯d escaped from had pursued them here, to send its greasy tendrils down their throats and into the guts and eventually hearts, to send that inky blackness coursing through their veins. Past them lay the addled corpse of what once was a forest, relentlessly diminished by the ire of hunters and axes of harvesters. Peering past their blackened skins, the stumps glared a fleshy red, as if their true form lay tangled beneath the ground, biding its time until humanity overstepped¡­ Beyond the field of butchered plants lay the Heartlands proper, leering crimson even as Spires tried desperately to loot it. Within the darkness of the canopy, countless fangs hid away. I rubbed my eyes, feeling the dark bags that lay beneath them. Fatigue rarely felt so heavy. ¡°Thank you,¡± I said. ¡°Now, what- ¡°
¡°-kind of military experience did ya have?¡± Tully cocked an eyebrow above her scarred face. ¡°As I said, I was an aide.¡± I blew out from between my teeth. ¡°That¡¯d involve plannin¡¯ army movements an¡¯ th¡¯ like?¡± She nodded slowly, her head¡¯s movements warping the shadows in the carriage¡¯s azure light. ¡°Correct.¡± ¡°Now you fill out¡­ forms¡­ n¡¯ stuff.¡± The woman inclined her head, somehow managing to look down on me all the while. I bit the inside of my cheek. ¡°Quite the fall, hmm?¡± ¡°Indeed,¡± she concurred, her face stony. My fingers itched for a cigarillo. I¡¯d have to start saving them, though: my supplies wouldn¡¯t last until Vane otherwise. ¡°Doesn¡¯t bother you?¡± ¡°No.¡± I shrugged, quietly pondering why she hadn¡¯t halted the personal questions. ¡°Bein¡¯ part of Heltia ¨C you must know somethin¡¯ ¡®bout th¡¯ Albright¡¯s Declaration. S¡¯it why yer leavin¡¯?¡± Tully scoffed. ¡°The entire thing is fabricated ¨C a thin excuse to use Baylar and Esfaria to cut down on Heltia¡¯s power. The Albright¡¯s have wanted to renege on their promise for years.¡± I jumped on her aggravation immediately. ¡°Treaty¡¯s nearly a century old, isn¡¯t it? Ancient history¡¯s fragile- ¡° ¡°Head Neelam was alive when it was made,¡± the woman interjected. ¡°He ¨C he¡¯s still alive.¡± A wide smile split my jaw. ¡°Still, s¡¯not right to have a Blooded rulin¡¯ people.¡± She tutted. ¡°If it were anyone else, perhaps. Most Blooded are volatile ¨C inhuman ¨C but Owlbloods are simply withdrawn.¡± ¡°I suppose. Scatterbrained s¡¯what I¡¯ve heard.¡± She opened her mouth for a rebuttal, but I stomped over it. ¡°But don¡¯t you think someone more human could do a better job?¡± Her stare was colder than a Frost breeze. ¡°Then they should have picked someone from the House.¡± Tully¡¯s tone brooked no debate. ¡°You¡¯re not worried ¡®bout the other Houses?¡± ¡°I am. That¡¯s why we¡¯re leaving.¡± I pursed my lips and nodded, as if acceding the point. ¡°So Heltia¡¯s got no Ravenblood, s¡¯what yer sayin¡¯?¡± ¡°Heltia would be the first to kill it.¡± I raised my hands. ¡°Alright, alright.¡± Idly, I caressed the hilt of the sword. ¡°Y¡¯know I¡¯m still reelin¡¯ at two hundred silvers ¨C forty per group, you said. That¡¯s years ¡®o work for honest folk. Where¡¯re the other wagons gettin¡¯ that kind of money?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she stated blandly, ¡°you¡¯ll have to ask them.¡± ¡°Right. Okay.¡± I chewed my lip, like I was deep in thought. Both she and I knew it was an act. ¡°How d¡¯you know it was Aron at the carriage, earlier?¡± ¡°He knocks in a specific manner.¡± The pattern had been far too deliberate ¨C unless the man had some sort of curse. There¡¯d been a fellow in the gang who¡¯d always done things his own, intricate way. Got antsy if he didn¡¯t. Aron didn¡¯t strike me as the sort, though. ¡°Yer idea?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± The carriage¡¯s cramped confines barely had enough room for either of us. Despite the comfortable seats, it was stifling. I would¡¯ve rather have been anywhere else, with anyone else. Flashing a toothy grin, I leaned in. ¡°That¡¯s th¡¯ end of the, uh, professional questions, but there¡¯re a few that¡¯ve really been diggin¡¯ at me.¡± A silence stretched as she considered my request. Not once did her beady eyes leave my own. For a moment, I thought she would refuse. ¡°Go ahead,¡± she said. I ran my tongue around my mouth. ¡°Why now?¡± I demanded, tilting my head up. ¡°Bite¡¯s on its way out, Frost ¡®n all its snow is comin'' in; s¡¯not a good time fer travellin¡¯.¡± ¡°The preparations simply fell in line now. To wait is to starve¡­ or to¡­ fall, under whatever House decides to take its chances.¡± ¡°Mm. I suppose.¡± I grasped the hilt of my sword. ¡°What¡¯s type o¡¯ Blooded¡¯re you?¡± With a short huff of amusement, Tully replied. ¡°I don¡¯t have any. What makes you think I do?¡± ¡°Come on. Yer a Blooded,¡± I insisted with unfounded confidence. ¡°I know it; Vin knows it; you know it.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not a Blooded, Kit.¡± ¡°That girl you kicked out ¨C she a relative?¡± ¡°My daughter.¡± ¡°She¡¯s a Strain, then?¡± A twitch took up residence in Tully¡¯s finger. ¡°I am not a Blooded.¡± I leaned back against the carriage wall, crossing my legs. ¡°What kind o¡¯ Blooded would an aide to General Bina be? Well, question practically answers itself, don¡¯t it?¡± I said, then scoffed quietly. ¡°Yer Siik¡¯s get.¡± The twitch stilled suddenly. Slowly, Tully leaned forward, until her face was inches away from mine. ¡°I am not a Spiderblood.¡± Her scars stood out in stark relief. Just like my mother¡¯s face. I couldn¡¯t help myself. ¡°How many scars¡¯re on yer face? They¡¯re straight ¨C that¡¯s someone¡¯s blade-work.¡± Tully leaned backwards. ¡°I think your questions are done.¡± ¡°Too straight, though. I reckon you was tied down. Who in th¡¯- ¡± ¡°Kit,¡± she hissed. ¡°Do you want employment? Do you want the chits? Do you want to leave this place? Do you want to lose your team this opportunity?¡± A vicious insult was born in my throat and died on my tongue. Not a moment too soon, the words finally imprinted themselves in my mind. Instead of trusting myself to speak, I nodded. ¡°I¡¯m glad. Now go.¡± Accompanied by a deliberate stiffness, I stood, threw open the carriage¡¯s door and made my way out, stooped under the stifling confines of its roof. ¡°They were made by the Jackal. A long time ago.¡± Unwittingly, I turned to look at her. Tully¡¯s eyes bored into the wall opposite her, penetrating past it and reaching somewhere far away. After a moment spent staring at her, I staggered outside. My vision seemed incapable of focusing, and my breath came and went in sharp huffs. For whatever reason, my fingers couldn¡¯t close around the hilt of my blade.
When I found her, Kit was sat at the edge of the clearing, shivering. The day was cold due to Frost¡¯s proximity, yet I didn¡¯t for a moment mistake the cause of her tremors. As soon as I sat beside her, the swordswoman¡¯s trembling ceased. She threw me a smile quarantined to her mouth. I let her pretend, and we related what we¡¯d learned. Maddie and Tully¡¯s stories matched, though I hadn¡¯t dug as far as Kit had. Their motivations for hiring us seemed straightforward. Something was off about the whole thing, though. But we couldn¡¯t afford to turn down the opportunity. Simultaneously, the two of us crushed the stones we¡¯d been given hours earlier. Their cousins ¨C given to each group ¨C would crumble at the same time. It signalled the destruction of our precautions. I turned around and stared at the caravan; the guards; the scarred woman and the hooded girl. They were lying. That was certain. But neither of us knew what they were lying about. I leaned back, staring at the clouded sky above. Did it matter? Everyone had secrets. In the end, they were none of my business. Chapter 41 - Abusing the Wildlife The dice spun through the air, flashing through the morning sunbeams piercing the forest¡¯s canopy at an incomprehensible speed. Kani¡¯s power allowed me to see the fine details embedded in the bones ¨C the whorls of an ocean cresting around each pip the product of a dozen hours of my own time ¨C yet I failed to comprehend the spin itself. ¡°Come on,¡± I mumbled quickly, ¡°come on.¡± Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Whip¡¯s face falling. The pair of dice fell on the detritus blanketing the ground, fumbling through crimson leaves to come face up. A beady pair of snake eyes glared mockingly at me. It joined two other pairs of dismal rolls. ¡°Hah!¡± cackled Ol¡¯ Snapper. ¡°Nothin¡¯ more¡¯n three. Boy, ah ain¡¯t never seen such un-luck!¡± I groaned, planting my face in my hands. ¡°You¡¯re cheating. You have to be.¡± ¡°Ah don¡¯t have t¡¯cheat at all!¡± the greybeard chortled, the liver spots in his face falling into dark lines. ¡°Even without yer poor fortune, yer an awful player.¡± ¡°Ugh.¡± ¡°He¡¯s right, Vin,¡± Whip agreed, her crutch placed over her thighs. ¡°You¡¯re really bad. Why do you keep betting when you¡¯re clearly losing?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve got to make back what I¡¯ve lost!¡± I whined. ¡°Nah, I¡¯m keepin¡¯ yer chits,¡± chuckled Snapper, ¡°but ah¡¯ll be happy to take yer money any day.¡± Snapper and I had been sitting behind the old man¡¯s wagon for the better part of an hour, waiting for the rest of the caravan to finish whatever morning routine they¡¯d decided to fall into. Whip and Ronnie watched us, having nothing better to do. Our group had split the fifty silver we¡¯d received up-front six ways, with each member of the team taking eight and the remaining two falling into the group¡¯s collective coffers. Though Snapper and I had been playing with wooden chits, he¡¯d already fleeced me of nearly a silver. Ronnie signed something from where they stood, going through a stretching routine. Their dog, Yowler, dozed against the side of the Grower¡¯s wagon in a convenient patch of sun. ¡°You should stop gambling, Vin,¡± Whip translated. I snorted. ¡°What, and let him run off with my money?¡± The giant twisted their back, releasing dozens of painful pops. ¡°He¡¯s already run off with your money.¡± ¡°No,¡± I muttered obstinately. ¡°Besides, what else am I going to spend it on?¡± ¡°You could save it?¡± Whip offered. The absence of Ronnie¡¯s gestures indicated to me that Whip spoke for herself. I looked upwards, stroking my stubbly chin. ¡°That,¡± I said, ¡°sounds like a stupid idea.¡± ¡°You,¡± Snapper imitated, ¡°sound like a godsdamned idiot.¡± I shrugged. ¡°Bah!¡± he spat. ¡°You think ah got th¡¯ ninth biggest farm in th¡¯ Heartlands by gamblin¡¯?¡± The old man clicked his tongue. ¡°¡¯Nother hour like that an¡¯ ah¡¯ll have what we paid ya back!¡± I frowned. ¡°What do you mean?¡± Eight silvers were enough to keep going for most of the day. ¡°Hah! Cocky bastard. We can keep going- ¡° My eyes widened fractionally, and as they did I held up a hand. ¡°We¡¯ll end it here, for now. I¡¯ll get you next time, old man.¡± ¡°Sure, sure.¡± Snapper smiled knowingly. ¡°Ah gotta stop Atifi from tryin¡¯ ¡®a get mah daughter in a fambly way.¡± I frowned. Odrin was gelded. And Blooded. How would Miriel have kids with him? Ronnie¡¯s eyes widened with comprehension, and they pawed their tongue. The old man levered himself to his feet and waddled back over to the Grower¡¯s wagon. Three different fonts of life had entered the edge of my perception. None of them resembled a human¡¯s ¨C they were too small, and moved far too erratically to be children. That marked them as either animals or monsters; and no animal was foolish enough to approach a noisy group of people. Such weak creatures didn¡¯t tend to be a threat; the difficulty always lay in notifying the group in a manner that seemed organic. I straightened, brushing off the damp clumps of mud clinging to my trousers¡¯ backside, and rolled my shoulders. The rest of the caravan were focused on breaking camp, and given that it was the first morning doing so for many, the process was taking some time. Only Ronnie, Davian, two of the guards and myself were packed light enough to stow our gear quickly; despite protests, both Whip and Old Snapper had been shooed away after clearing some of the lighter material. Davian was keeping watch, his unbalanced eyes panning around the edge of the forest. Usually, he spotted Godkin before I sensed them. This was not one of those times. Ronnie gestured ¡®question¡¯, pointing at my sudden raising. I countered by signing one of the few terms I knew: ¡®piss¡¯. Cracking my shoulders, I began approaching the black heartwoods surrounding the area the caravan had camped in. They towered above us, taller than houses and just as wide, with their madly forked branches twisting into the trees nearby, growing through their fellows and eventually stabbing and gouging into the trunks themselves, leaving painful streams of sap trailing down each. Above them the darkness was constant, a product of a tangled canopy so ubiquitous it dominated any glimpse of the sky. The only reason sunlight was afforded to us was the Ien River burbling beside us. In stark contrast to the pink dirt and looming forest it cut through, its waters were clear and its cadence merry, occasionally flashing with a gleam of aquatic life. Though dawn proper remained behind the trees, missing us in its scaling of the horizon, the Ien still carried a reflection of the sky¡¯s blush to us. Everyone in the Foot had known water to be a sacred thing. Amidst a storm of nightmares featuring caves and holes and too many eyes and mouths, I would sometimes catch glimpses of the sea. Bhan had told me about it several times. To him and those he¡¯d lived in, it teemed with a woeful seduction ¨C like a beautiful man paid to kill you, he¡¯d said. The Dolphin twisted through its waters, immense and all-consuming, and its Godkin would sing to those in boats or on the shoreline. Up there, they learned to mistrust their emotions at a young age. It didn¡¯t ¨C couldn¡¯t ¨C stop Wump. I had never seen the ocean myself. I could imagine, though. To hold the image of the sun setting on an endless expanse of water in my mind¡¯s eye. Cradle it. But until I saw it myself, I could never capture it. I¡¯d only ever be grasping at its shadow. No, despite everything Bhan had told me, water was blameless. Any harm it caused was a stemming from an innate innocence; an abidance to the laws carved in its being. If its course down a mountain crushed and drowned, then it could not be faulted. It¡¯s impossible for water to flow uphill, after all. No, Bhan¡¯s pain stemmed from a thicker, more potent substance, the kind that flowed through the bodies of gods and their kin. Powered by it, monsters could do terrible things. All of humanity knew this; myself more intimately than most. As I strode into the heartwoods, my brows involuntarily crinkled. Much like water, blood could only obey its own nature. My argument must be flawed, then. Blood was a woeful thing, and its guilt was undeniable. A shock of shadow snapped me from my reverie. Somewhat ironically, it swept away the grim musings creeping through my mind. That felt fitting, since the liquid that had driven me here was neither water nor blood. I chuckled wryly at my own joke and settled in to do my business. Aiming for the bush the three sparks of life were hiding in ignited a kind of manic hilarity in me. It felt as if I was possessed by the spirit of years long gone. For a few seconds, not a single member of the trio moved, as if stunned by my arrogance. Then one of them growled and leapt for my offending instrument, revealing the lithe body of what could¡¯ve been an emaciated dog or wolf, were it not for the wide set of its shoulders topping its forelegs, the incredible axis of movements of its joints, and the prehensility of its paws. I shrieked ¨C part out of legitimate fear but mostly in mock terror ¨C and punted the monster back into the other three. ¡°Davian,¡± I bellowed. ¡°Foxkin!¡± Behind me, I heard the Strains begin the flurry of activity that indicated them preparing for conflict. Davian¡¯s light steps were already tapping into the forest, but he remained at least a dozen heartbeats from an actionable position. I hastily tucked my unmentionables back into my trousers and was immediately assailed by the other two monsters pouncing at me. Dodging was a stupid move: that would allow the monsters to pass and attack either Davian or the caravan, and would betray my role as the team¡¯s shield. Instead, I raised my heel and drove it down onto one while smashing the other with my forearm. Unfortunately, I was facing Foxkin. While one was temporarily trapped between my boot and the tangled roots winding across the forest floor, the other wrapped its body around my arm. Its claws sunk into the skin of my arm, but before it could use its weight to pull me completely off balance I shifted my feet and slammed it into the other creature. The shock of the impact reverberated through my bones, but the strike stunned both enough to allow me a moment¡¯s consideration. The third one prowled around the edges of my vision, using the darkness of the heartwoods to turn itself into a flickering patch of shadow. It might¡¯ve worked, too, but to my sixth sense it shone like a beacon of flame amidst the faded pulsing of the forest. Though the trio might¡¯ve been deadly to the unprepared, even Whip could take at least one out. Unarmed as I was, I could¡¯ve finished all three. Even so, I began backpedalling towards Davian. Keeping the rest of the team safe took priority. Anything else was a risk. To me. Davian¡¯s footsteps stopped several paces behind me. ¡°I can¡¯t get a shot,¡± the middle-aged Strain muttered to me, ¡°it¡¯s too dark.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t have any weapons, either.¡± Not for the first time, I wished I¡¯d played a Foxblood instead of a Lizardblood. That way, I wouldn¡¯t have to keep myself so restrained. But it was possible to hide supernatural senses and reflexes; a cut healing in hours instead of days was far more difficult to conceal. And even if I did find a way, how could I explain my skills? It was better to keep my movements subdued, and my mind unmarred by the rush of attacking. Besides, being in the thick of things risked coating my skin with blood. ¡°Here,¡± he said, prodding me with the hilt of his short-sword. I took it, almost hearing his mishappen features twisting. ¡°We need to get back to the road, then.¡± ¡°That¡¯ll risk the caravan,¡± I snapped, waving the blade in front of me. The three creatures¡¯ eyes glinted, watching the weapon. One began moving forward, only to dart back as I yelled and stamped one boot in its direction. ¡°What other choice is there?¡± he protested. ¡°If we can get a lamp and my buckler in here, the two of us can do this. I¡¯ll block them and you¡¯ll make shots.¡± The creatures were spreading around us, keeping ample space between one another. One attempted to weave outside my range, using its prehensile claws to throw itself in constantly changing trajectories. It darted for Davian, and I smashed my borrowed weapon on its spine, the bronze and my overtly desperate move conspiring to create only a long gouge. Nevertheless, it retreated. My comrade¡¯s breathing was heavy. ¡°Nothing stops them from going around,¡± Davian snapped. ¡°I¡¯ll be loud, draw their attention,¡± I replied. ¡°And if they get past, the others will deal with them in the light.¡± ¡°Fine,¡± he said. ¡°Ronnie!¡± I bellowed, ¡°I need a lamp and a shield! Get the rest to stay back and guard!¡± Hopefully Gast was awake and mobile ¨C if she was, her runestone could throw the monster¡¯s movements off enough to render a its danger negligible. The creatures would adapt eventually, but the three remaining hunters wouldn¡¯t give them time. Another charged, only to get spooked when Davian loosed an arrow in its general direction. ¡°I¡¯m never going to find that,¡± he sighed wearily. Behind me, I knew there was a patch of trees so obsessed with growth that their trunks and branches afforded only one opening for several dozen meters. The rest of their bodies zealously pierced one another. I¡¯d slept amongst them the night before, atop a branch that had grown all the way through another tree. ¡°I¡¯m sure you can borrow some more from Tully¡¯s guards.¡± Slowly, I began retreating backwards, motioning for Davian to do the same. As soon as I took the first step away from them, the monsters immediately attacked ¨C scuttling across the dirt and roots at constantly changing directions, much like absurdly fast roaches. One lunged for my companion, forcing me to compromise my footing to reposition in front of him, only for it to reveal the movement as a feint when each Godkin dived towards me simultaneously at different levels. The highest I intercepted with my forearm a moment before it fell onto my neck, while the middle ran itself through on the minutely-deviated angle of my blade. I stumbled at the increased weight, and the lowest whirled a vicious claw towards my upper thigh, but Davian had already shot an arrow into its leg-muscle, causing it to temporarily stumble. The impaled monster began pulling itself up the blade towards me and I yelled, tossing the weapon away, and wrapped the freed hand around the throat of the Foxkin tearing up my arm. An outstretched branch resembling a sharpened thorn bristled nearby and with a roar I shoved the creature onto it. The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. Then Ronnie was there, their massive hand encompassing my own as we speared it on the heartwood. For a moment, its orange eyes seized my own, bloodshot and twitching madly. Both pairs of legs sliced through the air as it pedalled them rapidly, and for the first time I heard it make a sound: a discordant howl like several different creatures were screaming on top of one another. My ears ached, and I plugged them quickly, but I did not look away. In its eyes my form was reflected ¨C a hulking figure silhouetted by the light of Ronnie¡¯s lamp. The figure¡¯s features were unknowable. As the creature¡¯s gaze grew less focused, the movements of its legs slowed. Its yowling transformed into a familiar whimper ¨C that of an animal in pain. In the grip of my sixth sense, its life leaked away, falling in gouts of blood seeping from its stuck spine and trailing the bark of the tree, to be swallowed by the pink dirt beneath our feet. I saw the life leave its eyes, and its energy lingered in my perception for several impossible half-moments. Whether a phantom or a mere after-image, I did not know. Its gaze ¨C clouded, empty, dead ¨C still held me inside it. Monster. A tap on my back; I whirled to face the offender with arms outstretched. Ronnie raised their mismatched arms in surrender. Behind us, the giant¡¯s axe had already split the arrow-struck creature¡¯s skull in half. The remaining Godkin still clung to life dimly, yet moments later I felt it die like the two before it. ¡®Close one,¡¯ the massive Strain signed. ¡°Indeed,¡± panted Davian. ¡°That was very, very lucky.¡± I looked at the dead around us, and felt my open wounds already begin to coagulate. I looked at the trees, nearly invisible for the shadows and the branches beneath overhanging vines and chunks of moss, each inch covered in thorns. I looked back at the monster. ¡°Yeah,¡± I managed. ¡°Lucky.¡±
Soon enough, the earth accepted the sacrifice of blood, bringing forth a bushel of dry grain in exchange. Both of the Strains expressed annoyance at the waste ¨C the Godsblood would¡¯ve fetched a few silvers if we could sell it before it lost potency. That seemed unlikely, to me. When Davian and Ronnie began gathering the bounty, I left them and walked back. To my surprise, rather than being greeted with a questioning of my skill as a monster hunter, returning covered in cuts seemed to impress the caravaners. Rita slapped me on the back, Aron regaled me with how glad he was we were here, Odrin and his wife quietly thanked me and even Tully treated us with a slow nod. Only Ol¡¯ Snapper had an insult for us ¨C he¡¯d told me his dead uncle had done a better job with half his face hanging off. Atifi had promptly began insulting him. Though, Jana ¨C Kit¡¯s companion ¨C seemed legitimately annoyed that we¡¯d allowed them to get so close. She wasn¡¯t wrong. I¡¯d misjudged the situation. Monsters occurred when the quantity of Godsblood in a creature overwhelmed its natural disposition ¨C far easier to do in animals than humans. From there, it would supposedly follow the example of the god its blood sprung from. I should¡¯ve had them pegged as Kani¡¯s ilk immediately; few other Godkin would stop and observe a group before barrelling towards it. The only others I could think of was Spider or Owlkin, both of which tended to be more subtly dangerous. Monster Strains tended to be more mishappen, less effective, and usually far less aggressive. They aped the form of Blooded, but not the substance. I¡¯d assumed they were Strains, and had been punished for it. All that esteem seemed to be an indication that amongst the caravaners, only the Growers and Kit¡¯s family had any real experience with monsters. It helped that Ronnie had decided to exaggerate the ferocity of the monsters as much as possible when recounting the events to our team. Though the other groups¡¯ only interactions with the Strains had been suspicious glares and muttered complaints, our proximity meant that only the truly deaf missed the giant recounting the story through Whip¡¯s mouth. Davian constantly interjected with a more accurate retelling, but because Ronnie had arbitrarily given him the star role in the retelling, he came off as humble instead of truthful. The team had gathered in a circle, excepting Kit, who was still packing up the tent Jana had insisted on setting up and teaching Tippi and Crumpet how to assist in decamping and caring for their purchased mule. Yowler slept at Ronnie¡¯s feet. ¡°Do you even know what happened?¡± I asked the giant. Their reply was a shaken head. ¡°So why make Davian- ¡° Ronnie, without using their eyes, jerked their chin towards the quiet wagon of men ¨C the only group I knew nothing about. Two of the men stared towards us, as the third was feeding and brushing their oxen in preparation for travel. I sighed and gestured my understanding. The Strain nodded, and continued impressing upon our eavesdroppers Davian¡¯s ability as a hunter. After another few minutes, Kit slumped into the circle with the rest of the team. ¡°Never get a family,¡± she groaned, ¡°dead weight ¨C th¡¯ lot of ¡®em.¡± Despite her complaints, her tone lacked its usual bite. ¡°Honestly, I never considered the fact you had one,¡± I remarked. Whip frowned. ¡°Of course she has one.¡± Davian looked at the girl and shook his head. ¡°Family beyond the biological sense.¡± ¡°Yeah, I don¡¯t seem the sort,¡± continued Kit. ¡°I¡¯m more of a lone wolf kinda gal ¨C nothin¡¯ keepin¡¯ me tied down like you idiots.¡± ¡°You have the family,¡± said Gast, laying on the ground with her hands atop her large belly. ¡°Demolished,¡± I jeered at the swordswoman, ¡°and she didn¡¯t even try.¡± ¡°No,¡± she sputtered. ¡°Yer all playin¡¯ happy campers. Not me.¡± Gast tilted her gaze towards Kit. ¡°You seemed happy. With the kids.¡± ¡°Ha!¡± the swordswoman barked, then quieted and ran a hand through her short hair. ¡°They¡¯re alright,¡± she admitted, ¡°though missin¡¯ th¡¯ fightin¡¯ bothers me.¡± ¡°A lot was wrong with that fight,¡± agreed Whip, apparently missing Kit¡¯s point. ¡°We could¡¯ve done much better.¡± I scratched my scabs. ¡°No one¡¯s hurt.¡± Davian¡¯s brows raised, the only tell in his whirlpool features that indicated disbelief. ¡°You¡¯re hurt, or did you not notice?¡± I looked down, noting my scabbing arms. It was a good thing I hadn¡¯t worn my coat ¨C it would be in tatters if I had. Kit leaned back, insistently shoving a cigarillo in Gast¡¯s face in an attempt to get the Strain to light it. ¡°Yeah, oaf, where th¡¯ blood¡¯s yer sword? An¡¯ shield?¡± The Owl Strain touched her runestone pouch and sparked the cough-stick for her. I rubbed my eyes, concealing my annoyance. ¡°Look: I¡¯d just woken up; it¡¯s a nice morning; I was a bit drowsy; and I can¡¯t just tote around my halberd anyway.¡± The swordswoman sucked on the cigarillo and leaned forward. ¡°Oxdung.¡± Kit spat a plume of smoke at me. ¡°Y¡¯never leave yer weapons when we¡¯re huntin¡¯.¡± My mind whirled. ¡°I forgot my shield, alright? I forgot it existed; I haven¡¯t had a decent one for a while.¡± ¡°An¡¯ what ¡®bout yer sword, hmm? Th¡¯ one we scattered an entire pub for. You forget that?¡± I stared at her, plastering a wry smile across my face. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Vin¡­¡± said Davian. ¡°You¡¯ve never forgotten it before.¡± I drummed my fingers against my thigh, wondering how much to tell them. ¡°The shield was a legitimate mistake. But I¡¯m worried about someone stealing my sword.¡± That was true ¨C I simply left out that I was more worried about people recognising it. ¡°Then keep it wrapped up,¡± the man supplied, ¡°like you always do.¡± Kit chuckled lightly. ¡°Tully¡¯s already seen it, anyway. She was in the, uh¡­ whatever that bar was called.¡± I came close to punching her. Tully and Odrin were the two I was most worried about; I¡¯d no clue whether my weapon had been commissioned from Heltia or not. She drew on her cough-stick, then continued. ¡°If anyone takes it, I¡¯ll smack ¡®em for you.¡± ¡°Thanks,¡± I said through gritted teeth. After a silence indicating that discussion was finished, Whip clapped her hands together. ¡°I think everyone should always keep a weapon nearby, just in case.¡± The circle stamped their feet in agreement. Ronnie¡¯s old dog woke, raised his head and glanced around, then went back to sleep. ¡°And I also think we need to double our watch during the night.¡± Only Ronnie, Davian, and myself stomped. Kit booed, while Gast sat upright. ¡°No,¡± the large lady announced plainly. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t be included, Gast,¡± I explained. ¡°Okay.¡± She slumped back down. Kit looked around. ¡°What about me?¡± ¡°What about you?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t wanna be included.¡± I scoffed. ¡°We need a seer like you on the task, Kit.¡± She scowled. ¡°Shut up, oaf.¡± I threw a pebble at her. She retaliated with a rock. In response, I walked over to a large stone embedded in the ground nearby, squatted down, levered it up, and began waddling around the circle with it. Kit laughed nervously and speed-walked in the other direction. After Kit and I got bored, we sat back down and reignited the discussion. There were things that needed to be discussed: the specifics of the new night-watch; new strategies to fight within this unfamiliar territory; conscripting Gast to create more runestones for light and communication; our marching order and break times. We concluded the meeting by deciding that one of us needed to inform Rita and the guards of the changes. Of course, that person ended up being me. By the time we¡¯d finished talking, the caravan was already moving out. Each of us fell into our designated positions: Davian patrolling the rear, Ronnie the middle and Kit the front, while I roamed between the sections to facilitate communication between each individual and offer a second set of eyes if needed. Whip sat atop our cart at the back to watch from above and tend to the Missus while Gast developed some budget runestones via witchcraft in the back, inactive without my blood. Combined with the four other guards and the river to our right, there was little chance danger would be able to creep up unannounced. We were attacked twice more by slightly larger monsters, and they were slaughtered before I could assist. Kit and Davian killed one, while Ronnie butchered another according to Whip¡¯s precise instructions. Both creatures had the markings of Strains, so we didn¡¯t bother draining them. Instead, Ronnie sliced a leg off each. I¡¯d try to use them alongside the wild grain to make sandwiches for tomorrow ¨C easy to eat on the go. However, more mundane matters were our biggest impediment to progress. The route Tully had chosen was little more than a worn animal trail: a narrow strip of compacted dirt scattered with pebbles and stones just wide enough for the smallest of carts to get through easily. Kit and our cart were the only ones to fulfil that criterion, so the wagons¡¯ rightmost wheels were almost constantly on the rocky bank of the river. It started with the Growers cart stopping as a wheel ended up behind the rock. I ended up walking back to check what was holding them up, and Snapper instantly began cajoling me to help. The incident seemed a perfect opportunity to generate some good-will, so I recruited Ronnie to assist me helping their overworked oxen get the cart over the bump. This was witnessed by almost the entire caravan The caravaners quickly figured out there was a secondary use for me: pushing the backs of stuck vehicles. They took my roaming as a sign of my disposability. And they got stuck a lot. When the sun reached its zenith, I was heroically shoving the back of Tully¡¯s carriage as Rita examined the front, calling directions back to me. The day was still cold ¨C Bite was beginning to give way to Frost ¨C yet the sunlight conspired with my exertions to leave me uncomfortably hot. Rather than risk soaking one of my only sets of clothing, I had taken off my shirt and jacket earlier. It was fortunate the wind was blowing perpendicular to our route ¨C if it hadn¡¯t been blocked by the trees, I would¡¯ve probably been frostbitten before the day was over. After several seconds of pushing yielded no returns, I furrowed my brows. ¡°Hey Rita!¡± I called. ¡°Yeah?¡± she yelled back. ¡°Is Maddie in the carriage?¡± ¡°¡­Yeah.¡± For the first time in several years, I suspected I had misheard. Rounding the side of the carriage, I found Rita studying the rock which had wedged the cart. She nodded to herself. ¡°I think we can push it back a tad. That¡¯ll get us outta the way, eh?¡± ¡°Sorry, did you just say Maddie¡¯s still in the carriage?¡± I asked. ¡°That¡¯s right big man.¡± I nodded slowly, parsing the information. ¡°I¡¯m not pushing anymore.¡± Rita straightened. ¡°What?¡± ¡°I haven¡¯t seen her since we met, and apparently she can¡¯t even be bothered to lighten the load a bit.¡± ¡°Come now, Vin,¡± she said, shaking her head, ¡°you can¡¯t ¡®spect a delicate girl like ¡®er to help ya push.¡± ¡°She should at least get out to lighten the load!¡± I rubbed my head. ¡°This isn¡¯t my job, anyway ¨C I wasn¡¯t hired for this.¡± ¡°You can bloody well help,¡± Rita scoffed. ¡°I am ¨C you think pushing carts is part of my job description?¡± I threw up my hands. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t be either! Our teams are one person short while we¡¯re here! We¡¯re compromising our godsdamned patrol by sitting here with our thumbs up our arses when the people who should be pushing are Siik knows where!¡± She sighed. ¡°Maybe. Leavin¡¯ it to Tully an¡¯ Rita will slow us some, though ¨C one¡¯s old and the other¡¯s little.¡± ¡°Rita,¡± came a stern voice from inside the carriage. ¡°Tully¡¯s in there too?¡± I protested. ¡°What else? Bricks? Maybe a few blocks of lead?¡± I could hear muted whispers emanating from within the vehicle. After a few hisses, the door flew open and Maddie marched out, head turned to complain at her wide-eyed mother. ¡°¡­are absolutely ridiculous.¡± Our relative positions meant for the first time, I had sufficient angle to peer past her hood and see her facial features in full. Freckled skin, plucked orange brows, and beneath her hood, round emerald eyes. It struck me that despite her diminutive stature, she was likely around my age. The cloaked woman hopped onto the dirt from the carriage¡¯s raised step and looked at me. ¡°Thank you,¡± I said, then cracked my neck and turned to Rita. ¡°So we¡¯ll¡­ get the horses to reverse a bit, then go a different¡­¡± The guard was stifling laughter. ¡°What? What¡¯s so funny?¡± I turned back to find Maddie facing me silently. I looked down to ensure my pants hadn¡¯t fallen. They hadn¡¯t. The better part of her face was concealed, once again. With a harsh squint, I attempted to discern what expression lay beneath the hood of her cloak. Rita snorted. I didn¡¯t understand. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Nothing at all, Vin,¡± announced Maddie, turning her cloaked head slightly away from me. ¡°No, really. What is it?¡± The young woman turned to Rita, and some message exclusive to the realm of short people passed between them. I took a knee, attempting to look beneath her hood once again, and divine what was causing her reaction. A sharp thwack resounded as the guard slapped my head. ¡°Get pushin¡¯, big man.¡± Raising my hand in acquiescence, I moved to the front of the carriage and assisted the horses in reversing it backwards. Rita laid with her cheek pressed against the dirt, watching our progress and shouting directions. Getting the carriage away from the stone blocking its wheel was simple, however in the process we managed to lodge it between another two. Tully dismounted, taking position beside her daughter. ¡°What is happening?¡± ¡°Boss,¡± Rita saluted. I frowned. ¡°This road isn¡¯t suited for our carriage.¡± ¡°You understood that coming in.¡± The guard¡¯s eyes were unwavering. ¡°This will delay us.¡± ¡°Yes.¡± I examined the carriage¡¯s wheels for several seconds, before sighing. ¡°We need to find a better way to deal with this, if it¡¯s going to keep happening.¡± Tully glanced towards me, brows furrowed slightly. ¡°Do you have any suggestions?¡± I drummed my fingers against my collarbone. After a moment, I shrugged. ¡°We can ask Gast?¡± ¡°The Owl Strain,¡± she said, lip curling slightly. ¡°Yes, her,¡± I agreed, harshly. After a moment to gather myself, I continued. ¡°Gast is good with runes. She might have an idea.¡± ¡°Or Odrin, perhaps,¡± Tully mused. ¡°Very well. Rita ¨C see those two have a look at the problem.¡± Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rita nodding slowly, keeping eye-contact with Tully the entire time. ¡°Vin,¡± our scarred leader continued, ¡°I would appreciate it if you return to your formation. We¡¯ll see if some magic can solve the problem.¡± My response was a single sharp nod. As I walked away, Maddie moved to join me, yet Tully placed a single hand on her shoulder. I heard the older woman whisper something about how ¡®it was dangerous¡¯ before I left earshot. The comment provoked a chuckle ¨C if Tully was worried about her daughter being in danger, why enter the wilderness in the first place? Immediately after the thought struck me, my expression straightened. It was all a matter of choice. Monsters were straightforward. Civilisation was not. In all my years of existence, I¡¯d never heard of a single place that was free of strife. As I returned to pacing up and down the length of the caravan, my brows bent in on themselves. Once upon a time, I had heard tell of a place where everyone would be safe, and happy. People would be granted passageway there by the departure of their mortal bodies. Even back then, I had thought something was suspicious about it all. Yet the truth of the tale didn¡¯t matter. Their so-called heaven was dead ¨C slaughtered by the forces of man and butchered atop thousands of corpses, its blood leaking past armour and artifice and flesh and bone and seeping into the compacted sand below. As someone who made money from killing monsters and harvesting their essence, I knew that Godsblood lost potency outside of a body. Its power leaked away, dwindling until eventually it became less than a memory of what once was. The Cult had told me that life was a place of torment, and that salvation came in the soul of their god. Their salvation had died on that battlefield, thinning amongst the dead until it transformed into nothing more than empty black flakes. They too had dissipated on the wind. Parallel to the trail I paced along stretched the heartwoods, each tree, branch, vine, bush, shrub or patch of moss, ubiquitous in their red colouration, somehow growing endlessly despite the darkness the canopy forced upon them. From amidst the shadows, the ghost-like forms of spearwood emerged ¨C thin as needles and white as bone ¨C and the interplay of the stark surroundings and the occasional tremulous beam of light ¨C allowed in the shuffling of leaves or branches and vanquished just as quickly ¨C conspired to cast mottled patterns on their rigid trunks. They looked like the faces of spirits. Bhan had always said that the Heartlands were haunted. And that even when nothing else did, the touch of ghosts endured. Despite the warmth of the midday sun, I shivered. Chapter 42 - Divine Yearning We were finishing dinner when I first realised we were being tailed. It was the end of our third day travelling, and I¡¯d cooked what would normally be described as a boring meal ¨C curry designed to be portioned atop flatbread, which would then be eaten folded over itself ¨C except that in an attempt to conceal the lacklustre ingredients foraged from the heartwoods I¡¯d added a heaping of the spice I carried alongside my cooking implements. Generally, the Strains enjoyed a bit of fire in their food ¨C especially Whip, as feeling something approaching pain was a novel experience for her ¨C and though I¡¯d worried about how Tippi, Crumpet, and Jana would handle the food, they had managed to force it down with few complaints. To my surprise ¨C and glee ¨C the person who had the worst time eating it had been Kit. ¡°You okay?¡± Gast had asked. While tears and snot dripped from the respective orifices, Kit¡¯s only reply had been, ¡°Yeah.¡± The best part was, I¡¯d made a portion without spice for Ronnie¡¯s dog, who sat curled at the giant¡¯s feet. Each time someone suggested it, she¡¯d obstinately refused. Upon seeing her discomfort, I¡¯d settled into a solid half an hour of mercilessly teasing the swordswoman for her lack of tolerance, Ronnie quietly chuffing all the way through my spiel. She¡¯d doggedly worked her way through the meal, and by the time she¡¯d finished, her lips were swollen and her eyes were full of hate. Before she could settle into her vengeance, I noticed several sparks of life creeping around the edge of my sixth-sense. I joined Davian, who¡¯d been standing separate from the group for some time, partially engulfed in darkness. ¡°Vin,¡± the old man said in a low voice, ¡°do you hear that?¡± I made a show of focusing. Past the quiet chatter emanating from around the caravan¡¯s campfires, and huddled beneath the sound of Kit tentatively strumming the strings of my lute, lay the crunching of leaves emanating from down the trail. Just loud enough to be perceivable by an unblooded with sharp senses. ¡°I do,¡± came my eventual reply. ¡°That¡¯s a human¡¯s cadence.¡± He stared into the inscrutable darkness. ¡°Not just one, either.¡± ¡°Do you have an idea of their numbers?¡± Davian turned a mishappen ear towards the darkness. ¡°Three. Perhaps four.¡± Although I sensed only three, the fourth could have been outside my range. Usually my eyes were capable of picking out silhouettes in darkness, but with the woods yielding only a narrow strip of starlight from above the river and the light of the fire having ruined my night-vision, I was as blind as a man untouched by gods. ¡°Should we tell the others?¡± ¡°Of course. Get Rita,¡± he said, quickly adding, ¡°if you would be so kind.¡± I was already moving. Gesturing the sign for ¡®caution¡¯ towards my team, I jogged towards the patrolling form of the mercenary captain. Her team had eaten their meal earlier than my own, allowing us to alternate our shifts. When I was close, she raised a hand in acknowledgement. ¡°Vin.¡± She nodded at me, crossbow cradled in her arms. ¡°Rita,¡± I called, ¡°there¡¯s- ¡° ¡°A stalker, eh?¡± Rita finished for me, a lopsided smile on her face. ¡°Me boys told me.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve noticed them?¡± She jerked her crossbow towards the forest. ¡°Got two headin¡¯ through the heartwoods t¡¯flank ¡®em.¡± A disapproving frown crossed my face. ¡°You should¡¯ve told us.¡± ¡°Didn¡¯ wanna stir you.¡± ¡°What happens if they¡¯re attacked by monsters in the forest?¡± She paused, then continued. ¡°That won¡¯t happen.¡± ¡°It might,¡± I stressed, shaking my head in disbelief. ¡°Tell us next time.¡± She shrugged. ¡°Alright, alright. Need a few of you t¡¯take over the guard while we handle this.¡± ¡°Let me come,¡± I blurted. For a brief moment, I turned my head to master the angry scowl that had risen in response to my abrupt demand. Rita seemed unperturbed. ¡°Sure. Follow m¡¯lead, eh?¡± With feigned nonchalance, the two of us walked to the back of the caravan where my group had been eating moments earlier. Jana and the children walked past us, the scarred lady sneering at me as passed one another. ¡°Keep better watch next time,¡± she demanded. A titanic flexing of will restrained my urge to punt her. ¡°Pleasant lady,¡± the short guard beside me remarked. ¡°She¡¯s Kit¡¯s, not mine.¡± ¡°Poor girl.¡± I grunted an agreement as we continued walking. Eventually, the two of us reached Kit and the Strains, perched rigidly on stones and pieces of luggage arranged around the campfire. The air was filled with the stench of pus; Whip was in the process of draining the fluid that built up in her bum leg. ¡°I don¡¯t think anyone else is sneaking up on us,¡± I stated, ¡°but just in case: Ronnie, Whip, and Kit, could you guard the backside of the caravan?¡± ¡°Oxdung,¡± the swordswoman retorted before anyone else could speak. ¡°I¡¯m comin¡¯.¡± Rita scoffed lightly at her response, and Kit¡¯s eyes seized upon her like a rabid dog. I placed myself between the two before anything could occur and faced my comrade. My mouth to argue, then closed just as quickly. ¡°Fine,¡± I sighed. ¡°Davian?¡± ¡°I can, yes,¡± the Strain agreed. ¡°Though I think we need to discuss a protocol for similar circumstances in the future.¡± Whip and Ronnie nodded. ¡°Yeah, fair enough. Could you come with us, Gast?¡± The large woman nodded, having buckled her large shield onto one arm and her expansive runestone on the other. Runestone might¡¯ve been a misnomer; it resembled a meticulously chiselled slab more than anything else. Gazing into it gave anyone untouched by Yoot a headache ¨C the recursive patterns couldn¡¯t fit inside a conventional mind. Rita sat down in the circle as the three Strains left. She motioned for me to do the same. For a short stretch we sat, our bodies facing the darkness while Rita and I attempted to keep a conversation going. Keeping a casual atmosphere was doomed to failure; Kit kept caressing the hilt of her sword and staring at the short mercenary, and Gast had three syllables in her at the best of times. Even so, Rita managed to convey the signal we were waiting for: two of her men would sneak up behind and open the front of an ever-burning lantern when they¡¯d successfully flanked them. Tempting as searching for our intruders was, I kept my eyes on the stars above the river. Three beams of life shuffled through my perception. All were unknown to me. Simultaneously, Rita¡¯s subordinates made their circuitous route through the heartwoods. We waited. The guards continued. The stalkers came closer. I nudged Rita with my elbow. She nodded. The three who were following us stood barely five paces from our fire, their silhouettes looming above our seated forms. ¡°Excuse me,¡± asked one of the figures. ¡°Could we trouble you for some food?¡± ¡°Be my guest,¡± I quickly responded, before anyone decided to kill them. ¡°I¡¯ve got some leftovers that we¡¯ll have to tip anyway.¡± The guard sitting opposite me glared. ¡°That¡¯s the food we- ¡° ¡°No,¡± cackled Kit, ¡°it¡¯s monster Strain, stuff we picked an¡¯ roots he gathered. Nothin¡¯ outta yer coffers.¡± Rita wore a complex expression. ¡°What¡¯re you doin¡¯ with¡¯a food we¡¯re givin¡¯ you?¡± ¡°Storing it,¡± I answered. ¡°Why?¡± ¡°I¡¯m a big eater.¡± ¡°But- ¡° ¡°Point is,¡± came Kit¡¯s gleeful interruption, stomping over Rita¡¯s voice, ¡°is that it¡¯s our food, and ours to decide what to do with it. So,¡± she turned to the figures, ¡°come and eat.¡± The figure was still. ¡°We would not want to impose- ¡° One of their companions strode into the light, revealing a stocky man covered almost entirely by body-hair. Beneath the fur, his skin was onyx. ¡°Don¡¯t be stupid, sister. They¡¯ve given permission.¡± The person who¡¯d greeted us first edged their way into the firelight, revealing a dark-skinned woman with long, free-flowing hair. Following her was a gawky teenager who appeared similar to both. ¡°My name is Laja,¡± said the woman, settling atop a crate. She gestured towards the hairy man, who was inspecting the remnants of stew left in our pot. ¡°That¡¯s my elder brother, Malee. And this,¡± she patted the youth on the shoulder, who seemed more scared than anything else, ¡°is our youngest brother, Taja.¡± The siblings wore patchwork tunics, closer to a stitched assemblage of rags than anything else. Each carried cloth satchels tied around their necks, the stomach of the bags falling against their backs. Like most people I¡¯d seen in the Heartlands, they bore the marks of extended starvation. I stared levelly at the three. ¡°Are you invoking guest-right?¡± Laja¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Y-yes,¡± she stuttered, ¡°if you would be so kind.¡± Nodding slowly, my gaze fell onto those gathered around the fire. ¡°They¡¯re promising to do us no harm, if we promise the same.¡± Kit snorted. ¡°Promise¡¯re just words.¡± ¡°Come on. Do they look dangerous?¡± The swordswoman glared at them. ¡°Empty your bags.¡± Before I could respond, Malee untied the cloth from around his neck and unrolled it on the ground. His earthly possessions lacked any kind of ostentation: a small pot, a corked bottle of water, a hefty bronze knife and a string of six wooden chits. In response to their brother¡¯s display, the two other followed suit, revealing similarly austere possessions. Kit reached for their chit-strings, and I shot to my feet. ¡°No. They¡¯re guests.¡± She scoffed. ¡°Not my guests.¡± ¡°Mine,¡± I stressed. ¡°Fine,¡± she spat. ¡°Fine.¡± A short pause fell upon us. ¡°Vin,¡± said Rita calmly. One side of her mouth tilted downward. ¡°You should¡¯a let me consult our employer beforehand.¡± ¡°It¡¯s my food. And Tully wouldn¡¯t just¡­ let them starve, right?¡± The short woman smirked humourlessly, crossbow across her lap. ¡°Vin¡­¡± ¡°Just humour me.¡± She closed her eyes, and breathed in. After a moment, she opened them again. ¡°I won¡¯t argue with you. But this¡¯s serious business; I¡¯m tellin¡¯ Tully now.¡± Rita rose and strode off, snubbing any possible response I could give. I watched her go, merging with the darkness and then reemerging every time she brushed the light of campfire. The flames cast dancing shadow and light across the wagons, twisting wildly every time a figure walked past. Only the low murmur of conversation prevented the scene from seeing ghastly; as if flame and murk were both equally covetous. ¡°Guest-right?¡± asked Gast. I started. ¡°They¡¯re from one of the nomadic tribes, I believe. It¡¯s a custom.¡± Malee was investigating our stew ladle thoughtfully. ¡°We don¡¯t have any bowls,¡± I said. The man straightened. ¡°Do you have any spoons?¡± I straightened and headed to the wagon, managing to procure three spoons after a small amount of rifling around. It was a habit to whittle several as a woodworking warm-up, before I began carving in earnest. Each of my guests received one. Laja smiled gratefully as I handed her one. ¡°Thank you¡­ Vin, was it?¡± ¡°That¡¯s right.¡± Shooting Gast and Kit a sharp look had the pair reluctantly introducing themselves. The siblings gazed at me silently. Belatedly, I gestured towards the pot, causing them to fall onto it like rabid animals. Bereft of words, Kit, Gast, and I all glanced at one another. With a thump, our lone Strain slumped backwards and closed her eyes. Kit withdrew a cigarillo from her pouch, gazed at it longingly, then placed it between her lips unlit. ¡°How¡¯d you know they were nomads?¡± she idly asked. ¡°Their names have suffixes exclusive to the region.¡± ¡°Right,¡± she nodded blankly, ¡°suffixes.¡± Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. Concealing a smirk, I continued the explanation. ¡°They get different sounds added to their names depending on their status. ¡®Ja¡¯, is given to children or women, while ¡®Lee¡¯ is reserved for those that¡¯ve reached manhood. There are a few others, but- ¡± ¡°So women¡¯re th¡¯ same as kids?¡± Kit frowned. ¡°That¡¯s messed up.¡± She turned to the three eating. ¡°That¡¯s messed up,¡± she repeated, angrily. They didn¡¯t appear to notice her rebuke, between shovelling scoops of stew into their gullets. ¡°It¡¯s not their fault.¡± ¡°They keep with it!¡± she insisted. ¡°Look,¡± I whispered, leaning forward, ¡°maybe it¡¯s not ideal, but given that these three are in the Heartlands, it¡¯s likely they¡¯re no longer part of a tribe. It¡¯s just their names, now.¡± ¡°Godsdamned ¡®ja¡¯.¡± I groaned. ¡°Think of them as just names.¡± ¡°I oughta- ¡° ¡°Shut up,¡± I told her, exasperated. ¡°What¡¯re you going to do, wage a war on culture?¡± She nodded towards them. ¡°Startin¡¯ with them.¡± ¡°How?¡± She opened her mouth to respond, and then shut it with a sharp clack of teeth. A frown fell upon her face, and I realised there would be no response anytime soon. Figuring out how to combat an entire way of life required significant brainpower. To my admittedly biased eyes, Kit did not seem up to the task. I scratched my head. ¡°You¡¯re from Spires, correct? What brings you three here?¡± I asked. Taja looked up from the pot. ¡°The Heartlands does not possess the bounty we believed it did.¡± ¡°That¡¯s why you came here?¡± ¡°Isn¡¯t that why anyone goes anywhere?¡± Malee muttered, placing his spoon between his lips. ¡°To eat?¡± Kit laughed quietly at something. The dark woman frowned at her brother. ¡°That is why we came here. And Heltia is no longer a good place to be.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± ¡°Come now. The Declaration; the famine; all the desperation for Ichor, a solution to bloodtech¡¯s need for fuel which may or may not exist ¨C House Heltia is not long for this world. With the Jackal gone, there is no better time to leave.¡± I shook my head. ¡°The Jackal¡¯s Get aren¡¯t the only thieves and bandits out there.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure the news of her execution will scare the others.¡± ¡°Maybe,¡± I acceded. ¡°But the news will take time to travel, and the Jackal¡¯s not gone yet. Besides, they might read the winds as well as you ¨C Heltia¡¯s going.¡± ¡°Can Houses fall?¡± Gast¡¯s question seemed closer to a remark. ¡°Spires, maybe. Not Heltia.¡± Everyone sat on that for a moment. I sighed and nodded at Gast, who¡¯s eyes were already closed again. ¡°Yeah, you¡¯re probably right. They¡¯re close, though. I bet a killer like the Jackal could-¡± ¡°Yer here to leech.¡± Kit¡¯s voice cut through our conversation like a blade through flesh. ¡°¡¯m I right?¡± The siblings stared at her, faces still. ¡°Kit,¡± I warned, ¡°I invited them- ¡° ¡°Agh, you idiot.¡± She spat on the ground beside her seat. ¡°Not here.¡° She made a gesture as if circling the fire. ¡°Here.¡± She waved her hands expansively around us. I furrowed my brows. ¡°What?¡± ¡°I bet they¡¯ve been followin¡¯ us since we left. Buncha wagons ¨C tasty targets for monsters, people, whatever. Nice distraction for¡¯a few leeches sneakin¡¯ behind.¡± The whites of Kit¡¯s eyes danced in the firelight as she laughed mockingly. ¡°Still can¡¯t beat hunger, though. So they come beggin¡¯ to th¡¯ people they¡¯re usin¡¯.¡± My eyes quirked to the side. Tully¡¯s form lingered outside of our blaze. ¡°Is she right?¡± My question was directed towards the three huddled around the pot. While the other two avoided my eyes, Malee met them calmly. ¡°Yes. It is shameful. But you lose nothing.¡± Kit leaned towards the stocky man, smiling. ¡°Until you started eatin¡¯. Now you take.¡± He looked down. After a moment, his gaze rose again. ¡°Yes.¡± The swordswoman grinned. ¡°Is it shameful?¡± A sudden breeze set the fire dancing, and her hair followed its lead. Above Malee¡¯s beard, his dark eyes glared. ¡°Yes. But it was given.¡± She threw a finger in my direction. ¡°He was taken advantage of, y¡¯mean.¡± ¡°We all make choices.¡± Kit began to say something, then stopped and grunted instead. As if signalled, Tully walked into our range, staring at the three seated on the dirt. She looked at me. ¡°You allowed this?¡± I swallowed, keeping my gaze just above her eyes. ¡°I did, yes.¡± ¡°Without consulting me?¡± Belying the situations, her words were calm and even. I spread my hands. ¡°They were hungry- ¡° ¡°This is not your caravan, Vin. I am your employer.¡± The youngest of the siblings spoke for the first time. ¡°He gave us guest-right.¡± Tully¡¯s small eyes fixed on Taja. ¡°That was not his to give.¡± Her scarred face turned back to my own. ¡°Vin.¡± She sighed gently. ¡°I didn¡¯t explicitly identify that you could not invite new individuals into the caravan, so I won¡¯t reprimand you harshly. But if you do so again, I will cut your final payment.¡± ¡°I understand,¡± I said, nodding, ¡°but if it¡¯s alright with you- ¡° ¡°It isn¡¯t your business whether these people starve.¡± I looked at the ground. A tremble worked its way into my fingers. I gripped my arms to steady them. Tully spoke, but the words weren¡¯t directed at me. The sounds passed through my perception, unmolested by comprehension. Someone sat beside me. After a moment, they punched me in the arm hard enough to bruise. ¡°Ow,¡± I complained, rubbing the injury. ¡°What was that for?¡± I turned to Kit, then blinked. Her expression was bereft of any levity. She whispered. ¡°What are you doing.¡± It wasn¡¯t stated like a question. My only response was a frown. ¡°Yer just gonna let her kick ¡®em out?¡± ¡°What?¡± I snapped. ¡°You were practically doing so yourself.¡± ¡°This ain¡¯t about me, Vin.¡± Muscles on the side of her jaw bulged. ¡°Why¡¯re you doing nothing?¡± ¡°She¡¯s. Our. Boss.¡± I enunciated each syllable precisely. ¡°You¡¯ll do nothin¡¯?¡± I scowled. ¡°It¡¯s not my business.¡± Her expression twisted into a rictus of savagery, fierce and full of teeth. ¡°What¡¯n th¡¯ blood- ¡° She stopped, then threw up her hands and stood. ¡°Yer a godsdamned coward, Vin.¡± Kit stormed into the night. I stared after her, gaping. Her form flickered in and out of darkness, eventually settling into a patrol route alongside the other Strains. Gradually, my eyes drifted from the darkness back onto the fire. Beside us, Tully was still speaking in the general direction of the three siblings. ¡°¡­you¡¯ll have to leave,¡± she said, finishing some long-winded spiel. ¡°We answered your questions,¡± pleaded Laja. ¡°There¡¯s no one behind you; we are no threat.¡± ¡°And I appreciate you doing so,¡± the scarred woman said, nodding. ¡°But it¡¯s impossible to confirm your intentions, and the safety of the caravan is my first priority. Finish your meal ¨C then go.¡± ¡°We will not impede you, or take your food.¡± Tully gazed down her nose levelly. ¡°You¡¯ll starve, then?¡± ¡°We can- ¡° ¡°You can¡¯t. Go back to Spires.¡± A new voice responded before Laja could. ¡°I don¡¯t think this is okay.¡± Without turning my head, I knew it was Maddie; Rita standing beside here. Tully turned her head slowly. ¡°Maddie¡­¡± she said, gently. The girl shook her head. ¡°We can¡¯t leave them here.¡± ¡°They¡¯re a risk.¡± The grey-haired woman stressed the final word. ¡°Everyone here is vouched for, and thoroughly checked; everyone except them.¡± I raised an eyebrow. ¡°Does it matter?¡± The question was rhetorical. ¡°We¡¯re human; they¡¯re human. That¡¯s enough.¡± ¡°It¡¯s impossible to save everyone.¡± ¡°Even those right under our noses? We can save them some suffering ¨C why not have them come along?¡± Tully shook her head. ¡°It¡¯s not happening, Maddie.¡± The hooded girl lowered her face, gazing at the ground. ¡°No.¡± She straightened. ¡°I think it is.¡± There was a short silence. I swallowed, then rubbed my lips rapidly. ¡°If they stay, we could have them help guard,¡± I said. Everyone turned to look at me. My eyes darted between the siblings, Tully, Rita, and Maddie. ¡°Nomads are, uh, usually perceptive. Used to watching for danger.¡± Rita nodded. ¡°It¡¯s not an awful idea, boss. Our scouts are sufficient, here, but the river won¡¯t guard our side forever.¡± Tully stared into the black forest. She sucked in a breath through her teeth. ¡°We¡¯re not the only members of the caravan, Maddie. Persuade them.¡± The slight hooded figure clapped her hands, once, then pumped a fist, while Rita smiled fondly. Almost inaudibly, the trio of nomads released their breaths. I did so as well, albeit far slower and more subtly. ¡°That won¡¯t be easy,¡± I remarked to the smoke above the fire. ¡°Ah, don¡¯t worry about it Vin,¡± Rita drawled. ¡°Kid¡¯s always been good at gettin¡¯ what she wants.¡± I turned to the short guard quickly, then blunted the sharpness of my gaze. ¡°Oh?¡± She noticed. ¡°I¡¯ve known her an¡¯ Tully for a time.¡± I nodded blandly, keeping my face as blank as possible. ¡°Okay!¡± Maddie slammed her hands together. She turned to Taja, Laja, and Malee. ¡°I¡¯m Maddie. It¡¯s a pleasure to meet the three of you! You¡¯ll have to tell me about yourselves later, okay?¡± They nodded almost in unison. Taja and Laja wore wide, open expressions, as if a wolf had revealed itself to be a dog. Malee stared blankly, then lit up into a grin. ¡°Thank you, Maddie,¡± he said. I watched her mouth transform into a wide and honest smile. Thumbing an itch forming beneath my bandana, I glanced away.
In the end, Rita was right. Maddie convinced the entire caravan. After nearly an hour of the young woman cajoling each group, everyone had gathered together around a more central fire, with only the guards, Ronnie¡¯s dog, and the siblings themselves absent, having been pressed into service as an extra set of eyes against the darkness. The Smiths had agreed with her almost instantly, citing common decency and the need for more scouts as their main justification. On the other hand, the Growers had been far leerier. With uncharacteristic severity, Snapper had argued that their rations had been stringently planned and that feeding three more people could be the difference between people eating and going hungry if anything interfered with our travel time. In response, the Strains and I had volunteered to share our food with them, which caused Kit to descend into a tirade about ¡®bleedin¡¯ hearts bleedin¡¯ t¡¯death¡¯, Jana nodding along all the while. She¡¯d ended up giving in when none of us budged, an incongruently smug smile plastered across her face. Aron had taken up her argument. His though process had been simple: they hadn¡¯t paid, so they shouldn¡¯t come. With rhetoric couched in grand statements, friendly apologies, and an expression so mournful I almost thought someone had killed his dog, he¡¯d called the trio leeches. Unfortunately for him, by this point everyone¡¯d been converted to Maddie¡¯s side, and the man reluctantly folded under the weight of everyone¡¯s objections. The term ¡®leeches¡¯ stuck, though. The quiet group of three men said little the entire time, and left as soon as the conclusion had formed. I eyed them as they went. At the end of it all, the Strains and I were saddled with the responsibility of caring for them and keeping them out of trouble. It seemed stupid, to me ¨C they weren¡¯t children, and there was little cause for us to worry about them wandering into a monster¡¯s mouth ¨C but trusting strangers was difficult. We¡¯d feed them, and they¡¯d sleep under our cart, with the Missus. People slowly left the gathering site: Aron grumbling to Willow; Snapper calling Atifi a ¡®no-brained woman¡¯ for suggesting finding food was easy; Odrin quietly conferring with Gast about some arcane subject; Tully staring at Maddie expressionlessly; and the rest either talking, leaving quietly, or staring at the ground with furrowed brows. I was one of the latter. As I shuffled my seated position slightly, the pouch containing my Face pressed against my hip. I took it out, depressing the mechanism in its underside and spinning the mask¡¯s facets. The gods flashed by in a mad rotation, coalescing and falling apart as my mind formed patterns and then lost them again. Placing a single finger on it stopped its whirling, and I felt the tiny ornamentations I¡¯d embedded in its black material over the course of a year. Rolling my shoulders, I levered myself up onto the crate I¡¯d been sitting on and stood above the caravaners. ¡°It¡¯s been a long day, hasn¡¯t it?¡± I called, projecting my voice from my gut. Everyone turned to stare, and I saw Whip immediately break into a smile. ¡°It¡¯s been a long few days, with a lot of walking and a lot of working; an almost endless amount of both.¡± The audience seemed confused. I gazed at my Face, then looked up at them, grinning wryly. Tippi ¨C the sullen child Kit cared for ¨C whispered something to Crumpet, who hopped excitedly. ¡°And that¡¯s not all, is it? Because we¡¯re not done. Months of labour await us, and though I trust each and every one of you to perform your duties admirably, let¡¯s not pretend it won¡¯t wear on us all.¡± ¡°And so, to clear the air, reduce our fatigue and set our feet straight, I have a tale for you all,¡± I announced. By this point, everyone had noticed the mask in my hands. I breathed in, then out. ¡°Before humility and before Houses, before certainty and before security¡­ there was Blood.¡± I spoke in a measured cadence, each syllable heavy as a drumbeat. ¡°And alongside Blood came gods. Dure the Lizard; Enn the Ox; Kani the Fox; Siik the Spider; Wump the Dolphin; Yoot the Owl and¡­¡± I paused, eying those watching. ¡°¡­Avri the Raven.¡± I remembered the first time I¡¯d seen a Divinity. From a distant branch, watching a doll-like figure shake and rattle its way around a clearing. Bhan¡¯d always preferred more intricate, ceremonial introductions: an invitation by the host, a showing of each god, a reply from the audience and the acquiescence of the very young and very old. But it was the short and sudden introduction that¡¯d first arrested me. And this was an informal Divinity, after all. ¡°The gods are wild and full of secrets ¨C yet through this Face,¡± I raised the mask and turned around, so the audience could see its onyx contours, ¡°they will speak to you. The Artful Divinity is part history, part secret, and part fabrication ¨C but none of it is untrue.¡± The audience had simultaneously waxed and waned. Several had left, including Rita, Aron, and Jana, yet every child had been hurriedly raised from their dozing and brought here, to be seated in a circle in front of me. The Strains were among them, Gast hastily dragged over by Ronnie. Maddie wore an excited smile, while Kit stared with wide eyes. I stepped down from the log, and began methodically pacing my way around the crowd, my eyes roaming across those seated. ¡°Have you ever wanted something so badly, you would spend your life chasing it? Bending your days around a wish¡¯s fulfillment; spending each waking moment imagining its conclusion; scheming to see it through, no matter what may stand in your way?¡± I stopped, gaze panning the crowd carefully. ¡°We all have things we want. But there¡¯s only one being so dedicated, everything that it was would be fed to its wish¡¯s flames: Dure, the Lizard.¡± All of the gods had their own stories, fabricated by Faces such as myself. The Lizard¡¯s was usually the lightest of all, because of all deities, Dure was the least intimidating. Unlike the other gods, it never seemed to take deliberate action against human life ¨C the parasites and plague that ravaged the Lizard did so in its stead. But Bhan had argued that Dure was called ¡®the Suffering¡¯ for a reason. Its gentle nature only elevated that tragedy. He¡¯d never seen the Lizard. He¡¯d never seen the death that dogged its steps; how its mere presence could wrap the land around it in a haze of the hungry and the dead. But I had, and despite everything, I agreed with him. The Lizard was a victim of its own godhood. I donned my Face, clicking it into a mask that transformed the intricate lines of the mask into wriggling maggots, chunks of flesh around the eyes missing to reveal bone and deep-set eye-sockets. The Lizard stared and it did not look away. I shifted sideways into Dure¡¯s character and unlike Bhan, I did not debase it by crawling on all fours. But Dure did slump, and its steps writhed with quivers of agony and deep fatigue. Its movements were the jerking of a man on the edge of death, kept one step from the release of death by sheer bloody-mindedness. Except like some tragic romance, death only ever moved closer to Dure. They could never touch. From behind the mask, I looked out with a singular will. Read the audience. Create a story. Tell the truth. Perform the Artful Divinity. I fell into the tale like a starving man falls onto a feast, weaving my actions and unuttered words into an image of a god who desired nothing more than to protect, and devoted everything it had into doing so. As I paced around the circle of people those within watched my performance and the children were wide-eyed and the adults either engrossed or darkly amused; those belonging to the latter had some idea of why I¡¯d chosen to spin this tale specifically: Atifi, Tully, Ronnie and Kit among them, while Davian¡¯s expression could¡¯ve meant anything as his facial warping made him impossible to read and though all assembled were unique ¨C callous or kind; innocent or twisted ¨C watching their reactions showed me the common thread between them all; that same palette of emotion passing behind their eyes that all of humanity shared. In the moment, I could turn and lunge and exult in the desire to protect that vitality, and make it mine, and in doing so I became more immersed in the performance, closer to imitating a god in full and in my slumping movements and near-silent words Dure did everything to fulfil its duty, whether it be stealing food or killing innocents: it was a creature that could only see one option once it bent its being to a task and as it did so I watched the audience, gauging whether or not they saw its descent and reflected in their eyes were my movements, varying between the staggering halt of the dying or the incredible vitality of those who knew their end approached, the act informed by all of the people with one foot in the grave I¡¯d seen over the decades. In the end, there was only one outcome for a creature so singular: it failed, and all of the things it had sacrificed meant nothing and yet, Dure kept moving and fulfilling its purpose, even though the meaning of its actions had been lost. Slowly, I came back to myself. Sweat had drenched my tunic, transforming the night air into something piercingly cold. I looked at the audience ¨C all people I knew, whether for days or over a year. Whip, Miriel, Willow, and Malee had tears in their eyes. Snapper sniffed heavily, and rubbed his nose. Were I a better Face, all of the crowd would be weeping. That was a skill to covet. I blinked rapidly behind my mask. ¡°And, that,¡± I whispered, projecting my murmur across the circle, ¡°is why Dure can never stop moving. Because to do so would be to remember. So take heed, good people, and do not devote yourself so fiercely you forget what is important. I am the Face Vin, and from you I want one thing¡­¡± ¡°Humanity,¡± the crowd belatedly chorused. Kit did not join them. Something sharp sat within her dark eyes.
I sat with the fire crackling at my back, watching the wild heartwoods across from me. Most, including the children and elderly, had already settled in to sleep for the night, but a handful stayed awake for a while longer. As was usual, the first watch among our group had been given to me, and I¡¯d take a double-shift. The Divinity had finished with a few offerings of food and small trinkets. Snapper had given back the money he¡¯d fleeced from me, telling me he owed that much for the privilege. Everyone had kept a respectful distance as I returned to my fire. It was a nice night. The night air swirled merrily, mercifully cool and somehow peaceful despite the noise around us. My three guests sipped delicately from their spoons, which submerged in the stew in an orderly fashion from youngest to eldest. Around the caravan, other fires crackled, and a din of quiet conversation surrounded most. If I focused, I could¡¯ve made out the specific words, yet I chose to let the murmurs wash over me. From the shadowed forest across from us cicadas buzzed constantly. I leaned back and closed my eyes. The world walked through its paces, singing within my perception. If I focused, I could almost reach out and¡­ ¡°You¡¯re smiling.¡± I opened my eyes. From within her tailored fur sleeping bag, Gast¡¯s dark green eyes stared at me. ¡°I smile all the time,¡± I said, cocking an eyebrow. ¡°It¡¯s not that unusual.¡± ¡°No.¡± The denial was simple, and unadorned. The rotund woman¡¯s gaze remained piercing, as if there was no world but me. I looked away first. ¡°I guess not, huh?¡± Silence followed my words. Eventually, she spoke again. ¡°You like this?¡± Around us, the caravan began putting itself to bed. ¡°It¡¯s¡­¡± My answer trailed off, ended before it could even start. I thumbed an itch beneath my bandana as my features crinkled oddly. It took a moment to recognise my expression as a sheepish smile. ¡°I do.¡± She nodded, rolled over, and went back to sleep. The starry sky was beautiful; limitless. For once, I didn¡¯t feel the need to stifle my good humour. I let myself forget what I was. I would be reminded. Chapter 43 - Against Nature A woman had collapsed eighty paces up the trail, her prone body obstructing our progress more surely than any stone or monster. Kit and I were standing several paces in front of the caravan, having been called there by Rita. ¡°Oh, gods,¡± Kit muttered harshly, caressing the hilt of her sword. Angry teeth flashed from behind her lips, their whites more arresting for her dark skin. ¡°No two ways about it. That¡¯s a trap.¡± Rita hummed her assent. ¡°She could actually be hurt?¡± I offered, knowing how unlikely that was. ¡°An¡¯ that¡¯s,¡± Kit jeered, ¡°is th¡¯ kinda thinkin¡¯ that gets you trapped.¡± ¡°Well, one of us- ¡° ¡°No.¡± The short guard¡¯s interruption was solid and unyielding. I drummed my fingers along the length of my halberd. ¡°¡­We have to get through there- ¡° ¡°Nope.¡± ¡°Rita¡­¡± ¡°Nuh-uh.¡± Once Rita¡¯s final denial was finished, I reversed my position and stared down the caravan¡¯s length. At the very front of our procession was the wagon of the three reserved men, of whom I¡¯d still not managed to learn their names. Past them sat Aron¡¯s spearwood wagon, the man himself leading the oxen and chatting to Atifi while his wife and daughter sat, hidden from the eyes of the world. For once, they weren¡¯t silently sequestered within their wagon. In the middle sat Tully¡¯s carriage, each end of it bookmarked by the Smiths and Growers, who¡¯d been separated after several days of Snapper and Atifi¡¯s arguing fraying nerves. Past that was Kit¡¯s family: Jana dozing while she held the mule¡¯s reigns while Tippi and Crumpet played some quiet game with Whip in the back of the cart. And at the very back, our cart trundled along, the teenage Taja staring daggers into our obstinate donkey. The introduction of the trio of nomad siblings had freed up a bit of time for us monster-hunters. No longer did we have to spend every waking moment patrolling: with three extra sets of eyes breaks were more common. Ronnie had justified it to Tully, signing that it¡¯d help us ¡®refresh ourselves¡¯. Our additions had proven more than capable of identifying any monsters rushing through the trees, and as of yet none had managed to reach the caravan before being slapped down by a pair of us. Beside the Smith wagon, Gast and Odrin were using the runestone they¡¯d put together to reduce the vehicle¡¯s weight for half a moment, giving the oxen hitched to its front a chance to pull it from its stuck position. Though they did so dozens of times a day, the solution the two of them had pieced together in response to the poor quality of the trail had likely already saved us over a day¡¯s worth of time. The obstacle had bought us time to investigate the problem, but time was running out. ¡°We¡¯ll need to stop the caravan,¡± I concluded. Rita nodded and opened her mouth to say something to Kit, then thought better of it and turned to me. ¡°Vin, go get our boss, eh? An¡¯ tell th¡¯ rest of that lot to halt fer a moment.¡± I shook my head. ¡°As I was trying to say, if it is an ambush, they¡¯ll get suspicious seeing us take this long. Someone needs to go out there; might as well be me.¡± Kit glared at me. ¡°Godsdamnit Vin, this trash again?¡± ¡°Lizardblood, Kit.¡± Rita frowned. ¡°It¡¯s either that or let them attack our main body.¡± She closed her eyes for a moment. Kit stared at the mercenary, wide eyed. ¡°Rita, you really thinkin¡¯- ¡± ¡°When ¡®e¡¯s right, ¡®e¡¯s right.¡± The short woman slapped me on the shoulders weakly. ¡°Go ahead. We¡¯ll put somethin¡¯ together: jus¡¯ try ta hold ¡®em off for a while.¡± With a nod, I began making my way across the divide between the caravan and the woman. The river rushed beside the trail, now a savage white rush of water pounding over rocks. I glanced towards the heartwoods; the light of the day making its shadowed confines inscrutably black. Every second step was punctuated by the dull thud of my halberd¡¯s shaft meeting the ground, while several deft pats assured me my kit was in place: bandana on head, buckler on arm, halberd in hand, Gast¡¯s arrow-deterrent in pouch and sword on belt alongside my sling and stolen dagger. ¡°You alright?¡± I called as I approached. The woman groaned. Her hands were placed across her abdomen, and red stained the ruptured tunic beneath. Flakes of dried blood blew in the wind, trapped by the rough weave of the clothing. Upon noticing the tunic was slightly too small for her, I spoke. ¡°Hold on a moment.¡± I trapped my halberd in the crook of my elbow to make the sign for ¡®danger¡¯ with both arms. Kit wound understand, even if Rita did not. ¡°Are you bleeding right now?¡± She nodded, the motion causing her to bark in agony. I clicked my tongue. ¡°Before I can help, you need to tell me what happened.¡± In response, the ¡®injured¡¯ woman let out another low moan, which escalated into a wail. ¡°Ox¡¯s balls,¡± I spat. ¡°I¡¯m coming.¡± I shoved the tip of my halberd underneath a rock and walked over. Before she could move, I gripped both of her wrists in one hand and shoved them above her head, then knelt on top of them. Her movements gained far more vigour during the process. ¡°Apologies,¡± I muttered. ¡°Can¡¯t have you thrashing when I¡¯m treating you. So where¡¯s- ¡± The woman shuffled onto her buttocks and lifted her head upwards, twisting it sideways. A sharp prick emanated from my neck, and I felt a bead of blood form at the pierced site. At the bottom of my vision, a long iron needle stretched from her clenched teeth to my skin. A vicious swear slipped from behind my lips. The need to strangle her convulsed through my hands, only halted by an insistent prodding on my tender flesh. ¡°Don¡¯t ¡®ove,¡± warned the bandit. ¡°Or I¡¯ll shtab ya.¡± ¡°Blood forbid you shtab me,¡± I viciously retorted. Her response came in the form of a sharp jab. ¡°Wanna die?¡± she warned. ¡°No? Lishen. Call th¡¯ odder guards over.¡± Flecks of spit fled from her mouth. ¡°You lishen,¡± I spat. ¡°The moment you stab me I¡¯ll gut you for keeps. My comrades have seen this- ¡± ¡°No,¡± she answered, tilting her head. I furrowed my brows, then hissed angrily. From range, the iron spike was too thin to be visible, and the angle of her body concealed her actions. ¡°Siik¡¯s bloody fangs,¡± I swore. ¡°Okay. Okay, fi- ¡° With as much speed as I could muster, I jerked my body backwards while simultaneously wrapping both hands around the back of her neck. As I did so the bandit attempted to thrust the needle into me, but my awkward position still allowed enough strength to control her head. We writhed for a while, her trying to free either her head or the arms trapped beneath my legs, and I slowly squeezed the wind from her airpipe. Beneath the sounds of whistling sliding from her throat and my own stifled grunting, a quiet tapping of wood against wood pierced my perception. I flattened myself against the ground and pulled the bandit over me moments before an arrow sped from the heartwoods and shuddered into my human shield, where my torso had been moments before. She screamed and clutched at her abdomen. Peeking around her body revealed fresh blood seeping into the dried flakes. A grin erupted from somewhere deep inside of me. It was immediately widened by another arrow flying from the heartwoods, its course directly towards my face. I caught it with the bandit¡¯s head, and the impact of it sliding through bone and into brain shuddered up my arms moments before the arrows tip erupted from the back of her head, covering my face in chunks of skull and gore, soaking through my bandana instantly. My eyes widened. That was twenty-two. Someone howled from the shadowy forest. Fear spiked through my body. Your family lives among red dirt and cattle, each slaughter offered to the earth another opportunity for- An exertion of will closed the channel between myself and her fading life, the only remnant of the vision being a pounding migraine and a memory that was not my own. A keening was conceived within my throat and died, stillborn, as moments later another arrow flew towards me, exploiting the fact that the corpse was smaller than my own frame to aim for my leg. Shifting the limb saved it, but more ammunition began peppering the rocky dirt around me and the corpse in front. I shuffled backwards, scrabbling with both feet as one arm wrapped dragged the corpse with me while its partner hastily protected my head and neck using the buckler. After a few paces¡¯ worth of frantic scrabbling, the trail transformed into a riverbank. The damp from the stones quickly soaked through my tunic and droplets from the rapids scattered across bare skin. Fortunately, the decline of the slope prevented my prone body from being riddled with arrows, unless they started arcing their shots; however, the canopy of the heartwoods would prevent them from doing so accurately. Which was why the crunch of many light pairs of footsteps sounded from the trail. A glance behind showed the rapids still frothing a rabid white, hungering to dash swimmers across its rocks. I shoved the body off myself and rolled onto my belly, bruising my knees and elbows on the rocks as I crawled sideways. Drawing my sword was awkward in such a position, but doing so quietly was well within my capabilities. Fresh blood gushed from my nose, like I had severed a limb and not stolen a memory. The migraine distorted my world, setting the afternoon light pulsing to the beat of the agony in my skull. It grew worse with every passing moment. My pulse pounded in my ears. For whatever reason, the world seemed airy, and fleeting; liable to blow away on a gentle breeze. Denying my blood had been easier, once. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. Through it all, I kept an ear on their movements, and levered myself onto the balls of my feet in preparation to sprint. Judging by the footsteps, there were around half a dozen people on the trail, however unless their tactics were seriously deficient, there would only be two or three currently wielding bows. The rest would have to protect the archers from any close-range combatants or enemy projectiles ¨C doubly important now that they were in the open. I¡¯d have to identify the archers and quickly dive in-between them all ¨C loosing arrows would risk hitting their fellows then ¨C but that wasn¡¯t a sure thing. Gast¡¯s runestone might deter a few, but it could only foul a projectile¡¯s flight. At close range, it might turn a pierced liver into a pierced lung. In any case, deliberately surrounding oneself was a poor idea for even the greatest of warriors. With my vision buzzing with blackened spots and my balance constantly listing to either side, I couldn¡¯t bet on being counted amongst their ranks. Yet there weren¡¯t any better options. My head¡¯s pounding scattered thoughts like swarms of dead bugs. I turned around and looked at the rapids again. They screamed at me. I turned away. No better plan revealed itself. ¡°Come out, coward!¡± someone yelled from the road, barely five paces from my head. ¡°Murderin¡¯ a woman and duckin¡¯ all roach-like? Be human! Face yer end like a person!¡± A man¡¯s head breached the incline¡¯s lip, and I slowly flattened myself against the ground, concealing him once again. He hadn¡¯t seen me. Something flashed across my eyes, and I jerked my head quickly. White light flashed from the caravan, then stopped. Kit had been using her sword to reflect sunlight across my face. Ronnie stood next to her, and gestured towards a cart ¨C our cart ¨C which had someone been brought to the front of the caravan, and mimed me moving further away. The Missus was conspicuously absent. Gast and Odrin squatted behind it, fiddling with something concealed by the cart¡¯s bulk. Ronnie downed a vial of liquid; I recognised it as an enhancer, for fortifying the tendons and muscles of Oxbloods. The giant turned back to me and motioned urgently. I scrambled back towards the corpse and glanced over at the caravan again. With the exception of Kit, those arrayed at the front ¨C just Ronnie, Gast, and Odrin ¨C wore their mouths in grim lines. The swordswoman had stepped forward, and stared down the trail toothily grinning. Her gaze fell directly above me, directly where the collection of bandits stood. The two groups were facing each other. ¡°Give up!¡± the man bellowed. ¡°We outnumber you two to one! We¡¯ll take some food; give ya time t¡¯get back t¡¯Spires ¡®fore you starve.¡± I felt Kit¡¯s response before I heard it. ¡°Lick a hairy bunghole, bastard!¡± The exchange of offers continued. Next to me, the corpse¡¯s eyes stared sideways, accusing in their mild manner. Agony pounded behind my own, twisting my stomach and threatening to pull its contents out on the ground. I sucked in a breath, and tore the pair of orbs out of the dead woman¡¯s head. They squished slightly as a long nerve caught. Bile rose in my throat, so I pinched myself hard enough for my dirty fingernails to pierce into flesh. I sheathed my sword and used my belt-knife to sever the connection. As soon as that was done, I crawled past the empty-eyed body, grabbing two smooth stones as I went. The smooth wetness of the eyes in my palms embedded themselves in my perception indelibly, far heftier than any sight or sound could be. Two paces away; Four; Seven¡­ When I made it twelve steps from the bandits I scrambled back onto the trail. Six bandits stood on the trail, their roughly spun tunics peeking out from beneath a mismatched assortment of armour. A single person could wear a leather gorget, fur pauldrons and a padded gambeson. Two carried bows while four, including the negotiator, held bronze swords or spears. Parallel to them stood four others holding crossbows, partially concealed in the tree-line. As I pulled the sling from my belt, one of the men on the road jerked his head and pointed me out to his fellows. Their response was too late to prevent me lobbing a projectile at the group, which splattered against the back of the leader¡¯s head. He whirled, face contorting into a sneer, and I threw the remaining eyeball underhanded, to land at his feet. The man looked down, felt the back of his head, and looked back up. Disbelief and horror warred in his expression, trying and failing to reach equilibrium. His eyes met mine. With trembling hands, I placed a stone in my sling and began whirling it. The group watched dumbly, and recovered moments too late to warn their fellows in the trees. The stone flashed, meeting bone with a cracking retort. The woman it hit fell instantly. The sudden lack of weight provoked a bout of intense vertigo, and in the wake of the sudden spinning I barely managed to catch myself on my knees. Twenty-three, I thought to myself. Simultaneously, the caravan behind them burst into motion, unnoticed by the bandits. Ronnie braced themself against the back of the cart, and accompanied by a flash of purple, propelled it forward at astonishing speeds ¨C as if the vehicle were a child¡¯s ball and not half a tree¡¯s worth of heartwood. Kit sprinted behind it. The bandits raised their bows and crossbows and managed to loose several arrows in my direction, but Gast¡¯s arrow-trap ¨C made active by my scratching its talc ¨C flung them wildly. Only two reached me: one I caught with my buckler and the other I avoided entirely by falling to my side. Then it was too late for the bandits standing on the trail: the cart cracked into their backs and from beneath its wooden lip Rita and her guards stood and fired a volley of bolts at the group in the woods while Whip and Davian loosed their respective projectiles at the few still standing. Only one woman remained upright and unpierced. She gripped her axe and swung for the cart, only for Kit¡¯s blade to fall, severing both arms at the elbow. Before the bandit could scream, her throat was slit. The guards vaulted the cart and fell onto those recovering with clubs. In the distance, Tully watched, her lips raised at their corners.
In the end, four of the bandits survived. Rita and Tully had taken two of the more grievously wounded of them somewhere. One of the guards had suffered a bolt to the arm, and had left to get it cared for. That left the rest of us ¨C minus Whip and Gast ¨C to guard the remaining pair, tied up and unconscious where they had fallen. Kit sniffed, gazing down her nose at them. ¡°We gonna sacrifice them or what?¡± At some point, Maddie had made her way over. She carefully stepped over the corpses, her expression inscrutable within the shadows of her hood. At Kit¡¯s question, her head jerked towards us. ¡°N-no.¡± ¡°I wasn¡¯t askin¡¯ you, princess,¡± the swordswoman drawled. She jerked her head towards those of us remaining; the scavenging Ronnie and Davian; one guard holding his crossbow; and myself. ¡°You didn¡¯ bleed for this.¡± ¡°I¡¯m Tully¡¯s daughter,¡± the young woman stressed, straightening her body. ¡°There¡¯s- ¡° ¡°Yer mum¡¯s my boss, not you,¡± Kit stated blandly. ¡°You fought; you¡¯d have a say. You didn¡¯t.¡± Davian paused where he squatted, inspecting a sketch withdrawn from the leader¡¯s pack. ¡°I believe it best to wait for Tully, Kit.¡± ¡°Aw, c¡¯mon.¡± Kit lazily waved a hand. ¡°What were her words? ¡®Do whatcha want with ¡®em?¡¯ We¡¯ve got three extra mouths to feed; could use th¡¯ grain.¡± He breathed out heavily. ¡°Aggravating the relatives of our employer has never been- ¡° ¡°You seen th¡¯ woman?¡± she said. ¡°Tully won¡¯t care. Could probably kill a puppy¡¯n front of her an¡¯ she¡¯d clap.¡± Now fully facing Kit, Maddie responded angrily. ¡°You don¡¯t know anything about- ¡° ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sorry.¡± The tall young woman raised her hands in the air, looming over the shorter girl despite the distance between them. ¡°Will she care?¡± ¡°I care!¡± ¡°You don¡¯t matter.¡± Maddie made a strangled sound. Kit spat on the dirt. ¡°What¡¯re you gonna do, huh?¡± she mocked. ¡°Shout us out of it?¡± Hands outstretched, Maddie turned to the remaining guard. ¡°Do something!¡± The man released a hand from the edge of his crossbow and scratched his bearded chin. ¡°Miss, what else¡¯re we supposed to do with them?¡± ¡°Let them go!¡± ¡°They might get more and come back.¡± He looked away. ¡°I¡¯unno, Miss. I¡¯m real sorry, but we can¡¯t risk you gettin¡¯ hurt.¡± She pointed a finger as if to accuse him of something, then lowered it quietly. ¡°Vin,¡± she pleaded. Pain pulsed in my skull. The world swayed. My leg splayed to catch me before I fell. ¡°¡­Vin¡­?¡± Ronnie gestured something. However, without Whip ¨C who had almost immediately left the site ¨C to interpret, no one could translate succinctly. The old man gave it a shot. ¡°¡­Sad¡­Girl?¡± Kit snorted. ¡°I couldn¡¯t care less whether whiney over there- ¡° she jabbed a finger in Maddie¡¯s direction, ¡°- is upset. She should grow up.¡± The giant shook their head, and jerked a thumb the other way. ¡°¡­Whip?¡± Davian ventured. A nod. Tutting, the swordswoman replied, ¡°She won¡¯t know; she won¡¯t see.¡± Maddie¡¯s high voice rose over them. ¡°Is Vin okay?¡± An eyeball sat in the empty space between corpses, its gaze directed diagonally, towards the sky. Though I didn¡¯t face her, I knew its owner lay slumped on the river-bank, empty sockets staring at the stones next to her. Unprompted, my hands drifted to my Face. I took it out of its pouch, but for whatever reason its contours remained unwitnessed by the tactile realm. A ghost, I thought, looking at it. With excessive care, I tried to bring it to cover my own face ¨C sharpen the world, focus it through a narrower lens ¨C but it slipped through my fingers, falling silently to the ground. ¡°His pupils¡­¡± someone said. ¡°Why is one so big?¡± The ground rose suddenly, slamming itself into the side of my head. ¡°Vin!¡± Shapes and colours. The sky was very red. There was a name for that red. Another voice. ¡°Vin, I need you to talk to us. We need you to tell us how you¡¯re feeling; what¡¯s happening to you.¡± There was a name for that red. I¡¯d read it, somewhere. Back home? So many books. ¡°What is this, Davian. What is this? They poison him? These little godsdamned rats!¡± A sharp thud. ¡°Kit, we have no time- ¡° I tried to ask what colour it was, but my mouth was too numb. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with him?¡± ¡°He might have gotten hit in the head.¡± Saliva spilled from numb lips, dropping in thick ropes against the ground. I couldn¡¯t seem to swallow it. ¡°Gods, his brain¡¯s bleedin¡¯?¡± Something was wrong with me. I tried to get up, but failed. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Maybe! Give him space.¡± ¡°Damn this.¡± My mouth moved. ¡°M¡¯fine,¡± I mumbled. I gathered my arms beneath myself, but only one obeyed my commands. Without its counterpart, I only rolled to the side. ¡°Kit. Kit!¡± ¡°I¡¯ll teach these wastes of flesh.¡± Someone was dragging something towards a mass of shadow. ¡°Please!¡± ¡°I can¡¯t, Miss; she¡¯ll turn on us.¡± I blinked rapidly, trying to focus my vision. ¡°M¡¯fine,¡± I repeated, as if it were some sort of mantra. ¡°Spend a life waterin¡¯ the dirt with others, huh? Shoulda been stronger, bastards. Shoulda been like me.¡± I lifted my head towards the speaker. Its silhouette was blotted against a wall of inky shadows, its droplets bleeding through the sky to snake upwards, past the reach of my eyes, to send its twisting veins to wrap around the sun and squeeze. And in the figure¡¯s hand a spear or halberd or knife, poised above itself. A sudden chill stole across my body, sinking deep into my body, its fangs wrapping around sinew and tendons to set my limbs shaking. My limbs stretched towards it all, fingernails scraping over red dirt and hidden stones. ¡°Stop,¡± I breathed. But the momentum of the scene was too great for me to change, and the darkness loomed and contorted and warped with long white figures dappled with eyes, countless eyes, and all the murmuring around me and I could not decipher it and my eyes were thick and swollen in their sockets and ready and they did not belong and I could not understand the sounds and I reached out again- ¡°Stop!¡± I screamed. And then the shapes and sounds reoriented themselves, and became just Kit, and just the bandits, and nothing more. The swordswoman held her blade towards the two bodies while jerking her head towards me. She slammed her blade back into its sheath, gripping the jutting hilt tightly. ¡°Lucky,¡± she spat towards the two unconscious bandits. ¡°So godsdamned lucky.¡± Despite a ubiquitous numbness, I managed to slowly work myself into a seated position. Surrounding me was everyone present, except Kit and the guards. Davian was on his knees beside me, lightly touching parts of my head. With my thumb and forefinger, I began pinching parts of my body to ensure they could still feel. ¡°Are you okay, Vin?¡± came Maddie¡¯s voice. I looked up at her, and though her gaze was concealed I could almost hear her emerald eyes swimming with concern. I looked back to myself. ¡°Yeah.¡± Ronnie made a short, simple sign: ¡®question¡¯. Davian squinted at them, then nodded. ¡°What happened to you?¡± ¡°Yeah, th¡¯ blood was goin¡¯ on there?¡± Kit had walked over to us, leaving our bound captives near the trees. The lone guard kept his crossbow levelled in their direction. I ran my tongue along the inside of my mouth, slowly extracting one of my teeth, which had sunk into the flesh of my lip. A metallic taste filled my mouth. There was no pain. Blood drained into the abyss of my throat as I sucked at it. The eyeball looked upwards. My own gaze was directed at the ground. The words emerged almost silently; a slurring of what ought to be comprehensible. ¡°I¡­ don¡¯t know.¡±
After some interrogation, Davian chalked it up to a head-injury. It was impossible to tell whether my head was bleeding or not, beneath the gore, and the lack of scabs or clotting could be explained away by the divine nature I was purported to wield. I waved off Gast¡¯s attempts to use her ¡®borrowed¡¯ runestone to check the density of my skull. It would require my blood, and I said that it seemed a waste. Everyone said that no one but a Lizardblood could¡¯ve survived such a blow to the head. I would¡¯ve laughed, if I didn¡¯t feel so much like crying. In the end, Tully executed the prisoners anyway. The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Chapter ROLES VIN, a Ravenblooded Face. KIT, a swordswoman. DAVIAN, a Strain monster hunter with a warped face. RONNIE, a giant Strain monster hunter with mismatched arms and a cherubic face. Mute. WHIP, a young Strain monster hunter with a gimp leg. GAST, a rotund Strain. P. BEAVER, the topmost beaver. E. BEAVER, the middle beaver. L. BEAVER, the bottom beaver. AUDIENCE, of noble and aesthetic disposition. ACT 2 SCENE 14.1.4 Enter the BEAVER trio, who hide behind red vines. Faint squeaking emanates afterwards, accompanied by the movement of branches around the stage. Moments later, enter VIN, slightly out of breath. VIN (furious) Confound those blighted creatures! VIN casts his gaze across the stage, and sighs. Forward bound has been our cart, Yet fallen forest have cleft our path, By frothing monsters ¡®tween the trees; Slights pierce my skin like bitter bees! A day and night have I searched, For monstrous beavers in the lurch, And for all their chomping ¡®round these woods, Unjust rewards come chip my tooth. Were it not for senses goodly ¡®n godly, My quarry may¡¯ve slipped me promptly! But silence now. I feel a voice, Coming from these crimson trees. My powers must be wrapped anon, ¡®les friends turn foul and strike me down. Enter KIT, shortly followed by DAVIAN and RONNIE. Ho, friends! How fare thee? KIT (frowning) Why¡¯re you speakin¡¯ like that? VIN (aside) Pointed is the swordsman¡¯s tongue, A single slip sees me undone! KIT I¡¯m a woman. DAVIAN Addressing that would have ruined his rhyming scheme. KIT He¡¯s not a fucking bloody tactician. He don¡¯t need a scheme. A branch¡¯s movement hits KIT in the head. She looks around the stage. Faint chittering emanates from behind the vines. What th¡¯¡­ DAVIAN I¡¯m referring to¡­ a technique used by bards. (whispering) The blow to the head could still be lingering. And a Face often uses such rhymes in their performances, So it¡¯s far from exclusive to bards. RONNIE signs ¡®no cap?¡¯ KIT (looking at RONNIE) What they jus¡¯ say? DAVIAN (squinting) They¡¯re enquiring as to the authenticity of my statement. I think. (to RONNIE) It¡¯s not necessary for every Face, but it does occur. VIN Time and trade hath flattened, My companions¡¯ manners. RONNIE signs ¡®I feel you¡¯. KIT Shit Gods, I can¡¯t understan¡¯ neither of ¡®em. DAVIAN Where¡¯s Whip when you need her? WHIP limps on-stage, a crutch under her arm. GAST follows shortly after, breathing heavily. VIN Speak of need and she appears! If only beavers were so dear. WHIP What¡¯s happening? RONNIE signs ¡®Vin¡¯s finna rap¡¯. (to VIN) You¡¯re rhyming? VIN (aside) These prats believe my marbles lost, Their foolish prattling rattling, Of their orbs¡¯s lacking! KIT (gripping her sword¡¯s hilt) He jus¡¯ call us dumb? DAVIAN Stow your blade. His skull¡¯s still shaken. VIN So mistaken, An acquaintance, And shameless, A conveyance, I¡¯ve rarely seen. DAVIAN I¡¯d like to think we¡¯re more than acquaintances. RONNIE nods. GAST begins wandering around the stage, inspecting walls. VIN Uh¡­ He scratches his head. My¡­ The¡­ He clears his throat. In pursuing art, Some mouths have found a slant, Well-divorced from truth¡¯s path. WHIP He means ¡®sorry¡¯. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. VIN shrugs. VIN (to WHIP) Keen ears, Match¨¦d by sharper mind. WHIP turns away. RONNIE signs ¡®Man¡¯s got rizz.¡¯ WHIP (translating) A¡­ kind compliment. VIN A deserv¨¦d one. RONNIE¡¯s brows raise. They wiggle them at WHIP. WHIP does not notice. A branch hits RONNIE in the head, and they swiftly raise their middle-finger after it. KIT scoffs. DAVIAN Have you had any luck with the beasts? VIN Their sight remains as mist. DAVIAN (rubbing his eyes) I assume that means no. VIN Aptly observed. Even so, I think them close. GAST (near the vines) I think so too. KIT (grinning) This¡¯ll be fun, then. GAST tears down the vines, revealing a trench-coat wearing form ¨C the BEAVER trio, stacked atop one another. They peddle atop a small contraption. GAST (coolly) Hello. P. BEAVER Ah, hello. Lovely day for a stroll! L. BEAVER (muttering from within) As if a branch¡¯d And covetous grasp, Allows the day between The Heartwood¡¯s reaching leaves. VIN points a finger at the coat, sliding around GAST¡¯s large form. VIN (excited) A fellow! P. BEAVER No, just me. Ha. E. BEAVER (whispering) We should not be here! Get us out! The BEAVERs dismount. VIN clears his throat. VIN How long hath thee belaboured here Where bloody flora drives men queer? P. BEAVER (looking down) Does he mean gay? Do trees make beavers gay? Pause. L. BEAVER What logic provokes you ¨C my mind¡¯s run aground! As foolish a musing as ever I heard; His thoughts can be sum¡¯rised in much fewer words: ¡®Queer¡¯ as in ¡®weird¡¯! E. BEAVER (quickly) Not that it¡¯s weird to be queer. Pause. We¡¯re not weird. But queer¡¯s not weird. P. BEAVER We¡¯re queer? E. BEAVER We¡¯re not strange. P. BEAVER ¡­But we¡¯re gay? E. BEAVER What? L. BEAVER (aside) Gods, please, strike me down. E. BEAVER Look: the point is, we¡¯re perfectly normal. WHIP (evenly) You¡¯re a collection of beavers in a coat. VIN (nodding) Such thoughts hardly require crossing a moat. E. BEAVER Perfectly normal. DAVIAN You have fur! VIN You do possess a hirsute disposition. P. BEAVER¡¯s face turns purple as it attempts to copy VIN¡¯s rhyme. P. BEAVER And it provides¡­ a¡­ little imposition. L. BEAVER Gods! Your ineloquence astounds me! E. BEAVER A lot of sass from a glorified codpiece! VIN (aside) The tangled face reveals a tangled mind. L. BEAVER I can scarcely understand; your stupidity confounds! E. BEAVER Would a semicolon make me smarter? L. BEAVER (offended) Hey! That¡¯s uncalled for! E. BEAVER Mayhaps a hyphen? L. BEAVER Shut it, furball! E. BEAVER Learn to craft a sentence well-structured Without relying on grammatical crutches, And then I might. L. BEAVER You would never get off the ground without me! E. BEAVER Your suffering would be consolation enough. P. BEAVER Please stop fighting! VIN waves an arm dramatically. VIN Enough! Your chittering conceals, Motives most foul. KIT gives VIN a disgusted stare. He withers slightly. She speaks. KIT Why¡¯d you do it? E. BEAVER (simultaneously) Don¡¯t- L. BEAVER (simultaneously) A future scene is quite the foe! Its verbal blade hath struck much low! P. BEAVER (simultaneously) I thought it¡¯d be funny. E. BEAVER Gods! We¡¯re not running a mood-diary, here! Keep it professional! P. BEAVER (pouting) I¡¯m the speaker! You guys never let me speak! This is the one time- L. BEAVER Go stare at a ceiling. P. BEAVER sulks. E. BEAVER Look what you¡¯ve done! He¡¯s going to be like that all day, now. L. BEAVER Hm. KIT (whispering) Whare they talkin¡¯ ¡®bout? An AUDIENCE member stands. AUDIENCE *What¡¯re. Water? No, *what¡¯re. Thanks. KIT (whispering) Water they talkin¡¯ ¡®bout. VIN (whispering) Buying time for foes, And enemies unknown. KIT Fuck Blood, I can¡¯t understand you either. P. BEAVER (sitting straight upright) What was that? E. BEAVER Was that a swear? L. BEAVER Kit just swore. The BEAVER trio pauses momentarily. E. BEAVER There¡¯s not meant to be any cussing here. L. BEAVER (muttering) Mind the murder and mass slaughter. E. BEAVER Quiet! It was agreed upon! Who allowed this? L. BEAVER (sarcastic) Invoke a god¡¯s gen¡¯tals. Such ducking always works. P. BEAVER It¡¯s funny, though. L. BEAVER (sighing) A purging is in order. E. BEAVER Blood, I hope no one notices. P. BEAVER It makes sense! L. BEAVER It¡¯s inconsistent! E. BEAVER Why are we here? I hate this. P. BEAVER We all agreed! L. BEAVER I agre¨¦d not. P. BEAVER Well, we took a vote. E. BEAVER ¡­You whined- P. BEAVER You agreed! E. BEAVER Not like this! We could¡¯ve done anything else. It¡¯s L¡¯s fault. He chose. L. BEAVER Putting this on me, Is a crime against us three. P. BEAVER Aw, it¡¯s just plain fun, E! E. BEAVER No, no, no. This is a tragedy. A tragic story. There shouldn¡¯t be three talking beavers here. Blood; Death; Tears; Tragedy! (to KIT) Quick ¨C stab someone! We need a death to make things well! Lest the viewers strike us low! KIT thrusts her sword into the trench-coat, impaling E. BEAVER. The trench-coat immediately topples to the ground. KIT Well, there ya go. VIN throws his hands in the air. VIN Verily, I should by now know Kit¡¯s first solution is a blow. Never mind the motivations Behind beaver¡¯s ministrations: Architecture or assassination? Work wet with water or blood? These answers now belong with the mud. RONNIE signs ¡®Sheeesh¡¯. KIT It¡¯s a beaver. VIN It¡¯s a creature. DAVIAN It¡¯s a plump and tasty dinner. VIN looks at him. RONNIE pats their belly. WHIP Ronnie¡¯s hungry. VIN looks at her. GAST Eating¡¯s important. VIN (shaking his head) Fine. I¡¯ll put it in the pot. KIT punches VIN in the arm. He rubs it. KIT Well figured. VIN reaches into the trench-coat and withdraws E. BEAVER. Exeunt all but the two remaining BEAVERS. L. BEAVER and P. BEAVER crawl from the trench-coat. L. BEAVER E should¡¯ve seen this coming. P. BEAVER He should¡¯ve. L. BEAVER No, E should¡¯ve. P. BEAVER That¡¯s what I said. L. BEAVER waits expectantly. L. BEAVER ¡­Oh. P. BEAVER ¡­What do we do? L. BEAVER ¡­I don¡¯t know. Exit L. & P.- AUDIENCE (suddenly stands) This sucks. AUDIENCE MEMBER begins leaving. P. BEAVER Where are they going? Where are they going? P. BEAVER stands awkwardly, then dives off-stage and clings to AUDIENCE MEMBER¡¯s leg. L. BEAVER Oh, gods. P. BEAVER Don¡¯t do it! AUDIENCE MEMBER stops, juddering. Their mouth slowly creaks open. L. BEAVER Quick! +rep! P. BEAVER (vomiting leaves) It¡¯s not working! Within a maelstrom of leaves, AUDIENCE MEMBER speaks. AUDIENCE this story seems to be alright up to a point but the writer just released this new chapter and it doesn¡¯t make a whole lot of sense but even before then it was a bit strange to be honest some of the characters irk me like what¡¯s up with those beavers anyway and the main character''s jaw-droppingly stupid¡­ Continues. ¡­did i mention the beavers anyway it¡¯s alright i guess probably 3/5. BEAVERS scream. END Chapter 44 - Carrion Eaters Amidst the countless mouldy carts, tattered tents, and worn inhabitants of the refugee camp sprawling south from Spires dashed a young man and a young woman, the former lagging behind the latter. Though their rough clothing, filthy skin, and large packs did not distinguish them from the refugees around them, the pair ran with a sense of urgency that none matched. Between coughs and pants, the pock-marked man yelled a single name. ¡°Orvi!¡± His companion slowed slightly, to grab his arm and haul him ahead. ¡°Save your breath; he won¡¯t be here.¡± He shot her a dirty look, and returned to screaming. ¡°Orvi!¡± ¡°By the blood, Blake,¡± the muscled woman cursed, giving his arm a firm shake, ¡°we¡¯re on a time-limit and he¡¯s probably using a different name.¡± ¡°He¡¯ll hear it¡­¡° He wheezed. ¡°¡­If he¡¯s¡­¡± Another wheeze. ¡°Around- ¡° A fit of wet coughing erupted from his throat, interrupting Blake¡¯s justification and forcing him to stop and bend over at the waist. The woman¡¯s hand flew off his arm as momentum carried her forward, but after a moment she stopped and jogged back. She slung her large bag off her back and withdrew a corked bottle of water, which Blake accepted gratefully. The liquid fell down his throat, landing in his stomach and provoking a wave of roiling inside of it. Days of slow starvation, ameliorated only by tiny amounts of nuts and chunks of the bread they¡¯d looted, had taken its toll. Blake was weaker than he¡¯d been since Dure¡¯s plague had ravaged his failing body. But while the miniscule amount of Enn¡¯s power ¨C extracted from Maja for a boy whose body couldn¡¯t handle it ¨C could save him from divine disease, it could not overcome lack of food. Only urgency kept his legs moving; without that, he would¡¯ve fallen hours ago. After draining half of the bottle, he ejected a wad of phlegm from his throat and straightened. ¡°What¡¯re we gonna do, Erin? Look at this place.¡± He gestured towards the gargantuan speartrees thrusting from the ground, each ornamented with their own unique look and adorned with eight platforms hanging between them and the adjacent towers. ¡°How in the gods¡¯ names¡¯re we gonna find ¡®im? It¡¯s a damn witch-house.¡± Erin turned, briefly inspecting the countless pieces of bloodtech firing purple filigreed across every pipe, platform, and lamp; many even writ across mundane objects. ¡°We¡¯ll find that Face he¡¯s travelling with¡­ What was his name¡­¡± She clicked her fingers, grinding her teeth in frustration. ¡°Bhan, I reckon,¡± answered Blake. ¡°I knew that,¡± she snapped. ¡°Anyway, people will know him.¡± His eyes bulged. ¡°We¡¯re back t¡¯square one, then, Erin!¡± The tanned young man pressed his palms against his forehead, his gaze boring into the ground. ¡°Oh, we¡¯re dead. We¡¯re dead.¡± A blow to the back of his head sent him stumbling forward. He looked up. Erin brandished a clenched fist at him, and he backpedalled rapidly. ¡°We¡¯ll find a place with a lot of people and ask after him.¡± Blake froze, then gave a single nod. ¡°We gotta be quick.¡± ¡°The world trembles at your genius, Blake,¡± Erin stated blandly, rolling her eyes. After a moment staring at each other, the lanky man punched her in the arm and sprinted away as fast as his backpack-laden body would allow him. A grunt and rapidly approaching footsteps were the only reply given. Together, Blake and Erin weaved around refugees performing chores or quietly talking, and eventually passed into the thick crowds of Spires proper, forcing their way through like a blunt knife cuts cheese. As they passed through, everyone around them was treated to a variation of a single question: ¡®Have you heard of Face Bhan?¡¯ Yet before any responses could be formulated and given, the pair had already cleaved past them. Blake, panting, quickly glanced over his shoulder. Thousands of paces distant, waves of hunters and harvesters alike emerged from the heartwoods at full sprints like ants fleeing from some monstrous finger; some carrying comrades or stopping and ensuring their companions caught up while others barged through those around them, knocking their fellows to the ground in a desperate bid to gain distance from the trees. Soon, though, the sight was hidden by the mass of the crowd he shoved through. Yet as Blake sighted the lifts climbing up the outside of a mossy grown tower, he paused. Each elevator carried either people or material, and often enough of both that the contents threatened to spill over the side and splatter to the ground, far beneath. He muttered an obscenity under his breath as he watched one trail upwards, growing increasingly distant with every moment. Magic and witchcraft was the domain of the Owl ¨C its calamity capricious and uncaring ¨C yet within the city hubris made it mundane. Though pure terror had set his legs moving, at that moment a more potent alloy of fear and awe stilled them again. Erin grabbed his arm and opened her mouth to chastise him, but any sounds that could emerge were quickly smothered by the shouting of a boy balancing atop a pile of boxes, his voice amplified by a strange muzzle strapped to his mouth. ¡°¡­And make no mistake, Heartlanders; the Albright¡¯s dissolution of their century-old treaty with Heltia is motivated solely by fear, and flies in the face of all our Head had done for them! The accusations of harbouring the Ravenblood are entirely unfounded; crafted by a group of tyrants scared of our progress. But fear not, good people: though we forge through our lowest point in years Heltia remains strong; strong enough to detain the Jackal even in our weakened state! And though trouble may approach, the Terms- ¡° While the crier had caterwauled over an ambivalent crowd, Blake and Erin had slowly crept closer to the pile of boxes until they were at its foot, at which point Erin boosted Blake to its peak. The mound wobbled precariously for a moment so he ditched his backpack, dropping it to Erin below. The child stared at him, wide-eyed. Blake gingerly unstrapped the muzzle from the kid¡¯s head, grabbed him beneath the armpits, and began lowering him down to Erin. As he did so, the young man whispered into the crier¡¯s ears. ¡°We¡¯re about t¡¯be invaded.¡± He jerked his head towards the heartwoods, and from their position above the mass of people a line of metallic glints was barely visible. Better eyes than his, Blake knew, would reveal them to be ranks upon ranks of soldiers, bereft of any affiliating colours. ¡°Get outta here.¡± The child sat in Erin¡¯s arms for a moment, stunned. Then, he wriggled from her grasp and was rapidly swallowed by the crowd. Blake wore a lopsided smile as he watched the boy flee, the lines of his lips and face frozen. A purple-tabarded man forged through the crowd towards the crates, club in-hand, and the young man startled, then strapped the muzzle over his mouth. ¡°Hullo, all!¡± The enhanced reply exploded out of the muzzle, pounding through Blake¡¯s ears hard enough to make him jump. ¡°We¡¯re lookin¡¯ for a, uh, Face Bhan? He should be travellin¡¯ with another, younger man ¨C a Face as well, I think.¡± From behind the noise, the blowing of a horn was faintly audible. The crowd slowly milled towards the lifts, yet the low murmur of omnipresent conversation had vanished as all eyes had alighted upon this new and sudden diverging from the norm. But a small handful were looking towards the forest, their brows furrowed. ¡°The one tha¡¯ got arrested?¡± someone called to Blake. ¡°Did he have braids; little trinkets in them?¡± The reply was massive loud in comparison to the small voice. ¡°Thas right,¡± responded the speaker, identity concealed in the crowd. ¡°He in Bars, ah think.¡± Blake eyed the armed men ¨C guards, he realised ¨C that were converging on his location. ¡°Where¡¯s that?¡± ¡°Big glowin¡¯ tower, that-a-way.¡± The location could only be deduced because the line of towers continued in only one direction. The speaker guffawed. ¡°You¡¯ll be there in a minute!¡± Almost as soon as that response had finished, someone else cut in. ¡°You know Vin? The hunter? You¡¯re friends of his?¡± This person was much closer: a rough man in leather armour, his expression eerily still as he looked up at the young man. A quaver had shivered through his voice. Blake licked his lips beneath the bloodtech contraption. ¡°No- ¡° ¡°Yes!¡± answered Erin, much quieter but still distinctly, accursedly audible. ¡°We are!¡± ¡°Oh?¡± said the rough man. ¡°Well, he burned my brother alive, you filth!¡± The rough man charged forward and kicked the pile of crates. Suddenly, the firm press of a solid object beneath Blake¡¯s feet vanished and he was falling downwards through a maelstrom of dust, jabbed by the sharp corner of boxes all the way. His grunts blared outwards across the rapidly thinning crowd, and then red dirt met ribs with enough force to drive all air from his lungs. When the cloud cleared, the man was standing over him, a short sword gripped in his hand. Blake fumbled behind him for a non-existent axe, and began scrambling backwards moments too late. The blade sliced downwards and he rolled aside, but a swift boot to the torso stopped him from fleeing any further. The rough man¡¯s face contorted into fearsome rage. ¡°This is for- ¡° His threat transformed into a wheeze as he stumbled sideways. The sword trembled in one hand. The other dragged downward, folding around an arrow that had embedded itself in his back. With a scream, the man raised the sword again, and was immediately felled by another three projectiles embedding themselves into his back. Blake watched as the man angrily drew himself towards him. Two firm hands helped him to his feet, then shoved his backpack into his hands. He looked up to find Erin holding his arm, entranced by something. Tracing her gaze revealed a triple-layered line of at least a hundred warriors, the frontward lines wielding spears while the back held bows. Each were clad in hardened leather reinforced by steel. The wall of bristling weaponry stomped towards them and suddenly Blake came to the realisation that everyone had fled. An arrow landed nearby. ¡°We¡¯re unarmed!¡± he shouted, raising both hands. The muzzle amplified his voice, making it impossible to ignore. Some animal instinct drew his eyes towards a tall man in the third line, whose calloused hands slowly pulled back an arrow on the string of his bow. Several minute changes in the weapon¡¯s angle caused Blake¡¯s eyes to widen, and he prepared to grab Erin and dive behind the boxes. Erin raised her hands as well after a short delay. ¡°We¡¯re civilians!¡± With a mighty heave, the archer yanked back the arrow, only for another soldier to shove him and foul his aim. The two argued, both of their hands jabbing towards the two angrily. ¡°Go, go, go,¡± Blake whispered, and the two of them began following the rest of the crowd, who had departed in a flood of dust and stamping feet. He unstrapped the bloodtech device from his face, and after a moment¡¯s consideration, crammed it into the bag of his companion, running steps ahead. Their sprint easily outpaced the slow, methodical advance of the line of soldiers. The Spires of Heltia flickered past, and in any other circumstance Blake would¡¯ve stopped and gaped, yet the terrifying and wondrous spectacle of each tower, radiant with magic and mundane knowledge, flashed past as if they were nothing but air. ¡°Why didn¡¯t they kill us?¡± he panted. ¡°The Terms,¡± Erin replied without so much as a hitch in her breathing. She quickly pre-empted Blake¡¯s next question. ¡°Made by the Albrights after they rose to ascendency a century ago, in order to stop mass casualties from inter-House conflict.¡± Blake spent the next few moments deciphering that. ¡°Wait, they¡¯ve been kings for a century?¡± he asked, bewilderment overcoming fear. She chuckled. ¡°Yes, Blake. The Houses as we know them are three centuries old. Except Heltia, which is a little over one.¡± ¡°Damn. That¡¯s¡­ a long¡­. time, huh?¡± His eyebrows furrowed for a moment, then he snapped back to the reality of their desperate flight. ¡±So these ¡®Terms¡¯,¡± he said, stopping momentarily to continue panting, ¡°stop Houses from killin¡¯ people, right?¡± Erin nodded as they slammed into the back of the crowd, who had gathered around a lift on the outside of a Spire with fabrics hung periodically for each level. A single, purple-tabarded guard was trying and failing to coordinate the evacuation. Blake turned to his companion and gestured for them to go around. They barged through the thinnest part of the crowd, incidentally pushing a thin woman to the ground. Immediately, Blake turned back to apologise, but she had already vanished under the feet of the fleeing masses. Beyond the screams of the woman, the army¡¯s inexorable advance continued, now only one Spire away. When he began running again, moments later, his face was significantly paler. Unperturbed, Erin continued her explanation. ¡°They blew a horn, which notifies the start of a battle according to the Terms. There are a few specifics, but the biggest one is that civilians ¨C the unarmed ¨C shouldn¡¯t be harmed.¡± ¡°But¡­¡± Blake said, shaking off the horrific image and continuing his previous train of thought, ¡°it¡¯s jus¡¯ for Houses, right?¡± ¡°Yes? Honestly, I didn¡¯t expect them to actually obey- ¡± ¡°Why aren¡¯t they wearin¡¯ any House colours?¡± Erin paused in her statement, and licked her lips. ¡°I¡­¡± She stopped for several moments, and Blake worried she would fall into anger at not knowing something again. ¡°¡­don¡¯t know,¡± the woman finished. Amidst a quick glance over his shoulder, Blake gave a grunt of affirmation. ¡°S¡¯okay mate.¡± He huffed as Erin sped up, the exertion taking its toll. ¡°How d¡¯you¡­ know this stuff, anyway?¡± His companion pointed ahead. ¡°That¡¯s the tower, isn¡¯t it?¡± Ahead of the running pair was a Spire distinguished from its fellows by the sheer amount of pulsating runework running up the side, the bizarre angles of the workings causing it to look like the scarring of a burn victim. Layered in front were lines of soldiers who clearly outnumbered the invading army at a glance. Among them were a dozen bearing obvious marks of Godsblood: the sallow pallor and thick bodies of Lizardbloods; the height and musculature of Oxbloods; the orange hair and sclera of Foxbloods. Blake wondered how the House kept such advanced Blooded¡¯s impulses in check. As they sprinted towards the lines, the young man sighted several strange contraptions through the sweat blurring his vision. Blinking coalesced them into discrete objects in front of the Heltian forces: pieces of machinery in the shapes of crossbows, slings, or tubes, all blazing with the purple light of charged bloodtech. Bemused-looking individuals stood next to each, blinking owlishly at the world around them. One furious officer was screaming at a Foxblood, demanding to know how their patrols had missed something as large as an incoming army, especially seeing as they¡¯d have to be carrying their supplies with them. The Blooded cocked an eyebrow at the man and, grinning widely, informed him they were likely dead. Another angry yell was borne with an increasingly dangerous silence. Blake tried to ask Erin whether they should go around, but the question transformed into a dull wheeze. His legs ached as he slammed himself forward and his stomach screamed in defiance of its abuse. All the while, his lungs tried and failed to pull and push sufficient air through his lungs. The muscular woman was pulling ahead, and he wondered how she had the energy to do so. Despite his fears of being blasted with magic, the line shifted to allow them through. As soon as he passed them, Blake noticed his pace slowing without his command and keeled over, huffing in great gasps of air. A shove to the back sent him stumbling forward, a glance behind revealing a furious soldier. He staggered onward, and ¡®Bars¡¯ drew closer and closer, looming so high that simply looking at it made him dizzy. Where were the low, sensible, sandstone of the Foot? Blake scowled. Leagues distant, in a place that was no longer his home. Then he regained enough coherency to hear the approach of a hundred pairs of boots. Far paler, he stumbled forward. In front of the tower, Erin was gesticulating wildly at a massively hairy Oxblood, whose face was marred by a bruised lip and blood-soaked bandage over one eye. The Blooded held a halberd beside him, and despite being the only soldier guarding the entrance, Blake knew better than to try to muscle past. He could recognise the clenching jaw of a man seconds away from taking a swing a league away, and hurriedly yanked his companion back before her head could get punched off its neck. ¡°What my friend ¡®ere meant t¡¯say, sir, is¡­¡± He turned to the slightly taller woman and hissed at her. ¡°What did¡¯ya say?¡± ¡°We need to get in there!¡± she snapped towards the huge Blooded, scowling fiercely. ¡°Shut up, idiot!¡± he whispered, shoving her back. ¡°Sorry, sir¡­ I didn¡¯t catch your name?¡± ¡°Dervin,¡± the Oxblood spat angrily. ¡°An¡¯ tell your girlfrien¡¯ to back off, ¡®les she get a nice time in jail.¡± The accent was so unfamiliar it took Blake several seconds to decipher it. ¡°Yeah, absolutely. Situation bein¡¯ as it is, both of us understand you.¡± Erin sighed, then nodded. ¡°I am sorry. I didn¡¯t even- ¡° ¡°Great,¡± Dervin rumbled. He leaned forward. ¡°Now get outta here.¡± Blake licked his lips. ¡°¡­But, y¡¯know, we needa get in there.¡± Something dangerous fell into the lines of the Blooded¡¯s face. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Bhan ¨C the Face ¨C we need to talk t¡¯him.¡± Dervin took one hand and rubbed his face. ¡°Ah, gods. ¡¯im again.¡± ¡°Again?¡± ¡°Spendin¡¯ ¡®alf me day lettin¡¯ Vin in,¡± the Oxblood muttered to himself, ¡°an¡¯ then ¡®e comes an¡¯ asks me for- ¡° ¡°Vin?¡± Erin said. ¡°Bhan¡¯s apprentice?¡± Had they been a few years younger, Blake would¡¯ve slugged her in the face. But, unlike him, she¡¯d never stopped growing, and he was now confident that the return punch would knock him senseless. He settled for backing up a few steps and hoping that this Blooded didn¡¯t hold a vendetta against Orvi. Who had burned a man to death. Blake swore quietly. The image was grotesque. The angry man must¡¯ve made a mistake. Dervin, though, was unbothered. ¡°Vin, aye. You know ¡®im?¡± Erin nodded. ¡°That¡¯s who we¡¯re looking for. We¡¯re hoping Bhan will know where he is.¡± The Oxblood laughed quietly. ¡°Bad luck. Vin¡¯s gone.¡± ¡°Gone?¡± Blake asked. He regarded them for a moment. ¡°e¡¯s dead.¡± The young man¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Whaddaya mean, he¡¯s dead?¡± Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. Dervin shrugged. ¡°You¡¯re one of th¡¯ fellas who want ¡®im? Well, someone gutted ¡®im before you could.¡± He sighed. ¡°Gods, I¡¯ve told you people more times than a ¡®ore ¡®as pox. Not th¡¯ bloody time for it, anyway.¡± Blake blinked. He blinked again. Within his torso, every organ rearranged itself into a system that no longer made sense. He stumbled over to the wall and fell against it. The pain in his lungs and stitch in his side were overwhelming, yet the phrase still rung in his head. ¡°He¡¯s dead?¡± Erin slumped next to him, staring into the distance. Suddenly, she punched the wall and immediately clutched her knuckles. The large Blooded stared at them, mildly bemused. ¡°Go on. Get outta ¡®ere. ¡®ole up somewhere, an¡¯ get that skinny bastard to eat something.¡± They ignored him. The young man folded his head into his arms, staring sightlessly into his tanned flesh. ¡°It¡¯s not like ¡®e¡¯s your kid or something. Move, ¡®fore I move you myself.¡± Erin quietly swore. ¡°For what?¡± she muttered. ¡°For what? I¡¯m so stupid.¡± Dervin¡¯s single eyeball watched the incoming army, now barely two hundred paces from his own forces. His hand clenched around his halberd hard enough for its monster-bone material to audibly creak. Erin grabbed the man beside. ¡°We¡¯ve got to find his body, Blake. We need to bury him.¡± He shook her off. ¡°Blake. This might be- ¡° ¡°Just another corpse, then,¡± he spat bitterly. ¡°Dead flesh won¡¯t thank you. Nothin¡¯ there t¡¯do the thankin¡¯.¡± He let out a strangled cry. ¡°Another game of make-believe, and the bloody fool too late t¡¯know it. Course it¡¯s like this.¡± ¡°He might not be- ¡° ¡°¡¯e¡¯s not,¡± Dervin announced, still gazing at the incoming forces. ¡°I lied.¡± The two young people whirled to stare at him. ¡°People¡¯re after ¡®im. ¡®ad to be careful.¡± Blake leapt to his feet. ¡°You bas- ¡° ¡°Where is he?¡± interrupted Erin. ¡°Vin¡¯s left,¡± Dervin stated blandly. ¡°Couldn¡¯t tell you where.¡± Both of them opened their mouths to say something, only to be interrupted by an all-consuming cacophony, piercing from above in a maelstrom of noise reminiscent of a thousand screeching cats, falling pans, and screaming babies. Even when Blake and Erin clamped their hands over their ears, the sound still permeated through their flesh and stabbed into their ears. Yet upon hearing the sound, Dervin ceased all movement. When its echo faded, he took a single, hesitant step backwards. His features were entirely still, having frozen moments after the sound started, as if they¡¯d been carved from a block of glacial ice. His mouth shivered open, then closed. It opened again. Words slipped from his mouth, heavy as tombstones. ¡°You need t¡¯go.¡± As soon as they stopped, he suddenly whirled. ¡°No, wait.¡± He fumbled a keyring from his belt, letting his halberd fall to the ground, and extracted several keys from it with trembling hands. He tossed three keys to Blake, who caught them in two hands. The young man had opened hundreds of locks in his lifetimes, yet it struck him as distinctly ironic that the first keys he¡¯d ever been given came from a complete stranger. The Oxblood pointed a finger at the two of him, his body turned to face something far away. ¡°Vin¡¯s going to Fort Vane. Th¡¯ keys I¡¯ve given you unlock Bhan¡¯s cell, in the basement of Bars. He¡¯ll know th¡¯ way, no mistake. You won¡¯ make a day t¡¯the west without ¡®im.¡± Blake faced him, unease filling him. ¡°What¡¯s goin¡¯ on, sir?¡± ¡°You find th¡¯ Vane boy, an¡¯ you tell ¡®em Spires is done.¡± Erin touched her companion¡¯s shoulder, seemingly unconscious of the act. ¡°What¡¯s- ¡° Davian¡¯s face twisted, falling into itself like water down a drain. ¡°An¡¯ you find Ronnie ¨C big Strain, should be with Vin ¨C an¡¯ you¡­¡± He paused, swallowing. ¡°You jus¡¯¡­ Say I¡­¡± Another pause. ¡°You tell ¡®em I¡¯m sorry. Tell ¡®em I¡¯m sorry I was such a coward.¡± ¡°What¡¯s happenin¡¯?¡± Blake pleaded. The Blooded spoke as he scooped up his halberd, hopping quickly on the balls of his feet. ¡°Go up Bars on your way out. Find somewhere sturdy.¡± He turned again, meeting each of their eyes in turn. ¡°An¡¯ don¡¯t free anyone else ¨C only Bhan can leave. ¡®e¡¯s the only safe one. Promise me.¡± ¡°Alright, okay!¡± said Blake, raising his arms. ¡°Just tell us what¡¯s happening!¡± Erin nodded firmly. Davian¡¯s wide eyes stared leagues distant, towards the heartwoods they¡¯d emerged from minutes ago. On the horizon, trees fell like wooden sticks, and a cloud of red and brown rose from a single point, as if some great, hulking inferno coursed towards their location. ¡°A god¡¯s coming.¡±
The pair were ushered inside the massive metal door, which creaked close after them. Erin began slamming a heavy steel deadbolt to its locked position afterwards, but Blake arrested her hand. He gestured outside. ¡°What about him?¡± Erin¡¯s eyes were wild. ¡°There¡¯s a god, Blake; there¡¯s a god. We need to get as many layers between it and us before it gets here, and¡­ ¡° ¡°Erin,¡± the young man said, grabbing her shoulders. She continued babbling, and he shook her once again. ¡°Erin! We¡¯ve done this before, alright? Survived Dure- ¡° ¡°Dure didn¡¯t come into the city, Blake!¡± she yelled, her short black hair shaking with the shivers of her head. ¡°Let me bolt the door- ¡° Seeing Erin so uncharacteristically panicked forced Blake to keep calm. ¡°Gods can¡¯t open doors, Erin. If the guys outside need t¡¯retreat, we can¡¯t bar the entrance.¡± His companion stopped. ¡°We¡¯re almost better off than we were, right?¡± Blake joked. ¡°Orvi¡¯s alive; we know where he is¡­ An¡¯ how many people can lip about seein¡¯ two gods in their lives, huh? Not bloody many.¡± ¡°Mostly ghosts, I imagine,¡± Erin muttered. ¡°Maybe.¡± He looked for any remaining signs of persisting panic in her face. Whatever fear had seeped into her had crawled back behind her eyes. ¡°Alright, c¡¯mon. We can¡¯t wait here.¡± They delved further into Bars, the tapping of their boots echoing through the otherwise silent halls. Its white walls were turned blue by whatever witchcraft burned within Heltia¡¯s lamps, and while tiny hooks were embedded periodically in their bone-like material, they were empty of all but the occasional short sword or empty sheath. Soon their first obstacle made itself apparent: neither of them knew how to get to the basement, and the sparse signage of the walls contained only single letters. Or so Erin told Blake ¨C the small symbols could¡¯ve told a three-act story and he¡¯d have no idea. Eventually, they ran past a circular chamber with a massive shaft yawning its middle, a single platform hanging precariously over the chasm. It latched onto sturdy pillars at either end, which were carved to create an alternating pattern of angular depressions. The contraption dug its teeth into both. To Blake¡¯s eyes, it resembled the wooden platforms that shot up the side of Spires; only formed of white spearwood and crenulated with additional magic symbols. Erin hopped the small gap and began examining an obelisk which jutted from the platform, a lever embedded in its side. Still looking at it, she spoke. ¡°This could take us down.¡± She turned back, staring at Blake, pressed against the wall of the room. ¡°Why are you over there? Hurry up.¡± He stared at the elevator. ¡°I¡¯m not gettin¡¯ on that.¡± ¡°Blake, we need to hurry.¡± He pushed his head further away, brushing the sparse hairs of his chin against the spearwood wall. ¡°That¡¯s bloody magic stuff.¡± ¡°Blake- ¡° ¡°We can find stairs. Easy.¡± ¡°There might not be stairs,¡± she snapped. ¡°Thing¡¯s god-work, Erin; could steal our souls.¡± ¡°Blake,¡± Erin said, her hand on the lever. ¡°Get on it, or I¡¯ll make you get on it.¡± The young man¡¯s eyes flicked to her, then back to the platform. He shuffled away from his spot, then leaned over the gap and peered down the shaft. Blue lights shined from its walls periodically, revealing organic growths of spearwood from each wall, dripping with muddy ooze. Then Erin grabbed him, yanked him onto the platform, and cranked the lever downward. Everything fell upward in a slow drift, accelerating until the world left Blake at a blur. Comprehension of his surroundings slipped past him like ash through outstretched hands. It was a familiar feeling, yet no less terrifying for it. Then their descent slowed, and finally stopped, the only hint at its existence new surroundings and a quiet anxiety resettling in his gut. Unlike the floor above, the halls outside their chamber bore no hint of previous adornment, and beneath the blue witch-lights its walls seemed to become a more putrid yellow. But the biggest difference was something Blake only noticed when Erin silently extended a hand to touch the nearby wall. Confused, he mirrored her gesture. Within the wrinkles of his palm, the surface quietly pulsed, each beat growing minutely closer to its neighbour the more time progressed. At any other time, he might¡¯ve mistaken it for some kind of performance, but the young man could only identify it as one thing: the building cadence of a monstrously large entity, indefatigably accelerating. Erin stared blankly at the wall. His voice fell into a whisper. ¡°Oi.¡± She started, and quietly loped into the nearest hallway. He quickly followed, glancing over his shoulder before he left. They followed a large, slightly curving hallway, nearly missing the first door in their haste to find an exit. Erin managed to process it several steps after they passed it, and quickly motioned for Blake to follow her back. It was a door carved from the same spearwood as Bars itself, sized for someone much larger than either of them. Several deadbolts were embedded into its outside keeping it from opening, which Erin hastily slammed aside. Both grasped the protruding bolts, and together, the two of them managed to slowly pull the weighty slab open. An immensely bright light assailed them. Rapid blinking managed to coalesce the room into something comprehensible: a small area with a long table in the centre, two chains shackled to the floor at the end further from them. Blake shaded his eyes and walked to the other side of the room, where another door sat. This one was similar to the first, except in addition to the deadbolts there was a keyhole. He fumbled with the keys in hand, jamming each into the depression and jiggling it. Finding the right key took long enough that he almost wished he''d tried to lockpick it instead, but on his second round of shoving the three keys in Blake turned it at just the right angle. A dull clunk reverberated through the door. In response, several hoarse cries sounded from the other side. Blake glanced at Erin, who withdrew a javelin from its holster. He left his wood-axe where it was, instead choosing to unsheathe the bronze dagger in his belt. They exchanged a quick look, then heaved the door open. The other side contained a winding hallway, similar to the one they¡¯d been in moments before but distinguished by its steeper curvature and the closet-sized cages embedded in either side, their bars seemingly wrought from the spearwood of the spire itself. And the cages seemed to be meant for human use; the one across from Blake contained a low cot and a small hole in its floor, edges smeared with¡­ Before he could inspect it in full, another set of hoarse yells emanated from down the hallway, empty of language but full of desperation. Erin suddenly stiffened, and following her gaze, Blake realised that while most of the cells were uniform in their emptiness, many were not. Atop the cots, sprawled upon the floor or slumped against the bars, were people. Jaws yawned below empty eyes, bloody gums absent of teeth. Hands were wrapped in crimson bandages, digits unnaturally short beneath the soaked wraps. Some were missing limbs in their entirety, cleanly severed with the flesh of the stumps smeared together, as if they¡¯d been held in a fire. Somehow, none of the wounds seemed infected, yet the men and women kept prisoner had died anyway. ¡°Raven¡¯s bones,¡± Blake whispered. The hallway¡¯s curve vanished behind itself. Walking down its clean white floor, with a procession of tortured souls on either side, seemed ghastly. He looked at a woman, eyes and mouth made gaping chasms, and shivered. ¡°Why¡­?¡± He¡¯d seen worse devastation. A decade ago, when those that remained in the Foot grew ill, ejecting water and food and dying steeped in their own filth. And again, four years ago: the bodies of hundreds of volunteer soldiers, skin covered in pustules oozing fluid, swollen limbs still twitching with the desire to live. He¡¯d only been saved by outstretched hands. The sights had nearly undone him, both times; but here was not the feckless destruction of nature. Nor was it the desperate gambit of those fighting for their survival, grasping at other¡¯s lives yet bearing no ill-will. Blake wanted more than anything to deny the truth, but it was writ too plainly to conceal: here were the finger-prints of humanity, indelible and deliberate, carving hatred and sadism into a single, impossible scene. He had never seen anything like it. ¡°Why?¡± he repeated dumbly. He bent over and retched, and the thin dribble of water that emerged seemed pathetic. Erin shook her head, the bright lights of the hall casting her features in grim shadow. ¡°Is anyone alive?¡± she called down the hall. The response was more coherent this time: weak voices responding in the affirmative in both directions. Blake¡¯s eyes flashed back and forth, searching for whatever monster caused such agony. It took a moment to realise that they¡¯d most likely left it at the entrance. A strangled groan left his mouth. Underneath the harsh, unrelenting light, nothing was said. Erin had already started walking away. He followed, head full of hands and masks. Blake plodded forward, carefully avoiding the sight of those around him. Occasionally, he would glimpse a body leaning against the wall of a cage, and tucked in the corner of his eye fear and anxiety did its work, transforming the corpses into creatures staring past flesh, bone, and the paltry amount of Oxblood within him, their ethereal eyes boring into the common blood that marked him and everything he¡¯d ever known. That was why he missed a body standing up, reaching through the bars, and grabbing his wrist. A guttural scream left his lips, accompanied by an instinctual wrenching of his arm that nearly broke his joint. Within the cage, a tall, muscular woman glared at him, her dark eyes boring into his. Her black skin was cut with shallow wrinkles, while her hair showed the first hints of grey. She wore the same ragged tunics of the other prisoners, only marred with less blood. But most arresting of all were the numerous scars carved across her face: clean and straight as blades. He heaved backwards, slamming her into the spearwood bars of her cage. The woman groaned as her other arm ¨C cradled against her chest with each finger twisted unnaturally ¨C but did not release him. ¡°Lemme out, kid,¡± she hissed through a face contorted in pain. ¡°Haven¡¯t eaten fer days. I¡¯ll make it worth yer while; promise.¡± ¡°Me neither, Miss,¡± came Blake¡¯s tremulous response. He brandished his knife in his other hand. ¡°Lemme go, we-we can talk.¡± Her arm trembled as she eyed him. ¡°Fine.¡± The sudden release of pressure caused him to fall backwards onto his arse, the back of his head smashing into the bars of the opposite cage. He clutched it silently, right as Erin slid beside him, feeling around his head. ¡°Are you okay?¡± the young woman asked, then turned and glared at the prisoner. ¡°How are you alive?¡± She chuckled, then coughed harshly. ¡°Tough n¡¯ scary, I guess.¡± The woman gripped the bars, and rested her head on the gap between them. ¡°Listen: I¡¯m Val. Yer not Heltia; ¡®f you leave me, they¡¯ll starve me. Or worse,¡± she said, flicking her head towards the corpses. ¡°Be a fellow an¡¯ lemme out.¡± ¡°You¡¯re here for a reason,¡± declared Erin blandly. ¡°Nothin¡¯ t¡¯deserve this. Killed a man in self-defence; jus¡¯ so happened he was a guard. Didn¡¯ believe me.¡± Val raised her eyebrows. ¡°So I¡¯m here.¡± ¡°You¡¯re lying.¡± ¡°Do I deserve to starve t¡¯death, or be tortured?¡± she said, addressing Blake. He massaged his wrist, swallowing. Her eyes flicked across his body. ¡°Who does? These people ain¡¯t people. People don¡¯t do this.¡± Blake nodded, slowly. Val looked him in the eyes. ¡°You get it,¡± she whispered. ¡°S¡¯gotta be ¡®cause Heltia¡¯s ruled by a Blooded, right? Only Blooded could do this.¡± ¡°Blake,¡± Erin warned. ¡°We promised him.¡± ¡°We didn¡¯t know¡­ this, Erin,¡± he protested. ¡°She wouldn¡¯t be here ¨C she wouldn¡¯t be alive ¨C if she wasn¡¯t dangerous.¡± ¡°You let me out; I won¡¯t hurt you,¡± said Val gently. ¡°Promise.¡± ¡°They-they¡¯re monsters, Erin,¡± he pleaded. ¡°Godkin. They¡¯ve surrendered their humanity.¡± ¡°Monsters didn¡¯t do this, Blake.¡± ¡°If we leave her here, she¡¯s done for.¡± ¡°If you try to let her out,¡± warned Erin, ¡°I¡¯ll stop you. We don¡¯t have time- ¡± Val pounded the bars with her hands, then sighed. ¡°Least lend me some food, then.¡± Blake took off his pack and fumbled through it, withdrawing a beaten, grainy chunk of bread. Erin visibly startled. ¡°You have bread?¡± ¡°I was savin¡¯ it. If we were, uh, close to the edge.¡± Val stepped back a little. The young man was extending the chunk through the bars when she surged forward, good arm snapping through the barrier to grasp the keys tucked in his belt. However, before she could withdraw Erin¡¯s hands wrapped around her wrist and wrenched it, forcing the prisoner to release the keys. Blake snatched them and backed away when Erin let go. Val stumbled backwards several steps, then moved forward again, arm flailing for Erin¡¯s coat. The young woman managed to back away. ¡°I¡¯ll gut you, girl!¡± Val screamed, spittle flying from her mouth. ¡°You¡¯ll be holdin¡¯ yer bloody entrails and wishin¡¯ you¡¯d helped me! I¡¯ll make you swallow yer tongue! You¡¯ll beg fer yer godsdamn lives! No gods or monsters¡¯ll do as much; just wait!¡± They backed away, and ran. Obscenities and threats echoed around the grotesque sights of the prison, following them as they dashed down the curving hall. Their flight covered enough ground that within moments, they sighted their target. He stood out: amongst the sea of dead, he was the only one left unharmed. ¡°Eyah, fellows,¡± he called through his bars. ¡°You met- ¡± ¡°You¡¯re Face Bhan?¡± asked Erin. His brows furrowed. ¡°I am him.¡± ¡°Who¡¯s your apprentice, then?¡± ¡°Face Vin,¡± he responded monotonously. ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Where were you two years ago?¡± she fired rapidly. ¡°When you performed the Divinity about the Fox and the Owl?¡± ¡°Ach. I do not remember.¡± He drummed his fingers. ¡°Likely small town in bushland.¡± ¡°It¡¯s him,¡± announced Blake. Erin shrugged. The two of them approached the gate carved into the bars. ¡°What happening?¡± Bhan said, backing away from the bars. He raised his hands. ¡°I know nothing. I was performing Divinity that night, in commons; ask Dervin. You know this.¡± ¡°What?¡± said Blake, sparing a confused glance at the man while he attempted to find the right key for the lock. Erin snatched the keys off him and began doing so herself. ¡°No, no, no.¡± The Face backed away further. ¡°Bad luck to hurt Face. Don¡¯t- ¡± ¡°Mate, we¡¯re gettin¡¯ you out,¡± assured Blake. Bhan shot him a disbelieving look. ¡°There¡¯s a, uh, there¡¯s a god coming. And- ¡° ¡°What?¡± snapped the worn man. ¡°Why we leaving?¡± ¡°Dervin told us t¡¯go up, find a good place.¡± ¡°What god can break spear-towers?¡± murmured Bhan. Moments later, he opened his mouth. ¡°Ah. Why would¡­ No, why me?¡± Erin gave a hiss of annoyance as her trembling hands fumbled another key. ¡°We¡¯re lookin¡¯ for Orvi.¡± ¡°You would know him as Vin,¡± Erin interjected. Bhan frowned, backing further away. ¡°What he do?¡± ¡°Known him since I was¡­¡± The young man paused. ¡°Eight? Nine? Long time.¡± ¡°He is friend?¡± asked the Face. ¡°Yeah. Ran off. Been lookin¡¯ for him.¡± ¡°Why you so late?¡± Blake stopped. ¡°He needed friends.¡± Behind the bars, the worn man scowled. ¡°Need friends. You late. Years late.¡± Silently, his jaw opened and shut. A withering glare affixed his gaze. Eventually, he worked enough saliva into his mouth to speak. ¡°You don¡¯t- ¡° An immense impact rumbled the walls and floor of the tower, fierce enough to send everyone present sprawling. Before Blake could recover, a shudder ran through his entire body, bubbling into a slightly more piercing pain in his chest and skull. Alien tastes and scents flooded his tongue and nose, yet despite its bizarreness, the entire experience was faint: as if happening to someone very far away. Erin seemed less lucky. She trembled on the floor, arms wrapped around her head. A low groan escaped her mouth. Bhan stared at the two of them, bewildered. ¡°You hurt?¡± the Face asked, as if trying an ill-fitting cloak. His only response was Blake smacking the side of his head, like a mason smacking an offensive lump of protruding stone. The young man cracked the side of his neck once, then hauled himself to his feet, snatching the keys that had fallen next to Erin¡¯s form. She was rapidly regaining her composure. With an ironic twist, the first key he tried unlocked the gate. Blake rubbed his eyes. ¡°I dunno.¡± He yanked the cage¡¯s door open, then heaved Erin to her feet. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡± The Face raised a hand. ¡°Wait.¡± ¡°We gotta find somewhere safe- ¡° ¡°The woman ¨C Jackal ¨C she quieter.¡± A brief pause demonstrated the truth of Bhan¡¯s statement: no longer did the prisoner constantly yell threats after them. Instead, her voice was joined by a much quieter one. ¡°¡­I¡¯m trying!¡± someone hissed. Val¡¯s response dripped with mockery. ¡°Blood; a blind toad could do better.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not- ¡° An angry pause. ¡°You think it was easy to get in here? You¡¯re not even our secondary objective- ¡° ¡°Lotta excuses, not a lotta unlocking.¡± As their words faded into incoherence, Bhan blanched, his skin taking on a green pallor. ¡°Jackal is getting out.¡± ¡°Whaddaya mean, Jackal? You talkin¡¯ ¡®bout that lady?¡± As both an animal and a name, the word was only vaguely familiar. ¡°She important?¡± The Face hastily pushed his way out of the cage, moving the opposite direction they¡¯d entered from. By Blake¡¯s estimation the hall was circular, meaning they¡¯d reach the entrance anyway, however it was still the longer route. He and Erin exchanged looks, then followed, imitating Bhan¡¯s quiet tread. Every step could be measured by the tortured bodies in each cell, their features so decimated they barely resembled humans. The murmurs of distant discussion were no longer recognisable as words; instead, the echo seemed to be the low muttering of each body. Blake couldn¡¯t stand it. ¡°Why¡¯re you so spooked?¡± he whispered in Bhan¡¯s ear. The man maintained his silent walk. ¡°She will kill us.¡± ¡°There¡¯s three of us and two of them.¡± ¡°One.¡± Blake¡¯s head whipped around, briefly turning from the hall ahead. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Three of us and one of her.¡± He frowned. The words were individually sensible, but as a whole flew in the face of reality. His reasoning soon made itself apparent. A sudden shout pierced through the quiet. ¡°You have to help us!¡± Whatever response the woman gave was dominated by the echoes of that plea. ¡°Help us!¡±, the walls called. ¡°Help us¡­¡±, said the empty cells, ¡°help us¡­¡±, murmured the bodies. ¡°Us¡­¡± trailed away into oblivion. Another yell. ¡°¡­But you¡¯re the Jackal!¡± Val chuckle resounded from every angle, low and harsh. ¡°Maybe th¡¯ name¡¯s makin¡¯ you think I¡¯m like a god.¡± A short pause. ¡°Maybe I am. But my business ain¡¯t with gods. It¡¯s with humans.¡± Her saviour growled. ¡°If you¡¯re not going to- ¡° A faint snap resounded, like a vulture¡¯s cry on a misty night. Moments later, it was followed by the dull metallic moan of a blade being drawn from a sheath. ¡°You coulda saved me, boy! Girl!¡± The sudden bellow jolted the trio, and Blake and Erin began pushing the Face faster. ¡°Fer nothin¡¯; no skin off your back! But you was gonna let me die!¡± Her next words were lower, but still audible. ¡°An¡¯ kiddos? I jus¡¯ can¡¯t let that lie.¡± Silence reigned over the stagnant air. Bhan¡¯s clear fear urged the other two to increase their speed, gradually accelerating their rapid walk into a sprint. Then suddenly the door they¡¯d entered from was there, and Bhan and Erin barged through, winding around its back to begin shoving it shut. Though Blake followed bare moments later, he was a moment too late to avoid sighting the Jackal¡¯s rictus grin emerging from the round of the hall at a sprint, sword clutched in her good hand. ¡°Go!¡± he shouted, slipping past the spearwood door and grabbing one of the room¡¯s two chairs. A moment of confusion came and went as Erin and Bhan paused, turned, and ran out the opposite door. The gap was too narrow for either to pass easily, and after a moment, Erin exited, yanking Bhan with her. Their hesitation gave their pursuer enough time to follow through the crack. Though she halted to ward off Blake¡¯s hurled chair, when he hurtled out of the blinding room she was only seconds behind. By this point, the tanned young man had spent most of the past hour running, mindless of starvation¡¯s slow burn ravaging his stomach. The encroaching fatigue was familiar in the same way a dying person¡¯s terminal illness was; Blake knew that his terror could only slow exhaustion¡¯s approach for so long. And when it finally fell upon him, his dagger wouldn¡¯t match a sword. Neither would the warped shaft of his wood-axe, even if he managed to draw it in time. Any obstructions to his flight would end with a blade through the spine. Yet while one half of his mind wryly counted the odds, the other felt the placement of his feet and the slap of the bag upon his spine; saw the backs of those in front drift closer and farther according to the drive of his legs; heard the Jackal¡¯s gasps behind him. For the briefest moment, he imagined turning around and facing her. Her furious gaze, now unlocked from her spearwood cage, prevented the thought from moving further than his death. Fear drove him. In the end, it drove him faster than the Jackal¡¯s spite could keep up with. One after the other, Blake saw his fellows dip around a corner. When he followed them, he found the elevator they¡¯d left behind already beginning to lift, its runes alight with purple energy. Erin¡¯s hand lay atop the lever on its central pedestal. He leapt up on the gap, smashing his shin against the contraption¡¯s rising edge and tumbling into the legs of Bhan. As the lowest floor of the Spire stole away from him, he glimpsed the Jackal¡¯s face: mouth stretched into a thin grin; sharp eyes watching him beneath raised brows. Then she was gone, left alongside the empty halls and cells full of mangled bodies. He shuffled onto his back, and thought of Dervin and the broken dead. Blake¡¯s eyes were fixed on the yawning shaft above him, its walls alternating between light and darkness according to the designs of purple lamps. ¡°Bhan?¡± he asked. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°Did Orvi¡­ or Vin¡­¡± He swallowed. ¡°¡­Kill someone?¡± ¡°¡­It is the way of the world.¡± A growth bulged from the spearwood walls of the shaft, and the play of luminance and shadow made him unsure whether it would hit them or not. It flashed past, and he flinched. Yet even that did not stop his question. ¡°No, I mean¡­ Did he, uh¡­ Burn a man to death?¡± The young man heard the Face¡¯s mouth open, then audibly close. The long silence gave an answer before words could. ¡°I do not know.¡± An image flashed through Blake¡¯s mind: a man engulfed in cackling flames, a lone silhouette lurking behind. He missed home. Chapter 45 - God of Force The shaft they were slowly travelling up shook like a branch in the wind, snapping the elevator¡¯s teeth off one of its pillars and sending it listing downward. Erin grabbed its upward-facing edge, while Blake slammed his head into the spearwood and began sliding downwards. Only Bhan ¨C gripping one of Erin¡¯s legs ¨C prevented him from falling down the shaft by grabbing a handful of hair. The two men seized the moment to clamber up next to Erin. Blake spat a wad of bloodied saliva down the shaft as the lift carried upwards. ¡°This thing¡¯ll eat our souls- ¡± Something screamed ¨C all-encompassing ¨C and the scream coursed through everything that he was. It was the same feeling that had assailed him amongst the cages; a pale shadow of something greater. And though the contours of the sound were different, and the accompanying sensation remained unlike anything he¡¯d experienced before, he recognised the scream. Everything about that cacophony had been different four years ago ¨C everything except magnitude. A god was screaming. Erin¡¯s hands slipped as she groaned. Her weak fumbling scraped the side of the lilting shaft, barely slowing her fall. Blake quickly hooked his boots under her armpits, then released a strangled grunt as her weight was added to his fingertips. Bhan ¨C entirely unaffected by the shout ¨C glanced at them, a quiet consideration in his eyes. It vanished as the elevator clanked dangerously, the teeth clamping around the remaining pillar coming slightly out of alignment. ¡°We need to get off,¡± he said, wide eyes burrowing into the teetering pillar. ¡°Sure,¡± Blake grunted sarcastically, his face turning red from exertion, ¡°but where?¡± They hadn¡¯t even passed the first floor yet. The Face raised his chin towards a set of patterns worked into the shaft, which Blake belatedly realised was a ladder carved into the spearwood. Its rungs jutted from the wall, meaning anyone climbing it would have a strenuous time even gripping them. ¡°No.¡± His jaw trembled. ¡°No. How¡¯re we even- ¡° He groaned as Erin gripped his legs and clambered up his back. Once her hands were securely on the lip, she carefully pulling herself on top of it. The platform wobbled at the redistributed weight. ¡°Stop, stop,¡± Blake stuttered, ¡°it¡¯s gonna fall.¡± When she finished hauling herself onto the narrow ledge that had formed, the muscular woman spoke. ¡°This¡¯s the only decent place to jump from.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t do that,¡± the young man snapped. In better conditions, he¡¯d traversed more strenuous climbs, but with a backpack pulling him down and several weeks of slow starvation fouling his muscles, it was all he could do not to fall. ¡°I can see the cogs right now,¡± Erin stated, looking at the teeth. An interjection died on his lips as he puzzled out the unfamiliar term. ¡°They¡¯re nearly out of alignment. We don¡¯t have time.¡± ¡°If Bars shakes again, we¡¯ll fall.¡± ¡°No different here,¡± said Bhan. ¡°Jump, girl.¡± Blake heard her draw in a deep breath, then set the platform wobbling as she leapt for the ladder. A muffled grunt was the only sign she¡¯d latched on. Next to him, the worn Face leaned backwards, peering downward. Filthy curses erupted from the man¡¯s mouth, and he hugged the platform tighter. The man¡¯s arms trembled with exertion. ¡°Waiting is good,¡± stated Bhan, wide-eyed. As if replying to his assertion, the contraption¡¯s upward momentum stuttered whilst simultaneously releasing a sound like two blades scraping together. Somehow, it listed upwards as the purple symbols lit across its body flared then fell heavily as they begun to fade, nearly throwing the two men off it. ¡°Jump, jump, jump,¡± Blake muttered to himself, imagining the tensing of his muscles and the arc his flight must take. He released one hand from the lip and began lining up his shot. His limbs were full of nervous energy, yet for whatever reason his head refused to make the call. Then the platform made another sound and he yelled and pushed himself off, and then he was in the air above the chasm¡¯s vast maw and gravity took him at the height of the arc and began pulling him downward and a strangled scream erupted from his throat as he pushed his feet forward and they jarred atop a rung and he flailed as he tried to find a grip and wrapped his hands around it and nearly slipped until he realised that the rungs had space behind them for his fingers. He panted, shivering. Above him now, the elevator continued upwards, Bhan a dark stain on its back. ¡°Move.¡± Erin¡¯s voice echoed from below Blake. He hastily swung to the side, allowing her to clamber past him. As she continued, her climb began to slightly outpace the contraption¡¯s speed. While the woman¡¯s thick arms scuttled onto every second bar, her mouth screamed ¡°Jump! I¡¯ll catch you!¡± The Face¡¯s increasingly distant figure gazed down the shaft, then at Erin. After a moment, he leapt, and though his flailing arms missed her outstretched hands they did manage to catch onto her pack. The short-haired woman lurched backwards as a grown man¡¯s full weight hung off her, and the bag¡¯s straps creaked audibly, but Blake scrambled upwards in time to wrap an arm around Bhan and pull him between them. While the platform shuddered onwards, the trio awkwardly occupied the same rungs on the spearwood ladder. ¡°Look at that,¡± blurted Blake, jerking his head upwards. ¡°The weird-magic-thing is fine.¡± His companion studiously avoided looking at it. ¡°It would¡¯ve broken in moments, anyway.¡± He looked over Bhan¡¯s head at her. ¡°Yeah?¡± ¡°With our weight, I mean.¡± ¡°Yeah?¡± ¡°It would¡¯ve!¡± He sighed. ¡°How¡¯re we alive?¡± ¡°By the blood, I swear- ¡° ¡°Boy; girl.¡± Bhan alternated his stares between them as he interjected. ¡°If god hits tower again, we fall.¡± A quick nod was Erin¡¯s only acknowledgement before she began clambering upwards. Just in case the older man fell, Blake gestured for the Face to go before him. With a weary caress of his lightly-wrinkled eyes, the man gave a nod and followed. The climb to the next level was mercifully short, and contained only one major obstacle: a gnarled whorl of spearwood growing from the ladder large enough to entirely block their path. Fortunately, his axe was just the right shape to wedge into the next rung over, which allowed Erin ¨C coat gripped by the two others in case its haft broke ¨C to pull herself over the growth and help yank the other two up. Moments after they climbed onto the landing, the entirety of the tower shook, throwing all present to the ground. Like a dog slurping its own bile, the shaft yawned greedily behind Blake. He barely managed to avoid falling down it. Once again, his bones reverberated with the strength of the god¡¯s scream, nearly defeating his attempts to rise. But its hold on him hadn¡¯t been strong the first time, and though he was incapable of vanquishing the alien colours dancing across his tongue and the echoing of the howl in his mind, Blake¡¯s muscles obeyed their master. He pushed himself upright, and hauled the groaning Erin to her feet. ¡°You Blooded, then?¡± It took a moment to recognise the voice as Bhan¡¯s. Unable to stop himself blinking repeatedly, he simply nodded. ¡°Weakest Oxblood you¡¯ll ever meet.¡± After a brief pause, he continued. ¡°I¡¯m Blake, by the way.¡± ¡°The Face Bhan,¡± the other man replied in turn. ¡°And the girl?¡± ¡°Erin.¡± ¡°No. What is- ¡° Bhan locked eyes with something behind Blake, then frowned disapprovingly. A sharp turn revealed it to be just Erin. ¡°We go, yes?¡± The hairs on the back of Blake¡¯s neck raised. He rubbed them down. ¡°Alright.¡± Ten steps outside of the chamber lay a sight that forced all of them to halt. Great cracks had formed on the outer wall of the spire, fragments of broken spearwood dusting the floor of the hallway. Yet even in the sturdiest sections of that which remained, a purple glow emanated through solid material and set the light within the tower warbling, as if it were a fish on the end of a hook. In the absence of the cacophony that had driven Erin and Blake to their knees, the only remaining sound was a faint ringing, and the distant, animal sounds of screams. That deep silence was broken by Bhan whispering: ¡°Speartrees do not break.¡± Like a moth to flame, Blake drew closer to a wide tear in the wall and placed his eyes upon it. His breathing quickened. Minutes earlier, the Spires of Heltia had been like something from a dream. A city wherein humanity did not live with their feet on the ground, but scaled titanic spikes instead ¨C bone-white and slowly transforming into sharp points. Those he¡¯d asked had told him these towers were trees, but the statement became impossible when confronted by the sight of them; so great, wide, and tall that they escaped the feeble confines of language and became something truly singular. And those that lived in Spires adorned these tolerant monoliths in colours and carvings; frowned and laughed and created and destroyed and made lives under their wings. Blake had not known whether the dream was wondrous or nightmarish, but it remained a dream all the same. That dream had been brought to the dirt. Directly in front of him was a row of collapsed spires: four burst from the base and toppled in every direction. Whatever force had broken them was temporarily halted at Bars. For a moment, Blake felt relief. Then he realised that the collapse of four towers had pulled down every level they were connected to. Amidst the rubble were tiny creatures, made ant-like by distance. Countless insects, ubiquitous enough to be grotesque, scattered as if a child had poured water over their nest. Blake fell backwards, yet the vision did not fall away. It lingered on the black of his closed eyelids. The retching of his companions was muted by the enormity of it all. A low keening sounded from his throat. The creatures were not ants. And though they did not move, some lingered in their mortal forms to witness the sea of human detritus. With what remaining life they had, they howled. Though he did not remember doing so, Blake had found his feet. Mutely, the young man felt for his fellows and found their shoulders. Bhan acceded to his pulling quickly, however Erin¡¯s gaze lingered a moment longer. Within the cast of her face lay the horror frozen to their souls, yet something else chipped past that ice. A snarl, full of teeth.
The tower shook twice more before they found the stairs, each shudder driving more and more cracks through its surface. Unlike the other spires, the damage seemed to be spreading evenly across the entirety of its surface. Blake vaguely concluded it was witchcraft, then continued plodding upwards. Each step he took returned more sensation to his body. The image of what lay outside receded into the darkness found in an eyelid¡¯s flutter, yet even the lightest of brushes provoked it into surging back. Slowly but surely, the ground in which they stood was falling apart. A reacquaintance with that truth drove his legs faster, and that change in pattern stirred the group from its stupor. In their short, slurred words the question of their own survival was raised. There was only one reasonable answer: to shelter in one of the remaining Spires, and hope circumstance led the god away. Neither Blake nor Erin knew the city beyond its dying convulsions, so the specifics fell to Bhan. In the end, the Face settled on Wastes. It was the closest remaining spire to where the god had entered from, and Bhan theorised the god was more likely to go forward than back. In addition, Vin ¨C Orvi, Blake reminded himself ¨C had told his master where his home was. They could cower there until¡­ As the minutes passed, the thing they¡¯d seen settled into the cracks of their skin, slowly digested into their brain and blood. Understanding was accompanied by an increasing urgency in their movements. Even so, every step was sluggish, dogged by exhaustion¡¯s weighty fangs. And whenever the tower shook and the god screamed itself into alien explosions of sensation, they¡¯d be forced to slow. Despite that, Blake still felt the stairway ended too soon. Accompanied by Erin¡¯s rigid back and Bhan¡¯s unsteady footsteps, he jogged around the outer hallway until they reached a lone gate in its contours, wrought from heavy metal bars with a single small keyhole in its edge. ¡°This go to Nests,¡± announced the Face suddenly. Blake shot him a look of incomprehension. ¡°Nest of Heltia.¡± His pock-marked face warped as he squinted. ¡°Yeah, I got that.¡± ¡°Ach,¡± Bhan spat. ¡°House Heltia home.¡± ¡°Raven¡¯s charred bones,¡± Blake swore. ¡°No way we have a key for that. There another way out?¡± ¡°Spire in front is gone, spire to the back should- ¡° ¡°Try them.¡± Erin¡¯s demand cut through the exchange. ¡°We don¡¯t have time- ¡° ¡°If- ¡° She shook her head. ¡°When the god breaks Bars, it¡¯ll go right through the tower behind as well. This is the only way.¡± Blake licked his lips, then nodded. He fumbled the keys from one of his coat pockets, then shoved one into the lock. ¡°If it doesn¡¯t work, maybe you can pick- ¡° A sharp click resounded throughout the empty hall. The very first key he tried turned in the lock. Before he could push open the door, someone spoke from behind them. ¡°Well, lookee here.¡± They turned to find Val standing behind them, having stepped from one of the adjoining rooms. ¡°Waitin¡¯ paid off.¡± ¡°Jackal,¡± Bhan greeted. He wore a carefully neutral expression. ¡°Face,¡± the older woman replied in turn. ¡°You keep bad company.¡± ¡°They help me.¡± ¡°Didn¡¯ help me, did they?¡± Her mouth stretched into a smile, becoming another straight scar on her face. ¡°Left me t¡¯die. Can¡¯ forget somethin¡¯ like that.¡± ¡°They children- ¡° ¡°They old enough t¡¯know better.¡± She pursed her lips in consideration. ¡°Besides; lettin¡¯ ¡®em go wouldn¡¯ help my reputation none.¡± She stepped forward, caressing the hilt of her sword. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. Blake shoved the gate open while Erin quickly drew a javelin from her bag. Those present stilled. ¡°If you come any closer, I¡¯ll nail you to the ground.¡± The muscular woman held her weapon, poised to throw. Blake slowly turned his gaze to the walkway the gate opened onto. Being entirely surrounded by a cage and incredibly long besides, there was almost no chance they¡¯d make it to Nests before their pursuer caught one of them. If they did, opening the door on the other side killed that possibility entirely. He kept his eyes on the problem anyway; anything he noticed could give them an edge. ¡°Do it. I dare you.¡± Despite the threat, Val¡¯s voice didn¡¯t move any closer. The response was terse. ¡°Your arm¡¯s broken.¡± ¡°So what?¡± ¡°There¡¯s three of us.¡± ¡°So.¡± Her tones ambled, low as a prowling beast. ¡°What?¡± ¡°If I miss, one of them- ¡° The Jackal¡¯s laughter was harsh enough to make Blake flinch. ¡°Girl, I¡¯ve killed more people than this city has fingers. An unarmed boy an¡¯ a jumped-up kid won¡¯t even slow me down.¡± Before Erin could reply, Bhan cut in. ¡°Jackal, if you do this thing, you kill me too.¡± She snorted. ¡°Yer shamanism don¡¯t scare me. I let you off ¡®cause it¡¯d be a shame is all.¡± ¡°I will curse you.¡± ¡°If curses could kill me, I¡¯d be dead a hundred times over.¡± At that, Blake turned. If it had just been Dervin ¨C standing a dozen paces behind the Jackal with his halberd poised to thrust ¨C perhaps he could have kept his expression level. But every strand of the Oxblood¡¯s hair ¨C whether on arms, legs, face or head, was matted with blood ¨C while tiny yellow flecks of either spearwood or bone were scattered across chunks of gore, still affixed to his body. Blake¡¯s eyes widened. That was all it took. The scarred woman found his gaze, then whirled, slipping aside the halberd and drawing her blade in one fluid movement. Simultaneously, Erin launched her javelin but her quarry¡¯s movements drew her away from the projectile¡¯s flight. Then the Oxblood¡¯s weapon was moving at incredible speeds, and the Jackal was ducking and stepping just out of its path. While the exchanges grew closer, the three onlookers hovered. After a few moments, another blow rattled the tower, accompanied by another unearthly wail that shook the insides of Blake¡¯s eyeballs. Images of people spread in smears of red slid through his mind, scraped from imagination yet no less likely for it. But while the divine cacophony only triggered a flash of pain in Blake, the effect was far more pronounced in Dervin. The Blooded stumbled, and the Jackal fell upon him. Blake couldn¡¯t see whether the wound was fatal, however Dervin¡¯s next instructions left no time to check. ¡°Leave,¡± the huge man rumbled. ¡°You¡¯re in th¡¯ way.¡± Arms splayed ineffectually, the youth took a single step forward. A firm hand pulled him back, and soon enough Erin was pulling both him and Bhan into a run across the long walkway. For an indefinite amount of time they ran, and despite the twitching of his shoulder muscles Blake didn¡¯t turn back once. As they approached the small door embedded in the opposite tower, he snatched the only key that hadn¡¯t been used from his coat pocket and crashed into the door, fumbling the heavy metal into its lock and cranking it open. Faintly, a voice called from behind them. ¡°Tell Ronnie!¡± They barged inside and slammed the door shut. All light vanished at its closing. Blake fumbled for the internal lock and, when his fingers clasped around it, cranked it shut. The darkness was thick enough to obscure the hand he waved in front of his face. A rustle to his side indicated one of his companions was doing something. After a few moments of muted fumbling, an azure light bloomed beside him, caged within a lantern. Tall shadows fled from the lantern¡¯s sight, stretching behind the three stood in the otherwise empty entranceway. Its walls were worked in patterns that seemed to curl in on themselves infinitely, far too detailed for their illumination¡¯s shallow grasp. Interspersed irregularly along it were small holes ¨C the kind that a person could peer through. Or shoot through. Erin held it. ¡°With your blood, this won¡¯t last long,¡± she informed Blake. His mouth was dry. ¡°I¡¯ll, uh, add more when it goes.¡± The hairs on his arms raised. He rubbed them down. ¡°Whadda we do if someone¡¯s around?¡± Bhan¡¯s response was simple. ¡°Explain. All humans allies beneath the gods¡¯ feet.¡± ¡°Not her,¡± came his tremulous reply. Silence filled the room. Bhan grunted. ¡°Why¡­¡± he began, then shook his head. ¡°Nah. Let¡¯s just go.¡± They walked to the opposite end of the tiny hall. There, a short metal door lay embedded in the wall, with a lock set near its handle. Yet when Blake tried the handle, it swung open without protest. The tremulous light of the lantern hinted at a large room, but its details were distant enough to fall into blackness. Further progress pushed the aura of light forwards, revealing what Blake distantly recognised as some sort of gathering area. Yet all the pieces of furniture revealed were far more richly wrought that anything he¡¯d seen. The pieces could be found, individually, as the boast of any one person: finely woven carpets covering the entire floor; settees and armchairs formed of rich wood or even cut stone with witch-carvings covering their entire surface; dozens of mirrors arranged haphazardly, their edges formed of coloured stones; metal fixtures hanging from the ceiling filigreed with exquisite detail. On most tables were slabs of scarred stone, chisels set beside them, or even paper ¨C hundreds of thousands of brown sheets, enough to buy a mansion ¨C covered in symbols. Orvi would¡¯ve soiled his pants to get his hands on even one of the pieces of furniture; completely ignoring the consequences. Blake smirked at the thought. The smile died when they reached the room¡¯s centre. Within the dark, the shapes had initially appeared like another low pieces of furniture ¨C worked from marble or some other white stones. There were at least two dozen of them. An approach revealed them to be stained white sheets mercifully draped over forms, leaving only a hint of the humans beneath. Bhan knelt beside one and lifted the blanket. He stared at whatever was unveiled for a long time, jaw clenched. After a moment he moved to the next body. When four had been inspected, the Face stopped and began gazing into the darkness. ¡°What?¡± asked Blake. The worn man stared into the inscrutable blackness, his features so still they could¡¯ve been carved from rock. The lantern flickered, momentarily withdrawing its azure glow from the room. For a moment, it seemed he would not reply. ¡°It¡¯s Heltia.¡± Erin frowned. ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°They all Owlbloods. That,¡± he said, pointing to the third body from the end, ¡°is old man. Can only be Neelam Heltia.¡± ¡°The Head?¡± Bhan nodded slowly. ¡°House Heltia gone.¡± He swallowed. ¡°And they been dead for weeks.¡±
The Jackal danced out of range of the halberd, her feet a blur as she pedalled backwards. She wore a wide, toothy smile across her face, yet pulsing in her gut burned a rare fury. A trio of rats had escaped her grasp. But Dervin¡¯d been desperate enough to reveal they were going to Fort Vane. She¡¯d supressed a scoff at the thought ¨C being in Gale Vane¡¯s line of fire was worse than being in a god¡¯s. Which was why she stood beside him, instead. The Jackal grinned. She would see them there. Another preparatory swing ¨C read in the sudden rigidity of tendons in the Oxblood¡¯s arm ¨C and she ducked beneath it, supressing a wince as the movement jarred the fractured bones in her bad arm. The freak in front of her would be an unwieldy obstacle at the best of times, and suffering from days of starvation and wounds she¡¯d had to tend to herself, the Jackal was far from her best. If she had the full weight of her power ¨C Gastral; Victor; Jon ¨C Val could¡¯ve run through this freak without breaking stride. Even just her daughter would be enough. But the gang was with the worms now, and the girl had slipped her leash when Heltia knocked; ignorant of the lay of the board and the strategy in play. That was one piece the Jackal had never intended to lose, but she¡¯d simply trained the kid too well. Now she was paying for the girl¡¯s lack of filial piety. A thrust was revealed in a minute pull of the halberd and when the Jackal angled her body away from it, Dervin snatched at her tunic with a meaty paw, missing and instead batting her bad arm. Her expression fell into a sharper snarl. Usually, she would wait for an Oxblood to tire itself out; watch it break its own body as it charged and snorted, then carve open its throat. The presence of a god only made speed more important; if she lingered in Bars, she¡¯d be dead as dirt. But starvation and age leaned against her body, and Dervin had broken her arm days ago. Though the Jackal¡¯d stolen an eye in recompense ¨C though she was better than him ¨C the reality was that she was tiring faster than him. That slight burned at her. While the Face, his cohort, and all their snubs had likely vanished into the wreckage of the city, far outside the reach of her ire, directly in front of her was a creature she could vent her spite onto. And even without most of her tools, the Jackal still had everything she needed. Dervin¡¯s arms blurred as he slashed his weapon inches from her face, and transformed the miss into a steely spin that crashed into the side of the cage. Val spared a moment to look at the rupture that had formed in the walkway¡¯s cage. Had he been at his best, she¡¯d be dead thrice over. But she¡¯d made sure he wasn¡¯t. The Jackal opened her arms. ¡°C¡¯mon, Heltia,¡± she drawled. ¡°Where¡¯re you swingin¡¯?¡± The Blooded growled and lunged too far forward, using the length of his weapon to ensure she¡¯d be in range. While the teeth of the halberd was behind her, the haft moved with enough speed to obliterate her ribs. She fell into a roll ¨C which drove uncomfortable pangs up her sore back ¨C and gouged his torso as she moved past. The giant¡¯s eyes widened as he registered that Val could¡¯ve delivered a worse injury, had she chose. But crippling him ran contrary to her new goal. ¡°Ooh.¡± Her voice was raised in a sarcastic flirtation. ¡°So-¡± Dervin hurled his scabbard at her, which struck her in the gut. Only an instinctive stumbled backwards saved her head from being separated from its neck. ¡°Y¡¯know,¡± she coughed, ¡°you was right.¡± For the first time since their duel began, her opponent stilled. ¡°It was me.¡± She grinned. ¡°I did let yer assassins in.¡± His blunt features twisted on themselves. ¡°How?¡± Her hands twitched, suddenly aching for a cigarillo. The slow igniting of one would surely aggravate him. ¡°Yer boys were too eager t¡¯take a bite outta the Jackal. Few bruised ribs an easy trade fer a couple o¡¯ neat tools.¡± None of it had been that easy. But truth was never the intent. ¡°Simple soldiers. Well- ¡° she jerked her head sideways. ¡°Not any more.¡± Val could hear the man¡¯s halberd creaking. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you leave?¡± ¡°Coulda anytime,¡± the Jackal boasted. That was a straightforward lie: they¡¯d searched her cell before the interrogation, and though none had recognised the bent pieces of scrap as lockpicks, they¡¯d taken them all the same. ¡°But I wanted t¡¯see the city fall myself.¡± Another lie. If she¡¯d known Baylar was using mercs as Ox-bait, she¡¯d never have stayed. The ring-leader hadn¡¯t told her. The Jackal would ensure someone died for that. Dervin nodded thoughtfully, then sprung towards her with another mighty thrust. She caught the crook of the halberd¡¯s point and its blade with her sword, but couldn¡¯t move her feet backwards fast enough. Val rocked backwards on her heels, and that, conspiring with the force of the Oxblood¡¯s blow, stole her footing away from her. The point of Dervin¡¯s weapon smashed into the ground, the angle snapping the sword she¡¯d swiped from the merc like it was a child¡¯s toy. Simultaneously, the Jackal slammed into the walkway. Only the sudden halt in the giant¡¯s heavy footsteps warned her to move, and just as she rolled away a massive boot crashed into the floor where she¡¯d lain moments before. Yet she transformed the tumble into a leap that restored her footing, and her opponent didn¡¯t follow. When Dervin withdrew his boot, the material around it was dented. The Jackal grinned. He was less loyal than she¡¯d thought. Or at least well-trained enough to maintain his composure. There were other angles to try, though. ¡°Who¡¯s Ronnie?¡± She toed the detached point of her blade as if in thought, slowly drawing it closer to herself. ¡°Son? Daughter? A lover?¡± The Oxblood¡¯s plain disgust at the final guess revealed enough. ¡°Yer kid, then.¡± Her body carefully angled itself to the side. As slow as a predator on the prowl, she leaned backwards. ¡°S¡¯funny.¡± Dervin tilted his head, jaw clenched so tightly the veins of his face appeared like leeches beneath his skin. ¡°See, there¡¯s no time t¡¯get my satisfaction from you.¡± The scarred woman smiled slyly. ¡°But yer get? All th¡¯ time in- ¡° A sudden gust of air across her face and the screeching of torn metal halted her speech. The Jackal did not see him swing his weapon. It did not matter. He had missed. Bereft of his second eye, the giant had spent the entire fight without a reliable way to judge distance. It¡¯d thrown off almost all his blows. When the Jackal had drawn the snapped weapon to her feet, he¡¯d found his means. Yet her stance was narrow, and he¡¯d had no way of knowing the greater part of her body had already been drawn back. It was a simple illusion: one that could¡¯ve been seen through with a moment¡¯s consideration. But the Blooded was too furious to give himself even that. As the tower shook, the Oxblood howled in time with his god. His arms dangled limply; the muscles beneath his skin so torn there seemed to be twice as many as there was a moment before. His tendons curled limply beneath skin ¨C they¡¯d snapped like twigs under their own strength. She looked sideways. His halberd had torn a hole in the walkway, just big enough for her to climb out of. At that, a savage grin bubbled from where she¡¯d hidden it; the kind a beast wears after outplaying the shepherd. When the Jackal slit his throat, she wore it still.
They found a way out of Nests through the bathroom: a small opening onto a set of pipes that led from there to Wastes. All of them were just wide enough to shuffle across with the assistance of a rope to conquer the winds and sharp declines. Though Blake offered some token complaints regarding their chosen path, the fear of a worse fate undid his fear of heights. Their route ¨C suspended so high above the city that it seemed like someone else¡¯s world ¨C offered their first and only glimpse at the god that had destroyed the city. It took a moment to spot it. For a moment, it seemed as if some flayed wolf had taken up residence in the rubble. But the magnitude of the creature was too great. Far larger than any house yet far smaller than it should¡¯ve been stood a mass of raw flesh, muscle and sinew wound into a vaguely quadrupedal form. Yet it was nothing like any mortal animal. The lines of its body were smooth and flowing from a frontward-facing point, bearing an almost impossible resemblance to an arrow. As it moved tendrils separated from the flesh of its legs ¨C the movement hinting at bone beneath ¨C and slammed into the dirt beneath it. Muscles rippled and in doing so shot blood from within their hidden crevices. That movement repeated, building speed until its massive hind legs flexed- And as if it were a bolt of lightning vanished, its only remnants a wall of sound like a thousand thunderclaps crashing in every direction. In its wake rubble and corpses shifted, flying towards a straight line of sudden absence that had formed in the direction of Bars. For a brief span, Blake could not help but hope it was over. Then his eyes found it again: a shattered pile of flesh at the base of Bars ¨C broken by its own force ¨C while the tower¡¯s runes rippled purple upwards, spreading countless cracks across its surface until it could take no more and disintegrated from the top downwards. They¡¯d been within minutes before. Covered in the dust and detritus of that it destroyed, the shattered body rippled, tendrils of muscle realigning bones, tendons, and irrevocably shredded muscle. The god screamed the agony of a broken body, and then screamed for longer. The titanic pain of a god buffeted everything around, then faded into the skies. The god flexed its reassembled body and disappeared. Moments later, every remaining tower on the western side of Spires collapsed, and the wailing began anew. What hates and is hated in turn? Striking at an ocean of incomprehensible slights, and being crushed by that same vendetta? Every man, woman, and child knows the answer: Enn; the Ox; the Quake; the Furious; the Broken; the one who fights. They stood atop the pipes, high above the world, buffeted by the wind¡¯s constant attempts to knock them down. Distorted by the clouds rolling overhead, the midday sun¡¯s glare was warped and twisted into a hollow grey umbra, detached from the star it originated from. Across the ruins of Heltia, the Heartlands rippled in a sea of shimmering red. The three of them made their way across the sky, clutching the woven ropes wound around the pipes. Blake¡¯s shaking eyes scarcely left his feet, but when he did he found Erin gazing at the world beneath, teeth clenched. Bhan¡¯s eyes were still in the mournful set of his face. ¡°Ox is out-of-place.¡± His words were sudden, and nearly stolen by the gusts around them. No one remarked on it. ¡°When¡­¡± he began slowly, ¡°god nearby: move yourself, or move god. Enn moves at strange things; insults only it sees.¡± Blake drew his furred coat tighter with one hand, and continued avoiding gaze of the drop below him. ¡°We know few insults. To move Ox, someone must do one and run. Be chased. Be fed to it.¡± The gales around them filled their ears. ¡°Hirelings did not know they insult. But someone gave orders. Someone wanted¡­¡± A pause. Though Bhan chose not to finish the sentence, everyone present followed it to the end. No one spoke. But Erin did scream, as harsh and hollow and useless as a shroud for the dead, until the air in her lungs was done, and whatever feeling that filled the skies was drawn back to burn inside her body. For several long moments, Blake could not bring himself to breathe. The rest of their journey continued in silence. When they reached Wastes, the sun had already begun to set, and the Ox¡¯s pain had faded back into the world. Winding their way down the spire was difficult under the bloodtech lantern¡¯s fading light, and the place reeked of human waste ¨C despite not being struck by the god, several of the tanks had broken open. But without any immediate threat breathing down their backs, there was no reason to descend quickly. They slowly staggered down to the third level, then searched for the hideaway ¡®Vin¡¯ had made. There was no mistaking it. Hidden in a small room lay a hoard of mismatched items: rocks, herbs, books, jewellery, and bones all piled across the room. A vague semblance of order was in place, but it had shattered under the sheer weight of everything that had accumulated. Blake managed to find several large chunks of jerky and mouldy bread under a pile of rocks ¨C the same kind of place Orvi¡¯d tended to hide ¡®pretty¡¯ food ¨C and they supped on what remained. It was similar to the hoard at home, yet different enough to be alien. Blake did not ask Bhan about the burned man. And he did not ask Erin the question that¡¯d sunk its edge into his gut. The Face took the cot, while Erin cleared a space for her bedroll. Both laid on their respective spots, eyes open. The pock-marked young man took a seat against the wall and held an ornate box ¨C far more exquisitely carved than anything else in the room ¨C on his lap. Whatever small articles the man who dwelled here had deemed most valuable would be contained within. He stared at it for a long time, hands resting upon his lid. Fatigue filled his body, and after many empty moments, the other two¡¯s breathing grew slower. He did not close his eyes. Silence reigned, marred only by its two exceptions: the occasional rapid series of huffs from the sleeping Face, and wordless groans from Erin. Eventually, he opened the box. Papers covered the top. Beneath them was a heavy book, the inscrutable text scrawled within only hinted at in several faded illustrations. Neither¡¯s letters revealed anything to Blake, whose limited literacy deciphered nothing. But at the very bottom of the box were dozens of small carvings. Their detailing was incredibly fine, so much so that they seemed steps away from coming to life. Four were of people he did not know: human yet twisted in strange ways. However, he recognised the rest. Miss Tran, toothlessly grinning as her hands hovered over a table of concoctions. Jackson, stern-faced as he swung a halberd. The hawker Orvi had mooned over ¨C Jasmine, Blake recalled ¨C smiling gently at someone. Dirk and his dog, the latter feasting on a bowl of noodles while the former poked at a plate of sprouts. Stitch, face cut with a stern frown as her finger prodded at a piece of paper. The twins walking: Sash chattering to the air while Dash feigned interest. Erin, polearm in hand as she mouthed something. Miss Tran had died of Dure¡¯s plague. Jackson and Jasmine had gained authority that slowly obscured their humanity. Dirk¡¯s body had never been found, and his dog was old and scared. Stitch and the twins had all joined Esfaria, finding solace in hatred. Erin was someone he knew less about with every day. And finally, beneath all the others, came a face four years distant. Free of pockmarks or scarring; perched upon a stool and laughing uproariously at some poorly delivered joke. The young man¡¯s lips quirked, then fell. Within his chest lay a tightness; the phantom of that laughter, turned worn and grey. He looked at the person in his hands, and slowly, incrementally, began trembling. Blake clutched at the carving and wept. Chapter 46 - A Glimpse through the Curtain I strummed- No, Kit strummed- No. No. It¡¯s in so many pieces. Far more than there should be.
My right hand¡¯s fingers brushed across the three gut-strings of the lute, while their alternates clamped and released the ends of the chords affixed to its neck. The feedback of the material was blunted by my calluses, transforming what had once been sharp into a far more muted sensation. Sound and sensation wound themselves together as I tried to feel out the music I once possessed. A discordant twang told me plainly I¡¯d failed, and a quiet scoff quickly followed, but I buried my urge to smash my lute across Jana¡¯s head. It was too precious to lose. Using my fingernails, I strummed into a simpler song. In another time I¡¯d shot straight to the most difficult tunes, spending hours each day attempting to master them. Father had stopped me. ¡®Same as any exercise, Kit,¡¯ he¡¯d said, ¡®you gotta warm up first.¡¯ Being back at the beginning again was infuriating, except unlike all the other times I was angry there were no cocky arseholes I could stab. All the ones around remained off-limits. Someone tutted again. ¡°You gotta godsdamned problem?¡± I spat, opening my eyes. Crumpet yelped, then huddled behind Jana. I turned to the older woman, the burn-scar running down the right sight of her face casting it in a mocking light. ¡°Yer teachin¡¯ her t¡¯get stabbed.¡± She raised a shaped eyebrow. ¡°I¡¯m teaching her good from bad.¡± I scoffed. ¡°So yer hemmin¡¯ and hawwin¡¯ s¡¯a learnin¡¯ tool, huh? Not jus¡¯ bein¡¯ rude?¡± The woman widened her eyes ¨C one green, one clouded ¨C in carefully cultivated surprise. ¡°Oh, so we¡¯re talking about impoliteness, are we?¡± Jana squinted, as if in thought. ¡°Is it¡­ rude to scoff at someone who yanks out an instrument and causes a racket without the consent of those around her? Is it?¡± I sneered. ¡°S¡¯it rude t¡¯talk around yer point like yer some sorta vulture?¡± ¡°Well, it¡¯s certainly- ¡° A cleared throat stifled the onerous woman¡¯s retort. My eyes flicked around the dusty storage room we were sat in ¨C benches and barrels positioned to create raised surfaces for our bedrolls. Jana sat atop the one opposite mine, sliding beads around her abacus in what must¡¯ve been an attempt to distract me. We¡¯d arrived at the abandoned farmstead yesterday afternoon, and opted to stay for the night instead of push on. Place had walls, and though the derelict village up the hill had better fortifications it was also likely overrun by monsters. Whining from the caravans and Ol¡¯ Snapper falling ill had Tully¡¯s kid convincing her to stay for an extra day. All the workers¡¯d been shoved in a barn ¨C sagging roof, spongey walls, and full of stiff breezes ¨C but I¡¯d brow-beat Aron into letting the poor, motherless children stay in the place he¡¯d been allocated. Man had a bespoke wagon to sleep in, but the little snake would¡¯ve refused, had I not asked in front of everyone. Finally, I set eyes on Vin, who stood in the doorway of the room I¡¯d commandeered. Tippi had scrambled behind his trousers, and the kid kept his gaze firmly away from mine. ¡°Vin,¡± I stated. ¡°Didn¡¯t notice you sneak up.¡± I must¡¯ve been concentrating too hard: an amateur mistake. But for a man so large, Vin could be quieter than a rat if he put his mind to it. And he had been; ever since we¡¯d killed the bandits a few days back. The only time he¡¯d spoke much were those when he¡¯d put on a mask and gather a crowd. He thumbed beneath his bandana, staring at my lute. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to interrupt you.¡± Jana¡¯s voice swum from where she sat atop her bedroll. ¡°You¡¯re a rude one, too.¡± ¡°Oh, shut up,¡± he snapped. ¡°Go back to your bloody counting.¡± Silence. My fingers fell onto my sword¡¯s hilt, then released when the Lizardblood sighed. ¡°Sorry.¡± He looked at Jana, shrugging. ¡°You¡¯ve just been an exceptionally poor audience.¡± I nodded in agreement. ¡°She didn¡¯t have to play here of all places,¡± the old woman complained. The large man inclined his head. ¡°Well, I¡¯ll take her away from you, then.¡± Before I could open my mouth to complain, he continued. ¡°I¡¯d like to hear more.¡± She grumbled, but waved her hand. The ensuing gap in the conversation allowed Tippi to tap him on the hip, and Vin squatted down to let the child whisper in his ear. Crumpet scurried over immediately, and shoved her ear in the mix as well. He smiled and shook his head. ¡°No, not tonight. One was enough for today, and I need a bit of time to find the next story anyway. Maybe your, uh¡­ protector can help me with that.¡± I hummed to myself, and tucked my instrument underneath an arm, yanking Vin along as I walked past him. ¡°C¡¯mon. Let¡¯s go.¡± Outside of the room waited the cold of dusk, unmitigated by walls or fire. Around us were the ruins of the farmstead, the carts and wagons creating a reluctant semi-circle between the house and the small barn, while the Ien River¡¯s burble emanated from behind the house, as constant as it¡¯d been for the last two weeks. Atop the wagons were two of the guards and Gast, who¡¯d uncharacteristically chosen to take a shift. To get away from the noise of oxen in the barn, I suspected. Several chipped and beaten stumps sat in the small yard, coated with dried blood: the remnants of some butchered bird, which the owners must¡¯ve been too lazy or too hurried to use as a sacrifice. It smelled of nothing but the sharp musk of the Heartlands, though ¨C they¡¯d been butchered long enough ago that wind had carried away its scent. Crimson weeds crackled beneath our boots as we walked the small distance between us and the makeshift wagon-wall, then slipped through its gaps. Stretching before us were several wide fields, ringed by rotten fences and filled with small shrubs and red grass. Past that lay a stretch of heartwood stumps, of equal size to a field. Half of them had been uprooted, and sat along the edge of what must¡¯ve been intended as more farmland. Further out sat the heartwoods, kept at bay by the axes of whatever family¡¯d lived here and the Aching¡¯s recalcitrance. Throughout it all, the occasional speartree jutted upwards, their angry pale forms unmindful of human artifice. Vin and I spent a minute walking across the fields, eventually arriving to the stumps and sat upon them. Loitering so close to the heartwoods was generally a bad idea, but I wasn¡¯t coward enough to say so. Surprisingly, neither was the man opposite me. Once stillness set in, the cold sunk into my skin. Bite season was turning to Frost quickly, and already the shadow of snow had fell across the Heartlands, freezing the dew on grass overnight to be melted come morning. Donning my fur armour had seemed too much of a hassle, but even coupled with my chest-bindings my shirt was too thin to offer any comfort. I stuck my hands into my armpits to warm them. ¡°Do you want my jacket?¡± Vin offered. ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± He raised an eyebrow. ¡°You sure? The cold¡¯s never done much to me.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure,¡± I snapped. ¡°Now¡¯re you gonna let me play or what?¡± ¡°That, and I, uh, have another favour to ask.¡± I frowned. He rubbed the back of his neck. ¡°Don¡¯t laugh.¡± ¡°Course you do.¡± Flecks of spittle flew from my mouth. ¡°¡¯f it¡¯s funny I¡¯ll laugh. Stop toin¡¯ ¡®round it.¡± The Lizardblood tapped his fingernails against the wooden stump. It seemed absurd that such a large man would be so hesitant. ¡°I want you to teach me how to play.¡± For a fraction of a second, my eyes widened, before I concealed it with a long outward breath. My initial impulse was to accept immediately ¨C that kind of authority over the man was tempting ¨C however before the word could travel from brain to tongue another thought struck me. I hummed, as if mentoring him would be unpleasant. ¡°I dunno, Vin. It¡¯s a lotta work. Whadda I get?¡± He shrugged. ¡°I could pay you.¡± ¡°Yer bleedin¡¯ chits like a stuck pig.¡± His eyes rolled backwards. ¡°Ox¡¯s balls, Kit ¨C I¡¯ll get them back. It¡¯s my- ¡° A scoff forced itself from my throat, and hung in the air for several seconds. ¡°You won¡¯t. Gimme somethin¡¯ I can use.¡± ¡°I could carve- ¡° ¡°I don¡¯t need gods-damned carvings, Vin.¡± He threw up his hands. ¡°Help me out, then.¡± ¡°A favour.¡± The words slapped against the air like a winning hand of cards. I was offended by how quickly the man shook his head. ¡°Absolutely not.¡± ¡°What?¡± My brows crumpled. The cold¡¯s encroachment drew a shiver from my body, delaying my answer. ¡°Why?¡± He clicked his tongue. ¡°You¡¯ll make me beat up some poor sod that looked at you wrong.¡± ¡°No.¡± Legitimate dismay entered my voice. ¡°You think I¡¯d do that?¡± After a short pause, Vin snorted. ¡°No, you¡¯d do it yourself.¡± ¡°Damn right I would. No battle you can fight¡¯s one I can¡¯t.¡± ¡°Look,¡± he said, opening his hands. ¡°It¡¯s still no. I¡¯m not getting involved- ¡° I groaned loudly. ¡°It¡¯d be somethin¡¯ jus¡¯ between you an¡¯ me.¡± A beat passed. ¡°No one else¡¯d be involved?¡± ¡°Yeah. Nothin¡¯ you¡¯d be against doin¡¯.¡± He sighed. ¡°So what is it?¡± ¡°I dunno yet.¡± I did know, but it was better to ensure he was already in my debt. ¡°I¡¯ll figure it out after th¡¯ lesson.¡± ¡°Fine.¡± He straightened. ¡°Are we starting now?¡± ¡°Yeah. S¡¯long as yer oaf head¡¯s not actin¡¯ up.¡± His head turned sideways, but not before I saw the curl of his lip. ¡°Blood, Kit; I¡¯m fine.¡± ¡°Vin,¡± I snapped, ¡°you couldn¡¯ walk fer half a day, an¡¯ couldn¡¯ hold anythin¡¯ fer another half.¡± ¡°And I¡¯m better now,¡± he stated flatly. A huff escaped me. ¡°Alright.¡± I took my hands from my armpits and strummed a few chords of my instrument experimentally, then handed it to Vin. ¡°Show me yer best.¡±
After shivering in the freezing air for the better part of an hour, I finally figured his best wasn¡¯t good enough. In spite of all his skills, Vin wasn¡¯t learning much better than a particularly stupid dog. ¡°Duh. Duh. Dah. Dah.¡± My teeth chattered slightly, but the sounds were of the correct pitch. ¡°What does that even mean?¡± ¡°You jus¡¯- ¡° I curled my fingers in the air, miming the notes as I drew my hand down the neck of an imaginary lute. ¡°Do that.¡± ¡°Agh. Like this?¡± The man¡¯s hands copied the distance almost exactly, but sat on the wrong chord. ¡°You piece of garbage,¡± I yelled, smacking him across the head. ¡°Wrong chord, dumbass.¡± He snarled. ¡°You didn¡¯t tell me what chord!¡± ¡°Someone with talent woulda figured it out!¡± Vin tossed the lute to his side, where it landed in a patch of grass. ¡°Well, I guess I¡¯ve got no talent.¡± He stood and began walking back to the farmstead. ¡°Oh, you¡¯re gonna give up? Weak,¡± I called. ¡°Weak. Yer really that spineless?¡± I snatched the instrument from where he dropped it and flipped its form into my lap. A quick tune was coaxed from its strings: the most complex I¡¯d managed since picking it up. At the edge of our patch of stumps, he stopped and half-turned his body back. The notes leapt over one another, dancing to my own flickering fingers, and though it felt like my playing was a single step away from a fall, I managed to finish the song without a stumble. Gently, I leaned the lute against my stump. Vin¡¯s eyes regarded it. His hands groped at air, before slipping beneath his bandana to rub at his forehead fiercely. But like a man fighting against some immense weight, he turned away. ¡°If you taught me like that, it¡¯d be easier. But I¡¯m not going to sit there and let you beat me for it.¡± My jaw hung open. ¡°Yer really gonna leave?¡± I¡¯d never entertained the possibility he would. I had always come back, no matter how harsh training got. The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°I¡¯ll find someone else.¡± His words were clipped; terse. I stared at the ground, processing that. Before the information seeped in, I leapt to my feet, snarling. ¡°Get back here,¡± I growled. ¡°You still owe me.¡± He turned, revealing the contorted fury of his features. ¡°You taught me nothing.¡± ¡°I did th¡¯ best I could,¡± I retorted, rising to my feet while a hand gripping the hilt of my sword. A finger jabbed at him accusingly. ¡°And you chose t¡¯quit. Not me.¡± ¡°That¡¯s- ¡° His words cut off, replaced by a strangled groan. ¡°Fine. What did you want?¡± I licked my lips. ¡°Spar with me.¡± Another roll of his eyes nearly had me gutting him. ¡°I already spar with you.¡± ¡°Hah!¡± I barked. ¡°That¡¯s Oxdung an¡¯ you know it.¡± He rotated his body to fully face me. ¡°We¡¯ve sparred.¡± The Lizardblood swallowed, then carefully continued. ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡± His words were enunciated with a bizarre precision. ¡°We¡¯ve fought¡­ two; three times? When I first joined. An¡¯ I won easily.¡± ¡°So what?¡± ¡°Yer a godsdamned liar.¡± The shadows of night could not hide how he recoiled. ¡°I know yer better than that; I¡¯ve seen you be better.¡± He tilted his head, lowering it to my level. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you think you saw- ¡° ¡°Shut up,¡± I snapped. ¡°You lie. Yer like a man o¡¯ sand: big ¡®n heavy, an¡¯ turned to nothing in th¡¯ wind.¡± His eyes shone like a frozen flame. ¡°And you¡¯re the only one that noticed this?¡± My gaze fell to the sword on his hip ¨C tethered there since our first monster attack. ¡°I¡¯ve no clue.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t tell them.¡± A plaintive note hung in his request, all but smothered by the monotone it was wrapped in. ¡°Fight me, then,¡± I demanded. ¡°With everythin¡¯ you got.¡± He shook his head. ¡°You said the favour would be nothing I¡¯m against doing.¡± I felt like screaming. ¡°Why? Why¡¯re you so¡­¡± My rigid fingers raised, poised as if they could catch some ghostly idea. ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± he stressed. ¡°I can¡¯t. Just¡­ understand that. Please.¡± Nothing about his request was comprehensible. Everything I knew about Vin sat in my head wrong, the notion of his character seeming like a bird that refused to fly. He didn¡¯t make sense. ¡°I¡¯ll tell them,¡± I threatened, weakly. His head fell downward, directed towards some point on the ground. ¡°I¡¯ll leave,¡± a hoarse voice replied. ¡°You¡­¡± Sudden exhaustion filled my body. A stiff gust of wind carried an icy chill, and I fell back onto the remnants of dead heartwood. The stump was cold and stiff. ¡°Whatever.¡± ¡°Thank you.¡± His gratitude was a weary thing. The cold¡¯s fingers had stretched through flesh and into my bones. It shook my hands, and I angrily clasped both together. Yet a moment later I noticed my feet beating the ground impatiently, while some low, angry creature beat the walls of my chest. My hands found their way to my pouch and pulled a cigarillo out, placing it between trembling lips. I¡¯d already had one today, but sometimes the itch was too much not to scratch. Flint and steel struck one another, and according to whatever laws governed them my cigarillo was lit, slowly turning ashen between my lips. ¡°The favour,¡± I stated. ¡°Thought o¡¯ one. Shouldn¡¯t be a problem.¡± He rubbed his arms, waiting. It was a strange thing, that the second favour I¡¯d demand revolved around Whip. When the young woman¡¯d approached me with a request, just two days after she left, I¡¯d thought she needed me to hurt someone. The assumption wasn¡¯t baseless; in the past few years, I couldn¡¯t recall a single time I¡¯d been sought out for anything else. But instead of violence, she desired advice. On feelings, of all things. Never had language felt so much like a fist to the gut. We¡¯d stumbled onto the answer nearly an hour into the discussion. Our strategist liked Vin. Non-platonically. My knowledge of romance comprised almost entirely of drunken rolls in the hay and old people screaming at each other. Ballads about love¡¯d rarely made much sense to me, so I¡¯d begged off. Whip¡¯s chances weren¡¯t great, though. Spineless as he was, Vin¡¯d never even conceive of making a move. Beyond that, I didn¡¯t know if he even liked women. Man obviously had military experience, and from what mother¡¯d told me House Blooded kept to their own type of meat, because pregnancies got them beat and cast out. He might¡¯ve already been sampling his side of the dish for years. Neither side seemed most likely, though. Vin never seemed interested in bodies. I¡¯d frequently catch Whip staring at him, and no sign of the oaf noticing. Or if he did, no sign of him comprehending. It seemed like such garbage. As I exhaled, a thick plume of smoke fled my mouth. Its broken form held no answers. ¡°You spend a few days helpin¡¯ our strategist.¡± He squinted. ¡°Whip?¡± ¡°Yeah. Keep her company.¡± ¡°That¡¯s your favour?¡± ¡°Blood,¡± I swore, withdrawing the cigarillo from my mouth, ¡°lay off it, alright? I¡¯m askin¡¯ you t¡¯do somethin¡¯, so do it.¡± I didn¡¯t have the tools to solve that riddle, and all the theorising had ate a hole in my brain. Losing a favour was a small price to pay to get the whole thing out of my sight. He turned away, raising his hands in surrender. ¡°Alright, alright.¡± Immediately, he turned back. ¡°Seriously?¡± ¡°Ox¡¯s balls,¡± I swore, ¡°Kit can¡¯t ask a favour fer someone else, huh? S¡¯that how it is? It¡¯s like I¡¯m a¡­¡± My voice trailed off. Vin¡¯s body had gone entirely rigid, every part of it coiled and prepared to spring. In his right hand was at the hilt of his sword, its onyx blade a quarter-bared for the first time since the day we¡¯d gotten it back. His eyes were directed towards the shadows of the woods. ¡°Vin?¡± ¡°Keep talking.¡± ¡°What?¡± I attempted to follow his gaze, but suddenly he had seized my shoulders. ¡°There¡¯s nothing wrong with that!¡± he bellowed, spittle flying in my face. Before the last drops could land, he whispered something into my ear. ¡°There¡¯re people in the woods.¡± I froze. ¡°How many?¡± ¡°Over a dozen at least. Act natural. They know we¡¯re here.¡± ¡°We can- ¡° ¡°A dozen and counting, Kit; we need to go.¡± I inclined my head slightly. Together, we stood and began casually walking towards the overgrown fields. Scarcely seconds after I¡¯d grabbed my lute, a dull twang resounded from behind us. I ducked to the side and Vin¡¯s arm snapped to where I¡¯d been standing moments earlier. Though I intended to flee, a glance at Vin¡¯s hand arrested my movement. An arrow lay in his palm. He¡¯d snatched it from the air. Another sound ignited my legs. Vin thundered on my heels as I sprinted from the clearing of stumps. My path snaked drunkenly, every sound I heard signalling the beginning of another twist. I hurdled the rotten fence surrounding the field, managing to draw my sword from its sheath. Clearing the rest of the field was a matter of moments. When I leapt over the opposite fence, a crash alerted me to my comrade breaking through its rotten wood. Glancing over my shoulder revealed the situation was worse than that: Vin had taken an arrow in the shoulder and fallen to the ground. While shadowy figures peeled away from the heartwoods, I stood still. My legs were full of manic energy, yet my head couldn¡¯t figure out where to direct it. I found that after I ducked the next arrow, I was moving towards Vin, and not away. By the time I¡¯d arrived, the large man had thrown the scraps of rotten wood off himself. More projectiles flew from the woods, range and wind stealing their power. Any that came close were either the product of fortune or a brilliant marksman ¨C and our assailants had enough of both to make helping Vin to his feet dangerous. Instead, I scooped up a piece of broken wood and, searched the shadowy sky and slowly judged the arc and speed of the single threatening arrow, used it as a makeshift shield. I could scarcely believe it when an impact ran through my arms, rather than my flesh. He got up, and we ran again, snaking through the final field while hopping over shrubs, winding roots, and several sharp, crimson weeds. Soon, Vin¡¯s massive form overtook me at a startling rate. A strangled growl was the only warning I got before he grabbed the back of my tunic and threw me over his shoulder. Rather than stab him, I yelled ¡°Shield!¡± in his ear. At that, Vin rapidly unstrapped his buckler and passed it to me. I held it in front of me like some spiritual deterrent; I¡¯d never learned to use one, because shields were for cowards and got in the way, and so my contribution would solely rely on eyes, reflexes, and a shallow hope that neither of us would get nailed in the head. Vin¡¯s shoulder pounded repeatedly into my gut as world turned beneath us. Darkness made distinguishing our opponents from the shadows of trees difficult, but I was an old hand at counting foes. The result turned my stomach. The caravan, saddled with dead weight as it was, had a limited fighting force. Six monster-hunters and three mercenaries ¨C four counting the one wounded. Gast, Whip, and potentially Odrin were force-multipliers due to their abilities, but magic worked best with preparation. Off-guard as we were, we could maybe take an assault from a group of slightly larger size. This was not a group of equal size. There were at least three-dozen soldiers emerging from the trees. They hadn¡¯t caught Vin and I yet because they were marching in rank. Foot-soldiers stomped their way through the stumps while a smattering of archers loosed their deadly payload from behind them. I could make out other figures even further behind. One silhouette was so large it had to be an Oxblood, and a strong one at that. If there was one Blooded, chances were there¡¯d be more. Two months ago, when I had last faced a force like this, I¡¯d grabbed what I could and fled. Doing so here meant leaving someone behind. My reluctance was funny. When I¡¯d run the first time, I had barely stopped to lend a thought to the people I¡¯d known my whole life. It had been, I realised, a relief. Yet here, grouped with people I¡¯d know for barely over a month, I didn¡¯t want to. And that was that. I didn¡¯t want to, so I wouldn¡¯t. Not unless the rest of my group came with me. In the time it took for me to come to that conclusion, Vin had outran the arrows and was shuffling through the wall of wagons, incidentally slamming my head against the side of one. I swore ferociously and writhed until he put me down. He didn¡¯t pay me any mind. ¡°We¡¯re under attack!¡± he bellowed, somewhat redundantly. The guards and Gast had already notified everyone present, filling the yard with every member of the caravan: Growers & Smiths; Aron and his ilk; Jana and the kids; Maddie; even the three silent men who¡¯d scarcely spoken a word this whole trip. The blue burn of bloodtech lanterns emanated from Tully and Odrin¡¯s hands. The latter¡¯s spectacles gleamed in the light, nearly concealing the panicked set of his eyes. The only ones absent from the yard were the mercenaries and Strains, who were peeking over the wagon-wall. Rita whispered quiet orders. Vin¡¯s hands fumbled over his back, coming near the arrow embedded in it but never touching. Running like that must¡¯ve hurt. I considered it for a few moments, then grabbed its shaft and yanked it out. I blinked. He¡¯d barely flinched. Tully¡¯s voice sang out before I spotted her, striding from the crowd. ¡°Who is it?¡± ¡°S¡¯dark, but there¡¯s least three dozen,¡± I reported. ¡°We- ¡° ¡°You rancid little insect,¡± Vin spat towards our scarred leader. Everyone present recoiled at the vitriol in his voice. ¡°They¡¯re soldiers wearing yellow.¡± Tully¡¯s eyes widened. After a moment, she responded. ¡°There¡¯s no horn- ¡° ¡°Gods, why would they care about the Terms?¡± He paused. ¡°Better question: why would House Baylar care about us?¡± Immediately, the yard exploded. Ol¡¯ Snapper and Atifi, and Aron threw wild accusations around, while others simply stood entirely still, horrified. Unable to stop myself, I threw a horrified stare at Vin. His eyes had clenched themselves shut, and his jaw ground itself down. His expression slowly contorted. In the lines of his face lay pure terror. Tully let loose several harsh whistles; the quiet men entered their wagon. I watched Vin, and tried to comprehend what mechanisms ground within. It took a minute for his eyelids to reveal the orbs within. For the first time, I noticed one eye was a darker shade of brown that the other. Yet both were wide and trembling. They seized on Maddie, of all people. He muttered something. I leaned closer. ¡°What?¡± ¡°We need to go,¡± he repeated. ¡°Whip!¡± the large man bellowed. ¡°Ronnie! Gast! Davian! You need to go!¡± The scarred woman strode forward and seized his shoulder. ¡°I paid for your loyalty.¡± He threw his shoulder away and whirled on her. ¡°None of us agreed to guard your godsdamned Head!¡± The voices around us gradually trickled away, leaving only the distant sound of boots. ¡°My Head,¡± Tully began carefully, ¡°is Neelam Heltia.¡± ¡°Then what- ¡° Before he finished his sentence, Vin surged into the crowd and dragged Maddie out. The guards spun, turning their crossbows on him while Tully produced a dagger from somewhere. In response, I drew my sword, and Rita turned her crossbow my way. Vin didn¡¯t seem to care. Amidst the hooded girl¡¯s quiet protests, he reached into her shirt and yanked something out. It caught the blue light of the lanterns briefly, but before I could get a good look he tossed it to Tully, who caught it in the fold of her cloak. ¡°Is that?¡± he finished. ¡°Just some bauble? Amethysts set in the shape of a tower? Bloody runework down the side?¡± He held up a hand, showing them to the crowd. Each finger touching it had begun to smoke. ¡°Burns at the touch of anyone outside the family?¡± The silence stretched. Whether the questions were rhetorical or not, no one had an answer. ¡°Vin,¡± Maddie began, her arm still in his hand, ¡°I can- ¡° ¡°Shut up!¡± he screamed in her face, spittle flying from his mouth. The much smaller woman recoiled. ¡°Shut up, shut up, shut up!¡± He tossed her like a sack of grain, sending her to the ground. Her hood had fallen down, exposing a stream of curly orange hair and freckled, yet fearfully pale skin. He tossed the necklace to her, then clutched his burnt hand and growled. Tully quickly yanked Maddie upright, pulling her behind Rita, who had leapt to the ground. ¡°By the blood,¡± Vin swore, eyes wide. His chest fluctuated rapidly. ¡°Gods!¡± I slowly sheathed my sword. ¡°Vin,¡± I said, showing him my palms. ¡°What¡¯re you talkin¡¯ about?¡± ¡°She¡¯s Heltia,¡± he spat. ¡°She is Heltia. And they wrapped us up in this!¡± ¡°What?¡± The question was quiet. ¡°What th¡¯ blood happened t¡¯the other guy?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know!¡± His words emerged as a strangled groan. ¡°But that necklace means she¡¯s the Head. That¡¯s what it means.¡± ¡°How d¡¯you even- ¡° ¡°I read it. I know it.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± Finally, I caught up. ¡°Raven¡¯s bones.¡± ¡°What?¡± Whip called, limping her way down from the wagon-wall with the other Strains. ¡°What?¡± ¡°You¡¯ve got to go,¡± panted Vin. His gaze flickered around the yard, touching everything yet seeing nothing. ¡°You¡¯ve got to go; You all, have, to go.¡± Already, I could see Aron, pulling his wife Willow and daughter Buttercup, sneaking towards his wagon. Ol¡¯ Snapper frantically whispered at Odrin, then furiously kicked his son-in-law in the shins. Tully¡¯s voice cut through the noise. ¡°No one¡¯s going anywhere.¡± Everyone turned. The boots marched closer. Time was running out. ¡°There¡¯s a plan- ¡° ¡°Oh, there¡¯s a plan?¡± Vin barked a laugh. ¡°There¡¯s a plan? Are we going to fly away? Maybe summon lightning to their feet?¡± He paused in mock-thought. ¡°Oh, I know! We¡¯ll become gods.¡± The crowd stared, jaws agape. This was not a man any of us knew. ¡°Your plans are nothing,¡± he hissed. ¡°Nothing!¡± But Tully had ceased paying attention. She tucked her fingers into her mouth and let loose a deliberate string of sharp whistles. The three men who I¡¯d never learned the names of emerged from their wagon. They were supposed to be just another group caravaners. Yet the tallest and ugliest carried a massive collection of runeworked stone, while the two wide-eyed individuals had belts strapped with bulging pouches, and several more delicate components in their hands. All wore steel helms and breastplates, hastily buckled. She jerked her head. ¡°Get up there. Stop the advance.¡± The trio clambered up the side of the wagons. Once they reached the top, the two smaller individuals searched through their pouches. One produced a small container; a little box made from metal, glowing a fierce purple. He tossed it. Vin let loose a discordant snarl. ¡°How did I not see this?¡± I stared after them. ¡°Wait. Yer tellin¡¯ me- ¡° An all-encompassing sound rocked the world, thundering through the ears of all present. Light shone from behind the wagons, as if a sun had been born behind them. It vanished moments later. Black spots swum before my eyes. A sharp whine pierced through an otherwise silent world, as if someone had plucked a string and let it vibrate endlessly. Before anything could coalesce, Vin¡¯s massive chest was in front of me, his thick arms reaching for me. I slipped aside and punched him in the kidney. He silently groaned and keeled over. When cohesion began to return to the world, the large Blooded was speaking, now straigtened. ¡°¡­need to get out of here!¡± His words were directed towards myself and the Strains, who¡¯d gathered around him. I found Tippi and Crumpet weeping behind my back. Jana gathered them around her legs. Ronnie¡¯s hands gestured. Whip opened her mouth to translate. ¡°There¡¯s- ¡° ¡°No?¡± Vin frantically interrupted. ¡°No? What do you mean, ¡®No¡¯? We¡¯re going to die if we stay here!¡± The giant started signing something again, but Davian spoke before they could finish. His warped features revealed nothing. ¡°Tully claims to have a plan- ¡° ¡°She claims.¡± He calmly continued over Vin¡¯s interjection. ¡°- and even if we suppose she doesn¡¯t, this is worth it.¡± Ronnie¡¯s hands flashed. ¡°This is better than it would be otherwise,¡± Whip translated. ¡°We¡¯ve got the House Head owing us. It¡¯s almost certain we¡¯ll find somewhere¡­¡± The lame woman glanced at the baby-faced giant. ¡°Safe?¡± Ronnie shook their head. ¡°Legitimate?¡± Another shake. ¡°Real?¡± A tilting hand. ¡°True?¡± A nod. As if waiting for the two to finish had pained him, Vin immediately exploded. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter if Heltia¡¯s done for!¡± Davian¡¯s arms raised, revealing all the nothing he held. ¡°It¡¯s¡­¡± The Strain swallowed. ¡°I believe it worth the risk.¡± Gast¡¯s eyes slowly drifted between us all. She nodded, then heaved her vast bulk back towards the wall of wagons. ¡°Whip? Come on. Help me out.¡± Vin¡¯s plea was met with a slow shake of the head. ¡°Kit?¡± ¡°M¡¯not leavin¡¯ if they¡¯re not.¡± ¡°But. But- ¡° The large man coughed, then gagged towards the ground. A limp stream of liquid emerged from his mouth, curling around itself when it touched dirt; some grotesque crystallisation of his feelings. Before he even fully straightened, he was backing away. Rita raised her crossbow towards him. ¡°Vin. Big man.¡± Her expression was dismayed; pleading. ¡°Don¡¯ leave. We need you. People¡¯ll die ¡®less yer here.¡± ¡°I- I¡¯m not responsible for this,¡± he stuttered. ¡°I can¡¯t be. It¡¯s not my business.¡± My eyes widened as I realised what he was about to do. ¡°Yer really gonna run from this?¡± Disbelief shadowed my words. Two eyes ¨C one brown, one darker ¨C stared at me. While he shook his head from side to side, they watched. ¡°You have no idea what I¡¯m running from.¡± Chapter 47 - All Our Yesterdays I- No, Kit- No, Vin- No? No? No? Kit and Vin were yelling below me. About something important, I thought. But I was needed upwards. On the wall. Tully was on it as well. Some of her guards, too: Elli and Cam. My runestone was very heavy on my arm. I pulled a hand from beneath where I lay and ran my fingers over it. Vin¡¯s blood swirled within: more potent than any I had ever known. On the other side of the wall were people. My eyes skidded over the scene. Tully used a runic (light/shape, recursive array, ??, heavy fuel usage) device to blast azure light over them. There were many. They were arranged in two shaky ranks, like two lines of ants rattled by an Aching. Most had their hands over their eyes. Some held their ears. A few had avoided the earlier blast. It had been a runic (light, motion, basic array) canister that halted their advance. Their armour ¨C some thick, metal kind ¨C was covered with forest detritus and mud. Good for hiding. But beneath was paint. Two shades of yellow. Arranged in plates. Like a turtle¡¯s shell. I noticed Kit had been wrong. There were more than three-dozen. I counted sixty. Maybe more. Nowhere in the fields was absent of the blue glare. At the back of their ranks stood an additional six soldiers. They stood in front of two figures: a large one and a much smaller person. A scraping from nearby had me slowly shifting my head. Davian carefully clambered up the side of the wagon-wall. Unusual. Behind him, Vin and Kit were still arguing. They looked close to blows. But few were around to stop them. Just Ronnie, hovering close by. Most of the caravan had disappeared. Only Rita, Whip, and the nomads were left in the yard. The quiet men, too. They were putting together pieces (motion, recursive array; motion, activation array; heat, basic array; motion¡­) of a large contraption. I fell into the runes. They spat me up. It was large. Like a crossbow. He fell on his belly beside me. ¡°Has anything happened yet?¡± I shook my head, cheeks jiggling. Davian gathered air into his throat. I spoke. ¡°No.¡± Speaking would be stupid. Tully was about to. And she seemed-
-angry. Livid. And though I¡¯d spent most of a lifetime learning to keep it under control, beneath my rage lay the same wretched feeling that captured my kind on even their best days. The feeling of a spider reeling at their web being torn. The feeling of an insect under a predator¡¯s knife. Both were familiar. These kinds of emotions had no place in a commander. A leader needed to adapt, for every plan was fallible. I¡¯d planned for variants of this situation anyway. But I hadn¡¯t expected them. Time crawled as I tried to turn my mind towards the situation. Yet I was unbalanced. The soldiers left in Spires should have been capable of fending off whatever opportunistic forces headed towards it for months. The size of any assaulting force was necessarily choked by terrain: few supply-trains could hold in the face of the monsters and bandits that ran rampant through the Heartlands, or travel at speed through its beaten trails. Especially not with most of humanity¡¯s greatest warriors twelve years dead. Any trains well-guarded enough to survive would travel at a glacial pace, and face heavy resistance from the city. The Spires of Heltia could fall, but not without significant losses on the besieger¡¯s side. Our height-advantage and stockpiled weaponry would allow nothing else. In the unlikely event they knew one of House Heltia had survived, pursuers would split along the possible routes to Fort Vane. Given the number of dummy caravans I¡¯d created over the past four weeks, their forces would undoubtedly chase dead ends. And the oncoming Frost would halt their advance, allowing time for us to smuggle Head Maleen somewhere safe. Smaller teams may slip past Spires¡¯s patrols, but diluted by the necessities of hasty and stealthy travel, the four veterans and three Blooded under my direction were more than sufficient to handle them. And, competent as they were, the monster-hunters would provide more than sufficient shield to blunt whatever losses were taken. Especially Vin ¨C undoubtedly a deserter of another House ¨C and¡­ Kit. Every move she made was a reminder. Her toothy grin. Her capricious moods. Her constant attempts to intimidate. Sometimes, when I saw her, my body could no longer move. Despite the decades of distance, every part of me below the neck buried itself. She made my scars ache. But most of Kit was but a shadow; an empty body possessed by a singular ghost. Most, except her swordplay: talent and mastery beyond anything a mortal should be capable of. Between her and the Lizardblood, it was little wonder their group¡¯s survival-rate had caught my attention. And the moment I¡¯d seen their ability, I¡¯d known I couldn¡¯t let them go. My shame was behind bars ¨C its crimes tallied, its death scheduled ¨C yet remained just as vicious and cunning as before. Its teeth, quelled for decades under Tam¡¯s gentle ministrations, stalked my dreams once more. I¡¯d sent her and the girls to Fort Vane after a long and twisted night. It held me still. Using its daughter would have to be sufficient vengeance. The inconceivable truth was that Spires had fallen, likely in less than three days. I would have to plan around that fact. My mind fell back into the present. Beneath my consciousness, a roiling sea of gears churned. Click. My eyes flickered towards the forces in front of us. Click. My eyes flickered around our location; vulnerable, indefensible. Click. They fell upon the bloodtech weapon. Click. My eyes flicked towards the road behind us. If we¡¯d carried more explosives¡­ But there were no ifs. There was only what was. Click. The town on the horizon ¨C infested with a handful of Godkin, if my Dolphinblood had reported accurately. Click. The monster hunters. Click. The other pieces, huddled in the barn. Clunk. A plan. Without moving from my position, prone atop the carriage, I quietly spoke. ¡°Rita.¡± Adjusting quickly, my second responded. ¡°Still need time, Tully.¡± I clicked my tongue. ¡°How long?¡± ¡°Few minutes, mebbe.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not ideal,¡± I informed her. ¡°Corral the Lizardblood.¡± ¡°S¡¯not happening. You know how it is; Lizardbloods¡¯re harder t¡¯topple than most, but when they do fall, they stay down. Man¡¯s stuck as stuck can be. He¡¯s done.¡± My eyes flickered. ¡°Prepare to lead our charges to the town up the hill. He will be open to that, at least.¡± In the likely case our opening blow was insufficient, we would need better terrain. The abandoned town up the hill would serve, and the deserter would be indispensable in getting there. The other caravaners would provide both a smoke-screen and cover for the Head. ¡°I¡¯ll try after I¡¯m done. Still need time, though.¡± ¡°Be quick,¡± I commanded. Something caught my eye. Two of the Strains ¨C Gast; Davian ¨C exchanged words beside me. The male Strain breathed in, and to my disbelief I realised he was going to address the force in front of us. We had scarcely seconds before the stunner wore off; a subordinate speaking would ruin the authority of the moment. The female shut him up. Sensible, for a mutant. I breathed in, then out. ¡°What- ¡°
¡°- is such a large force doing out here?¡± a harsh voice called. Some magic contraption threw incredible amounts of light in the eyes of our forces, making identifying our quarry¡¯s movements impossible. The effect was further exacerbated by the confusion of sound and colour that had assaulted us moments before. Our soldiers spilled across the landscape beside their farmstead, like choppy waves surrounding an island. The air smelled clean and clear ¨C as it always did within the Heartlands ¨C yet concealed beneath it was the acrid scent of a thunderstorm. Tempest season lay on the other side of Frost, but mankind carried that charge with us; only beaten by gods when it came to shaking the world. A half-step in front of me, Commander Andros straightened his diminutive form, brushing mud off the strips sown to his cloak. Every single one was made redundant by the identical ribbons sown into his coat beneath, yet served the additional utility of identifying him to any would-be ambushers. Seeing him die would be one of my life¡¯s greatest pleasures, were it not for the fact that it would sabotage my purpose on the expedition. ¡°Now, now,¡± Andros called, ¡°let¡¯s not play games. You know why we¡¯re here.¡± Ornamentation did matter in social affairs. The fact the little grub chose to make this moment such an event was baffling. I leaned my head forward. ¡°Sir,¡± I whispered. ¡°Would it not be wiser to let me do the speaking?¡± He frowned. ¡°A leader is a leader, Seoras.¡± ¡°A leader,¡± I began, careful to keep my voice even, ¡°is vulnerable to getting shot when identified.¡± ¡°Come now,¡± Commander Andros said. The roll of his eyes was visible beneath the glare of their incredible lantern. ¡°We outnumber them three to one. Even if they can find a decent angle, little will get through six Blooded.¡± ¡°Sir. They are Heltia- ¡° He shushed me. ¡°She¡¯s speaking! Just look intimidating.¡± I flexed my fingernails rigidly, hidden in the folds of my cloak Attaching me to his regiment was unusual, given Andros¡¯s propensity for ignoring advice. What use was an advisor to such a man? But assisting him remained secondary. The search was far more important. The woman¡¯s voice finally responded. ¡°No. I do not.¡± Andros¡¯s ability to project his voice, despite it being obstructed by six men and considerable distance, was admirable. ¡°You have no affiliation with House Heltia, then?¡± ¡°I do not. Why? Has something happened?¡± ¡°Surely you¡¯re aware of the Albright¡¯s Declaration? Amongst its many crimes, House Heltia shelters the Ravenblood. And our monarchs can no longer stomach the existence of a Head tainted by Godsblood.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve heard of it, vaguely,¡± the voice responded tersely. ¡°But it simply removed the Albright¡¯s endorsement of House Heltia, did it not?¡± ¡°You should understand why we need to investigate your caravan.¡± Andros raised his arm to give the order, then halted when the woman responded. ¡°The ground beneath your feet is rigged with bloodtech. If I see any movement from your forces, we will destroy you.¡± ¡°I see the veils are off. Alright, then,¡± the Commander said, acquiescing to the threat. ¡°You will answer my questions, however. I leaned forward again. ¡°She¡¯s stalling, Commander. If she had such tools, they would¡¯ve been used immediately.¡± He clicked his tongue. ¡°Seoras, we cannot afford to avoid an opportunity to gain information.¡± I opened my mouth again, only to be cut off. ¡°I have made my decision. Do not question it.¡± I withdrew several steps, allowing him to continue his ill-advised conversation. In other ways, Commander Andros was capable. House Baylar and its nobility frequently made a sport of hunting, and amidst such games he was renowned as a tracker. I¡¯d been impressed with our speed and low casualties while we were on the move, especially seeing as we weren¡¯t a mounted company. If he weren¡¯t so¡­ unjustifiably confident, I might¡¯ve been able to respect him. Initially, I¡¯d been uncertain that caravan we¡¯d been tracking had a chance of containing whatever individual House Heltia was attempting to smuggle away ¨C if there were any such individual at all. There were a variety of routes out of the Spires of Heltia, and as many people who¡¯d recognised the city as a sinking ship and escaped ¨C and given the wreck the Ox had left Spires in, little information could be gathered. We¡¯d already assailed another caravan travelling alongside the River Ien, and found nothing. House Baylar had determined it likely that some of House Heltia had survived, and that they likely travelled to Fort Vane, given that the Vanes were Heltia¡¯s only other nobility ¨C giving them a truly singular position within the Heartlands. Yet brute-forcing the issue seemed to be ¡®General¡¯ Yalo¡¯s only solution. The man seemed to be incompetent, and his demands we avoid specific areas of the Heartlands reeked of the Albright¡¯s long fingers. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. I couldn¡¯t truly know ¨C my engineered series of demotions took me out of such circles ¨C however it seemed obvious that the ¡®General¡¯ hadn¡¯t truly earned his title, as the post-deicide climate had been lacking in major engagements, giving him little chance to gain experience. His competency was untested, for the most part. The rank he aped was, historically, earned through dozens of victories, but the Houses¡¯ greatest were all buried with the Raven. The untried and the incompetent were all that remained. Using Enn indicated a kind of reckless creativity, but sacrificing a band of mercenaries to lead a god to a city would have long-lasting political ramifications. Choosing short-term gain over long-term profit was rarely a clever move. House Baylar must¡¯ve been fearful of another House snapping up the Heartlands. Though I was almost entirely certain Yalo hadn¡¯t come up with the plan himself. Private correspondence had indicated it advanced more¡­ subtle interests. The kind conducive to the Seed¡¯s needs. But until I resigned from my post, I couldn¡¯t know more. In any case, my doubts regarding our tailing of the caravan had seemed reasonable. But then their lookouts had evaded our forces dextrously; the caravan had produced some stunning device, obvious bloodtech weaponry, which Heltia was known to keep firmly away from civilian hands; and finally, the woman had outright threatened a representative from a House. As Commander Andros continued exchanging words with the caravan¡¯s leader, I reached my conclusion. She might not be guarding some heir to Heltia, but she was guarding something. My fingernails ached as they slowly extended. I could only hope it was the boy. In the end, though, I had no idea-
¡°-what I¡¯m running from.¡± ¡°Vin, I don¡¯t care what yer haulin¡¯,¡± Kit carefully stated. ¡°It don¡¯t make this any less pathetic.¡± We stood in the yard, surrounded by scarred, blood-stained stumps and the crimson crackle of grass. The cold of Frost had been broken by the sudden heat ¨C the hot breaths of a House¡¯s weight on the other side of our flimsy wagon-wall. Its walls contorted with the pressure of it all; rippling alongside the entire world like sand beneath a river-bank, disturbed by a child¡¯s feet. Underneath it a thousand cursed tombs; all dead of the same disease, and all released upon the world again. Whip; Ronnie; Kit; Davian; Malee; Laja; Taja; Rita; the three quiet men ¨C all remained; ants trapped in slowly melting honey. There was no fire, but it was all aflame. Within the barn were the beat of the rest of the caravanners lives, frantically pulsing to the pattern of their own- No, no, no, I couldn¡¯t focus on them, I needed to be present. Beneath the sweat-soaked tunic and between a sore throat and pounding headache and discomfort melting to agony within a gut; firmly nestled in the putrid slosh of my own being. My eyes rested on Kit¡¯s. How could I make them see? ¡°This¡¯s the wrong decision,¡± I hissed. ¡°Oh, an¡¯ th¡¯ right one¡¯s runnin¡¯? Leavin¡¯ everyone here t¡¯spike their heads on a long, pointy stick?¡± She shook her head, releasing a snort. ¡°I couldn¡¯ care less ¡®bout most o¡¯ these people.¡± Her next words were slow and accusatory. ¡°But you do.¡± I pushed the lump down my throat. ¡°The right choice,¡± I enunciated carefully, ¡°is one where we don¡¯t all die.¡± Her lips peeled away, transforming her face into that a vicious animal. ¡°An¡¯ what¡¯s death, t¡¯make you so scared? We¡¯re all gonna die, Vin ¨C that¡¯s th¡¯ way o¡¯ things.¡± A scoff escaped me, harsh and guttural. ¡°Said like a woman who doesn¡¯t know death.¡± ¡°Oh, I know death.¡± Her black eyes gleamed. ¡°Better than you ever will.¡± ¡°You,¡± I stated, ¡°are a violent thug. You don¡¯t know death. You know killing.¡± She cocked an eyebrow challengingly. ¡°There¡¯s a difference?¡± The world twisted. I felt my face contort. ¡°Are you stupid?¡± I growled, then continued in a shout. ¡°Of course there¡¯s a bloody difference! Killing¡¯s easy. You don¡¯t feel the pain; you don¡¯t feel your entrails rip away; your flesh get torn apart; your blood leaving your body; you don¡¯t suffer. You don¡¯t mourn.¡± Shallow panting distorted my chest. I pointed a trembling finger at Kit ¡°Killing¡¯s the easiest thing in the world: you just hold a godsdamned spear and twist.¡± Vaguely, I noticed Ronnie extending their good arm between us. Yet Kit¡¯s eyes was firmly on my own. ¡°Well. Maybe I don¡¯t know death. But if I know anythin¡¯ I know livin¡¯.¡± She licked her lips. ¡°An¡¯ yer makin¡¯ a pretty damn poor showin¡¯ of it.¡± ¡°I am trying,¡± I said, holding my hands in front of my face, ¡°to keep us alive! Keep us away.¡± ¡°Life¡¯s not about runnin¡¯, Vin!¡± she yelled. Her tone was plaintive. ¡°¡¯specially not from somethin¡¯ as piss-normal as death. Yer born, an¡¯ that sends you forward; th¡¯ one push not from yer own power. But then you hit an obstacle ¨C one, then two, then three ¨C an¡¯ that¡­ that speed gets cut. It bleeds. An¡¯ you gotta push yerself t¡¯staunch it. Fight forward, y¡¯know? ¡°But we all run out, one day. Has it broke you from you, though?¡± She stared at me, and I swallowed. ¡°That¡¯s th¡¯ real question, right? Yer born; you die ¨C what matters¡¯s how true you are in-between.¡± She grasped at the air, searching for the words. ¡°How¡­ Real you are. T¡¯you. T¡¯everyone else. Makin¡¯ yer time yours.¡± The swordswoman shook her head zealously. ¡°Not livin¡¯ scared. Y¡¯see?¡± ¡°Being authentic,¡± I muttered. She bobbed her head. ¡°You get it. Not givin¡¯ up who you are. But you¡¯ve done jus¡¯ that. An¡¯ I don¡¯t even know what th¡¯ blood yer meant t¡¯be.¡± The world turned around us ¨C those in the yard scrabbling towards some endeavour while those in the barn scattered and coalesced wildly. Faintly, I could hear arguments and shouting, alongside muted sobbing. None of that was relevant. None of that was my business. Air blew from my nose. ¡°And who are you, Kit? Someone who¡¯ll beat people for looking at them wrong? Who¡¯ll kill for nothing more than an insult?¡± She shook her head, brows furrowed. ¡°See, Vin. That¡¯s what I don¡¯t get. Most people ain¡¯t me, sure, but that¡¯s only ¡®cause they¡¯re scared. Killin¡¯ s¡¯not some¡­ big¡­¡± She opened and closed her mouth. ¡°S¡¯not some big wrong. You an¡¯ me an¡¯ th¡¯ Strains ¨C we kill monsters. Eat animals. An¡¯ people: they¡¯re not so different. Worse, even.¡± I blinked, disbelieving. ¡°What are you talking about?¡± ¡°Monsters jus¡¯ do what they have to. People, though? They do what they want to.¡± I shook my head. ¡°You aren¡¯t speaking sense. You want us to die, because¡­ we¡¯re like¡­¡± I swallowed. ¡°Monsters? You say death¡¯s inevitable, but that doesn¡¯t mean nothing is lost, Kit. All that¡¯s left is just¡­¡± My own patchwork soul stretched within my body, a well far too deep for its size. ¡°Ghosts.¡± ¡°Gods, Vin. What¡¯s lost, anyway? Mos¡¯ people¡¯re pathetic.¡± My lips sunk further and further into a sneer, and she scoffed. ¡°What? What? You wanna contest it? ¡°You¡¯re so godsdamned twisted,¡± I spat furiously. ¡°How¡¯d you come up with something so stupid?¡± She threw an arm sideways. ¡°What¡¯d we see in Spires? Some Lizard-brained bastards skimmin¡¯ chits off a group o¡¯ Strains? Refusin¡¯ t¡¯pay out of pure godsdamned malice? A bar rigged to drain idiots from their money; money they needed to stop them an¡¯ theirs from starving?¡± Kit let loose a humourless chuckle. ¡°People stealin¡¯ kids, an¡¯ usin¡¯ them t¡¯ water the dirt? ¡°It¡¯s all nothin¡¯, Vin ¨C it¡¯s worse¡¯n nothin¡¯.¡± The swordswoman scoffed. ¡°Gods got every right t¡¯flatten us all.¡± Blood flowed from where I¡¯d bit my cheek. Words stumbled forward like wounded hounds. ¡°Then why are you even here?¡± ¡°¡¯Cause bein¡¯ born means I got a right to fight. An¡¯ fightin¡¯ means hurtin¡¯ people. An¡¯ that,¡± she spat, ¡°is that.¡± I shook my head silently, my eyes drifting lower. Her sudden scream had me gripping my sword. ¡°Everyone knows it, Vin!¡± She paused, tilting her head to catch my dropped gaze. ¡°Everyone. An¡¯ I just can¡¯t get how you got it so wrong.¡± We stared at one another. My gut roiled with imminent failure. Awareness stretched: the panic of the caravanners¡¯ writhing inside the barn; the manic building of those still in the yard, forming some sort of weapon; an exchange between Tully and the soldiers outside. The enemy forces numbered in dozens ¨C far more than I count in a brief instant. All mapped in the delicate pulse of life, waiting to be eternally smothered. I should¡¯ve stayed in the forest. Yet the situation beckoned, awaiting correction, and the only hand available to help was one proven incapable. If I could get Kit on my side, we could get the others to run ¨C by persuasion or by force, if necessary. There was only ever one chance. Yet when my mouth opened to speak, no sounds emerged. They caught within my throat, a bundle of marrow simply too large for its circumference. I tried to push, yet another equal part of me revolted against those intentions. It pulled the sounds back downwards, trying to leave them between stomach and intestines and liver and heart to fester between those organs, rotting in the same way they had for the last four years. I¡¯d never tried to vocalise these thoughts before. It was a chain that wound my jaw shut. I¡¯d just have to hope Kit could chip the right links for me. Had it been the same with her? Had she fought against her own set of bindings; her own jittering strings? ¡°T-There¡¯re,¡± I stuttered, ¡°chains of events. When you throw something up, it¡¯ll come back down. When you punch a wall, the wall will hurt you back.¡± I paused, holding my hands together a short length. ¡°When you walk, the things underneath you crumple.¡± Kit narrowed her eyes, frowning. ¡°The chains get bigger.¡± The distance between my hands grew as I continued speaking. ¡°You might kick a rock, and then trip over it a few days later. And then that tripping breaks a tooth, and you need to get it pulled. And because the tooth isn¡¯t pulled right, you get an infection in your mouth that pains you ¡®til you die. ¡°And it¡¯s not just about you, either. The rock might trip another instead, and then that person¡¯s stuck with the infection and the pain and the suffering.¡± The swordswoman¡¯s head withdrew, slightly. ¡°What¡¯s that t¡¯do with anything?¡± ¡°I-it¡¯s¡­ You¡­ You say¡­¡± The situation was moving. I needed to speak faster. ¡°You say that there¡¯s¡­¡± I shoved the nausea back down. ¡°Y-you¡¯re saying that everything alive is fighting to be that way, all the time.¡± Kit nodded, a slight scowl on her face. ¡°Yeah.¡± ¡°Is there no value in that?¡± She squinted. ¡°What?¡± ¡°The fight. Life.¡± ¡°I s¡¯pose.¡± ¡°And is it just valuable¡­ to you? Or is life valuable to other people?¡± ¡°I guess, but- ¡° ¡°So when someone dies, something is lost.¡± Kit sneered. ¡°Nothin¡¯ is lost ¨C weren¡¯t you bloody well listenin¡¯?¡± ¡°Maybe not in terms of overall value, but something disappears. Right?¡± ¡°That¡¯s th¡¯- ¡° My hands jerked like a marionette¡¯s, yet my eyes didn¡¯t leave Kit¡¯s. ¡°So i-if we want to preserve that value ¨C to keep it safe ¨C people need to be alive. They need to not be dead.¡± ¡°Sure,¡± she spat. ¡°An¡¯ you leavin¡¯ll make people dead.¡± I shook my head vigorously. ¡°No, no ¨C that¡¯s not the point.¡± Ideas met, coalesced, and fell apart again within my mind. My script trembled in my mind, its language insufficient for the task. ¡°W-we do something, a-and events happen. A-a-and sometimes, that means¡­¡± I swallowed against the lump in my throat. ¡°People die.¡± ¡°So what?¡± Kit pushed. ¡°What¡¯s new, there? I do things, an¡¯ people get hurt? So what?¡± ¡°It¡¯s not just ¡®hurt¡¯, Kit,¡± I spat. ¡°People bleed. They suffer.¡± Everything fell away, as if the swordswoman and I were the only individuals on-stage. ¡°And death¡¯s not the only outcome; people twist. All the things you hate about others can be brought about by your own reckless actions. Actions lead to consequences, and when they do they¡¯re your fault. Nothing good happens to the dead, Kit.¡± ¡°So what?¡± she spat. ¡°You get out yer ledger an¡¯ yer abacus, twiddle with the beads, an¡¯¡­ jus¡¯ see where th¡¯ happy endin¡¯ is? That¡¯s not¡­¡± She let out a growl of frustration. ¡°Nothin¡¯ good happens t¡¯the dead? Sure, but that¡¯s not th¡¯ only thing that matters. Life¡¯s not a godsdamned number-game, Vin.¡± I shook my head. She continued. ¡°People ain¡¯t measured one to ten. People ain¡¯t measured period. Yer figurin¡¯ what leads to what, an¡¯ doin¡¯ the math, but no creature alive fits in that box. An¡¯ how¡¯s runnin¡¯ bring the best consequences?¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± I said weakly, ¡°that¡¯s it. We¡¯re not gods. No human alive can do that math. So the moment we start this show, none of us know how it will end.¡± Kit blinked. ¡°Vin. Everyone wants this. No matter what happens.¡± ¡°They don¡¯t know what they¡¯re asking for.¡± ¡°Vin.¡± Her eyes locked on mine, disbelieving. ¡°All the Strains¡¯re lookin¡¯ for is a way t¡¯live. A job an¡¯ a bit o¡¯ food. S¡¯it wrong to help them?¡± Kit was right, in a way. Part of the reason Whip, Ronnie, and Davian had wanted this job was the chits. Yet she¡¯d missed their core motivation. When Kit and I had first sat down in their vandalised house and outlined the offer, I¡¯d thought I could stop them. I might¡¯ve even been able to if money was the only payment promised. Instead, they added something no one could¡¯ve expected. The Strains had lived entire lives being loathed for what they were. However, directly in front of their eyes lay something entirely different: employment. A potential position. A chance to receive a role. A promise that if they played their cards right, Tully would carve them a place in human society. However long the odds were, no one could resist that kind of wager. But only I knew that the game was rigged. It was a stroke of bitter irony that I, the one attempting to stop them, understood their desires better than the one trying to help. ¡°They¡¯re playing with chips they can¡¯t afford to lose,¡± I stated. She shook her head, disbelieving. ¡°Most o¡¯ the world hates ¡®em. It can¡¯t get worse for ¡®em, Vin.¡± I scoffed harshly. ¡°You¡¯re a fool if you believe that.¡± ¡°How¡¯s it gonna get worse?¡± she yelled, spittle flying into my face. ¡°We spent our whole time in Spires stakin¡¯ our lives fer barely enough to last th¡¯ week. They¡¯re at th¡¯ bottom of a well deeper¡¯n I ever knew, an¡¯ here¡¯s a chance fer them t¡¯climb up!¡± ¡°There is no bottom to this hole. No end to arrest our fall.¡± The dark skin of Kit¡¯s face twisted into a snarl. ¡°An¡¯ what¡¯s worse, huh? I can¡¯t imagine anythin¡¯ worse¡¯n livin¡¯ a whole life bein¡¯ treated like a godsdamned roach!¡± ¡°Imagination is feeble,¡± I spat. ¡°There¡¯s only one rule you can trust: it can always get worse.¡± ¡°Can always get better.¡± ¡°Is this the kind of situation that gets better, Kit?!¡± I roared. ¡°Do you even care about them? About Jana; Tippi; Crumpet? Because they¡¯ll be dead if you keep at this, and that¡¯ll be on you.¡± ¡°Runnin¡¯s jus¡¯ gonna get us shot in th¡¯ back. This way, I can protect them.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t know.¡± My voice broke apart on that final word. She stared. The yard had shrunk as our conversation played out. Ronnie and Rita had stepped away, choosing to slowly drag the wagons inwards by lifting one end. Whip and the nomads worked alongside the three recalcitrant men to assemble the strange weapon according to a set of barked instructions I could scarcely understand. Atop the wagon-wall, Tully gave vague answers to a series of gloating questions. Within the increasingly claustrophobic confined, Kit and I stood, staring at one another. No light shined upon us; all was directed towards the force Tully still negotiated with. Objectively, I understood the yard was dark. Yet Kit¡¯s eyes were closed, her face turned away from me. The writing of her expression was mercilessly clear. Even before she opened her mouth, I knew what little eloquence I¡¯d mustered hadn¡¯t been enough. I¡¯d failed. ¡°This isn¡¯t you. What¡¯re you doin¡¯, Vin?¡± she asked, and the authenticity in her voice made me wince. ¡°I¡­¡± I searched, vainly, for the words that could persuade her. ¡°S¡¯this it?¡± she said, disbelieving. ¡°This¡¯s all you are?¡± ¡°Someone who wants you to stay alive?¡± I met her eyes. ¡°Yeah.¡± ¡°No.¡± She shook her head. ¡°No. You- you lied.¡± ¡°Everyone has secrets,¡± I spat. ¡°S¡¯not just a secret Vin; you lied. You done nothin¡¯ but lie to everyone.¡± ¡°About what?¡± She closed her eyes, then opened them. ¡°What you can do. What you feel. What kind o¡¯ man you are.¡± I scoffed. ¡°I¡¯m not taking moral advice from someone who kills easier than she breathes.¡± Despite the brutality of my statement, she didn¡¯t display a hint of anger. Unnervingly, she just watched. ¡°I might be mean. Savage. Stupid. An¡¯ even then, I never acted like somebody else. ¡°But you?¡± She let loose a hoarse laugh. ¡°Yer just a whipped dog.¡± My jaw tightened. I lowered my neck, bringing myself eye-level with her. ¡°I am scared. You should be, too.¡± Kit opened her eyes, and smiled hollowly. ¡°All I¡¯m scared of is bein¡¯ like you.¡± ¡°We can still save this, Kit.¡± ¡°An¡¯ what? They ain¡¯t lettin¡¯ us leave, Vin. Least this way, we get t¡¯fight.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t-¡° I stopped, then started again. ¡°We can¡¯t take responsibility for an inter-House conflict. Especially not when we¡¯re on the losing side.¡± She threw open her arms. ¡°We¡¯re already part of it!¡± ¡°And we can get out of it!¡± I bellowed. All she did was slowly, carefully, shake her head. ¡°There¡¯s no happy ending, here.¡± I glared down at her. ¡°Do you want me to beg? Is that what will make you stop this stupid idea?¡± She turned away. ¡°All I want¡¯s some backbone. Until you find yours, get yerself away.¡± I felt countless eyes upon me as Kit walked away. When I looked up, no one was watching. A cry rose in my throat, empty of all language yet full of resentful edges; each so sharp it seemed to cut into my oesophagus and tear strips of flesh away. Before the cry could be born, it died. Screaming wasn¡¯t worth the effort. I went inside the barn. Immediately, someone ¨C Aron ¨C gripped the front of my tunic. He yelled words in my face, and I shoved him to the dirt. They stared at me. Old Snapper said something, and I walked past him. Jana positioned herself in front of me, and I brushed her aside. Odrin, I noticed, was locked in a conversation with his wife and his mother. They furiously berated him. I moved past them. Maddie stood apart from the group, protected by the wounded guard who¡¯d levelled a crossbow at the other caravaners. Upon seeing me, she swallowed and then asked me something. I wasn¡¯t paying attention. At the back of the barn was my bag. I squatted, gently rubbing the broken wing strapped to it between my fingers. After a moment, I slung it onto my back. Beside it was my halberd ¨C wrought with the bones of monsters. I picked that up too. I moved past the Smiths; the Growers; Aron and Willow and Daisy; Jana and Tippi and Crumpet. A confusing mass of others. I left the barn. For a moment, I considered scaling the feeble defences in front of me and leaping into the soldiers on the other side, to fight and die on their blades. But that would be a loss. I looked around the yard between the derelict barn and the abandoned farmstead. The bloodied stumps and ransacked house bore all the signs of a family who had cut their losses and left. That would be the wise choice, for both myself and the world. I couldn¡¯t, though. All I could do was stand there. Chapter 48 - Way to Dust Within the span of my perception, I felt every life nearby. The caravaners in the barn, pulsing madly; those in the yard in front of me, the vision of their movements slightly mismatched from the fires of their life-force; those atop the wagon-wall; dozens upon dozens of soldiers, their slow spread barely arrested according to Tully¡¯s hurled threats. And then small animals, fleeing from the ruckus; the faint lives of insects crawling across trees and under dirt, mindless of human affairs; a bird in-flight in the sky. For the first time, I mutely comprehended that my sixth-sense had nearly tripled in size since I¡¯d first acquired it, over a decade ago. A matter of ability and practice, perhaps. Or something else entirely. Yet whatever curiosity I possessed was overshadowed by the vast orchestra of life played around me. Its chords, its melody, was the great redeemer. No song could play forever, though, and that truth knotted my guts. Amidst the fugue of my perception, Kit and Rita exchanged words. The guard gestured towards me, and Kit tersely turned away, then began scaling the wagon-wall. Rita shook her head wearily, glanced my way, and marched over to one of the people assembling the oversized crossbow: Ronnie, Whip, and the nomads among them. The one she addressed was one of the quiet men, yet seemed far more engaged than the other two dreamy individuals. The guard interrupted the man as he berated Taja ¨C the youngest of the nomad siblings ¨C who scurried into the barn, fat tears falling from his eyes. The man¡¯s large chin tilted towards me as they spoke. A few muttered words I didn¡¯t care enough about to focus on, and they were walking towards me. ¡°Ey big man,¡± Rita greeted. I grunted. Their bodies concealed her movements, but the touch of skin against fabric was barely audible as she tapped her partner on the back. ¡°C¡¯mon, Vin,¡± she repeated. ¡°Get yerself together, arite?¡± Irritation snapped me into my body. ¡°What? Why¡¯re you- ¡± ¡°Everyone here needs ya.¡± I couldn¡¯t shake the feeling she was right. ¡°I didn¡¯t agree to fight Baylar, Rita,¡± I muttered, battling against the shame weighing my words. ¡°I¡¯m not getting involved with this.¡± ¡°If you don¡¯t, we¡¯re all gonna end up with our heads on pikes.¡± Sorrow pierced me at the thought. ¡°Yer team; th¡¯ kids; me guards; all o¡¯ us gone, rottin¡¯ away wit¡¯ th¡¯ rising sun.¡± A sudden burst of sadness whipped me back the other way. I felt like a doll on a string, pulled whatever way my emotions demanded. The notion pulled my eyes onto the man. His protruding chin. His large forehead. The rage that filled me incinerated whatever insidious feeling had crawled into me. Before Rita could react, I surged forward, grabbing the shorter man around the neck and lifting him off the ground. The guard-captain swore ferociously, and raised her crossbow. ¡°You shoot me, and I break his neck,¡± I spat. Lethargy filled my limb ¨C he¡¯d abandoned any pretence of subtlety. I flexed my fingers into the flesh of his throat. ¡°Tell your pet Dolphinblood to stop whatever he¡¯s doing.¡± A pause. I began counting down. ¡°Five; Four; Three- ¡° ¡°Ox¡¯s bloody balls, alright!¡± Rita waved towards the man. ¡°Stop, ¡®fore he kills ya.¡± The man gurgled, and the intruding feelings fell away. I¡¯d had enough of those for one lifetime. With a heave, I grasped the man¡¯s belt and hurled him a few paces away. ¡°If I feel even a whiff of that, I¡¯ll take your neck off your shoulders. You hear me?¡± He looked towards Rita. ¡°What happened to subtlety, huh?¡± Her voice was full of anger. ¡°You said t¡¯make it quick!¡± I stepped towards him, and the Dolphinblood scrambled away, back towards the contraption. His two companions watched, blinking owlishly. The guard¡¯s voice turned me back. ¡°Hard t¡¯find good help, eh?¡± ¡°You piece of filth.¡± I turned my body her way. She raised her crossbow. ¡°Easy there, big man.¡± ¡°Was he playing us the entire time?¡± I spat. ¡°He¡¯s just here to direct our Owlbloods. When you get tha¡¯ much Yoot into ya¡­¡± She spun a finger next to her head in a ¡®coo-coo¡¯ gesture, keeping the other hand firmly on her weapon. ¡°It¡¯s hard t¡¯get you t¡¯do anything. Bit of Wump makes it easier.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± I tersely mused, ¡°so he¡¯s never used his powers on anyone else here?¡± A half-beat passed before she could create a response, and that half-beat was all the answer I needed. ¡°So he has.¡± I turned my body away from the small woman and swore ferociously. If only I could take the bastards apart, piece by piece¡­ ¡°I-it¡¯s not like he can control you, jus¡¯ your feeling. An¡¯ believe you me: it wasn¡¯t my idea.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t pretend you care,¡± I spat. ¡°You used us, and even now, when everything¡¯s on the table, you¡¯re still trying to play me.¡± She flinched. I scoffed. ¡°The godsdamned audacity.¡± My hands trembled as I imagined all the ways I could hurt her, and how I would delight in doing so. I stifled the feeling, then wondered if it had been stifled for me. The guard lowered her crossbow. ¡°Look, Vin,¡± Rita carefully began, ¡°everything I was trying to say is true. We¡¯re goin¡¯ up the hill- ¡° ¡°What?¡± I interrupted. ¡°Hundreds of meters along the road, against Spider knows how many archers? You¡¯ll die.¡± A pained expression found its way onto her face. ¡°Tully¡¯s got a plan that¡¯ll blunt some of the losses, but¡­¡± She nodded. ¡°People will die. But if you¡¯re there, it¡¯ll be less of ¡®em.¡± Turning away, I shook my head. ¡°Vin.¡± Her voice was soft, but firm. ¡°It¡¯ll be all people you know. Your friends. An¡¯ there¡¯s no other way t¡¯run. You¡¯re part of this, like it or not.¡± ¡°They haven¡¯t seen my face,¡± I spat. ¡°And I¡¯m a Lizardblood ¨C I could outpace anyone else here.¡± That was truer than she could know. With Dure¡¯s vitality fuelling me, Kani¡¯s dexterity guiding me, and Enn¡¯s power pushing me, I was likely one of the best endurance runners on the continent. Even without having a strong version of either three. ¡°You don¡¯t know that. An¡¯ even so, you¡¯ll still have t¡¯go up the hill.¡± I rubbed my eyes. Breaking their blockade in any other direction would be reckless. With the group taking their attention¡­ My stomach churned at the thought. It was grotesque, but what else was there to do? Take charge of the entire situation? The last time that happened, my mother had died; I¡¯d turned into a monster; my son had suffered the¡­ A shudder wracked my body. ¡°So?¡± Rita pushed. ¡°Are you gonna leave us t¡¯die?¡± ¡°To the town up the hill,¡± I managed, ¡°and that¡¯s- ¡° *** ¡°- it?¡± I said sarcastically. I¡­ No, Gast nodded, her fleshy neck wobbling. I was somewhat surprised the wagon¡¯s bonnet held her weight. ¡°That is it.¡± ¡°I was bein¡¯¡­¡± A shallow groan escaped me as I crawled forward atop the wagon, eyes peeking at the army in front of us. ¡°Never mind.¡± It was an army. Or whatever it was called ¨C I¡¯d never really absorbed the dozens of names Mother had for a group of angry armed warriors. By Gast¡¯s estimation, there were sixty-four soldiers in-rank, and another seven as a guard around their leader. From what Mother had explained of standard military groupings, that meant four squads. Depending on how much independence Baylar liked, each squad might be further sub-divided into four ¨C meaning they¡¯d work better when their lieutenant got stabbed. I¡¯d asked Davian to double-check the math. From what I figured, there were probably a handful of other in the trees as well. No way of seeing in the dark. I shuffled backwards, my legs dropping over the top of the wagon. So probably around forty footmen, thirty archers, and six or seven Blooded. Versus four guards, Tully, some creepy men, four Strains, and me. Vin was out, and just the thought of our little chat made my teeth grind. I¡¯d lost a handful of minutes trying to pull him from the ditch he¡¯d dug, but only came out dirtier for it. A faint part of me hoped he¡¯d pull through anyway. Was stupid to expect better, but I did. He¡¯d made some good points ¨C better than I could¡¯ve known. I¡¯d blustered to Vin, but these were not good numbers. I¡¯d never faced a group this large ¨C twenty was the biggest, and I still thought I¡¯d die. Largest I¡¯d ever run away from was around forty. And from what I could tell, none of the Strains were killers, neither. They probably had one or two under their belt ¨C I figured only the most sheltered noble¡¯d never killed before; couldn¡¯t really imagine otherwise ¨C but they hadn¡¯t made a habit of it. Which was good in most cases, because murderers tended to be piles of filth, but very bad here. Lack of practice tended to freeze hands when they needed to move. Tully had a plan. Probably a good one, if she were really a Spiderblood like Vin thought. Right now, the plan looked a lot like having a chat. ¡°You¡¯ll have no trouble identifying Neelam Heltia as a traitor to humanity, then,¡± came a distant voice. Tully, despite laying flat on her belly, managed to project her voice far better. ¡°Neelam Heltia is a traitor to humanity,¡± she stated flatly. ¡°May we leave?¡± The man scoffed. ¡°And your threat of exploding us should be forgotten, then?¡± ¡°Absolutely.¡± A short pause. Spears rattled as seventy soldiers began moving, arraying their massive power against our untrained and meagre forces. My knuckles clenched around my sword so tightly they ached. Then Tully grinned widely. ¡°Take one more step closer. Be my guest.¡± The sounds stopped. ¡°A shame,¡± she stated. The commander¡¯s response was far more furious than it had been, moments ago. ¡°My men will encircle your position.¡± ¡°Just so long as you¡¯re willing to spend most of their lives.¡± He was briefly at a loss for words. Another minute or two was bought as he halted; to think, confer with advisors or simply rally his forces. I glanced downwards, noting Vin exchanging terse words with Rita. A clank jerked my head away: Whip, our leech-y guests ¨C minus their kid brother ¨C and the creeps had finished putting together the oversized crossbow. Intricate patterns flared purple, then faded to a duller glow. I tried to look closer, but doing so made my head ache. ¡°You figure that¡¯s done?¡± I asked Gast. She turned around to look at it, then nodded. My foot shook repeatedly. ¡°An¡¯ they¡¯ll fire it soon?¡± ¡°Probably.¡± I turned to the rounder woman. ¡°You know that?¡± The Strain¡¯s eyes hadn¡¯t left the weapon¡¯s runes. ¡°It will explode if they don¡¯t.¡± I paused. ¡°How¡¯d it not blow up when it was in th¡¯ wagon?¡± ¡°It wasn¡¯t together.¡± ¡°O-kay¡­¡± I drawled. Awkwardly, I turned towards Davian, on my other side. His ears were pointed towards Tully¡¯s conversation, one mismatched eye pointed in my direction. The Strain kept trying to butt into their talks, and I¡¯d had to slap him on the back of the head to get him to stop. ¡°Where¡¯s yer bow?¡± I snapped. He startled. ¡°What?¡± I scowled. ¡°Yer bow. Where is it.¡± ¡°It¡¯s¡­ still in the barn.¡± ¡°Blood, why¡¯s it in the barn? Why¡¯s any of yer stuff in the barn? Gast¡¯s got all her kit, and she barely remembers her head in the mornin¡¯.¡± Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. ¡°It may not escalate that far,¡± the old Strain insisted. ¡°I think talks are going well.¡± For a moment, I just stared at him, completely baffled. ¡°Go get yer kit.¡± Davian stared back, his warped face as inscrutable as always. Then, he looked away and clambered down with a dexterity belying his years. There was a role for his marksmanship. That role had been blown away by his ill-preparation. I growled angrily. ¡°Man¡¯s fallen apart. Don¡¯t bode well, does it?¡± I looked at Gast. She was still looking at the runes. ¡°You payin¡¯ attention?¡± My voice quavered slightly. The note was quickly squashed. ¡°He¡¯s scared,¡± the fat Strain stated, without turning her gaze away. ¡°Sure, th¡¯ situation¡¯s bad.¡± I waved a hand. ¡°Y-you don¡¯t see me fallin¡¯ over it.¡± She didn¡¯t respond. I swore quietly, then rotated my body and called for Whip. The young woman looked up, crutch tucked beneath her arm. ¡°You prepped?¡± She turned around, pointing to the crossbow slung onto her back. ¡°They don¡¯t need you?¡± ¡°They don¡¯t,¡± she right. ¡°Alright,¡± I said, lowering an arm. ¡°I need you up here.¡± The Strain hobbled over and then awkwardly leapt on her good leg, allowing me to clasp her hand with my own. My arms strained as I heaved, but luckily for me Whip weighed little more than a bird. Combined with her frantic scrabbling, our efforts soon saw her laying next to me as we both panted. ¡°So,¡± I began, managing to catch my breath between words, ¡°whaddaya think Tully¡¯s plan is, Whip?¡± She scrunched her brows. ¡°I can¡¯t read her mind.¡± I growled with frustration. ¡°Jus¡¯¡­¡± I tried to phrase it how Vin would. ¡°What would your plan be?¡± Whip crept forward, head peeking over the lip of the wagon to gaze at the seventy-odd soldiers arranged against her, then withdrew with trembling eyes. They flickered madly, movements driven by whatever calculations occurred behind them. She mumbled something. ¡°Bit louder,¡± I said. Without looking at me, the small Strain turned around, sternly glaring around the courtyard. ¡°What¡¯s my goal?¡± she asked. I scrunched my nose, thinking. ¡°Uh¡­ Let¡¯s say you needa protect Maddie, escape, an¡¯ keep enough people alive t¡¯make it t¡¯Fort Vane.¡± Quickly, I added, ¡°Jus¡¯ pretend.¡± ¡°Gast?¡± The fat woman turned her head, slightly. ¡°What does the weapon do?¡± ¡°Fires something strong.¡± Whip continually nodded. ¡°Okay¡­¡± She stilled. ¡°Okay.¡± I gestured for her to explain. ¡°I don¡¯t think we can outrun these people,¡± she said, chewing her lip. ¡°And even if we escape, they¡¯ll get help. Ideally, we kill all of them.¡± I looked closely at her. ¡°There a way to do that?¡± ¡°Probably not? But to escape, we still need to kill a lot of them.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°That¡¯ll buy some time.¡± ¡°How would you do that?¡± ¡°Uh¡­¡± Whip swallowed, glancing at me. ¡°It¡¯s not very nice.¡± ¡°Pretend yer not nice.¡± ¡°Well, um¡­¡± The pause extended for far too long, given how any second could make this pot boil over. Though the temptation was there, I didn¡¯t smack her; it wouldn¡¯t help. ¡°Someone pulls a wagon aside, and fires the big crossbow. That gets a few of them, but¡­¡± She looked to me. ¡°They¡¯d be a bit confused, right?¡± ¡°I¡¯d be.¡± She cocked her head. ¡°But what about them?¡± I sucked air between my teeth. ¡°¡­Yeah.¡± The response was flat. ¡°They¡¯d be confused.¡± ¡°Okay. We get the oxen out and scare them towards the other people, and we run towards the place on the hill.¡± I cocked an eyebrow. ¡°There¡¯s monsters there.¡± ¡°It¡¯s got walls, and they¡¯ll attack everyone equally.¡± ¡°Right. So how d¡¯we stop Maddie from gettin¡¯ shot on the way up?¡± ¡°Use everyone else as shields.¡± I chuckled, half-admiring. ¡°Figured it¡¯d be somethin¡¯ like that. That it?¡± ¡°Um.¡± She looked around. ¡°I don¡¯t really know everything that we have, so maybe if we ask Tully I can make a better plan.¡± ¡°S¡¯okay Whip. Good job.¡± I slapped her on the shoulder, which she received with admirable stoicism. Or so I thought, until I remembered the Strain was incapable of feeling pain. One of the strange twists of being a Strain ¨C like Gast being the size of two of me but eating half as much. There was no way that Whip figured all of Tully¡¯s plan. She was a Strain, not a Spiderblood ¨C form without essence. Woman would have a hidden knife anyway, ready to strike when it suited her. But it was enough to understand how the fight would move. Sure enough, Rita made the rounds moments later, explaining in a whisper that we¡¯d all run to the abandoned town up the hill when ¡®the signal¡¯ occurred. Our job was to protect people, and deter whatever monsters slept in the village. Vague instructions, but she assured us that as long as we¡¯d listen to Tully, we¡¯d be fine. Oxdung. I¡¯d have to keep them safe. I scowled after the guard as she entered the barn. Then turned to Tully, who at this point had been stalling for over five minutes. I moved to ask her something, but Gast and Whip both pulled me back. Whip signed something, just like Ronnie usually did. ¡°What?¡± I uttered, brows tilted. She moved her mouth close to my ear. The urge to scramble away filled me, but I steeled myself against such weakness. ¡°Foxblood,¡± she whispered. I swore. ¡°Alright.¡± The bloodtech light beaming onto the forces arrayed against us revealed their behaviour as if the sun shone above us. Some shuffled from foot-to-foot, while others¡¯ hands flickered, drumming fingers against the bronze of their spears or shields. A few were incredibly still, glaring straight ahead at our wagon-wall. Whether to keep losses down or to simply play at being a leader who cared, their commander was being excessively cautious. But one thing was clear: if he wanted to keep control over his people, he¡¯d have to order the attack soon. Or they¡¯d do it, just to ease the escalating tension, and he¡¯d lose every ounce of respect they held for him. And then seventy soldiers would march towards us. I¡¯d seen it all before, on a smaller scale. We had moments before the jig was up, and Tully¡¯d be forced to flip the table. I leaned next to Gast¡¯s ear. ¡°Cut your hand down when we¡¯re about to fire th¡¯ big thing,¡± I breathed. ¡°An¡¯ help Whip¡¯s shot land.¡± I shuffled closer to Whip. ¡°When Gast cuts her hand down, try t¡¯shoot th¡¯ man speakin¡¯.¡± They both nodded. Gast readied the slab engraved with runes strapped to her left arm, while the smaller Strain slowly unslung her oversized crossbow, keeping it out of the army¡¯s sight. I drummed my fingers against my upper thigh, while the others clenched around the hilt of my sword. All my talents revolved around hurting people at close range. There was absolutely nothing I could do, beyond stopping any enemies from getting too close. Were I a different person, I could¡¯ve done better. But all I had to work with was myself. Such knowledge left me empty, and dull. Like one of Vin¡¯s carvings, half-finished and discarded by a frustrated hand. People would die before sunrise. I had to make sure that amongst them, there wasn¡¯t anyone I cared about. Then there was a jolt as Ronnie shoved the wagons beneath us aside. Gast drove her hand down, her runestone flaring, and Whip fired a- *** -glint from the wall of wagons above us, and a purple blur raced towards us, faster than my eye could track. One of the Blooded guards snapped her hand out, face splitting into a wide grin at a far slower pace, and snatched at it, yet met only air when the bolt suddenly changed course and embedded itself into our leader¡¯s leg. Andros let loose a jagged groan, admirably stifled down from a scream. I opened my mouth to give the order to initiate encirclement ¨C supposed explosives be damned ¨C only to find the wagons that formed our quarry¡¯s makeshift fortifications rolling aside, moving the light that had assaulted us away. In its wake was the darkness of night, only having grown deeper from our exposure to radiance. The only thing I could see was purple. Then my eyes adjusted. Within the yard of a beaten and broken farmstead was a massive contraption, bristling with runes. Their purple energy grew in intensity. ¡°All troops,¡± I bellowed, ¡°split formation!¡± And well-trained as they were, our men and women began moving. But we¡¯d been too late. I covered Andros with my body and then everything exploded. I- *** -was pushing our cart out of the barn when the world fell apart. The wall had been opened and all-encompassing cacophony emanated from the other side, setting all lesser sounds alight and leaving only a dull haze of ringing in its wake, like an endless landscape of tolling bells. Everyone I could see had covered their ears, but even so several lost their balance: Laja and the Owlbloods toppled over next to the device, whatever blood fuelled it now entirely spent, while both Gast and Whip rolled off the wagons to thud painfully on the ground. Kit immediately dismounted after the two to help them up. They were lucky. Retaliation was immediate, delivered in the form of several arrows. The guards still atop the wall managed to protect Tully, but doing so ensured that no hands remained to protect themselves. Projectiles glanced off helmets, ringing them like beaten pans, and dented their steel armour or sunk into their less protected arms and legs. One of them toppled off the wall, taking Tully with him. He was the broken-armed man who¡¯d stayed with us when the bandits were defeated, and there were arrows in his thighs and chest. There would be no fleeing for him. I blinked, and recovered from my stupor enough to begin pushing the cart towards the fallen Strains. Neither Whip nor Gast could run fast enough to escape, so pulling them would be the only way for them to keep pace. Yet I wrenched the slab of wood in another direction when movement in the sky caught my attention. A disparate collection of arrows arced above us, on a backdrop of stars and moons. Calculations allowed by decades of experience and Kani¡¯s stolen power told me they¡¯d fall atop Ronnie, Malee, Laja, and the three Blooded men like a falling meteor. Pure coincidence: none of the enemy archers had eyes on the group. Horrible and deadly coincidence. The giant Strain was too busy trying to help the Owlbloods upright to notice. My screams were lost in the sea of ringing that suffocated us. I strained against the back of the cart, tendons creaking, and wrung more raw power from my body than I had for years to send it hurtling towards them. Malee looked up, then dove atop his sister. I pounded over the crimson dirt, and Ronnie finally glanced my way, eyes drawn by the cart. They followed my finger upwards, and saw the arrows hurtling towards them. I wasn¡¯t fast enough. But the cart was, and driven by my titanic push it thundered next to the giant, who used their one overdeveloped arm to heave it over the fallen and huddle beneath. After the projectiles fell, they stood juddering in the cart¡¯s bed like a forest of ravening spears. When I arrived seconds later, the cart had fallen and Ronnie emerged from beneath, tiny arm clutching their massive one. Its skin stood against curling tendons snapped by the force Ronnie had demanded from them. A silent scream lay within the Strain¡¯s gaping mouth and wrenching face. One of the quiet men ¨C an Owlblood, I¡¯d figured ¨C lay on the ground, large, trusting eyes staring at the sky. A shaft juddered between them. My gaze flicked back upwards. Yet whatever spirit had compelled our enemies to blindly fire into the night had left them, and no more emerged. Kit wobbled past me, her dark skin several sickly shades lighter, Whip cradled in her arms. She dumped the girl into the cart, and moments later Gast appeared. The two of us shoved the rotund Strain atop as well. The swordswoman spared me a single, tight nod. I looked away. ¡°Keep yerselves safe,¡± she yelled against the ringing. Gast stood, readying her massive shield. Ronnie flicked their pained gaze towards mine, and I flicked a thumb towards the cart. They shook their head. ¡°Whip can¡¯t reload the crossbow,¡± I explained quickly. The giant just snorted and glanced at their limp arm. Whip¡¯s massive crossbow didn¡¯t use a crank ¨C only Ronnie and I had enough strength to arm it. One well-placed bolt was usually all Whip needed to solve our problems. At this point, there weren¡¯t enough bolts in existence for that. They produced a whistle from beneath their scrap armour, then blew it hard enough to make me flinch. A moment later, the Strain¡¯s dog ¨C Yowler ¨C loped from the barn in a blur of greying fur and frantic legs. Ronnie gestured to the dog. ¡°Alright.¡± My breath came and went, hard and sharp. ¡°Okay.¡± I grabbed him under his belly, ignoring his scared yelps and scratching paws, and dumped him into the cart. Ronnie smiled tightly, then rushed off. Quickly, I checked how firmly my halberd hung in its mount on the side of the cart. Then, I positioned myself underneath the cart¡¯s bar. ¡°Vin.¡± Kit spoke close to my ear. I looked at her. ¡°You gonna be¡­ fast enough?¡± My jaw ached. ¡°I¡¯ll have to be.¡± Rita led two horses ¨C previously hitched to Maddie¡¯s carriage ¨C from the barn. The rest of the caravaners emerged on her tail leading the handful of oxen they possessed, and released them as soon as they left. The animals sped through the yard, eyes rolling, yet they shied away from the mass of people gathering around. Instead, they stomped near the wall. Behind them, Malee and Laja worked to close the gap that¡¯d opened in the wall of wagons. Yet between them remained a gap, and through it caught a glimpse of what lay on the other side. Screams. Wails. Howls. There was nothing human left in the line of fire. Only pieces, drenching the ground in blood and strings of gore. Beside the remnants stood or knelt or lay the stunned soldiery, faces pale. They either stood entirely still, or clutched the heads and limbs and bodies of their fellows, detached from bodies or pierced with bronze and bone shrapnel. One man screamed, clutching at his upper thigh where a torn helmet cut into him. Past the human detritus was a line of trees, trunks torn from under them to reveal fleshy pink heartwood, oozing crimson. Some stood admirably on whatever small splinters still connected them to the ground, while others teetered and slowly fell onto their neighbours. And at the end of the line, I saw the weapon¡¯s bolt lay crumpled on the ground. A speartree loomed above it. With such power, how could Heltia ever be defeated? But then I realised that the pile of white stone at the centre of our yard was carved with runes ¨C that the blood¡¯s magic had been too fierce for human ingenuity to contain. Heltia¡¯s weapon had broken the moment it fired. The sound of humans attempting to vocalise their agony filled the air. What little sustenance remained within me revolted against my body, beating at the walls of my organs in response to the scene surrounding it. It stood little chance. I¡¯d seen it all before, in another life: entire armies left reeling at my back, broken by my orders and my halberd. I¡¯d left that behind me. To be a better mother to the twins, and¡­ Orvi. A jaw clenched hard enough to set teeth aching. Hands trembled where they lay, wrapped around the cart¡¯s bar. The thick taste of bile filled someone¡¯s mouth. Moments could¡¯ve been fractions of a second, or entire minutes; there was no way of knowing. An impact running up the bar pulled me back to the present. Whatever thoughts I¡¯d held had passed in less than twenty seconds ¨C concepts and images flashing like lightning through my consciousness. I turned around, to find Whip, Gast¡­ Aron, Willow, and Daisy. ¡°Get out of the cart, Aron,¡± I growled. Beneath his beard, he smiled weakly. ¡°Vin, we¡¯ll hitch one of the horses- ¡° ¡°Get out, or I¡¯ll break one of your legs and throw you out.¡± He blanched, then dismounted. His wife quickly followed, but I gestured for their child to stay. The monumental stupidity was beyond baffling. Fear rattled some more than others, I supposed. ¡°Snapper and Atifi,¡± I yelled, ¡°Tippi, Crumpet, and whoever cannot run; get in the cart.¡± Old Snapper waved a hand dismissively, and was immediately shouted down by Atifi and his daughter Miriel. Reluctantly, he was shoved onto the cart alongside the others I called, to be promptly joined by another child, around the same age as the twins would¡¯ve been. The kid cradled two infants in his arm ¨C all three of them were from the Smiths and Growers. Plus Yowler, Gast and Whip. More weight than I¡¯d ever pulled before. The trail towards the town was uphill, and poorly maintained. But I¡¯d do it. ¡°Keep yer head down, Huey,¡± a worn-faced Grower told the boy from the side. He¡¯d avoided company for most of the trip, while the deep circles under his eyes and clear grief kept others away. After one of my Divinities, the man had introduced himself as Wil. Huey nodded. Wil lent him a thin smile, then moved to the front of the cart and positioned himself next to me, behind the bar. I eyed him. ¡°Can you keep up?¡± ¡°Fer a while,¡± he replied quietly. ¡°I¡¯ll roll out if I¡¯m falterin¡¯.¡± A familiar voice cut into our brief conversation. ¡°S¡¯not necessary.¡± I turned my head away from Wil. Rita, having saddled one draught horse, led the other over to me. ¡°Tuck this lad where you two are, and push from th¡¯ back.¡± ¡°What about the other?¡± I challenged. ¡°I¡¯m riding it.¡± I stared at her. ¡°I¡¯m bait,¡± the short guard stated. ¡°Going t¡¯put on Maddie¡¯s cloak, pretend to be her. One of me boys¡¯ll ride with me.¡± They shared similarly diminutive builds, but¡­ ¡°Gods, Rita,¡± I whispered. She smiled brightly. ¡°I¡¯m a good rider. Probably got better chances than you lot.¡± I tried not to let the doubt show on my face. ¡°I¡¯m sure she appreciates it.¡± ¡°She better,¡± the woman joked. ¡°Now get that horse in place, and get Maddie in the cart.¡± Wil took the horses reins and spent a few seconds figuring out how to hitch it to a cart designed for a donkey. While he did so, the man spoke. ¡°D¡¯you have much experience with horses?¡± They were far too expensive to purchase, and no Oxblood could ride one without laming it. Back when I¡¯d been one of the Barberfellows, before I¡¯d been blackmailed by Leyden, I¡¯d seen¡­ I swallowed. ¡°None.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll lead it.¡± ¡°Okay.¡± I nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll push from the back. The cart cannot get stuck.¡± ¡°I figured.¡± The worn man¡¯s lips quirked suddenly, then fell. There was no time to ask what he found humorous. When I turned, Maddie and Tully¡¯s two remaining Blooded had found their way into the cart. I would¡¯ve protested ¨C all three had working legs ¨C but Owlbloods were particularly poor runners, and they¡¯d work to keep those in the cart unpierced by arrows. The Dolphinblood was needed to motivate the Owlbloods into doing anything but stare into space ¨C and he¡¯d operate at his best concentrating fully ¨C so he needed into remain. And Maddie¡¯s presence was just the price of doing business. Her cloak was now donned by Rita, replaced by banded chitin armour, its filagree glowing imperceptibly purple. She wore an open-faced helm, meaning her delicate features were fully exposed. For a moment, I felt like forcing her to stop avoiding my gaze; to make her see me and everything else around her. But there was no time. A horse¡¯s hooves thundered and Rita was gone, travelling away from the town with one other guard. Tully waited several beats, and then whistled sharply. My muscles strained, and the cart slowly gained momentum. At either side of the cart were the caravaners, visibly supressing the urge to sprint. Not all of them would be able to keep up. Herding them in was the one remaining guard, and Tully each holding a crossbow in bloodied arms. Kit and Davian formed our advance guard. There was no rear guard. Then I sensed soldiers slipping through the cracks in the wagons, grief and fury warring in their features even as the oxen ran madly through them and the cart curved and I pushed and it began rattling as we arrived on the road. The abandoned village loomed above us. Thousands of steps uphill. Chapter 49 - Brief Candles I- Vin- Kit-
The abandoned village loomed above us. Thousands of steps uphill. "You ready?" I asked Davian, just behind me. "Yes. What about you, Kit?" I licked my lips. "Guess we''ll see." We stood in a simple formation. Vin would push the cart, the horse would pull, the old Strain and I would clear the way, and everyone else would hope. We didn¡¯t have time for anything fancier. Tully whistled sharply. Davian and I broke into a sprint, followed by the beat of dozens of pairs of feet pounding atop the red dirt of the trail. Moments later, a group of three battered soldiers rounded the back of the farmstead. One was drenched in blood, yet bore no visible wounds. His eyes were wide and wild. After they sighted us, a twang resounded from behind me as Davian loosed an arrow, taking one soldier in the thigh. The other two levelled their spears and charged, but before they could gain much momentum I slipped between their hafts, slitting one man¡¯s throat and kicking the other in the back of the knee, forcing him to the ground. I continued onwards to execute the one nailed with an arrow, while the old Strain behind me stabbed the felled man with his short-sword. ¡°Move the bodies!¡± Whip called from the cart, yet that would have to be someone else¡¯s job. We couldn¡¯t turn from the road in front of us. Another fifty steps passed before a group of eight emerged from the heartwoods beside the road. They were armed far more lightly than those that¡¯d mustered outside our makeshift wall ¨C their commander must¡¯ve ordered them up the road earlier, knowing we¡¯d run. Two were immediately knocked over by the force of a pair of bolts flying into them. Twin thumps sounded as Tully and the guard tossed their crossbows in the cart to be reloaded by those within. Yet despite seeing their fellows felled, the remaining six calmly drew their bowstrings back. ¡°Down!¡± Whip yelled, and though I could¡¯ve tried to bat a projectile away, some instinct drove me to follow her instructions. I heard a grunt as Davian did so beside me, and screams as they smashed into the group we led, but they were already readjusting their aim. I scrambled upright, barely managing to avoid cutting my own arm with my sword, and leapt into a mad dash. They loosed their arrows, and I desperately tried to judge distance and speed accurately enough to bat one away. ¡°Gast.¡± Whip¡¯s voice was strangled. Tully whistled sharply, high notes soaring then falling. Then the three arrows heading towards me glowed purple and rammed themselves into the dirt. An unnatural malaise dogged their hands as the six prepared for a third shot, and most of the rangers were too sluggish to respond to my approach. One managed to call ¡°Owl; Dolphin!¡± and reach for a sword, but by the time he¡¯d raised it my blade had already swept through the neck, armpit, and ribs of three of his weary-eyed comrades. Then Davian shot him in the chest and I hacked at the other two, their lagging speed and dazed eyes little competition for my blade. The eight were left in pools of blood. The road ahead seemed clear enough to spare a glance backwards. My eyes picked out the important parts of the situation immediately. The uglier one of the two remaining quiet men berated the other. A glow faded from Gast¡¯s slab of runes, strapped to her arm. Jana kept the children¡¯s heads down, her one-eyed gaze seeking the road ahead. The one remaining guard had a new dent in his armour. The man leading the horse had an arrow in his shoulder. And Laja ¨C the nomad woman ¨C her brother Malee, and Willow ¨C Aron¡¯s wife ¨C had disappeared. I found them down the road. Malee was hauling the two women upright, his sister bearing an arrow in her gut and Willow a gash across her hip. The soldiers were steps away. My teeth clenched, but I turned my eyes back-
-to the scene behind, even as every muscle and tendon within my limbs throbbed with the effort of keeping the cart and everyone within it speeding up the hill, every step strenuous enough to send a new pulse of exhaustion and nausea through my system. But I did not look away. If there would be nothing left of them but a memory, then I would save it. The male nomad¡¯s thickset form shoved the two others backwards. Laja¡¯s attempts to return to him were conquered by Willow¡¯s graceful arms pulling her away. ¡°Wil,¡± I muttered to the man leading the horse, ¡°keep the cart moving.¡± "Vin- " he shouted, but the rest of his response was drowned by the beat of my pulse as I gave the cart one mighty shove and began sprinting back down. Then a mass of a dozen Baylarian soldiers, bristling with bronze and hatred, fell around Malee. His dark skin stood perfectly still, a silhouette against the fury of the warriors; the sharp grief twisting their faces into something animal. Malee¡¯s arms extended, as if to stop or embrace them. Then countless spearheads emerged from his back amidst a mist of gore and blood. They drew their swords and hacked at his arms, blades catching on bone before emerging to sever them at the joints. A dull sickness filled me. He had died the instant the spears had ran him through, but they kept trying to sever Malee from his body, weapons swinging wildly amidst faces afire with frozen grief. Laja and Willow limped towards the cart, far too slow to outrun those behind. I grabbed each and threw them upon my shoulders, then thundered back towards the cart. Seconds later, I arrived, dumping the two on my shoulders inside and returned to my desperate pushing, knowing that one of the women the man had died to save couldn¡¯t survive her wound. Even as I strained, my head unwittingly turned backwards. The thin trail behind was full, lousy with even more soldiers rushing upwards. A handful of those that had killed Malee tore themselves away, creating a small gap and revealing what was left of Laja and Taja¡¯s brother. Nothing that looked like anything. Tully let loose three sharp whistles. Within the cart, the Owlblood¡¯s lifeforce flared. The road erupted-
-and dirt and bodies flew upwards, thrown by some massive percussion of force that had risen from just beneath the road. Tully¡¯s flickering eyes had already turned away, but my own could not. ¡°Kit!¡± Whip called, barely audible above the ringing. ¡°Right!¡± Instinctively, my gait staggered in that direction, trained by hundreds of similar calls over my few months of monster-hunting. A stinging took residence in my ear, and as I revisited my memory of the past few moments I realised an arrow had nearly taken me in the forehead. Fifty paces up the trail, another eight stood, having rushed through the wilderness to cut us off. Yet this time, a woman possessing a vicious sneer stood before them, her eye¡¯s orange sclera reflecting the light of the moon like a cat¡¯s. She said something to those behind, equipped with bows, and eight arrows were nocked and fired in an instant. None of them were aimed for me. Five glowed purple, their route through the air fouling, yet three did not, and flashed past me unobstructed-
-and though one missed the cart, nearly taking me in the head, two found their way inside and caught Tully¡¯s one remaining Owlblood in the throat. The other came close to hitting Maddie, but the Dolphinblood placed his own body in front of her and the arrow sunk into the meat of his back. ¡°Holt?¡± the young scion screamed. The man scowled. ¡°I won¡¯t let anyone say the last Heltian died on my watch.¡± I growled, and peered around the cart. My eyes widened. Kit, clad in her furs and helm while wielding only a sword, sprinted towards a Foxblood-
-and drove my legs further forward, but the soldier¡¯s training was damnably good. Despite loosing their payload barely moments before, they¡¯d already plucked more arrows from their quiver. Davian slowed to fire, only for the sneering woman to snatch the projectile from the air. More arrows thrummed past, and though I was forced to dive in order to avoid several, one to my right shone purple and spun wildly. The woman shouted something, pointing-
-towards Odrin, his face red and legs flagging. The arrow flying towards his wife spun into the night, the Owlblooded smith¡¯s hand feebly raised in its direction. I watched as another eight headed towards him, taking both him and Miriel, who ran beside him, in a maelstrom of blurring lines. Then they stalled, embedded in the bodies of the pair. They fell backwards with a crack, and I caught a glimpse of their expressions. Odrin looked at his wife, realisation sparking into horror behind his shattered glasses. Miriel looked at her husband, and though she tried to smile but could not. Then they rolled down the hill, into the stretch of upturned earth. I watched them, then clenched my eyes shut and kept pushing. In my perception, they flickered and died. In their wake rose a hoarse, desperate cry as Atifi¡¯s wrinkled body erupted into a scream. Snapper¡¯s feeble body surged from the cart, only for Gast to pull him back into its bed. It rocked slightly as she continually pressed him down. ¡°Vin,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m out of blood.¡± There would be no more intervention from Yoot¡¯s powers until I could refill her runestone. I looked ahead. Kit-
-arrived in front of the woman, and a grin stretched beneath her orange eyes as if it were all some great game. In that moment loathing burned through my stiff body, consuming the fatigue creeping into me. I didn¡¯t know why it existed, or who it was directed at. My sword arced towards her in an upward slash that would tear open her face, and predictably she leaned backwards, allowing me to transfer the momentum into a downward blow that aimed to cleave her arrogantly unhelmed head in two. Yet she simply turned her body to the side, allowing it to slip past. Somehow, she had known where my blade would fall without ever looking at it. When her hands dropped to the daggers upon her belt and she simultaneously dodged my swing and flipped them in a flourish, clarity seeped into my mind. I¡¯d sorely miscalculated. Her grin widened as fear flashed across my face, and then she struck. Immediately, the Foxblood attempted to hammer a knife into my heart. I slipped my sword into an underhanded grip to trap the blade, only for her to transform the stab into a punch that slammed into my kidney. I winced, lowering my head slightly, and spurred by tens of thousands of hours training swung my skull to the side, barely managing to avoid the other knife piercing through my helmet and into my brain. Instinct told me to retreat and recover from the shocking pain of her punch, but doing so would allow the archers a clear shot. Instead, I read the muscles in her arms and crouched beneath two rapid swings, tempting another pair of downwards stabs which I avoided in the same way she had mine: by turning slightly to the side. I grabbed one arm, now extended away from her body, and used her momentum to throw her over my head¡­ ¡­And somehow, she twisted mid-air, managing to land on her feet. I was unprepared for the resistance her acrobatics forced upon me. It threw my footing off. I stumbled, and knew that my blood would be the next to water the dirt. Her manic smile dominated my vision. A Foxblood couldn¡¯t resist such an opening. In the shifting of her feet I read what would happen next. One dagger flew towards my exposed gut. I dropped my sword to catch her arm with both of my own, barely managing to arrest it. The other blade went towards my neck. In the moment before it pierced my throat, I lowered my head and opened my jaw as wide as possible. The knife slid through one of my cheeks, then erupted from the other. I bit down on the cold bone of the blade, feeling blood drip down my face and fill my mouth as it sliced my tongue. When the Foxblood tried to pull it out, my teeth held it in place. In the instant she spent making that attempt, I adjusted my grip on the arm I held and snapped her elbow like a dry twig. Then I broke her nose with my own helmeted head. And then I wrenched the dagger from my face, stuck it in her gut, and kicked her downhill. A pause. Gasps escaped me, releasing the breath held within. I touched the side of my cheeks, alight with pain, and my hand came away wet. Even when the wheels of the cart crushed her skull into bloody pieces, the Foxblood laughed. The sight arrested me. Footsteps resounded from behind, yet tearing my eyes away felt like cowardice. When I finally turned, four of the seven remaining archers had drawn short-swords. The others held their bowstrings to their cheeks, each aimed so perfectly towards me that the profile of their arrowheads concealed their shafts entirely. Fletching seemed to ring each arrowhead like the maw of some unknown creature. I couldn¡¯t move. Then the horse and cart smashed into those about to kill me, Ronnie and-
-myself pushed from behind, lifting its entire weight onto my arms to avoid catching the wheels on their bodies even as my boots slammed on top of them. Ronnie¡¯s shoulder strained against its back, cradling their ruined arm against their chest. My head was lowered, and the strain within my body had risen past fatigue and into agony. One of the archers died, neck broken underneath my feet. Her eyes rolled in their sockets, spittle bubbling from his mouth. She was the twenty-fifth dead by my hands. Then Tully shot one that remained standing and Davian fell upon the other five with his short-sword, and I wondered what my counting meant. That was seven. My head flicked towards the last one. They found Kit remaining entirely still, her dark eyes trembling in their sockets, while barely feet behind her a panicked archer prepared to release his lethal payload. I lunged sideways, yanking her aside an instant before the arrow would have penetrated her back. Moments later, one of Whip¡¯s bolts thundered through the archer¡¯s skull soundlessly. His body staggered and mumbled something, as if unaware of the life seized from its flesh. Or the hole in his head. Then the cart passed him. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Whip groaned from atop the cart. Kit was dragged alongside me, and I swore as my vision seized upon the wreck her cheeks had become. They bled incessantly, trickling down her face and neck to stain the furs she wore. ¡°You alright?¡± I yelled over wails and screams of those in the cart ¨C the sounds worn and ragged by their constant presence. ¡°Yeah,¡± she answered quickly. Her voice was warped by the holes in her face. ¡°Flesh wound.¡± A familiar body slipped beneath my feet, and I released my grip on Kit to yank the person upright. It was Wil, the tired man¡¯s leg pierced with an arrow. Amidst his protests, I grabbed his shoulder and the top of his pants to hurl him into the cart¡¯s bed, then continued shoving. ¡°Kit,¡± I panted, ¡°you need to lead the horse.¡± ¡°W-what?¡± she stuttered. ¡°I don¡¯t know nothin¡¯ about horses.¡± ¡°Just grab its reins and make sure it doesn¡¯t overturn the cart. Like a donkey.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a big donkey,¡± she protested. Then, she hissed to herself and ran in front of the cart. I continued pressing my aching arms against the cart; Ronnie¡¯s giant form next to mine red with exertion, gasping at the air. Yet for both of our labour, we were still slower than a running man ¨C even one wearing full armour. I twisted, jamming my shoulder against the cart and craning my neck around. The soldiers behind were gaining. But they were further back than they should¡¯ve been. Between the trunks of their legs were the ravished bodies of those that had been too slow. Our one remaining guard. Some of the Growers; the Smiths ¨C each too slow to avoid hurled javelins. Aron barely outpaced the mass of furious soldiers. I peeked over the lip of the cart, and an errant bump slammed it into my head. I tried again, and saw the walls of the derelict settlement, still at least a minute¡¯s sprint ahead. Its gates were not open. I looked back. I swore. ¡°Davian! Taja!¡± I screamed, calling the names of those still keeping pace. ¡°Tully! You need to push!¡± Tully immediately fell in beside me. ¡°What- ¡° ¡°Push, you rat,¡± I spat, shoving her into my place. Davian rounded the cart moments later and joined her without speaking. Taja did not. I released the back of the cart and pounded around its side, rapidly passing the back of the teenager. His eyes were fixed ahead, rolling like an animal¡¯s. From that, I knew he¡¯d watched his brother die. ¡°Do you want your sister to die?¡± I hissed in his ear. The demand was cruel, and no amount of bathing would wash the filth of it away. But we needed him. ¡°Push the cart!¡± There was no time to check whether he obeyed. Air rushed through my system; assorted pants and approaching bellows entered my ears; cold fell from the heat of my being; blood coursed deep within my veins. I ran. And every step landed according to perfectly leveraged legs pushing away from the previous step while my open hands raised in front of my chin as my arms pumped in time and though limbs moved violently within a blur of motion my torso was fixed impeccably in stillness which drew in breath firmly like some graceful bird certain of its own position beneath the stars and made old and wise by the sediment of the oasis in which it lived and even the throb of abused muscles and the agony within my chest were divine within that moment and the walls grew closer and closer and suddenly it felt as if warmed water spread across my skin and a grin split from me. The smile dropped like a stone as the sounds of someone dying pierced me. I-
-barely comprehended the image in-front of me. Vin was running. Away from us. I knew that he would return, sprinting back to us having completed whatever gambit had arisen behind his grim face. Yet as I ran, hand wrapped around the lead of a frantic beast, I couldn¡¯t help but feel the way its breath erupted from its snout, hot and fearful, while its body warped under its lungs, and its twisting muzzle, constantly bleeding sweat. Laja seized within the cart, the sound of her gasps harsh and irregular. Her one remaining brother made demands and pleas to her, yet no reassurance or response returned to him. The large hunter slammed into the heavy gate set in the log walls around the village, heaving it open. Then, he disappeared within. Some part of me knew he would return. But¡­ he hadn¡¯t wanted any part in this. But he had made his wishes clear. But he had tried to stop us, from the very beginning. And in a deafeningly quiet tone, another part of me understood he would never come back. When he sprinted from the cavity the open gate had made, a lion-sized monster frothing at his heels, I felt no relief. Only-
-the panting of a beast behind me. From what I could tell, it was some barnyard mouser that had somehow gotten its tongue into Oxblood ¨C transforming it into something far more lethal. Beneath its pelt, its bulging muscles hinted at strangely potent power ¨C the kind that could consume humans as easily as the cat used to eat mice. The moment I¡¯d invaded its territory, briefly glimpsing the ruined town on the side of the hill, it had begun chasing me. My trespass was enough to incite its pursuit out the gate. I was fast. The cart drew closer rapidly: the horse and Kit at its front, her teeth clenched together; Whip¡¯s pale face peeking over its lip alongside Maddie, Yowler whining between them; Wil cradling two infants in his arms, Tippi, Crumpet, and his own child all jammed on top of him; Jana, working eye cold as it watched those that pursued, holding back Odrin and Atifi, whose horror could not cease; Willow, her daughter clinging to her, pressing down on Laja¡¯s gut, the woman¡¯s dark skin fading while her chest rose and fell irregularly; Gast facing away, watching the oncoming hoard of furious soldiers, each mourning the dead via unthinking vengeance. My legs carried all those images closer, faster than I could prepare for. Yet the Godkin was still faster. When I was steps away the pad of its paws ceased, and I knew it had leapt for me. In one fluid movement, I turned, caught both of its front legs in my hands, and spun the creature around. Its weight was almost too much to keep suspended by the force my spinning generated, but when the cart passed me moments later I finally had cause to let go. The Oxkin hissed, bemused and offended, before I flung it into the dozens of soldiers approaching. Then I grabbed Aron¡¯s flagging body and hauled him with me, after the sight of the cart vanishing into the town¡¯s walls. We slipped between the closing gate, and I stepped behind it, assisting Tully, Davian, and Ronnie in shutting it. Each bent over, wheezing, as soon as the task was completed. Next to us, a black heartwood log had fallen from its place in the wall, creating a thin gap. I grabbed its trunk and dragged it in-front of the gate, dumping it where it would hopefully impede progress. When that was done, I turned and looked over the place we¡¯d found ourselves in. I¡¯d seen a few like it, over my time in the Heartlands. There were a few dozen buildings within the village, each formed out of heartwood logs, black bark peeling to reveal pink flesh beneath. Whatever cracks had creeped between the logs were patched with mud and clay ¨C likely gathered from the River Ien. Some houses had chimneys, while others simply had openings in their rooves to cough smoke. Shuttered windows hid the innards of each hovel, but they¡¯d all be similar: small tables, chairs, cooking implements and knapped tools arranged around a central firepit. Cots and bedrolls would be moved near it over the night, during Frost. Most families would possess similar skills: foraging, weaving, cooking, butchery. In a village of this size, they might have a cobbler, or even a leatherworker ¨C though I didn¡¯t smell the signature stench of the trade. Farming was a luxury in the Heartlands ¨C the Aching would offer a new bounty when it arrived, and securing the land needed for fields required more resources than most possessed ¨C yet a few houses had small, fenced yards to keep poultry or goats. There were a few variations, compared to other such villages: the hill it was built atop was remarkably steep, and required stilts to keep houses level; houses were occasionally tied with coloured ribbons; its borders were larger than most. Yet one thing remained the same: all of it was built atop stone thinly-layered with dirt, so when the Aching occurred new growth wouldn¡¯t burrow through their homes. Except that gambit had failed. Unlike any other settlement I¡¯d seen, speartrees studded the area in staggering amounts. Breaking through the sides and tops of houses, ruining their integrity and causing partial collapse; Piercing the road up the hill, leaving small mounds of stone and dirt at their bases. They shone in the light of the moons, sharp and bone-white amidst the crimson moss, weeds, and vines digging their thorns into every surface. Despite the distant yells and stomping of boots, the jangling wind-charms tied to the houses and the sobbing of those within the cart, the derelict village felt shrouded with silence. Small animals, insects, and plants were the only creatures that lived within its broken walls; excepting four fonts of radiant life, stalking towards our location. ¡°We need to keep going,¡± I muttered. I spoke louder. ¡°We need to keep moving.¡± ¡°Agreed,¡± said Tully. Her breathing was beginning to even. ¡°We need shelter and a defensible position, and we won¡¯t find it down here.¡± At her words, someone in the cart shifted rapidly. Someone else shushed them. ¡°Horse needs a break.¡± There was a hitch in Wil¡¯s voice. His swallow was audible. ¡°It¡¯ll go lame.¡± Old Snapper gingerly left the cart, eyes red yet dry-faced. The greybeard staggered to Kit, who silently offered him the draught-horse¡¯s reins. Trembling hands removed it from the bar. When that was finished, he stood next to it silently. I took its place behind the bar and-
-started pulling the cart up the hill, slowly weaving it between the thin speartrees obstructing the way. Alongside everyone else, I followed. Davian limped nearby, and I pulled one of his arms around my shoulder to support him. ¡°You good?¡± I asked. He nodded slowly before responding. ¡°Yes, I believe so. Pushing was¡­ demanding. Nothing rest won¡¯t fix.¡± ¡°No arrows?¡± ¡°None.¡± His eyes flicked to me within his warped face. ¡°How is your face?¡± I tongued one of the holes in the side of my cheek, then winced. ¡°Prettier¡¯n before, I think.¡± ¡°Do you think she fouled her knives?¡± The practice of leaving blades to sit in dung overnight was popular among the spiteful. I¡¯d never done it ¨C that¡¯d be like admitting I couldn¡¯t kill someone in a straight fight. But I¡¯d seen people die from it ¨C cuts red and yellow and steaming hot, draining the life from the body with every passing second. ¡°Don¡¯t think so,¡± I said, then paused. ¡°I¡¯ll get Gast to flash it anyway.¡± ¡°A good idea,¡± he agreed. We hurried beside the cart, ignoring Ol¡¯ Snapper trailing behind us and the nomad kid weeping and begging at the back of the cart. I kept my eyes away from those within, except the Strains, Jana, and the kids. Ronnie was already walking alongside, cradling their good arm. ¡°How¡¯re they doin¡¯?¡± I asked Jana. Crumpet had wrapped her body around the old woman¡¯s skirt, while Tippi had a death-grip on her arm. ¡°They have seen it all before.¡± Her jaw was clenched beneath its burn-scars. ¡°That¡¯s making it worse, I think.¡± I opened my mouth to say something to the children, then closed it. All I could offer was a nod. ¡°How ¡®bout you, big feller?¡± I nodded towards the giant Strain. The only response I got was a shrug, along with a glance towards their limp arm. Without the use of both hands, Ronnie couldn¡¯t communicate well. ¡°Gast?¡± Davian whispered. The fat Strain eyed Whip. ¡°Whip?¡± Her face rested on the lip of the cart, far paler than usual. She breathed like some small bird. ¡°Hey.¡± I clicked my fingers in front of her face. ¡°Hey. What¡¯s wrong?¡± The girl raised her hands, showing palms and fingers stripped of most of her skin. She must¡¯ve held her crossbow too tightly, and without the ability to feel pain hadn¡¯t realised she was harming herself. ¡°Ox¡¯s balls, Whip,¡± I swore. ¡°By all that¡¯s good ¡®n green, you really messed yerself up.¡± Her teeth chattered. ¡°Y-you look worse.¡± ¡°Yeah, well. I¡¯d look even worse without yer help.¡± After a moment, she puzzled out my statement enough to smile at it. I returned the expression, then addressed the man I was supporting. ¡°You got any salves?¡± Davian nodded. ¡°I do have some, yes.¡± Leaning him against the side of the cart, I fell a few steps behind so I could root around his satchel. A thud cut through my efforts like salt through a snail. Ronnie had kicked the side of the cart. I looked at her. The Strain¡¯s teeth were clenched; some inscrutable emotion writ in the lines of their face. Their eyes were wide, and from their higher vantage gazed over the lip of the cart. They pointed at Whip. ¡°What¡¯re you- ¡° Vainly, their underdeveloped arm grasped towards the young woman. It latched onto her, and attempted to pull her body upright. ¡°Whip,¡± Davian said slowly, ¡°what is Ronnie trying to tell us?¡± The small Strain squinted at the giant, then followed their pointing finger down her body. ¡°Oh.¡± Gast fell backwards, tripping over Jana¡¯s legs. The old woman said nothing. Davian began limping towards the back of the cart, but before he could I pushed myself onto the lip and gazed inside. Emerging from Whip¡¯s back as if it were some twisted sapling, was the head of an arrow. Hands shaking-
-I continued to pull the cart between speartrees. Thoughts swarmed in my ears, buzzing incessantly for my attention. Instead, I tuned them out and focused on the placement of my feet; the strain in my limbs; the path in front. With a steady speed, I hauled the group up the hill, barely managing to outpace the monsters stalking towards us. Perhaps that¡¯s why I was the first to see the speartree growing from the peak, and the body impaled atop it. The corpse¡¯s skin had grown thin and sallow, yet even with most of its features fallen to decay and the slow pecking of carrion birds I could tell it would¡¯ve stood nearly nine-feet tall. An Oxblood; likely the source of the divinity that flowed through the monsters stalking us. The full-plate armour it wore was intricate, and well-rusted by exposure to the elements, but sized for such a massive Blooded it still would¡¯ve been worth a fortune. But no sane merchant would buy it. After all, the armour was covering in flaking gold paint. The exclusive colour of the Albrights. I watched it. The body was hung through the speartree like some warped parody of a flag ¨C its legs and arms swayed in the breeze. The poor bastard must¡¯ve been sleeping during an Aching, and the ivory spike had grown through their stomach, hoisting their flailing body away from the earth. My jaw tightened, and I looked away. Then my eyes darted back. Back when I¡¯d worked for Esfaria, we¡¯d hung traitors at the entrance to our encampments. The only way they¡¯d get taken down was if the neck or rope snapped. I remembered one teenager ¨C a slight boy that¡¯d gotten a Blooded girl pregnant ¨C had stayed up for years. Every time I¡¯d returned, carrying a new victory, I¡¯d found a little bit more of him fallen away. It hadn¡¯t taken more than four years for him to become nothing more than bones. The corpse had decayed so much that pieces of bone peeked through what little flesh remained, but exposed as it was it couldn¡¯t be more than two or three years old. But the Aching hadn¡¯t occurred for over a decade. Either a speartree had spontaneously grown at a rapid pace, or something had dropped the Blooded onto it. There was only one entity that impaled men on speartrees. It left no witnesses, but the way it killed remained the only reason we knew it existed at all. I finished hauling the cart to the top, stopping next to a reasonably large house formed of stone slabs ¨C the only one of its kind in the village. Then, shivering, I moved around its side, shuffling past Kit and the Strains to find Maddie with them, hovering nearby. ¡°Get out,¡± I told her. Her armour, still glowing a subtle purple, shifted as she turned. ¡°What?¡± ¡°This is as far as you go, Maddie.¡± I paused. ¡°Or whatever your name is. Get out.¡± Tully grabbed my shoulder. ¡°Vin, there¡¯s- ¡° I threw her hand off. ¡°Shut up. No one agreed to die for you.¡± Maddie addressed me, her emerald eyes flicking away from my own. ¡°I didn¡¯t¡­ I didn¡¯t mean for this to happen- ¡° ¡°Then get out,¡± I hissed through gritted teeth. She had no response. Slowly, the young woman began clambering out of the cart. Tully pressed her down. ¡°House Heltia is larger than us.¡± I turned to her, a warning in my voice. ¡°Tully- ¡° She paused momentarily, but continued anyway. ¡°It¡¯s the forefront of human ingenuity, Vin. A century ago, no one would¡¯ve ever thought of suspending a city above monsters; using tubes and Godsblood to dispose of waste; creating mechanisms that can annihilate monsters without needing to get close.¡± The scarred woman pointed a hand towards the horizon. ¡°In another century, Heltia will have conquered another thousand problems pressing down on human existence. And no other House has the gall to do what Heltia does. ¡°Without this girl here,¡± she said, pointing at Maddie, ¡°there is no Heltia.¡± I shook my head. ¡°This is more important than you or me, or anyone else, Vin.¡± Her eyes fixed my own. ¡°Can¡¯t you see?¡± ¡°Nothing should be more important than that,¡± I snarled. At that, I reached into the cart and began hauling her out. ¡°Vin,¡± Tully pleaded, ¡°they will chase you anyway.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll take my chances,¡± I spat, pulling the Head out and throwing her to the dirt. The scarred Spiderblood placed herself between Maddie and myself. ¡°Your friends are staying. They might not make it without you.¡± I stopped. Within the scope of my perception, Whip¡¯s lifeforce began to ebb away. I looked at my team, gathered around the girl. Davian dripped some small concoction into her mouth with trembling hands. Gast pushed bandages down on the girl¡¯s gut. Ronnie¡¯s wept, mouth open in a silent howl. Kit yelled something, pupils tiny islands in the whites of her eyes. Whip said something to them, smiling weakly even as small tears dripped down her face. I stopped myself from thinking about what any of it meant. All that mattered was whether I could subdue them all and escape. But as soon as my thoughts began, they stuttered; frozen in a moment in time. ¡°I can¡¯t¡­¡± The words caught in my throat, my flesh desperately trying to pull them back in. I forced them out. ¡°I can¡¯t take responsibility for this.¡± Tully stared at me. I wanted to make some excuse. Tell her that nothing good would come of making me walk this path again. But I didn¡¯t. ¡°A wish.¡± My eyes flicked towards Maddie. ¡°Most of Heltia is gone, but Gale Vane still lives.¡± She swallowed. ¡°He¡¯s the greatest Owlblood on the continent, now. If¡­¡± The young woman looked away, copper hair escaping from her helmet. But moments later, her gaze met mine for the first time since this had all started. ¡°If you bring me to him, he¡¯ll give you anything you can imagine.¡± ¡°That goes for everyone here,¡± Maddie finished. ¡°Any wish. It¡¯s¡­ I¡¯m sorry.¡± I stared at her. ¡°Anything?¡± ¡°Anything within his or my power.¡± I didn¡¯t dare to breathe. ¡°A transferral stone? One designed¡­ just for me?¡± Means of transferring power between living Blooded had existed for centuries. It was what allowed old Blooded to teach the new their powers ¨C allowed humanity to stop running from gods. Yet though I¡¯d searched as best I could for years and years and years, I¡¯d found none for Ravenbloods. We had a built-in inheritance mechanism ¨C there was no need for teachers. No need for anything but killing. If Maddie owed me, then she wouldn¡¯t let them execute me. Or maybe she would. As long as the Owlblood ¨C Gale Vane ¨C could figure out a way to destroy my Ravenblood, it didn''t truly matter. It felt like a gamble, but like every single bet I''d made over the past years, I couldn''t turn it down. My team desperately tried to keep Whip alive behind us. Maddie said ¡°Yes.¡± She had no idea she was offering me the one thing I couldn¡¯t say no to. A way out. Chapter 50 - the Face of a Monster The sun¡¯s light spread its fingers over the horizon, brushing the countless treetops from leering crimson to brilliant gold. The shadows of the River Ien were slowly pushed back by the sun and their hasty retreat wound towards to the east, along the trail we¡¯d spent the last two weeks travelling. In their wake the waters glittered with a blinding radiance, tracing the path of sunlight as it strived to encompass the globe. Above, the sky¡¯s clouds bloomed pink and red, made pregnant with the glow of dawn. The darkness of night fell to the blue of day. A deep breath revealed its bounty: clean, full air, smelling of nothing but stars. Dawn had finally broke. A new day had begun. Yet though the sky changed, rippling with the sun¡¯s rebirth and casting a new shade upon the land, the earth did not. Whip was dead. The arrow had sunk into her abdomen, penetrating entirely through her torso at a bad angle. We¡¯d fed her potions, but though they could close skin and flesh they could not replenish lost blood or heal ruptured organs. There was no physical pain, not for her senses ¨C only the knowledge that she would never experience what lay past the night. Whip had died, Davian and Gast and Ronnie and I holding her as Kit hummed quietly, the tune breaking apart as she made it. Whip no longer wept. But others did. Atifi wept for her fallen children, while Snapper¡¯s attempts to supress his tears failed. Decades of love and labour distilled into a legacy scattered across the hill, growing cold in the cruel light of day. All they had left was Snapper¡¯s son Wil, their three grandchildren, and their own faltering bodies. Aron wept quietly, his head lowered as Willow tossed and turned in her sleep, sweating beneath her pierced shoulder. The silk of her dress had been torn to expose her wound and create bandages, and in performing her hasty surgery Tully had revealed the woman¡¯s countless bruises to the world. Daisy held her mother¡¯s feet, refusing to look her father in the eye. Taja wept over his sister¡¯s corpse, blue and broken by the shock of a punctured lung. My eyes picked out pieces of what could have been his brother ¨C an arm; a leg; a lone intestine ¨C all spread along the hill we marched up. The children had wept: Tippi and Crumpet and Daisy and Wil¡¯s adolescent kid and the two infants, scattered throughout the room. During the night, they had watched in corners as their guardians, parents, and grandparents had desperately tried to save what was left. With no adult with hands available to hold them, they¡¯d clung to each other. They slept restlessly, now, holding Ronnie, Atifi, or Snapper: those with the composure left to comfort them. All that loss had been pushed into the stone building behind us. The nine of us that remained waited out front. Seven stood behind barricades formed of furniture and dismantled walls, sturdy enough to turn away arrows and spears if necessary. They were placed upon the three major paths within the village. Guarding the path furthest from any entrance was the Dolphinblood Holt, Gast, and Maddie. The Blooded held one of our dead guards¡¯ crossbow, while the Strain readied her massive shield and slab of runestone attached to her arm near the young House Head. If that woman fell, all our efforts would fall to nothing. Yet, garbed in chitin armour faintly glowing in runework, she¡¯d insisted on grabbing a spear and staying with us. Tully had taken her aside to speak of ¡®selfishness¡¯, but I¡¯d interjected. Despite the oncoming battle, she was safer outside of the grasp of those in the stone building. She already nursed a bruise from Kit. In front of a path that began at the settlement¡¯s rear entrance sat Davian, Wil, and Jana. The older Strain sat behind one of the barricades, expression inscrutable as always. The bow in his hand trembled. Wil¡¯s leg had been staunched with cobwebs and wrapped with rags, but he still leaned heavily against his makeshift cover, holding a sharpened fencepost as a makeshift spear. He¡¯d asked me to teach him the basic stance and grip before his tears had ceased. A clenched jaw was the only sign of grief the man allowed for the siblings that had died the night before. Jana¡¯s single eye was grim as it surveyed the area, but she held her spear with a familiarity that Wil did not. Behind the barricades of the main path hid Tully, her crossbow in-hand. She¡¯d been wearing light armour beneath her clothes. Her breath came and went in a carefully controlled pattern. I sat behind nothing, body fully exposed to the road as it leaned against the speartree on top of the settlement. On my arms were countless barely-scabbed gouges. My old backpack, wing dangling from its straps, lay on my right. My monster-bone halberd leaned on top of it. My blade, the silver filigree upon its scabbard still speaking of a giant that felled a god, lay on my left. The rags I¡¯d wrapped it in fluttered beneath, undone from the scabbard. In my lap sat a mask. The corpse impaled on the speartree loomed above, the gold shine of its armour cut by bloodstains. I watched day begin to fall upon the world. The forest¡¯s crimson canopy was ablaze with light, yet underneath branches wound and bristled and stabbed, the bark of their trunks oozing where they penetrated one another. The sound of the river¡¯s turmoil was carried to the hilltop, static in its churning. At the base of the hill, the abandoned farmstead lay golden in sunlight, even as the halting screams of those touched by Tully¡¯s weapon raged from within. A faint mist covered the land beneath the hill, making it seem distant, despite how close it all was. The sun¡¯s heat warmed my bones, chilled from the long night¡¯s labour. Even when I placed my head in my arms, none of it disappeared. No one could deny it was a beautiful morning. No one could deny that was a hateful thing. I exhaled, the sound of it worn and ragged as it scraped from my throat. My hand ran over the scarred leather of my pack; its fine black material grown rough over the years. Then I breathed in, placed the mask on my belt, and rose to my feet. Thirty-seven humans had entered the village. Some were weak and flickering, some were still strong. Three pulsed with the power of the divine. Against such numbers, nine would not be enough. I grasped the hilt of my sword, and began wrapping its rags around my hand. They slowly advanced up the path, their ranks broken as they rippled around the constant forms of speartrees. According to a quiet order, sixteen split from the group in squads of four, entering each derelict house along the road. A firm shake showed the hilt¡¯s bond would hold to my left. Inch-by-inch, I drew the blade from its sheath. A squad hesitated in front of the door of an intact house. Their distant argument was almost without form when it arrived at my ears, but enough remained intact to tell me that the noises inside seemed suspicious to them. Their talking turned to screams when the four monsters I¡¯d trapped within broke through the door and mauled them. By the time the small army managed to put the Godkin down, they numbered twenty-nine. The blade did not shine when I raised it to the light. Its onyx edges were flawless, each honed to an unseeable edge by nightly worship. I hadn¡¯t used it in a long, long time. Those upon the hill began moving upward again, now allowing only one to check each destroyed house while their three fellows waited outside. I felt one enter a house with a life burning in its rafters, and felt them turn away when they did not find it. I considered the scabbard for a moment. Then, I tossed it to the ground. Tully inclined her head downhill. At my nod, she made her rounds to the other six, leaning into the ears of each and whispering, before moving to the next. She stayed longer with Maddie, reiterating instructions given a dozen times before. I checked my buckler, attached to my belt. It had been purchased two weeks ago, by those who couldn¡¯t trust me to buy my own. They continued up the hill, passing the halfway point. A momentary halt saw them correcting ranks marred by the speartrees, and a sharp whistle recalled those investigating the houses. I took the mask from my belt, and pressing a depression in its side, rotated it to the correct facet. It shook in my hands. They were just behind the final stretch of speartrees. After uprooting my halberd, I walked to my place and planted it again. My breath, thick and sharp, fogged the air in front of me. In front of my eyes, the Baylar army filtered through the speartrees, entering the final open stretch before the incline disappeared upon the top of the hill. Of the seventy-odd warriors originally fielded against us, less than half had survived the ordeals of the night. Many limped on bandaged legs or held spears with a single arm. A few clenched their jaws against the agony of the burns wracking their limbs and torsos. Whatever tears they¡¯d shed for the dead had dried, wilted along with their anger. They trudged forward, ready for an end. I would give them one. I put on the Face. Then, I took a step-
-forward, and stopped. The large man drew his legs together. The beautiful, onyx sword was still at his side. My mind tried and failed to make sense of the thing that clung to his head. It searched for patterns and found many ¨C a horn; a fang; a tear; countless eyes ¨C only for each to fall away, the meaning of the shapes morphing into something else. But though individual pieces could be cohered temporarily, the mask as a whole was a writhing, chaotic mass, unrestrained by order. Though I knew its twisting had to be an illusion, my eyes would not falter in their conviction. ¡°Halt,¡± I barked. The forward-guard ¨C formed of our most unwounded men and women ¨C obeyed, those behind following suit moments later. With Commander Andros recovering from his burns, leadership fell to me. It was a wise decision on his behalf, given my track-record. Yet victory was hardly necessary. The rider ¨C who I suspected was the replacement Head ¨C had deftly escaped with minimal wounds. Andros had broken the runeworked beads that communicated such. I¡¯d done so with my own, private collection. ¡°Surrender the Head,¡± I told the Face standing above us. Overtly, our purpose on the hill lay in simple fastidiousness. If the rider had simply been a diversion, we would catch the true Head and kill them. But in truth, we¡¯d come because none of us would sleep well until they were dead. Weary, weary vengeance. The large man¡¯s mouth could not be seen behind the mask he wore. It did not stifle his voice. ¡°The Head is gone,¡± it said, low and flat. ¡°Killed fleeing up the hill.¡± One of my two Blooded escorts ¨C Lieutenant Nile ¨C drew in breath furiously. I placed a hand on his shoulder, and the Oxblood quelled. ¡°You understand we cannot let you leave?¡± I asked the man. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°If you surrender all that live upon the hill, we may spare your life.¡± Both he and I knew that was a lie. It didn¡¯t matter ¨C he wouldn¡¯t obey. Someone had managed to quell Godkin enough to use them as a trap, and that person was prepared for a fight. I suspected he¡¯d been the one to do so. ¡°I¡¯ll make another offer,¡± his voice stated from behind that roiling mask. ¡°Leave, and no one else will suffer.¡± I cast my eyes around, at the twenty-eight others who¡¯d joined me. The cause ¨C the end of House Heltia ¨C mattered less to me than it did to them. I hadn¡¯t come for the Head. Yet even if I left, they would not. My answer was low and predictable. ¡°No.¡± ¡°If you take one more step up this hill,¡± the Face told us, ¡°you take responsibility for everything that happens next.¡± He paused. ¡°Each and every one of you need to be prepared to die.¡± Nile snorted next to me, disdain thinly layered over ever-present fury. ¡°What d¡¯you think- ¡° ¡°No,¡± the Face snarled, ¡°you agree to this.¡± I rubbed the bridge of my nose. ¡°That¡¯s a refusal?¡± The Oxblood answered before the man could. ¡°Yup.¡± I took one last look at the wrecked village, each home pierced by the speartrees. An Albright hung, impaled above us. No one present but me understood the irony of that. ¡°Last chance,¡± I told him. He said nothing. The man refused to even widen his stance in preparation. Behind, a man¡¯s head appeared over the hill, his face¡¯s features twisted horrifically. He approached hesitantly, mouth opening and closing. Yet before he could persuade his companion, a scarred woman dragged him backwards, and he vanished from sight. No one else emerged. Only the Face remained, standing above us. ¡°Lieutenant Nile,¡± I said, and the Oxblood understood without being told. Eight feet of muscle walked up the hill, shield readied beside his axe in anticipation for an incoming projectile. He continued unimpeded. I raised my arm above my head and jerked it down, signalling the eight members of our first rank to follow, spears readied. Eyes still on the man, I considered ordering the archers further down the hill to fire, but opted not to spend a volley on a single opponent. Nile drew less than five paces away from his opponent. The Face shifted his right arm behind his body, and then something blurred from behind him. My Oxblood fell as his feet were severed from his legs, and the man¡¯s left arm flashed, thrusting his sword through the Blooded¡¯s neck and out the other side. If I had blinked, I would have missed it. The halberd he held had been concealed behind his body, the butt of its shaft hidden by the incline of the hill. The Face was Blooded. He-
-took a single step downwards. The eight wielding shields and spears thrust their weapons forward. I used my blade to lop the points off three, their hafts impacting against my abs ineffectually, while the other five moved for a better angle. I spun my halberd, redirecting the momentum of my initial swing to smash through the skull of the rightmost spearman and rupture the head of the woman next to him. His brain covered the ground. Two swings, and I¡¯d killed two people, with a third dying on the ground. Twenty-seven. I took another step down, shoving the woman with the dented skull onto an incoming spear. Twenty-eight? Twenty-six. Spinning, I fell to one knee behind the remaining six and cut through another five ankles. The weight of their bodies was too much for the paltry pieces of flesh remaining, and three fell to the ground. I stabbed one, angling my sword through his ribs and into his heart while leaning around a final spear-jab. A shout from behind was picked up by my divinely sharp hearing; enough warning to spin the impaled soldier around and use his body to block three javelins. I kicked the remaining man, causing his feet to catch on the bodies behind him and send him tumbling down the hill. He screamed ¨C the first so far. Flecks of blood, separated from their place, fell from above in a crimson shower. They hit my bandana, beginning the process of soaking through the patchwork material. Carefully, I unwrapped it from my head and tossed it behind, then returned to dispatching the fallen. The soldier down the hill scrabbled upright and fled to his fellows. Three steps. Eight dead. Twenty-one remained. A shuddering breath hissed from behind the mask. I took another step down. ¡°Back,¡± their leader called, teeth clenched and eyes wide, ¡°into the speartrees!¡± They retreated away from me, ranks twisting around the long, bone-like protrusions. Every one of them kept their eyes on me. I felt their lives burning in my perception, then cast my mind away from it. He¡¯d made a good decision. Amidst the sturdy trunks, I wouldn¡¯t be able to swing my halberd freely. If an Oxblood hit one with the strength I had leveraged, the blow would reverberate back up their arm and potentially cripple it. I wasn¡¯t an Oxblood, but the weapon would still be much harder to use. With all the nooks the village provided, a makeshift ambush could kill me ¨C even if I knew it was coming. I couldn¡¯t give them that time. I breathed in and bellowed at the top of my lungs, hoping Kit-
-dropped from the rafter I¡¯d been laying on for the past few hours, the fall dislodging some of the dried mud covering my furs. Excepting the thud of my boots, the landing was almost entirely silent ¨C I¡¯d tied cloth around my scabbard and¡­ Whip¡¯s crossbow. Vin¡¯s shout ¨C the signal I¡¯d been waiting for ¨C smothered whatever minute rattle remained. I ducked under an angled speartree and slid over one of the many holes in the back of the hovel. My eyes throbbed at the sudden profusion of rough-red light falling from the sky, yet I kept them open. Outside, I slid along the edge of the building and peeked through an alleyway leading to the main road. Five stood, bows in scratched arms, arrows held between bloodied fingers. Whip had died, asking us ¨C asking me ¨C if everything would be okay, and they still lived. My fist clenched around the hilt of my sword, tight enough to ache. As much as it twisted my guts, I needed patience. At least until-
-I took another step downwards, bringing me into the speartrees. Immediately, two charged from the alleys on either side while a third hurled a javelin, directly in front of me. I slipped aside the javelin, decapitating the one on my left against a speartree while letting the one on my right impale himself on my halberd. I dropped the now-cumbersome weapon and scooped one of the fallen¡¯s spears, hefting it in my hand. Its weight was poorly distributed, yet it only needed to fly for less than a second. As the javelin-thrower backpedalled, I stepped forward on one foot and propelled the weapon forward. He tried to duck behind a speartree, but the spear caught him in the shoulder, throwing him to the ground. I uprooted my halberd from the still-twitching corpse and began walking down, towards him. He saw me coming. ¡°Wait- ¡° I stomped his skull into the stone, bone and blood flying upwards. You lie amongst the pigs and dogs during the night, huddled in their- I stifled the link. Eighteen. Between the speartrees, I saw the main body of warriors slowly stepping backwards. One stumbled over an overgrown root, only to be grabbed by her fellow. They wouldn¡¯t rout ¨C not while they still had two Blooded up their sleeves. That was good. We couldn¡¯t allow any to escape. According to a barked order from their Blooded leader, the archers ¨C two directly behind the main group and another four further back ¨C loosed a volley towards me. They would fall upon the area in-front of me. They¡¯d halt the advance of anyone who couldn¡¯t anticipate their paths reliably, which was a rare skill held only by sharp-eyed veterans and Foxbloods. Buying time ¨C but for what? It didn¡¯t matter. Six arrows weren¡¯t enough to stop me. Step by step, I continued after them. The arrows fell, missing as I casually turned my body, and-
-there wouldn¡¯t be many more. My sword cleaved through the archer¡¯s neck, digging through flesh, sinew, and bone then flying out the other side in a shower of blood. The head fell forward, now only attached by a strip of flesh. It was cleaner than what he deserved. Another marksmen, feeling the spray of hot liquid on the side of their face, began to turn but I transformed my slice into a charging thrust, impaling his neck and ripping the blade out in two quick movements. The third managed to complete his turn and open his mouth to yell, but the shock of having his bow sliced in half sent him stumbling backwards, and I cut his windpipe moments later. My luck ran out with the fourth. She managed to scream, ¡°Flank!¡± but another voice temporarily seized the attention of her comrades. ¡°You two Blooded at the back,¡± called Vin, his voice seeming quiet despite the volume. ¡°Do you surrender?¡± A quiet part of me registered what my companion was telling me, but the rest devoted itself into piercing the woman¡¯s yellow armour, impaling her on my sword and driving her into the open door of the hovel behind. The archer stumbled over nothing, ripping her guts open on my sword as her fall ripped the blade from his body. The scent of filth filled the air as her intestines¡¯ contents spilled over her chest. I slammed my weapon through one arm and into the dirt below, then pulled a knife from my belt and fell upon her. ¡°You worm,¡± I snarled, smashing the dagger into her ribs; chest; torn belly. ¡°You thought. You thought you¡¯d waltz in and bloody finish it?¡± I stabbed her eye; her helmet; her cheek; her neck; feeling my fury begin to tear the stitches in my face. ¡°You don¡¯t get t¡¯win. You don¡¯t get t¡¯beat this!¡± I screamed at the corpse, jaw quivering. ¡°Jus¡¯ die!¡± I stopped. Pants escaped me. A shaky breath emerged from my body, sharp against the abused flesh of my throat. As I stumbled to my feet, I shoved the dagger back into my belt and grabbed my sword. A thought flashed across my mind and before it could leave, I drove the blade of my weapon downwards, severing the dead woman¡¯s helmed head in one swing. I seized it and tossed it through the doorway I¡¯d charged through, then slipped through a hole in the back of the house. Silence resounded as the soldiers saw the head thumped to the ground. Several quick steps brought me to the house a few paces up. I eyed it, searching for the sturdiest part of the roof. Upon finding a firm beam inlayed into its sides, I sheathed my sword. A leap, enhanced by a boot shoving off the wall, had me catching the roof¡¯s edge. I- This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
-gripped the haft of my halberd and remembered the night before. I¡¯d been gathering cobwebs. We had no bandages, and the rags we could tear from our own clothes wouldn¡¯t staunch wounds well enough. But if one of us crept through the darkness, without light to give away their position and stole the sticky silk, we¡¯d be able to keep the bleeding down. With no one else who could see in the shadowed night, I was the only one who could find the webs. By the time I found the spider and her children, seven thick handfuls had already been delivered. It was enough to halt the bleeding of every open wound we had and then some. I¡¯d told them I¡¯d keep going out to find more for tomorrow, but in truth, I hadn¡¯t wanted to stay in that cold tomb. Whip had already died. Kit had kept humming the tune Whip had asked her to, even though her audience was gone. So I¡¯d kept my hands and legs moving, groping in corners and under furniture. Underneath a damp stone fireplace, I¡¯d found them. And I hadn¡¯t done anything. I¡¯d just watched. The mother had strummed her legs against the web she¡¯d meticulously wove, still spinning silk even then. Her miniscule spiderlings, transparent yet made black by darkness, groped their way over to her. Her legs jerked, and a single, stupid child crawled onto her body. Its fangs sunk into her. Despite the poison in her body, the mother had continued jerking her legs, silently signalling her location to her offspring. They¡¯d swarmed onto her, mindlessly biting and hurting, but she¡¯d persisted for another several minutes: entirely still as they ate her alive. I¡¯d watched the fluid drain from her limbs, even as she endured. Then, mercifully, she had died. Why did she do it? Her body would provide sustenance, I knew, but that wasn¡¯t the entire answer. It could only be love. That raw maternal instinct, flooding through her tiny body, jerking each leg upon the string to beckon pain closer. To be eaten alive by her children. It must¡¯ve been agony. In a way, it was a beautiful thing. But I couldn¡¯t call it just. The moulted shells of the spiderlings had scattered the damp floorboards beneath. They¡¯d shed their own bodies, letting tiny ghosts of themselves fall to the ground. Corpses littered the ground behind me. I took another step down the dead village, towards the fourteen remaining men. Their leader barked an order, and the eight soldiers forming the two frontward ranks morphed into an open semicircle, designed to allow an enemy in to be pierced from all sides. Assailing those at the edge of the formation would see the rest rotating around to surround me. With the area studded with speartrees, any attempt to end them with a sweep of my halberd would see it rebounding off the ivory wood. Their weapon¡¯s tips were bronze ¨C Baylar hadn¡¯t enough Owlbloods to make iron or steel in quantity. I wore no armour ¨C my size meant none we had fit ¨C so even bronze would part my flesh with little difficulty. If I wanted to end it, I¡¯d have to find a way to flank them. The soldiers watched me, fingers slowly drumming their spears. Red light filtered from above, but the shadows of the abandoned buildings around prevented it from falling onto us. Despite the cold of the morning, sweat beaded their faces. Then their leader whispered something in another man¡¯s ear, and a group of two spearmen and the two remaining archers peeled off from the group, heading away from both myself and Kit. A sudden chill sparked through my body, but I steeled myself against the urge to pursue them. A carved whistle dangled from my neck, and I leaned my head down to bite it. Twice, I blew. From their varying lengths, Tully would interpret ¡®north.¡¯ Yet in all likelihood, upon sighting our fortifications they would retreat, and try to find a way to flank me instead. The thought blunted the fear within my body. They watched me. According to a muttered command, the front ranks opened marginally, while the leader and a short, broad-shouldered woman crept towards the gap. Both were Blooded. Before they could push through the formation and attack, Kit crept towards edge of a nearby roof and leapt-
-towards the pair, dagger clutched in both hands. The leader¡¯s armour was reinforced with steel, yet around his back it hung in burnt and broken pieces, though the skin beneath was unmarred. I landed heavily, but not before the knife slid down his shoulder and through his back, ripping out of the flesh in a shower of blood and viscera. He groaned and turned, but I was already tossing the weapon aside and unbuckling Whip¡¯s crossbow from my back. I staggered upright moments before the broad-shouldered woman thrust a short-sword at me from behind her shield, barely managing to stumble out of the blade¡¯s way. Then I shot her in the stomach, the recoil sending me another few steps backwards. I wouldn¡¯t be able to reload it. Last night, I had tried for what felt like years, sweating and spitting and keening as I strained against its massive form. But it was Vin who managed to cock it. I would learn. I had to. I spent precious moments slinging the crossbow onto my back, then my sword hissed from its sheath. The leader, teeth clenched in pain, straightened his back and discarded the spear he held, instead drawing a longsword from a scabbard upon his belt. It struck me for the first time just how huge the man was ¨C even larger than Vin. Large enough to wield a longsword as if it were a one-handed weapon. I made some space between us, eying his long arms. My tongue ran over the stitches within my mouth. An Oxblood, maybe. The woman ripped the bolt from her gut, and stepped beside him. Lizardblood, I thought. She covered the leader¡¯s unarmed side with her massive shield. I caught myself taking another step back, then stopped. Instead of retreating, I raised the heavy steel of my blade at the leader. ¡°Yer dead,¡± I hissed through clenched teeth, and surged forward. My approach was met with a rapid stab from the Lizardblood, yet my lifted arm saw her weapon pass underneath without meeting flesh. Within range, I thrust my sword towards the leader¡¯s face, hoping for a flinch, yet he simply ducked beneath it, slamming his own blade towards my ribs. I rolled beneath the blow, and rose in front of the woman, slicing at her as I did so. Her sallow face barely registered my sword nicking her calf. Another stab was easily avoided, as was my two-handed swing towards her unguarded pelvis. I transformed the missed blow into a pirouette to step around the leader¡¯s blow, using the momentum to slap his blade further off-course and attempt to pierce his unguarded torso. Yet the Lizardblood¡¯s shield quickly intercepted my sword. I hopped two steps backwards, out of the pair¡¯s range. The steep incline of the hill made doing so precarious, and though it was awkward to swing down at me, it was far more difficult to land a decent hit on either without overextending myself. Despite the burn in my lungs, I kept my breathing steady and gazed at the pair steadily. Time would see my stamina flagging ¨C I had to move twice as much as them, and there was a Lizardblood ¨C but also Vin arriving. If I was holding against two, both of us would be pure butchery. The wise move would be to buy time as efficiently as possible. Instead, I snarled and moved back up the hill. This time, the leader took a single heavy step downwards. His swing carried the longsword horizontally with incredible speed. A gasp escaped him, and as I ducked so low my mouth nearly brushed the ground, my lips stretched in a grin. He¡¯d strained his wounded back, the bastard. But they¡¯d anticipated my move. Before I could straighten, the broad-shouldered woman barrelled into me, sending me rolling sideways to slam against the wall of a mud-brick hovel. I bounced off, falling heavily on the broken cobbles. I blinked, and found the Lizardblood above, trying to pin me with her shield. Another roll downhill took me away, but a boot swiftly followed, stomping on my free hand¡¯s fingers. An audible crack followed, and pain flared within my pinky, sharp as a knife in the night. Yet even as a groan traitorously fled my throat I was ripping the hand out, stumbling away from the two probing blades and into the doorway of the building. My back quickly ran into a collapsed ceiling-beam, and as I stepped aside another one of the Lizardblood¡¯s thrusts followed. I slapped the blade downward with my own, causing it to get stuck in the wood. But before I could capitalise on the opportunity, the leader shoved her aside and swung at me, forcing me to retreat beneath the beam and further into the house. A quick glance burned an image of the tiny room into my mind ¨C firepit, tables, chairs, hanging tools, and a partially collapsed roof at the back ¨C and then the leader¡¯s actions forced my attention back towards the pair. His powerful kick snapped the worn beam in two, but the force he leveraged far outmatched the durability of the material, throwing him off balance. I slammed my blade atop his head, failing to pierce his helmet but still rattling his skull, and as the Lizardblood charged towards me I slipped aside. Her pass was met with a flipped blade, flashing downwards to bite into the thick muscle of her calf. When she placed weight on it again, she tripped and slammed through a cobwebbed table to fall a half-pace down, into the central fire-pit. Then the leader was swinging again. I parried his sword with my own, but his size forced the two of us into a clinch. Before he could push me further towards the dirt, our swords audibly grated as I slipped out of the blow and transitioned to a slice at his thigh. He jerked the leg backwards and attempted to punch me in the ribs, but the lack of resistance allowed me to swing my blade into his arm. Yet instead of lopping it off, the blade bit through his bronze arm-guards and caught. Absurdly, I realised he was wearing some sort of stone beneath. Then his arm ripped from my blade and seized me by the furs. Only a wild swing towards his head prevented him from running me through. He shoved me backwards, and I slammed into the walls, jangling the stone tools still in the holsters embedded between the mud-brick. He levelled his longsword and thrust towards me, but I snatched a sickle off the wall and spun aside, using the momentum of the pirouette to slam my blade into his steel breastplate. Its crumpling was accompanied by an audible crack. I¡¯d broken his ribs. A small scream ripped from the man¡¯s throat as he bent around the blow. I barked a hollow laugh, and moved to cut his head off. The downward swing was met by the Lizardblood¡¯s massive shield. Before the leader could recover his composure, I swung towards the side of his body opposite the broad-shouldered woman. Awkwardly, she reached around and interposed her shield, and I slammed the stone sickle around her unprotected side, over her bronze gorget, and into the flesh of her throat. I retreated, leaving the sickle embedded and slamming into the mud corner. The Lizardblood stumbled sideways, dropping her short-sword and slapping the freed hand against the side of her neck. It closed around the sickle¡¯s wooden hilt, the tip of its edge bulging against the skin of her neck. I¡¯d heard stories of potent Lizardbloods surviving throat wounds. If they could get the wound clear, it could, potentially, heal before they suffocated or died of blood loss. The leader coughed, eyes fixed on it. ¡°Stop- ¡° When she pulled against the haft, she pulled the direction it pointed. For a dagger, or arrow, or any conventional weapon that could get embedded in a person, it would¡¯ve worked. But the thing in her was a farming tool. Instinct screamed at her to pull. So she did. And ripped her own throat out. Her eyes followed the gore and viscera on the sickle¡¯s blade. Then, the woman took a single step towards me. I couldn¡¯t retreat any further. After the second step, she staggered sideways and slumped against a wall. I blinked. A short laugh had my eyes flicking towards the leader. He leaned down and retrieved the dying woman¡¯s shield. Like mine had been moments before, his gaze was fixed on the woman. As if he couldn¡¯t help himself, the leader snorted, and shook his head at his dying companion. I looked at him. When what he had just done finally registered, I howled and-
-took a step downwards, towards the eight soldiers arranged against me. Kit was alive but I had no idea if she needed my help. There was no time for a better plan. Infinitesimally, they pulled their spears backwards in preparation to impale me when I entered their formation. Obliging them, I took another step down and hooked my halberd into the torso of a man on the outer edge. Before his flame vanished, I yanked his body towards me and used it to catch another two spears. A bronze tip erupted from his gut, splattering my mask with gore. You wander broken roads- I squashed the link. Twelve remained. From behind my makeshift shield, I slashed at the pair of wrists holding their wedged spears, managing to sever a hand before both withdrew. Someone screamed, but I was busy whirling my halberd and flinging the corpse atop it into the middle of their formation. Those that stood in its path received it on bronze shields, and their staggers disrupted the formation. Pain beat within me as I carved into those that had lost spears, and a shiver running through my hands turned dual slashes into sloppy thrusts. The sheer force behind the weapons impaled one on my halberd and other on my onyx blade. Before I could recover properly, a soldier mutely charged towards my side. I took a halting step down, and blindly stabbed his throat. His momentum sprayed blood onto my face. You- Immediately, I cut the connection. Bile filled my mouth. Nine. I blinked rapidly as the four remaining soldiers spread around me, the shine of bronze piercing through my eyes to exacerbate the agonising pulse behind them. Simultaneously, all of them screamed and charged. A swing of my halberd dented the skull of one, only for the weapon to slam into the length of a speartree and shudder from numb fingers. Your life is spent between bites of bread, burning- My balance faltered, body listing dangerously to the side as I staggered away from their jabs. The scent of something crisping ¨C falling to ash ¨C filled my nostrils, yet for whatever reason I couldn¡¯t see what it was. I lifted my buckler onto numb fingers, only to have it torn away as I blocked an errant thrust. Steps followed steps as spear-thrust after spear-thrust herded me away, each bringing me precariously close to a fall. Though knowledge of the ideal placement of feet twisted through the mist of my mind, it always arrived one step too late. A single faulty step and I¡¯d twisted my ankle. The scavengers lunged. A wild swing clipped the wings of one, and the two remaining hopped backwards, cawing. Wetness seeped onto my face to the rhythm of pain, yet when I raised my hand to paw it away something was in my way. Some sound escaped me. I raised my free arm and leaned against a nearby wall. Beneath my hands, the vanishing smoothness of the wall as I caressed it felt like wisdom itself. Then it disappeared from my finger¡¯s sight. They swooped towards me again, but instead of retreating I staggered towards them. One bit into my shoulder, but their talons snapped under the force of their own blow. I hacked into its body, ripping it from itself in a shower of bone and gore. The other shrieked and flew towards me, its shaking path missed me by inches. I grabbed it in my hand, feeling its panicked pulse beneath my fingers. Its weight caused me to stagger forwards. The stagger became a walking fall, each step keeping me just above the dirt and deferring the responsibility to balance to the next. The fall picked up speed, and we slammed into and through the wall of a building, bursting through the other side. The creature fell from my hand, fragile neck broken in my fingers. I looked at it and opened and closed my drooping mouth and spat something from it and tongued the new hole and tried to stay upright and groped with blind fingers and shivered; could not stop shivering. Just one, now. Where had everyone gone? I felt them. The lights. Slowly, I turned and began the long journey towards-
-the leader. My blade sung through the air, a blur of shining metal abruptly muted on the brown of his stolen shield. The man slashed again with his longsword, but I easily read his blow; he was unprepared for the addition of the dead Lizardblood¡¯s equipment and its vast weight. Yet though my knowledge gave opportunity, the shield was large enough to form a wall between my blade and any delicate organs. Instead, I kicked his wrist, slamming it into the bronze shield like a hammer against an anvil. Whatever reinforcement lay beneath his leather gauntlets allowed the bone to remain in one piece, but for a moment his hold on the longsword weakened. With a toothy snarl, I smashed my sword against his own, sending it slipping from his grip and onto the dirt below. Immediately, the leader began stepping backwards, retreating from my whirlwind of blows. Sparks flew as my blade scarred the bronze shield, briefly lighting the man¡¯s deep frown and focused gaze. After one hateful blow, his heel caught on the back of a broken chair, forcing him into a stumble which I made use of by slashing both of his exposed calves. Before I could use his brief flinch to decapitate him, he snatched a chair and hurled it towards me. I hopped sideways to avoid the projectile and he exited the doorway. I reset my stance and followed. Outside, the street was a mess of broken bodies and gore. One corpse lay on the ground, its face hanging off its skull in flaps of skin, as if some beast had clawed it away. A new hole had formed in the hovel above. As soon as I registered that, Vin, tunic and skin stained with gore, emerged from it. The head of a broken spear hung from his shoulder, above a uselessly dangling hand. In his other hand was his viscera-smeared sword. He staggered against a wall, and I couldn¡¯t see his expression. The mask still concealed his face. Vin was alive. I was alive. Only a single opponent remained, gaze fixed on my comrade. My face twisted. ¡°You,¡± I enunciated carefully. The leader¡¯s head whipped towards me. ¡°Are done.¡± Body low to the ground, I sprinted towards him. He responded by barrelling in my direction, shield levelled. In the moment before impact, I slid beneath him ¨C the skin on my knees opening on the cobbles beneath ¨C and turned, cleanly slicing one of his hamstrings. He listed to the side, then fell into a roll down the hill. I followed at a sprint, and slammed my sword through his good leg, pinning it to the ground beneath. The man¡¯s face erupted into an agonised scream, pain hoarsely soaring into the sky. I shut him up with a kick to the head. ¡°You piece of human filth,¡± I spat, stomping his torso. ¡°You kill Whip? You kill Whip?!¡± My boot slammed into his gut and he gasped. ¡°What¡¯d she do? What¡¯d she do?!¡± I shouted. ¡°Huh? Yer not fit to water th¡¯ dirt, you bastard. Just rot.¡± His hands grasped my ankle, and I snatched the hilt of my sword and wrenched it. Another hoarse cry emerged from the man, shaking with the fatigue pain brought upon him. I spat a glob of spit onto him. ¡°You- You¡­¡± I fell upon him, my knees weighing his fists down, and began dealing blow after blow onto his unprotected head. My vision blurred as I screamed and swore at him, hands flaring in pain as each hit damaged them. His face grew wetter and wetter, but still his eyes shone and I roared wordlessly at them, the cry extending, then slowly trailing into nothing. Then my knuckles fell and something cracked within them. A keening sound emerged from my throat as I clutched the abused bones. I opened my eyes as something shifted beneath my knee. My cry stopped. His jaw had become covered in a layer of ivory material. Bone had grown from his face. Then his fist, having slipped out from his gauntlet, smashed into my face, breaking my nose in a shower of blood and rocking me off his body. The force of the punch tore the stitches in my face and I roared, flailing in his direction, only for my blurry vision to pick out a hand covered in pale white slamming into my ribs. I fell, pressing down against the flaring of pain in my face. Whip¡¯s crossbow dug into my spine. A pained yell sounded from next to me. I recovered my composure in time to shift aside, as my own sword slammed into the space my head had just occupied. Then a weight fell upon me and two hands wrapped around my neck. I gurgled and fumbled for the bolts holstered to the side of the crossbow, but-
-the two flames felt like they were years away. Agony pulsed in my skull, flashes of crimson lightning turning the organ within to broth. I shuffled down a wall. My eyelids sluggishly fell, and opening them felt like lifting the weight of the world. Even when they were open, all I saw was a confusing mass of blooming red. A fall would end me. Blindly, I groped for the next step down. I found it, and took another. Then another. Sensation vanished. I couldn¡¯t feel the sun on my body, nor the cold air of early Frost. The pain fled. I didn¡¯t know if I was breathing or not. Within that empty expanse, I felt as if I were held in the gut of some great machine, everything that I was slowly being digested by its heedless cogs and scraped away, layer after layer. The only thing that remained were the two candles. And one ¨C that carrion cry ¨C rattling through the empty void of my soul. The lights flickered. ¡°Please,¡± I tried to say, but the word fell apart on my tongue. Same as always, I told myself, alone on the battlefield or kitchen or estate or writing room or wilderness or fortress or training yard or amidst my legions, ordered against the dead and dying and wanting nothing more than an end even as every ounce of my body yearned for something, anything, to hold to my chest and protect but it all turned to ash in my fingers and slipped through the gaps in the end by halberd or spear or knife or careless words and the shadow stretched and I saw the two figures killing one another and my stumble left the wall and staggered, step after step, as gravity pulled me inexorably downwards towards them, building speed until-
-a sharp pain in my torso ripped my hands away from the swordswoman¡¯s neck and carried me away. The wounds in my legs twisted as my body was pushed further backwards, down the hill, forcing another howl up my throat. Yet even as the suffering within tried to escape from my mouth, the attempt spurred another flaring of agony within my gut. I clawed and scratched towards the pain, hoping for relief but feeling only fabric. When the thing pushing me finally slammed me against the outer wall of the village, I looked down and understood. A beautiful, black blade was buried inside of me. My gaze found the arm attached to its hilt and followed it upwards, to the thing that had killed me. The Face watched me, its obsidian material twisted into its ineffable contours. Sense and nonsense clashed and separated in the space of a single mask. The signs were all there. Great strength that did not break the body. Perception beyond mortal ken. Well-worn skill, the likes of it supposedly left with the corpses of humanity¡¯s greatest warriors years ago. The sword itself, carved from a dead god¡¯s bone. Only one entity held all those things at once. We¡¯d found it. The urge to sob filled me. I dragged my hand upwards, bone-clad fingers tracing bloody wounds to fall around the bead tied around my neck. It had lain there for four years. I placed it in my mouth, and crushed it to splinters between my molars. I coughed, then groaned, an iron froth dribbling from my mouth. The creature holding me shook, but did not otherwise move. Slowly, I reached behind its mask, and smeared my blood there. For a single moment, the solitude of existence vanished. I saw myself through another¡¯s eyes, a mirror truer than any forged by human hands. All the pain and light and sound and texture and terror of reality, doubled in a recursive pattern of seeing. Then a will met my own, and though reduced by the weight of its fragmenting mind, it still remained great enough to force my own aside and swing the connection shut, and I became just Seoras once again. ¡°No,¡± I muttered. Memory told me the creature¡¯s future. Within those full of the Raven¡¯s power, rejection unwound the chords of the mind. The ties that bound face, feet, fingers, body, and finally being would fray and snap. Past a certain point it would unstring the heart itself, leaving a cold and lifeless lump of meat within an empty chest. ¡°If you do not accept this¡­¡± I drew a shaking breath in, lighting the fire of agony within the pierced body. ¡°You will die.¡± It did not move. As my being filtered away from my body, dripping down my body in tormented rivers, I searched what little remained for an answer. My armoured hand raised, cocked back, and slammed into the mask. Cracks spread within its frame, even as the motion thrust the thing¡¯s blade upwards, through my intestines and into organs. Another blow, and a scream forced its way from me. Agony burned, greater than my weakness could endure. My vision spoiled, rotting at its edges. Was the suffering worth it? But arrayed against my own torments, millennia of far greater pain was measured, so I raised my fist and smashed the mask into pieces. I focused, and beheld what lay beneath. Blood travelled in trails, retreating from nostrils and ears in dark tears. A piece of lip was missing, bitemarks marking the wound. Two mismatched pupils sat in their sockets, crimson slowly subsuming the white around them and seeping from their corners. It trembled as it bled. I looked into its face and recalled a name. ¡°Maja,¡± I said as the world darkened, ¡°are you going to let your son die?¡± One half of the face drooped; strings cut. Yet amidst the blood, a slow flinch filtered through the other half. The channel opened, and for a single divine moment, I was no longer just myself, but also the roiling shadow opposite. The unity wobbled like the ripples of a lake, and closed- ????? ??? ???? ?????, -shaking with the strain of it, the connection re-established itself. Once more, it struggled against a confused will, shaking an impossible perception and betraying a struggle within. But finally, completely, it yawned wide. Reality became twofold. My hands wrapped around my neck and squeezed. Something snapped. Moments later, I died. Then I fell backwards, away from the corpse impaled on my sword. The impact of my body against the hard cobblestones jarred the spear in my shoulder, yet the pain remained miniscule next to the agony wracking me. Light jammed painfully against my eyeballs, setting them flinching away from the sky. The heavy taste of blood permeated every corner of my mouth. Numbness faded from finger and limbs, revealing the ravaged fibres within, determined to punish me for the abuse I¡¯d heaped upon them. It was all wrong, and I could do nothing to heal it but writhe. I lay there, sensible of nothing but suffering for what felt like years. When I finally opened my eyes and registered the sun scant inches above the horizon, I knew it couldn¡¯t have been more than a handful of minutes. Gingerly, I grasped the snapped weapon in my shoulder and extracted it. Flesh sucked greedily at the spear as I worked it out, brutally mirroring the path it had taken inwards. The urge to clench my jaw was powerful, but attempting it evoked greater pain. Somehow, I¡¯d fractured my own teeth. Slowly, I levered my body upright, delicately tonguing the hole where a third of my bottom lip once was. Standing was easier than it should¡¯ve been due to the incline of the hill, yet that same angle sent me staggering backwards once upright, slamming into the wall surrounding the village. A body hovered in the corner of my vision. As I glanced at it, only the pain in my throat stopped me from screaming. My face was destroyed, long nose broken in three different places above what was once an impeccable beard, now permanently marred with gore. The musculature I¡¯d taken such pride in ¨C that I¡¯d laboured countless hours for ¨C was irrevocably destroyed by the sword impaled in my torso, between the tattoo of eight equidistant lines extending outwards in a strange and irregular shape. Whatever power, or skill, or anything worth respecting was gone. I was dead. I shook my head vigorously. The body wasn¡¯t me. It couldn¡¯t be¡­ It was I. No, Vin- No, it was Seoras. Then I winced as I tried and failed to parse the memories rent into a thousand fragments, relentlessly marred by my attempts to push them away. Some coalesced into something sensible; most fell away. Within my skull a life had been broken. Against my own will I mourned that fact. A quiet swear passed through my torn lips. ¡°Blood, Vin,¡± someone said. I glanced upwards at the swordswoman who¡­ At Kit. Vainly, I tried to flap my arm towards her, yet it refused to cooperate. ¡°How¡¯s the nose?¡± I asked instead. She chuckled lifelessly. ¡°Well, I¡¯ve skipped flatter stones at least. A good twist¡¯ll straighten it.¡± The half-hearted humour vanished, and she stared at a point behind my head. The swordswoman¡¯s face was immensely swollen, blood leaking from opened cheeks. One of her fingers had turned a similarly painful shade of purple. But besides that, she remained mostly unmarred by the battle. I¡¯d taken a sword¡­ No. Just the spear in my shoulder. Behind her, the impaled body remained atop its ivory perch, steadily journeying towards dust. Its empty gazed upon the grotesque flowers blooming, snaking from beneath the broken stones of the village to drink the blood spent in the abandoned village. The fallen lay among them. ¡°That wasn¡¯t me,¡± I said. Kit blinked, head turning to follow my gaze. Her eyes locked on the countless corpses. ¡°You¡­¡± ¡°No, no,¡± I muttered. ¡°That¡¯s not on me.¡± ¡°Vin?¡± Eyes wide, I raised a bloodied hand and ran it through my hair. ¡°I didn¡¯t do that, Kit.¡± The young woman swallowed. ¡°Vin, I, uh¡­¡± She paused. ¡°Sure, Vin. Let¡¯s just- ¡° ¡°It¡¯s not,¡± I interrupted. ¡°It¡¯s not.¡± ¡°Alright, Vin,¡± she crooned crookedly. Slowly, Kit walked towards me, one step at a time. ¡°We¡¯re gonna- ¡° I kept staring at them. ¡°How many?¡± The swordswoman halted. ¡°What?¡± ¡°How many of my- ¡° A pause. I clenched my eyes shut. ¡°How many are there, Kit?¡± The words were plaintive. The response took too long. My eyelids fluttered open and she swallowed. ¡°Dead? I dunno. Thirty?¡± ¡°I need a number.¡± Her lips twisted. ¡°Blood, Vin, I wasn¡¯t up there. I don¡¯t know.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t¡­¡± The sentence trailed away. Uselessly, I fumbled for the mask on my head, seeking to rip it off. I discovered what I¡¯d already known. Slowly, I slid to the ground. Beside me, the shards of my broken Face lay on the ground. My trembling hands tried to put the pieces back together. When I pressed two disparate shards against one another, they fell apart. They failed. ¡°Oh, gods,¡± I whispered. Somewhere, amidst the screams, blood, steel and bronze; amidst all the slaughter, I¡¯d lost the number. I¡¯d lost count. I raised my head, uncovered by artifice. Then I lowered it. Footsteps grew closer, muted by the dirt beneath their feet. A thump sounded as Kit unslung Whip¡¯s crossbow and slumped next to me. The warmth of her shoulder pressed against my own. It began shaking. Something caught in her breathing. A low keening hissed from the back of her throat, then shuddered outward into small, stifled sobs. I placed a hand over my eyes, trying desperately to keep the ache buried within me. I failed. At the bottom of the broken village we sat and wept. Book 2 Story So Far + Glossary Memory & Madness One year after the Lizard''s invasion of the Foot, the Face Bhan encounters a fifteen-year-old living in a forest in the Heartlands -- an alien environment where most things that grow are crimson. The teenager lives a hermit-like existence, assaulting villagers that enter his patch of forest and leaving them unconscious at the outskirts. Bhan manages to persuade the teenager to leave the forest and become his apprentice. Three years later, a group of six hunters eke out a living by slaughtering monsters in the Heartlands. Four of the six are Strains -- the mutant offspring of Blooded -- while the remaining two are the Face Vin and the genius swordswoman Kit. Vin is apparently a Lizardblood. Vin expresses doubt regarding their recent recruiting of Kit, given her brutality, to which Davian -- one of the Strains -- replies they need her for their and his safety, especially considering his reckless fighting style. Their work enables the nearby city, called ''Spires of Heltia'' or just ''Spires'', to harvest all resources within the monster-infested swathe of land, which combats an ongoing famine. This famine arose due to a lack of an event called ''the Aching'', which replenishes flora in the region. Vin argues with a group of harvesters who are withholding payment in an attempt to force the team to do extra work. This work would provide more food for the famine, however they wouldn''t be paid proportionally. Vin intimidates the harvesters into giving him their payment. In the city, Kit and Vin receive payment for their work that''s far lesser than what non-Strain groups receive. They move through the city -- a marvel of bloodtech engineering built upon, around, and within titanic speartrees -- in order to sell information about foraged plants and buy potions. One of the potions is for Vin. Afterwards, they enter a gambling den where Vin has consistently lost most of his chits for the past year. He''s attempting to win back a sword which was taken as collateral due to his repeated losses. Inside, Kit meets a hooded woman who offers them a job if they prove themselves. After realising that the games within the bar are rigged specifically to ensure his own loss, Vin appeals to the crowd in an attempt to reobtain his sword. However, Kit begins a fight which ends in both killing several of the hunters that frequent the bar, Vin doing so barehanded. Vin burns a man alive to intimidate the rest into leaving. Kit, somewhat erratically, attempts to tease Vin with a bloodied sword and he disarms her. The pair then take shelter in Vin''s hideaway within a Spire built for sewage treatment. His room is a hoard of various mismatched objects, from which Kit takes a lute -- with Vin''s permission. Elsewhere, the now-adult Blake and Erin journey towards Spires following the trail of Face Bhan and his apprentice, the latter of which they believe to be Orvi. They are travelling ahead of Esfaria, who are also pursuing Orvi but with apparently worse intentions. Blake hopes to find Orvi and start a new life along with Erin, while Erin doubts Orvi will be the man Blake thinks he is. The pair fight a group of two men and two children, and kill them and take their food which fends off their starvation. Blake suggests they should use the blood as a sacrifice, which Erin rejects. She expresses guilt about allowing several people to reveal Orvi as a Ravenblood during the battle four years ago, and Blake is angered that they died before he could fight them. The Foot was ravaged by Dure''s Plague after the battle, which resulted in their deaths. Back in Spires, Vin visits Face Bhan, who is imprisoned for killing a man many years ago. Though Bhan would''ve usually been executed, his status as a Face prevents this from occurring. He is imprisoned in the Spire ''Bars'', which is also the home of Heltia''s guards. He enters escorted by the Oxblood Dervin, who is friendly towards Vin due to his association with Bhan and the Strains. Bars is unusually empty and the guards are unusually frantic, but though Vin is leery of a trap, nothing occurs. Bhan and Vin talk of Divinities; a dangerous prisoner called ''the Jackal''; and his and Kit''s fight within the bar. Bhan gives Vin his blessing to leave Spires. Kit and the Strains endorse the hooded woman''s deal despite its clearly suspect nature. Vin argues vehemently against their acceptance of the deal, but the opportunity to leave Spires -- famine-stricken and at the centre of an encroaching conflict -- and gain future employment is too good an offer to refuse. Kit also brings along her family -- two children and a much older woman -- and Ronnie brings her old dog. Kit and Vin investigate the caravan they will be guarding. It contains five separate groups. Three are families: a group of three containing Aron, a man who allowed the hunter''s decreased pay; and the Growers and Smiths, which are two families bound by the marriage of Odrin and Miriel, the former of which is an Owlblooded smith. It also contained three recalcitrant men, and a carriage in which an employee of Heltia and the leader of the caravan -- the scarred Tully -- resides along with her daughter -- Maddie. Vin suspects Tully is Blooded. Guarding the caravan are four well-equipped mercenaries, led by a woman named Rita. The guards are unusually defensive of Maddie. Kit interrogates Tully, and finds they are heading to Fort Vane -- a fort on the outer edge of the Heartlands. Travelling there will take several months, and will have them following a branch of a river system. It will also take them through the season of Frost, which is a poor time to be travelling. When pressed on this, Tully says that if they stay they may starve or fall under the whims of whatever House invades. Their payment is an incredible amount of chits, apparently sourced by pooling the resources of each of the groups and intended to purchase the hunter''s loyalty. Tully denies being Blooded, but claims to have been a former aide for General Bina, one of the generals who became Godslayers, though she perished doing so. Tully was not with the army when this occurred. When Kit inquires as to the source of her scars, Tully explains the Jackal caused them. Vin believes they are lying about something, but accepts the deal. They travel alongside the River Ien, facing encroaching monsters and wagons and carriages which refuse to get unstuck. Odrin and Gast combine their efforts to make a contraption that helps them get unstuck faster. Later in the week, a trio of refugee siblings approach the caravan, having followed it since Spires to make use of the protection it offers. Now starving, they are offered food from Vin''s team. After Vin''s offer is criticised by Tully, he steps down from his attempt to help them. Kit is angered by this. Maddie manages to persuade the rest of the caravan to allow them to stay, if they serve as extra workers to supplement Vin''s team. The caravan face a group of bandits, and Vin severs a connection between him and a dead woman. Once the bandits are defeated, he collapses with symptoms Davian believes are due to a severe head injury, despite Vin''s head not having been hit during the encounter. He lies and claims it was. Blake and Erin reach Spires minutes ahead of an ''unaffiliated'' army, smaller than the defending forces of Spires. The unaffiliated army operates according to the Terms, despite overtly not being members of a House, giving time for civilians to flee. The pair learn that Orvi burned a man to death, though Blake has difficulty believing that. They locate Bhan in Spires, and manage to enter when a standoffish Dervin has an abrupt change in demeanour, making them promise to tell Ronnie that he''s sorry. They find Bhan amidst a collection of imprisoned and mutilated corpses, but manage to enrage the other survivor of the prison -- a woman who responds to both Val and the Jackal, an infamous bandit and killer. She''s freed by a member of the invading force and promptly kills her rescuer, choosing to pursue the three instead. Blake, Erin, and Bhan escape up the tower, and realise that the city and everyone in it have been destroyed by the arrival of a god. The god is close to destroying the tower they''re in, however the force of its blows are spread equally over the spire rather than just at one point. Stunned at the devastation, they continue upwards, only to find the Jackal laying in wait. Dervin arrives and attempts to kill the Jackal, giving the trio space to escape to Nests, the home of House Heltia. Inside, they find the corpses of the House including its leader, the renowned Neelam Heltia. Now trapped in a tower on the verge of being destroyed by a god, the Jackal manipulates an unwitting Dervin into making an escape route for her, then kills him. The trio travel to Vin''s hideaway, watching Enn, the Ox, destroy its own body while it obliterates the towers in front of it. It disappears. The group infer that the mercenaries must have unwittingly led the god to Spires. They make it to their destination. Erin and Bhan sleep, while Blake investigates the box in which Orvi keeps his most precious possessions. In it, he finds carvings of Orvi''s friends and family from the Foot, excepting Maja, and the Strains. Upon seeing a carving of himself, he weeps. Two weeks after the caravan left Spires, it has settled into an abandoned farmstead. Kit plays her lute, and Vin asks her to teach him, only to find her a poor teacher. She mocks Vin in an attempt to get him to continue trying, but to her surprise he leaves anyway. Immediately after, the pair are attacked by assailants from the woods. This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it Vin infers that their attackers are members of House Baylar, and that Maddie is in actuality the new Head of House Heltia, as revealed by the jewel she carries. He attempts to persuade the other members of his team to run, certain that their defence will end catastrophically, but fails, igniting an argument between Kit and himself where they both attempt to convince the other to pursue their chosen path. Kit leaves the conversation, disappointed and disgusted, while Rita, in a failed attempt to manipulate Vin, accidentally reveals that three members of the caravan are Heltian Blooded. Vin agrees to assist the group in fleeing up the hill. Meanwhile, Tully, Gast, and Seoras -- an advisor to the enemy leader -- observe the situation. Tully is stunned her plan has failed, given that it means Spires has fallen in a handful of days -- a seemingly impossible feat. She thinks on Kit''s genius and relation to her greatest shame. Seoras internally disparages his foolish leader -- and their General''s unusual and most likely foolish decision to use a god in human warfare -- while hoping that the caravan contains the person he searches for. The caravaners use a Heltian weapon to kill a chunk of the Baylarian forces, then flee up a hill towards an abandoned village -- a far more defensible position. During the process, many of the caravaners are killed or grievously injured by the pursuing forces. Upon entering the village, they find it covered with speartrees, one of which has impaled a member of the Albrights on top of it. Given the freshness of the corpse, the impaling is seemingly impossible without the intervention of an outside entity. Whip is discovered to have been shot. The next morning, Whip is dead. The remaining Baylarian forces move up the hill, led by Seoras, who seemingly cares little for their success or failure. Vin dons a new facet of his mask and, after a brief exchange, kills over a dozen without issue. In the meantime, Kit engages the two remaining Blooded of the group, killing one and disarming another with minor injuries. Vin is exposed to the blood of the dying, and becomes increasingly confused, losing fine control of his limbs and, eventually, temporarily goes blind. Kit subdues Seoras, but instead of killing him outright chooses to brutalise him. The tables are turned when Seoras somehow manages to reinforce the outer layers of his body with a bone-like substance and subsequently begins choking Kit. An incoherent Vin impales Seoras. In Seoras''s dying moments, he reveals that he has been looking for the creature that is Vin. In addition, Seoras knows that Vin, as a strong Ravenblood, will eventually die if he continues to deny his blood. Vin refuses to allow the connection between him and Seoras anyway. Moments before his death, Seoras looks at Vin and appeals to Maja''s love for her son, opening the channel once again. Seoras''s death transitions smoothly into a confused Vin, who temporarily believes Seoras'' corpse -- skills and tattoo and all -- is his own. Left with Seoras'' memories, now fragmented from the confused attempts, he sits there until Kit finds him. They exchange a few words as Vin seeks reassurance that the soldiers'' deaths were not his fault. Then, both break down and cry. Glossary Heartlands: A strange and alien environment where flora blooms crimson and harms itself constantly. Feeding blood to the ground yields grain in return, and a phenomena called ''the Aching'' occurs frequently. The region is supposedly under the control of House Heltia, given to them by the Albrights in exchange for assistance a century ago. Speartrees: One of the most ubiquitous pieces of flora in the Heartlands, speartrees are tall, thin, pale, and -- like their namesake -- sharp. They are also incredibly tough. The titular spires within the city of Heltia are the largest speartrees in the Heartlands. The Aching: A phenomena that used to occur regularly. ''The Aching'' is a set of quakes which are accompanied by the rapid growth of flora within the Heartlands and a changing of the region''s geography. This growth can be halted by layers of stone. Heartlanders rely on the Aching for much of their food. Usually, the Aching occurs every few years. However, it has not occurred for over a decade, leaving the Heartlands in a state of worsening famine. ''Sacrifice'': Term used for blood fed to the ground in exchange for food. The worsening famine has led to the impoverished bleeding themselves. Some children, dubbed ''bloodbags'', are kidnapped for this purpose. Face: A Face functions as a bard, actor, and shaman; travelling from place to place and performing ''the Artful Divinity'' -- usually shortened to just ''Divinity''. A Divinity is a ritualistic performance where the gods themselves, interpreted through the body of the Face, are the central characters. Each god has its own idiosyncrasies, however each Face plays them according to their preferences. Divinities are performed for crowds, who are expected to respond in certain ways -- saying certain phrases at its end and offering food or trinkets. They are also performed for supposed spirits, in an attempt to catch the spirits and prime them for reincarnation. This can apparently occur if the spirits become trapped within powerful blood and are then released in a bloodletting. Strains: The mutated offspring of Blooded and Godkin (monsters). Both are usually mostly infertile, however Strains are occasionally born to chance or if the concentration of divinity within the Blooded is weak. Same-sex relationships amongst Blooded are encouraged for related reasons. Strains are warped in unique, unusual ways, and are regarded with disgust by the general population. They tend to possess a weak echo of their parent''s powers. Spires of Heltia: The home of House Heltia, Spires is built upon and around sixteen massive speartrees, hollowed out by immense labour and connected with gravity-defying bridges. It is surrounded by an immense body of refugees, who have travelled to Spires in an attempt to avoid starvation. A vital part of its infrastructure is bloodtech, which enables its bridges, elevators, plumbing, and everburning lanterns. Spires is the beating heart of bloodtech on the continent, even as its people strive to harvest the surrounding monster-ridden areas to avoid starvation. Devastated after an attack by the Ox. Bloodtech/Runes: Magic formations grasped by the minds of the Owlblooded, runes are specially carved and seem to obey specific rules. They require either an Owlblood or Godsblood to operate. House Heltia: One of the youngest Houses, House Heltia was led by Neelam Heltia for over a century, who is believed to be the only Blooded Head amongst the Houses. They control a single city. The Vanes are their only subsidiary nobles. Most are now dead, with Maddie supposedly being its only remaining member. Purple adorns their crest. House Albright: The monarchs of the continent, who rose to their status a century ago.. House Albright has held an alliance with House Heltia since the younger House''s inception, however has recently rescinded it. Gold is a colour exclusive to the Albrights, under pain of death. The Albright''s Declaration: The Declaration officially rescinds the Albright''s support of Heltia, due to charges of sheltering a Ravenblood and the unnatural ruling of a Blooded over humans. Most who speak of it believes there to be other motives. The Terms: A collection of conditions for the conflict of Houses to avoid unnecessary civilian casualties. It was created a century ago by the Albrights, after they became the rulers of the continent. Ichor: A rumoured substance which can supposedly fuel bloodtech in place of Godsblood. Heltia had put out a bounty for information regarding it. Steel: A strong material that seemingly requires an Owlblood to smith, outmatching bronze or stone in utility. Chits: Currency. Made of either wood or silver, chits are held on strings. Gods: Powerful entities regarded with great fear. Seven are well-known, while a select few -- including Faces, for the sole purpose of subduing spirits -- are aware of an eighth. Godsblood: Blood from one of the gods, which alters those that incorporate it into themselves both mentally and physically. Blooded: Humans that have partaken in Godsblood. The strength of their powers and mental changes correspond to the amount of Godsblood partaken in. Past a certain point, the physical changes make a Blooded obvious. Godkin: Also known as monsters, Godkin are creatures that have imbibed too much Godsblood, becoming dangerous in the process. Dure, the Lizard: Also known as ''the Plague'' and ''the Suffering''. A gargantuan entity, the Lizard is the carrier of innumerable parasites, and despite being in a perpetual state of rot, rapidly heals. Lizardbloods: Humans or animals altered by Dure''s blood. Lizardbloods have rapid regeneration. They are regarded as stupid by most. Lizardbloods also have strong wills. Notable Lizardbloods: Reagan, Orvi (via Ravenblood). Enn, the Ox: Also known as ''the Furious'' and ''the Broken''. As large as a house, Enn is a skinless mass of muscle and fibre that can moves at unperceivable speeds and delivers immense force to those it hits, at the cost of breaking itself apart with each impact. Certain actions can anger it, for reasons unknown. Oxbloods: Humans or animals altered by Enn''s blood. Oxbloods are large, strong, and physically imposing. They are easy to enrage. Notable Oxbloods: General Maja, Jackson, Dervin. Kani, the Fox: Fast, capricious. Foxbloods: Humans or animals altered by Kani''s blood. Foxbloods are skilled combatants, and have enhanced senses. Sadistic. Notable Foxbloods: Aston, Bab (monstrous), Orvi (via Ravenblood). Siik, the Spider: Calculating. Spiderbloods: Humans or animals altered by Siik''s blood. Spiderbloods are capable of rapidly assessing situations, though they are often maligned as cowardly. Notable Spiderbloods: Tully. Wump, the Dolphin: Lives in the northern seas of the continent. Dolphinbloods: Humans or animals altered by Wump''s blood. Dolphinbloods are capable of manipulating the emotions of those around them. Notable Dolphinbloods: Representative Fedor, Serl, Holt. Yoot, the Owl: Arcane. Owlbloods: Humans or animals altered by Yoot''s blood. Owlbloods are capable of using magic, which manifests alongside purple light, and can comprehend runes. Notable Owlbloods: Captain Vernon, Odrin (weak). Avri, the Raven: Killed eight years before the bulk of the story, at great cost. Avri was worshipped by a cult, which held the Raven to be capable of ''saving'' people. Avri had innumerable eyes and mouths, which gibbered madly. Ravenbloods: Humans or animals altered by Avri''s blood. Ravenbloods are capable of sensing the lifeforce of others, and can incorporate the &*(#!& of the dying, so long as the dying''s blood is smeared across their head. Ravenbloods are known to be insane, and immensely dangerous. Notable Ravenbloods: Orvi, Sash & Dash (latent). The Shrike: Mentioned once. Little is known about the Shrike, besides that it strikes quickly, and disappears just as suddenly. Appears little, known by few. There are no Shrikebloods. Houses: Organisations/Families that control resources, territory and Blooded. Heltian Conditions: A treaty between Houses for the purpose of killing the Raven and destroying its Cult. Interlude - Aspirant Time passes. That¡¯s just how it works. It is a moment¡¯s nature to be present in fullness and vanish as soon as it is grasped. We¡¯re left wondering if past moments every truly existed, and by dint of that doubt, if the future does either. For all those thoughts, I¡¯ve never truly been sceptical of the instant gone by. I¡¯m not capable of doubting what sleeps behind my eyes. Yet the moments I am about to convey are not ones I possess, but rather conjure out of half-heard whispers within stone hallways, lost in the busily empty mind of a child but found, many years later, in one overflowing. Links were drawn and discarded and drawn again amidst slumbering companions fatigued by mortal labour. There was no completion; a puzzle missing most its pieces isn¡¯t one that can be finished. Moments are precious things, and perhaps these were better spent resting or carving. But a puzzle always aches to be solved; all the more so when that puzzle is you. Around eighteen years ago, or I suppose closer to nineteen or twenty now ¨C I¡¯ve mostly lost track ¨C there lived a man. Just young enough to possess ample zeal yet world-wearied enough to mar it. I contrive to imagine him as resembling myself, but he could of easily have been paler than the moons, or darker than the deepest night, possessing blonde or red or even impossibly purple hair. Think of him as you want. I have no more idea than you. What I do know is that he belonged to the continent¡¯s most infamous cult, and like all those within the order he held the rank of Aspirant, for supposedly, all are equal in the embrace of Avri. That¡¯s not entirely true, but it¡¯s also not entirely false, either. Regardless, a complete lack of hierarchy had permeated the Cult for longer than Houses have existed. His rank speaks nothing of him, and the murmuring of adults outside our stone play-area was incoherent at the best of times. If a name featured among their recollections, I do not recall; and my memory is perfect. So we arrive at this young man, nameless and faceless but for his faith. Like most Aspirants, divinity coursed through him. Alongside it lay a dogma of accumulation. So as his most holy commandment decreed, the Aspirant went out to embrace the many inhabitants of the continent into his veins. By way of slaughter. The Raven Cult¡¯s warbands were synonymous with the god itself, back then, and demanded just as much fear as any god. Aspirants could not be negotiated with, and nor, from the perspective of the average family, could they be defeated. The only flower blooming amongst the red was that the Ravenbloods only ever wanted death; not torture, nor torment. An end at their hands was as clean as one could hope for, and, bizarrely, the bodies of those slain were always handled respectfully. Not that their adherence to funeral customs slowed the Godslayers¡¯ blades for even an instant. But I digress. These cultists travelled in a small group: at least three, for I know three are needed for the tale to make sense, but possibly as many as six. They¡¯d slaughtered a family. An isolated one, I believe, for any sizeable group of people would be enough to overwhelm a small group of callow Aspirants. However, there¡¯s always a small, cynical part of me that said whatever people could have come to this family¡¯s aid simply fled instead. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. I¡¯ve often entertained the idea that the family were noble, but it¡¯s far more likely they were hunters or gatherers or nobles or farmers. The kinds of people preoccupied with matters of raw survival, and had many children to contend with that reality. Those children died, of course. All save one. One of the few things my parents said with a frequency that drained all humour from the statement was that I didn¡¯t make a cute baby. They went into astonishing detail about that. Small, horrifically-wrinkled, with thin-eyed like a lizard, I apparently looked like a very crotchety old man had been merged with the body of an infant. I can¡¯t know what stayed the young man¡¯s hand when he encountered me bawling, but it certainly couldn¡¯t have been any charm on my account. I was ugly. Prodigiously so. I¡¯d laugh, but though I grew prettier, I¡¯m almost entirely certain that these days, I¡¯m far uglier than I ever was as a child. Two of his partners urged him to ¡®embrace¡¯ me, yet the Aspirant refused. Maybe he¡¯d had a brother or sister or child himself, in a past life. Maybe his zealotry couldn¡¯t hold, as his blade hovered above an entity that saw nothing and knew nothing, and thus would mean nothing to draw within himself. I don¡¯t know. He didn¡¯t kill the kid, and as leaving the baby would be a terrible waste, the group decided to bring it with them. The young man, cannier than the others, brought a goat instead of slaughtering it. It¡¯s probably delusion, but I think I can remember the taste of its milk. And so, on their way back to their god¡¯s nest, they stole away other babies as well. That¡¯s what happens when Aspirants stop killing. They start grabbing things. They ended up with around eight, all taken with hands red with the blood of the sires. Progress slowed as they murdered their way back to the Wastes. Of them all, the young man must have been the most gifted killer, because his blood was fuller than the others. They¡¯d nearly reached the base of the Cult¡¯s den when the other Aspirants woke to find him smothering babies. Even now, I don¡¯t know if he¡¯d had a moment of madness or perfect clarity. Whatever reasons, he¡¯d killed three before his comrades realised what he was doing. He most likely killed several of them, as well, but he must¡¯ve ¡®embraced¡¯ them because my parents never spoke of any death. They brought him back in ropes he chose not to break, and the Raven embraced him. Five children remained, and one of them was me. Two of the young man¡¯s companions adopted me. I think they¡¯d grown to like me over the course of their travels. The goat stayed too, right up until the end. It isn¡¯t an unusual story, among cultists. Most Aspirants are infertile, or so close to it the difference is irrelevant. Most would-be recruits were angry, bitter people, and Avri tended to eat those. The rare few who had minds to comprehend the philosophy and the strength to follow it were accepted. But most were taken as children, excepting a few strange children and adults without legs or with curved faces and too many eyes and fingers. I now know they were Strains; as a young child they were just funny-looking people. I¡¯ve come to think about the young man a lot, these days. The moments he found the infants amidst the wreckage, still holding a weapon stained red, and chose to deny his own beliefs. Those moments where his hands were over their mouths, watching them slowly turn blue. I think about the way he chose to kill them. Suffocation. A bloodless murder. Chapter 51 - Double Down The boy staggered as his sister leapt off his shoulders, grasping the sandstone roof behind and pulling herself upwards. ¡°Go!¡± he yelled as she disappeared from sight. The only response was the fading pad of her feet as she fled. Then the light shining from the alleyway¡¯s mouth was obscured as the silhouettes of giants trickled through its entrance. Their long bodies slouched as they prowled towards him. The boy swallowed and grabbed a chunk of rubble from the ground, ignoring the sharp pain in his ankle. He brandished it menacingly towards them. ¡°I¡¯m not- ¡° he began, but the countless voices swarmed over his own, smothering it. ¡°Traitor,¡± they hissed. ¡°Killer. Monster. Ravenblood.¡± Tears pricked at his eyes. ¡°I¡¯m not! I didn¡¯t know!¡± They continued towards him, heedless of his protests. He hurled the stone at one and it faded into the crowd, yet more replaced it. Their long arms stretched, wrapping around his own and though he struggled with all his might no force could budge them. Then they twisted. He screamed as his arms were fragmented into a thousand shards, but more hands covered his mouth. They bore him to the ground and all their legs began cracking down, smashing his head, legs, torso, and shattering his ribs like glass. Sharp fingernails bit into the flesh of his torso and slowly, carefully peeled the skin away from his bones, revealing the organs pulsing beneath. Through the haze he saw the figures part under a silent command. A much shorter person walked to the boy¡¯s shattered form and knelt. A hand wrapped around his still-beating heart. Orvi shot him an easy grin ¨C the kind the boy had seen countless times before ¨C and raised an arm in mock innocence. Still wearing his affectionate smile, he leaned down, bringing his mouth next to the boy¡¯s ear. ¡°Idiot,¡± the Ravenblood whispered, and ripped the boy¡¯s heart from his chest.
Dash woke with a silent intake of breath. For several long moments, he lay in his bedroll, eyes staring upwards towards the innumerable stars in the night sky. All of it was familiar to him: the dream; the waking; the stars that looked like some angry god had stabbed holes in an inverted bowl. He rubbed his eyes and absentmindedly snaked a hand beneath the coat he wore to grasp at his chest. Within his body, his heart still thundered heavily. He drew in a deep breath, then allowed it to shudder out. After all that time, he still awoke in the exact same way. The dream wasn¡¯t even real; it was a demented parody of what had truly happened. The mob had held him down, yes, but they only managed to break an arm and crack a few ribs before Sash returned with Jackson, who roared the crowd away. There had been no peeled skin or opened chest, nor mass of churning shadows. He couldn¡¯t blame anyone within the mob, either. Overtly, the Ravenblood hadn¡¯t been present, yet Dash had felt his hand behind every single fearfully enraged man and woman within the mob. At thirteen years of age, he still couldn¡¯t beat the nightmare. He¡¯d stopped wanting to. Forgetting would be a mistake. While the adolescent continued slowing his breathing, he caressed the small pouch tied around his neck, feeling the weight of the ash within. Simultaneously, he idly tapped a hand to the bedroll beside his. Then he patted it again. His head twisted, to find it entirely empty. ¡°Sash?¡± he whispered, panic creeping into his voice. Dash fumbled out of the warmth his sleeping area provided, wincing as he stood into the cold of early Frost. The Wastes only truly had two seasons: Still and Dust. Both could get chilly ¨C especially in the transition between the two ¨C but neither came close to the cold the Heartland¡¯s seasons offered freely. Despite the ice beading the sharp blades of crimson grass at the edges of the clearing, Dash eschewed boots in favour of moving more quickly. In the light of the twin moons, his eyes easily found six other slumbering forms ¨C their group contained him and his sister, Stitch as a medic and one of each type of Blooded ¨C yet missed Pat and Fink. The adolescent pulled a dog-whistle from under his coat, and after a moment¡¯s hasty consideration, shoved it in his mouth and blew. ¡°Ox¡¯s bleeding balls!¡± someone swore from the trees, then a flash emerged, embedding itself a few paces from Dash¡¯s feet. It was a throwing knife. ¡°What did I tell you, Dash?¡± He resisted the urge to cringe. ¡°Where¡¯s Sash, Fink?¡± ¡°Dead, for all I care,¡± came the reply. ¡°Especially not when her bastard brother keeps piercing my bloody ears!¡± A large form shifted from within a bedroll. ¡°Shut up, Fink,¡± Olga gravelled. ¡°You¡¯d tell the godsdamned kid to shut it if- ¡° ¡°I swear, Fink,¡± the woman murmured. ¡°Fine! Fine.¡± The Foxblood dropped from the black, thorny trees. His lanky form loped over to Dash, and placed an arm lightly furred with orange onto the boy¡¯s shoulder, where it drummed rapidly against flesh. ¡°Next time,¡± he whispered, feral grin slowly stretching across his face, ¡°I¡¯ll beat your sister blue and make you watch. How¡¯s that? Captain Peeler won¡¯t care ¨C he might even join in.¡± Dash¡¯s mind whirled for a retort. He found one when Fink turned his back. ¡°And have the medic hate you? That seems like a good way of dying from infection.¡± ¡°Stitch¡¯ll¡­¡± The man snarled, then paused and began snapping his fingers. It was the same rhythmic beat he always used after getting aggravated. With every snap, the clicks reduced in tempo, until they halted entirely. Fink rubbed his hair and sighed. ¡°Look, kid: annoying Blooded is always a bad move.¡± He turned, and looked at Dash, the roiling within them having fallen away to far calmer waters. ¡°Stop doing it. Stop blowing the whistle. Before I go crazy.¡± The adolescent nodded. ¡°Good.¡± The man breathed out, slapped the side of his face lightly and stalked back into the shadows of the trees. ¡°Just as I was getting comfortable¡­¡± Dash heard him mutter before his voice faded. A growl alerted the boy to the presence of Pat, ears raised while the dog stared after the Foxblood. ¡°Quiet.¡± Dash accompanied the order with a clench of a raised fist, and the hound instantly silenced. After squatting onto his haunches, he looked into Pat¡¯s eyes. ¡°Where¡¯s Sash?¡± he whispered in a high, playful tone. The stub of the dog¡¯s tail wagged quickly. Pat loped to the edge of the clearing, the rags tied around his paws curbing the sharpness of the grass, and looked back to make sure Dash followed. Then he ambled off into the shadows. Mollified by Pat¡¯s lack of anxiety, Dash walked at a far more sedate pace. An errant step brought his foot down on a patch of crimson grass, which bit through his socks and into his skin, flicking blood over the pink dirt. He sucked in a breath and wobbled back to staunch the small cuts with moss and pull on his boots. When he returned, tiny sheafs of grain were beginning to sprout. Continuing forward on the trail of the hound ¨C who glanced back every dozen paces to make sure his charge was following ¨C Dash ducked underneath thorny branches, slipped around menacing brambles and squeezed between hanging vines. He eyed all of it sideways. Whatever hand placed forests upon the world had no appreciation for the clean, clear lines of an open space. The claustrophobic confines of the trees made ambushes unnervingly easy as well. And despite the knowledge that plants were static things, he still couldn¡¯t shake the impression that the shrubs were one wrong move away from lurching around his feet, holding him in place as vines wrapped around his neck and branches snaked through his skin¡­ So focused was he on the things growing around him that the boy nearly missed the pale blonde ¨C almost white ¨C of Sash¡¯s hair through the trees. Her pale form was seated on a boulder, its red moss making it appear as if flesh were slowly consuming the stone. Upon sighting her, he quietened his steps and carefully crept towards her back. ¡°Hello, Dash,¡± his twin announced, still facing away from him. He straightened. ¡°Hello, Sash,¡± he responded, before she could get tetchy about him not replying. Satisfied by her brother¡¯s response, the adolescent girl became silent once again. Dash met Pat¡¯s expectant gaze and rubbed his head, giving their dog a brief kiss on the head before clambering up onto the boulder. He stood atop it smugly and turned his head around, surveying the land he was suddenly so much taller than, then plopped himself down next to his sister. Much like him, she¡¯d grown since the battle of the Foot. Her hair, usually tied into a braid, now hung down her back, straight and free of the knots that used to tangle it. She¡¯d stumbled upon the habit of brushing it every night before going to bed at some point. Her body was lean and wound tightly with muscle. Whatever fat lay on it was a result of Jackson, Stitch and Dash cramming food down her throat in the months before they¡¯d left, desperate to put some energy reserves on her before leaving. She¡¯d grown as well, and with her straight-backed posture stood just below some of the shorter adults. Dash, to his glee, was half-a-head and several pounds of muscle larger than her. Jackson could still knock him over like he weighed nothing, but on a good day he could beat the older teenagers in a brawl. Both twins could outrun anyone easily in the Foot¡¯s maze of sandstone ¨C that was necessary to avoid beatings. And Sash folded easily in an arm-wrestle to him. Not that he felt very prideful over that anymore. Every day since they¡¯d entered the Heartlands, Dash had attempted to sneak up on her. Every day, he had failed. The attempts had gotten so frustrating that he¡¯d stopped, only for Sash to berate him for not continuing the ritual. He followed his sister¡¯s gaze, to find her staring at a trail of ants leading away from a dead beetle. She squinted at them in quiet consideration, rubbing the pouch tied around her neck. ¡°Something interesting about them?¡± he asked, gesturing towards the bugs. Sash looked at him, then back at the ants. ¡°Yes. They¡¯re a lot like people.¡± ¡°Well, except for the fact they have too many legs.¡± The twin frowned at him, then huffed when she processed the grin on his face. ¡°Be quiet. They are. Look: it¡¯s just like when a monster is killed.¡± Dash turned his eyes back towards the ants. Individually, they were nothing like humans; yet the logic they moved according to was eerily similar to what the Esfarian harvesters used. Any one of the ants could have been Sash or Dash, a single year ago ¨C carefully butchering a drained Ravenkin as its hunters watched them and the other workers. They¡¯d placed chunks into sacks and into their little carts, hauling them for hours and hours underneath the relentless sun. The work was dull and monotonous, allowing too much time to think about everything except something productive. It was hard for a pair of children, made even harder if the corner of the Wastes they¡¯d been sent to was cracked or had ravines. Both had passed out from heatstroke more than once. Fink, along with a few of the other hunters, had frequently told them to get another job and come back when they were bigger. But due to the fear the people of the Foot felt towards the monsters, volunteers were always short; meaning butchers always obtained increased merits, allowing longer training hours. Jackson would have given them private lessons if they¡¯d asked, but that would¡¯ve led to even more resentful glances. They had to earn their skills; otherwise, the twins would never prove anything. Blake ¨C the layabout ¨C had continually offered work in a restaurant owned by a friend. That was before he¡¯d struck an Esfarian soldier and left. They¡¯d both refused continually. Sash hated cooking, and Dash had never been as good a chef as Ma¡­ or the Ravenblood. The ants continued, inexorably carrying their load to some unseen destination. ¡°Okay,¡± said Dash. ¡°I can see it.¡± His twin hummed. ¡°Mm. And look!¡± She pointed into the impenetrable shadows. ¡°Their home is over there.¡± He nodded, unsure of how she knew. ¡°Okay¡­¡± ¡°It¡¯s a lot like the Foot. All those little tunnels are built on top of one another, but if you tilt it sideways, I think it¡¯s kind of looks like a city¡­¡± Her eyebrows furrowed. ¡°But how a bird would look at it.¡± ¡°Kind of like,¡± Dash began, teasing out the thought, ¡°how Spires is supposed to be.¡± They both looked upwards. Though the sight of it had disappeared days ago, the scent of woodsmoke remained, filling the air of the Heartlands with the knowledge that something had been eaten by fire. Tomorrow, they would continue on the wide path of stumps and splintered trees that lay mere yards off to the side of their campsite. At the end of the vast, relentlessly trampled trail were the Spires of Heltia.
Sash rubbed her brother¡¯s back as he leaned against a shattered chunk of speartree and vomited, eyes kept firmly away from the contents of his stomach, lest she start puking again. Yet there were only increasingly horrific sights around them. Dash¡¯s gaze caught on two shattered carts leaning against one another, a lone arm sitting on its top. A cold sweat broke from his skin as he comprehended the arm wasn¡¯t attached to a torso. He heaved. A hand poked his back, lightly. ¡°What¡¯s a pair of children like you doing with a group of Blooded?¡± The hand belonged to one of their escorts ¨C a thin, sun-spotted woman. Like most of the soldiers they¡¯d seen around the area, she wore a gambeson overlayed with bronze around the torso, forearms, and shins. Her helmet was tied around her neck with a cord of leather. A strip of yellow cloth was wrapped around her arm and the shaft of her spear, marking her affiliation as a retainer of House Baylar. Upon reaching the end of the strip of the mounds of wrecked trees trailing across the Heartlands, the twins, the eight other hunters and their dog had reached the backside of the Baylarian baggage train. Stitch assured them a supply train even having an end was unusual, but had mused it was likely so the army could secure a safe route before beginning in earnest. For whatever reason Dash had expected a more insidious route than Captain Peeler loudly proclaiming their group¡¯s affiliation and desire to meet with a General to those guarding the train. After an hour of being kept under a guard of a dozen foot-soldiers thoroughly aware of their inability to contain six Blooded, they¡¯d given a sizeable escort and led out of the forest, towards Spires proper. They¡¯d seen what the god had left behind. Dash, like any Foot-dweller, had seen many things in the past thirteen years. The sullied streets, dirt mingling with the pus of monsters to create a holy reek throughout every avenue. Monster corpse littered streets unnervingly absent of humans, yet the few patches clear of splinters, rubble, or flesh revealed where the fallen had laid and eventually been dragged away. Blood splattered the outskirts. The twins had been kept away from the lanes of Plague-stricken people. Even so, they¡¯d joined in carrying the dead. Fabric damp with scented oils wrapped around their faces and bodies covered head-to-toe in thick cloth couldn¡¯t hide the boils scattered across skin mottled with unnatural red and yellow. The dead¡¯s flesh was tough, but even through the gloves he had felt their incredible heat, as if even in death they still strived for life. Despite that, the boy had never been unaware that it was a sanitised version of the truth. They hadn¡¯t fought. They hadn¡¯t cleared the initial bodies. Where the aftermath of the Lizard¡¯s parasites had been stumbling across the still-cooling corpses of sick people, they hadn¡¯t even noticed the skeletons of the Raven¡¯s Tomb at first. Initially, the twins thought the white shapes strange rock-formations ¨C the kind found all over the Wastes. Their attention had been drawn inward, away from the physical strain of hauling empty carts through the heat. Yet when Sash had picked up a piece of green stone to idly toy with, everything had begun to coalesce. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. The mottled green fragments were not pieces of strange stone. The hills of white rubble were not natural. The pale, angular formations diving and twisting through one another were not mountains. The fragments crunching beneath their feet were not gravel. It was a graveyard, stretching from horizon to horizon, and terminating in an impossible, incoherent skeleton. His only memory of its life was mercifully faded by time: the warmth of a body as he dangled from its front accompanied by a cacophony of yells, screams, and screeching metal filled the air, while a reddened sky loomed above it all. Neither Ma nor the Ravenblood had said much more about it. Both times had contained their own, unique kind of tragedy, far too large for his pubescent brain to grasp. The place they walked through wasn¡¯t a tragedy. Its architect hadn¡¯t earned that title. It was a joke with a punchline wrought from human flesh. ¡°Don¡¯t look,¡± Stitch had told them, stern face grown even more severe. Yet their old tutor had never been a tall woman, and her words swayed them less than they used to. They had looked. But even if they¡¯d tried not to, the mounds of bodies would have been impossible to miss. The bodies were piled in mounds, some placed by the careful hands of humans but most were drawn towards one another as if by some immense tempest, their broken bodies mingling with equally broken chunks of wood or cloth or speartree. Bizarrely, those piles were clustered in the same straight line as the rubble of Spires¡¯ towers. Pieces were scattered like a child¡¯s dolls, thrown in the wake of an immense tantrum and splitting each of the toys open. Beneath, instead of splintered wood or sprouts of cloth, broken flesh peeked through. The chill of Frost held the greater part of its stench at bay, but the scent of rot was omnipresent. The blood was still thawing in the morning air. Dash could tell that the place had once been part of the immense camp that still stretched around the east and west sides of Spires. All the instruments of human existence were there: the broken pans, stone axes and knives, wooden trinkets and woven tapestries. The occasional bodies that still held one another, even smothered beneath the mounds of death around them. The scale of the human ¨C all too human ¨C life lost was impossible in scale and disregard. Sash started crying, somewhere around the fiftieth step. Stitch¡¯s face was pale and drawn. The six Blooded each wore different expressions: varying from Captain Peeler¡¯s beady eyes immutably fixed on the path ahead, to Olga¡¯s blunt, clenched teeth as her stomps sent blood sloshing around her boots. The hand Fink had placed over his mouth and nose drummed incessantly. Dash didn¡¯t think anything at all. Until he did, and threw up. The woman¡¯s question still rung in his ears. Why were they here? Cold and lonely, in a place very far from home. He wiped a hand over his mouth and straightened. ¡°We¡¯re the trackers.¡± The soldier¡¯s jaw opened, then clacked shut. She gave both of them a pat on the back. ¡°Be careful, then,¡± she grunted. ¡°It¡¯s a bad thing, to be wrapped up with the Raven¡¯s ilk.¡± Neither of the twins could give anything but a nod to that. They continued onward, away from the worst of the obliteration. Closer to Spires, the boy could see the profusion of wood and metal crawling up and around each tower, yet unlike what Stitch had told them, none of it beat purple. The pulse of the city had grown silent; the trauma of having half of itself ripped away too much to sustain. Eight titans were missing from the sky, instead laying in chunks on the ground too large to circumvent. One leaned precariously against its twin, seeming moments away from toppling. As Dash watched, one of the bridges trailing down the side of a spire broke. It seemed to fall incredibly slowly, but its impact was accompanied by an ear-splitting echo. Most of the survivors had wisely chosen to stay out of the Spires¡¯ shadows, and House Baylar had followed suite. The chaos of the surrounding refugee camp ¨C shelter fashioned from carts, scavenged wood and cloth ¨C blended into a far more ordered encampment. Most shelters were still built from scavenged materials. As they walked through the tight avenues between the makeshift homes, cloth would flap to reveal the dust-covered bodies of small families. Sometimes they seemed to quietly confer or play small games using pebbles and sticks, but more often they were heavy with stillness. Dash figured them to be civilians, but the structure of it breathed military. Each shelter was separated to discourage the spread of flame, while trench latrines had been created at the outer edges of the camp. Occasionally, a group of yellow-banded soldiers would walk past, carrying rations, shovels, or wood, to be given to those remaining. They eyed the Blooded hunters as the groups passed one another. Yet though the military had clearly created the displaced people¡¯s shelters, their barracks proper was clearly segregated from the rest. A wall barely taller than Dash¡¯s waist ringed neat rows of hemp tents. Its avenues were sparsely populated by guards wearing armour daubed with yellow plates ¨C more complete than the regulars¡¯ armour. Some bore the exaggerated facial characteristics of those with Godsblood flowing within them. Their heads faced the hunting party, forewarned of their arrival. Six powerful Blooded ¨C one of each type excepting the Raven¡¯s ¨C were not easily ignored. Especially not when most wore steel or bone lamellar plates beneath the peeling paint of Esfaria¡¯s deep red. Their escorts were briefly stopped at the entrance, but after a brief exchange of words between the soldiers they were waved through. Dash tried to count the tents but gave up quickly ¨C there were more than fifty long tents large enough to house thirty within them. There were a lot of soldiers, he concluded. Maybe enough to match every fighter within the Foot twice over. Or thrice over. Even as poorly equipped as some of the warriors were, it still would¡¯ve been a staggering number of warriors at any other time. But the scale was muted by the carnage they¡¯d just walked through. They passed a tent smelling like boiled potatoes and a group guarding some collection of pipes jutting from the ground, then arrived at a clearing within the centre of the encampment. A small tent sat within it; its yellow-daubed cloth partially concealed by a rapidly-moving line of worn individuals stretching away from a sheltered desk. The queue easily encompassed a hundred people, stretching across the clearing and vanishing into the rest of the encampment. Those waiting within it peeked out of fraying blankets as the Esfarians passed, shuffling out of the way. An older man wearing trousers and a shirt embroidered with a yellow turtle met them. ¡°The General requests that only three enter.¡± His humourless voice quelled any notion that it was truly a request. ¡°The leader, the Owlblood, and one of the children.¡± Sash was too enamoured with the man¡¯s grey hair ¨C shining with oil and tied into an elegant braid ¨C to beat Dash in tapping Captain Peeler¡¯s shoulder. The Spiderblood glanced at the boy, looked him up and down, then nodded. Sash gripped his hand and squeezed. He squeezed back, trying to figure out how to wear a reassuring smile, but before he could she let go, telling him to ¡®be careful,¡¯ and the moment was lost. As another set of guards wielding bronze swords led the chosen three inside, Dash heard the man begin to say, ¡°If the rest of you could join our¡­¡± The boy leaned towards Oeus, the hunters¡¯ Owlblood ¨C his sharp, present eyes allowed by his comparatively weak divinity ¨C and asked why he was allowed in. Oeus kept his face unnervingly even. ¡°We¡¯re hostages. Spiderblood; Owlblood; child: all easier to kill than the rest.¡± At the boy¡¯s expression he continued more quickly. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. It¡¯s standard practice ¨C none of it means anything.¡± The knowledge didn¡¯t stop Dash from trying to keep the knives sheathed against his stomach and ankle, but a meaningful stare from Peeler had him disarming. Alongside the hidden weapons, he surrendered his pack and the hatchet tied to his belt. It was the closest thing to a halberd that he could carry on the long journey. They were instructed to wait in a sheltered alcove outside the tent proper. Two voices exchange words within: one too quiet to be heard, the other loudly vibrating with fracturing control. ¡°¡­did they expect when they signed off on the idea?¡± A quiet murmuring. The louder man barked a bitter laugh. ¡°Keep its economy in shape? Sure, let me just send a courier to the bloody Ox with your instructions.¡± Oeus¡¯s eyes widened. Captain Peeler took a single step back. The terse response was clear enough to distinguish words. ¡°¡­no point¡­ capturing Spires¡­¡° ¡°I know none of Baylar¡¯s Heads are stupid enough to suggest Ichor. It¡¯s been made very clear to them the consequences of searching. And half of Spires¡¯ infrastructure is still operational.¡± A snort. ¡°Or can be made so ¨C and need I remind you what your position is? I¡¯m not crass enough to punish a messenger for doing their job, but disrupting the chain of command with disrespect is another matter.¡± The words stopped momentarily, and the loud voice continued again. ¡°There are many, many messengers in our employ. And favour is dependent on service.¡± Silence. ¡°As I thought. Yoot¡¯s essence lost within the city can be partially recouped before its dissipation. And frankly, the Godsblood requirements for Spires is far more realistic with half the city gone.¡± A more hesitant sentence. ¡°There are Owlsmith survivors, however few, and their skills can be taught. What we have is an opportunity to win them over ¨C an opportunity we wouldn¡¯t have gained through any other method.¡± ¡°¡­speak freely?¡± ¡°No. What you are going to say is eminently clear. Now leave ¨C I have guests.¡± Moments later, the flaps leading into the tent spat a broad-shouldered, leanly muscled man out. He registered the three waiting ¨C eyes narrowing over their red paint ¨C then sighed and walked out. ¡°Please come in, Esfarians.¡± Captain Peeler walked in, closely followed by the two others. Inside sat a sizeable man with a magnificent beard, curling from his chin down to his chest. His hair was kept in neat braids, and, despite being seated behind a wooden desk covered in wax tablets, wore a set of steel plate. A bloodtech lantern made redundant by the day¡¯s light burned a dull blue atop the desk. Within the room were four guards armoured so heavily in steel that their skin did not show. At least one was large enough to be an Oxblood, and Dash would stake his sister on the other three being Blooded as well. Two of the guards raised a hand, halting the three guests. ¡°Forgive me, honoured guests,¡± the bearded man said without rising. His voice was low, deep, and welcoming ¨C the same that had berated the messenger moments earlier. ¡°One can never be too careful.¡± Peeler nodded his understanding. ¡°Of course. I am Captain Peeler of House Esfaria, and this is the Owlblood Oeus and a tracker of the same House.¡± Dash stared at the bearded man, and Oeus quickly shoved his head down. Belatedly, the boy realised that the Owlblood was staring at the richly carpeted floor, eyes blank. Only Peeler met the seated man¡¯s gaze. From the edge of Dash¡¯s vision, he saw the man smile. ¡°I am General Yalo of House Baylar.¡± A pregnant silence filled the tent. The Captain broke it first. ¡°I assume Baylar is no longer upholding the Terms?¡± Yalo¡¯s brows raised in a carefully cultivated look of shock. ¡°We would not dare go against the will of House Albright.¡± Peeler frowned. ¡°Against the will¡­¡± He paused. ¡°Ah. The¡­ method, is still questionable.¡± Through his nostrils, the General released a heavy breath. ¡°I can¡¯t deny this is a tragedy. One Baylar benefits from; but make no mistake, friend ¨C House Baylar has not broken the Terms.¡± When his face turned to the Esfarians, his face lacked any expression ¨C only his eyes revealed his glare. ¡°And if it did, it¡¯s no less a crime than breaking the Heltian Conditions.¡± Peeler chose not to remark on the irony of invoking an agreement in its birthplace¡¯s grave. ¡°Our role here is to uphold them.¡± ¡°And nothing else?¡± General Yalo quickly responded, barely acknowledging the implications of Peeler¡¯s statement. ¡°Let¡¯s not pretend Esfaria¡¯s holdings do not border the Heartlands. And the rumours ¨C and they are just that ¨C of an alternative power-source to Godsblood are seductive to any individual.¡± ¡°We¡¯re not here for Ichor, General, nor any military movement. If we attempt anything outside of hunting, we will be hung upon our return.¡± The bearded man closed his eyes, seeming to deflate slightly. ¡°No greater will endorses your actions, then. You¡¯re just here for the Ravenblood.¡± He snorted. ¡°Good luck.¡± Captain Peeler allows the silence to stretch. Behind the Spiderblood¡¯s back, Dash saw him clasp two trembling hands together. ¡°Do not misunderstand our purpose, General Yalo. We act according to an agreement made between all eight Houses ¨C if anything qualifies as a greater will, it is that.¡± Yalo snorted lightly. ¡°You were the ones that lost the damn thing. And you¡¯ve arrived four years late.¡± Peeler¡¯s jaw clenched. ¡°House Esfaria has been occupied eradicating the remaining Ravenkin within the Wastes. The Ravenblood was a lesser concern than the well-known divinity within the region. With it almost entirely gone, we can focus on the Ravenblood. And if not for the interference of House Leyden- ¡° ¡°A rogue Leyden scion.¡± General Yalo¡¯s disbelieving reply smothered Peeler¡¯s own. ¡°Who ¨C if I¡¯m understanding this correctly ¨C posed far more of a threat to the human Ravenkin that your House ever did. With your General mothering the thing.¡± A thrill of heat sparked in Dash¡¯s torso, but before it could travel upwards the hand on his head increased the pressure. Peeler¡¯s polite rebuke emanated a shadow of that same heat. ¡°General Maja was a renowned General eight victories away from becoming a Great, and ¨C whatever her mistakes ¨C is a Godslayer and deserves respect as such. The scion¡¯s ¡®rogue¡¯ status is seriously in-question. And the Ravenblood was excellent at concealing his own existence. If Leyden did not spook the Ravenblood in their greed, we- ¡° ¡°It¡¯s Avri¡¯s ilk, Captain!¡± The General¡¯s words transitioned into a frowning chuckle. ¡°How can you lose a maddened beast?¡± Peeler¡¯s reply silenced him. ¡°That ¡®beast¡¯ is likely in this city, General.¡± Yalo quietened. The guards were perfectly still. Many voices seeped in from outside the tent. The tent¡¯s material filtered warm light through its yellow roof. That was a lie ¨C the sky outside was a ubiquitous grey, and provided no hints of the sun¡¯s whereabouts. General Yalo leaned forward. ¡°What?¡± ¡°We¡¯ve tracked the Ravenblood to Spires.¡± Captain Peeler¡¯s trembling hands stilled momentarily. ¡°I would¡¯ve thought you were well aware of the Albright¡¯s Declaration regarding Heltia.¡± ¡°Yes¡­¡± General Yalo stroked his beard hurriedly. ¡°Of course. They¡­ Heltia was harbouring a Ravenblood. But¡­¡± ¡°We¡¯ve been tracking him for months, and the trail leads here. He¡¯s been in this city, at least. Masquerading as a Face.¡± The pressure on his head lessened, and Dash straightened, still careful to avoid eye-contact with the General. The bearded man spoke as if in thought. ¡°I suppose that¡¯s fitting, in a way. A dead god¡¯s blood wearing the mask of a shaman, instead of the opposite.¡± ¡°Do you know of any Faces within the city?¡± Yalo nodded. ¡°I¡¯m sure there are a few survivors. If we¡¯re lucky, the thing is dead- ¡° ¡°We¡¯ll have to confirm anyway. And I don¡¯t think we will be lucky.¡± ¡°No.¡± Yalo sighed heavily, and rubbed his thumb and forefinger beneath his eyes. To Dash¡¯s eyes, he seemed much smaller. He continued wearily. ¡°I suppose it¡¯s a canny beast, if it¡¯s managed to avoid detection this long.¡± ¡°He won¡¯t be obvious.¡± Captain Peeler cleared his throat. ¡°A gag-order might benefit our search.¡± ¡°You¡¯ll have our full cooperation, Captain,¡± General Yalo stated, then quickly added, ¡°so long as you stay away from Baylar interests.¡± ¡°We simply need help searching.¡± ¡°And a blockade, I imagine?¡± At the Spiderblood¡¯s nod, Yalo took a bracing breath and continued. ¡°I¡¯ll send a messenger to inform the soldiery.¡± The General clicked his fingers, and stared into the impenetrable darkness of one of his guard¡¯s helms, then another¡¯s. One saluted, fist-over-breast, while the other delivered a slow nod ¨C their arm, Dash noticed, was cradled against their chest. As the pair strode from the tent, the light of the lantern atop Yalo¡¯s desk caught the edge of the nodder¡¯s helm, lighting dark skin lousy with white, straight scars. The blue light made it seem eerie. Then they were gone. Dash stared after the guard, wondering what had to happen to a person to get their face so damaged, yet still survive. Peeler bowed, Oeus a second behind. Dash hurriedly copied their movements. ¡°Your generosity becomes your House.¡± Their host waved a hand. ¡°It¡¯s what should be expected of us. Now,¡± he began, shuffling several rolls of parchment from beneath a collection of wax tablets, ¡°we have the beginnings of a census taking place. Around an eighth of the survivors are recorded. Have your Owlblood make a copy.¡± Peeler nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll send the boy to inform my subordinates.¡± Yalo waved a hand. ¡°Please.¡± A pause. The Captain snapped his fingers twice and Dash startled, then hastily fled the tent. He rearmed himself, resisting the urge to tuck his hands inside his armpits to shield them from the cold. As he did so, a familiar voice travelled from around the side of the tent and reached his ears. ¡°¡­I mean, look at that, mate. I¡¯m barely Blooded. It¡¯s so thin, it¡¯s more like a god sneezed in my mouth. You can call me an Oxsnot ¨C that¡¯d be closer to the truth.¡± An older woman chuckled. ¡°The lantern is responding to your blood, so you are Blooded.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve seen dirt that¡¯s more Blooded than me. I¡¯m no use to Baylar, and to be straight with you, I would¡¯ve already carted myself out of here if not for rumours of a pretty lady fillin¡¯ out numbers.¡± Dash slowly began creeping around the side of the tent, ignoring the stern glares of the guards posted around its edges. He met the yellow eyes of Fink, loitering on the edge of the clearing, and jerked his head towards the speakers. The old woman tittered. ¡°And not due to the risk of starving on your way through the wilderness?¡± ¡°¡­Well, that too. Look: I usually wouldn¡¯t be beggin¡¯ to shirk work ¨C not with everything that¡¯s happened ¨C but I¡¯ve a brother waitin¡¯ somewhere out there and I need to find him.¡± ¡°¡­Alright,¡± she said reluctantly. ¡°You are correct: you¡¯re just about the weakest Oxblood I¡¯ve ever seen and it¡¯s little issue to mark you as crippled- ¡° ¡°Gee, thanks.¡± ¡°-but I will have to note you in the census data.¡± ¡°Wouldn¡¯t have it any other way.¡± A pause. Dash halted, just a single step from placing himself in full view of the line. ¡°Oh prettiest of ladies: could you do me another favour?¡± ¡°There are other people waiting.¡± ¡°It¡¯ll be quick.¡± A rustle of clothes as the speaker turned around to address the line behind him. ¡°It¡¯ll be quick ¨C promise.¡± ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°A friend of mine¡¯s also come this way as well ¨C didn¡¯t come back.¡± ¡°Is she Blooded? She¡¯s likely been conscripted.¡± A silence. ¡°¡­Yeah, maybe. D¡¯you, uh, have an Erin on your list?¡± Dash rounded the corner, to find the back of a man exchanging words with a grey-haired woman behind a desk. The wooden surface had a blood-smeared orb atop it ¨C a gaudy bloodtech lantern. It was being used to test for Blooded. Belatedly, he comprehended that any piece of bloodtech could serve that purpose. Yet no one had ever used one on him. The speaker turned away from the woman, revealing the tall, tanned, pock-marked form of a young man. His eyes alighted on the boy, and his body froze in a slight crouch. ¡°Balls,¡± Blake swore, then turned, sprinted a dozen steps, and was promptly tripped by Fink. He began struggling upright, then halted as Fink seized his arm and began levering it backwards. ¡°Ow, ow. Alright! Alright. Okay.¡± ¡°Blake,¡± the Foxblood greeted. ¡°Oh, gods damn it,¡± the young man swore again, eyes growing increasingly frantic. ¡°That¡¯s Fink? Is that Fink, Dash?¡± ¡°Shut up, Blake,¡± Dash demanded. His voice cracked mid-demand, and he flushed. ¡°You rat. I haven¡¯t done anything wrong.¡± He half-turned his head, addressing Fink. ¡°Or will you hang me for leaving Esfaria¡¯s newest outpost? Hittin¡¯ some arse of a guard?¡± Fink¡¯s teeth clenched, and seeing the gleam in the Foxblood¡¯s eye, Dash quickly produced a small bundle of cord from his pack and shoved them in the hunter¡¯s side. Without a word, the orange-haired man began binding Blake¡¯s arms, ignoring the unnerving stares of the hundreds in-line. ¡°Your hand would¡¯ve been cut off for that if you hadn¡¯t run,¡± his captor snapped, then lowered his tone. ¡°You¡¯re not stupid, Blake,¡± muttered Fink, ¡°so do us all a bloody favour and don¡¯t assume we are.¡± ¡°Never called you stupid.¡± The captive jerked his head towards Dash. ¡°Just him a disloyal rat.¡± Dash stepped towards him, snarling. ¡°You¡¯re- ¡° ¡°Shut it, kid,¡± Fink snapped. ¡°He¡¯s baiting you.¡± Blake¡¯s chuckle transformed into a groan of pain as the cord wound tight. ¡°You don¡¯t get to tell Master Bootlicker over there about bein¡¯ baited.¡± Fink¡¯s gaze, momentarily cooled, grew wilder. He grinned. ¡°And you really want to reel in a Foxblood?¡± ¡°City¡¯s dead and buried under all that rubble.¡± The young man shook his head. ¡°And the trail¡¯s buried under that. I¡¯ll stop playing at not looking, but I haven¡¯t found anything; I don¡¯t think anyone can.¡± ¡°We¡¯ll be the judge of that.¡± With that, Fink shoved Blake onwards, hailing the nearby guards in order to requisition a stockade. Dash moved to follow, but the Foxblood waved him back. ¡°No. Go tell the rest.¡± The man drummed a beat on the back of Blake¡¯s head, his lips oscillating between a fierce grin and a deep frown. ¡°You and your sister should try and find the Face they mentioned. We¡¯ll, uh¡­¡± There was a pause as Fink tried to come up with a way to bend the truth. Somehow, he couldn¡¯t see that Dash already understood. ¡°We¡¯ll handle it.¡± Chapter 52 - Peeling Layers Blake tried to imagine warm things: a campfire; hot food; the Wastes¡¯ sun; a thousand-yard sprint; the incredible heat that had penetrated the Foot nearly a decade ago, leaving him and his gang lying on the floor of their hideout covered in sweat, slowly baking within the sandstone walls. Yet the confines of the stockade, shadowed by the light of a thin sliver of moons, drew his imagination towards the dark chill falling upon the area, freezing his mind in place and making warmth a distant thing. His focus continually drifted towards the teeth-chattering cold caressing his bare skin. With his hands tied behind a speartree, there was no recourse other than to beat his feet against the frost-covered ground and shiver. He¡¯d never seen snow, but it seemed a miracle that none fell from the clouded sky above. Barely ten steps away, his shirt, thick coat, socks, and boots sat folded neatly atop a wool blanket, alongside a cup of soup gone cold several hours ago. As he stared at the clothes he struggled against his bonds again, exacerbating the burns worn into his skin by his repeated attempts. He felt his skin break, but even pain was a relief from the cold. Orvi¡¯d always shared stories shared from the chattier veterans: of great warriors escaping captivity by dismantling their digits and putting them back together. Blake had tried doing the same, only to fear that his efforts would peel his thumbs from his hands like bark from a tree. He¡¯d decided that all fingers would be needed to find Erin and Bhan and escape from the encampment. That was back when he could feel them. Fantasies of escape were already hollow when he started, and they¡¯d fallen to daydreams of warmth. In turn, those had fallen as the night settled; notions of warmth becoming increasingly difficult to grasp. The contents of his mind had been filtered down to its last dregs, leaving only the cold. It threatened to cast him in a tomb of ice, to leave for whatever poor bastards unearthed him, decades later. A shiver wracked his body, fiercer than any that had come before, and his legs nearly buckled. He eyed the clothes and blanket with wide eyes and chattering teeth. Footsteps sounded from outside. The young man blearily turned his head towards the gate into the fenced area, which opened and spat a tall, thickly built woman, who sprawled onto the frosty dirt. Her features were almost indistinguishable beneath the swelling of her face, but after a few moments of staring, Blake managed to parse who it was. ¡°Erin?¡± he asked. He wrenched his arms again, refusing to wince as the rope cut into his wrists. ¡°Hey, Erin!¡± She groaned, turned her head, and spat a glob of bloody saliva onto the ground. Pieces of tooth sat amidst the spittle. Erin rolled over, gathered her arms beneath herself, and slowly pushed herself onto her knees. Then, after a pause full of pants, stumbled upright. Before Blake could say anything else, Peeler ducked through the gate and shoved her back to the dirt. ¡°Peeler,¡± Blake hissed, ¡°you beady-eyed rat bastard.¡± ¡°Captain Peeler,¡± the Spiderblood corrected mildly. After him came Fink, the Foxblood, and the ugly face of Pine ¨C her jutting chin and pronounced forehead the hallmarks of a strong Dolphinblood. Each was familiar to him: they all belonged to House Esfaria¡¯s foremost Ravenkin extermination squad. Led by a guardsman anointed with Spiderblood after ¡®valiant service¡¯ against the Lizard¡¯s parasites, the team had quickly proved themselves capable of killing the world¡¯s most dangerous monsters with minor casualties. The twins had followed them on their hunts like lost sheep. Every time Blake tried to persuade them to put themselves towards something safer ¨C something their mother would¡¯ve actually wanted for them ¨C they¡¯d avoid him for the next few weeks. He¡¯d ended up joining them on several butcher-runs to make sure they were kept out of danger. He¡¯d thought they had been. ¡°You¡¯re really draggin¡¯ two kids through a warzone?¡± Peeler didn¡¯t answer immediately, instead walking to the corner of the small stockade and leaning against its log palisade. ¡°They know what¡¯s at stake,¡± the Blooded finally deigned to answer. ¡°Fink?¡± the captive spat. ¡°You think this¡¯s alright?¡± The Foxblood was in the middle of securing Erin to another speartree. ¡°Shut up, Blake,¡± he retorted mutely, closing a pair of tired eyes. ¡°They made their choice.¡± ¡°Looks like you did, too.¡± Fink tilted his head, and ground out a single word through gritted teeth. ¡°Blake.¡± His tone was full of barely-restrained violence. ¡°Oh, what¡¯re you gonna do? Tie me up to freeze to death, maybe? Start workin¡¯ me over? Torture me?¡± He scoffed. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry I hurt your feelings. D¡¯you need me to kiss it better?¡± The Foxblood turned to his leader. ¡°Captain,¡± he growled. ¡°I don¡¯t want to do this.¡± The Spiderblood regarded him levelly. ¡°I think you¡¯ll find you do.¡± ¡°Pine is more than- ¡° ¡°Permission denied.¡± Peeler¡¯s tone softened. ¡°We¡¯re doing this for a reason, Fink. Siik only knows what the Ravenblood will become, given time.¡± Fink nodded. The Dolphinblooded woman grinned. ¡°About time, uh? We nearly have him. Imagine what we¡¯ll be given, at the end of all this.¡± ¡°A fulfillment of our responsibilities,¡± said Peeler. ¡°A correction to our shame.¡± ¡°Your shame.¡± Spurred by the lack of response, she eyed him disdainfully. ¡°You¡¯re no fun.¡± While their leader watched quietly, the other two arrayed themselves in front of Blake. Pine squatted down on her haunches, looking him in the eye. He glared back. ¡°You¡¯re a tough one, huh?¡± she said. ¡°There¡¯s nothing to be tough about! I don¡¯t know anything! You start on me, and whatever I say¡¯ll be a lie to get me out of¡­¡± As he babbled, Blake tried to run through everything he knew about Dolphinbloods. They were frighteningly charismatic -- something Blake had learned stemmed from more than just well-placed smiles and practiced mannerisms. They tampered with emotions. He¡¯d felt the insidious fingers of one inside his skull in the burning manor with Orvi, four years ago. But beyond that, he knew almost nothing. Could they tamper with every sensation? Could they quell specific feelings, or any feeling? Could they shove the desire to spill his guts straight into his mind? He''d always thought of the Owlblooded as witches, but staring into the fathomless waters of a Dolphinblood¡¯s eyes, his shakes were no longer sourced from cold alone. Pine was trying to gently shush him, but Blake had resolved himself to waste as much time as possible. Then something cracked across his numb face, and he bit his tongue in surprise. Fink withdrew his arm, and Pine turned around to address the man. ¡°Blood, why did you do that? Stop. Gods.¡± She turned her head back to Blake. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I know this looks bad for you and your friend, but you do understand that we have to do this, right?¡± Blake snorted, looking at the ground. ¡°If we fail this, we¡¯re dead.¡± His head snapped towards the woman. ¡°They¡¯ll hang every last one of us. None of us have much of a choice but to try and get something out of you.¡± He stared at her as she rose and walked over to the pile of clothes, unfurling the blanket from its bottom and wrapping it around Blake. The brush of wool against his skin was dulled by cold, yet remained an incredible relief. ¡°Now, we know you¡¯ve been looking for the Ravenblood ¨C what was his name again?¡± Blake nearly answered. Instead, he licked his lips. ¡°You know his name. You have to.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve been told it, yes. But Dolphinbloods aren¡¯t known for their memory, are they?¡± The captor turned his head towards Erin, kneeling at the base of her speartree with her arms around its back. Pine followed his gaze. ¡°She put up quite the fight. Nearly ran Fink through; nearly broke the Captain¡¯s jaw.¡± Blake¡¯s eyes found Peeler¡¯s face, and the reddened patch of skin over his jaw. ¡°She¡¯s Blooded, right? That¡¯s recorded in the census information. She used a different name for it, though; we weren¡¯t sure if she was who we were looking for until we set eyes on her.¡± Pine made some sort of expression, but with Blake¡¯s gaze firmly on the ground he couldn¡¯t parse it. ¡°What type is she?¡± Blake shrugged. ¡°None of us are sure, either. Honestly, she could be any god¡¯s ilk, but testing showed her blood¡¯s just a bit too strong not to show obvious signs. She¡¯s not a Lizardblood ¨C she¡¯s tough, but her bruises would¡¯ve already started to die down. She¡¯s not an Oxblood ¨C she¡¯s big, but not that big. She¡¯s not a Foxblood ¨C there¡¯s just not enough orange to her.¡± Blake left his head hanging. ¡°She could be a Spiderblood, maybe, but at that density of Godsblood she¡¯d be uglier than a bag of bruised onions. I doubt she¡¯s a Dolphinblood¡­¡± Pine chuckled lightly. ¡°For the same reasons, eh? And she¡¯s too focused for an Owlblood ¨C I mean, look at those eyes!¡± Almost unwittingly, Blake¡¯s gaze found Erin¡¯s fierce brown eyes, glaring at Pine. Once they brushed his own, they flickered away. ¡°So what is she, Blake?¡± He swallowed. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Apprehension twinged in his soul, and he wondered if the doubt he felt was his own. The strange, almost inhuman face of Pine leaned closer to his own. ¡°You don¡¯t, do you? She¡¯s been lying to you all this time.¡± Once again, Blake looked towards Erin. She didn¡¯t look at him. ¡°Is she a Ravenblood, Blake?¡± His head jerked upwards. ¡°She can¡¯t be, Pine. I¡¯ve seen her kill before ¨C there¡¯re no signs of any¡­ Raven¡­ stuff happening.¡± As he spoke, the Dolphinblood quietly shook her head. ¡°Avri¡¯s power is mysterious. Few have ever understood how it works, exactly. She¡¯s Blooded, Blake ¨C that¡¯s a fact. What else could she be?¡± ¡°The world¡¯s shortest Oxblood,¡± Blake answered. ¡°Maybe she was a tiny Strain or something before getting¡¯ it.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t believe that, do you?¡± He didn¡¯t know what to believe; only that the hunter¡¯s purpose was to kill Ravenbloods. ¡°She¡¯s not a Ravenblood, Pine ¨C there has to be some way to check.¡± She rubbed her nose. ¡°We will try to find a way later. But one fact remains: she¡¯s not the person you thought she was.¡± He looked over at her, and felt as if he¡¯d smelled something rotten. ¡°It¡¯s the same with Orvi, isn¡¯t it? Did you really know him?¡± She leaned backwards. ¡°Every House thought they were so dangerous that every Ravenblood in existence needed to die, down to the last child. Since when do the Houses throw power away? And every person in the Godslayer¡¯s army believed so as well. Can you truly say that you know better than every single one of them?¡± A shiver ran through him. It had nothing to do with the cold. ¡°Maybe he was a good person when you knew him. But Blake: it¡¯s been years. Who knows how many people he¡¯s killed now?¡± Words erupted from his mouth. ¡°He wouldn¡¯t, and if he did it¡¯s not his- ¡° Pine¡¯s voice coiled around his own. ¡°-fault. Of course it¡¯s not his fault. He¡¯s a victim of the Ravenblood as much as anyone else. But it¡¯s a poison, Blake,¡± she whispered. ¡°It¡¯s a sickness that twists those it creeps inside, more thoroughly than anything else in existence. Can you imagine the pain he must be in?¡± His teeth clenched. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. ¡°If we find him, we can help him. We don¡¯t want to destroy him. We just want the Ravenblood gone. That¡¯s all.¡± Blake smiled weakly. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. I don¡¯t know where he is.¡± ¡°We found the box.¡± A thrill of fear ran through him. ¡°What box?¡± Pine rubbed her protruding forehead and sighed. ¡°Fink?¡± The Foxblood didn¡¯t look at Blake as he explained. ¡°I sniffed out your trail. Up the tower, through all the dung and piss, and into the storeroom. Found your supplies and confiscated them.¡± Blake clenched his eyes shut. Days upon days of scavenging, all for nothing. Leaving would mean slow starvation, unless they could somehow steal their packs back from a group of six Blooded. The thought was laughable. The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. Fink¡¯s smile didn¡¯t reach his eyes. ¡°Shame, that. A few more days of gathering and you¡¯d have enough to leave the city. There¡¯re three recent scents in there: yours, Miss Not-So-Blooded¡¯s, and one other.¡± ¡°The Face,¡± the Blooded interrogator supplied. ¡°Whose face?¡± Blake quipped. ¡°Fox¡¯s dripping fangs,¡± Fink swore ferociously, levelling a finger towards the captive, ¡°you really think we¡¯re that godsdamn stupid? You dumb whoreson- ¡° Blake snarled over the words, straining against his bonds. ¡°Sure, I may be a son of a night-walker, but least I¡¯m not draggin¡¯ kids into- ¡° A bark cut through their insults. ¡°Gentlemen!¡± Pine raised both hands. ¡°What Fink is trying to say is that we know you¡¯re lying.¡± ¡°Sure, I have the box- ¡° The Foxblood grinned toothily. ¡°No one who lies so much has nothing to hide.¡± ¡°Fink,¡± Pine warned. The orange-haired man closed his eyes and began beating his fingers against his thigh. She turned her head back to Blake, looking up at him from her haunches. ¡°Your loyalty is admirable, but misguided. Erin lied to you. Orvi lied to you.¡± Blake glanced everywhere that wasn¡¯t her watery eyes. The conviction within them stung. ¡°They¡¯ve hidden everything from you. What do you owe people like that? Erin shifted in her bonds. Blake looked at her, but she didn¡¯t look back. ¡°Let us handle it. Tell us what you know.¡± The woman ¨C Dolphinblood or not ¨C wasn¡¯t wrong. Neither had told him anything, at the end of the day. But¡­ Around nine years ago, he and Orvi had broken into a retired veteran¡¯s place. It was, in hindsight, an extremely bad idea, but both had been riding the high of several successful heists. Blake had been looking for equipment to arm the Butcher Street Boys with ¨C they wouldn¡¯t know how to use any of it, but the intimidation factor alone would buy them more territory. Orvi ¨C in typical Orvi fashion ¨C just wanted stuff to loot. Instead, he¡¯d spent the entire burglary staring at a spear hung on a wall. Etched into its bronze head was a small carving of a bird. It was the kind of thing that the boy couldn¡¯t help but take. Yet in the end, Orvi hadn¡¯t ended up taking anything. After that, Blake had started registering more details. His friend¡¯s compulsive stealing. Their on-and-off spats. The way he sometimes looked at Maja like she was some beautiful bear seconds away from taking his head off. Erin had always been more subtle. Yet unlike with Orvi, Blake¡¯s view of her hadn¡¯t been set in the mould of a much younger, less perceptive version of himself. She didn¡¯t know the streets like someone who¡¯d grown up in the city. A ¡®family¡¯ never mentioned before had appeared before the battle of the Lizard, and each of them were far more skilled than anyone outside a House. Sometimes she couldn¡¯t meet Blake¡¯s eyes. He¡¯d asked a few times, but neither Erin nor Orvi gave answers. Blake hadn¡¯t pushed. If there was one lesson every Footer learned living in a city full of people who couldn¡¯t sit with their back to a room, it was that there were some things you didn¡¯t talk about. ¡°You think I didn¡¯t know they kept themselves secret?¡± Blake stated. ¡°I¡¯d have to be an idiot to miss it. Orvi¡¯s one of the dodgiest people I¡¯ve ever known, and gettin¡¯ Erin to answer questions is like askin¡¯ her to pull out her own teeth. They weren¡¯t straight with me.¡± He paused. ¡°But that¡¯s okay.¡± Pine frowned. Erin¡¯s beaten face raised towards him, matted black hair running over her eyes like a veil. ¡°They¡¯re¡­¡± He swallowed. ¡°¡­Family.¡± Blake had to have faith in that, no matter what happened. If he didn¡¯t, what else was there? The Dolphinblood stared at him for several long moments. Afterwards, she sighed and straightened to her full height. ¡°Alright.¡± Beneath roiling emotions, he felt a vague sense of embarrassment at his words. It was quickly smothered by a low tension as Pine gestured to her comrades, who leaned down to let her whisper in their ears. Despite straining against his bonds, whatever was spoken remained audible only as the indistinct murmurings of wind battering against cracked earth. At a particular set of utterances, Fink scowled and shook his head. Pine scoffed at him, jabbing a finger into his chest with a terse growl. Peeler said something to the Foxblood, then placed a hand on Pine¡¯s shoulder. The pair managed to coax a begrudging nod from the orange-haired man. His interrogator turned back to him. ¡°Well, I figured you weren¡¯t going to blab. Maybe you would¡¯ve, if I weren¡¯t a Dolphinblood ¨C everything I said is correct, and you and I both know it. But- ¡° Both Pine and Blake startled as a crack resounded through the stockade. He whipped his head to the side, finding Fink shaking his hand as if he¡¯d burned it. At his feet, Erin spat another shard of tooth onto the ground. Blake licked his lips. ¡°Oi, Fink¡­¡± The Foxblood didn¡¯t look at Blake. Nor did he look at Erin. He simply took her head in his hands and slammed his fist into her face, rocking the woman¡¯s head to the side. ¡°Hey¡­¡± He straightened her with both arms, then slugged her in the gut, provoking a sudden string of coughs from her mouth. Before they could halt, he placed his hand on her shoulder and began repeatedly pounding his fist into the same spot. ¡°Stop.¡± Fink continued punching her gut. Erin¡¯s face was screwed up in intense concentration as sweat beaded her brow. Her breath emerged in quick gasps. The hits travelled through her body, flapping the thin shirt she wore and revealing parts of the tattoo on her stomach. After one final blow, Fink quickly lifted his hand and slapped her across the face. She blinked rapidly. ¡°Pine, tell him to stop ¨C she¡¯s tougher than a brick and easily twice as stubborn as- ¡± Without any flair, the Foxblood drew a knife from his belt and slammed it into her shoulder. The muscular woman screamed, harsh and surprised. ¡°Hey! Hey!¡± It continued. A harsh snap rang out, and a shudder travelled through Blake¡¯s body. Bile rose to his throat. As Fink returned to Erin¡¯s front, Blake saw a shadow of a grin on his face. ¡°Pine, he¡¯s gonna kill her!¡± ¡°Only Peeler can order him to stop,¡± she said sadly, ¡°and that¡¯s not happening until we get the information we need. ¡°How¡¯re we supposed to have found anything? The city¡¯s in ruins!¡± The Dolphinblood shrugged. It continued. Erin''s scream was loud, the fierceness held within its contours falling into something far more ragged. ¡°Do it to me! She, she, she won¡¯t talk. I¡¯m more likely to talk.¡± It continued. Metal pounded against bone. ¡°Gods, how can you do this? How can you let him do this? She¡¯s done nothing!¡± It continued. Every tap resounded, its sound changing as the thing it beat against broke more and more. Each was accompanied by a strangled scream from Erin. The ropes around Blake¡¯s wrists were wet with blood as he twisted and strained towards her, shuddering at every sound. ¡°She can¡¯t even say anything like that!¡± It continued. One final, heavy slam, leaving Erin''s face broken, quietly moaning blood. Blake had the audacity to feel relieved it was over. Then he saw Fink staring at the knives in quiet regard. ¡°Don¡¯t- ¡° It continued. A flash of metal, and a lump of flesh fell to the ground. It was Erin¡¯s ear. Blake¡¯s scream was nearly louder than hers. For the next several minutes, Fink continued marring Erin¡¯s body. His victim said nothing beyond gasps or vicious swears. Blake did enough begging for the both of them, every plea scraping his throat rawer and rawer. His wrists dripped blood. Yet the pace of the torture steadily increased, until it reached a crescendo. The torturer raised a dagger and lifted Erin¡¯s shirt to strike at the ribs underneath, revealing a tattoo of five lines extended outwards. ¡°Weird tattoo. Does it mean anything?¡± Pine asked, looking at Peeler. Peeler¡¯s teeth were clenched as he watched the torture. ¡°Maybe a kill count.¡± ¡°D¡¯you- ¡° ¡°Be quiet,¡± the captain growled. Fink¡¯s dagger flashed over her torso, the wounds revealing bone before they remembered to bleed. But it was the inches of revealed skin that sparked newer, more impossible wave of terror in Blake. ¡°Just stop! Please!¡± Only Pine looked at him. She said nothing. Fink kept cutting, and pulling her shirt up, and the disgust and fear blurring his vision had Blake speaking before he even understood what he was saying. ¡°I¡¯ll talk! I¡¯ll talk! It¡¯s Fort Vane, okay?¡± Pine smiled. ¡°There it is.¡± She looked towards the man ravenously slicing Erin¡¯s body, and snapped her fingers. Immediately, the torturer¡¯s daggers slipped from his fingers. The grin on his face slowly died. He strode past the Dolphinblood ¨C levelling a hateful glare towards her ¨C and out of the gate, slamming it shut behind him. ¡°He¡¯ll get over it,¡± remarked the Blooded woman with a curl of her lips. ¡°He¡¯s always been sulky.¡± ¡°I think,¡± Peeler slowly began, ¡°you pushed him too far.¡± ¡°Still. Fort Vane, huh?¡± If his hands were free, Blake would¡¯ve placed them over his mouth. They weren¡¯t, though, and the blood freely flowing from Erin¡¯s body was a more pressing concern than his desire to stab himself. ¡°Bandage her,¡± he demanded. ¡°I¡¯m not telling you anything else until you stop her dying.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve told us enough,¡± said Pine with a disapproving frown. ¡°I haven¡¯t told you everything.¡± She scoffed. ¡°Oh, go jump in- ¡° ¡°Pine,¡± Peeler snapped, finally leaving his spot against the palisade. ¡°Provide the woman aid.¡± The Dolphinblood snorted, but acquiesced to his request. Meanwhile, her captain walked in front of Blake and stared down at him. The captive glared back. ¡°You gonna kill us, now?¡± spat the young man. ¡°Your friend, if she¡¯s not forthcoming with her blood.¡± The Esfarian breathed a weary sigh. ¡°You¡¯re tired, huh?¡± He hawked a gob of spit onto the cold earth. ¡°You bastard. Maybe you shouldn¡¯t have- ¡° ¡°Do you think this is a game, Blake?¡± The man¡¯s tone was heavy. ¡°Orvi is the single most volatile human being on the continent, and every day he¡¯s allowed to continue living is one more where he could explode.¡± Blake opened his mouth to protest. ¡°He¡¯s not- ¡° ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter who he is. What he is, is an unacceptable risk. The life of one boy is not worth the thousands he threatens.¡± Peeler turned his head, gazing at a spot in the sky above, and rubbed his forehead. ¡°If we can trust you to cooperate- ¡° ¡°Oh,¡± Blake hissed, head full of blood and shattered teeth ¡°go find a nice long speartree and shove it up your arse, Peeler.¡± Almost as soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Peeler¡¯s voice was even. ¡°I see.¡± Before he could turn, Erin¡¯s voice resounded through the stockade for the first time since she¡¯d entered. It was harsh and strained. ¡°We¡¯ll cooperate.¡± Blake¡¯s head whirled. ¡°What- ¡° His friend spoke as Pine wound bandages around her torso. ¡°We will cooperate, Blake.¡± Her enunciation was slightly off ¨C marred alongside the damage to her mouth. The young man tried and failed to find a response. The Dolphinblood raised an eyebrow as she performed her labour. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you confess quicker, if you¡¯re so eager to help?¡± ¡°Because I thought you were going to kill us afterwards.¡± Pine raised her eyebrows and glanced at Peeler. ¡°A fair assessment,¡± he said blandly. ¡°Why did it change?¡± ¡°Your man out there wouldn¡¯t be happy.¡± Erin flinched slightly as she referred to Fink. ¡°Neither would the twins. Not now. Not so quickly.¡± Pine¡¯s brows furrowed. ¡°You really think a Foxblood- ¡° The muscular woman spat a wad of blood. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°You¡¯ll give up your friend that easily?¡± Peeler¡¯s scepticism was almost tangible. ¡°Blake¡¯s still useful. Orvi knows the twins are out to get him, and me and him were never close. He¡¯s the best bait you have.¡± The Spiderblood¡¯s beady eyes stared levelly at Erin. ¡°I meant Orvi.¡± ¡°He¡¯s a Ravenblood,¡± she spat. ¡°I was going to kill him anyway.¡± A pause. ¡°What?¡± The question slipped out before Blake could stop it. She turned her head towards Blake, green eyes hard behind a curtain of sweat-smeared hair. ¡°He¡¯s a monster, Blake.¡± ¡°You know Orvi- ¡° ¡°It¡¯s not just him,¡± she hissed, then groaned as the air ran over the fragments of her teeth. ¡°It¡¯s all Blooded. All gods. Look at me.¡± Blake looked at her, his jaw clenched so hard it ached. The gaping holes in her mouth. The wounds carved in her body. The blood seeping through her bandages. ¡°Out there- ¡° She jerked her head. ¡°- is a man that started out not wanting to do this. By the end?¡± Erin snarled as Pine wrenched the bandages tighter. ¡°He was enjoying it, the sick freak. All of them are like that. Every single one ¨C and the gods are just Blooded taken to their very limits. They¡¯re monsters. Blake, and it doesn¡¯t matter who they are. Only what.¡± He stared at her. ¡°Is that what this is?¡± he muttered. ¡°You lied to me for all this time¡­ because I¡¯m a Blooded?¡± ¡°Come off it, Blake. You¡¯re hardly Blooded.¡± ¡°Then why?¡± ¡°We are,¡± Erin stated slowly, her head dangling limply, ¡°incredibly close to ridding the world of every single hint of a god. If that¡¯s not worth killing for, then nothing is.¡± He wanted to ask a thousand things. Whether she¡¯d always felt that way; whether her friendship was real; whether she¡¯d ever been authentic with him. But he couldn¡¯t figure out a way to say any of it. And because of his silence, he noticed her make eye contact with him, and tilt her head back slightly. Behind the speartree they were tied to, and away from the eyes of their two captors, her mangled fingers curled into a sign Blake knew well. It was simple: a middle-finger thrust upwards, always kept out of sight of whoever it referred to. The gangs used it to signal that they¡¯d found a mark: someone to grift, trick, or rob. He wondered whether it referred to the Esfarians or him.
Blake sat within the stockade, several blankets wrapped around his body, staring at the sky. He was exhausted. With the interrogation complete, Peeler had commanded his Dolphinblood to stop ¡®flaring¡¯ their emotions ¨C whatever that meant. Erin had passed out almost instantly and was promptly untied and taken away. For medical attention, they¡¯d told him. It was still cold. He¡¯d been fed a hearty stew, but the days and weeks of starvation beforehand left him with too little fat to combat it properly. Come morning, he might be missing several digits. He¡¯d given up on thinking. So when the gate opened, he didn¡¯t bother to look at who had entered until he heard her voice. ¡°How¡¯re you doin¡¯, kid?¡± As soon as he heard the words, he slammed himself backwards, against the speartree. Standing in front of him was the tall, scarred figure of the Jackal, clad almost entirely in steel. A helmet was held beneath one arm. Draped over the other were more blankets. ¡°Hi,¡± he managed. Val¡¯s lips were pursed in a smug smile. ¡°Quite the little hole you¡¯ve found yerself in, huh? All that effort t¡¯keep yerself alive, an¡¯ for what?¡± She knelt in front of him, bringing her face closer to him. ¡°T¡¯be trussed up like a pig waitin¡¯ for slaughter.¡± He rested his head against the back of the speartree and closed his eyes. ¡°I¡¯m not gonna beg.¡± ¡°An¡¯ why would I make you do that?¡± Blake raised both brows. ¡°You¡¯re not angry?¡± ¡°Less, ¡®cause if I were you I¡¯da cracked my skull open in that prison. But sure I am. But blood, boy, no revenge is quite as sweet as lettin¡¯ you live.¡± The murderer paused for a moment and levered herself back to her feet with a groan. She dumped the blankets onto Blake¡¯s lap. ¡°Nah, it¡¯s not. But I can hardly gut you without gettin¡¯ Esfaria after me. Still funnier than any joke I ever heard, at least.¡± From within a pouch on her belt, the woman withdrew a cigarillo. Her arm was still broken, making lighting it an ordeal involving striking flint against the steel of her armour with the cigarillo clutched in her mouth. After a few attempts, she managed to light it and draw a deep drag. ¡°You want one?¡± the Jackal asked. ¡°¡­Yes?¡± Blake ventured. ¡°Too bad,¡± she said, then cackled. ¡°S¡¯much funnier when you¡¯re the one locked up an¡¯ not me.¡± The captive just stared at her. She took a drag on the cigarillo. ¡°You were one o¡¯ the people lookin¡¯ fer the Ravenblood, right?¡± ¡°Course not.¡± The Jackal scoffed. ¡°I¡¯ve rolled paper thicker than that lie. Avri¡¯s little snot¡¯s not in the city, ¡®f I heard right.¡± ¡°How¡¯d- ¡° She tapped the side of her helmet. ¡°Don¡¯t worry your pretty head about it. Well, if you¡¯re lucky, I¡¯ll be seein¡¯ you in Fort Vane.¡± ¡°I thought you said you wouldn¡¯t kill- ¡° ¡°By all that¡¯s green an¡¯ good, kid, you think the sun revolve around you or somethin¡¯?¡± She huffed, a toothy grin beneath her scarred lips. ¡°I gotta go there t¡¯get paid.¡± ¡°For what?¡± ¡°My employer knows what he wants ¨C crazy bastard ¨C an¡¯ he¡¯s trying t¡¯make sure he gets it.¡± She took one last drag of her cigarillo, then leaned down and stubbed it out on Blake¡¯s skin. He didn¡¯t wince ¨C it wasn¡¯t his first time. ¡°Last of my gloatin¡¯.¡± She laid a hand over her chest. ¡°General¡¯s promise. On my honour. Hope you find what you¡¯re searchin¡¯ for.¡± She turned smartly and walked towards the gate. ¡°When you do, the look on yer face¡¯ll be really somethin¡¯.¡± After a moment¡¯s consideration, she barked a laugh. ¡°Whoops. Broke my promise.¡±
Underneath the shadows of the Spires, Sash walked, placing one step after another. Amidst the shifting rubble, a single errant foot could displace the careful balance of the collapsed tower¡¯s remains, burying an unwary scavenger in a tomb of ivory fragments. But the girl knew this, and stayed away from the larger, more precarious piles. Her twin was with the other hunters, searching for the ¡®Face¡¯ ¨C some sort of storyteller, she thought. Dash was so certain; so angry. They¡¯d learned from asking around that Orvi was probably the fugitive¡¯s apprentice, which seemed fitting to Sash. He¡¯d always been good at telling stories. She had always listened, wide-eyed, astonished that he managed to do the things he did and come out alive. But thinking back, some of his tales seemed particularly tall. The one where her brother fought off a dozen different adults alongside Blake was one she found hard to believe. It was only after years of watching the world around her and quietly thinking that she finally comprehended Orvi had been a liar. She should have known from the start. As she passed over what had once been some kind of bridge ¨C platforms strung together beneath the shattered remnants of houses, stores, and smithies ¨C a cloud shifted and revealed a hint of the night sky. Its lights were mirrored in the lives of creatures below, quietly burning their way through existence. Sash toed aside a piece of rubble and found what she had been searching for. Its shape ¨C a small, crumpled ball of metal ¨C was irrelevant. What mattered was the incomprehensible runework covering its surface, which would command the device if only provided the power. She placed a thumb inside her mouth and bit down, wincing slightly as it broke skin. Carefully, she smeared blood over the symbols filigreeing the steel surface. The ball flickered, then lit her face in a radiant glow. A soft exhale fled her lips. Sash gazed at the light, trying to understand what to do next. Chapter 53 - Predictions and Plans What makes a monster? For once, both scholarship and common sense are entirely in agreement. An excess of Godsblood, and a deficiency of governing will ¨C the better judgement that elevates humanity above the meaningless flailing of beasts. Proof of mankind¡¯s higher faculties can be found no further than in Godkin themselves. Animals, when becoming Blooded, are far more susceptible to the corresponding urges than humans. Wolves can become fearful; bulls docile and easily tamed; rabbits ravening in their rage. Supposedly, humans took more to reach that point because of a ¡®governing will¡¯. I had mentioned that to Kit, a few days back. She¡¯d called me delusional. I sat in the morning sun staring at Commander Andros ¨C tied to a speartree for a night and the better part of a day ¨C and thought about that point. I wondered what conquering one¡¯s instinct looked like. I¡¯d only ever supplanted one desire with another. It was unsurprising to find I had no answers. The Commander shifted under my gaze, then released a low groan. His back had been burnt to a raw red by the Heltian weapon, leaving its flesh bubbling as its heat slowly seeped into the surrounding area. From experience, I understood that the pain was excruciating. But unlike myself, his veins were absent of Dure¡¯s essence. There was nothing in him that could curb the agony. The cold air around us would offer a little relief, yet even that was a small consolation. He had choice but to bear the pain ¨C it was carved into his body, after all. Yet far worse was the knowledge that it would persist for weeks upon weeks, threatening to tip into months. I¡¯d made sure to tell him as much, when replacing his bandages. He was in agony, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. But he knew I could. Between my fingers I rolled a vial of pitch-black liquid. Though Andros tried to keep his eyes from following it, he could not. I¡¯d given him a heavily-diluted drop the night before. The oblivion it brought was exquisite. Birds sung quietly in the middle of the cleared field. A constant breeze carried the smell of pyres and burning bodies. I cracked my neck and shifted atop the fallen branch I sat upon. ¡°I¡¯m here to ask you some questions,¡± I told the Commander. He scowled defiantly. ¡°I won¡¯t say- ¡° ¡°Your man Seoras has already answered most of them,¡± I continued. ¡°I¡¯m just here to double-check.¡± He blinked. Stripped of everything but a layer of blankets and a pair of pants, Andros seemed even more pathetic than usual. ¡°Seoras told you? Where is he?¡± ¡°Dead,¡± I assured myself. ¡°We couldn¡¯t hold him for long. You don¡¯t have to worry about us killing you, though.¡± He eyed me, licking sweat from a thin layer of stubble. ¡°Why?¡± ¡°You¡¯re too valuable as a hostage,¡± I answered simply. ¡°We can¡¯t afford to lose you.¡± The Commander kept himself perfectly still. ¡°You¡¯re asking me to commit treason.¡± I furrowed my brows. ¡°Treason?¡± I asked, striving for a smooth, reasonable tone. ¡°Seoras has already spilled his guts to us. Whatever you do is nothing compared to that. It¡¯s certainly not ideal for Baylar, but who¡¯s going to tell them? Not us; if we¡¯re caught, we¡¯ll be dead before we answer questions. If it is a betrayal, it¡¯s one of the most insubstantial kind.¡± The captive barked a strained laugh, then winced at it contorted his blistered back. ¡°Forgive me, but I don¡¯t believe you.¡± I sighed and rubbed my eyes. ¡°Torture¡¯s not off the table. But before the boss sends in the knives and the Dolphinbloods, she¡¯s letting me try the easy way.¡± ¡°How do I know you¡¯re not one?¡± ¡°A Dolphinblood?¡± I squinted at him. ¡°Brave of you to make demands. But here: I¡¯ll play along.¡± With a flourish, I slid my belt-knife from its sheath. ¡°I¡¯m a Lizardblood,¡± I said in a conversational tone, holding the blade in the palm of my hand. ¡°A weak one, being honest. But watch: by the end of our conversation, this cut will be healed.¡± The dagger flashed, and a small nick appeared on the tip of my finger, blood beading at its tip. ¡°I¡¯m not talking to you until it¡¯s proved,¡± Andros stated, mouth in a firm line. ¡°You could do that. But you should know that I¡¯ve only been given a short time to persuade you. After that¡­¡± I shrugged. He shifted slightly, supressing a groan. ¡°There¡¯s a friend of mine who very much wants to take over this interrogation. You¡¯ve killed someone she knows. She¡¯s the one who cracked Seoras,¡± I lied, ¡°and if a man like that surrendered his pride, then eventually you will too. I don¡¯t want to let her. I understand you were just following orders.¡± I wasn¡¯t sure if I was being honest. I ¨C no, Seoras ¨C had loathed him. Andros was respectable only for his skills as a woodsman. In all other ways he was wretchedly incompetent ¨C entirely unsuited to becoming a leader of men. A fool; a coward; a hypocrite ¨C all were disgustingly accurate. The pieces I¡¯d stolen became more fragmented the further back they went ¨C fading into incomprehensible pieces before the start of the battle ¨C but impressions remained. They were what I needed to confirm. ¡°How quickly you answer our questions isn¡¯t up to me. It¡¯s not even up to you; not under the blade and pliers.¡± I leaned forward. ¡°It¡¯s just a matter of whether your answers come with more pain.¡± The vial rolled between my knuckles. ¡°Or less.¡±
Andros¡¯ head lolled against the speartree, insensible to the world. He¡¯d answered my questions. I¡¯d known he would ¨C I¡¯d had his measure the moment I¡¯d first set eyes upon him. Something to fear and something to entice. All a man like that needed was a good excuse to surrender. I hated him with such incredible fervour, as if he were the sky and I were the waves of some massive body of water raging against the blue of the world above¡­ Before I could lose myself, the bite of my fingernails against my arm brought me back. I steadied my breathing and untied him from the pale ivory tree he was tied against, tucking the rope in my pack and carefully slinging him over my shoulder. It took several moments to reorient myself in the clearing. We were several minutes¡¯ walk from the camp itself, with only Tully, Rita, Maddie, and myself knowing the location. Tully had determined the likelihood of Andros being murdered while in captivity reasonably high. I had too. But no one had attempted to follow me. They were too busy building pyres. Three trails of smoke trickled skywards: one for the abandoned farmstead; one for the derelict village; a smaller one for our own campsite, and our own dead. The former two were diversions created as concessions to Tully, who wanted to leave the corpses where they lay. To everyone else, that wasn¡¯t an option. Nor was burying them. In the Heartlands, no one covered those they loved with earth. When the Aching came about, it would steal the bodies from their graves, sucking them deep underground as payment for its regrowth. So we¡¯d burned the battlefields and hauled a cart, a wagon, and a carriage full of everything we needed off the trail into a clearing far from everything else. Those who remained waited there when I arrived, still in their respective groups. The pyre ¨C thick logs stacked atop one another ¨C roared and spat and reached for the skies, slowly consuming the dead. The silhouettes of the grieving watched it, ash falling through their fingers. Tully; Maddie; a bandaged Rita and Holt: all watching the pyre from near Aron¡¯s spearwood wagon. Aron and Daisy tended to a feverish Willow around the edge of the camp, her shoulder-wound and numerous bruises casting her fate in a murky light. What remained of the Smiths and Growers were the closest to the flames: Old Snapper, Atifi, Wil and his adolescent kid. They had lost the most. Yet it was young Taja who had lost everything. His eyes stared glassily at the charring corpse of his brother and sister. Ronnie, Davian, Yowler, Gast, Kit, Tippi, Crumpet, and Jana sat around the outer edges of the clearing. I could see Kit¡¯s bandaged hands twitching over her lute, yet she refrained from bringing music into the clearing. Nineteen remained. Or eighteen, if I didn¡¯t include myself. Objectively, I understood that was a good number ¨C borderline miraculous considering the circumstances. I tried not to look at the pyre. As a Face, I would¡¯ve usually been asked to preside over a funeral. But my mask had broken. And when the caravaners had left the stone building at the top of the hill, their feet had stepped around dozens of dead soldiers. Even to the man who had made them, it all seemed¡­ inhuman. No one treated Kit any differently. She¡¯d never pretended to be a safe person. Most didn¡¯t extend me anything more than a considering glance. Tully gave more ¨C ever since I¡¯d helped plan the defence, she¡¯d begun asking me my opinion regarding strategic matters. But Ronnie and Davian still hadn¡¯t met my eyes. Maybe they didn¡¯t know who lived behind them. I hadn¡¯t sought theirs, either. I¡¯d done this before. Endless battlefields; endless corpses. Yesterday felt very far away. ¡°Stop moping, big man.¡± Rita stood beside me, a grin fixed on her face despite the minor wounds she bore. Upon returning and sighting her soldier¡¯s bodies, a momentary grimness had entered her face. The expression was almost entirely gone, present only in the wary eyes perched above her smile. ¡°You¡¯re gonna drop our guest like that.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not- ¡° ¡°Y¡¯are. Won¡¯t begrudge you it, Vin, but we got work to do.¡± She paused. ¡°Since you¡¯re bringing him back, I reckon he¡¯s given us what we need, eh?¡± I nodded. ¡°Ha! Holt¡¯ll be pissed he won¡¯t get t¡¯work his Dolphin-magic.¡± The short guard jerked her head. ¡°C¡¯mon, then.¡± We walked towards the Heltians, still loitering outside the spearwood wagon. Tully saw me coming and hauled herself into its confines with an extended grunt, her newly-equipped steel armour made climbing difficult. For whatever reason, Aron¡¯s wagon was meticulously warded with runes that ensured no sounds escaped, and its inner curtains could cover any gaps in its bonnet. Something seemed eerie about that, but I hadn¡¯t yet cleared enough mental fog to consider it. For a one-on-one meeting, Heltia¡¯s carriage would be more private, however unlike the scarred chunk of wood, the wagon could fit three or four people within it. Following Tully came Maddie. The chitin armour she¡¯d taken to wearing was far less of an obstruction than her guard¡¯s ¨C it must have been designed to be lightweight and mobile ¨C but her height posed much greater difficulty. After a few inelegant attempts to clamber over its lip she begrudgingly accepted the hand of her¡­ guard? Carer? Knight? Even after all that had been revealed, it still didn¡¯t seem absurd that the two were mother and daughter. I dumped Andros at Holt¡¯s feet and knit my hands together, giving Rita a foothold to haul her injured body inside. She offered a hand to me but I waved it away, instead leaping almost half my height upwards and landing inside, landing steadily on both feet. The wagon¡¯s bed sunk under my weight, its axels squeaking. ¡°What¡¯ve they been feeding you?¡± Rita quipped. Awkwardly, a higher voice responded. ¡°¡­Rocks, maybe?¡± I turned to look at Maddie, cross-legged around a small table, and she wilted. Stolen novel; please report. I looked at her green eyes, cringing away from my own, and tried to conjure a joke out of a mood unsuited to the task. ¡°Alright, your¡­ Headliness?¡± Rita winced. I raised my hands. ¡°I tried.¡± Stooping against the wagon¡¯s confines, I lowered myself down to the table. A vague map of the Heartlands sat atop it. ¡°What¡¯s your name, anyway?¡± The young woman startled, orange hair bobbing. ¡°Maleen- ¡± ¡°Head Maleen,¡± interrupted Tully, beady eyes flashing. ¡°Maleen, Tully. Or Maddie.¡± ¡°Head, that¡¯s beneath your- ¡° Maddie-Maleen growled in frustration. ¡°Beneath my station? I rule over precisely three people: you, Rita, and Holt. Everyone else is dead.¡± ¡°You¡¯re no longer simply you, Head Maleen,¡± snapped the scarred woman. ¡°You represent the dignity of a House. For all intents and purposes, you are Heltia.¡± Both Rita and I kept our eyes trailing around the innards of the wagon, studiously pointed away from the argument. ¡°What dignity do I have?¡± the young Head leaned over the table. ¡°Tell me, Captain. The dignity to allow ten people ¨C half of them civilians ¨C to die for me? Me? Of all of Heltia ¨C me?¡± Tully leaned backwards, her expression level. ¡°You are all of Heltia.¡± ¡°But why- ¡° Rita cleared her throat. ¡°Now might not be the time for this. Eh, Miss Ma?¡± ¡°Hm?¡± I grunted, then paused. ¡°Oh, you meant Maddie.¡± Tully shot me a sharp look. ¡°Maleen.¡± The orange-haired Head glared at me. ¡°Uh, Maddie.¡± ¡°Vin,¡± began the scarred woman, ¡°that¡¯s- ¡° ¡°Captain Graves,¡± commanded the young woman, ¡°he will call me whatever he wants to.¡± Tully nodded slowly, a small smile on her face. ¡°Sorry, Captain Graves?¡± The tilt of the grey-haired woman¡¯s lips reversed. Rita snorted. ¡°It¡¯s her moniker.¡± ¡°Do I call her- ¡° ¡°Captain Tully, Vin,¡± the woman in question stated firmly. ¡°You¡¯re a¡­¡± ¡°I coordinate Head Maleen¡¯s guards. And advise her.¡± ¡°And you are Blooded?¡± She paused. ¡°Yes. A Spiderblood. What gave it away?¡± ¡°Your eyes.¡± Her beady eyes regarded me, entirely still. ¡°I see.¡± I clicked my tongue in thought. After a moment, I turned to Rita. The short guard raised her hands. ¡°Just Rita.¡± My eyes slid shut, while simultaneously my fingers found my temples and began rubbing small circles around them. ¡°And you?¡± Maddie¡¯s gentle voice prodded at me. I opened my eyes. The three Heltian women stared at me. ¡°What?¡± ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± ¡°Vin,¡± I answered, managing a lopsided smile. ¡°You know it.¡± ¡°And ¡®Vin¡¯,¡± Tully carefully took the reins of conversation, ¡°is the name of the man who killed over thirty Baylarian regulars, almost single-handedly?¡± My eyes flickered across their faces: each wearing different expressions of deliberate disinterest. ¡°Yeah.¡± ¡°It takes a lot of talent and training to acquire such skill.¡± I shrugged noncommittally. ¡°I¡¯m older than I look.¡± That was both simultaneously true and false. I had entire lifetimes of experience, stolen from the twitching fingers of the dying, yet something about the cast of my face made my body seem older than its eighteen years. ¡°How old- ¡° ¡°I¡¯m not a danger to you or your Head,¡± I interrupted, ¡°so long as you keep your end of the bargain. If I knew anything relevant ¨C about any of this ¨C I would have told you.¡± My fingers drummed against the table as I cast my gaze around the other seated. ¡°Do you want to know what Andros told me or not?¡± Maddie swallowed. ¡°You didn¡¯t torture him- ¡° ¡°I didn¡¯t bloody torture him,¡± I snapped. ¡°But considering your Captain was the one pushing for knives, you wouldn¡¯t have the right even if- ¡° ¡°Big man.¡± Rita¡¯s low tone smothered my own. ¡°Careful with the boss, uh?¡± A breath of air fled from my mouth. ¡°Right. Okay. Are we ready to discuss some kind of plan?¡± After several long moments, the three others slowly nodded.
Four pieces of information had been coaxed from Andros, carefully prompted by a strategic deployment of the few facts I¡¯d stolen from Seoras. The first and most important to the Heltians was that the city they took their name had been occupied. That hadn¡¯t surprised anyone present; what did shock them was that the Ox had been vital in clearing the way. As a Face, I understood that Enn was ofttimes enraged specifically to take its attention away from a city and towards a sacrifice, but there was a tacit agreement between every single human in existence not to use it as a weapon. Gods could not be tamed, saddled, or brought under the yoke. Bhan had told me that the last time humanity had attempted to weaponize a god was over a century ago, where the Ox had been led to attack the Spider. While Enn obliterated a trail of sacrificial pawns to Siik¡¯s home, the other god had simply retreated further into its mountain. It had been made a common tale for Divinities, usually spun out with a single, holy moment wherein both gods sighted one another, gazing at one of the only creatures in existence that could claim to be their equal. Each had turned away to wreak disproportionate devastation. I wasn¡¯t sure whether that had actually happened or not, but the entire narrative remained a lesson in hubris. All of us were certain that House Baylar hadn¡¯t heeded that lesson. Though Andros specifically dubbed it a ¡®fortunate tragedy¡¯, out of all the nomad gods ¨C the Lizard; the Ox; the Owl; the Fox (on the rare occasions it left its forests) ¨C only Enn could have devastated the city so completely. And of all the gods, Enn was the most hateful. Rita ¨C eyes cold behind a litany of quips ¨C had theorised that if the Ox didn¡¯t turn around and stomp Baylar, the Albrights certainly would. The merchant House had set a dangerous precedent, and leaving it unpunished was a fool¡¯s move. Neither Tully nor Maddie had said anything at all. The only movement from either came from Maddie placing her head in her hands. The second piece of information was that Baylar knew our rough location. Andros had crushed a pair of beads which served to communicate with his House¡¯s General. Everyone present was familiar with the process: Tully, Rita, and I had used them in the employ of our respective Houses, and Maddie had seen them used by the scribes and accountants of her noble family. Gast had given me a short, unembellished explanation of how she thought they worked; a bead could be carved with runes that lent them a sympathetic link with another, identical bead ¨C so long as they were made from the same relatively weak material. When one bead cracked, its alternate would also do so as well. It wasn¡¯t a robust enough system for specific messages, but in a pinch it would quickly communicate some preset phrase. The two Andros broke signalled two things: ¡®objective found¡¯ and ¡®heavy losses¡¯. His lack of a follow-up formed a silent third message: his squad was so heavily damaged they could not check back in. Tully and I briefly played with the idea of uncovering the beads from the burning farmstead, but it was more than likely they had already turned to ash. When I¡¯d prompted the Commander about the bead Seoras had broken, he¡¯d thought I was testing him with false information. The man had no idea what I was talking about. Seoras¡¯ bead was broken according to a private agenda. I kept that piece of information to myself. Given that their General knew the route Andros had taken, he would also have a vague understanding of where we were, and the direction we were heading. The three others in the wagon were still recovering from the news about Spires, however this was more immediately catastrophic news. It was hardly surprising, though. The third piece of information was. Every single Baylarian tracking detachment had been given orders to stay away from a specific area. On the western edge of the Fox¡¯s forest was a strip of land forbidden from them under threat of death. The map we had on the table showed little more than the shape of the Heartlands and the river systems ¨C no topographical information, a vague understanding of settlement locations, and no terrain description ¨C yet as incomplete as the strip of paper was, it was the best information Heltia had on their steadings. No one bothered making anything more complete; the next Aching ¨C if there was a next one ¨C would reassemble the region¡¯s geography so thoroughly the effort was borderline pointless. So how was Baylar able to point to a specific location? They¡¯d either planned their invasion so far in advance they¡¯d been able to chart the area better than the House that owned it, or someone had given them the information. Both Andros and I- and Seoras had believed the same thing: the Albrights were keeping something there. But more specifically, Seoras had somehow been certain it was Ichor ¨C the alternative bloodtech power-source Heltia had been searching for. ¡°So our man snoozing out there reckons it¡¯s pseudo-Godsblood?¡± Rita scoffed. ¡°Dunno how hard you pushed him, Vin, but it was obviously too much for him.¡± I squinted at her. ¡°You think it¡¯s not real? Why¡¯d Heltia offer the bounty, then?¡± She shrugged. ¡°Desperation¡¯s what I figured.¡± My eyes flicked towards Tully. ¡°I wasn¡¯t privy to the inner workings of Neelam¡¯s mind. Owlbloods are rarely easy to understand.¡± The scarred woman looked downwards, seemingly in thought. ¡°But I never though him to be the kind of leader who would do something he didn¡¯t believe in.¡± ¡°Maddie?¡± I coughed awkwardly. ¡°Uh, Head¡­ Maddie?¡± ¡°Maddie,¡± the young woman instructed sternly. ¡°And I don¡¯t know either. I wasn¡¯t¡­ They didn¡¯t¡­¡± ¡°You were too young,¡± Tully offered. ¡°Not yet enshrined in the Nest proper.¡± She smiled thinly. ¡°Maybe. Either way, I don¡¯t know.¡± ¡°Whatever the reason¡­¡± As I stretched my arms, a groan erupted from my chest. Being cramped in the wagon was doing nothing good for my back. ¡°¡­Baylar¡¯s got a dead spot near or in their blockade.¡± Maddie¡¯s brows furrowed. ¡°Blockade?¡± I clicked my tongue angrily. ¡°I forgot to tell you, did I?¡± The fourth piece of information was so obvious I¡¯d neglected to mention it. The General had sneezed out a proliferation of search parties. Around forty of equal size, with nearly half of them being concentrated in our general vicinity. ¡°What does that have to do with a blockade?¡± asked the young Head. Tully hummed. ¡°It¡¯s the best and most obvious response to the information they¡¯ve received. They¡¯ll gather the already mobilised forces to block our front, and send a detachment from Spires to crush our back.¡± I nodded. ¡°That¡¯s only if they trust Commander Andros, however.¡± The woman levelled her gaze towards me. ¡°Is there any reason why they wouldn¡¯t?¡± I blinked. ¡°He seems incompetent.¡± ¡°Baylar wouldn¡¯t allow a truly incompetent individual anything more than a ceremonial position.¡± All I could offer to that was a shrug. Rita glanced at me. ¡°I assume you¡¯re for using the ¡®dead spot¡¯ t¡¯get through the blockade?¡± ¡°¡­Yes,¡± I tentatively posited. ¡°Or hide for a while. Might give us a chance to use the¡­ Ichor to resupply some of your contraptions, if it¡¯s real. But it¡¯s in a bad spot. We¡¯ll have to skirt the edges of the Fox¡¯s forest. If we err in our navigation the slightest amount¡­¡± ¡°Aye. We¡¯ll wander into a god¡¯s den.¡± My fingers drummed atop my crossed knees. ¡°There¡¯s no way we won¡¯t.¡± The short guard eyed me. ¡°Bit pessimistic.¡± ¡°Something will happen. Too many variables, and when the food starts burning our only way out will be through the forest.¡± ¡°If you got a better plan, we¡¯re all ears.¡± ¡°Fleeing into the forest isn¡¯t a bad outcome,¡± mused Tully. All three of our heads snapped towards her. Before I could properly school my face, it contorted itself into a scathing glare. ¡°Did you get hit in the head?¡± I felt a rush of air, and quickly ducked Rita¡¯s open palm. ¡°Watch it. But Captain, what in Yoot¡¯s saggy teats are you thinking?¡± ¡°They will pursue,¡± the veteran slowly began, almost entirely still but for her mouth, ¡°on horseback. We will not outrun them. To escape the blockade, either we send Head Maleen ahead on the draught horse- ¡° Maddie whirled, emerald eyes flashing. ¡°No. That¡¯s not happening.¡± Tully opened her mouth. ¡°I¡¯m not leaving anyone.¡± The greying woman finally got a word in. ¡°Which,¡± she continued, ¡°would be a poor plan. Travelling without any wilderness or combat skills is an easy way to get eaten by Godkin.¡± The small scion deflated. ¡°However, they will not pursue through the Fox¡¯s forest.¡± I couldn¡¯t help but interrupt. ¡°That¡¯s a better alternative?¡± Her beady eyes flicked towards me. ¡°There is a good chance of survival; many who enter Kani¡¯s home simply don¡¯t encounter it. If the Fox is in another of its forests- ¡° Disbelief shrouded my response. ¡°One of the most common stories about Kani is about it being able to hear rain fall on the other side of the continent.¡± ¡°It may be otherwise occupied.¡± ¡°You really believe that?¡± ¡°Kani had been known to spare those that entertain it ¨C it¡¯s one of the more merciful gods.¡± A scoff tore from my throat. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t call what it does to people merciful.¡± ¡°Again; we may simply not encounter it. Many journey through and remain unscathed.¡± ¡°There¡¯s no logic to it. If generations of scholars couldn¡¯t figure it out, neither will we.¡± I leaned forward. ¡°This is a very poor plan.¡± ¡°We are in a bad position, Vin. It¡¯s either dying by Baylar, or gambling with the Fox.¡± ¡°And- ¡° ¡°Vin. They will not pursue through the forest. If the Fox finds us, some will survive, provided we humour it.¡± A sigh escaped me. ¡°I¡¯ve no luck with dice.¡± Rita leaned backwards. ¡°Glad you¡¯re not the one playing, Vin, because to be frank a legless, armless, mouthless, eyeless, and arseless man¡¯s a better bet than you.¡± Maddie sucked air through her teeth, cringing away from the table. Before I could decide whether the indignation welling up within me was justified or not, Tully spoke. ¡°A small group is ideal.¡± ¡°Who¡¯re you thinking?¡± asked Rita. ¡°Us Heltians. Vin and Kit are undoubtedly our best warriors; they cannot be spared. The¡­¡± Her lips curled slightly, and I bristled. ¡°¡­Strain woodsman.¡± When no continuation was forthcoming, I spoke. ¡°¡­That¡¯s it?¡± ¡°The children and elderly cannot sustain the pace we need. The rest are dead weight.¡± I shook my head. ¡°I won¡¯t- ¡° Maddie¡¯s voice rattled around the wagon like a loose arrow. ¡°That¡¯s not acceptable, Tully. There must be another way. We can¡­ find somewhere to hide; wait for them to pass us. Or go around, or sneak through. There¡¯s has to be something else, something that doesn¡¯t involve¡­¡± As her charge¡¯s voice trailed off, Tully let loose a long breath. ¡°If we had a more complete map, perhaps we could find a hole to curl ourselves into. We don¡¯t, and in the time it would take to discover a place in which to conceal ourselves, we would have already been caught. Going around isn¡¯t an option ¨C none of us excepting perhaps Vin has a chance of escaping the blockade¡¯s closing walls. And sneaking a group of nineteen through is far from viable.¡± The young woman¡¯s face twisted. ¡°We would split into smaller groupings, obviously.¡± ¡°They¡¯ll pick a line that has excellent sight-lines and illuminate it as well as they can. If you are caught, Maddie, they will find the Clutch, and they will know- ¡° ¡°¡­I- I could throw it away- ¡° ¡°No.¡± Tully¡¯s interjection was immediate. Buried in its contours was a kind of disbelief, as if she¡¯d killed a thousand warriors only for her comrades to drown her in spears. ¡°No,¡± she continued, quieter. ¡°The Clutch is all that proves you are Heltia. Without it, there is no hope of revival.¡± ¡°Maybe we don¡¯t¡­¡± The young Head¡¯s eyes brushed over Tully¡¯s, and her words fell away. She swallowed. ¡°We still need another way.¡± I allowed their moment to pass before responding. ¡°Yes. If you don¡¯t find a way to keep my group safe, Kit won¡¯t come, Davian won¡¯t come, and I won¡¯t come.¡± ¡°And the others, too,¡± Maddie added. ¡°They¡¯re in this because of us.¡± Tully leaned backwards, eyes narrowed in thought. ¡°You are right. They are your people.¡± She straightened. ¡°We will engineer the groups to give them the best chance ¨C but the Head must go through the forest. If she¡¯s caught and searched, they will find the Clutch and all involved will be killed.¡± ¡°Isn¡¯t that still better odds than the damn Fox?¡± I protested. ¡°Baylar has too many sets of eyes. That will kill us as surely as any god. In the end, there¡¯s only one Fox.¡± Between a choice of humans and gods, Tully chose the god. I wouldn¡¯t have. Chapter 54 - Afterburn Between a choice of humans and gods, Tully had chosen the god. If the plan proceeded as she hoped, the payoff would be massive. Even so, I would¡¯ve hedged my bets on Baylar, if only I was less conspicuous. With a course charted, the logistics of our oncoming journey swiftly fell in place. Each of us reviewed the details, which Tully took as an opportunity to carefully explain the logic behind every decision to Maddie. Rita and I were relegated to teaching aids ¨C used to bounce ideas off and as consultants for redundant questions ¨C yet it was still a better position to be in than Maddie¡¯s. The Spiderblood¡¯s constant quizzing could¡¯ve turned a stone to dust. Eventually, Maddie¡¯s composure wilted under the expectant gaze of her tutor. Nothing remained to us other than an awkward silence Upon exiting the wagon, we found Aron waiting for us. His wife and child were watching the pyres ¨C the conflagration beginning to slowly die. ¡°What have you decided?¡± the man asked. Gone was the superficial charm he¡¯d bandied so readily. In its place were bloodshot eyes, ruffled clothes hanging off his broad frame, and twitching lips oscillating between a smile and something far more fearful. Tully took a moment to respond. ¡°Excepting myself, Head Maleen, Vin, Kit, and¡­ Davian, everyone will continue your journey.¡± Aron licked his lips. ¡°¡­You¡¯ll leave us?¡± ¡°You will have a better chance without the presence of fugitives.¡± His reply was strangled. ¡°We¡¯re associates of yours; House Baylar¡­ They won¡¯t let us just¡­ leave! We need to go with you!¡± ¡°Rita will go with you.¡± To shoot anyone who attempted to defect, I suspected. But they¡¯d assured me that she was especially skilled at night-raids and quiet movement ¨C that was what had gotten her a role as Maddie¡¯s bodyguard. Who else better to catch an assassin than another assassin? A detachment under her instruction had a better chance than us ¨C even composed almost entirely of people either greyer than dust itself or barely a handful of steps out of the womb. ¡°Rita¡¯s not enough!¡± He looked down at the woman in question and raised both hands. ¡°No offense.¡± ¡°She¡¯s one of the most capable individuals Heltia had in its employ.¡± ¡°No.¡± Aron shook his head rapidly. ¡°No, she can¡¯t be enough.¡± ¡°Your chances won¡¯t get better with a red-headed girl,¡± I began to list, counting up on my fingers, ¡°a scarred old woman, a large man, a dark-skinned swordswoman, or a Strain. We¡¯re easily the most conspicuous members of this caravan.¡± ¡°You¡¯re also the warriors, Vin!¡± ¡°What good¡¯s iron against a hoard of bronze? The moment fighting starts, we¡¯re dead anyway.¡± The man¡¯s eyes flicked around, noting the other three already in the process of moving to notify the others. ¡°Come on, Vin,¡± he whispered, voice low. ¡°You know the kind of resources I have hidden away. If you take me and my family away, there¡¯s no risk to you and your friends, and you¡¯ll get everything I have.¡± A flicker of glee danced within my chest at his begging, warring with the disgust I felt towards the pathetic man I loathed. I blinked, and tried to ignore both. ¡°Aron¡­¡± ¡°Here.¡± He thrust a ceramic bottle towards me. ¡°Honey wine from Heltia¡¯s own supply. I was planning on selling it, but¡­¡± Aron raised his sparse eyebrows. ¡°We owe you. Just¡­ Have a taste and consider it, okay?¡± The man shot me a quick smile and walked back to Daisy and Willow. The man¡¯s wife was still mired in her fever. Even as my eyes followed him, my hand tilted the bottle, feeling the liquor slosh back and forth within. Then a pair of feet stomped towards my location and an overdeveloped arm snatched it away. Ronnie glared down at me, barely keeping a wince at bay from the pain of abusing their healing tendons with such a rapid movement. We¡¯d shoved countless looted potions down their throat, but instantly fixing tendons remained work too delicate for the brutish hands of alchemical concoctions. The underdeveloped hand flashed in a series of signs as its partner cradled the bottle. I caught: ¡®Idiot¡¯, ¡®Spiral¡¯, and ¡®Important¡¯. I could¡¯ve put the pieces together just from the giant¡¯s expression. ¡°What¡¯s a single drink going to hurt?¡± I insisted. ¡°We¡¯ve only got one bottle anyway.¡± ¡®Idiot¡¯ again. ¡°I¡¯m not a child,¡± I spat. ¡°I won¡¯t sabotage this by thinning myself with booze.¡± Amidst a flurry of signs, I only caught ¡®Miss¡¯ and ¡®Again¡¯, beneath stormy blue eyes. But while I was bereft of the specifics, I could recognise the same tired old spiel Bhan had run me through a thousand time in Bars. Drink is bad; Don¡¯t compromise with even a drop. Whip had found me at my worst ¨C reeking of spirits and staggering after a group of kids throwing rocks at her. After spending a year with them, that was the image of me that stuck. ¡°Oh, go jump in a river.¡± ¡®Dung¡¯, ¡®Cattle¡¯, and ¡®Lick¡¯ mixed with countless other gestures. My incomprehension saved me from parsing what must¡¯ve been a truly devastating insult. ¡°Whatever you just said isn¡¯t fair and you know it.¡± I threw my hands up. ¡°We¡¯re about to set upon the most dangerous task any of us have ever done before. If there¡¯s ever a time to drink, it¡¯s now.¡± Ronnie¡¯s dog, Yowler, had loped in from his position beside the pyre. He stared at me, hackles raised, as the giant cycled through dozens of gestures faster than I could comprehend. Their face slowly turned red. The only thing I caught was ¡®Whip¡¯. ¡°What¡¯re you even saying?¡± I snapped, mouth contorted into a sneer. ¡°I can¡¯t understand you.¡± Ronnie bared her teeth in a silent growl and hurled the bottle to the grass beneath. It shattered on the red blades in an explosion of dark liquid, which quickly vanished into the pink soil. I swore viciously, flinching back from the shards. A single step towards the Strain was all I managed before Davian had shoved himself between us. ¡°Hold on, Vin,¡± the old Strain crooned, hands on my shoulders. ¡°Hold on? Tell- ¡° ¡°This is not the time for this.¡± He whirled. ¡°That means you as well.¡± The giant signed something, and beneath his long bangs the man paled slightly. ¡°Uh, we¡¯ll talk about this later.¡± Ronnie¡¯s face crumpled. They placed a massive hand over their eyes and began to rapidly walk away. Once again, I swore, but this time the words were directed elsewhere. Before the giant Strain could outpace me, my arm snatched the back of their shirt. Shaking me off would be an easy task for a person with a build like Ronnie¡¯s ¨C even without any Oxblood ¨C yet they halted anyway. ¡°We¡¯ll¡­¡± I swallowed against a suddenly dry mouth. ¡°We¡¯ll work it out, okay?¡± A large hand settled on my head, tousling my hair. My gaze travelled upwards, finding Ronnie¡¯s faltering smile and watery eyes. After a brief slap to my shoulder, the giant trudged away, back silhouetted by the dying pyre. I watched them settle a short distance away from where Kit and the others had settled. Yowler ambled beside the Strain¡¯s seated figure, to be carefully shuffled into their lap. Ronnie buried their face in his fur. ¡°It won¡¯t be the same.¡± Davian stood beside me, inscrutable features staring at the group. I stifled the urge to snap at him for making such a redundant observation. ¡°Yeah,¡± I managed instead, voice terse. ¡°You and Kit defeated thirty Baylarian soldiers,¡± he continued. ¡°That isn¡¯t the kind of deed that can be forgotten.¡± My eyes strayed away from his own lopsided pair. ¡°Does it change anything?¡± ¡°Could you have stopped Whip from getting shot?¡± I turned. ¡°What?¡± His eyes were steady; his brows low. ¡°Could you- ¡° Every emotion I¡¯d felt in the past few days threatened to rise from my stomach and erupt from my throat. ¡°I am not in the mood for this.¡± ¡°Answer the question.¡± ¡°I was pushing the cart, Davian.¡± ¡°You¡¯re clearly capable of more than just pushing.¡± ¡°Maybe,¡± I stated tonelessly. ¡°I still can¡¯t be in two places at once.¡± ¡°Then whose fault is it?¡± ¡°Baylar¡¯s,¡± I snapped. ¡°You know this.¡± ¡°If you had been willing to fight from the beginning- ¡° ¡°What could I have done?¡± My voice broke on that final word. ¡°Tell me, Davian, oh wise, educated scholar. What could anyone have done?¡± A new voice spoke. ¡°Whip could¡¯ve ducked.¡± Kit had silently paced over to us over the course of the exchange. Davian and I stared at her. The silence couldn¡¯t hide how the air between us crackled. Fortunately for her, Davian produced a reply before I could. ¡°That idea,¡± he said, the lines of his face rigid, ¡°is absurd.¡± ¡°If she ducked she wouldn¡¯t¡¯ve died,¡± Kit snapped, stitches in her cheeks stretching dangerously. The force of her words was undercut by her rapid blinking and twitching features, as if she¡¯d been exposed to a light brighter than her eyes could parse. ¡°That¡¯s not wrong.¡± This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. ¡°But to heap the Raven¡¯s share upon a person who was essentially a non-combatant is patently foolish.¡± The invocation of Avri was rare in its crassness; confined to older individuals who¡¯d lived an era where it could be stomached. I¡¯d never heard Davian do it before. ¡°Her role wasn¡¯t to protect herself- ¡° ¡°Then whose was it?¡± The swordswoman leaned forward, lowering her eyes to the old Strain¡¯s level. Her bandaged knuckles clenched around the hilt of her sword. ¡°Huh? This oaf right here was behind the cart. Was it Gast? Big godsdamn shield didn¡¯t help no one much ¨C maybe if she had half a brain rattlin¡¯ in her skull it would¡¯ve.¡± I gathered my wits enough to spit a retort. ¡°There were arrows in her shield- ¡± ¡°One too few.¡± Her voice smashed through my own like a foul stench. ¡°Maybe Ronnie? Huh? If the big bastard- ¡° Davian bristled, yet the moment he opened his mouth, Kit continued to thunder over him, all raging voice and bloodshot eyes. ¡°Oh, you don¡¯t like that? Is Ronnie not a big bastard? Maybe if the damn¡­ damn tree of a Strain hadn¡¯t half torn their arm to pieces they could¡¯ve done somethin¡¯. Or, or, or,¡± she stuttered, ¡°maybe it was you ¨C maybe if you¡¯d hit th¡¯ right Baylar piece of wasted skin at th¡¯ right time there wouldn¡¯t be a damn arrow to talk about!¡± The old Strain¡¯s twisted lips flapped, fingers curling impotently. ¡°Or maybe,¡± she said, quietening, ¡°it was me. I could¡¯ve stopped th¡¯ arrow.¡± I breathed a heavy sigh. Finally, I understood. ¡°Don¡¯t kid yourself- ¡° ¡°I¡¯m not.¡± She gazed at the ground, rubbing a fleck of ash from her face with bandaged hands. ¡°People¡­ die. But I could¡¯ve. If I hadn¡¯t of dived at that first volley an¡¯ stayed standin¡¯, I would¡¯ve smacked the arrow out o¡¯ the air.¡± ¡°Or you would have died,¡± I finished for her. ¡°Yeah.¡± The swordswoman scratched her head, seeming uncharacteristically small. ¡°That¡¯s how it goes, I guess. People die.¡± Davian simmered quietly, but said nothing. I opened my mouth, hoping to sink the tension despite not having grasped the means to do so. ¡°You- ¡° The Strain erupted. ¡°If Tully had simply allowed me to talk to them¡­¡± As soon as the anger appeared, it trailed away. ¡°I¡­ don¡¯t think anything could have stopped this. It¡¯s not¡­¡± I paused, searching for the words. ¡°It¡¯s not, uh, nice to say it, but¡­ This is as good as it was going to¡­¡± I looked at the ground. ¡°Go.¡± ¡°I could have- ¡° ¡°We could have¡­ given Maddie up,¡± I stated. ¡°That¡¯s it. That¡¯s all that would have stopped it. And they might have still killed us anyway.¡± ¡°You have no way of knowing- ¡° ¡°Davian.¡± Kit¡¯s voice was low and jagged. ¡°Shut up, ¡®fore I shut you up.¡± The Strain looked at her, then slammed a palm into his own forehead. ¡°Damn it.¡± The man adjusted the quiver strapped to his waist and stalked towards Tully. In his absence, the two of us formed a small island in the sea of red grass. ¡°Thanks,¡± I said quietly. The swordswoman quirked her lips. ¡°Yeah, well. Either you was gonna hit him, or I was gonna hit him, and I don¡¯t know if the old man¡¯d survive either.¡± ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have hit him.¡± She shot me a token smirk. ¡°Sure.¡± ¡°I might¡¯ve hit you.¡± Her ensuing snort was more authentic for its briefness. We watched the pyres. My eyes settled on Taja, slumped form facing the dying flames. He seemed in a forest of his own, apart from all others. His dark skin had been transformed to pitch by the unbearable light of the fires. The teenager had no home, no family, and nowhere to go. ¡°It wasn¡¯t your fault,¡± I said, and tried to mean it. ¡°It was a lot o¡¯ people¡¯s faults.¡± ¡°People die in battle.¡± ¡°By all that¡¯s good ¡®n green,¡± she proclaimed, shaking her head, ¡°you think I don¡¯t know that? I¡¯ve been in more fights than this whole clearing¡¯s got fingers to count.¡± A thumb and forefinger rubbed the bridge of her nose as she let loose a short growl. ¡°But it wasn¡¯t¡­ I dunno if it was Whip¡¯s¡­ I can¡¯t¡­¡± ¡°It¡¯s not yours- ¡° ¡°Blood, Vin ¨C then whose was it? Whip¡¯s dead.¡± I could¡¯ve kept talking. But just like back in the abandoned farmhouse, nothing I said would have reached her. Instead, I moved rest a hand on her shoulder, then thought better of it and settled for shrugging. ¡°C¡¯mon, Vin. You¡¯re clever.¡± I chose to keep my gaze away from hers. ¡°You see Taja down there?¡± I nodded in the teenager¡¯s direction. ¡°Th¡¯ nomad kid.¡± ¡°Yeah. He¡¯s going to rot away if we leave him like that.¡± ¡°¡­You wanna bring him in?¡± ¡°Yeah. Could you tell the others to¡­ I don¡¯t know. Be kind?¡± ¡°The kid¡¯s not¡­¡± Her voice trailed off. ¡°Alright. He¡¯s your responsibility, though.¡± Before I could protest, she began walking towards the others. I watched her go and cursed quietly. Taja sat, shoulders quietly shaking. I took a step towards him, the movement made deliberately slow to buy as much time as possible to determine an approach. When I¡¯d finally reached him, no perfectly writ actions had made themselves known to me. Fumbling words were the worst disservice anyone could pay to someone trapped so deep. But they were the only path I had. I sat down a few steps away from him. All that indicated his awareness of me was a silent flinch. The heat was scalding. Saliva dried in my mouth. An apology danced at the tip of my tongue, and I swallowed it. I breathed in, and tried to channel Bhan as much as possible. ¡°You¡¯ve suffered,¡± I began, ¡°and there¡¯s nothing anyone can do to change that.¡± I looked at him and saw only clenched teeth and tightly-screwed eyes. His face was wrought in another language, and had I spent more time with the boy I would¡¯ve been capable of deciphering it. But I hadn¡¯t. All I could hope was that he was more like me than not. ¡°But¡­ you¡¯re with us, now. From here, until whatever end finds us.¡± I sidled towards him, and drew Taja into my body with an arm. I waited for the teenager to throw me off ¨C to scream and rage ¨C but he did not resist. He only sobbed. Dirt, snot, and tears burrowed into my coat. No more words were spoken, and no promises were made. I couldn¡¯t tell him that anything would make him whole again, but maybe a day would come where he didn¡¯t feel so broken. I had to hope.
Despite our argument, Ronnie, Gast, and Kit had welcomed the teenager readily. Jana had made some grumbling noises about having more ¡®dead weight¡¯, but had given in without more than a token amount of fuss. Taja slept, having passed out hugging a wide-eyed Tippi, who¡¯d yet to figure out a way to extricate himself from the larger boy¡¯s grasp. Crumpet had wandered off after parroting her carer¡¯s words and being screamed at for it. Without any fanfare, Davian had emerged from a discussion with Tully to inform us he would be in the blockade-group, with Aron somehow wriggling in to take his place in the forest. I hadn¡¯t thought the old Strain had enough of the Dolphin¡¯s tongue to persuade our leader of such an obviously awful change. Perhaps the scarred woman had sensed a plan relying on the mercy of a god couldn¡¯t get much worse. Though he¡¯d succeeded in his objective, the man still sat some distance away from the rest. A few dozen steps in the forest, I knelt beside a flat boulder and tried to assemble the pieces of my Face. The sap of the nearby heartwoods could be used as a strong adhesive, when mixed with a good helping of tar. I hadn¡¯t the time to make any though, so I was left to spit in the mixture and hope the resulting slow-setting glue would be enough to keep my mask together. Every movement sent a trickle of pain through my still-healing shoulder. The fragments were placed atop the red moss and assembled like some cruel puzzle. I¡¯d dedicated almost a year to carefully crafting the mould of the Face. My days were spent with eyes and hands fixed on the wood in my hands, carefully running a knife down its side to make a model that held everything I dreamed of, even as my feet caught on rocks and dirt as I trailed after my mentor. Yet the nights were worse; wasted dragging sticks through wet dirt, frantically trying to make all the facets I wanted to fit within the inconspicuous space of a tiny mask. Bhan had offered advice, but never assistance. It was one of the few things I¡¯d ever done that was worth anything. With a thin brush patched together from a collection of horsehair and a splinter of wood, I applied a layer of glue onto the edge of a larger shard and carefully squashed a smaller piece onto its edge. Holding both together, I slowly lowered it into a gap in other, similarly crafted pieces. ¡°Come on,¡± I muttered. ¡°Come on.¡± It settled into the arrangement I¡¯d spent hours putting together as the pieces had sloughed away from one another, glue failing and needing to be wiped over and over again, and suddenly the fact I had mulishly ignored for all that time stared me in the face. I was missing several pieces. With a strangled yell, I scooped the mask up ¨C feeling the entire thing drip apart as I did so ¨C and hurled it at the nearest tree. The moment it left my hand I felt sickened, but no amount of flailing could snatch back what already done. When it hit the tree, its pieces fragmented further and cast themselves deeper into the woods. I hunched over and stomped my feet and breathed through my teeth because the scent of woodsmoke filled the air and felt the trees bend over to mock me and clenched my nails into my palms- And released a pained grunt as they sunk deeper than they should have. I swore, and slowly extricated my nails from where they¡¯d embedded themselves, feeling the blood bubble out from the fresh wounds. I kicked away a patch of grass and ran my fingers through the pink dirt, clearing most of the red liquid off my fingers in an attempt to uncover what had buried them so deeply. Then I stared. ¡°Hey, uh, Vin?¡± I turned, shoving my hands in the pockets of my coat. Kit cautiously approached, face turned to consider the forest¡¯s covetous canopy, each branch twisting to steal as much of the sun¡¯s radiance before it hit the ground. The swordswoman settled atop the boulder without finding the small flecks of blood atop it. They blended into the red moss too well. After a moment, I realised she still awaited a reply. ¡°What is it?¡± I asked, far too gruffly. I cleared my throat and tried again. ¡°What did you want to ask me?¡± ¡°Well,¡± she began, ¡°I been goin¡¯ ¡®round and seein¡¯ what people know of, uh, Whip. Before everythin¡¯. Where she was from an¡¯ what she thought an¡¯ who she was an¡¯ that¡­ and, uh, I was wonderin¡¯ if you¡­ Had somethin¡¯ to add.¡± Blood dripped from my hands, wetting them and the clothes they were stuck within. ¡°Do you want something specific?¡± ¡°Uh¡­¡± Kit licked her lips, brow furrowed as she stared at the dirt. The stitches in her cheek were strained. ¡°D¡¯you know where she¡¯s from?¡± Some questions could be asked regardless of time or circumstance. This was not one of them. I didn¡¯t want to speak of someone dead for barely more than a day. Not at this moment. Maybe not ever. Yet almost against my will, the words bubbled to the surface. ¡°She was from the Heartlands, I think.¡± I reached back into the vast chasm of my memory, flinching away from its sides and all the things embedded therein, seizing upon her rare mention of parents. ¡°Her mother was¡­ a tutor, or tactician; maybe both. She was the Blooded, I think. A Spiderblood. Never mentioned a father. Whip didn¡¯t talk about the past often.¡± ¡°Was her mother a tutor or tactician?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know. Maybe neither. Whip only ever mentioned the things that were taught to her, and they seemed like strategy-related things. The kind that demanded a good education.¡± ¡°How d¡¯you even know the mother was Blooded?¡± I closed my eyes, searching. ¡°I believe¡­ It¡¯s more likely. But Whip¡¯s mutations were weak; it might¡¯ve been the father who was.¡± Being borne of a Blooded mutated Strains more than being sired by one. ¡°Must¡¯ve had weak divinity if she was.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t know?¡± Kit¡¯s tone was flat. ¡°¡­No.¡± The word sent a spike of inexplicable panic through me. She twisted her torso towards me. In the lines of her face, disbelief was falling to something more thunderous. ¡°You don¡¯t know?¡± ¡°That¡¯s what I said, Kit.¡± ¡°You worked with her for a year,¡± she said through gritted teeth, ¡°an¡¯ that¡¯s all you know?¡± My voice grew louder to match her own. ¡°Her past was her business, alright? If she didn¡¯t- ¡± She stood, eyes more white than brown. ¡°A year, Vin. And nothing?¡± ¡° -want us to know about it, then that¡¯s her choice.¡± ¡°We¡¯re sittin¡¯ at the godsdamned grave of a woman we all cared about,¡± Kit hissed, ¡°an¡¯ none of us know anythin¡¯.¡± She emphasised her final word with a shove strong enough to send me back a step. I¡¯d been caught off-guard ¨C idiot; fool, a voice hissed. Anger warped my expression, sparking an anticipatory gleam behind her eyes. The only thing that prevented me from striking her was the all-consuming need to keep my hands in my pockets. The lack of response provoked another bout of words to tumble from Kit¡¯s mouth. ¡°How do you know nothin¡¯? With so little, what¡¯s there to bury? Huh? A small little woman too weak t¡¯make it. That¡¯s all. That¡¯s all!¡± At her final yell, I turned and kicked a speartree. The force of the blow reverberated backwards in a mirror of the initial strike, sending me stumbling several steps away. After a tense moment, I fell back onto the boulder. Scarcely ten heartbeats later, the object of my ire settled next to me. We sat. The wind rustled through the crimson leaves, shaking individual branches even as their trunks remained stolidly still. Birds rode the breeze above. Below, the countless lives that eked out an existence in the forest trundled along according to their small desires. The speartrees jutted through it all ¨C unmoved. Blood inched out of my hands. ¡°We¡¯re too late to save any of her,¡± I said and that word ¨C ¡®save¡¯ ¨C reverberated from the air and down my throat and through my bone and brain and nestled deep in my veins and I shivered with the incredible heat filling my body. Kit said something, but I did not hear it. She left. I shivered, mind swooping and diving even as I tried to twist it away from that word. When I felt together again, I drew my hands from my pocket. At the tips of my fingers, where there were once nails, short spikes extended, bone-white and eerie in the mottled light of the heartwoods. Tapping them against the boulder jarred my entire finger. I felt sickness brew in my gut. Operating some instinct born outside this body, I flexed an old and intangible muscle and watched the talons withdraw back into my hand. Yet when I prodded the skin atop my fingers, I felt no obstructions where they could be hiding. The material had vanished, as if it had never existed. Beneath my feet, flowers began to bloom from the crimson dirt in response to my dripping blood. Chapter 55 - God of Perception Vin- Or Kit- No, I-
? ???? ???? ? ????????? ????? ????? ???? ?? ??? ?????? ?? ? ????? ??? ???????. ? ????, ??? ????? ???? ??? ????? ????. ????¡¯ ? ??? ????? ?? ??????? ? ?????? ?? ???, ???? ?????¡¯ ? ?? ?????? ?? ????????? ??? ?? ????? ?? ???????? ?? ????. ??? though I¡¯d never thought myself a coward, I¡¯d catch myself shying away from the others. It was the habit of a weakling; someone who¡¯d never watched the life bleed from another¡¯s eyes before. Back with the band, every second or third skirmish ended with one of our own dead. The unskilled; the aggressive; the green; the fools ¨C they¡¯d all been trimmed away until what remained was just lean and wiry muscle. Death had made us fitter. Jana didn¡¯t care. When¡­ Whip¡¯d died, the old madam had made the same damn expression she always made: lips pursed in slight disapproval. It was all another click of the abacus to her. Mother had always laughed seeing it, and I¡¯d laughed along with her. When Jana¡¯d done it in that stone building, I¡¯d nearly cut her head off. Crumpet and Tippi¡¯d stayed quiet near the rest, but out of sight I¡¯d hear them playing their little games. They¡¯d seen enough people die to know how to pick themselves up. I hadn¡¯t so much as stumbled in years. But just a few short months after it¡¯d all come crashing down, and I kept catching myself mid-fall. I wasn¡¯t the only one. Vin hid it best, but the quiet oaf had only grown quieter. Before he remembered to half-heartedly laugh at someone¡¯s bad joke, his frown would deepen. He¡¯d said more words with his boy, Taja ¨C the kid sobbing and snotting himself to sleep ¨C than he¡¯d shared with anyone else in the week since. The Dolphin itself couldn¡¯t coax Gast¡¯s thoughts from her, but even Ronnie talked more than her. Davian had become a jumpy mess pointing swords at shadows. The only thing stopping me from knocking him out was his accusations filling in the godsdamned silence. Because without Whip, Ronnie could only use hand-speak ¨C which no one really understood ¨C or slowly make shapes in mud. Vin and Davian could read, but I was at their mercy if I wanted to know whether they had something legitimate to say or were hiding mockery in the lines of the dirt. Father had tried to teach me letters when I was a kid, but it¡¯d been a waste of time. Mother had kicked apart our first lesson, pointing out that I was too thick to learn. The sword was better suited to me ¨C I only had to keep track of two edges, instead of the Siik-knew how many ways you could spin a letter. The spelling of my name had stuck throughout the years, but that was all. I¡¯d seen Whip read a whole sheaf of pages in- ¡°Bloody weak,¡± I spat. ¡°Weak, weak, weak.¡± My words reverberated over our small gathering. Andros ¨C the ratbag who¡¯d killed Whip ¨C, drugged senseless as he¡¯d been for the past several days, lay insensate in the dirt, because no one gave enough of a damn to make him comfortable. Tully stirred from within her bedroll, but the rest ¨C Maddie, Aron, Willow and Daisy ¨C slept like the dead. They might be dead, if they didn¡¯t learn to wake up at sudden noises. Trusting the sentry to keep watch was fine; trusting the sentry to avoid getting nailed in the head by an arrow was not. As I sneered at the sleepers, I noticed Vin staring at me from where he sat atop a branch. The tree stuck out like a sore thumb in the prairie we¡¯d spent days crossing, but beneath it was a tangle of roots that offered the only reprieve from the bristling tallgrasses that had sliced up everyone¡¯s pants and legs for days. We¡¯d slept in similar patches every night ¨C making camp in the tallgrass threatened to poke holes in people¡¯s faces every time they rolled over. A special kind of loathing had stirred towards the ubiquitous weeds. All flora in the Heartlands liked to slice skin open, given the opportunity, however I¡¯d held knives blunter than the long, sharp reed-like grass that covered the area. Most other animals took the hint when getting pricked the first time and cleared out of the prairie, leaving the only creatures present rodents small enough to scurry beneath the blades¡¯ sharpest portion and humans stupid enough to repeatedly slice themselves on it. Shifting the grass out of the way with a long stick kept most of our blood in our bodies, but it left everyone with sore arms and cuts from the patches that remained. My knuckles were still bruised and beaten from the battle -- making them spend a day closed around a stick was even more painful than the grass''s cuts. The worst part was, sacrifices didn¡¯t even yield grain ¨C just more hatefully sharp grass ¨C meaning every leaked drop of blood was shed for no purpose other than to keep cutting. We didn¡¯t even have space to carry excess grain; it just annoyed me on principle. Everyone else¡¯s legs should¡¯ve been scabbed over from repeated cuts. The princess¡¯ armour was good enough to spare her the worst of it, and Vin had carried Daisy on his shoulders, her mother in a harness on his back, and Andros in his arms; Aron had to carry his halberd. He didn¡¯t have the most powerful Lizardblood ¨C he seemed too clever for that ¨C yet despite a day of carrying his own weight twice over, he refused to collapse into sleep. Maybe he was stupid, after all. My lips twisted as they addressed him. ¡°You need somethin¡¯, oaf?¡± He only shrugged, and returned to whittling away at a chunk of wood. Instead of continuing to hiss at him, I huffed and returned to pacing around the tree, trailing my eyes through the grasses. Any approach would have to be underneath the sea of stiff vegetation, but without knowing the right places to shift the grass aside the would-be ambushers would soon find themselves with a sheaf through their throat. I wondered if Whip had that skill, then beat my feet fiercely. There was no way of knowing. Another lap around the tree and a shiver ran through me; my body¡¯s vain attempt to fortify itself against the Frost chill reaching through my skin and into my bones. A campfire would do us all good¡­ right up until the moment Baylar followed the smoke towards us like a wolf smelling day-old carrion. Grass wasn¡¯t a match for heavy armour, and neither were we. Or something worse could track the scent. At the edge of the horizon, over the bristling grass and snarling shrubs and leering patches of herbs, the beginnings of a forest stretched like a pair of open arms. The moons and stars glared fiercely in the night sky, but even they could not light the features of each trunk. I knew what they looked like anyway. Gnarled black bark spitting sharp branches. Yet in the daylight, we¡¯d seen something new. Jagged lines ripped into the pink flesh beneath each tree, each parallel to the other and trailing in bizarre tangles of lines. Sometimes there was only one, sometimes there were more ¨C but the pattern was never the same. As if they were made from the claws of a thousand raving, manic hands.
I hopped on one foot as we walked through the marked forest, frantically scratching at the thousand itches scampering across my scabbed leg. With the other hand, I clawed at my stitched cheeks; then winced as doing so jarred my fractured pinky-finger. In front of me, Aron, our so-called woodsman ¨C who¡¯d probably never eaten a cold meal in his life ¨C did the same. ¡°Stop that,¡± Tully droned tersely. ¡°We cannot afford to open wounds here.¡± ¡°You try to withstand this godsdamned itch,¡± I snapped back. ¡°We are,¡± the scarred woman replied quickly, gesturing to Vin. Both of their faces were scrunched in deep concentration. I swore quietly. Determined to beat them, I gave my leg three final scratches and withdrew my arm, then immediately regretted it as the agonising sensation returned threefold. My eyes bulged. Breathing through my teeth, I leaned forward and slapped Aron on the back of his bald head. ¡°You heard the lady.¡± The stupid little conman turned, face twisting with rage which vanished when he saw my face was a mirror of his own. Yet his hands didn¡¯t stop. ¡°You got ears?¡± I cocked my head sideways. ¡°Stop.¡± ¡°How- ¡° Vin¡¯s low rumble conquered Aron¡¯s whine. ¡°All of this is a sign of what waits nearby. Don¡¯t forget that.¡± He winced and shifted Andros, who stirred on his shoulder. ¡°Keep walking and keep quiet.¡± The man tore away his hand, but couldn¡¯t help but let loose a mutter. ¡°It would make more sense if the forest weren¡¯t so damn loud.¡± Aron was a weak coward, but in this instance he was also right. The forest was godsdamned loud, in every sense of the word. Heartwood branches rustled in the wind with the sound of a thousand jangling spears; birds sung drunkenly off-beat, pitch staggering into piercing highs and sonorous lows; the indecipherable calls of distant animals echoed through each trunk; insects and rodents skittered against the inside of my ears, even though they walked through the dirt and shrubs and trees. It wasn¡¯t just the sounds, either. Every colour detonated: red leaves and bushes and dirt dividing into shades of lavender, salmon, vermilion, russet, scarlet, crimson and another thousand shades I hadn¡¯t the words to express, all staring garishly towards us. Its silent violence rattled my skull, but there was nowhere else to look; our armour and clothing had spun themselves into excruciatingly detailed images of filthy strips of fabric, and even my furs sung a chorus of matted greys and bloody blacks, every brush of them against my skin so unpleasantly intense it was almost painful, and gods the itching was enough for tears to start threatening to spill down my face. Underneath the immediacy of all that, the forest reeked like a noble¡¯s dresser, with smells that would¡¯ve been pleasant at any other intensity taken to a level so cloying that it felt as if each distinct scent were leering at me, swimming up my nostrils without so much as ¡®by your leave¡¯ and groping the insides incessantly leaving everyone snorting and coughing because we could even taste the smells every time we opened our mouths and the whole thing was too much for my palate and the feeling of my legs compacting against the ground and the pain from the beating my hands had taken redoubling and the sunlight reaching through the canopy to stab at my eyes and the relentless sounds and smells and sensation and still I staggered onwards and the relentless itching of my cheek''s stitching everyone was pained from Daisy leading a still feverish Willow groaning at all to Vin wild-eyed and breathing heavily as the entire forest wailed as we walked beneath it and over it and yet I found godsdamned Maddie of all people looking unbothered by it all beneath her helmet and chitin armour so well-made it could probably buy a mansion with just the helmet so I said ¡°What¡¯s so bloody fun about this, princess?¡± Then I whispered a cuss at myself, but the young woman had already clattered, ¡°What?¡± and I was in too deep for an apology to be anything except a retreat. ¡°Must be nice.¡± I winced as my own words drove nails through my skull. ¡°Wrapped up nice an¡¯ tight in there. Four an¡¯ a half people carryin¡¯ you away from yer own dung-smeared mess. Scarface ready to wipe yer behind for you.¡± ¡°Is now really the time for this?¡± Despite being over a head taller than her, she still somehow looked down her nose at me. ¡°Oh, yes Missus Head; sorry Missus Head,¡± my tonsils chattered like a hundred chipmunks, ¡°I¡¯ll never gainsay you again.¡± ¡°Why are you so mad?¡± she whined, and the tone and tack of the sentence scratched the coffin I hadn¡¯t finished sealing. Which was stupid and weak, because she was nothing like Whip; or maybe she was and I just didn¡¯t know enough to figure it out. ¡°Why¡¯re you so calm all the time?! What¡¯s there to be calm about?! We¡¯re in the worst damn situation a person can be in, and yer jus¡¯- ¡± I rocked a hand through the air slowly, snarling, ¡° -trottin¡¯ along.¡± ¡°Kit, have some respect- ¡° Tully¡¯s voice crackled and popped, but I barrelled through it. ¡°Why don¡¯t you do yerself a favour an¡¯ go back to whatever animal mauled you an¡¯ lie down in front of it?¡± I snapped like the jaws of some massive beast. ¡°Might improve yer looks.¡± Everyone winced at the volume, yet it was still nothing compared to everything, wriggling through eyes and ears and nose and tongue and skin to set blood writhing. The branches screamed from above, swaying gently as we hurriedly stomped past the tightly-packed trunks, shrubs, and over the ground teeming with roots. ¡°Be quiet, woman,¡± Aron muttered, every ¡®buh¡¯ and ¡®cuh¡¯ and ¡®tuh¡¯ a hammer on my skull, rattling everything. My bandaged hands shot out and shoved him in the back of his shoulder, sending him ricocheting off bark and tangling with the halberd he held on the ground. ¡°That what you say to yer wife an¡¯ kid? What a strong, tough man ¨C so strong an¡¯ tough he can¡¯t help but whine every two seconds.¡± He lay there for a few moments, before getting a grip on the root-laden ground and pushing his body up against the weight of his pack. His neck twisted, revealing a weeping gash on his cheek. His lack of response stoked the flame trembling through my limbs. ¡°Oh, yer silent now? Is it cause I¡¯m a woman you can¡¯t hit? I reckon you could ¨C yer just too damn weak t¡¯give it a shot.¡± ¡°Raven¡¯s bones Kit,¡± Vin spat, and that was the worst of all, ¡°this is not the time.¡± I whirled. ¡°When¡¯s the time, Vin?¡± My wide eyes stung against the cold air. ¡°Guy here stole chits for years, then went an¡¯ turned an¡¯ hid behind th¡¯ people he stole from, and one of ¡®em died; so when¡¯s the time t¡¯talk about that or are we jus¡¯ gonna brush over it like her entire godsdamn life got brushed over?¡± ¡°You¡¯re just bad news,¡± Aron grated from the ground. ¡°Well you¡¯re bad too ¡®cept you¡¯re too small an¡¯ pathetic t¡¯even make news, so I¡¯m one up on that.¡± ¡°Kit,¡± Maddie began, ¡°we are all tired of this place, and, and, hurting- ¡° ¡°I¡¯m not hurting,¡± I sneered. ¡°I¡¯m pissed off.¡± Vin¡¯s ire strained against the confines of his whisper. ¡°That¡¯s a crock of steamed dung and you know it. This is not how you mourn.¡± I threw my arms open. ¡°An¡¯ how should I mourn, huh? Like you? Yer entire damn life¡¯s been nonstop moping since I met you. It¡¯s pathetic ¨C a grown man actin¡¯ like a beat dog. What: yer sweetheart screwed someone else? Get over it, and get on with it.¡± ¡°Oh, okay.¡± He raised his arms in surrender. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for being sad. Instead, I should yell and scream and get everyone killed ¨C that¡¯s a leagues better way of mourning.¡± I turned away from his gaze, frowning slightly. ¡°I¡¯m not mourning.¡± ¡°Are you- ¡° He groaned and cast his eyes towards the canopy. ¡°Really? Really?¡± Tully¡¯s voice cut ours into ribbons. ¡°Walk, you two.¡± ¡°We¡¯re walking,¡± the large man rumbled. ¡°Walk faster.¡± I snorted. ¡°Not gonna tell us to shut up?¡± She turned in a whirlwind of scars, and despite her having a completely different colour of skin for a moment I couldn¡¯t help but see Mother. ¡°You have already made certain it knows our location.¡± Involuntarily, I flinched away. ¡°I, uh¡­¡± From behind, a hand pressed me forward. ¡°Come on.¡± I moved, but couldn¡¯t stop words slipping out my throat. ¡°Don¡¯t touch me, oaf.¡± ¡°Bloody hell,¡± he growled, and I frowned at the unfamiliar term. ¡°Not mourning,¡± he cast into my ears like a wriggling worm, yanking Aron to his feet and shoving the man forward. ¡°How can I grieve?¡± I replied as we jogged, half-expecting the volume to tear my throat to shreds. ¡°I didn¡¯t know Whip. I didn¡¯t know her childhood, or the food she found tastiest. Didn¡¯t know her favourite colour. Or where she was born. I didn¡¯t even know the moment Whip died ¨C I jus¡¯ kept holding her hand like a godsdamned idiot, trying and failing to find the tune she¡¯d asked for.¡± Lowering my head, I moved my legs faster. ¡°How¡¯s a person supposed to mourn somethin¡¯ they never knew?¡± ¡°You¡¯re a hypocrite, Kit.¡± In the warped confines of the forest, the grinding of his teeth was audible. ¡°I told you how this would end. Do you remember what you said? ¡®Killing¡¯s not some great wrong¡¯; ¡®Living means fighting¡¯; ¡®It¡¯s all worse than nothing¡¯.¡± I stopped, splaying my bandaged hands in front of the group. ¡°Vin.¡± The Lizardblood¡¯s lips peeled with the sound of a dog licking its chops. ¡°It can¡¯t get worse for them, you said. But I told you there¡¯s no way of- ¡° ¡°Vin.¡± This time, he heeded the urgent note beating within my voice. ¡°D¡¯you ¨C do any of you ¨C see that?¡± Several hundred paces in front of us, a shape had coalesced. Something sat on a branch. The glaring colours of our environments conspired to make its orange contours blend in with the thousand reds of the canopy, yet I wouldn¡¯t have noticed it if not for the way the forest stretched every senses. But once my eyes had fixed on its form, the creature was clear. At first glance, it appeared similar to a human. Yet on closer inspection, that impression faded like the light from a dying man¡¯s eyes. Four limbs dug into the branch where it squatted in a manner similar to a lazy tomcat, each as long and sinuous as a snake. Its naked skin was an orange almost entirely concealed by all varieties of rashes, scabbing cuts, boils, burns, grazes, and bruises. It had no genitals. Sunlight filtering through the trees set the fields of fine hairs sprouting over its entire body alight with a fiery glow. Large, fleshy bowls extended from each side of its head, riddled with pulsing veins. A long snout was raised in the air, wrought with stretch-marks and panning around at an almost imperceptible speed. Peering from its face were two orange eyes dominated by endlessly dark holes. Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. It saw us ¨C seven of us, from shivering Daisy to wide-eyed Aron, all seeing it in turn ¨C and began laughing hysterically, oscillating between high and low as it did so. The cackles were mishappen, inhuman, and unmistakeable gleeful. I licked my lips. ¡°D¡¯you think- ¡° ¡°Yes,¡± clattered Tully, unslinging a crossbow from her back. Whip¡¯s crossbow had gone with Ronnie. I slowly drew my sword, thumb against its blade to avoid noise. Sound escaped anyway, and I winced as it rung through our skulls, and winced again when Vin drew his own sword. ¡°We runnin¡¯?¡± I managed. Our leader shook her head. ¡°That¡¯s the direction we need- ¡° ¡°Yeah,¡± interrupted Vin. ¡°Start backing away slowly.¡± ¡°Vin- ¡° ¡°We can try another day.¡± ¡°We do not have another day. It has sighted us ¨C I¡¯ve preparations- ¡° ¡°We don¡¯t have to use- ¡° ¡°There¡¯s no point in keeping him alive if we don¡¯t.¡± ¡°Except for basic decency.¡± Maddie¡¯s eyes whipped between the two, clutching a small crossbow. ¡°Make a decision,¡± I snapped, but it was already too late. Its stance made it difficult to size up, but when it lazily swung down from its perch I placed it as several hands taller than Vin at full height. With a slightly hunched posture, it walked behind a black heartwood trunk and never emerged from the other side. The Lizardblood¡¯s eyes were wide; his jaws audibly groaning as they ground against one another. ¡°I can¡¯t locate it. This place is- ¡± Within the movements of birds and wind and insects screaming from every direction, Aron¡¯s whisper was excruciating. ¡°Surely we¡¯ll see it coming- ¡° ¡°It¡¯s a god, you dumb bastard,¡± I hissed. ¡°If you hadn¡¯t started- ¡° ¡°Listen for it,¡± Vin commanded with the force of an avalanche, and we shut up. Yet there was no silence. There was no stillness. Ignorant of the enormous danger dwelling within its confines, the forest sung and danced manically. Our breaths were harsh and jagged and our hearts beat to a tune made available to our collective ears by whatever bizarre divinity the Fox wrought upon the area. It blazed across every sense we had, and Vin demanded we sink further into its agony. As it turned out, most of us were looking in the wrong direction. ¡°There!¡± Daisy shrieked and we all turned the opposite direction the creature had vanished from to find it inches away and my sword swung and it backflipped away, spinning through the air like a dancer, laughing and laughing. It flipped, sailing behind a trunk, and vanished. ¡°Look in every direction,¡± Tully breathed, and I could¡¯ve hit her for making such a redundant statement. We spread into a loose circle, Vin and I on opposite ends. Maddie and Tully stood between us, crossbows jerking in every direction. Aron had Vin¡¯s halberd clutched like a spear, but with the root-ridden ground making such poor footing, I didn¡¯t trust him to use it. Cruelly, my legs and cheeks still itched like fire. ¡°When it¡¯s in the air, someone needs to shoot it,¡± the Spiderblood continued. ¡°That won¡¯t anger it?¡± Maddie asked, voice trembling like a beehive. ¡°Vin?¡± Tully asked, eyes panning. ¡°Kani doesn¡¯t anger over pain.¡± ¡°We don¡¯t¡­¡° Willow paused as she bent over, panting. The fact that she was standing in the throes of infection, in a place like this, seemed otherworldly. ¡°¡­have anything besides knives.¡± Vin cracked Andros over the head, then dumped him in the centre where he groaned. Without looking, the large man dumped his sling next to Andros. ¡°He knows how to use this.¡± He ripped a pouch from his belt, passing it to Daisy. ¡°Throw the rocks if it¡¯s in the air, and- ¡± A wordless cry ripped from my throat as it sprinted on all fours from behind a trunk, then stopped scarcely ten feet away, and tensed. I braced, only for it to laugh in my face and backpedal. ¡°Bastard!¡± I yelled, but it was already gone. Vin¡¯s sweaty fingers squished around his sword. ¡°We need- ¡° Maddie yelped and I turned to find the thing retreating from the Blooded¡¯s slash. It scurried back into the woods. ¡°Kit,¡± groaned Willow, stinking of vomit, and I returned my gaze to find it charging again from an entirely different location. Instinctively, I delivered a horizontal blow -- wincing as my sword''s hilt pressed against my hand''s bruises -- but instead of retreating again it rolled underneath in a tangle of limbs. I stomped down on it to find the creature coiling around my leg and slowly running filthy talons down it. A yell escaped my mouth, and I stabbed down at it, but when it rolled again I anticipated the manoeuvre and flicked my blade sideways, nicking an arm. It laughed as if that was the funniest joke it ever heard and slipped around every single one of my ensuing blows, then fled into the woods. My mouth opened to curse after it, only to release a gasp as I finally felt the agony blazing through my leg. A ravenous core of molten iron lived in my calf, consuming every sensation around it and commanding a scream to rip from my chest. It was catastrophic; apocalyptic. It was the worst wound I¡¯d received in my life. Through a haze, I felt vague astoundment that I hadn¡¯t collapsed outright. I breathed shallowly and looked down, expecting to see a calf swollen purple with poison, already in the process of rotting off. But I found three long gashes instead. I stared. They were nasty. They wouldn¡¯t kill me. They wouldn¡¯t even stop me from moving. Vin asked me if I could fight, and in a voice that would¡¯ve been baffled were it not for the pain, I told him yes. He said something to the others as I tore my focus away from the sensation of every ounce of flesh in my leg sloughing off under the weight of immense rot, and settled it back into my torso. Unconsciously, I shifted my footing to account for the injured leg, then swore and shifted it back. ¡°This godsdamn thing¡¯s a cracked nut,¡± I slurred. ¡°Focus up,¡± Tully demanded. ¡°Screw yerself,¡± I replied, and did so. I heard a roar from Vin, rushing wind, and a cackle. A glance revealed it rushing away, the cut on its arm gone. ¡°It heals?¡± ¡°No,¡± Maddie said. ¡°I got my sword in its skin and the nick¡¯s gone.¡± ¡°That shouldn¡¯t- ¡° A yell from Aron and laughter as the thing halted nearly a yard away. It flipped behind a trunk and vanished again. ¡°It¡¯s not going to stop,¡± Tully quietly declared. ¡°We need to start moving.¡± Maddie immediately asked: ¡°How much more forest- ¡° ¡°Ghh.¡± Andros groaned, body scraping against the solid roots. The sound boiled out from the back of his throat. ¡°Agh.¡± He panted. ¡°Where¡¯s my dose?¡± ¡°You¡¯ll get it when we¡¯re out of this forest,¡± Vin hissed as if the words pained him, ¡°and to get out, you need to hit a monster with that sling.¡± Maddie¡¯s voice squeaked out. ¡°How much more forest- ¡° ¡°Don¡¯t matter,¡± I snapped, ¡°so shut up an¡¯- ¡° Stirred by a flash of movement, my eyes flickered to the canopy. A dozen meters above us, it spun around a trunk, onto a branch, and then dove downwards. With barely enough time to form a thought, I spread my arms and shoved everyone back several paces. Tully yielded instantly; Maddie a fraction of a moment later; but Daisy and Willow tripped in a tangle of limbs, imploding our circle into a shape far less solid. The thing landed into an extended roll. I stepped forward, sword pointed towards the ground, and ripped the blade upwards with every muscle in my body. Before it could connect, its arms touched the ground and sprung into a graceful flip over our formation. Its cackle briefly halted when Maddie shot a bolt towards it, which thudded into a warding arm and flipped it sideways. ¡°Good shot,¡± I said, and moved to pursue the wounded creature ¨C arm wrecked by the projectile and still bleeding lightly from a small cut. ¡°Do not leave formation!¡± Vin bellowed. ¡°If we let it get behind the tree it¡¯ll heal,¡± I protested. ¡°It is playing with us ¨C if it tried we would already be dead.¡± ¡°But- ¡° ¡°It will kill you and it will not heal. Now.¡± He addressed Tully. ¡°What direction?¡± ¡°My direction. Step in time to the beat. When it approaches, yell ¡®halt¡¯; yell ¡®clear¡¯ when it¡¯s gone. Keep the formation cohesive.¡± Andros released a strangled growl. ¡°This will get me- ¡° ¡°Yes,¡± Vin snapped, furious enough to have Daisy yelping. ¡°Step- ¡° the scarred woman began, only to be interrupted by Aron. ¡°Stop, stop, stop!¡± the man frantically stuttered, backing into those in the centre. I glanced over. Almost idly, the acne-ridden, boil-covered creature loped towards our position. The halberd in Aron¡¯s hand wavered unsteadily. With less than three seconds remaining before impact, Vin¡¯s hand grasped the weapon¡¯s haft and yanked it upwards to brace against the ground. It slowed, giggling in a volume that would¡¯ve been inaudible were everything not so loud, and halted. Standing on both legs at a height just shorter than Vin, it leaned forward and traced its hand over the halberd¡¯s head. Its fingers carefully ran downwards, from the weapon¡¯s point to its quivering blade. Consideringly, the creature brushed its hand around the hook embedded in the back of the haft, then in a blur of motion slammed its palm onto the halberd¡¯s point and ripped it out in a spray of orange blood. The thing¡¯s giggles rose into outright laughter. Aron blanched, shakes wracking his body. In that moment, I doubted he could have killed a crippled ant. But the divine creature simply cackled and ran back into the woods. We stared after it. ¡°It¡¯s gone,¡± Aron said after a few seconds. ¡°It is still there,¡± Vin retorted sternly. ¡°But we can move.¡± We held our breaths. ¡°Step,¡± Tully drummed out. We stepped. ¡°Step.¡± We stepped. ¡°Step.¡± She gave the order and we obeyed. Aron screamed ¡®Halt!¡¯ multiple times, but whatever scared him seemed nothing more than a phantom; a shadow wrought by a conspiracy between shapes and a mind not large enough to parse the enormity of the situation. For once, I couldn¡¯t blame him. Our assailant didn¡¯t reemerge, but that fact provided little relief. In its wake, the exuberance of the forest ceased being insipid and began feeling menacing. Somewhere in the incomprehensible cacophony of birdsong and the breeze through crimson leaves and the barks of distant animals and infinitely intricately scarred patterns on bark and the beating of Tully¡¯s voice and the burgeoning tension in the centre of my chest, the secret of its location waited. But if any human alive could swim through the incredible pressure of all that information, I wasn¡¯t that person. All I could do was watch, hoping that something would give it away. Then it started laughing. And dashing between the trunks of heartwoods. From every angle, sound and shape changing as it emerged from a new direction, to flicker through the trees and vanish. To reemerge and laugh and vanish. The moment Vin said, ¡®Halt,¡¯ I¡¯d become certain that we were dead. The creature, unwounded, ran at the large man, duking left and right to avoid flung stones from Andros and the girls, and leapt at him. He readied his sword, but it contorted midair, turning an impalement into a long gash down its torso. Vin thrust his buckler towards its head, only for it to latch onto the shield and use its momentum to flip around, onto his back. A long howl dominated the air as it dug claws into the sides of the Lizardblood¡¯s neck. For a moment, I thought it would tear out his throat, however instead of killing him it smoothly withdrew the offending digits when Willow thrust a dagger towards it. It pushed off the big man¡¯s back and leapt behind us. The fevered woman¡¯s knife slid against Vin¡¯s torso with a long screech as it ripped through his coat and slid on some sort of white armour beneath. She barely steadied herself from a fall by grabbing his coat. But there was little time to help, because I was hurling Daisy away from the thing¡¯s outstretched hands and slamming my sword-hand into its guts. The creature allowed the impact ¨C its laughter temporarily transforming to a wheeze ¨C then trapped my arm with two of its own and began twisting it around my back. I flipped a dagger from my belt and swung blindly behind, only for it to extend a foot onto my spine and kick me away, forcing me to release my sword lest my arm snap in two. I whirled, hastily adjusting my stance to account for a much shorter weapon, and it swung my own sword at me. The blow was obviously untrained, but what it lacked in skill it made up for with raw finesse. I moved to slap the flat of the blade away, only for it to roll the weapon with impossible control and crash it into the top of my hand. I stumbled backwards, hissing against the pain and the horrible laughter ringing in my head. Its posture was uncannily straight-backed, resembling a wolf that¡¯d learned to walk on two feet. It advanced in a mockery of my own stance ¨C pointlessly off-balance and yipping with glee ¨C writhing aside two bolts from the crossbow-wielders. A testing blow was easily ducked under, but when I barrelled forward, intending scratch it a few times, the creature whipped its leg upwards into my shoulder. I pirouetted away from it, barely fending off another two half-hearted blows with my tiny weapon ¨C even as the impacts sent shudders through my bones ¨C when a halberd cleaved towards its centre. It squatted downwards, but I was already snatching Vin¡¯s tossed sword out of the air and bringing it down on the thing¡¯s head. In the heat of the moment, both Vin and I had mistaken its upright posture as an indication of some common anatomy between the three of us. If it were human, we would¡¯ve had it. Yet it wasn¡¯t human. So it bent sideways like a piece of rope and launched itself out of the way. It cackled at us as it flipped to its feet, then tossed my sword back to the tangled roots beneath me. After staring at us for a handful of distended moments, it brought its talons ¨C still wet with Vin¡¯s blood ¨C to its snout and sniffed. Its laughter paused. It closed its eyes and extended a long, sinuous tongue, which wrapped around the bloodied talons one at a time. As it did so, it made small murmuring sounds, and I stepped forward and slashed. The onyx blade severed its neck cleanly, cutting through bone and tendon as if flesh were nothing at all. Its head landed in a quiet roll, then settled betwixt two roots. Its body collapsed, silent. ¡°That¡¯s not right,¡± I muttered. We held our breath. The forest held its breath. For a moment, the sky itself threatened to fall. Then laughter. Exuberant, joyful laughter, emanating from every single direction at once. From behind nearly every trunk I could see, figures emerged. Their heights were slightly different; builds leaner or thicker; wounds or boils or rashes or stumps or acne or scars or burns or swollen, rotting limbs unique to each ¨C but all bore four clawed limbs, large, fleshy ears, equidistant hairs, and a constant, cackling laugh. Hundreds walked and crawled and loped and staggered and leapt and climbed through the intense blare they generated, attention falling upon us like the weight of the world. ¡°How many are there?¡± Aron quietly intoned. Before any response could be made, an uneven, stilted imitation emanated from the forest. ¡°How men there?¡± it squawked. The rest took up the cry. ¡°How men there?¡± ¡°Men there how?¡± ¡°There how men?¡± Hysterical cackling ended each cry. A dozen approached our group, and we shuffled until each of us was shoulder to shoulder. One came close enough that I could count every single hair on its body and hear the pulsing of its veins. It leaned down, provoking some alien odour to invade my nostrils, and picked up the blade between my feet. I gripped Vin¡¯s sword tighter. It turned and hacked into the shoulder of the one next to it, carving past flesh, muscle and tendon. It backed away slightly, laughing, and the other looked at its arm hanging from its body by a thin strip of meat and cackled as well. But the rest still watched us. I heard Vin lick his lips as he unslung his backpack, hoisting its black, scarred leather in one hand. He ripped off the stone wing he kept tied to his straps and shoved it in a pouch, then slowly shuffled towards the creature nearest to him. ¡°Here it is,¡± he muttered. ¡°The divinity that ended me.¡± Gingerly, he extended the pack towards it, which was quickly snatched. It slithered closer to the ground, and in a maelstrom of movement that had us all flinching, dozens scrambled closer, until the bag had vanished in a crowd of flesh and limbs. After a moment, the cluster separated, each clutching different pieces from Vin¡¯s pack. One snuffed Vin¡¯s vial of spices up its nose, then shuddered into a small giggle and scraped the rest into its open eyeball. Another held a carving between its long, many-jointed fingers, carefully rubbing every contour. When it had completed shaking, smelling, and licking Vin¡¯s work, the being crushed it between both hands, driving splinters deep into its flesh. Two faced each other: one poured an urn of foul-smelling oil atop its head while its alternate examined some flint and steel, tied together by a piece of string. It managed to coax a spark, and the pair laughed, delighted, as one set the other aflame. They laughed and laughed until the inferno stopped writhing and collapsed into a smouldering heap, and then laughed still; all recklessly celebrating whatever they could heap upon themselves. Reckless slaughter, manic observation, scars and agony, unimaginable pain; all held aloft as if it were the sun that lights the world. Within that collection of mad revelry, a god lived and died. What revels in pain and pleasure? Exulting in the twist of a knife, whether wielder or wounded? Every man, woman, and child knows the answer: Kani; the Fox; the Ubiquitous; the Glutton; the Scarred; the one who feels. The Foxes ¨C or the Fox ¨C sprinted and leapt and walked and danced and burned and laughed, and when they were done each turned their attention back towards us. Towards me. A Kani tore my sword from torso of its fellow, and trotted to the corpse I¡¯d decapitated. Each part of the god splintered around us in a whirlwind of motion as their counterpart methodically butchered the corpse. Their shadows writhing according to their movements in a mad carousel of divinity. Some unplaceable stench filled the air as it ripped an organ from the body: a many-valved thing coloured an unnatural, radiant orange. The god took several steps towards me. Almost casually, it bypassed the trembling tip of the sword I wielded, and offered what I realised was a heart to me. For a moment, I considered it. It¡¯d been made clear we were at the mercy of greater powers back in the abandoned village, under the bone-wrapped fists of the Baylarian leader. No longer could I think myself the strongest person in the room ¨C not with Vin standing beside me. I¡¯d seen him work uninhibited by whatever shackles had tied him towards his pretence of mediocrity. If he and I were to fall to blows, I would either draw or outright lose ¨C and the former started to seem more and more unlikely. Though the possibility wasn¡¯t something I seriously considered, the knowledge still prickled me at my loudest, and hollowed me in my quietest. But even before Vin quietly told me, ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± I had already dismissed the idea. Eating the flesh would kill me as surely as a blade through the heart. Even if that wasn¡¯t the case, I had no need for a gods¡¯ power. The thing¡¯d barely known how to hold a sword, after all. Yet it did not withdraw its hand. ¡°No,¡± I said. It stared, and slowly brought the organ closer. And closer. Then Andros shrieked, ¡°Did you just give away my vial?¡±, gazing at a small, black-smeared vial in the hands of a staggering creature, and for the briefest instant my turning gaze found Vin¡¯s features moulded into deep disgust, as if he were gazing at the lowest of roaches. The expression only sat on the Blooded¡¯s face for a moment-
-and I thought, wouldn¡¯t it be fitting if a noble ¨C that rare human that needed human blood to rule ¨C ended as the thrall of a god¡¯s blood? Only for an instant; only for a moment did my hatred for this man burn in my veins-
-but that was enough time for him to shove Andros out of the circle. When Vin¡¯s revulsed expression drained away into horror, he groped for the man¡¯s hand, yet the whirlwind of Kani had already torn the sight of the former Baylarian commander away. What remained were his deep, jagged howls, their contours mingling with endless laughter. And even as his screams escalated to greater, more broken heights, the Fox did not withdraw its hand. ¡°How many more?¡± Vin mumbled to himself. Though the statement wasn¡¯t directed at anyone, Tully responded anyway. ¡°We have three to spare.¡± And before anyone else had time to parse that statement, Willow had shoved her husband forward. Her feverish body wouldn¡¯t have been enough to overcome a grown man at any other moment, however Aron had been leaning backwards, to get as far away from the seething mass of orange flesh as possible. The shove had cause him to flinch away from its source, and then they had him. Against a backdrop of screaming and begging and birdsong and leaves, the god holding the heart cackled, full of mirth and good humour. I saw Andros¡¯ face shoved into a pool of orange offal; saw Aron¡¯s arms stretch and fray into tendons of bone and meat between eight different figures. We watched and heard the men be stripped from themselves, and slowly, we stepped away, until the Fox left eyeshot. Our eyes never brushed its form again. But from behind every tree and branch, a hundred gazes followed us as we carefully stepped our way out of the forest.
We collapsed several hundreds yards outside of it, in the frost-licked tallgrass of the prairie. The cuts they made on my skin seemed muted, almost absent of pain. Everything felt distant, except for the pain in my chest and the rush of wind through my chest. Sluggishly, I dragged my mind towards the hours before and uselessly groped at the ungrounded images, then gave up and lay in the falling sun, empty. When I was beginning to feel human again, Tully got us up and walking. Step after step came and went, until Maddie called everyone, excepting Daisy and myself, murderers. It was a vaguely pleasant surprise to find myself outside that particular category, even if her claim was woefully misguided. ¡°If he wasn¡¯t doin¡¯ what he should¡¯ve done days ago, I would get Vin,¡± I drawled, ¡°but you really think Willow¡¯s done anything bad? Sure, she killed Aron, but I been waiting for her to grow a backbone an¡¯ do that since we met.¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± the Head asked. ¡°Come on.¡± I looked around. Both Maddie and Vin met my eyes with mild confusion. ¡°Really? A sound proof wagon? Can¡¯t see into it?¡± When Vin shut his eyes and clenched his teeth, I knew he¡¯d got it. The young woman took longer. ¡°Quiet kid.¡± I waited for comprehension. None came. ¡°Lady¡¯s bruises? They jus¡¯ flew onto her?¡± She blinked. ¡°You¡¯re saying- ¡° I trudged forward. ¡°Didn¡¯t think it had t¡¯be said.¡± ¡°And, and¡­¡± Disbelief coloured her expression. ¡°You didn¡¯t do anything?¡± ¡°Look: that¡¯s her life. She dug the damn hole. She wants to sit in it: that¡¯s her choice. She too weak to get out? That¡¯s her failing.¡± A sharp blade of the prairies grass slid through my trousers and across my shin. I swore, and squatted down to grasp at my wounded leg. Maddie shook her head, and accelerated her walk through the fields of tallgrass. After checking to make sure I wasn¡¯t bleeding to death, Vin patted me on the shoulder and followed. Alone, I ran through my words again. ¡°That¡¯s her failing,¡± I hissed forcefully. ¡°Her failing. Her damn failing.¡± I said it, and found I¡¯d repeated the phrase so often it¡¯d lost all meaning. Chapter 56 - Through the Night We¡¯d gotten through one of the Fox¡¯s forests with only a 25% casualty rate. That would be an excellent number, were it not for the fact we¡¯d killed them ourselves. Out of all the memories that could¡¯ve lingered past the edges of the forest, that putrid moment where everything about Andros seemed to have curdled lay stuck in my throat like a piece of bone. When he¡¯d asked after his little vial of oblivion ¨C my vial of oblivion, I reminded myself ¨C I could¡¯ve happily slit his throat myself. He was just so pathetic, with his raggedy beard, lacklustre groping towards authority, unearned arrogance¡­ And yet his death was such a callous waste. I trudged through the menacingly edged tallgrass behind Kit, carrying Aron¡¯s two surviving relatives, neither of whom had said a word about his passing. Judging by the fading heat of Willow¡¯s head on my back, whatever sickness had seized her blood was finally on its way to evaporating into the air. I¡¯d failed to understand what happened behind closed doors, right up until my spiteful companion had decided to share her insight. Would I have done anything even if I¡¯d known? The easy answer drifted within reach, but I knew enough about myself not to take it so readily. While sitting atop my shoulders, Daisy lightly tapped the side of my head. ¡°Excuse me, Vin?¡± Still stumbling forward, I nodded. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°Isn¡¯t there only one?¡± It didn¡¯t take a genius to know what she was referring to. ¡°Of Kani?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°I¡¯d thought so.¡± ¡°Even though you¡¯re a Face?¡± ¡°Especially because I¡¯m a Face.¡± I smiled down at my feet. ¡°Our masks can only bear a single expression at a time. I suppose that¡¯s just¡­¡± ¡°Wrong?¡± she finished. I shrugged slightly. ¡°Less than correct.¡± In front of us, Kit ¨C who carried my halberd across her shoulders ¨C scoffed. ¡°Ha! No, th¡¯ kid¡¯s right. You were wrong.¡± ¡°No one said to take Faces literally- ¡° ¡°If I took ¡®em un-literally, would you be correct-er?¡± The tall woman refused to wait for a reply. ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s what I thought.¡± She turned around to look up at Daisy. ¡°Y¡¯should be proud, kid ¨C you know more about a god¡¯n most Faces.¡± The girl hunched down, attempting to conceal her body behind my head. ¡°Ah, well, yeah,¡± stuttered the swordswoman. ¡°That¡¯s, uh¡­ Okay.¡± ¡°Are you old enough to go around calling people ¡®kid¡¯?¡± I smirked. ¡°Shut up, Vin,¡± she muttered, and accelerated her movement through the grass. Few words were exchanged after that. The weariness of long-distance trekking across an environment determined to bite our heels every dozen steps soon stole the desire to speak. Everyone with their feet on the ground dealt with the same reality of grass frequently sliding through their skin ¨C everyone except me. Underneath the ubiquitous stretches of tallgrass, my shins were clad in a thin layer of ivory material ¨C the same that had erupted from my fingers several days ago. With an ease that must¡¯ve been borne of long practice, I¡¯d used it to turn Willow¡¯s dagger away from my spine during our encounter with the Fox. If anyone had noticed, they hadn¡¯t mentioned anything. Maybe they assumed my ¡®Lizardblood¡¯ healed the wounds I should have borne. Or maybe they hadn¡¯t the will to press a man twice their weight, who they¡¯d seen slaughter twenty-odd men, on something he wanted to keep hidden. If I decided to walk away, Kit probably would too, and then Baylar might have their heads on stakes before sundown. Neither Maddie nor Tully had any way of knowing the spell their offer had cast upon my veins. The house always wins, I thought. Except when there¡¯re two betting against one another. That was enough to elicit a snort. When we were several hours away from the god-thing¡¯s forest, Tully declared we needed to get an approximation of our location. There were no landmarks nearby, but Gast had managed to engrave a pebble with a rune that would point it towards its partner. If the path between them was mostly unobstructed. If the rock floated in a small pool of water. Which is what led to Kit slowly shuffling up a speartree with a rope in her bandaged hands, a bowl full of water clenched between her teeth. Despite me hovering at the tree¡¯s bone-white base with outstretched arms ¨C scared the effort would tear the stitches in her cheeks or wreck her still-healing hands and cause her to fall ¨C each step she took up was careful and seemingly absent of significant strain. In an outstanding display of athleticism, her lean, wiry build managed to get her to the top without incident. After a few moments with her eyes narrowed on the bowl, she moved the rope to one hand and pointed in the direction the blockade group were in ¨C and to my great relief, it was parallel to the forest¡¯s edge, meaning they¡¯d likely broken through the blockade. She spat the bowl out. Then the swordswoman looked down, realised she¡¯d climbed nearly five storeys into the air, and proceeded to hold her position until our constant calls of unsolicited advice caused her to release a quavering string of cusses and quickly slide to the ground. Seeing Kit shiver at the top of a speartree must¡¯ve endeared her to Daisy, because she soon transferred over to the swordswoman¡¯s back, whispering an endless stream of questions to the swordswoman. When the girl finally fell asleep, Kit¡¯s smug glance in my direction struck me as so absurdly funny that I nearly soiled my underpants cackling. After a few moments, the dark-skinned warrior joined in. Maddie and Tully found us pointing at one another, tears rolling down our cheeks as we laughed. Eventually, the humour slipped through our fingers and we were back to walking in silence. Nightfall was spent underneath another tree, dark roots greedily consuming the dirt¡¯s surface and preventing the tallgrass from piercing through. In the distance, the prairie began to fade away into a rougher environment. Hills burst from the ground like growths, red earth pushing upwards to split what used to be a layer of compact stone into mounds of mismatched boulders and rock shelfs. Rarely were the signs of a past Aching so clear; in the Heartlands, stone shelfs usually prevented any radical growths ¨C which is why most Heartlanders built their homes atop them ¨C but here the red earth¡¯s heaving had been violent enough to shatter what usually contained it. Without fire or lantern, the darkness felt like a physical thing ¨C soft as a smothering blanket. Absent of a child¡¯s chatter, the air sat still. Tully bedded down beside Daisy and Willow, leaving three of us awake. Kit squatted on a small boulder, an unlit cigarillo between her lips. She began to strike at it with her flint and steel. I swiftly pulled it from her mouth. ¡°Oi.¡± Her reprimand lacked bite. I handed it back to her. ¡°Not at night.¡± She tsked, but stuck the offending roll back in a pouch. I slowly panned my gaze through the darkness. ¡°Have you¡­¡± Maddie¡¯s voice trailed off, then picked up again. ¡°Smoked for long?¡± ¡°No.¡± Apparently content to let me keep watch, she sprawled out onto the ground, mishappen with roots. ¡°Few months, maybe.¡± ¡°Why did you start?¡± ¡°Dunno. No one breathing down my neck, tellin¡¯ me not to.¡± ¡°Who did that?¡± A long pause. ¡°My mother. Told me it¡¯d fog up my chest.¡± ¡°She¡¯s not wrong,¡± I offered. ¡°Yeah, well; I¡¯d listen more¡¯f she didn¡¯t smoke like a chimney.¡± A cold wind blew, straight through my bones and out again. I heard both women root around in their bag for a blanket or bedroll and wrap it around themselves. Maddie lay swaddled in hers like a child¡¯s head poking from the top of a mountain, while Kit rolled into hers like a sausage. ¡°Do you need one, Vin?¡± asked Maddie. Kit cackled, then halted as it stretched the stitches in her face. ¡°You offerin¡¯ to share?¡± ¡°Wha- No!¡± she vehemently spat. ¡°Wow,¡± I said flatly. ¡°Protest harder, why don¡¯t you.¡± Kit chuckled. Maddie¡¯s spittle flew as she searched for an excuse. ¡°No, uh- ¡° ¡°Joking.¡± I raised my hands. ¡°Joking. Lizardblood keeps the worst of the chill away,¡± I lied smoothly. Comfortable silence lingered for a moment. ¡°Where¡¯d you get th¡¯ blood anyways?¡± asked Kit. ¡°Join an army?¡± I pursed my lips. Finally, I deigned to give something resembling truth. ¡°¡­Dure.¡± Kit sat upright. ¡°Damn, the Lizard?¡± ¡°Its parasites, but the god was around.¡± ¡°¡­What was that like?¡± Maddie¡¯s question slipped from her lips. ¡°Filthy.¡± I paused. ¡°Violent. Everything was just kind of¡­ circling around¡­ this rotten heap of flesh. Everyone and everything going everywhere.¡± Kit¡¯s drawl came from her blanket. ¡°It stink?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± ¡°How bad?¡± ¡°Pretty bad.¡± A short pause. ¡°So Kani¡¯s yer second god.¡± ¡°¡­Yeah.¡± Kit¡¯s dark eyes locked on mine, which still watched our surroundings. ¡°It¡¯s not?¡± I kept looking around. ¡°What¡¯re th¡¯ others?¡± Levelly, I returned her stare. ¡°Fine, fine. So where¡¯d you see Dure?¡± I continued staring at her. She clicked her tongue. ¡°C¡¯mon. This is like¡­ Building rapport, or somethin¡¯.¡± I groaned, and turned back to the darkness. ¡°Our dead-eye Head here wants to know too. Ain¡¯t that right, Ma-leen.¡± ¡°¡­I¡¯d like to know.¡± I drummed my hand on my upper thigh. ¡°Saw the Ox, too.¡± ¡°What is it like?¡± Maddie quickly asked. ¡°It¡¯s, uh¡­¡± I considered lying, for a moment ¨C save her from the truth of her home¡¯s destruction ¨C then dismissed the idea. She was a big girl. ¡°Bad. There¡¯s more blood than you¡¯ve ever seen in one place. Every move it makes turns someone into¡­ several pieces. Usually more than one. And it¡¯s bleeding too ¨C showers of blood, everywhere ¨C and there¡¯re all these runners scrambling amidst all the dead and people missing pieces of themselves trying to bottle the Godsblood before someone else does, or it loses potency. They usually die, too. ¡°And the god¡¯s wailing, every time it goes anywhere. Because every time Enn moves it gets snapped into pieces. So the sound¡¯s constant. Ubiquitous. It¡¯s not much if you¡¯ve mortal blood ¨C just loud and unpleasant ¨C but sometimes a Blooded will simply¡­ drop dead from the sound. That¡¯ll happen with the cries of every god, but Enn screams the most.¡± You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. A silence stretched as Kit and I waited for Maddie to form words. ¡°¡­How do you think the Spires of Heltia fared?¡± I looked down and scratched my head. ¡°¡­It, uh, depends on what angle it entered from. The best case scenario is that one or two spires were knocked down.¡± ¡°¡­That isn¡¯t how it went, though.¡± ¡°¡­No.¡± ¡°How many died, do you think?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know how many live in- ¡° ¡°Twenty thousand in the towers. Around forty thousand in the camp.¡± Amongst unarmed, unprepared citizenry, confident in their fortifications? For the most furious of gods, it was always going to be a slaughter. ¡°¡­At least a quarter of that. Probably a third.¡± ¡°Blood,¡± Kit gasped. Maddie said nothing at all. Besides the mist of our breaths and rustling of grass, complete stillness reigned. The swordswoman slowly released a breath. ¡°Least you¡¯ve- ¡° ¡°Kit,¡± I snapped. ¡°Right, yeah, okay.¡± The wind blew across the prairie, reaching tendrils into my clothing¡¯s many tears to dive into bare skin. Excepting my sword, halberd, knife, and the things shoved into my belt-pouches, all my possessions had been lost to the Fox. Including my bedroll. Frost had yet to fall into its full, smothering stillness, but when it did no amount of Godsblood would stop me from freezing solid. I¡¯d need to find supplies somewhere. Given the forces pursuing us, I somehow doubted it would be a problem to simply¡­ take some. Until then, the cold would take residence in my bones. I rubbed my hands together and began pacing around the campsite. ¡°So¡­¡± Maddie¡¯s voice quietly slid out from beneath her blankets, apparently unwilling to let the conversation end on such a note. ¡°Your mother.¡± Kit sniffed. ¡°What about her?¡± ¡°Did she¡­ stop you from doing many things?¡± ¡°Jus¡¯ the stupid ones.¡± ¡°Like what?¡± ¡°I dunno.¡± Kit clicked her tongue in thought. ¡°Uh¡­ Spendin¡¯ my time badly?¡± ¡°What did she want you to do?¡± ¡°Train, mostly.¡± I looked over at the pair. ¡°She¡¯s the one who taught you to fight?¡± ¡°Her, mostly. A few others, too.¡± ¡°Was she part of a House?¡± I asked. Kit laughed. ¡°What? No. Why you ask that?¡± ¡°Really?¡± My brows furrowed. ¡°I was actually certain you were an expatriate.¡± ¡°An ex-what?¡± ¡°Ex-House,¡± I reiterated. ¡°Your style looks like it¡¯s derived from one of the northern Houses. Andoras or Illico.¡± The latter was said slowly ¨C the ¡®co¡¯ required a click at the back of the throat too foreign to say quickly. Most decided to forgo it entirely, but the politics of a General¡¯s office demanded inoffensive pronunciation. Her frown was audible. ¡°Maybe she was.¡± I noted the use of ¡®was¡¯, and decided to change the subject. ¡°What about you, Head Maleen? What was it like being the scion of such a noble house?¡± She huffed. ¡°Be quiet, Vin.¡± With a less aggravated tone, she continued. ¡°From what I gather, House Heltia is a bit strange compared to its peers. Most of my relatives are¡­ were scholars. Bureaucrats. A few worked with Neelam- ¡° ¡°What was ol¡¯ Neelam like?¡± interrupted Kit. ¡°Uh, I didn¡¯t see him very often. He kept in his room, doing Owlblood things, mostly.¡± ¡°Did he kidnap people? Use ¡®em for ex-per-i-ments?¡± ¡°That¡¯s so stupid,¡± Maddie scoffed. ¡°Is that what you thought he did?¡± ¡°Whaddaya mean, it¡¯s stupid? Big damn witch sitting in a big damn tower an¡¯ no one ever sees his big damn face ¨C bloody reasonable, to me.¡± The Head gave the same smile I¡¯d seen her give to small children, and shot me a knowing look. When I agreed with Kit, her smug cast vanished. ¡°It¡¯s a bit far-fetched, but I thought he was doing something strange up there.¡± ¡°You too? Why?¡± ¡°Have you even been in the Heartlands?¡± My next words were said in a slower cadence. ¡°The ground grows food¡­ in response to blood. It¡¯s meant to have earthquakes that rearrange the land. There hasn¡¯t been one for a while, but even so ¨C none of it¡¯s natural.¡± ¡°And you thought- ¡° ¡°I don¡¯t know. The man was a century old ¨C surely he could¡¯ve worked some sort of magic over the land.¡± ¡°The Heartlands have always been like this!¡± I threw up my arms. ¡°I¡¯m not a historian, okay? He still could¡¯ve been channelling some weird Heartland-power or something.¡± ¡°He was doing research.¡± ¡°Research on how t¡¯eat people¡¯s souls, maybe¡± muttered Kit. The young woman¡¯s orange hair swished as her head jolted towards the swordswoman, which provoked an immediate cackle. ¡°You¡¯re messing with me.¡± ¡°Vin¡¯s not.¡± I turned my face towards the darkness, hoping my olive skin concealed the heat in my cheeks. ¡°It makes sense.¡± I stumbled slightly, as a bolt of pain ran through my skull. For some reason, as soon as I¡¯d said those words, the theory rung false ¨C as if I¡¯d just spoken a lie. ¡°Or.¡± I rubbed my forehead. ¡°I guess it doesn¡¯t. No human hand could create the Heartlands.¡± ¡°Weird, angry place, huh?¡± Kit drawled from her blanket. Maddie hummed and I grunted. The conversation quickly trailed away, into something approaching a companionable quiet. Given how long it took for the other¡¯s breathing to slow into slumber, it didn¡¯t quite make it there. There had been a lot placed at our feet, over the day, and good mental health demanded we bury it. Yet the mind was a finite box, and no amount of shovels could dig at its borders. All a person could ever do was drape something over the problem and hope that nothing tore the covering off. Sleep helped with that. It placed yesterday somewhere else; forming a wall between one day and the next, formed of absence speckled with dreams. That barrier artificially delineated the flowing of time. Even if the wall only existed in the soul, unreflected by reality, it still gave the only break that anyone ever got from existence. Except death, I supposed. Perhaps the oblivion sleep meant the end of the soul, with its visions sparked by the death throes of a failing thing. Maybe some other, freshly birthed spirit took up the mantle of the next day. But that seemed too easy a way out. Tomorrow inherits all the faults of yesterday ¨C any break was an illusion formed by failing memory. And sometimes sleep was no reprieve, anyway. My stolen Lizardblood meant most physical wearing formed by the grind of the day faded within a few hours, whether asleep or not. It made it easy to ignore the slurring of the mind and seize the time that usually belonged to slumber for other endeavours: carving, staring blankly into the night sky, or the twiddling of thumbs. Sometimes all three. Tomorrow became altered by the weight of the mental fatigue that extended wakefulness brewed, curbing some of the harder edges while sharpening others. Kind of like being drunk, but with a worse hangover. The third day was painful, with fatigue warping everything into gnarled, jutting points, digging into the brain with every chance it got. There¡¯d been a point a few years ago when going two or three days without sleep was common for me ¨C I¡¯d gradually gotten better at it over the years as well ¨C but I¡¯d rarely gone four. The call of a soft bed had been too alluring to ignore by that point. It had been five days since I¡¯d last slept, and all I felt was a slight itch behind my eyes. I wouldn¡¯t be waking anyone for second watch. Given how the Frost had begun to settle into my bones, nodding off might see me dead by sunrise anyway. So I paced around the roots of the black heartwood tree ¨C its leafless branches gnarling towards the moons making it seem like a wizened old witch ¨C with my hands stuck in my armpits and my breath fogging the air in front of me, staring across the prairie and wondering where chance would place me next. The world turned. I stared at the countless stars in the sky and the freezing of my body and the wind blowing its song through the tallgrasses and the sounds of small rodents scuttling and the flames of my companions and the beat of my heart and I wished its turning would cease. It didn¡¯t, though, because that wasn¡¯t how it worked. So I drew a few chunks of wood from my pouch and began working at them with my knife ¨C taking frequent breaks to breathe on my fingers and rub them together ¨C even as my divine sense stretched a thousand paces into the night. The moons spun above as I lowered myself into a fugue. After a few attempts, I managed to draw Kit from the wood ¨C blade drawn in a neutral stance, her vicious smirk softening at something outside the carving¡¯s scope ¨C and by the time the others began to stir, I¡¯d created a miniature Maddie as well ¨C arms vehemently castigating someone below a mourning brow, trembling lips, and fiery eyes. But without colour, the small figures would remain blank imitations. I sighed and rubbed a smear of dirt from my forehead. Kit sat up, rubbing her eyes, then squinted down at the form of Maddie beside her. They¡¯d huddled together over the night. Dawn had yet to colour the horizon. After a moment running her fingers through her short hair, she looked at me. ¡°You did the whole watch?¡± Tully was already up, gazing towards the rocky hills waiting before the horizon. ¡°That was foolish of you, Vin. We need you ready.¡± I shrugged. Willow, absent of the flush of fever, brushed Daisy¡¯s hair with a small comb I¡¯d made them. She whispered into her daughter¡¯s ear, and though I could¡¯ve listened, I turned my hearing elsewhere. The scarred Spiderblood gently shook her charge awake and packed the younger woman¡¯s blanket in her bag while Maddie blinked blearily at the rest of us. She adjusted her chitin armour, slightly, then donned her helmet after a few moments. I scoffed down a chunk of pemmican I¡¯d kept tucked away in my pouch, while the rest ate the same fare. After a moment weighing whether I should ignore the gnawing in my gut, I took out four mushrooms ¨C they were safe enough, I¡¯d found ¨C and began nibbling on them amidst quick sips of water to curb the flavour. The species tasted like spongy dirt, but the knowledge that the Heartlands had poisonous fungi to spare helped season the experience. ¡°That good?¡± asked Kit, glancing up from beneath her iron helm as she checked her lute was tied to her pack. ¡°No.¡± She looked back down. ¡°Figured.¡± Soon enough we were all striding back through the tallgrass. By the time dawn finally broke, we¡¯d reached the beginnings of the hills. On closer inspection, they seemed more like massive mounds of gravel piled beneath boulders of various sizes, with the occasional blade of tallgrass laying in wait to pierce an errant foot. The remnants of some titanic heaving of the land. I took Willow off my back and Daisy off my shoulders, but as we walked and scrambled between the hills found myself frequently aiding the two to cross more precarious obstacles. ¡°Thank you,¡± the brown-skinned woman told me as I hauled her atop a boulder. I smiled briefly, and leaned down to lift her daughter up. Scattered beneath and between the rocks were hints of previous settlements: sanded logs peeking underneath the rubble; the occasional shattered piece of pottery; a surprising amount of masonry; brief glimpses of pecked bones. The houses would¡¯ve been built atop the stone that should¡¯ve contained the Aching¡¯s regrowth ¨C only for the ground to erupt and swallow them. I¡¯d heard the last Aching ¨C which would¡¯ve happened when I was four years old ¨C was particularly violent. Despite the havoc the lack of a recent Aching had wrought on the Heartlanders, I was glad I¡¯d never experienced one. Kit, who had silently become our trailblazer, tried to choose the easiest, most stable paths through the hills. Yet the instability of the many moss-covered stones conspired to make picking a safe path impossible. Everyone except the swordswoman and myself tripped several times, and Daisy was just barely saved from cracking her skull open by Maddie placing herself in the rolling girl¡¯s way, which managed to arrest her momentum in exchange for the young Head crashing several meters down. Whatever runework had been carved into her armour no longer had the Godsblood to operate, leaving the woman with a handful of bruises. But, somewhat miraculously, by the time we¡¯d reached midday, we¡¯d all avoided major injury. We ate lunch just below the ridge of a small mountain, after which Kit and I clambered upwards to lay with our heads peeking over the top. Both of us were squinting into the constant wind, vainly trying to blink moisture back into our eyes as we checked Gast¡¯s rune-compass, when I spotted something shining on the side of a mountain. A few tarnished bronze and copper pans were the only metallic objects remaining on the mountain; age and exposure had cruelly robbed them of any gleam. The shine meant something valuable ¨C something recent. Kit won the ensuing game of dice, granting the right to slide down piles of gravel towards whatever it was, provided she split whatever she found with me. Twenty minutes later, she returned. In her hands was a gold-daubed bracer. ¡°Man died with a whole set o¡¯ armour. One hit, and poof.¡± She mimed a spike going through the top of her head. ¡°Stiletto or pickaxe or somethin¡¯.¡± I took the bracer in my hand and scraped at the outside. Beneath the dirt caked onto it, the gold flaked easily to reveal steel. ¡°Any others?¡± ¡°Two, I think. Both had th¡¯ yellow, but on leather. Barely any blood ¨C attackers didn¡¯t get hurt none.¡± She clicked her teeth. ¡°They Baylar?¡± ¡°It¡¯s not yellow. It¡¯s gold.¡± ¡°¡­Ox¡¯s swingin¡¯ balls,¡± she swore. ¡°Yeah,¡± I agreed. We brought it to Tully. ¡°An Albright patrol,¡± the older woman mused. Her grey hair blew sparsely in the wind. ¡°It is a long way from their territory.¡± Maddie tilted her head up at her guard. ¡°Who would attack a king¡¯s forces?¡± Tully took a moment to respond. ¡°¡­The other group hadn¡¯t the equipment to puncture steel in such a manner.¡± ¡°Then who?¡± She shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Somewhat reluctantly, I scratched away the gold from its outside. ¡°So, on top of the Albrights, there¡¯s someone else in these hills.¡± ¡°Yes.¡± I swore. Avoiding the area wasn¡¯t viable: if we didn¡¯t reach the other group, Kit and I would threaten to leave. Even if the Heltians could afford to lose our strength, the area was a dead zone for Baylar forces ¨C a chance to gain ground unmolested. But even knowing that, I expected Tully to raise the idea of outright leaving. Instead, she just shot me an appraising glance. With any other group of people, this would be a bad plan. They had me, though. Worst case scenario: I¡¯d pick up who I could carry and run a thousand leagues away from the problem. Yet if I did that, I¡¯d never know what lay at the centre of the area ¨C what Baylar had been ordered to hide. Curiosity was the foolish desire of someone with far less experience, but it lingered still. We recharted our course over the highest mountains, rather than through them. Any scouts worth their chits would take up residence at the tallest points possible, and they would leave us with our blood replaced with arrows if they sighted us. For such a small group, this was the stealthiest plan ¨C but also the most strenuous. Over the next few hours, our speed was halved, even as we travelled thrice the distance going up and down. The hills progressively got taller, until they could only be described as small mountains of stone. At one point our hike turned to outright climbs up short stretches of unstable cliff. Somewhat miraculously, it managed to hold my weight. It didn¡¯t take long to sight another patrol: five as dead as the last, corpses bearing impossibly angled limbs given by a long roll down the rocky hillside. However, this time they weren¡¯t alone. A single splotch of mottled brown lay amongst the gold: a tall, muscular man dressed in furs and wearing a cloak covered in forest detritus. Kit hawked a gob of spit from our position atop the mountain and watched it fall to the bodies beneath. ¡°Who in Siik¡¯s big damn hole is he?¡± No one had an answer. We continued onwards, breathing growing increasingly ragged as the strain of constantly pulling ourselves up mounds of unstable rock and hopping down without injury ground muscles into balls of hurt. Thrice more we spotted dead Albright soldiers: a scout with an arrow sprouting from their skull atop a peak; two female Oxbloods gored from behind; a man with his skull broken by rocks. Eventually, we peaked the tallest in our journey so far, and found the landscape in-front of us deepened, trailing in a spiral of crimson dirt downwards until it flattened into a crater of fragmented stone. Its cracks radiated outwards, drawing the eye towards a small mound in its centre, surrounded by a cluster of speartrees more densely packed than any I''d seen before. Around the huge depression in the earth, a battle was being fought. The sun had passed its zenith, casting the entire affair into shadow, but despite that a glimmering of gold was visible against an assortment of greys, browns, and blacks. At the central mound, the shining forces held against a horde of earthier colours; even as they rammed themselves against some kind of obstruction within it. I pointed. ¡°That¡¯s got to be where the Ichor is.¡± Kit carefully poured water into a depression formed in a boulder, and placed Gast¡¯s runic compass in the centre. The six of us gathered around and watched it slowly, inexorably rotate towards the centre of the battle, where it finally stilled. We looked at the forces: two sides of at least a hundred, crouching and warring beneath a shroud of arrows. ¡°Raven¡¯s bones,¡± Tully swore. Chapter 57 - The Heartlands Within the crater, cracks struck outwards in jagged lines. From the gaps, red earth oozed painfully, wet and slimy despite the lack of recent rainfall. It covered whatever flat stone remained intact with a fleshy film, oily enough to tear the fast and foolish off their feet and onto their backs. The only handholds available to arrest a fall were the thousands of speartrees spread evenly throughout, spaced so that if two tall men spread their arms near one another, they would touch both flesh and the pale wood of the speartree. These factors conspired to slow the gold and cloaked forces to a crawl. From outside the crater, troop movements were reasonably obvious, but for those fighting inside the terrain remained a maze of claustrophobic forestry, poor footing, and potential enemies waiting at every corner. Both sides moved like mice in a grand kitchen, fearful of the cat¡¯s bite. The gold-plated Albrights had the most advantageous position ¨C they¡¯d withdrawn to the central mound to encircle it in layers of spearmen and archers. Further enhancing their defences were the increased density of speartrees around the mound; at many places, their opponents would have to advance one at a time, with every one killed adding another obstacle that needed climbing before an attacker even reached the Albright troops. At a glance, it was obvious that the Albrights regulars were well-trained. Each swing, stab or step synchronised with the soldier beside them ¨C any one of them could¡¯ve killed two or three of the Baylarian militia we¡¯d fought ¨C and well-equipped. Beneath the grime and gold paint, all wielded iron at the minimum. Even discounting the Blooded that were undoubtedly amongst them, they weren¡¯t a force I¡¯d want to face on equal footing. The other side was far less impressive. Their armour was mismatched, but generally lesser, pitting their fur cloaks ¨C smeared with mud and leaves ¨C and leather or bronze pauldrons against iron edges. Their weapons were similarly bronze or stone, with the exception of some that bore what seemed to be speartree daggers or needles. I couldn¡¯t quite make out how they gripped the weapons. Though some had clearly looted better gear from dead Albright soldiers, the cloaked warriors should¡¯ve been torn apart by the gold like wet paper. Yet even so, they were slowly winning. Roughly sixty gold soldiers remained, facing almost one hundred cloaked warriors. Some of that was due to the fact those wielding wrought speartree ¨C and I wondered how they¡¯d maintained such weapons, given the difficulty of working with the material ¨C were on average taller and more muscular than their counterparts. I¡¯d have suspected Oxblood, were it not for their lesser strength and greater endurance ¨C any of Enn¡¯s ilk would have conserved their strength or fallen with torn ligaments. They were also far more skilled than the common soldiers, and every time they encountered an obvious Blooded ¨C Ox, Fox, or Lizard ¨C they would withdraw. But most of it was due to their movements, which were conducted with an awareness of the battlefield that the Albrights could not possess. I might¡¯ve suspected divinity, were it not for four hooded figures atop one of the stony mountains, watching the entire battle and frequently beating drumbeats pregnant with regular pauses and deliberate patterns. With their scouts already dead, the Albright forces could offer no counter without killing those in the crater. But Kit could. And when she did, the cloaked warriors would lose their greatest asset, leaving the two sides in a bloody slugfest over controlling the central mound. No one present had much love for House Albright ¨C not after the Declaration had effectively given Baylar the go-ahead to invade Heltia for unsubstantiated wrongs ¨C but chaos offered the best opportunity to extract those trapped in the mound. Once we gave a signal, or once we emerged from the mound, she would strike. Given the importance of her task, I¡¯d reluctantly acceded to Kit¡¯s request for my sword. Her own had been lost grappling with the Fox, and the onyx godsbone held an edge far more ferocious than the steel blade I¡¯d looted from the dead Albright scouts. Maddie, Willow, and Daisy would wait near Kit. Gast¡¯s pebble would direct us to them once we found whoever remained within the mound. By process of elimination, Tully and I were left to try and infiltrate, wearing the gold steel stolen from the scouts. Hers was too large, and mine was too small ¨C my skull barely fit in the accompanying helmet ¨C but the Spiderblood was insistent she knew enough military protocol to pass in the chaos, provided we conceal both our faces with mud and blood. Every soldier in the Albright¡¯s group would know one another; in an army of less than two hundred, that was certain. We were betting on chaos, but were it not for the high stakes those weren¡¯t odds I would take, even at my lowest. Tully knew that. Her aged, ink-stained fingers fumbled the straps of her stolen armour, yet managed to buckle them all the same. I lay on my belly, staring out at the people in the pit. By every single law I understood, neither party should¡¯ve been at this place. House Albright had no business in the middle of the Heartlands, and no human on the continent should¡¯ve been bold enough to attack them. But I doubted anyone present ¨C even the people fighting and dying ¨C truly understood, either. Or maybe it was the way distance distorted their size that made me believe that. They looked like ants; roaring, fighting, dying ants, trapped in a maze of someone else¡¯s creation. And we¡¯d be among them, soon enough. Such beauty; it felt- ¡°Vin.¡± I turned to find Tully looking at me. Her greying hair had been rubbed with earth, to better resemble the raven-haired corpse she¡¯d taken her gear from. ¡°Sorry. I didn¡¯t hear what you said.¡± Beneath the mountain we sat upon, then beneath the earth it sat upon, lay the crater. Through the blood and dirt she¡¯d rubbed into her meticulously scarred face, the Spiderblood¡¯s beady eyes pierced through. They flickered to the maze of speartrees, then back to me. ¡°Are you ready?¡± I rose to my feet, body straining against the constricting gold armour I wore. My gaze fell upon the monster-bone halberd I would wield, seemingly dormant between two stones. ¡°What are the chances we can get in and out without killing anyone?¡± I asked. ¡°Low.¡± I looked at the people amidst the speartrees, then at the central mound. I rubbed my forehead. ¡°Alright,¡± I said, and picked up my halberd. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡± The two of us clambered down the mounds of stone, hopping between the larger boulders while hoping its red moss wouldn¡¯t tear our footing away. I made several extra stops to assist the older woman on the worse bits ¨C Tully had kept herself in good shape, but though Godsblood slowed aging, the scars across her face seemed to weigh her down twenty years more than they should¡¯ve. The trembling in her hands and knees didn¡¯t help ¨C but that was her lot, with Siik¡¯s essence in her veins. By the time we¡¯d made it to the bottom of the mountain, both sides had clashed and separated once again, leaving their dead behind. The repositioning of forces meant our previously clear path was now scattered with a handful of cloaked warriors ¨C our angle was no longer good enough to give specifics. Yet the constant pounding of the Albrights on the central mound left no time for hesitation. The sides of the crater were sharply-angled slopes halfway to sheer cliffs, lousy with loose grains of russet earth and dirt already halfway to mud. Initially, I hastily stomped down with leaps, but soon found the easier and fastest route was sliding on my back; protected by the stolen breastplate. As the ground screeched against my back and the air rushed past my ears, I looked down at the crater and found we were approaching far too slowly. After a moment, my mind processed what was happening ¨C I¡¯d underestimated its scale. It was deep enough that the ground transitioned through several different types: dirt to a thin, flaky crust, to some kind of spongy stone that wept liquid. Then the light of the sun passed above our heads, and in its absence a deep cold settled. We slid further and faster, until we shot fast enough that I sprouted my ivory talons ¨C hidden from Tully by my body¡¯s angle ¨C and dug them into the earth, arresting my momentum in a cloud of dirt while the talons reverberated painfully through my hand. Tully managed to seize the bottom of my halberd moments before we reached the bottom ¨C the gold almost entirely scraped off our armour ¨C and immediately crashed into a speartree. Substituting the groan I ached to voice with a mere wince, I clambered to my feet using the speartree as support, and yanked the older woman upright. Surveying our surroundings, I flicked both eyes towards her. ¡°Anything broken?¡± ¡°Hm,¡± she grunted, then took a slow breath in. ¡°No.¡± I spun my halberd¡¯s haft in both hands, shifting my grip to allow for easier thrusts. ¡°We run before we fight, okay?¡± ¡°Vin¡­¡± ¡°If we can lead the golds to the cloaks, or, or, the other way around, that will help us.¡± I paused. ¡°Yes?¡± She rubbed the bridge of her nose. ¡°I concur.¡± After a brief sigh, she turned her shaking fingers onto the hilt of her blade. The crater¡¯s temperature fogged her breath. ¡°Lead the way.¡± A chill fell upon us as we began moving through the speartrees, bodies half-crouched in a compromise between stealth and speed. Crystals of ice lingered on the ivory trunks; symptoms of the deep, lurking cold of the place. It was the kind of frost that could keep things trapped in its confines until the end of existence itself. Gazing upwards revealed a bright blue sky, but the pointed tops of the speartrees reached from a place where neither day nor night held weight. Initially, I thought them taller and thicker than any I¡¯d seen before. The frozen rings of clay and crimson earth around their bases hinted at the truth: the only difference between these and the other pale, thin trees unique to the Heartlands was that their bodies beneath the ground had been revealed. Life ¨C strong, human flames ¨C flitted at the outer edges of my perception, but for once its massive range felt too small. It didn¡¯t encompass even an eighth of the crater. As the cold wriggled its way through our bones, screams, bellows, and indecipherable commands trailed through the dense clusters of trunks and into our ears, as if the trees themselves were whispering to us. Drumbeats rung from a distant mountaintop in an irregular fashion. Silhouettes appeared in the distance, alongside the occasional clash of metal against metal. It struck me as remarkably unfair, that we had to go through a place like this so soon after the Fox¡¯s forest. The tension drilled a hole in my chest and an ache in my head, and Tully¡¯s sword rattled in her grip. A handful of minutes passed before we encountered our first bodies. Three gold-armoured figures of varying sizes had collapsed, face-down in their own blood. Their deaths had triggered a lethal response: five of the mud-daubed, cloaked warriors lay nearby, chests ripped open by slashes or stabbed through. My eyes were drawn to a cloaked woman sat against a speartree with a snapped spear jutting from her chest. She was tall and muscular ¨C equal to my own size. A mysterious smile sat upon her blue lips. Without saying anything, Tully and I knelt to investigate the cloaks, rapidly patting pouches and chests in an attempt to find signs of affiliation. Operating according to an impulse I did not understand, I tore open the clothing on their torso. Underneath their gambesons lay tattoos ¨C lines extended outwards in an irregular pattern. I would¡¯ve thought them botched pieces of inkwork, were it not for how all five followed the same design. Three possessed two lines; one had three; and the large woman¡¯s tattoo was writ with five. I addressed Tully with my gaze still fixed on the woman¡¯s stomach. ¡°Do you know what this is?¡± She shook her head, staring at the three-liner. ¡°But it must denote some kind of rank within their forces.¡± ¡°Seoras ¨C Andros¡¯ second ¨C had one with eight.¡± Her eyes flickered to me. ¡°These cannot be Baylarian. They have nothing to gain, and their assassins would never mark themselves so clearly.¡± I nodded. ¡°You¡¯re right. But he still had one.¡± ¡°He was a spy, then.¡± I stood up straight, knees tensed, as someone began moving in our direction. They quickly changed course. ¡°You¡¯re sure you¡¯ve never heard of these kinds of markings?¡± Tully pursed her lips. ¡°The pattern is formless. If a lone operative was detained, it would not have meant anything.¡± I shook my head, eyes narrowed despite not focusing on anything. ¡°No, it¡¯s a deliberate shape- ¡° Her eyes darted towards a distant howl. ¡°Ponder it as we move.¡± My mouth opened, determined to insist for just a bit longer, only for a squad to begin cutting towards us. Instead, I nodded. For a brief stretch, I attempted to increase our pace towards something approaching a run. The oily stone beneath our feet ¨C broken by cracks hungry to grasp the tips of toes ¨C quickly slid that idea away from us. Kani¡¯s stolen essence didn¡¯t prevent an extended skid that threatened to turn into a fall, and after I barely stabilised myself we proceeded at a more cautious pace. ¡°Do you think the woman was Blooded?¡± I found myself whispering. Tully¡¯s voice rattled out at a strained speed. ¡°There¡¯s no way of knowing, Vin; she bore no obvious markings.¡± ¡°They must¡¯ve run into a much larger group ¨C it takes a lot of skill and power to kill even three, when so thoroughly outmatched.¡± ¡°Her skill could be mortal.¡± ¡°But if they¡¯re not affiliated with a House, then where would they get the resources to cultivate such skill?¡± ¡°Assuming a lack of affiliation is dangerous. Baylar, Heltia, and the Albrights would be unlikely sponsors, but that leaves five others.¡± I was mildly offended at what she was implying. ¡°I doubt it¡¯s House Esfaria.¡± She glanced at me. ¡°Honour seems important to Esfarians, however overt integrity says little about what lays beneath.¡± Hearing my intake of breath, she waved a hand. ¡°Even if we do discount them, that means four.¡± We continued moving. I adjusted my grip on my halberd to ease the aching of my forearms. ¡°But,¡± I slowly continued, ¡°you¡¯ve discounted almost all of the Houses bordering the region.¡± Her scars twisted as another drumbeat reverberated overhead. ¡°Such consideration is only relevant if they wish to make a bid for territory.¡± The exertion of talking while moving forced her into a fit of gasps. I narrowed my eyes, briefly, but could conjure no rebuttal. ¡°Either way, there¡¯s not enough information to create a serviceable theory,¡± whispered the Spiderblood. ¡°Not in a place like this.¡± I acquiesced to her gentle rebuke and ceased speaking. As we continued to travel inward, the occasional sounds of clashes drew louder. Previously indistinct shouts coalesced into cries of ¡°Steady!¡± ¡°From the south!¡± ¡°Medic!¡± and other such battlefield clamour, all in various accents. Some of House Albright¡¯s forces were made up of the children of other Houses, taken to spend their youngest and strongest years as captains. Their nobility meant a need to remain fully human to retain legitimacy, and that always made them more mortal than their peers. It never saved them. I wondered if any were sent to the crater. A circle of humanity seeped into my awareness, its outsides dogged by rapid advances and retreats of other warriors. Its perimeter constantly shifted; they no longer had enough soldiers to hold the land they needed to, and reallocated spearmen and archers as needed ¨C often far too late. Finally, our eyes found gold between the trees. Along with cloaks flitting around our position. ¡°Here they come,¡± I hastily stated, moments before we were spotted. One raced for us, weaving in and out of the speartrees, eyes already wide with battle frenzy. His comrades shouted for him to return, but before he¡¯d fully registered their words I¡¯d pelted a stone from my pouch into his nose, sending him staggering backwards in a spurt of blood. I shoved Tully forward, then quickly followed as another eight turned in our direction. ¡°Make way!¡± the scarred woman yelled. The increasingly dense clustering of ivory trunks left few avenues for entry, but through the sparse gaps that remained men and women widened their eyes beneath scratched, gold-daubed helms. Tully¡¯s increasingly laboured breathing didn¡¯t prevent her from summoning another burst of energy. A glance behind revealed most of our pursuers slowing to keep their footing, but one muscular individual sped up, maintaining his balance with an ease that had me suspecting hundreds of hours of practice. My eyes fell to the weapon he wielded, then widened. A thin spike of bone extended from his wrist. I turned, Kani¡¯s kinaesthetic awareness keeping my feet beneath me, and pelted several stones at the strange warrior. Allowing the poorly aimed rocks to pelt his armour, he caught the one heading for his face and barrelled onwards. I spun my knife from my belt and flicked it at him, which he easily dodged by veering behind another speartree. But that was all the time we needed. The gold-plated soldiers¡¯ eyes were on our pursuers; not us. They stepped aside for Tully. She made it into the encirclement, and moments later I followed. Yet when I turned around, the large warrior kept sprinting, despite the three spearmen bracing the butts of their weapons to impale him. Moments later, the man leapt, pushed a leg off a nearby speartree and then stabbed his jutting piece of ivory into it. The material parted almost impossibly easily, leaving him hanging above us. Then he produced something from his pocket, moments before an arrow forced him to leap away again. I lay on the oily stone, trying to judge whether to sneak away or say something. Then gazes turned on us, and the choice was taken from me. ¡°That was bloody close,¡± I remarked, turning to the Albright archer who¡¯d fired. ¡°What was in his hands?¡± The woman¡¯s helmet must¡¯ve been lost, leaving her quizzical look entirely exposed to the world. ¡°Some kind of explosive. You¡­ didn¡¯t know?¡± ¡°We¡¯re scouts,¡± I hastily supplied, clambering upright, ¡°we didn¡¯t see much.¡± ¡°You¡¯re the scouts?¡± she hissed, and shoved me in the chest. ¡°People are dead, because- ¡° I mustered an appropriate amount of offence. ¡°We¡¯re the only ones remaining ¨C and we¡¯ve spent the past few hours running. It¡¯s not easy up there, either.¡± I hoped my rapid breathing could be passed as anger, rather than fear. ¡°We have an urgent message for¡­¡± I paused, thinking. ¡°Whoever our surviving officer is.¡± ¡°Captain Findley,¡± she supplied. I nodded, then slapped her shoulder. ¡°Thank- ¡± ¡°Approach!¡± someone called, and the archer was turning away again, arrow already nocked. Quickly, I helped Tully upright before hastily shoving her through the dense cluster of speartrees. They were packed so tightly both of us were forced to shuffle sideways. My increased breadth had me often picking alternative gaps, however our destination was obvious enough to make navigating simple: the loud voice giving orders. ¡°How¡¯s the progress into the mine?¡± a hoarse voice barked from somewhere slightly above us. ¡°We¡¯ve passed the initial barricade- ¡° ¡°Tell me something new!¡± ¡°- but there¡¯s someone waiting past the first squeeze with an axe.¡± ¡°They¡¯ve been there for- ¡° The captain paused. ¡°Gods bloody, blackened bones!¡± he swore, then coughed as the cuss scraped his obviously raw throat. ¡°Take Nason, Tella, and Other Pete and have them look for a way through the top.¡± ¡°They¡¯re wounded- ¡° ¡°I know they¡¯re wounded; I¡¯m not taking anyone able-bodied off the line. Now go.¡± He waited a beat. ¡°What, do you want me to wipe your arse too? Go!¡± Tully stopped, and I stopped with her. Her greying body shook quietly. ¡°A¡­¡± She swallowed. ¡°He will know all of them by sight.¡± I paused. ¡°No bluffing, then.¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°We¡¯ll, uh¡­¡± My eyes flickered around the narrow passage we were in. ¡°Keep our heads down. Find whatever entrance they¡¯re talking about. If they see us, I¡¯ll stall.¡± Tully nodded quickly. ¡°You are right, of course. Cover is plentiful.¡± She glanced down, her voice dropping to a whisper. ¡°We¡¯ll be fine.¡± She breathed in. ¡°We will be fine.¡± For a moment, I considered telling her to turn around and go ¨C simply leave this entire debacle to me. It was a stupid thought; at a fundamental level, this was her mess. But she didn¡¯t have to clean it up. I¡¯d expected her to let the others rot in their hole. Both she and I had known that was the strategic decision. Her Spiderblood knew it, too; rattling the walls of the veins it travelled through, desperate for an escape. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. ¡°Are you ready?¡± Tully asked me, and she¡¯d never looked more like a small, old woman. I saluted. Her breathing steadied, and we continued sliding through the speartrees. Obstructed as it was by the endless horde of ivory stakes ¨C squeezing our chests as we tried to navigate them ¨C the mound was only perceptible as a sudden incline in the greasy stone beneath our feet. A shadow passed above us, and neither of us raised our heads. It was one of the soldiers, braced against two trunks to take advantage of the slow thinning of the trunks. Their view was barely better than our own, however they moved far quicker than us. After a moment, a voice ¨C the one that had spoken to their commander ¨C addressed us. ¡°Why are you two leaving the line? Introduce yourselves.¡± I took a moment to pre-emptively squash the quaver that threatened to inch into my voice. ¡°We¡¯re the last scouts. We¡¯ve a message.¡± ¡°What message?¡± ¡°I¡¯d rather tell the commander- ¡° ¡°There are no spies, here ¨C you can tell myself and him.¡± I hadn¡¯t enough humour to appreciate the irony. From above, all my interrogator could see was a quick nod of the helmet. ¡°We¡¯ve a man waiting to kill the drummer.¡± ¡°That¡¯s¡­¡± The speaker paused. ¡°Good news. I¡¯ll lead you to him.¡± Rather than waiting for us, she sprung ahead. Tully and I were forced to spend several long moments squeezing through the gaps. I opened my mouth to speak, but my companion beat me there. ¡°You should split off and search for the opening they spoke of,¡± she whispered into my ear, wary of any canny listeners. ¡°I¡¯ll negotiate with them.¡± ¡°That¡¯s stupid,¡± I scoffed. ¡°I have a better chance of getting out of an attack than you.¡± ¡°I know more of their protocol- ¡° ¡°They¡¯re some sort of secret operations unit, Tully ¨C I doubt they¡¯re operating according to protocol.¡± ¡°¡­Fine.¡± Her tone was inscrutable. ¡°I will whistle three long notes when I¡¯ve found it.¡± ¡°How long do you think it¡¯ll- ¡° ¡°I¡¯ve no idea, Vin.¡± She quickly diverged from the path the speaker was leading us in, stopping only to say: ¡°Be safe.¡± Tully disappeared into the shadows of the crater. Quiet descended upon the area around me, accompanied by a redoubling of the ubiquitous chill that dwelled this far down. After another few dozen steps, I sighted the speaker and the man that must¡¯ve been Findlay ¨C a stocky soldier with a face full of creases, lit only by a pair of fierce eyes ¨C the former whispering into the latter¡¯s ears. They stood above me, atop the mound; its jutting roundness making it seem like a growth-ridden tumour straining against stone flesh. The incline was far too sheer to climb, but the broken stumps of speartrees were still embedded in its side ¨C some still clinging by a thin strip to their trunks ¨C providing the footholds the pair had used to clamber up. I glanced into the broken stumps, finding a bizarre, sponge-like material dwelling within. It constantly wept red sap. I couldn¡¯t help but feel I¡¯d seen it before. In something disturbing. Cruel. Wrong¡­ A hoarse bark tore me from my stupor. ¡°Halt! Introduce yourself.¡± My bleary mind slowly parsed two things: that three others waited in the trees; the demand for introduction had been repeated, despite the time-intensive situation. I¡¯d blundered. Why would the leader of a secret Albright operation want an introduction before anything else? The simple answer: they didn¡¯t. They wanted me to prove my identity, likely with some kind of code-word established in response to this very situation. And I had no means of deciphering what that code could be. Combat within such cramped confines would be necessarily clunky on both sides: I wouldn¡¯t be able to do more than stab with my halberd, but any shots they took at me had only a miniscule chance of hitting. It would be simple to escape, and hardly any more difficult to kill all five of them ¨C even accounting for the fact I was currently standing beneath them. But from what I could tell, the commander was the key to the entire Albright defence ¨C if I slaughtered them, their line would quickly fall apart, breaking the stalemate our escape relied upon. Beyond that, losing five lives¡¯ worth of experience, sensation, emotion, and memory would be such an incredible waste. So I discarded the scratched helmet upon my head, straightened my spine, my halberd, and my expression, and summoned the phantom of several decades of military leadership. I regarded the commander cooly. ¡°I have a man prepared to silence the drummer,¡± I rumbled. ¡°But only on my signal.¡± ¡°Who are you?¡± he demanded. ¡°A spectator.¡± Even as my own voice fell with the weight of an avalanche, I remembered its cadence in the tone of another ¨C in the kitchen; the restaurant; after a nightmare ¨C and travelling from my own throat ¨C in battlefields; barked commands; with my children ¨C then bit the inside of my cheek to silence both. ¡°I need entrance to your mine.¡± ¡°We cannot allow that,¡± the older man gravelled immediately. ¡°That¡¯s non-negotiable.¡± ¡°The people inside are mine,¡± I spat, and saw his aide flinch. ¡°You cannot afford to turn away what I¡¯m offering. You cannot afford someone like me angry, and within your lines.¡± He looked at me from above, features carefully neutral. ¡°How do I know you¡¯re not one of the Seeds?¡± Seeds ¨C I was one, once. Or¡­ I wasn¡¯t? Who was? Drue? Orvi? Babs? Maja? I was? No? ¡°You do not know,¡± I called back. ¡°Signal your man,¡± he demanded. ¡°That will prove it.¡± My lips quirked. The smile was absent from the rest of my face. ¡°No,¡± I rumbled. ¡°I will not.¡± His eyes darted towards a distant clash of weapons. ¡°Then how am I supposed to compromise my position for a godsdamned stranger!¡± he bellowed. ¡°Give me something to work with, man!¡± ¡°The drummer will die when- ¡° ¡°That¡¯s a load of Ox- ¡° ¡°Do not interrupt me,¡± I rumbled. ¡°I speak. You listen.¡± At his silence, I continued. ¡°The drummer will die when my people have departed your lines. I will stay, and make the signal.¡± ¡°You¡¯ll not leave without proof you¡¯re not a Seed,¡± he remarked, far calmer than before. I wondered if his ferocity was feigned. ¡°That means you killing one of them.¡± I paused to ponder his statement when three long, piercing whistles sounded from nearby. In my perception, I felt Tully¡¯s flame creep into the mound. I looked at Finlay and shook my head. ¡°I am going into the mine. If you attack me, I will take that as a refusal of my offer.¡± Without waiting for a reply, I turned and slipped back into the speartrees. I heard several voices asking for an order, but the response was too quiet to hear. Yet no one pursued. Tully¡¯s whistles would¡¯ve served to guide the Lizardblood I purported myself to be to her location. Even with my Ravenblood making her attempts mostly unnecessary, they sped up the process of finding her fractionally. The entrance to the so-called mines was a crack in the side of the mound. Its decent width and narrow height made it resemble a mouth, toothlessly grinning back towards the crater. Gingerly, I extended my halberd into its confines. Something grabbed hold of its end, and after a moment of wordless panic I realised it was just Tully. I stared at the hole and drummed my fingers. With a heavy groan, I lowered myself to the ground, and began crawling inside. Though I¡¯d braced myself for a much longer journey, the tunnel opened after scarcely half a pace into tiny cave, scattered with broken pieces of wood I vaguely recognised as having once formed a table. The floor alternated between stone and moist dirt frequently broken by ivory trunks thrusting through it to pierce through the ceiling, allowing small beams of light inside. Despite that, the darkness was deep, but my eyes possessed enough divinity to make out Tully sitting against a wall. ¡°Are you whole?¡± she asked. ¡°Yeah, but they know we¡¯re not Albrights.¡± Her expression tightened, and I hurriedly continued. ¡°They wanted a code I didn¡¯t have. I¡¯ve used the leverage we have to stave off the inevitable, but they might still outright attack us when we leave.¡± She hummed. ¡°There might be another way out.¡± I straightened, then smacked my head on the ceiling. ¡°Don¡¯t bet on it,¡± I said, rubbing my bruised skull while shooting a dirty look upwards. ¡°Dying in some cave-in isn¡¯t how I plan to go.¡± ¡°We need to go deeper anyway.¡± She gestured to a crack in the floor. I eyed it. ¡°¡­I don¡¯t know if I can fit.¡± ¡°Take off the armour.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not that small, Tully.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll go through first,¡± she stated calmly. A hint of exasperation flickered in her eyes ¨C I didn¡¯t know whether it was real or a trick of the strangling confines. ¡°If it¡¯s too narrow for your frame, I will tell you.¡± ¡°But- ¡° Before I could protest further, she crawled over to the hole and lowered herself inside. Her back released a single large crack, and the old Blooded grunted. Moments after the humour of that penetrated the malaise surrounding me, she disappeared from sight, leaving me alone in a tiny hole barely big enough to breathe. I looked at the stone and dirt, above and beneath. With the amount of speartrees thrusting through the cave, I wasn¡¯t even sure if my size would allow me to squeeze through to reach the hole. Somewhat awkwardly, I unbuckled my stolen armour and tossed it to the side. After slipping through with my jaw jammed tight enough to make my teeth creak, I managed to make it over to the hole. Emanating faintly from it was the sound of a shrill wail, distorted by the walls of the earth¡¯s intestines. I glanced away, staring at the shattered remnants of what I suspected was once a table. Mounds of crimson moss concealed whatever wood it was comprised of. Some strands still clung to one another, despite being attached to separate splinters. Its broken edges were shades lighter than the rest, and free of any growths. It must¡¯ve been waiting within the cave for years before being smashed apart. My eyes flicked back to the hole. The high screams continued, quietly strangled by the tunnels. But Tully¡¯s voice yelled: ¡°Come down! Leave the halberd!¡± and I had no more excuses. Carefully, I placed my halberd onto the earth, and after a moment of deliberation kicked a few mounds of moss over it. I¡¯d killed both monsters and men with its edge and point, and it could be the last time I ever saw it. I found myself wanting to say something to it ¨C somehow acknowledge its meaning, however inanimate ¨C but could not find the words. But there would be another. There always was. I adjusted the buckle of my looted sword to hang over my shoulder, and lowered myself into the hole, feet braced against its sides. My torso fell into the maw, then my arms, then my neck. Then, finally, the sight of the small cave pierced by speartrees vanished as my head and all it entailed fell inside. Immediately, every ounce of my flesh rebelled against the confines. My shoulders pressed against both walls, forcing me to bend them around the front of my body to go further downwards. The press of stone and dirt felt like it entered my chest; each breath faltering against an indomitable barrier, trembling with the desire to race faster and faster as I pushed myself further downward. Air hissed between my clenched teeth, and the tunnel trembled in my vision, threatening to churn inward and crush me into a lumpy paste. The tunnel sloped, then levelled horizontally. It was narrow. ¡°You¡¯ll be okay, Vin!¡± a familiar voice called from ahead. And I yelled back: ¡°If, if being strangled by a damn patch of ground is okay, sure.¡± And entirely failed to forget the way my heart drummed in a mad revolt against my chest and the pink dirt pressed against my face in a damp stranglehold and I pushed and heaved with my hands and feet further inside until my torso caught against the tunnel and I told them I could push no further and they said that I could and I told them I couldn¡¯t and they told me I had to and I released air to deflate my chest and shoved myself further down but I couldn¡¯t catch a full breath and it was dark and mud smeared across my face and clumps of earth tore from the tunnel as I clawed at it and no matter how hard I tried to stifle it the image of the tunnel crushing me under its endless weight to tear at my skin and break me apart back into the pink dirt or moss or speartree to be broken apart again and again could not be shaken and I couldn¡¯t breathe and then something closed around my legs and I yelled and I was torn out of the tunnel into a larger space full of wailing. I staggered upright, smashing my head on the low stone so hard I thought my skull might be dented and instantly fell back to my knees in a fit of mouthed swears. Belatedly, I realised that people were crouching nearby. My gaze seized upon Ronnie, covered in clumps of dirt and mud, their kneeling form far larger than my own. Azure light gave the oversized hatched in their hand a deathly pallor. ¡°How did you make it through there?¡± I said in complete bafflement. The Strain huffed in silent laughter. Around their legs, Yowler stirred, then fell back into torpor. After a brief wave of the hand, they signed ¡®Other¡¯ and another gesture I assumed meant path. ¡°You went another way?¡± The words tumbled from my mouth. ¡°Can we leave through there?¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Vin, but we cannot.¡± I turned to find Davian crouching beside me. He straightened with a groan. ¡°There was a collapse, of sorts. It wasn¡¯t as stable as the path you chose.¡± I grunted, then glanced at Ronnie''s oversized arm. With the weight of the axe in its hand, it trembled. "Is your arm better now?" The Strain gave a smile that seemed closer to a wince. "I don''t believe so," Davian answered for them. "As a matter of fact, I''ve specifically asked Ronnie to put the weapon away, before the arm''s ligaments are damaged further." A small body seized upon me. My eyes travelled downwards, finding Crumpet latched onto my leg. Tippi stood nearby, hovering awkwardly, and at my strained smile the boy released a breath. Ronnie, seizing the moment, rubbed my head with her oversized paw, then withdrew it so I could fix my bandana. No words were spoken. I glanced around. The tunnel we were in stretched in two separate directions, and was lit by a dim bloodtech lantern cradled in Rita¡¯s lap. Tully hunched beside her, conferring in muted breaths. Jana¡¯s eyes ¨C one clouded and blind and the other piercingly green ¨C watched me. Further back, Wil sat against a wall with an infant on his lap. Beside him, his adolescent son held a small urn of milk, which the worn man carefully dipped a piece of cloth into and placed it into the baby¡¯s mouth for the infant to suck on. Across from them was the source of the wailing ¨C a red-faced toddler, sobbing and screaming atop Gast¡¯s belly. She lifted her head; saw me; blinked; and gave a small wave. Despite identifying the source of the cries, I felt little relief. As I watched, Taja emerged from the darkness of the tunnel at a quick crawl and slid next to me. ¡°Vin!¡± the teenager said, white teeth bright in the darkness of our surroundings. ¡°You¡¯re alright!¡± I smiled and tilted my hand from side to side. ¡°Relatively. You are, uh, missing¡­¡± I paused, reluctant to finish the sentence. There were absences. Old Snapper; Atifi: gone, as if they were never present at all. It felt like there was a chunk of ice in my gut. Is air and dust all that would remain of them? An incredible sickness; an incredible waste. I sensed the lifeforce around me, and¡­ I opened a dry mouth, then closed it. ¡°Okay.¡± I looked around. ¡°How did you make it here?¡± The giant Strain tapped Taja¡¯s shoulder, and he startled. ¡°Right. We were moving through the mountains above, and we¡­ ran into these yellow soldiers. Then they got attacked, and we, uh¡­ went into a cave.¡± Ronnie gestured to the older Strain. ¡°Davian tried to talk them out of chasing us,¡± Taja began. ¡°It didn¡¯t work.¡± ¡°We should try to find another way out,¡± I suggested. Davian nodded. ¡°That¡¯s what the young man here was searching for.¡± He looked at the boy expectantly. ¡°Uh, it, um¡­ Goes deeper.¡± The old hunter sighed. ¡°The other way ends in a pile of rocks, now.¡± Ronnie signed a quick apology. Davian waved a hand. ¡°The supports were rotten anyway.¡± I frowned. ¡°Supports? This place was occupied?¡± ¡°¡¯Was¡¯ is the correct term. Everything here has spent at least a few years without human touch.¡± ¡°Any bodies?¡± I asked. I¡¯d never spent much time in mines ¨C in any life ¨C but I knew they could kill as quietly as any ghost. Stories told of miners being subject to the whims of whatever deathly hand haunted the depths, often dying without any external wounds. I wasn¡¯t truly sure why. I¡¯d never heard of a Heartland mine going deep enough to uncover such death, but I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if this one was the exception. ¡°I saw none,¡± Taja supplied eagerly. After a moment, his words slowed. ¡°I only went so far down, though.¡± ¡°Do you think whoever was here left the way you came?¡± The three paused to think on that. Eventually, Ronnie shrugged, and the two others copied the gesture. ¡°Ronnie won¡¯t fit through the route I took. And I¡¯d rather avoid those waiting for us.¡± Taja leaned forward. ¡°Did you- ¡° ¡°There¡¯s a battle happening directly above us,¡± I stated flatly. ¡°We need another way out.¡± Tully¡¯s voice, usually calm and level, was greatly amplified by the cramped confines. ¡°Our time is limited. It¡¯s time to move.¡± Wil glanced up from his task. ¡°Where?¡± ¡°Down.¡± Though her statement stirred a need to protest ¨C to insist that we needed to go up; go away ¨C she remained correct. So we staggered to our feet, all but the youngest of us stooped against the tunnel ceiling, and began carefully stepping downwards. The tunnels were damper, down this deep. All hints of stone had vanished, leaving behind a crimson dirt that seemed to sink with every step. It seemed like a more solid material than its counterpart above; crenulated with fortifying streaks of some unknown substance. Our weight caused slimy fluid to squeeze from the dirt, smearing our boots with slippery liquid. What seemed like thick stalactites frequently struck through the ground we walked and cut through the ceiling above. Stepping around them may have been annoying, were it not for the fact they probably prevented the earth from collapsing onto our heads. As I shuffled past one, the slope nearly threw my boots out from under me. I barely arrested my fall by wrapping an arm around one of the formations. Yet instead of moving onwards, I lingered, brows furrowed. My fingers ran across its contours. It was familiar. Because, I realised, the material wasn¡¯t stone. It was a thick, tough, white material. A speartree. ¡°Gast,¡± I said, slowly feeling the words out. ¡°You had a bone-density checker. Bloodtech. For Whip. Do you still have it?¡± The rest of the group spared me a glance as they filtered past. The fat Strain carefully placed her feet at the rear. Her large eyes caught mine, then looked away as she unslung her pack. I held it as she reached her arms inside, eventually producing a small tube covered with a head-aching assortment of runes. ¡°Check the speartree.¡± She looked at me, then at it. After a moment, she pressed it against the trunk. ¡°It needs Godsblood,¡± she told me. I bit the tip of my thumb and offered it to Gast, who wiped the contraption against a bead of blood forming at the cut. Then, she pressed it against the ivory trunk and indented a small button on its side. After a moment, a blue light flickered at its base. ¡°What does that mean?¡± I asked her. She frowned. ¡°The bone¡¯s good.¡± I paused. The light flickered. ¡°The bone,¡± I repeated, carefully enunciating each syllable, ¡°is good?¡± Gast looked at me. ¡°Yeah.¡± I nodded slowly, and gingerly took the contraption from her hand. I rotated it, rolling its faint purple glow beneath my vision. Then, I withdrew a carving from my pouch. It was of the twins ¨C Dash staggering around with Sash wrapped around him ¨C wrought using a piece of wood purported to be from the Foot. I began to mimic Gast¡¯s earlier test, when the blue light flickered on, then off, then on. Beside me, Gast shook her head. ¡°It won¡¯t work. The tech¡¯s new. It¡¯s only keyed for- ¡± Then her eyes fixed upon my own with uncharacteristic focus, wider than they¡¯d been moments before. I handed her the tube, and she cautiously placed it back in her bag. And we continued down. The ground was smeared with moss, mushrooms, and other dark-dwelling things. Flickering in my perception were small creatures, but they never entered eyeshot. Ghostly light emanated from Rita¡¯s lantern, dying dimmer with every step. We briefly paused for me to smear blood on its surface, however even with its cold radiance redoubled all it revealed to us was more of the same. Until the sharp gusts of mist that emerged from our mouth slowly faded as the air grew warm and thick with moisture. Eventually, we reached a cavern. Unlike the yards of cramped tunnel that we¡¯d crept through, this cave was populated by more than greasy earth and fungi. When Rita raised the light above her head, its contents were revealed to us: between the unending speartrees lay the bedding and furniture of a densely-populated living space. Collapsed tables sat between rickety stools. Faded tapestries were dug into the soft walls by spikes of animal-bones. Mounds of leaves were stacked beneath small blankets, long-since rotten by the humidity of the place. Possessions were haphazardly piled between them, containing small carvings and ragdolls alongside various knapped stone tools. Tully kneeled beside one such pile, hands slowly sorting through it. I approached her. ¡°Do you think this is where the cloaked forces came from?¡± Still eying the collection, she shook her head. ¡°It¡¯s been abandoned for some time. And look at the tools.¡± Among the knives, needles, axes, awls, scythes, and slings, neither pickaxes nor purposeful weaponry could be found. I told her as such. Tully nodded. ¡°It is a gatherer¡¯s assortment.¡± I eyed a nearby piece of stone, large enough to be used as a tabletop and obviously brought from above-ground. Faded scratchings from some flaky stone covered its surface, showing erratically proportioned figures holding hands or fleeing vast amounts of indecipherable shapes. Rita spoke from behind me. ¡°A kid¡¯s drawing, that.¡± ¡°It is.¡± Tully hummed through wrinkled lips. ¡°They are likely to be from whatever settlements were wrecked in the Aching above. They took shelter down here.¡± I looked around, noting the lack of bodies. ¡°And they left.¡± ¡°And they left,¡± the old Blooded agreed. As I helped her upright, her knees popped painfully. ¡°Perhaps through the entrance the others took. Perhaps not. But that¡¯s not the puzzling part.¡± Her beady eyes travelled from Rita¡¯s to my own. ¡°With the Aching¡¯s regrowth fresh, they must not have lacked food. Why would they leave?¡± Rita stepped between myself and Tully. ¡°S¡¯not strange. Who wants to live down- ¡° The Spiderblood¡¯s firm words cut her subordinate off. ¡°All of them left; so quickly they refused to take most things they owned.¡± ¡°You think something spooked them,¡± I concluded. She traced a shaking hand over the scars on her face. ¡°Yes.¡± The cave transmitted sound clearly. Everyone present had heard our conversation. ¡°What are we looking for?¡± asked Davian. ¡°Same as before,¡± Wil snapped back. ¡°A way out. Jus¡¯ means it¡¯s better t¡¯find it quick.¡± Tully nodded. The refugee¡¯s makeshift settlement had been built in a crossroads of sorts: excluding the one we¡¯d emerged from, there were five different tunnels coiling away from the cavern. Everyone present was already inspecting them, besides Tully, myself, and Jana. Kit¡¯s¡­ companion was examining the tapestries on the wall, unsurreptitiously yanking the thinner ones down and folding them into her pack. As I glanced around, I noticed Ronnie and Taja squinting down the smallest tunnel ¨C narrow enough that the giant¡¯s shoulders wouldn¡¯t fit without manoeuvring. The teenager immediately began stepping into it, only to be stopped by the giant Strain grabbing the back of his tunic. Their mismatched hands gestured to me. ¡°Just wait,¡± I translated to the boy. ¡°It will be quicker if I- ¡° ¡°Wait.¡± ¡°It¡¯s within my power- ¡° ¡°Taja,¡± I sighed, ¡°going alone is a stupid idea. What¡¯s got you trying to dive straight in?¡± Ronnie tapped their ears. Taking the hint, I cocked my head sideways. From somewhere below us, the faint sound of a river emanated. Yet unlike the rivers I¡¯d grown accustomed to in my time outside the Foot, there was something unnerving about this one. After a few more moments of listening, I understood: its flow was constantly faltering. The sound of rushing water slowed gradually, rapids turning to trickles, fervour slipping closer and closer to complete torpor. Yet the moment I thought it would cease entirely, it shuddered back into an incredible roar, to repeat the process again. There was something eerily familiar about it; a relationship that danced excruciatingly close to my awareness. But my attempts to grasp it yielded nothing but a faint headache. ¡°Rita and Davian: with me.¡± Tully stood beside me. I hadn¡¯t noticed her approach. ¡°Why don¡¯t we check one of the other tunnels first?¡± My voice was miraculously absent of quavers. ¡°There¡¯s little time for that. The water could indicate a way out.¡± ¡°Fine,¡± I spat, then hastily tried to smooth my tone. ¡°Fine. I¡¯m going, then.¡± Before our leader could reply, Wil echoed my sentiment. ¡°Myself as well.¡± She rubbed the bridge of her nose. ¡°Stay with the others, Rita.¡± The short guard saluted. ¡°Absolutely, boss.¡± A glare was quickly levelled my way; harsh and full of edges. ¡°Anything happens, an¡¯ it¡¯s on your head.¡± The sudden hostility was baffling enough that the only retort I could think of was a nod. By the time the bizarre exchange finished, Wil had already slung himself into the small opening. I quickly followed, wincing slightly as my hand brushed the wall and came away with an oily film. Tully brought up the rear with a small lantern, and I hoped her legs had enough power to kick me away if I became stuck. Yet my fears were unfounded, for while the tunnel remained cramped enough to demand crawling, beyond the moments where we were forced to squeeze past speartrees it never descended to the crushing closeness of the path I¡¯d taken in. Our hands and knees were quickly covered in strange grease, and my skin tingled alarmingly beneath it. Then something bizarre entered my perception, and I forgot the sensation. I halted. Tully told me to keep going, and, belatedly, I did so. The irregular rushing grew louder ¨C drumming slower until it roared back to its full, immense speed. The tunnel grew tall enough to stand, and through a jagged opening in its floor, we found the stream, flowing darkly through an opening in the ground and disappearing into the depths. The material around it was far thicker than any of the earth we¡¯d seen so far, yet somehow remained flexible enough to pulsate whenever the liquid it contained roared to life again. As if its attempts were pushing the river along. ¡°Water¡¯s gotta flow from somewhere,¡± remarked Wil. ¡°Could be an out.¡± In my divine sense, the river burned endlessly, coursing through the land until my perception faded away, insufficient to the task of following it. ¡°It¡­¡± I swallowed. ¡°It isn¡¯t water.¡± The Heartlander squinted at me, then reached down and scooped the liquid into his hand. It smelled heady; thick enough to drown thousands. Tully shuffled past me, and shone her ghastly blue light at it. Its crimson colour was strong enough to burn my retinas. ¡°Ichor¡¯s real?¡± muttered Wil. A short huff slid from my throat: harsh and humourless. ¡°Ichor is Godsblood.¡± He looked at me. He looked at what lay in his cupped hands. And he looked back up the tunnel - where the baby still cried - towards those we''d left behind. Wil raised it to his lips and took a swallow, moments before I slapped his hands apart, shattering the small pool between them into a hundred drops, irreverently sprayed across the tunnel. Amongst them was a single bead of blood, cast from the cut in my thumb by the manic speed of my movement. It fell downwards. Past our hands and past the tunnel. Through the jagged teeth of the crack, and into the vein below, to be snatched away by the river of blood. For a single, divine moment, everything stopped. The liquid beneath us no longer flowed. The distant cry of Wil¡¯s baby, a tunnel away from us, ceased. Above-ground, the trees stiffened; no longer shaking in the wind. In what remained of Spires, the blood-sacrifices of the hungry ceased growing. Rodents stilled; insects paused; grass sunk closer to dirt. The Heartlands held its breath. Then, the earth around us began shaking. Beneath the all-encompassing cacophony of yawning tunnels and crumbling dirt, I heard Tully mutter two words. "The Aching." Chapter 58 - Aching Trapped, Siik-knows how far beneath the seething skin of the earth, with the tunnel we were in undulating like a lizard¡¯s detached tail, and all anyone could do was stare. No one present had the knowledge to understand what had just happened. But one insidious suspicion wormed from my veins into my consciousness: I¡¯d just let something very, very large know my location¡­ Wil had his, as well. ¡°I needed that blood ¨C an¡¯ look what¡¯s happenin¡¯ cause o¡¯ you. Why¡¯d you smack the blood?¡± I blinked, mouth working as I tried to find an answer to that same question. Above the turbid waters of my soul, motivations frothed incomprehensibly. As the seconds passed without greater comprehension, I muttered, ¡°Who drinks random pools of liquid?¡± then grabbed the man and shoved him ahead of me. Stirred by the sudden movement, Tully shivered into action. Her scars shuddered under the quaking bloodtech light in her hands. ¡°Thi- This is one of the early quakes. We have time.¡± We scrambled up the tunnel on our hands and knees as strange mucus began to ooze from the walls. The worn Grower in front of me slowed, and I shoved him onward. Moisture alongside heat built in the air, until it became so thick that every part of me sweated. ¡°We have time,¡± Tully insisted as we frantically clawed our way upwards. A stinging built in the parts of my skin pressed against the spongy walls, but before it could ascend to greater heights we shot out from the hole we¡¯d entered and emerged back into the cavern with the others. Wil staggered forward, then slumped onto the floor. Beneath a sheen of mucus, the surface of his arms resembled raw, uncooked meat, and looking down I found my hands were similarly burned ¨C having several layers of skin stripped away. Yet unlike him, the wounds only extended to my hands and small flecks on my face ¨C my beaten jacket and sliced clothing had taken the brunt of the strange liquid¡¯s burn. I wiped the affected areas on a nearby pile of leaves frantically, then did the same to Wil. Behind me, Tully did the same. Beads of moisture ¨C either sweat or condensation ¨C rolled down her brow. The ten of us with sense to do so looked to her. Someone with as many years under their belt as her should have been through several Achings before. With her Spiderblood and experience, she had to know a way out. Moments before she finished wiping her hands, a large rumble sent her stumbling sideways. Rita¡¯s short form caught her before she fell. ¡°We have¡­¡± Tully paused, tongue licking sweat from her scarred lips. ¡°We have a few dozen minutes. Give or take. The early quakes aren¡¯t accompanied by regrowth. We¡­¡± She clenched her eyes shut, breath coming in and out in short, harsh pants. ¡°Ox¡¯s balls, Graves,¡± said Rita, using her leader¡¯s moniker, ¡°you alright? You hurt?¡± The Spiderblood waved her off. ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± When Rita didn¡¯t let go, she repeated it again, with greater ferocity. ¡°I¡¯m fine. We need to go back the way Vin and I came.¡± ¡°What?¡± I grated. ¡°What about the soldiers above? What about- ¡° ¡°If I can find a vantage point, I can guide you out.¡± She untucked a carved whistle on a string from beneath her stolen breastplate. ¡°Rita knows my signals. Then you can do the same for me, when you are above all of this.¡± Her last word exited in a panicked hiss. ¡°What about Ronnie?¡± I snapped. ¡°They¡¯re too big! What about Wil? He¡¯s assimilating Godsblood- ¡° There were mutters from the others, at that. Becoming Blooded was never a simple thing. Depending on the type and concentration of the divinity, integrating it into the body could take anywhere for hours or weeks ¨C or outright kill the would-be Blooded, if they couldn¡¯t handle it. Though the burns on his arms may have been the wound that initially fell him, it was the Godsblood that would keep him down. But beyond the Houses, all most people knew of divinity and Blooded were stories. I doubted Wil had intended to put himself in a coma. Though his intentions meant little in the circumstances. ¡°-he¡¯ll be in a fever for hours at least. We won¡¯t be able to pull him through the cracks!¡± ¡°We are in the jaws of something beyond us, Vin. Even lizards will sever their tails- ¡° ¡°We¡¯re not godsdamned lizards, Tully, and a person is not a tail,¡± I spat. After a moment, I let the anger hiss from my mouth, and quietened. ¡°I¡¯ll stay; get them out.¡± She clenched a chattering jaw. ¡°We need you- ¡° ¡°And I need you to understand that you¡¯ll lose me anyway, if you make me come up with you. I¡¯ll save¡­¡° And that word¡¯s righteousness shivered through every portion of my limbs, beating from something deep within me, even as a distant part of me understood that staying might kill me. But Ronnie would stay for me. In the grimy void of existence, all anyone really had was family; wherever they found it. I¡¯d died to give substance to that belief. I¡¯d do it again. But how fair was that death, huh? Ma shouldn¡¯t have had to do it; Ma wouldn¡¯t have had to do it if it wasn¡¯t for me sticking my nose where it didn¡¯t belong. And wasn¡¯t this whole thing just the same stupid mistake as before? And of course I knew why Ma¡¯d done it ¨C my blood wouldn¡¯t let me forget ¨C but that kindness was a weight around my neck, and I¡¯d have to live with it until the day I died. I winced at a sudden pounding in my skull. My patchwork soul was buried beneath the cogs of my consciousness. Though its thin stitches never swum into focus, sometimes the gears would jam. It reminded me what I was. ¡°Them,¡± I finished, wiping the flinch from my face. My thoughts had taken less than a fraction of a second, like lightning striking from a blackened sky, leaving only a painful afterimage. She eyed me, then clenched her teeth and nodded. After tossing me her small handheld light, they started to leave. Wil¡¯s kid tried to stay, as did Taja, but I convinced the latter he needed to take care of everyone else for me. Ronnie''s dog seemed determined to stay with them, but a few firm hand gestures to both Davian and Yowler had the hound reluctantly ambling away -- albeit with several glances over its shoulder. Four tunnels waited to be explored; one of them had to hold an exit. It needed to. I¡¯d eat through a layer of stone, if that¡¯s what it took. Of course, I doubted the Aching would spare me the time to whip out some cutlery and get chewing. Ronnie and I didn¡¯t have time to watch the others go. With increasing frequency, the pink and red walls around us trembled in anticipation for the oncoming growth. Whatever material formed the surfaces was flexible enough to withstand these initial quakes, but soon enough the Heartlands would begin the process of renewing itself: growing and shifting plants, land, and rivers according to processes beyond humanity¡¯s ken. Many people above ground would die during this process. We were not above ground, and I didn¡¯t need the Spider¡¯s wit to figure out what would happen to those trapped in a cave. With Taja and Rita having scrambled through another tunnel in my absence, three tunnels remained to be searched. After rolling Wil onto his side ¨C lest the red-streaked bile dribbling from his throat drown him ¨C Ronnie and I each set off down a tunnel, hands wrapped in pieces of torn tapestry. Out of necessity, the giant Strain took the largest one and Tully¡¯s bloodtech light, leaving me to swallow against the lump in my throat and set out into my own personal hole. Light rapidly disappeared, but though my sight was blocked by darkness and my nose by the acrid stench permeating every fold of the walls, my remaining senses were acute enough for me to grope along speedily. Though it was far wider than the hole I¡¯d scrambled through moments before, fear remained, waxing and waning as the tunnel¡¯s innards seethed like the guts of a snake, writhing against my feet and outstretched hands with barely restrained mania. As I clawed my way through, the spongy walls around me tightened. Whether it was the result of the Aching or its original form I did not know, but when it grew narrow enough that progress meant continuing on hands and knees, I knew neither Ronnie nor Wil would be able to make it through in time. I turned back, and soon clawed my way back into the abandoned camp. The cavern trembled, and a chord of mind-bending panic pierced me as I realised I had no idea how much time we had left. ¡°Ronnie!¡± I called into their tunnel. ¡°Does yours look promising?¡± Then I barked a strangled laugh as I realised the Strain couldn¡¯t respond. But then Ronnie did, using the sound of metal striking against metal. ¡°One strike means yes,¡± I yelled, ¡°two no!¡± Another clash. I waited, stomach churning, for the second. After a few distended moments, none came. ¡°Okay,¡± I muttered. ¡°Okay.¡± In a louder voice, I told the dark hole: ¡°I¡¯m gonna look through the last one!¡± Another clash, and a grin flashed across my face. I began to step into the final tunnel, only to shudder to a halt. A jagged scream rose from the passageway the others had left through, rising into a staggering crescendo before falling into something too quiet to hear. Unlike earlier, the strange, pink walls absorbed any echo that could¡¯ve arisen, leaving the cavern cruelly silent in its wake. ¡°Belay that for a second,¡± I said to Ronnie ¨C gods knows how far away ¨C and sprinted up the way we¡¯d entered from. Slimy ground threatened to steal footing from beneath my pounding steps, and even my stolen Foxblood couldn¡¯t prevent me from careening into the stony speartrees studding the way back. But there was no time ¨C there was never enough time ¨C and even as my knees and forearms collided with the trunks and threw me against the shaking walls I was taking another step, pushing myself further upwards. I heard Rita far before I saw her. The woman¡¯s breaths were desperate enough to penetrate past the rumbling all around us. Moments later, I¡¯d sprinted far enough upwards for her to enter eyeshot. Lit by the toppled form of her lantern, the guard¡¯s upper body protruded from the crack I¡¯d squeezed through to enter. Her lower body could not be seen, but I read its fate in the unnatural shape of her back, studded with the splintered remnants of the crossbow slung on her back. The crack had closed on her, ever so slightly. It had broken her spine. Rita¡¯s legs were beyond her. ¡°Vin?¡± the middle-aged woman whispered, struggling to tilt her head away from the floor. ¡°C¡¯mon, big man. Say something.¡± I forced words from my dry throat. ¡°I¡¯m here.¡± ¡°Pull me.¡± ¡°Rita, I- ¡° ¡°Pull me.¡± I knelt down, grabbed her arms, and pulled. Something creaked within her body, and the scream she¡¯d been holding tore from her mouth. I let go. ¡°Pull me,¡± she hissed. ¡°I¡¯ll tear you in half, Rita.¡± ¡°Blood.¡± The cuss slipped breathlessly from her mouth, forgotten as soon as it departed. She wasn¡¯t addressing me. ¡°Oh, gods. I¡¯m stuck.¡± I searched for something to say; some avenue to make the truth palatable. I found none. ¡°What if you¡­ No.¡± The woman twisted her head against the floor, looking up at me. ¡°You¡¯ve gotta kill me.¡± ¡°What? No.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not bloody well staying here an¡¯ starving t¡¯death, in this wretched place. Can¡¯t imagine a worse way t¡¯go.¡± She looked away. ¡°Gods, what was the bloody point of it all?¡± My mouth worked soundlessly. She looked back up. ¡°You¡¯ll look after the Head, if you¡¯ve any humanity left in those veins o¡¯ yours. If you¡¯ve still a soul beneath it all.¡± I swallowed. ¡°I will.¡± ¡°You kill me ¨C and you leave my soul well enough alone, or I¡¯ll¡­ bloody¡­¡± Her mouth groped for a threat. ¡°I¡¯ll haunt you. Give you indigestion.¡± At that, she barked a humourless laugh. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. A streak of panic ran up my body. ¡°What¡¯re you talking about?¡± ¡°Bloody Ravenblood.¡± She spat. ¡°You cultists killed me Da and me sisters, and then your god ate my brother and Siik only-knows how many others. An¡¯ now I¡¯m left to beg one to end me.¡± My hands shivered. Sickness brewed in my gut. I struggled to rein my breathing in. For a single, grotesque moment, I felt relieved she was dying in this place. ¡°How¡¯d you know?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not tellin¡¯ you.¡± Mind racing, I soon arrived at a likely answer. If she hadn¡¯t figured it out herself, then her source would be Tully. As soon as my mind made that conclusion, it felt like someone had filled my body with fire. I needed to: find Tully; curl up in a ball; cover my face; vomit. Desperately, I hoped I was wrong. Asking her aloud would give an opportunity to find some manner of confirmation ¨C in her breath; in her expression; in the flickers of her eyes ¨C but even though I was ravenous for some kind of abrupt denial, I couldn¡¯t let Rita¡¯s final moments be about me. ¡°Alright,¡± I said instead. Rita shook her head as well as she could. The sneer on her face softened. ¡°Me dying by Avri¡¯s sort. Could¡¯ve figured that¡¯s how it would go a decade ago.¡± She closed her eyes. ¡°Funny, that.¡± I straightened, and drew the sword on my back. A few test swings revealed a decent balance, and the Owlforged steel would cut what it needed to. ¡°Forgive me, Vin,¡± she asked, ¡°if I say I wanna stay outta your skin.¡± I ran my tongue over my teeth, nodding slowly. ¡°Yeah. I understand.¡± I lowered the edge of the blade to her neck. ¡°Goodbye, Rita.¡± Rita smiled loosely. ¡°Luck to you, big man.¡± Her tone was soft. ¡°Luck as far as it¡¯ll take you.¡± I clenched my eyes closed and turned my head away. Then I brought my blade up, then slammed it down. The motion was easier than it should¡¯ve been. A dull thump sounded from my feet. I kept my eyes on the ceiling, but couldn¡¯t avoid seeing her lifeforce flicker. The nauseating urge to dip my fingers in blood and save something filled me, but I held it at bay until Rita¡¯s flame vanished. Forever lost, at her own wishes. That was fair; that was excruciatingly cruel. My breaths were drawn and expelled through tightened teeth. I scooped the fallen lantern from the ground and ran back.
Ronnie had found a way out. At the back of the twisting tunnel, the fleshy material had transitioned into more mundane stone. A gap in its wall streamed faint light. Cold air whistled through, almost managing to push away the heat emanating from further below. It was just small enough that none of us could fit through. The giant Strain had wedged their axe in the crack in an attempt to chip away at its edges, only for their exertions to snap the oversized hatchet¡¯s haft. Given time I could carve a new one, however if time was plentiful we wouldn¡¯t be so desperate. Ronnie was beating at its edges with the steel head of the axe when I arrived. With Wil cradled in my arms, a dim enough light might¡¯ve painted him as some sleeping, precious noble, carried by his Blooded bodyguard. But the azure light of the lantern I¡¯d given to Ronnie revealed a different story: one with dirt-smeared fingernails, a sun-beaten face, and frequent seizing. His painfully twisting features were a human mirror of the caves around us. I wasn¡¯t a bodyguard, so I dumped him unceremoniously on the stone and slid to a halt beside Ronnie¡¯s crouched form. The Strain jerked eyes more white than blue from me towards the crack, then continued frantically chipping at it. Every blow was accompanied by a wince as the healing innards of their arm frayed further. Moments were spent with me staring at nothing as the walls of the tunnel fractured behind us, stomach churning as I realised what I needed to do. In the end, I spared a glance towards Ronnie. ¡°Don¡¯t tell anyone about this,¡± I said, and flexed the divine muscle that grew bone from my arm. In a way, the sensation was similar to the sixth sense my Ravenblood granted me. It was unlike anything else in my world; no touch, taste, or sight spoke its language. I could attempt to draw parallels between it and the other senses I experienced in much the same way I could sheath a spear in a sword¡¯s sheath: with a lot of mindless, brute will that utterly failed to comprehend either. It was something else, and the divine muscle was similar in its dissimilarity. That was where their similitude ended. Ravenblood was passive ¨C I couldn¡¯t turn it off even if I wanted to. This thing was active ¨C only ever responding when I called for it. The feeling of ivory sprouting from some corner of my flesh or bone and extending outwards was like dragging nails down sandstone; in contrast, the Raven¡¯s power pulsed so quietly I could ignore it, with some effort. But the difficulty of understanding each was analogous. Comprehending the information my Ravenblood delivered had taken years; understanding what was a plant, bug, human, person, or inert stone meant deciphering an alphabet where letters constantly blurred into one another. The process was so difficult I¡¯d actively ignored it most of my life. Even now, with some mastery, my sense grew a little wider and a little deeper every day, and every day I was forced to learn just a bit more. I grew the bone as if I¡¯d been doing it for years instead of barely a week. I knew the growth needed speed before it exited skin, and sloth when most of its ivory form had emerged. I knew the best method to ignore the pain was biting the end of my tongue and looking elsewhere. I knew how to best create the chisel I needed with the limited power afforded to me, and a dozen other shapes if the need arose. Small parts of the process were missing from my mind, but I could fill in the gaps with what I knew. It was an understanding borne of decades of careful practice. I shouldn¡¯t have known any of it. It took five seconds to grow a chisel from the bottom of my hand. Ronnie watched the entire process, eyes so massive in her head I might¡¯ve mistaken them for Gast¡¯s. They looked at me, and all I had for a response was a tremulous smile. ¡°Sorry.¡± I didn¡¯t know what, specifically, I was apologising for. I waited a blow that would inevitably fall. All Ronnie did was look at me. There was still blood on my legs. I began working away at the sides of the gap, using my other hand to pound the top of my fist in a poor imitation of a hammer. But the tool I¡¯d created was sturdier than bone had any right to be, and small chips fell away as I repeatedly jarred my entire hand. A crash emanated from behind us, accompanied by a flood of air. Ronnie started working again. Despite the cold streaming from the crack in the wall, sweat trickled down my spine. The unmistakeable sound of something sharp spearing through flesh crawled from behind us, amplified so greatly my ears ached just to hear it. The rumbling of the walls became so violent every blow I delivered to the gap landed astray. Images flashed through my head: Ronnie¡¯s body and mine trapped in an echo of Rita¡¯s, immobile beneath the vast weight of the earth with our skin quietly growing sallower as the days passed, until finally ¨C unnoticed by anything else ¨C we ceased breathing. Then an immense swathe of life travelled from down the tunnel towards us. Behind us, a mass of crimson earth tore through the stone as if it were rotten wood, accompanied by a cacophony like a rolling ball of lightning detonating with every inch it stole. I hastily shielded my face as shrapnel sliced my skin, when the stone wall ¨C the only obstacle between us and freedom ¨C was obliterated in an eruption of speartrees growing hastily from beneath. My mouth hung open. Ronnie grabbed Wil and tackled me outside. Icy stone slammed against my cheek. After several moments, I shoved myself out from underneath the other two and carefully stood on the shaking floor of the crater. Behind us, white trunks thrust from the ground, travelling upwards as they grew and completely concealing the crack we¡¯d leapt from. Shadows danced wildly in the little light that slipped through the surrounding mountains; a phantom mirror of the trembling of speartrees. Human life still flickered through the crater, but whatever cries they made was indecipherable underneath the rumbling of the inevitable Aching. The sound was no longer as all-encompassing as in the tunnels, yet the way the crashing of the earth clawed for the sky above remained unnerving in its own right. Above us, the cold blue sky snubbed what lay underneath it. As I tried to orient myself, a crack emanated from behind me. Before I could fully process what that meant, a long shadow fell upon myself and the two others. I barely managed to arrest the fall of a speartree¡¯s trunk before it turned Ronnie and Wil into bloody chunks. My knees felt they were being crushed, and my arms as if a swarm of hornets were eating into their flesh. ¡°Get out,¡± I grunted. Ronnie had already dragged Wil out. I released the immense weight. A glance revealed the speartree¡¯s base had been gouged to pieces by the menacing tip of a newer, rapidly-growing speartree. Its stump oozed painful strings of sap. As I watched, another distant thump indicated a different speartree had fallen. Arms hanging stiffly, I turned to the giant Strain. ¡°Get up on the mountains,¡± I told them. ¡°Kit¡¯s waiting up there. Find us a path. Ronnie paused, gaze falling on me with a weight greater than any speartree. Their blonde hair swayed as they shook their head. I swallowed. ¡°No,¡± I growled, gesturing to Wil, ¡°you can¡¯t fight; not with him. I¡¯ll get the others ¨C we¡¯ll move better without the dead weight.¡± They sliced their hand sideways. ¡®Negative¡¯. ¡°Ronnie,¡± I pleaded. ¡°Find us a way out. Help us if we need it. Please, just trust me. Trust me.¡± They looked at me with their pale blue eyes. After a moment, Ronnie nodded. A sudden upheaval of emotion filled my chest. I clenched my eyes shut, sealing the tears that sprung behind them. ¡°Thank you,¡± I breathed. I slowly rotated, trying to sight a landmark. With a precision that surprised me, my mind fixed upon a bead of radiant energy atop a mountain. All lifeforce was different, but it was rare that I managed to comprehend a single flame¡¯s idiosyncrasies without other, contextual clues. But somehow, with my sixth sense alone, I knew it was Kit. I pointed in that direction, and Ronnie ¨C careful to avoid slipping on the ice ¨C hauled Wil onto their shoulder and began lumbering past me. A hand slapped me on the shoulder as they left. ¡®Luck¡¯, they signed. Ronnie disappeared. I placed my hand over my mouth and allowed myself a single, muffled sob. Then I turned and began running towards the centre of the crater. Despite sprinting as fast as my legs allowed, four dozen strides later I was intercepted. Three cloaked figures emerged from the speartrees, deftly avoiding the few that fell. All bore bruises and torn clothing. I recognised two: one bore a broken nose from the stone I¡¯d pelted into it earlier, while the other¡¯s tall, muscular form had pursued Tully and I. The bone stiletto sprouting from his wrist had lengthened into something closer to a shortspear, long enough to almost scrape the ground when his arms were lowered. The third was built similarly ¨C albeit slightly broader and taller ¨C but her bone weapon was matched with a coating of tough ivory over her other hand. We both halted. ¡°That¡¯s an Albright,¡± the tall man whispered to his female counterpart. Vaguely, I knew what the abilities of seven gods and their Blooded were. That knowledge was so common it¡¯d been embedded in children¡¯s rhymes. Dure for toughness; Enn for power; Kani for senses; Siik for mind; Wump for emotion; Yoot for magic. Growing bone wasn¡¯t on that list. I knew it wasn¡¯t Avri¡¯s. I would¡¯ve remembered cultists sprouting extra bones if it were. That left just one god. By process of elimination, I understood I was facing a pair of Shrikebloods. I just didn¡¯t understand why. I kept my hand near the hilt of my stolen sword, but didn¡¯t touch it yet. ¡°I¡¯m not an Albright. My friends were stuck in the mound, and I just want to get them out.¡± The unblooded, broken-nosed man ¨C though upon closer inspection he bore the round features of someone yet to leave boyhood ¨C opened his mouth to retort, then halted and eyed the two others. ¡°Story checks out,¡± noted the man. ¡°Findlay was blocked by some third party, and seemed not to like him, from what we gathered. Though he¡¯s no civilian.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t matter,¡± the woman said, waving a hand. She spoke in a thick Heartlander accent. ¡°We¡¯re th¡¯ rats under th¡¯ Albright¡¯s floors. If they know we¡¯re here, all they gotta do is stomp.¡± I edged to the side. ¡°I won¡¯t say a thing.¡± ¡°We could take his tongue?¡± offered the man. The Shrikeblooded woman shook her head. ¡°Hundred other ways to tell a story.¡± She released a heavy sigh. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, pal. This ain¡¯t fair to you.¡± She began walking towards me. I could¡¯ve sprinted away, but the frozen stone shook violently beneath ¨C I wasn¡¯t sure if I could build enough momentum to avoid a bone in the back. Instead, I stomped the thin layer of ice beneath my feet into pieces and hastily kicked its shards away. With more solid footing, I drew my blade and waited. The Shrikeblood walked with ease. Belatedly, I realised she wore woven sandals ¨C a poor choice of footwear, were it not for the bone piercing through their soles to bite into the ice with every step. She drew closer, and then she was in range. I struck like a viper, and my sword snapped upon her ivory spear like I was holding a branch instead of Owlforged steel. Her bone-clad fist blurred towards me, and I hastily batted it aside with my free hand. Simultaneously, I brought the remnants of my sword down up through her forearm, ramming the steel through one side and out the other. The Shrikeblood released a strangled grunt, and I turned my palm upwards to slam beneath her chin only for a leg to hook behind my own. Getting taken to the ground alongside my opponent might¡¯ve made me nostalgic were it not for a spike of immense pain as her fist hammered my kidney. Groaning, I grabbed her hand with my own and attempted a headbutt, only for her to tilt her head to the side. An instant later the woman struck down with her bone spear ¨C a foot shorter than it had been moments ago ¨C and I barely managed to seize that as well. We stared at one another, grunting and grimacing. She leveraged her entire weight onto the weapon and I struggled to keep it from impaling me. My strength was greater than hers, but with my other arm needed to trap hers she didn¡¯t need Oxblood to kill me. I watched as her spear began extending, inch-by-inch, and gradually drew closer to my face. I opened my mouth and bit down on its pointed tip, allowing her full weight to fall upon my teeth, then punched her in the face. Something gave way under my blow, but that ceased being relevant. The other two cloaked warriors were slowly surrounding us ¨C weapons poised to fall at the first clear shot. I blanched and used the momentum of my fist to begin rolling us across the ice. My fists and her spear flew at one another in a flurry of blows, deflections, and hasty dodges. While it was immediately obvious I was stronger, quicker, and tougher, the Shrikeblood was far more skilled at this kind of scuffle. Her legs wrapped around my arm, and when the warrior realised I was too strong to trap that way she dodged one of my fists and swung around onto my back, locking her ivory spear around my throat. Her other hand stabbed towards my neck. The blow skittered off the bone I¡¯d grown there. She mumbled something, but I¡¯d managed to stagger upright and begin sprinting across the ice. My gait felt like a baby deer¡¯s, yet every stumble sent me sliding faster and the Shrikeblood chose to do nothing but cling on. Once I¡¯d built enough speed, I twisted mid-stride and slammed my back into a speartree. The impact drew a cough from my throat, however the woman had it far worse ¨C some part of her crumpled around its thick trunk like a torn branch. I bounced off, turned, stumbled back, and seized her head in both hands. I stomped on her legs to gain traction and slammed her skull against the trembling ivory of the speartree. Something crunched, yet the woman still blinked wildly so I reared back and smashed it again. Her pupils were massive, but they still moved sluggishly so I roared, driving her head against the trunk like a hammer crushing an apple atop an anvil. Its dirt-stained white was overwritten by steaming chunks of gore. I released her corpse, panting. It slumped; one side of its head staring gormlessly at nothing while the other side leered from its missing pieces. I gagged. ¡°You¡¯re not a Seed.¡± I whirled, finding the man and boy staring at me. Or more specifically, the side of my neck covered in bone. The man kept himself perfectly still, but for his lips. ¡°You¡¯re one of the Albright¡¯s Blooded?¡± I worked my jaw. The land rumbled. ¡°No, you¡¯re not even a Shrikeblood, are you?¡± The warrior¡¯s mouth hung open. His eyes were wide. ¡°You¡¯re too strong.¡± I flinched away from the light in his eyes. ¡°You¡¯re the Ravenblood.¡± I turned and bolted, like a dog terrified of his master. I tried to wipe the brains from my hands, but did not succeed, and so I wrapped the arms smeared with lifeless, inert blood around my head and drove nails into the side of my face. My mouth trembled; my eyes flickered; I felt as if the sky would fall and crush me like a gnat. I ran. Neither of them followed. Chapter 59 - Tomorrow, Endlessly I ran. My lips were peeled back in a frozen grimace, the icy wind inflicting a dull throb on them as I sprinted onwards. Yet the chill faded as the cracked stone within the crater shook layers of frost from itself, with the discarded remnants evaporating from a slow boiling of heat emanating from below-ground. My lungs gradually filled with condensation, like tea leaves left too long in the pot. Speartrees fell, forcing me to constantly swerve in different directions. The uninviting incline into the crater was lousy with pebbles, stones, and boulders shaken away from the mountains above, while the mountains themselves seemed to swarm with drifting chunks of stone. I watched as someone attempted to clamber out of the crater, only to be knocked lifelessly back down by a chunk of red-mossed stone. But most of my attention gravitated around my breathing: keeping it gripped in a pattern resembling the ebb and flow of tides to prevent it from breaking apart into something irregular and incomprehensible. I¡¯d pulled my arms away from my face, but blood kept dripping from a scratch in my forehead and painting my vision dark red. I lowered my bandana to staunch it and kept running. A gold-plated soldier stumbled past me ¨C spear discarded; armour stained with blood not his own ¨C and distantly, I felt around a third of his comrades fleeing outwards from the mound as well. The rest stayed in tense formation, even as some were staunched by falling speartrees or sudden crevasses. In contrast, many of the cloaked warriors seemed stood almost entirely still: staring at the ground or sky with stunned, almost delighted expressions on their faces. ¡°A decade an¡¯ a half, an¡¯ th¡¯ Heartlands¡¯ve woken up,¡± I heard a short, grey-bearded warrior mutter to his companion. ¡°Aching¡¯ll grow more¡¯n anyone can eat. Famine¡¯s over.¡± The other glanced at his peer, wide-eyed, then grabbed the other man and began dragging them out of the crater. They were right, I registered. The Aching grew everything back ¨C a bounty that Heartlanders had lived on for generation after generation after generation. People would be able to live without fear of starvation for years to come. Then the ground split, and the grey-bearded man¡¯s leg fell within. It shifted, and suddenly he didn¡¯t have a leg. A howl split from his throat as I sprinted past. Another shake had my boots skittering through a warm puddle, forcing me into a roll to avoid breaking my neck. I sprung upwards and a speartree crashed into the space I¡¯d occupied moments before. I resisted the urge to glance backwards and focused on a flicker of yellow through the shaking sea of ivory trunks: the faltering remnants of the Albright line, spears still levelled against outside force. As I drew closer, one of the soldiers spotted me and yelled, signalling the two other beside him to point their weapons towards me. Behind them, a bowman reached for an arrow only to find his quiver empty. He discarded the weapon and drew a dagger from his belt. I didn¡¯t slow. With the butts of their spears braced against the ground, running directly into them would see me impaled by my own speed. Yet slowing barely entered my mind. I raced towards them like a charging bull, and scarcely five paces before their spears hollowed me of my innards I threw myself beneath their spearheads and into the legs of all three of them. We fell in an avalanche of flailing limbs. A boot hit me in the back of the head, but my attention was dominated by the archer¡¯s hand wrapping around my nape in preparation for hammering his blade through my skull. I grabbed the offending arm and yanked. The weight of my body sent him lurching downwards, giving me ample opportunity to seize his other arm and pull myself away from the others. The bowman¡¯s body bent like an sapling abused by a storm as he desperately attempted to keep himself upright. Soon enough, I was standing next to him. I punched him in the side of the jaw. He slumped downwards, eyes rolling. Then I was darting away once again, leaving the four soldiers still breathing and vanishing into the maze of trembling speartrees. I weaved my way around them, ducking under collapsed trunks still supported by the dense clustering of the ubiquitous plants and hurdling over the occasional patch knocked down like a set of dominoes. Stopping could see one fall atop me, but my momentum was simply too great to halt. Through my boots, I felt the ground¡¯s shaking accelerate. I tore my way through a narrow space between the speartrees and staggered out. The mound ¨C previously elevated far above my head ¨C sunk into the dirt in a cacophony of cracks; its weight no longer tolerable to the earth. On the outer edge of the sinkhole stood my group ¨C the Strains, Tully, the three children, Ronnie¡¯s dog and Jana, holding an infant in each arm ¨C surrounded by half a dozen Albright soldiers; spears, axes and swords levelled against them. My eyes picked up on the orange colours of a Foxblood mixed amongst the rest. Gast, Davian, and Tully stood as a bulwark in front of the others. They were accompanied by Yowler. His jowls were raised in a yellow snarl. Their commander ¨C Finlay, I recalled ¨C was saying something about secrecy and necessary sacrifices to the group. Tully denied it with wild gesticulations, but it didn¡¯t take a Foxblood to see how her hands trembled. Finlay¡¯s jaw firmed, and he opened it to say something¡­ While I lowered my shoulder and barged into the side of the line, sending all but the largest of the soldiers staggering to the side. The soldier next to me twisted as he stumbled, turning just in time to see my fist pound into his throat and break the cartilage within. I snatched his spear from seizing fingers and beat the next woman¡¯s helmet into a dull ringing. She winced ¨C hands twitching towards her ears ¨C and I impaled her through the armpit. Four, I thought as my opponents recovered enough turn on me. They spread themselves slowly, eyes flickering between myself and the others, but their hesitation gave me time to withdraw the spear from the corpse and hurl it at the Foxblood and he leaned almost casually away from the weapon''s path yet that gave me time to arrive in front of him and punch him in the stomach and though I felt my knuckles fracture as they impacted against the armour his breath fled his throat and I grabbed the winded Blooded because his struggles were feeble without air and turned him in front of a falling sword which bit into his shoulder and he laughed as I broke his neck. Then I rotated his twitching body to steal the sword stuck in him but the soldier stole it back and I stuck my hands in the Foxblood¡¯s armour and raised his lifeless flesh over my head and hurled it at the remaining three and one went down and the other two broke their formation to move out of the way and I ripped the helmet from one of the dead and pelted it towards one who deflected it with a wave of their axe but couldn¡¯t prevent me from charging into the other and though they swung their blade I caught it on a hand quietly plated in bone and seized its hilt and bore him to the ground with it braced against their neck and the impact decapitated them and I shuddered away from the blood and an axe fell towards me but it flashed purple and disappeared as someone tackled its wielder away and I rose and walked over and stomped the fallen soldier¡¯s head and I stomped it and I stomped it ¡°Vin.¡± and I felt the bones break beneath my boot and the flinch travelled up my body and my eyes were wide ¡°Vin, she¡¯s dead.¡± and the gore spread and the land shook and I could not draw enough air into my body and someone grabbed me and I grabbed them to crush their throat and it was Gast. I licked my lips. ¡°Sorry, what, uh,¡± I stuttered, blinking rapidly, ¡°uh, what were you saying?¡± The Strain looked up at me. ¡°You¡¯re okay,¡± she said. ¡°Yeah.¡± Nodding, I rubbed my temples. ¡°Yeah, okay. Are you¡­ Are you all okay?¡± Davian ripped his short-sword from Finlay¡¯s neck ¨C the commander¡¯s body still trapped underneath a dead Foxblood¡¯s ¨C and gestured behind me. ¡°I¡­ I believe Taja may need your help more, Vin.¡± I turned. The teenage nomad stared up at me, face covered in blood from the skull that had been crushed next to his head. I opened my mouth, closed it, and offered him a hand. After a moment, he took it. I hauled him upright. The young man stood quietly for a second, then began slowly attempting to wipe the flecks of brain matter from his hair. The whites of his eyes seemed like islands in an ocean of red rot. I unwrapped my patchwork bandana ¨C poorly stitched together from different pieces of cloth over a decade ago ¨C and carefully wiped vast swathes of blood from his head. When the bandana had become fouler than what remained on his head, I folded it and tucked it in my pouch, alongside my broken wing. He stared at nothing. I patted him on the back. ¡°Thank you.¡± Taja¡¯s eyes focused on my own. He shot me a quick smile, then returned to gazing at something I couldn¡¯t see. ¡°Rita.¡± That was Tully¡¯s voice. ¡°Was she able to- ¡° ¡°No,¡± I said. She clasped her hands beside her back, beady eyes staring at nothing at all. Her face was expressionless. Behind her, the mound slowly sunk into the earth. After a moment, she looked back at me. ¡°Vin, was the Albright encirclement still in formation?¡± Her stern tone was marred by a slight quaver. I glanced at the old Spiderblood. ¡°Yes.¡± Tully released a soft exhale. ¡°Ah.¡± I yanked Taja aside as stone split beneath his feet with a vast crack. ¡°Ah,¡± she repeated, mindless of the world breaking apart around us. Her eyes clicked into different positions like cogs in some infinitely complex machine. ¡°Vin, can you scale a speartree?¡± I wrapped an arm around the base of one, wincing as my fractured hand sparked with agony -- as if the bone was eating my flesh from the inside. But I could. I turned to tell Tully that, when Davian slipped past me. ¡°Have a break, Vin,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ll be quick.¡± Tully grimaced, muscles in her face twitching. ¡°I asked- ¡° ¡°It would be better to save his energy, correct? He¡¯ll be the spearhead of whatever flight we make.¡± ¡°Go, then,¡± she snapped. ¡°Quickly.¡± Davian was quick ¨C faster than I would¡¯ve been. He used a rope to shimmy up the side ¨C wiry muscles in his limbs tensing according to a silent rhythm ¨C and quickly ascended to the point where he could survey the wider crater. Another speartree fell beside the one he scaled, and I prepared to catch him if he fell. ¡°Cloaks are leaving,¡± he yelled downwards. ¡°Many Albrights are, as well. But¡­¡± He swung around the trunk ¨C far thinner up as high as him ¨C and peered in a different. ¡°Around thirty remain in the encirclement.¡± ¡°Raven¡¯s bones,¡± Tully swore. I took a step away from her. ¡°Raven¡¯s bloody bones.¡± I began to speak. ¡°Tully, what¡¯s- ¡° ¡°Someone needs to stay to guide the others out.¡± ¡°I could- ¡° ¡°Don¡¯t be foolish, Vin.¡± Her reprimand was harsh. ¡°We need you to get out.¡± In a quieter voice, she continued. ¡°And we need a wise enough person to be the guide ¨C avoid the combatants; the collapsing grounds. But¡­¡± Her hands shook, and she grasped them together to still them. I knew what she was implying. Someone needed to stay to give an overview, and they needed to be capable of making tactical decisions quickly. Otherwise, we¡¯d fall on the end of a gold-plated spear or be consumed by the Aching. Myself and her were the only option she was considering; and she¡¯d determined I¡¯d be needed to get out in the first place. I couldn¡¯t say she was wrong: my Ravenblood gave an overview of a large swathe of the crater, but if I were dragging a group of children and elderly with me, we simply wouldn¡¯t be fast enough to avoid interception. We needed to be able to see the entire crater. But conceivably, there was a way out for her: if Tully and I left alone, it was likely we could both make it out. Or if she simply accepted that the slower individuals dying was an acceptable price for her survival. It wasn¡¯t something I was considering. For whatever reason, Tully wasn¡¯t either. Which gave her little excuse to do anything but die. ¡°That would leave Head Maleen without that resource. But she won¡¯t survive without a strong arm to see her through. In a choice between strength and wit, there is¡­¡± The old woman placed her hands over her face. ¡°¡­little contest.¡± I raised a hand to place on her shoulder, then lowered it. ¡°This is a loss for Heltia,¡± she muttered to herself. ¡°Inevitable, perhaps. ¡°Inevitable,¡± she repeated slowly, rotating it around her mouth as if it were the last piece of food she¡¯d ever eat. ¡°In-ev-i-ta-ble.¡± Tully glanced at me, then grabbed my arm and dragged me away from the others. ¡°There need not be a choice.¡± She looked at me as if I were the only shelter from the shadow of some vast god. I didn¡¯t like it. ¡°What are you saying?¡± ¡°I am old, Vin.¡± Her smile was a tremulous line set in a rugged landscape of scars. ¡°You are young, and strong. You will get Head Maleen to Fort Vane.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t know me,¡± I retorted. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t trust me. And we can¡­ find some way to make it without leaving you.¡± She released a breath. ¡°You won¡¯t be leaving me. Not really.¡± She awkwardly drew her sword, and after a quick breath to brace herself, sliced open the back of her hand. When enough blood oozed out, she wiped it against my forehead. I felt her lifeforce beat ¨C stronger than any around the two of us ¨C and her blood drip down my face. I took a step backwards, my face taut against the horror in my chest. ¡°How long?¡± My voice was low and jagged. ¡°How long have I known?¡± The corners of her mouth strived towards a smile, but the rest of her face was unwilling to cooperate. ¡°Since the village. You did not move like a Lizardblood, or a common soldier. I only saw her take the field a handful of times, but those,¡± she said, eyes plaintive, ¡°were the skills of the Slaughter. General Maja.¡± I didn¡¯t remember her. And I didn¡¯t want her to remember me. ¡°Why¡¯d you¡­ keep me?¡± ¡°I do not believe you killed the General.¡± That was incorrect. In every way possible, I sliced her throat open myself. ¡°I¡¯m too volatile- ¡° ¡°You just need to hold out until Fort Vane, Vin. And you will.¡± Tully¡¯s mouth stiffened. Her eyes were wider than I¡¯d ever seen them. ¡°You will. Whatever¡¯s left of me won¡¯t allow you to stop.¡± I shook my head, disbelieving. ¡°You will carry this for me. You will.¡± I felt my face contort. My eyes flicked away. Tully took my head in her hands. They shook powerfully, held in the throes of the same emotion that set her jaw trembling and her eyes twisting. She turned my face towards her own. ¡°You have to.¡± Though I tried to turn my gaze away, a single moment of divine comprehension sparked through my mind: Tully was terrified. And just like that, I could no longer wipe the blood away.
The blood had gone cold, yet the avenue between Tully and I was afire. At any moment, I could begin pulling her into my being. With Bhan, I¡¯d once stood beside a bone-dry house built of reeds with a flaming torch in my hand, and for a bewildering moment I¡¯d felt the urge to set it ablaze. While we all waited for her signal, a cold mirror of that same impulse dwelled inside of me: to save before it was too late. But I¡¯d resolved myself to wait until the choice was taken from me. I glanced behind, where past the opaque clustering of speartrees I knew Tully waited, wiry muscles straining as she clung to her speartree. A single shrill whistle pierced from that direction, and I was bursting from where we concealed ourselves to charge towards the line of Albrights. In the moments before I collided with the two Tully had pointed us towards, I noted they¡¯d turned inwards; putting their backs to the fleeing ¡®Seeds¡¯, and instead resolving to slaughter us. I smashed the helmet of one with a looted sword so hard both the helm and the skull beneath dented while simultaneously grabbing the spear of the other. The soldier kept a grip on her weapon, yet her stubborn refusal to release it gave Davian ¨C three steps behind me ¨C ample opportunity to slice the back of her knee as he ran past. Her grip faltered as she snarled in pained defiance, and I shoved her to the ground and impaled her on her own spear. Specks of blood ejected from her mouth as she coughed. As I tore the weapon from her fading body, the rest of our group jogged past as fast as the shaking ground allowed them. Jana carried two infants in her arms ¨C looking as if she¡¯d rather be cradling hot coals ¨C and the three children clustered in front of Taja, who was charged with herding them in the correct direction. Yowler ¨C old and grey as he was ¨C was a big enough dog to pull a small man to the ground, and had apparently done so before. Besides the old hound, we had three combatants: Davian ¨C who would lead the way ¨C along with Gast and myself ¨C who would protect the rear. ¡°Come on,¡± I told the fat Strain as she wheezed her way towards me. She lowered her massive shield on one arm, hefted the runestone strapped to her other, and accelerated to a slightly faster pace. From experience, I knew she couldn¡¯t maintain it for very long. I kept her pace, dodging the falling speartrees even as fresh points broke the stone beneath our feet. The rumbling has become so intense it felt like we were bugs inside a jar, being repeatedly shaken by an uncaring giant. No ice remained beneath our feet, having been melted into water then boiled into air. Anything in the distance was distorted by a wobbling veil cast by the relentless heat. Sweat dripped in long streams down the bodies of everyone present. A series of whistles cut the air in front of us: one of Tully¡¯s signals, demanding that the group veer left. I watched Jana stagger sideways ¨C prevented from falling by Taja ¨C moments before a crack large enough to swallow speartrees tore open from the outer edge of the crater. Its bottom was visible for only a moment before a titanic shudder slammed it shut hard enough to crack both sides. Despite leaving the range of my perception I still sensed Tully¡¯s lifeforce drumming like a rabbit¡¯s pulse, connected to me by the smear of her blood on my forehead. The beat seized moments before another signal indicating we entirely change our course, and I barely managed to yank Gast aside before she stomped onto a patch of ground cracking as if it were eggshell-thin. Our pace ¨C bogged down by children and the elderly ¨C was far slower than it needed to be, yet with the instructions of our distant leader we managed to avoid being crushed by the rapidly deteriorating crater. But eventually, Tully¡¯s piercing notes announced the inevitable: a group of Albrights pursued to silence us. I felt them ¨C nine just within range of my perception, rapidly growing nearer. Additional information was tacked onto us: they were faster, and held greater numbers. A more accurate count of their forces was supplied by another set of tweets: five; ten; fifteen; twenty; twenty-five- Then an interruption. Beneath. I looked forward to see-
-??? ??????????? ?? ??????? ??????? ?? ? ???? ?? ?????????? ???? ?? ????? of them as the ground t?re open as if by some invisible hand. The maj?rity made it over ¨C the woman, children, teenager, and dog all managing to charge acr?ss the stone before it began foldi?g into a sharp tilt. Y?t the fat woman and large man were cau?ht in the middle as the shelf they ran alo?g began sliding downwards, int? the yawning earth. For a moment, I th??ght our task was near?y over. With the pair crushed by either the fall or the Aching, all we¡¯d have to do was silence a collection of mostly unarmed ?????????. It would be a wretched, brutal task, but I ?ouldn¡¯t prevent my limbs from sagging with relief beneath my gold armou?. We¡¯d have silenced the only whispers of ¡®Ich?r¡¯ that could¡¯ve escaped. Da?, ????? and little T??? would all be safe from the Albright¡¯s blades until the nex? time we were deployed. A thought ni?gled at me, but surely they couldn¡¯t blame us for not killing all the Seeds? We hadn¡¯t spilled any secrets. Or at least, no? rank-and-file like me and the others that¡¯d survived. But even as myself and the other eight who were lightly-armoured enough to keep up with me hoped, the man seized the woman and hauled her ¨C muscles taut against his br?wn skin in a network of power ¨C above him, onto the shelf above him. She managed to seize his hand as the shelf of stone was eaten by the chasm beneath. I saw his eyes grow wild with terror, yet he still managed to pull his dangling body up on the shelf of stone. I turned to G????, who stood, jaw agape at the edge of the pit. ¡°Do something,¡± I pleaded. He startled, then drew a javelin from the pouch on his back and flung it towards the pair as they recovered. The man¡¯s hea? swung towards it like a cat¡¯s, and he shook the woman. She slapped the massive stone tablet strapped to her arm and the projectile glowed purple. It petered uselessly down the hole. ¡°She¡¯s a godsdamned Owlblood?¡± L???ry hissed. Beneath the cacophony of the land breaking apart, I heard her tone crack. ¡°Man has to be a Foxblood or somethin¡¯ as well,¡± I said. ¡°Oh, gods. What do we do?¡± My eyes ¨C as I was sure all the others¡¯ did ¨C feverishly scrawled across everything. The chasm was small ?nough to circumvent, but we¡¯d lose time doing so. We might still catch their rearguard, but none of it mattered unless we could kill all of them. Then, in his northern accent, G???? muttered, ¡°What in Kani¡¯s sick skull¡­¡± I followed his gaze downwards. In the deep shadows of the pit lay writhing masses of what my struggling brain understood as not belonging to the earth. From its walls, a forest of spindly hairs grew from a base of raw muscles and tendons. The leg of some quadrupedal creature jerked wildly, and was bisected as a white string of tendon tensed. Ey?s ¨C clouded with white ¨C burst across chunks of carapace. They flicked around in the same desperate motions ours had, moments before. A low moan erupted from a undulating tunnel, and I turned my head away. ¡°Don¡¯t think about it,¡± I told him, then continued with a strained smile. ¡°We¡¯re not paid sacks o¡¯ chits t¡¯think, right?¡± The old joke provoked a quick laugh from him, but more out of habit than anything else. ¡°We are dead.¡± Even as G???? spoke, another wild shudder caused the shelf the man and woman sat upon to crack into several twisting pieces. Yet instead of outright killing them, a cluster of speartrees grew from the pit at a startling pace, holding the fragmented platforms in place by piercing through them. I could see their tips slowly begin to grow through the stone. The man panted rapidly as he and the woman fought for balance. Some platforms slipped into the pit, but most halted at various angles. Coincidentally, they¡¯d survived. And coincidentally, the gaps between each were small enough that we could leap between. ¡°We gotta go over,¡± I told the others. ¡°He¡¯s Foxblood,¡± ??o?? ¨C always silent until we needed a cynic ¨C spat bitterly. ¡°He will eat us alive.¡± ¡°His hair¡¯s black.¡± I pointed at the man. ¡°See? No orange. He¡¯s a weak one. He has to be. And we may as well.¡± What better reason to spend our lives? ¡°I knew it paid too well,¡± L???ry chuckled hollowly. ¡°Didn¡¯t sign up to have my family killed.¡± ??o?? snorted disparagingly. Before we lost more time to pointless argument I took three steps back and jumped to the nearest platform. I landed heavily ¨C knees slamming into the trembling stone hard enough to break skin ¨C and dropped my spear to brace myself against the ground. It spun out my grip, into the darkness below. Tears pricked at my eyes at the sight. A thud sounded beside me. S?????s caught herself and her spear on the ground. Beneath his gold helm, he shot me a quick grin. We carefully righted ourselves by grasping one another for balance. He handed me his spear to hold, then leapt for the next platform. He¡¯d just seized its edge when a purple glow unseated his fingers. His fall downwards was silent. My eyes found the fat woman ¨C the Owlblood ¨C moments before G???? began hurling javelins at her. Their purple glow stole any accuracy his throws might¡¯ve possessed, but it was enough for me to clear the final few jumps to their platform. As I did so, the large man drew his spear backwards and hurled it. The wood of its haft missed my head by inches. Behind me, I heard G???? howl in agony as he was hit, and L???ry¡¯s screams distorting as she plummeted into the writhing abyss beneath us. But it was too late to look back. I was face-to-face with the man, and in the shadows of the crater his sheer size made him a dark, hulking beast. His expression ¨C tight and almost mournful ¨C was the only hint of humanity in him, and even that was snuffed as his frame tightened into a warrior¡¯s stance. Instinctively, I knew I couldn¡¯t beat him. But even as my hands trembled where they clenched around my spear, a single thought moved me forward: I didn¡¯t need to defeat him ¨C I just needed to ensure my comrades could make it across. So I feinted towards his face, then extended my spear with my entire body in a desperate bid to kill the Owlblood woman. He seized the weapon and slammed its butt into my face. I stumbled backwards, barely managing to draw a dagger before he reversed his grip and stabbed the spear towards me. As death reared its bloody fangs in the form of a creature more monster than man, I somehow managed to slap the spearhead away with my dagger and counter by slashing open his arm. The Blooded¡¯s teeth ground together. Then the platform beneath us shivered as a speartree pierced through its stone. He stumbled slightly, and I saw my chance. I dropped my knife and seized the haft of the spear he held. With a grunt, I leveraged the fire-hardened wood against his own faltering balance. For a single moment the two of us teetered on the edge, and I could hope my gambit would send both of us tumbling into the bowels of the earth, to be crushed below. The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. Then he ¨C I? ¨C roared, wrenched me off the ground, and slammed me back downwards. I blinked, and coughed slightly. Dull incomprehension filled me as my body slowly left the ground. In front of my eyes, what seemed like an ivory spear was drenched in gore. My hands beat ineffectually at it, and came away covered in crimson ropes. My entrails. He ¨C or I? ¨C had impaled me on a speartree. Pain caught up to my body. I let loose a strangled scream, seeing the sky and seeing myself be hoisted upwards. I howled in agony and confusion, slowly rotating my head to see the monster beneath me. Reality doubled. I watched my body be hoisted skywards, and I watched my gore-smeared face contort in abject horror. Then I died. I fell to my knees, clawing at my stomach where the speartree had impaled me moments before. Above, I saw my own body growing increasingly distant as the speartree grew upwards. Just like the bodies that gave the Shrike its name. My pants alerted the Owlblood. Before she could kill me, I scrambled over to her and seized her leathers, cocking a fist to break her head open. ¡°What?¡± Gast asked. I blinked. ¡°Where¡¯d the Foxblood go?¡± I asked. ¡°What Foxblood?¡± ¡°The- the man!¡± I stuttered. ¡°That massive man! Where is he?¡± Gast just looked at me. ¡°What¡¯s my name?¡± I demanded. ¡°Vin?¡± ¡°No, no¡­ it¡¯s¡­¡± ????. I couldn¡¯t grasp it. It was there; at the tip of my tongue. Yet instinctively, I knew it would remain forever out of my reach. It was Vin. Or Orvi, or Maja, or Babs or whatever. Wasn¡¯t it? I grabbed my skull, groaning as a migraine tore through the meat within. My nails cleaved long furrows down the side of my face in a bid to regain my senses, but against the aching of my veins it was less than nothing. In an instant, I tried and failed and tried again to sort the last few minutes out. Two avenues lay before me. One was riddled with holes. Belatedly I realised I¡¯d managed to stifle most of the connection between myself and ????. But I¡¯d hesitated. If I¡¯d cut it off completely, I might¡¯ve begun to fall apart again and lost us the battle. ¡°Vin,¡± Gast said, ¡°let¡¯s go.¡± I let her lead me onto the next platform. Then back onto solid ¨C albeit wildly trembling ¨C ground. When I finally mustered the will to raise my head again, flashes of gold revealed my comrades ¨C ¡°the Albrights,¡± I hissed to myself ¨C were close to reaching us again. ??o?? was barely a handful of leaps away. My gaze lurched towards Davian and the rest of our group. They were struggling to find a path around another ravine. Tully¡¯s whistles had gone silent, and without them all we had left were guesses. A group of gold-plated soldiers plummeted to their deaths in a wreath of purple. Gast panted beside me. Yet in the distance behind them sprinted dozens more, expressions suspended between despair and hope. ??o?? staggered onto solid ground, sweat-drenched face contorted with reckless fury. It was hard to enjoy the company of someone determined to ruin the mood of those around him, but I¡¯d never truly wished him harm. I imagined killing him. I imagined crushing the faces and expressions and hopes and despair and colour and life from every single person arrayed against me. A breath left my body in a shudder. ¡°I don¡¯t know if I can do this,¡± I said quietly. Gast glanced at me. Then, she levelled her shield towards the approaching soldiers. ¡°Okay.¡± Then I felt Tully¡¯s lifeforce flicker. You watch. Your fathers: scribbling letters on tablets radiating a deep purple to match their own roughly dyed clothes. Those around them: bearing the same outfit, the same activity, and the same wide eyes as your parents. You¡¯re given a wax tablet of your own to scratch your nails in, and between glances towards them you painstakingly copy their movements, though the symbols hold no meaning to you. The world is a collection of tablets, a single round room, and those that dwell within it. But in the moments between waking and working comes a dream: walking back home across the rope bridges to see the endlessly tall ivory towers, and though they¡¯re greater than any individual a thousand people scurry up and down their sides, chipping away at them and gradually the world grows more human. When a dozen labourers are mauled by a great beast at the foot of the tower, you turn your head away. Gently, Da directs your gaze back. Something clicked in my head. ??o?? stepped towards Gast, teeth bared. I reared a leg and kicked him back into the ravine. You grow on a diet of roots and berries supplemented with a miscellaneous assortment of meat. They are mysterious: a glance is all you need to understand they¡¯re brought by the rough-skinned people who climb up on ladders with baskets on their backs, but it takes another three weeks to comprehend they come from the red-leafed mass that dominates the horizon. You think the food might¡¯ve lived, once, and tell your fathers as much. In his slow, measured way, Pa tells you everything lives. Da turns his flat gaze from Pa and tells you nothing does. You¡¯re not sure what to think. I felt the connection, and knew I could crush it. But the gambit would crush what little hope I had alongside it. And I ¨C I? ¨C had already made my choice. Alongside the roots and berries you put in your mouth are letters and numbers you cram in your head; so many you sometimes dream they climb from your ears and swarm across the room you share with your fathers into towers and bridges and ropes, where twos eat ones to become threes. Your parents say you will be like them one day. Sometimes you think it might be nice to be one of the women who go into the forest, instead. Until one day the horizon churns into a writhing, cannibalistic mass, and no one who went out that day returns. Yet your portion of roots and berries gets larger, and you wonder whether trees are grown from the dead. Another of my comrades ¨C no, the Albrights ¨C made a desperate gambit to cross the platforms. Once again, Gast¡¯s fingers pressed on her runestone to ensure his leap fell askew. In the fading purple light around his body I read her bloodtech¡¯s faltering fuel, so I flicked my fingers through the blood on my arm and offered it to her. On a Frost morning so cold your breath seems to stab your throat, you slip the distracted gazes of Pa and Da and step out onto the precarious walkways raised around the Spires. To you, the scaffolding seems to pull the towers from their ghostly heights and anchor them in the world you live in. You carefully follow the people who painstakingly put the rickety platforms together at less than half their speed ¨C for they are held to the Spires by ropes and you are only held by your own poor balance. Eventually, you find your way onto a small ledge. It overlooks the blooming of a city, and it is here you come to spend most of your childhood. The Strain cast two more soldiers into darkness before the bulk of the Albrights reached the edge of the pit. A few rattled arrows from sparse quivers are aimed towards us, driving me to pull the massive shield from Gast¡¯s arm. You watch yourself grow: limbs becoming thin and gangly while your mind weaves an increasingly intricate web of comprehension. The city grows as well: a new crenulation upon the tower; another bridge; the introduction of a contraption that flares purple and inevitably fails, days later. But it is the movements of people you¡¯re truly fascinated by: the way the gatherers go out and come back in; where the labourers and Owlsmiths intersect to reinforce certain platforms; the cool-eyed individuals that record it all. Every human swims through a dozen different streams, yet somehow it all intersects at a single point: your city; the Spires of Heltia. I stepped in front of Gast and hunched beneath her shield. The volley shattered against its metal. Facing any individual except your fathers is difficult ¨C you don¡¯t know them; you don¡¯t know what they¡¯ll do ¨C but when one becomes many all the insecurities fade away. They are rhythmic, flowing from one task to another in their own way. In time, seeing the same assortment of faces every day makes them more familiar to you and more stunning for their intimacy: the way the bearded man always laughs uproariously at the stone-faced one; how the old woman always checks her team¡¯s harnesses twice; the unmarked patch of dirt where two quiet gatherers always bow their heads. When someone raises a hand to you one day, you nearly fall off your ledge in surprise. The notion that other people watched as well was utterly foreign. One more crossed, and I slammed the shield into her ruddy face, feeling her features cave beneath its weight. But sitting and watching only takes a small portion of your day. The rest is dedicated to numbers. Eventually, you look at a number on a tablet and the people being fed beneath, and see that they¡¯re meant to be the same. In your mind, the two never seem to become one. Your fathers deal with an almost incomprehensible amount of numbers and letters, with days filled with copying as much as their sparse blood allows, and you suspect that they have no trouble with the truth you struggle with. You know they¡¯re right ¨C Spires couldn¡¯t be built if they were wrong ¨C you just don¡¯t have the head to understand. But if you try very hard, you sometimes glimpse the shadows of wood and ore and food amidst the walls of numbers, and it is there you come to a startling realisation about the resources House Heltia consumes. There¡¯s never enough. I glanced backwards, finding Davian leading the others across the ravine they¡¯d struggled with. The Albrights began circumnavigating the edge of the pit. They continued as several were consumed by the stone as it shattered and heaved. When House Heltia secures several drops of Siik¡¯s blood ¨C its payment for joining Leyden in delving into the Spider¡¯s mountain ¨C young men and women are offered a heavily-diluted amount to ¡®try¡¯, as if being Blooded were a matter of taste and not necessity. Your fathers want the secluded life of an Owlblooded bureaucrat or smith for you. But Heltia needs Spiderbloods, and you pass their test. After a day of writhing, you are among their number. Your whole life you have watched. Now, you see. The ground beneath my feet undulated. I look down. In the shaking arm of a worker you see the fall of a hammer. In the slight bend of a piece of scaffolding you see the crack that forms days later. In the feet of fleeing labourers you see them fail to outrun a monster. In the fraying rope lugging timber you see three people have their bones crushed. In the icy wood and long drops you see your own death writ in excruciating detail. In the moments before the day begins you see a thousand ways everything could go wrong. In its fragmenting stone, amongst a dozen different possibilities, I saw: Gast and I¡¯s immediate death; my leg being pulled into the ground and bit off by chomping stone; the pit pulling more land into its maw. After the assimilation, it takes three days for you to halt your trembling enough to leave the barracks. Others in your cohort are not so lucky: their heavier Spiderblood or weaker wills tie them to their beds. They die of dehydration, eyes shaking above bleeding lips as they stared at the jugs of water provided. Of the original ten, six remain to assist Heltia in designing buildings and contraptions to support the city¡¯s slow growth. But your skills lay elsewhere. When one of Heltia¡¯s small, purple-clad armies returns to the city, you are placed amongst them. After surveying the soldiers¡¯ empty quivers, I grabbed Gast¡¯s arm and broke into a run. There is no formal training; merely an assignment to a senior officer and mounds of documents to review. The army leaves Spires, then the Heartlands, and though you are swamped in paperwork it¡¯s impossible to ignore the majesty of the outside world and those that march beside you. Your fellow soldiers are placed in clear lines of purple like an island of sanity amidst the crushingly open plains. Then Heltia joins Baylar for an expedition, and you realise that your House¡¯s forces barely match their smallest detachment. I felt nearly twenty Albrights swarm after us. With my halberd, in a narrower battlefield, I might¡¯ve been capable of cutting through them. But no amount of martial skill would help against the ubiquitous chaos of the Aching. Safeguarded by Head Neelam Heltia¡¯s role in the Albright¡¯s ascendency, House Heltia has no enemies. The Albrights do not allow it. Your role as a soldier is not defence; it is to earn the ore, timber, and rations that sustain Heltia¡¯s growth. You are mercenaries. As your general accepts increasingly deadly odds to beg scraps of favour from the other, more powerful Houses tables ¨C all the while dutifully ignoring the dirty glances of your peers ¨C you see that your home¡¯s rate of expansion had a cost buried out of Spires¡¯ eyeshot. You see your first battle ¨C Baylar placing you against an overwhelming Esfarian force ¨C and watch as a hundred of your people die. Baylar wins; Heltia is paid; you are ordered to tally the dead. Gast¡¯s breathing grew heavy against the force of our sprint. I shoved her spine, only for her to stumble on a sudden warping of earth and have to haul her back upright. As the years pass, you quickly distinguish yourself as a deft hand in organising supply-chains, medical staff, blacksmiths; guiding the movements of people to best support an oncoming battle and its inevitable aftermath. To your surprise, you find every soldier from common infantry to the most elite Blooded offering you greetings as you pass. When you ask your general about this, he laughs and says whatever army you¡¯re attached to eats like they¡¯re Albrights. That doesn¡¯t seem like enough. To you, helping your soldiers die with full bellies still means they die. One of the soldiers behind broke off from the main body of Albrights. Whoever it was couldn¡¯t outrun me, but they could outrun Gast. Eventually, on one of the few return trips to Spires that the dangers of the Heartlands allows, a retired tactician has the idea of pairing you with General Bina. The General was lent Dure¡¯s divinity late enough that Lizardblood¡¯s inherent mental rigidity cannot smother a keen tactical mind earned through decades of military experience. Yet the newly minted General pushes her soldiers too hard and too far. Her forces continually buckle under the weight of her demands. You are charged with keeping her army in the best possible shape, to ensure they can endure General Bina¡¯s plans. The first time you attend one of her officer¡¯s meetings, you see that it is impossible to supply such obvious madness. For the first time in over a decade, you see wrongly. I pushed Gast onwards, then halted to meet the sprinting soldier. He barrelled towards me in a gleam of gold, and moments before he reached me I saw one of the many cracks in the stone begin to close. While General Bina supplies the plans and sheer charisma ¨C often taking the field herself to bolster faltering troops ¨C you place the right people in the right places to ensure she has the resources she needs. Victory rates soar; fatalities drop like stones. Under the General¡¯s command, Heltia¡¯s military is no longer a third-rate force hired to bear the brunt of an enemy¡¯s ire, but the weight that determines victory or loss. The Spires of Heltia¡¯s appetite is endless, but for once it lays sated. Head Neelam Heltia sends tools to the front-line ¨C carved with dizzying filagree and glowing purple ¨C and though they inevitably fail, for once you see the future as a bright thing. I stepped around his tackle and kicked his leg out from under him. Before his body had hit the ground, I seized his helmed head and jammed it into the closing gap. His helmet crumpled into a mess of red almost instantly. Your forces cannot match the discipline of the Albrights ¨C equipped with the best gear and staffed by the young nobles of every House. Nor the ferocity of Esfaria ¨C upheld by a worship of the martial way. Nor the chicanery of the Leyden. Nor the sheer economic weight of Baylar. But while their focus is stretched wide, Heltia¡¯s is narrow enough to understand your worth. General Bina ¨C and you by association ¨C becomes so valuable that Head Heltia steers you well away from any gods. Seeing that brings a greater relief than any other in your life. Ahead of my thundering steps, Gast had halted to eye a ravine five paces across. Within it, vegetation, stone, and flesh writhed nauseatingly. Most days consist of ordering craftsmen in the mud of your camp, arranging supply-chains or the occasional Divinity by a passing Face and marching through the seasons of Bite, Frost, Tempest, Summit and Spirit. Beyond that are various candlelit reviews in the darkness of the war-tent. Officers come and go ¨C by discharge or by the point of a blade ¨C but with the longevity and utility of Blooded, you and General Bina remain. After over six years of working together, your conversation extends past military matters and into deeper waters. You¡¯re met with a quiet snort when you tell her you used to want to be a labourer, then a hurried apology when she realises you¡¯re serious. She shows you a childhood mapped by scars made invisible by her Lizardblood, yet still lurking beneath her skin. When you learn your fathers have passed their blood along and died during the process, she rubs your back as you swallow sobs. When Heltia sends through a tiny, runework lantern, the two of you watch its ineffectual light flicker with unmitigated delight. When the things you say make her laugh, there¡¯s a thrill unlike any other. I rammed into Gast as fast as possible and shoved us both over the crack. We hung for a moment weightlessly, then slammed onto the other side in a tangle of limbs. For eight long years, it never goes farther than late nights and touches that linger on your skin. Someone has to take it further, but whenever you think about doing so you see a hundred thousand disgusted expressions, or gentle rebukes, or eyes that refuse to meet your own. And Bina¡¯s hands are bound by mulish stubbornness both divine but originally her own ¨C infinitely charming and infinitely frustrating in equal measures. Then one day Bina spends three days in a coma, and her waking sees your fears overcome with relief. Your ensuing embrace is accompanied by Bina¡¯s bleary astonishment, and immediately becomes one of the most awkward and most treasured memories of your life. Then the Jackal comes. I extricated myself from her vast mast. In the shuddering gasps that wrack her body I saw a woman that could sprint no longer, so with straining limbs I hauled her onto my back and continued stomping forward. At over forty years of age, you¡¯ve spent most of your life in service to the four Houses that border your own: House Esfaria, Baylar, Leyden, and occasionally the Albrights ¨C in battles against other Houses, the Raven¡¯s Cult, monsters, or merely as a show of strength. When you¡¯re contracted by Baylar to remain in reserve in preparation for a decisive battle against House Korla, it¡¯s the first time you¡¯ve faced one of the continent¡¯s three northern Houses. Over nearly a century, Korla has been slowly eaten by the other two northern Houses until it teeters on the edge of either annihilation or irrelevance. Baylar wants to sack its cities before they can. You fall asleep waiting for the call, and awake buried up to your chin in the middle of an icy field, with Bina buried beside you. Ahead of us, the rest of the group had reached the side of the crater and were scrambling up its side. Yowler bit Crumpet¡¯s clothes and yanked her aside moments before a stone the size of a head would¡¯ve broken her skull. A dark-skinned, lightly scarred woman greets you cheerily as you spit dirt, surrounded by soldiers who regard your captor with a mixture of fear and awe. Her name has been whispered as a minor addendum to a dozen late-night reports: Valorie, a common soldier elevated to the position of officer. You understand her gambit immediately: kidnapping both you and Bina as you sleep. The handful of soldiers under her command call her the Jackal. That is the name you remember her by. Above, I could see Ronnie, Head Maleen and Kit¡¯s bodies straining as they tried to prevent the larger boulders from rolling downwards. The task seemed impossible. The swordswoman turned her head to yell something below, and at the sight of her face I missed a step. The Jackal squats down and addresses Bina in a voice too quiet to decipher, caressing the hilt of her sword all the while. In an eyeblink, you see the shadow of a dozen different ways your captor could kill Bina. But the woman simply grins, straightens, and turns to you with a knife in her hand. I managed to right myself. It takes four cuts for you to make a sound. It takes sixteen cuts for you to start screaming. It takes twenty for you to believe you¡¯re going to die. It takes thirty-three for your nails to rip from your fingers as they writhe against the packed dirt you¡¯re entombed in. It takes forty-two for the pressure you force upon it to rupture something in your knee. It takes forty-nine for the Jackal to run out of clean space on your face and begin cutting into wounds already opened. It takes fifty-six for Bina to tell Valorie information about troop movements. Your torturer laughs in delight. I tore my gaze from Kit in time to notice the group of soldiers slowly catching up. Purple flared as Gast casts whatever magic remains in her runestone, but when their fellows tripped as she redirected their momentum those still standing lowered their head and redoubled their efforts. The Jackal leaves after verifying the information. Your location is ransomed. Your soldiers find you after half a day. They find your eyes lost in a pit of gore, yet still wildly flickering around. From then onwards, they call you Graves. I ground my teeth and did the same. The wounds turn to scars. The work goes on. Yet now, for every nine moments you spend poring over troop positioning, quietly ordering workmen to repair tools or negotiating payment for contracts, one is spent staring into space. Over the months, that moment seeps past the singular and gradually begins to dominate your existence. No one notices. The ground heaved beneath my boots, and everyone within the crater was tossed in the air. You make miscalculations, and Bina covers them. They call you Graves, and you hide your trembling with a rigid demeanour. Your poor inspection of newly-acquired armour gets dozens of soldiers killed, and Bina covers it. They salute you as you pass, and you vomit in your tent. Bina tells you that the Jackal ¨C on the verge of becoming a general ¨C has been exiled from House Korla after her elaborate system of blackmail was uprooted. You wake from slumber to see a dark shadow with a white smile, and your arms cannot move. You make mistake after mistake after, and Bina covers every single one. You see tomorrow in today, and it is a thing that fills you with dread. I prepared to hit the stone beneath me. One day, the army is camped near the side of a cliff. Someone gets Bina, who finds you staring off its side. You¡¯ve been like that for five hours. She takes you into her tent, holds your hands, and tells you to go home. I landed poorly. My ribs smashed into the ground with the force of both myself and Gast¡¯s weight, and something cracked, but though agony sparks through my torso I attempted to flail upright. The heat was wretched. For the first time in over three decades, you¡¯re left behind. The Spires of Heltia has grown more intricate, and in its impossible bridges, intricate carvings, hollowed towers, and countless craftspeople you see that your many years of service was not wasted. But your ledge is gone along with your fathers. You wander aimlessly through its many paths, neither touching nor being touched by the crowds of people around you. In the prototype bloodtech devices you¡¯re charged with evaluating you see a city on the cusp of something greater than even your most vivid imaginings. In a way, you¡¯re glad to witness it. But after the most powerful Aching you¡¯ve ever experienced, the Raven¡¯s cultists start to spread across the continent like a swarm of locusts, and you are not there to help Bina through it. In a gambit to rise faster, I grabbed one of the few speartrees still standing. Yet when I placed my weight on it, its trunk tilted and began to crash downwards towards us. With the Albrights reluctant to allow the other Houses into their territory, Heltia is the obvious second choice to host a summit. It¡¯s the second meeting of all eight Houses in history ¨C the only similar occasion being when the Albrights subdued the other seven over a century before ¨C and the first time many have seen your city. They leave with eyes filled with visions of the impossible ¨C slaying a god ¨C but even as you share their hopes you cannot forget the avarice-filled stares they threw as they entered your city. Before we became trapped underneath it, its momentum slowed under a veil of purple light. My muscles wrenched painfully as I dragged myself and Gast out from under it. The magic vanished, and the speartree was consumed by a crack in the earth. You request a transfer back to Bina. Your denial arrives in an elegantly scripted tablet marred by Bina¡¯s shaky signature. That is the last message you receive from her before she dies in the shadow of a god. I staggered upright alongside the Strain. The others were most of the way up the crater. My ¨C my? ¨C comrades had nearly reached us. The city mourns, then rejoices, but you remain trapped at some point before those two stages. You sleep little, and walk alone beneath the night sky. Your days are occupied by stringent evaluations of bloodtech¡¯s use on the battlefield, but when the sun falls there¡¯s nothing left but shadows. It¡¯s on one of your walks that you meet a gatherer named Tam, quietly eating alone on the roof of a smithy. She beckons you, and without much thought you begin to clamber up. Time has stolen most of your vitality, but after some assistance from the gatherer you make it up. The pair of you speak of simple things, but the conversation quickly spins out of both your grasps: into meaning, hope, solitude, and tomorrows. You meet every night. It takes a month for her to move into your room. A moment before the soldiers slammed into my back, I grabbed Gast in both arms and moved sideways. I saw a shelf crumble an instant before my foot would land on it, so I redirected my legs to bounce off a series of parchment-thin stones. Someone dove for us, missed, and had their arm crushed between a sudden growth of teeth and hair from the earth. You still dream of helplessness, savage laughter and flashing metal, but for the first time in a long time you can see the world as it is. The very first thing you see is Spires trembling under its own weight. There¡¯s not enough Godsblood in the city to keep the bloodtech it¡¯s coming to rely upon afloat, yet Heltia refuses to cease or even slow new developments. At the root of the problem is a simple matter of supply. Blood must be inside a person, lest it rapidly lose its potency, which means fuelling the bloodtech in the city is a matter of coaxing people into opening their veins. A new initiative sees taxes levied in blood. Even the staunchest patriots are initially reluctant, but Heartlanders are familiar with the notion of sacrifice and quickly grow used to the practice. Yet even so, it¡¯s only a matter of time before Spires cannot sustain itself. Their blood sprayed into the air as their fellow¡¯s armoured foot found their neck and accidentally snapped it. Without life, I felt the liquid in their veins grow impotent and empty; fading faster than a memory. This is the backdrop to your nights with Tam. With her, you can simply be. Until she becomes increasingly insistent the pair of you adopt children. You¡¯re entirely certain motherhood is a bad idea ¨C your scarred face reduces most children and some adults to tears ¨C but there are orphans aplenty to choose from. You go back and forth, until you suddenly receive a missive to enter the Nest ¨C the home of Heltian nobility. They need someone to coordinate the bodyguards of House Heltia, and with Heltia¡¯s best consumed killing a god you¡¯re the only reasonable choice remaining to them. You barely consider it. It¡¯s the first time you¡¯ve ever seen Head Neelam Heltia ¨C a short, wizened man with immense eyes ¨C and the simple act of beholding him is so intoxicated you would¡¯ve likely agreed to anything in that moment. The argument between you and Tam is settled after the sudden promotion sees you with enough chits to sustain a small family. The little solid ground remaining had been consumed by the earth¡¯s relentless churning until there was no foothold that did not move. Things swarmed and grew and collapsed; a thousand year¡¯s of life spanned in a single breath. It was a place of birth, growth, and death ¨C there was no room for survival. But even as those behind us died I listened to everything and saw myself perish a hundred different ways and step after step, I ran. You see your two children three or four times a week. Few of the House nobility have much considerations for your job ¨C you¡¯re unsure they¡¯re capable of it ¨C and you¡¯re constantly scrambling to cover them while they pursue their whims. Neelam is the worst. Whatever realm he dwells in is the same in which the ethereal towers of your childhood live: one foreign to you. But you suspect that¡¯s the price of either Owlblood or genius. It felt like nothing. The usual food shortages begin occurring four years after the last Aching, with all the easily-accessible food picked away. More lethal territory doggedly guards the rest. But Spires¡¯ stockpiles will last the one or two years until the next Aching, provided everyone within tightens their belts. But year after year after year passes, and it never comes. The first assassination attempt you thwart is made by a man whose ribs stand against his skin. It felt like nonsense. Your skills and reputation assist in coaxing trade caravans from Baylar¡¯s capital with promises of bloodtech, Owlforged steel, and protection through the famously savage Heartlands. Though the first handful alleviate the famine somewhat, the flow of goods quickly ceases. A messenger from Baylar arrives incensed, with accusations of deliberately reneging on the deal to avoid giving up your bloodtech. You assuage them, and organise another caravan from Spires. This one falls as well. It takes several months of investigation to decipher what had occurred. The idea that such heavily-guarded caravans were set upon by bandits seems ludicrous ¨C farmers and the occasional ex-soldier would stand little chance ¨C until reports of a scarred, dark-skinned swordswoman reach your ears. The Jackal. Your sweat-drenched nights redouble. You shake when no one¡¯s around. It felt like a nightmare. Heltia aches under the weight of starvation and its own ravenous need for Godsblood. One day a rumour passes by your ears: Ichor, a kind of blood that stays in a puddle without losing potency. It¡¯s exactly what Heltia needs, and a bounty is immediately authorised for any information on the subject. Meanwhile, a missive from the Albrights asks all Houses to watch for the only surviving Ravenblood ¨C a short, teenage boy. Several months later, songs about the murder of General Maja reach Spires along with the first wave of refugees. It wasn¡¯t any of those things. Your grasping for the Jackal yields nothing but air. You have little doubt there are multiple bandit groups with an extensive network, but despite your many attempts to stifle rumours talk of ¡®the Jackal¡¯s Get¡¯ quickly fills conversation between all castes of society. Another dozen assassination attempts are foiled by your diligence before a blade manages to find a scion¡¯s back. You contain the Heltian nobles within Nests with little argument. The moments passed in a blur of unconscious calculation and movement. I reached the edge of the crater with Gast on my back and didn¡¯t understand how I¡¯d arrived there. Your wife harries you as you return with talk of spending more time with family. The Heartlands are gradually rotting, yet you know she cannot see the things you do. You try. Usually, you don¡¯t try hard enough. But you come to love your daughters, and see your work as an extension of their protection. You devise an elaborate means of deciphering the Jackal¡¯s location. But there¡¯s still no food coming in, so you send Tam and the girls to Fort Vane. In your dreams you fail, arms tied to your side. I clawed up the slope ¨C Gast¡¯s fleshy arms choking my neck ¨C past layers of squirming grasses, slimy dirt, and crimson plants. The plan works. Valorie¡¯s band are killed with few survivors, and the Jackal itself is caged like an animal. But it¡¯s too little, too late ¨C the Aching is gone, there is no food, and there is no House willing to trade for some. Ichor is Heltia¡¯s last, vain hope, but beneath the rumours you suspect there was never anything at all. Almost as soon as starvation hollows the cheeks of everyone around you the Albright¡¯s Declaration spells Heltia¡¯s death spiral. One day, you wake to find every single member of House Heltia poisoned, bar one: Maleen, an unblooded, flame-haired woman barely more than a girl. She only survived the poison due to her delinquency. It¡¯s your failure, and your loss. But you cannot tell anyone. Your dreams are filled with holes ringing with laughter. You¡¯re certain the Jackal did it, but torture yields neither method nor motivation. Pain flowed from my fractured knuckles and aching ribs. My nails grew red with dirt. The boiling heat fell away as I fled from the land beneath. Maleen ¨C now the Head ¨C is kept away from the bodies of her extended family. Of Heltia¡¯s reckless genius ¨C its towers stretching skywards like scarred fingers ¨C she is all that remains. You bear her needs on your back. You teach her what you can, and hastily order scribes to gather the expertise onto countless books. Head Maleen understands enough to work hard, but with the ignorance of youth she does not truly see what is at stake. You listen to her quietly weep at night, and redouble her tutoring come morning. I fell as the weight of Gast vanished from my shoulders. It seemed impossible to get enough air in my chest. Two pairs of hands grabbed each of my arms, and I finally straightened upright. Heltia¡¯s paltry spy network reports Baylar undergoing recruitment drives. While the military scrambles to conceal what occurred, and brace for the inevitable attack, you organise multiple caravans as a smokescreen for the one you¡¯ll be on. You take Rita and a handful of bodyguards you can be certain played no part in the assassination with you, but monster hunters are needed to complete the guise. To your complete and utter bafflement, the most successful in Spires are a group of Strains ¨C disgusting remnants of reckless disloyalty. Amongst them is a large Lizardblood and a young swordswoman with familiar features. The moment you see her you know you must have them. Kit supported me on one side and Taja on the other. The small mountain of red-moss smeared boulders had been reduced to a mere hill. I shook of their arms and stumbled towards the tope, where the others waited. Kit possesses the same vicious bearing that stalks your nightmares, but you see no comprehension or disloyalty behind her eyes. You have no excuse to kill her. Baylar somehow overcomes Spires in a matter of days and finds you. People die. You saw this could happen. You see a handful of ways out. Then some spirit possesses Vin, and he collaborates with you to make a plan. You watch him as he kills twenty soldiers single-handedly, and through a half-remembered glimpse of a General three decades ago you see the Slaughter in his veins. The Ravenblood is not what you expect. He might be what you need. I made it. Everyone ¨C even Yowler ¨C was present. Except¡­ You make plans, and rush through the Fox¡¯s forests with minimal casualties. There¡¯s a crater, and there¡¯s a war between Albright and Other, and you know you¡¯re somewhere you should not be. Once again, you see your death a thousand times at a thousand angles. When you find the Ichor underground, you see a reason for the Albright¡¯s Declaration. And when you¡¯re above-ground, you see your death writ in immutable ink. With your sight gone, Head Maleen and the dreams she bears upon her shoulders ¨C the dreams you and tens of thousands like you bent their life towards ¨C may die as well. Between blinks, darkness and laughter lays. You cannot stop shaking. Me. Or¡­ Was I there? You oversee the flight of the others. You¡¯ve gotten most of them killed, and a cooler part of you recognises the need of recompense. But when your perch breaks and you fall screaming into the press of earth beneath you, where your limbs and arms and bones are trapped against your body, that part is buried in sheer terror, because the fear you¡¯ve cradled for decades has finally come true. But you see one last trick left, buried in the blood of a dead god and the veins of a boy who wants no part of it. You hope. And, in a plea full of hypocrisy, you are truly sorry he has to take you in him. You die¡­ Thought was useless. I sat down. I¡¯d known that the Aching would alter the shape of the earth. Everyone had. The quakes changed the geography of the Heartlands so radically the only thing that tied one iteration to the next was a red colouration. But with it, everything would grow again. There would be enough food for everyone. I thought I¡¯d known. Atop the hill, we saw strips of speartrees and red-leafed heartwoods and tallgrass and flocks of roaming animals drawn into the earth by its churning. Apart from a few patches that must¡¯ve been atop thick stretches of stone, the land we¡¯d spent weeks circumventing was reduced to nothing more than endless growth. That too was swallowed. It felt as if we were ants sitting amidst the undulating coils of an incomprehensibly massive snake. In the Aching around us, my eyes found none of the gut-wrenching anatomical madness I¡¯d run through. The crater had been just deep enough to reveal what lay beneath the Heartlands¡¯ skin. Despite myself, I looked back. Where the crater had been moments ago lay a field of red dirt. There were no bodies. There was no life. Only a memory of what once was. Chapter 60 - Encroachment The Aching continued for the rest of the day, growing and burying vast swathes of land like a madman rearranging his own guts. None of us wanted to watch it, yet the only alternative was watching either the sky or the crater ¨C both dormant and inscrutable. We sheltered from omnipresent, cutting wind in the shadow of a large rock, huddled together for warmth as we basked in the little sunlight that deigned to visit us, beneath the fields of clouds above. There could be no rest, either; our loose mound of boulders was far from stable, and the knowledge that we could need to stagger to another pile to avoid being shaken off at any moment made closing our eyes an exercise in mental fortitude. But there was nowhere else to stay. Across the crater, the cloaked warriors ¨C the Seeds ¨C occupied their own hills, clustered into five groups of roughly equal size to our own. While we ate and drank and shook the older people and children awake, they did the same to their peers. But their eyes rarely left us. When the sun began to fall below the horizon and the quakes finally started to settle, they departed without a word. The land below still shook gently as we watched them vanish into the Heartlands. Little remained of the scenery we¡¯d spent the better part of a month moving through. The hallmarks of the Heartlands remained: the ubiquitous crimson colours of plants; the way the branches of trees zealously grew through one another, dripping red sap; the dogged journeys of insects and rodents, still seeking the same things as before; the omnipresent speartrees, cutting through it all like towers of ice in a blazing volcano. It was all through an environment we couldn¡¯t recognise. The ground no longer resembled earth: its contours were layered with plates that seemed as if they¡¯d been ripped straight from a beetle¡¯s hide. Each plate curved slightly upwards, giving us the impression of rolling hills of ribs. Alongside tangled bushes and scraggly shrubs, covering the surface of the dark chitin were fine red strands of what from a distance seemed like grass. On closer inspection were revealed to be almost cloud-like in their consistency. They drooped under the weight of the small spheres at their peak. Amongst it all, Kani¡¯s forest was eerily unchanged. Baylar¡¯s pursuit had dominated our minds since they¡¯d first found us. Overlooking the alien landscape, the House had become completely irrelevant. Gone were the fields of tallgrass, biting the legs of whatever walked amongst them. Gone was the River Ien, its clear waters redirected in another direction entirely. Past the horizon, we knew the remnants of the village and farmstead we¡¯d fought and died in would be buried beneath the ground; at least we¡¯d managed to send the ashes of the dead into the sky. But what mattered most was that any clear paths or signs of our passing had been eaten by the Aching. Whatever remained of Baylar¡¯s forces could no longer catch us. So we waited until the rumbling stopped then descended from our perch. The moons lit our first tentative steps upon the new earth. When the chitinous ground remained unbothered by our passing, we continued with slightly more confidence. For a few minutes, we gave the new plants a wide berth, but Jana ¨C lack of sleep slowly glazing her good eye ¨C soon called the rest of us ¡®over-cautious fools¡¯ and began forging through alone. The rest of us followed. Despite our exhaustion, we did not sleep. There was an unspoken agreement between all of us that we would find a patch of unbroken stone to sleep upon ¨C somewhere sheltered from the bitter cold of early Frost. The only people to gain any rest were Wil¡¯s two infants and the man himself, carried in shifts by either Ronnie or¡­ Me? Vin? Gast? Or was it Kit? I-
-eyed Vin sideways, still carrying the seizing body of Wil. As it had since he¡¯d returned, his gaze stubbornly avoided my face. My hand twitched for the hilt of a sword that was no longer there. The drummers I¡¯d fought wielded either stone hatchets or bizarre bone-spurs sprouting from their arms ¨C nothing to steal. Vin¡¯s onyx blade had cut them apart beautifully. Were he a stranger, I would¡¯ve fought him for it. The nomad kid had scooped up a good, Owlforged blade ¨C I¡¯d have to figure out a way to swipe it without Vin getting tetchy. It had been over a decade since I¡¯d walked around without a sword on me, and it was already putting me on edge. I¡¯d been thinking about all the ways I could beat the snot out of every member of the group ¨C everything from the noise their feet made on the ground to them snorting snot back up their nose set my teeth grinding. Except Maddie. You didn¡¯t hit a grieving person ¨C not unless you were one yourself. I just wished she¡¯d let herself sob louder. My finger grasped for a hilt that was no longer there, and I growled loudly, breaking the silence we walked through. ¡°What in th¡¯ blood happened to sleeping beauty up there?¡± I asked Vin. ¡°Godsblood,¡± he intoned. I threw up my hands. ¡°What damn Godsblood?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± he replied, ducking under one of the eerie drooping plants, still refusing to look at me. ¡°Yer serious?¡± Disbelief tinged my tone. ¡°How d¡¯you not know? What ¨C he get it from a damn puddle?¡± ¡°That¡¯s correct.¡± I blinked. ¡°Really? What kind o¡¯ idiot drinks stuff off th¡¯ ground?¡± Vin snorted. ¡°That¡¯s what¡­¡± His brows furrowed. ¡°¡­I¡­ said?¡± ¡°You askin¡¯ me?¡± He shook his head. ¡°No, I¡¯m alright. I¡¯m alright.¡± I raised an eyebrow. ¡°You sure? I could take ol¡¯ empty skull off yer hands for a bit.¡± I didn¡¯t want to carry the man ¨C I hadn¡¯t so much as exchanged a word with him. But Vin had. Jana¡¯s voice pierced from behind us. ¡°We oughta just dump him in a ditch somewhere. He¡¯s dead weight.¡± Though part of me agreed, her nagging tone had my lips curling. ¡°Sure; we gonna dump the kid an¡¯ th¡¯ babies, too?¡± I heard Wil¡¯s kid inhale sharply. The old woman¡¯s response had him breathing easy again. ¡°Of course not. That¡¯s a terrible suggestion.¡± I snorted. ¡°It¡¯s a very you suggestion is what it is.¡± I glanced backwards, to find Jana¡¯s burn scar had gone taut as she scowled. I¡¯d learned early in life that that expression meant trouble. ¡°Oh, the thug wants to lecture on morality?¡± My hackles rose. ¡°Better a thug than a slug like you,¡± I snapped back. ¡°Lazy bastard; sittin¡¯ pretty while thugs go an¡¯ bring in food. ¡°Is that what caring for two children ¨C children not my own ¨C is to you?¡± Crumpet was asleep in Ronnie¡¯s arms, but Tippi flinched. ¡°I would trade places in a heartbeat.¡± ¡°They¡¯re in our care,¡± I spat, ¡°they¡¯re our kids.¡± She sneered. ¡°Girl, if they¡¯re anyone¡¯s kids, they¡¯re mine. The amount of parenting you¡¯ve done could fit in a thimble.¡± My mouth worked. It¡¯s true; I had considered it her role. But she was almost sixty, and I was barely twenty. It made sense. ¡°No response?¡± She shook her head, smug enough to make me want to cut it off. ¡°If only you had the wit to back all your barking.¡± Something bitter soured in my gut and rose to my tongue. ¡°Shut up, you shrivelled old whore.¡± Jana drew in a breath, then held it. A moment later, she released it in a muted, empty chuckle. She said nothing. Immediately, my own words fell over my head like a bucket of cold water. Truth had driven them deeper than they should¡¯ve. I swore quietly at myself. An apology lingered on the tip of my tongue. But without turning to Jana or anyone else I felt as if I could see myself through their eyes: tall, whipcord lean, and savagely volatile. A thug. So I swallowed my ¡®sorry¡¯, and turned my head away. My eyes found the sky, where heavy clouds slowly subsumed the moons. Snow slowly fell from above. Though it seemed filthy with the darkness of night, when the first flake finally reached my hand it was cold and pale as ghosts. ¡°We need a place to sleep,¡± Vin suddenly said. I scoffed. ¡°I don¡¯t want to sleep on this godsdamned ground. Do you?¡± ¡°It¡¯s not about wanting. We won¡¯t get further without rest.¡± ¡°I could walk forever.¡± Without looking at me, he shook his head wryly. ¡°I¡¯m not talking about you.¡± I glanced backwards, and immediately understood. We weren¡¯t leading a line of warriors or hardy farmers. We had children, old people, a mother, and one very fat Strain; none of whom were prepared for a march. As I watched, Davian stumbled next to us from further back. He¡¯d been watching our rear. ¡°We¡¯ll freeze.¡± His hands were tucked into his armpits. My striding backwards and forwards through the line had kept the chill only skin-deep. But the only other people not shivering were Vin and Ronnie. Even Yowler, cradled in the giant Strain¡¯s arms, shook beneath his greying fur. The large man looked at the older Strain. ¡°We¡¯ve no reason to avoid making a fire. There¡¯s plenty of wood, and I doubt many of our Baylarian pursuers survived the Aching.¡± ¡°You have no way of knowing that,¡± Davian stated forcefully. ¡°It¡¯s far more likely that they found a shelf of stone and settled atop it.¡± Vin shook his head. ¡°There were no warning rumbles for this Aching. Usually there¡¯s a few, but this one came hard and fast.¡± ¡°It may have radiated outwards from this point.¡± Vin cocked an eyebrow at the Strain. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. There are no paths to us, and they¡¯ll be busy with other things, tonight.¡± Under the Lizardblood¡¯s quizzical gaze, Davian withered. ¡°You are correct, of course. However, any routes to our destination are gone as well. As are landmarks, and any relevancy our maps used to have.¡± Vin expression didn¡¯t change. ¡°That¡¯s a problem for tomorrow. We have time, now.¡± Silence threatened awkwardness, so I filled it with a question. ¡°How¡¯d you know there¡¯s¡­ ¡®warning rumbles¡¯ for Achings anyway? You can¡¯t be much older¡¯n me.¡± ¡°What are you¡­¡± Vin paused, then frowned. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ common knowledge.¡± Maddie¡¯s flat voice cut from beside me, and I flinched slightly. ¡°It is. How do you not know- ¡° She noticed my surprise, then snorted. ¡°What?¡± I stuttered, feeling blood rise to my face. ¡°What¡¯s so bloody strange, huh?¡± ¡°You jumped,¡± she replied. ¡°Yeah, well, you¡¯d jump.¡± ¡°At me.¡± I groped for an excuse. ¡°Your voice is loud.¡± ¡°I¡¯m more than a head shorter than you.¡± ¡°Makes you good at sneaking up on people.¡± A large grin broke across her face. It quickly wobbled and fell back into a tight line. ¡°A camp. Davian; could you find a sheltered place?¡± The old man nodded, whirlpool face making his expression incomprehensible. He quickly walked away. ¡°Vin, could you get some firewood?¡± The Lizardblood had a small smile on his face. ¡°Of course, Head Maleen.¡± Vin bowed slightly, then began moving towards one of the larger shrubs around. For a moment, Maddie looked like she was going to start crying again. I gave her a quick slap on the shoulder. ¡°You¡¯re doin¡¯ good,¡± I told her. Her face crumpled, and she wrapped her arms around me. I glanced around for help, but everyone else around was too busy groaning as they slumped to the dirt. All I could think to do was lightly pat Maddie on the back as she sobbed.
My fingers adjusted around the neck of my lute as I ran through an escalating series of notes. To my ears, the fractions of a moment between each sound seemed agonisingly long. If the sensations of the gut-strings weren¡¯t muted by the callouses covering every inch of my hands ¨C remnants of blisters from decades of sword-drills ¨C maybe I would¡¯ve already produced the smooth, soaring songs that hung in my head. They were Father¡¯s songs ¨C half-remembered ¨C or ones I¡¯d made up myself. But each time I tried, they always stuttered. My fingers had grown too distant from music to play. A few months ago, that was enough to have me smashing the instrument. I kept plucking anyway. The lute was a gift. The crackling of burning wood and Gast¡¯s snoring seemed inconsequential against the silence filling the outside world. If I stopped playing, it might bury us. A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. I puffed a cloud of smoke from the side of my mouth. A cigarillo perched between my lips. It was my last one ¨C I¡¯d been saving it for a special occasion. But when I thought about it, a last cigarillo seemed like nothing special anyway. Davian had found a chunk of red chitin that tilted at an angle as it thrust from the ground, thick material supported by the speartrees that ran it through. After leading us to it, he¡¯d immediately retreated out of eyeshot ¨C apparently to take the world''s longest dump ¨C then returned to collapse beside the fire with a pained grimace. Tippi, Crumpet, and Jana had passed out the moment we¡¯d rubbed a fire together, alongside the pair of infants and kid Wil lugged about. The man himself twitched and sweated on the ground beneath a blanket. Even though they¡¯d fallen asleep halfway through the process, I¡¯d admired Willow and Daisy¡¯s dogged determination to shove food into their mouths before sleeping. Gast hadn¡¯t even made it to the shelter ¨C Ronnie and I had carried her in. I envied their sleeping forms. Closing my eyes yielded a vision of the earth cracking open beneath our feet; consuming us in a single bite. I refused to let myself sleep until we were on solid stone. Even then, I wondered if I¡¯d be able to. Vin, Maddie, Ronnie and the nomad kid ¨C Taja ¨C all seemed to share the same thoughts. We stared at one another over the fire. ¡°You four sleep,¡± said Vin. ¡°I¡¯ll keep watch.¡± Out of the five of us, he appeared the least tired. I would¡¯ve envied his Lizardblood, were it not for the fact I was certain it¡¯d make me even stupider. ¡°Go stick yer head in a beehive.¡± I leaned back, my fingers slowly working their way towards an actual tune. ¡°I¡¯m not sleepin¡¯.¡± His eyes turned towards the other three. Ronnie signed something. Vin squinted. ¡°Did you just- ¡° They nodded, a cat-like grin stretching across their infantile face. ¡°What?¡± The large man shook his head. ¡°Ronnie just said the exact same thing you did.¡± ¡°Ha!¡± With my hands occupied with the lute, I had to use my feet to give the Strain a slap on the back. Flecks of dirt migrated from my socks to their overcoat, which I chose not to comment on. ¡°Head Maleen?¡± Vin asked. ¡°Go¡­¡± Her lips twitched. ¡°¡­Stick your head in a beehive.¡± ¡°Taja?¡± The teenage boy licked his lips. ¡°I would not tell you¡­¡± At Vin¡¯s amused gaze, he quietly inhaled. ¡°Go stick your head in a beehive?¡± His words trailed off. ¡°Ha!¡± I stopped playing to point a finger at Vin. ¡°Better find some buzzin¡¯ an¡¯ follow it.¡± He threw up his hands, but I could see the lopsided smile creeping up his cheeks. ¡°You stomp all over my goodwill.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± I drawled, ¡°an¡¯ I¡¯d do it again.¡± That spurred a mild chuckle, but wasn¡¯t enough to stop the conversation from grinding to a shuddering halt. I trailed my way through the beginnings of a simple song I¡¯d long since forgotten the name of. In my own skull, I remembered the way Whip had slowly tallied our supplies with deathly concentration, and the way Whip suddenly guffawed when she comprehended a joke. I remembered when I¡¯d first insulted Whip moments after being introduced to her, and how she¡¯d ignored the immediate insult I¡¯d given her, and I remembered how she¡¯d asked me to hum a tune while she died. I remembered that I hadn¡¯t even noticed when she¡¯d died. I didn¡¯t remember her parents, or past, or life, or who she was. I didn¡¯t remember much at all. Words escaped my mouth before I thought them. ¡°So, uh, where¡¯re y¡¯all from, anyway?¡± Maddie let loose an explosive fit of coughs. ¡°What?¡± she managed. I resisted the urge to retreat. My fingers, filled with quivering energy, strummed the lute faster. ¡°As in, where¡­ Uh¡­ What¡¯re your¡­ lives¡­ like,¡± I finished lamely. Ronnie signed something short. ¡°Cold,¡± Vin translated. ¡°About the same with me.¡± ¡°I¡¯m warm,¡± said Maddie. I chuckled. ¡°You¡¯re close enough to the fire I¡¯m concerned you¡¯ll turn into one yerself. Course you¡¯re warm.¡± Vin¡¯s eyes flicked towards Taja. Noticing the gaze, the teenager blurted, ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± Before the large man could reply, I shook my head. ¡°You know that¡¯s not what I meant. Tell me somethin¡¯ about you.¡± The giant Strain¡¯s finger curled so quickly the image of a chewing rabbit came to mind. ¡°Give me a moment, Ronnie¡­¡± Vin squinted. ¡°Warrior¡­ House¡­ I don¡¯t know that one.¡± Ronnie mimed slumping. ¡°Fall?¡± They nodded. ¡°Then, Owlblood?¡± Ronnie shook their head, and signed something else. ¡°Magic?¡± The Strain moved their fingers close together. ¡°Spell. Enchantment.¡± The fingers drew closer. ¡°Curse.¡± Ronnie nodded. I restrained my laughter in favour of an indignant tone. ¡°You¡¯re tellin¡¯ me you¡¯re a godsdamn cursed House warrior kicked outta the House.¡± Ronnie signed something else. ¡°Noble?¡± Vin tentatively translated. ¡°Yeah, noble.¡± I stopped playing and scoffed. ¡°Shut up.¡± The Strain slapped their knee, eyes closed in silent laughter. ¡°I¡¯m serious,¡± I protested against Ronnie¡¯s muted wheezing. ¡°Feels like I waited half a year for Vin to translate Oxdung like that. Godsdamn it.¡± Taja gave a quiet snicker. ¡°You shut up. Or, give me somethin¡¯.¡± He paled. ¡°What do you mean?¡± I searched my mind for the thing I wanted. ¡°Where¡¯re you from? Why¡¯re you here? Tell us, so we can¡¯t forget.¡± In the corner of my eye, I saw Vin sit straighter. When Taja turned to him, his eyes were pits of darkness. ¡°I¡­¡± The teenager¡¯s voice choked. ¡°It was Malee.¡± ¡°Your brother,¡± muttered Maddie. ¡°Mm.¡± He nodded, then rubbed each of his eyes. ¡°We had no parents. Raven cultists got them, before I could remember. Malee rushed manhood, so he could take care of us.¡± I raised an eyebrow. ¡°A coming of age ceremony for boys,¡± Vin supplied. ¡°A few tests: hunting; camping; lore ¨C that sort of thing. Specifics change from tribe to tribe. Usually taken at fifteen or sixteen.¡± Taja nodded, staring into the fire. ¡°He did his at thirteen, I think. Laja was ten. I was a baby. They were more parents to me than anyone else. But they were not my parents.¡± We stared at him. He covered his eyes. ¡°When Malee remained unmarried, in the absence of a mother the elders took it upon themselves to arrange a match. She was a kind lady. He said no, though. He said¡­ he could not love her in the way a husband must love a wife. That he couldn¡¯t love any woman that way. And¡­¡± Taja voice quavered. ¡°The elders said he didn¡¯t need to ¨C he could take whatever type of lover he wanted on the side ¨C and he just needed to make a child and a family. He thought that was cruel, though. They kicked him out, and he told us to stay, but we went with him. ¡°There was a group going to the Heartlands, because Heltia needed workers. Gatherers, hunters. Nomads are good at that, so we went with them. And then we got stuck in Spires, and you were a way out. And that¡¯s why.¡± Taja leaned down, curling in on himself. ¡°I thought Malee was so stupid. I thought Laja was so stupid for making us go with him. I didn¡¯t at first, but,¡± he stuttered, ¡°but then I did, when we were hungry and sleeping in the cold. And I, I¡­¡± Ronnie shuffled around the fire to sit at the youth¡¯s side. Gingerly, they wrapped an arm around Taja¡¯s shoulders as his body shivered silently. ¡°That¡¯s how it goes,¡± Vin said gently. ¡°You hate the people you love.¡± Part of me couldn¡¯t comprehend. The last corpse I¡¯d ever wept for was Father, back when I was nearly a decade younger and weaker. Taja¡¯s silent sobs reeked of weakness. Try as I might, I couldn¡¯t bring myself to loathe him for it. Silence encroached upon our small gathering. I cleared my throat. ¡°Maddie?¡± She exhaled. ¡°There¡¯s not much to know.¡± ¡°Really?¡± ¡°Really.¡± I leaned forward. After a pause, I spat, ¡°Really?¡± Her teeth grated together. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you want- ¡° ¡°I want to bloody know you.¡± Vehemence set my words afire. ¡°All of you. Is that so hard to believe?¡± ¡°No, but it¡¯s- ¡° ¡°Jus¡¯- ¡° I shook curled fingers ineffectually. ¡°Work with me.¡± Maddie¡¯s arms drew a blanket tighter around her small body, ginger hair cascading over the top. Beneath the dirt and grime, her skin was as smooth as a child¡¯s. Yet unlike Vin, her jade eyes managed to meet my own. They rolled to the slanted chitin jutting above us. ¡°Tell us about yourself, first.¡± I froze. She raised her eyebrows. ¡°It¡¯s only polite.¡± Ronnie shot me a piercing stare, then nodded. I looked to Vin for assistance, but he was squinting into the darkness. ¡°Uh¡­ I don¡¯t want to.¡± ¡°If you want something from us, that¡¯s the price. It¡¯s only fair.¡± I rubbed a piece of dirt from my forehead. ¡°Y¡¯won¡¯t like me for it.¡± ¡°Then you get nothing.¡± Ronnie made two vehement motions. When no translation was forthcoming, they leaned over and tapped Vin, where he stared into the distance. He blinked. ¡°What is it?¡± The Strain repeated the gestures. Vin clenched his eyes shut, opened them, and began interpreting. ¡°Without¡­ I don¡¯t know that one.¡± Ronnie pointed a finger at an invisible person, face contorting in feigned anger. ¡°Argument?¡± Vin guessed. ¡°Criticism. You mean ¡®no criticism¡¯.¡± They nodded. ¡°That goes for all of you?¡± I asked, then pointed to Maddie. ¡°Especially you?¡± The others nodded ¨C even Taja, whose flushed face preceded him extracting himself from Ronnie. ¡°As long as it goes for you as well,¡± said Vin carefully. That was met with a chorus of approving grunts. I clicked my tongue. ¡°Fine. Whatever.¡± Running a hand through my short hair, I sucked air through my teeth. ¡°Where¡¯s a good¡­ Y¡¯know what? Ain¡¯t gonna tip-toe into this. I was part of th¡¯ Jackal¡¯s Get.¡± Maddie¡¯s voice was low and careful. ¡°¡­The bandit gang?¡± ¡°No, I was birthed of an animal,¡± I drawled. ¡°Yes the bandit gang.¡± ¡°How did you become one?¡± ¡°Born one. Where I lived; Where I thought I¡¯d die. We lived twixt our little walls in th¡¯ middle of th¡¯ woods, and we hunted beasts an¡¯ we hunted people. Times were lean.¡± ¡°What makes a person decide to do that?¡± Maddie asked, as if it were an actual question. I scoffed. ¡°Not a belly full o¡¯ kindness an¡¯ good will towards th¡¯ world.¡± After a brief pause, I revised that statement. ¡°We did get some nicer members, towards the end ¨C when starvation drove ¡®em to us. But mostly you start robbin¡¯ cause you¡¯re strong an¡¯ willin¡¯ to use it.¡± ¡°¡­How many people have you killed?¡± ¡°Dunno.¡± Before Maddie could speak, Vin interrupted. ¡°How old were you for the first?¡± ¡°Uh¡­ Eight or nine?¡± ¡°How did you manage it?¡± ¡°Mother brought him.¡± I lowered my head, recalling it. ¡°Tied him up in th¡¯ middle, where I usually was. Everyone watchin¡¯. Kid a few years older than me. He had a sword, I had a sword, an¡¯ I was better with it.¡± I heard Vin mutter a swear. ¡°What kind of parent would make their child do that?¡± Maddie¡¯s voice cut like a knife to the heart. ¡°Shut up!¡± I exploded. ¡°What in the everything good ¡®n green do you know ¨C about anything?! Swaddled up in yer tower; Dinner served on a godsdamn silver platter. You couldn¡¯t tell blood from wine, little princess that you are. She did what she did for me. For me,¡± I repeated, quieter. ¡°To keep me from bein¡¯ like you.¡± Vin spoke. ¡°Kit- ¡° ¡°What?¡± I snapped. ¡°Would you say you¡¯re similar to your mother?¡± I frowned. ¡°Not really. I look more like Father did, anyway.¡± He snorted. His eyes were fixed to the darkness and slowly growing wider. A snarl scratched across my face. ¡°What?¡± He glanced back towards the fire. ¡°Nothing.¡± ¡°No,¡± I spat. ¡°What¡¯s so damn funny?¡± ¡°¡­Just sounds like wishful thinking, is all.¡± ¡°What¡¯s that s¡¯posed to mean?¡± He shrugged. ¡°Your mother and I are probably more similar to one another, anyway.¡± ¡°What?¡± This time, the question was wrapped in legitimate confusion. Vin¡¯s tone was almost silent, yet harsh all the same. ¡°I made my child kill someone, too.¡± ¡°You have a damn kid?!¡± He blinked. Then blinked again. The large man¡¯s face twisted, then he shook his head. ¡°What¡¯re you talkin¡¯ about?¡± ¡°I mean,¡± he quickly responded, ¡°my mother did something similar to me as well.¡± ¡°See?¡± I turned to Maddie. ¡°It¡¯s not so bad.¡± The young Head¡¯s expression tightened. ¡°¡­I don¡¯t- ¡° ¡°Anyway, the gang got caught an¡¯ I got outta there with Jana an¡¯ the kids. I exhaled sharply. ¡°Your turn.¡± For a moment, she remained silent. ¡°Do you regret it?¡± My cigarillo was half-burned. I plucked it out of my mouth and ground it beneath my boot. ¡°No. Your turn.¡± ¡°People starved because of you.¡± ¡°They starved because of them.¡± ¡°We starved- ¡° ¡°Your turn.¡± ¡°- because none of the caravans arrived at the city. None of this would¡¯ve been- ¡° ¡°Your damn turn, Maddie.¡± ¡°- half as bad if you stopped stealing what we- ¡° ¡°Please,¡± I interrupted her, voice breaking apart like a crumbling dam. Her words stumbled to a halt. I swallowed. Then rubbed my eyes. ¡°Your turn,¡± I managed. Maddie stared at me. After a moment, she sighed. ¡°Okay, Kit.¡± I cleared my throat, trying to recover some of my dignity. ¡°So, uh. You¡­ born in Spires?¡± ¡°Yes. We¡¯re not meant to leave Nests often, but myself and some of my cousins spent a lot of time in the¡­ upper parts of the city.¡± Myself and the others nodded. ¡°??¡­ I still spent most of my life in Nests. There¡¯s a l?t- ¡° ¡°You ? Strain?¡± I asked. ¡°???¡± ¡°Whaddaya mean, no? Owlblood House, right?¡± ¡°Oh. ??? ??? ???? become an Owlblood when you¡¯ve given birth.¡± ¡°Neelam too?¡± ¡°??. ??¡®? ??? great grand-uncle.¡± ¡°???.¡± ¡°????????? ?? ???? ?????????, ??? ??¡¯? ??????- ¡°
¡°- unconventional,¡± Head Maleen was saying. ¡°Dunno what kind of education makes Owlbloods.¡± My attention was elsewhere. On the wilderness surrounding us. Between the rolling plates of chitin, shrubs, strange plants, and speartrees, something twisted in the air. Was it delicate, pale spiderweb, caught in the light of the moon? Or the weaving of fireflies, made into a silhouette by the human mind? As I stared, I understood it was neither. A distortion: light flickering where there should be none. I clasped my hands together to still their shivering. My mouth opened, then closed. Eventually, I mustered the courage to rip the bandage away. ¡°Does anyone else see that?¡± Their conversation petered away as they squinted into the darkness. Kit; Maleen; Taja; Ronnie: no comprehension lit their gaze. My stomach sunk. Then their eyes adjusted to the darkness. Kit stood up, reaching for a sword that was not there. ¡°What is that?¡± she whispered. I wasn¡¯t hallucinating. That meant¡­ ¡°It¡¯s a ghost.¡± Taja¡¯s lips barely moved as he spoke. ¡°Vin, what do you- ¡° But I was already standing and moving outside the firelight. ¡°Vin!¡± Kit hissed. ¡°I¡¯ll be fine,¡± I told her. With measured steps, I drew closer to the phantom. Each step brought a little more clarity to its form; yet its form itself possessed no clarity to begin with. I tried to impose sense upon the ghost, and repeatedly failed. A shape that could¡¯ve been a hand, a paw, or a wing flickered, then fell away. I couldn¡¯t discern whether it was the spirit of an animal, human, or monster. It was as if someone had taken a mirror made of faint light and shattered it in the air, where it remained suspended ¨C holding a broken reflection despite its original having left long ago. There was only one thing I could do. ¡°Before humility and before Houses, before certainty and before security¡­ there was Blood.¡± I spoke to the drumming of my thumping heart. ¡°And alongside Blood came gods. Dure the Lizard, Enn the Ox, Kani the Fox, Siik the Spider, Wump the Dolphin, Yoot the Owl and Avri the Raven¡­ and Eval the Shrike.¡± ¡°The gods are wild and full of secrets ¨C yet through this Face- ¡° I reached for my mask and found it absent. My hands patted my waist, and when my eyes fell upon an empty pouch I remembered that my Face had been rent into a thousand pieces. I looked back, and the ghost was gone. When I returned to the fire, the others dismissed what we¡¯d seen. They made excuses. I listened as they continued their stories and eventually, as conversation drained their last reserves of energy, they fell asleep. I held vigil alone. When my-
-dreams transitioned into wakefulness, it was to the gentle sounds of chords being plucked. The cold morning light fell on my eyes, reflected by beads of ice hanging from a nearby plant. I rubbed the grot from the corners of my eyes with thumb and forefinger. Though my back was warm from proximity to the faltering embers of the fire, my face felt so chilly I could barely feel it. I rotated my head ¨C feeling my stiff neck crack ¨C and found Maddie huddled at my side. Carefully, I extricated myself from her grip, and rolled out from underneath the blanket. The frigid air consumed every remnant of my fatigue, except the dull throbbing behind my eyes. I¡¯d been the last to sleep, and the unfortunate beam of light meant I¡¯d been the first to wake. The music was a fair amount more amateurish than my own, but though the notes faltered they were clean and smooth. It took me a moment to find where it was coming from. Vin sat apart from everyone else. His eyes glanced up, and for the first time since he¡¯d emerged from the crater he met my eyes. ¡°Kit. Did I wake you?¡± ¡°Nah. S¡¯nice.¡± I rubbed my eyes. ¡°Thought you didn¡¯t know how to play.¡± ¡°I¡¯m still not very good.¡± An insult rose in my throat, then faded. ¡°But,¡± he continued, ¡°it¡¯s only been a few months since I began.¡± ¡°You wanted to impress someone or somethin¡¯?¡± When he grunted his affirmation, I was shocked enough I nearly fell. ¡°Who?¡± ¡°I mean, you spend so much time together, and it just kind of falls into place. We were in the same situation. You eat together; sleep together; march together; fight together ¨C a pearl¡¯d fall in love with a pig, in conditions like that. Not that she¡¯s a pig. She¡¯s¡­¡± His voice trailed off. After a moment, he frowned ¨C brow scrunched in concentration. ¡°It was¡­¡± A chuckle escaped me. ¡°Memory failin¡¯ you, old man?¡± ¡°No!¡± he snapped. ¡°No. I know this. I know this.¡± Vin¡¯s fingers fumbled a chord, then froze. His features were perfectly still, apart from his eyes ¨C quivering like kids hiding from some god. For the first time, I noticed that while one of his pupils was brown, the other was pitch-black. How had I missed that? Vin¡¯s breathing grew more rapid. ¡°You alright?¡± Like children peeking behind a curtain, his eyes slowly fell downwards. They found the lute in his lap. He screamed. Chapter 61 - Behind the Curtain The axe fell, bisecting the log into two wetly pink pieces. Blake straightened ¨C squinting against the snow whipping his face ¨C as Face Bhan replaced the split log with another. ¡°Gods,¡± Fink ¨C their Foxblood captor ¨C groaned, sheltering from the blizzard by leaning against a broken wall, ¡°I never considered that cutting an inanimate object could be so hard!¡± ¡°Har har,¡± the young man intoned. ¡°Almost as funny as me shoving this axe up your arse.¡± The Foxblood cackled, then coughed as the frigid air sent tendrils down his throat. ¡°You¡¯re doing better than you were,¡± the Blooded admitted. ¡°I just wish that meant you were good.¡± Blake grunted, carefully keeping his face away from the worst of the wind. ¡°Better me than this old bastard.¡± ¡°Old- ¡° the words was interrupted as the Face spluttered. ¡°Thirty-two. And better old than bad with axes.¡± ¡°Better bad with axes than thirty-two and lookin¡¯ fifty.¡± ¡°Better looking fifty than looking a baby boar.¡± The young man¡¯s swing embedded itself halfway through the next log while he raised a cotton-wrapped hand to his sparse facial hair. ¡°I look more like¡­ a bear.¡± He¡¯d never seen a bear before. ¡°A mighty bear.¡± Bhan snorted as Blake pounded the axe the rest of the way through. ¡°Could be diseased bear.¡± ¡°You¡¯re diseased by time.¡± ¡°I diseased by you.¡± Fink chuckled and huddled deeper into his fibre coat as they continued to try to distract one another from the bitter cold. They worked in the outskirts of the abandoned village their captors had chosen to shelter in, in the shattered remnants of what was once a house. Time, wind, the Aching and the constant freezing and melting of condensation had conspired to leave only a few walls and the barest fragments of a wattle and daub roof ¨C used to shelter the tree-trunks Olga deigned to fell. The rest of the village fared little better, making it seem closer to a graveyard than anything else, with each intact wall a grim reminder of what lay buried beneath the snow. Amidst the dead place, only one structure had remained entirely intact: a building at the centre of the village. It stood by virtue of its position rather than its material: the shield the other houses had once formed and the sturdy stone beneath it had kept its mud-bricks in-place, barring a few gaps Bhan, Erin, and Blake had been forced to patch. To Blake, it seemed almost miraculous that anything had survived at all. In the scarce moments between storms, the snow-covered landscape was the most tranquil he¡¯d ever seen. Frost smothered the alien landscape the Aching had left behind, leaving only bristling heartwoods, speartrees, and shrubs. But it was the tranquillity of death. Nothing could grow in the bitter cold. Only freeze. Even the memory of sunlight lay concealed beneath bitter clouds, bright blue welkin forgotten. Most of the time, it was tumultuous. Screaming squalls ate the heat from fingers and ears, blinding eyes with powdery snow. It had been nearly two months since the Aching had come and gone, yet Bhan still insisted the storms might endure for longer. Like the flap of a bedsheet, something about the shifting of the land stirred winds all across the Heartlands. The Face had told them it was rarely this strong, but that could be because most Achings were weaker. The older man had gone quiet after saying that. It all seemed like a terrible portent. No human ¨C even Faces ¨C could read the future, but as young as he was even Blake could smell the sour stench of change on the wind. As if the world would end again. When he lay down to sleep at night, it almost seemed as if the scarce Godsblood in his body trembled¡­ Blake slammed the woodaxe downwards, only to meet air as the implement passed through the space the log should have occupied and jarred against the scarred stump beneath. Beside the pile, Bhan¡¯s fingers repeatedly failed to find purchase around the next log. ¡°Damn,¡± the young man spat, then yanked off his makeshift gloves and kneeled to grasp the Face¡¯s hands in his own. Beneath the fur wraps, their temperature was glacial. ¡°We good to stop?¡± he asked Fink. The Foxblood waved a hand in dismissal. ¡°Is he okay?¡± ¡°Ack!¡± Bhan spat. ¡°No problems, no problems. I lived colder days.¡± With Frost besieging them, many days had been spent in quiet conversation. Initially, they¡¯d had little to speak about other than Orvi ¨C or Vin, as Bhan knew him ¨C but as time passed both had ventured into other topics. The Face had repeated enough stories about ¡®colder days¡¯ in his youth that despite him being a fantastic storyteller, Blake still felt like screaming at the mere mention. Bhan¡¯s northern homeland was cold, he gathered ¨C but apparently even as a youth the man had never handled the temperatures well. He was over a decade older, now, and pulling on memories of a body that no longer existed. ¡°Don¡¯t be stubborn,¡± Blake said, trying to rub life back into the man¡¯s fingers. After a few moments, he took his makeshift gloves ¨C little more than strips of fur padded with dusty cloth ¨C and shoved them over Bhan¡¯s hands. The man put up a token resistance, but accepted the help. The tanned young man shoved balled fists into his armpits. ¡°Damn,¡± he hissed. ¡°We need to get back.¡± ¡°Here,¡± Fink said, producing a small wooden flask from beneath his cloak. ¡°Drink some.¡± Blake uncorked it, gave it a sniff, and winced. ¡°You allowed to give us this?¡± The hunter¡¯s face darkened. ¡°I could care less about what they think.¡± ¡°They¡¯re not gonna be mad at you when they smell our breaths.¡± ¡°Fox¡¯s bleeding brain,¡± the man swore, then removed a few chunks of tallow from a pouch. ¡°It¡¯ll stink up your breath.¡± ¡°Gratitude,¡± said Bhan. Fink waved a hand while glancing away. As they began preparations to leave the ruined house, each took a swig. It tasted like fire lit from horse dung. When Blake immediately erupted into a fit of coughing, the two other men slapped him on the back. ¡°That¡¯s awful,¡± he said. ¡°Did Pat piss in it or somethin¡¯?¡± The Foxblood descended into a fit of cackling, then began rapidly drumming his fingers against his thigh. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t be surprised,¡± Fink finally admitted. They piled the firewood into sacks, carefully keeping each load manageable. Blake handed Fink the woodaxe back, which the man accepted after a brief moment of hesitation. That was slightly frustrating; last time Peeler saw him with something approaching a weapon, he¡¯d been slapped across the face. Soon enough, a warm glow took residence in Blake¡¯s chest ¨C warm enough that he could almost forgive its transcendentally awful flavour. Almost. If the aftertaste hadn¡¯t lingered. If the tallow ¨C spiced with some earthy ingredient ¨C wasn¡¯t so determined to cling to the folds of his mouth. But the constant battering of the snowstorm allowed no room for petty concerns. Every step was thick with icy powder, conspiring to penetrate the woven fibre cloaks they huddled beneath and suck away the warmth beating through their veins. The wind scoured moisture from eyes made almost useless by the heavy snowfall. Featureless silhouettes loomed at the edges of Blake¡¯s vision. He knew them to be walls, yet couldn¡¯t help but think of the cages full of twisted, broken bodies in the ruins of Spires, and wondered whether they¡¯d stay buried beneath the broken city until the end of time. They trudged with string tying each other together. Both Bhan and Blake tripped multiple times ¨C boots caught by unusually heavy snow or a sudden buffeting of wind ¨C to be helped up by whomever was closest. Every fall came with the weight of the wood, and each was more difficult to rise from than the last. If any words were said, they were caught and frozen before they could reach mortal ears. Eventually, the broken walls grew into shapes recognisable as hollowed houses, and the gale began delivering the worst of its bite onto their walls. A few more minutes found them at the entrance to the Blooded¡¯s house. On a clear day, unburdened by sacks of firewood, the journey might have taken three minutes. This time it had taken them almost ten, allowing the cold to sink its teeth into their bones. Fink leaned his shoulder against the door to open it, revealing warm orange firelight flickering around an otherwise shadowy hall. Once all three were inside, he shut it again, then kicked the heavy board of wood they used to seal the door¡¯s bottommost gap back into place. The wind howled against the door, but could make no progress. Slowly, Blake felt himself begin to defrost. Then, Fink cocked his head. ¡°Don¡¯t go anywhere yet,¡± he whispered, then dumped his sack of firewood down and headed towards a set of muttering voices. As soon as he disappeared around the corner of the hall, Bhan began pacing after him. ¡°Oi,¡± Blake hissed. ¡°What¡¯re you doing?¡± The Face paced back. ¡°We quiet, and only the Foxblood hears. Fink say nothing.¡± ¡°How d¡¯you figure?¡± ¡°Eh¡­ He likes the others little.¡± Blake did know. Before the Aching, they¡¯d run into several scattered remnants of Baylar forces. In each group, Pine ¨C the Dolphinblood that had interrogated him ¨C had pushed Peeler to make Fink torture one for answers. Every time was met with increased resistance from the Foxblood, and each time he¡¯d eventually fallen into his work with manic glee. The aftermath saw the Blooded curled in a quiet place, fingers tapping a rapid beat as they covered his eyes. He¡¯d begun spending less time with his peers and more with mortals. Captain Peeler was ¨C by all reports ¨C an excellent fit for his Spiderblood. He was a good planner; it was why their team¡¯d had so much success hunting Ravenkin in the Wastes. That didn¡¯t mean he was a good leader. ¡°You stay back, then,¡± Blake told the Face. ¡°Don¡¯t need your aching knees giving me away.¡± Bhan rolled his eyes, then extended a hand towards the end of the hallway in invitation. The young man crept towards its end, wincing every time its floorboards creaked. Whose idea were ¡®floorboards¡¯ anyway? Why not just good, decent dirt or sandstone? He felt half a step from crashing through them. Despite the noise, those within the fire room were too distracted to notice. ¡°¡­a Lizardblood, the plan no longer works,¡± Peeler was saying, voice strained. ¡°What do we keep you around for?¡± That was Pine ¨C the Dolphinblood. ¡°Find a new plan.¡± ¡°The plan needed Larion ¨C or any Lizardblood ¨C more than any other Blooded. The Aching could¡¯ve snapped the legs off all of us ¨C excepting Oeus ¨C and we¡¯d be better off.¡± The Dolphinblood huffed. ¡°Including you.¡± ¡°Yes, including me.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve had months- ¡° ¡°Months don¡¯t matter! Time doesn¡¯t matter! We know it has Maja¡¯s abilities, but we¡¯ve no idea how far the Ravenblood has progressed ¨C how many it¡¯s killed ¨C or how powerful it¡¯s become!¡± ¡°Are you blaming me, Captain?¡± There was a dangerous amount of emphasis on the title. ¡°I¡¯ve practically held your hand- ¡° ¡°Get off it, Pine,¡± gravelled Olga, low and deep. ¡°Blake¡¯s your biggest success.¡± ¡°And you wouldn¡¯t- ¡° Peeler cut her off. ¡°We need information to make a plan that won¡¯t get all of us killed. Information you¡¯ve failed to provide.¡± ¡°I found that Baylarian deserter. And the deserter.¡± A sharp exhale. ¡°So we know it¡¯s powerful. That¡¯s not enough.¡± ¡°Hah! Curse your own bad fortune, not my skills. The Aching was unlucky.¡± Fink¡¯s voice cut in. ¡°Is survival the first thing on your mind, Captain?¡± ¡°Dying is a bad outcome. I shouldn¡¯t expect a Foxblood to understand.¡± A high, barking cackle. ¡°We¡¯re out here to kill. To torture ¨C you¡¯ve made that abundantly clear. You¡¯ll make my hands dirty, but shy away from injuring your own? You¡¯re lucky I- ¡° Something slammed against the floorboards. ¡°We¡¯ll make no progress,¡± rumbled Olga. A few heavy stomps, then a pause. ¡°Move.¡± ¡°We need you here,¡± Pine stated. ¡°You- ¡° ¡°Listen, you grotesque little snot: I might crush you faster than your magic can squash my rage. Let me leave.¡± Shuffling, then several more stomps. Blake backpedalled back to the doorway. The steps paused. ¡°Fink¡¯s right. Disregard survival, Captain. This is too important not to.¡± A hunched silhouette stretched into the hallway, cut by flickering firelight that revealed the Oxblood¡¯s blunt features twisted in quivering fury. She stomped to the doorway as the two men pressed themselves to either wall. She paused. ¡°Where are Oeus and the twins?¡± Blake blinked, then licked his lips. ¡°Uh¡­ Storehouse, I think.¡± Olga grunted. ¡°Give me one of your sacks.¡± Wordlessly, he heaved one off the floor and handed it to her. A meaty paw seized it, yanked the door open, and stomped out into the howling storm. Bhan heaved it shut before the cold could bite through their skin. The Face opened his mouth. ¡°What- ¡° ¡°Argument ¨C it¡¯s not done,¡± Blake whispered quickly, then crept back up the hallway. ¡°¡­possible there¡¯s another way?¡± mused Peeler. ¡°One that¡¯s- ¡° ¡°Stop.¡± Blake blinked. That was Stitch. He hadn¡¯t been aware she was in the room. ¡°You- ¡° ¡°I¡¯m the only one among you who fought the Cult,¡± she snapped. ¡°I don¡¯t want to kill him ¨C I tutored him for half a decade. And whatever the twins say, the notion he managed to kill General Maja is ridiculous.¡± Peeler¡¯s voice was level. ¡°Does the Representative- ¡° ¡°Jackson,¡± she said, emphasising the lack of title, ¡°agrees with me. We both knew him, and in hindsight, Maja¡¯s injuries weren¡¯t something he was capable of. He had neither the strength nor height to make them. Perhaps Ravenbloods don¡¯t have to personally kill; yet even if they do, his tone¡­¡± She paused. ¡°The boy clearly lied.¡± Blake covered his mouth. ¡°Why?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she hissed, then paused. ¡°He already knew he¡¯d been outed as a Ravenblood. It might be he wanted to spare his family from the stigma. Or he truly felt as if he had killed her. Or some Ravenblooded reason we can¡¯t comprehend. I truly have no idea.¡± ¡°Then why- ¡° ¡°Because it¡¯s not a matter of what I want. And even if it was¡­¡± Stitch sighed. ¡°I¡¯ve seen Ravenbloods. Hundreds of them: all raving mad. But they weren¡¯t happy. They weren¡¯t enjoying themselves. Most of them were terrified. There are no Ravenblood transferral stones ¨C I don¡¯t believe one is even theoretically possible for him, with all the other blood types mixed in. The best thing we can do for humanity ¨C and Orvi himself ¨C is kill him. Before he does the same to hundreds.¡± Peeler chuckled awkwardly. ¡°Surely¡­ not.¡± ¡°I understand it¡¯s difficult, with a piece of Siik in you, but¡­¡± There was a rustle as she stood. ¡°Pull yourself together.¡± With that, she strode out of the firelight. When she turned into the hallway, her pinched face fell upon Blake, who stared at her with wide eyes. After a moment, she looked away and strode into another room. Moments later, Fink rounded the corner and seized Blake¡¯s arm. ¡°Leave.¡± As he was being dragged away, the young man sputtered, ¡°What- ¡° ¡°Don¡¯t play coy with me. You¡¯re lucky the others are so distracted, or I¡¯d be ordered to flay the skin off your back.¡± His ensuing smile seemed more like a sneer. ¡°I¡¯d enjoy it, too.¡± ¡°Are you- ¡° The Foxblood lay two fingers on the side of his temple and drummed them rhythmically. After a moment, his expression settled. ¡°No. Come on,¡± he said, heaving open the front door. The wind¡¯s pealing seemed delighted. ¡°We¡¯ll go back to your snow hut, and- ¡° ¡°You can¡¯t,¡± blurted Blake. Fink ¨C perfectly still even as the storm had the other two men fighting for balance. His fingers froze mid-beat. He barked a sudden laugh. ¡°Interesting, to think that- ¡° ¡°Erin¡¯s there.¡± The Blooded¡¯s teeth clenched. ¡°I¡­¡± Bhan shook his head. Fink swallowed. ¡°Alright.¡± His eyes fell to the white snow outside. ¡°I¡¯ll be by in a half-hour with food.¡± ¡°Thanks,¡± Blake muttered, before turning and stumbling back out into the biting cold. He and the Face trudged through the packed snow to round the back of the house, where what appeared to be a large mound of snow had settled. A gully dove through the ice and into a hole embedded at the bottom of the mound. Blake watched as Bhan stumbled down, then easily slipped his wiry frame into it. The younger man quickly followed, squeezing into the hole on his hands and knees as his scratchy cloak dug into the packed white material around him. The whistling of wind faded as he journeyed deeper inwards, replaced by quiet chatter. At the end of the tunnel lay a small opening in its roof, which Blake stepped up into, revealing the small snow-hut they spent most of their time inside. Bhan had designed it; drawing on memories of younger years to craft a replacement to the drafty room they¡¯d been placed inside. As Erin and Blake had quietly gathered, dug, and compacted according to his orders, their doubts lay obvious in their silence. What warmth could possibly come from ice? But even early in Frost the nights threatened to freeze them solid, and with the Aching having vomited its bounty over the nearby land, feeding eleven people and one dog was little issue. There wasn¡¯t much else to do. Their success had been as relieving as it was surprising. It wasn¡¯t Wastes warm, but with all three of them inside it was warm enough. This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. None of them had made any attempt at escaping their captors. With the three of them caged by six Blooded, only a truly impenetrable plan would allow them to get away. A lesser gambit would see them returned with their ankles broken ¨C Peeler had made that extremely clear. Yet even if they did manage to lose the Esfarians in the Heartlands and somehow avoid freezing to death, one key problem remained: they would still kill Orvi. If they couldn¡¯t map out a way to outpace their captors and warn Blake¡¯s friend, he¡¯d be dead by the time they arrived. They were left with a curved room tall enough to stand upright, which they¡¯d layered with furs and fibre mats they¡¯d idly woven. Dozens of chimes dangled from the ceiling, wrought from bronze, bone, and glass to await a finger¡¯s touch. On Blake¡¯s bed, a sturdier coat was in the process of being made, alongside several knapped shovels. Alongside them were Orvi¡¯s tiny sculptures, embedded up to their knees in the floor. In Frost, there was little to do but make things and talk. Erin and Sash contrived to do both. ¡°¡­interesting, because when you pluck a flower it doesn¡¯t lose its colours or anything like that, correct?¡± the girl said, fingers twisting around the edges of a cloak. Most of its edges were fringed with tiny pieces of drapery. ¡°Uh-huh,¡± grunted Erin, her eyes darting between Sash¡¯s fingers and her own clumsier efforts. ¡°But Godsblood stops being Godsblood when it sits outside a body for too long and it¡¯s really weird, because I think that happens even when the body¡¯s dead?¡± ¡°Uh-huh.¡± ¡°And it isn¡¯t as if that¡¯s all that makes a person Blooded, because if they lose some of their blood they don¡¯t get less, uh¡­¡± ¡°Divine?¡± Erin offered. ¡°Indeed! Or¡­ they might. But not for long? I think bloodtech weakens Blooded a little bit if they¡¯re using their blood but it comes back. What¡¯s so different about a dead person¡¯s blood?¡± Her eyes were bright, above a mouth flapping like a hummingbird¡¯s wings. ¡°And transferral stones work by taking blood out a person¡¯s body and putting it quickly into someone else¡¯s, and it takes a lot longer than just eating the body, but eventually you get all of it out so it¡¯s incredibly strange.¡± ¡°Eyah,¡± greeted Bhan as he wiped snow off himself. ¡°Eyah Bhan!¡± Sash said. Simultaneously, Erin gave a far more subdued ¡°Eyah.¡± Blake doffed his cloak and carefully shook it before hanging it on a peg embedded in the wall. As he rolled his shoulders, he turned to find Sash glaring. ¡°What?¡± he asked. ¡°Eyah, Blake,¡± the girl enunciated carefully. He squinted. ¡°Say it back.¡± ¡°We weren¡¯t gone for- ¡° ¡°Don¡¯t be rude.¡± Blake supressed the urge to roll his eyes. Doing so in front of Sash rarely ended well. ¡°Eyah, Sash,¡± he said. She gave a satisfied hum, then turned back to her work. Before Sash could return to regaling them with the same topic she¡¯d spent the last few weeks talking about ¨C before that, it was Strains, and before that it was wrestling ¨C Erin cut in. ¡°How was it?¡± Bhan shrugged. ¡°Even as still seas. But Blake- ¡° ¡°Fink didn¡¯t do anything?¡± she interrupted. Blake snorted. ¡°Would we be in one piece if he did?¡± ¡°Blake!¡± Bhan snapped, then addressed Erin in a lower, gentler voice. ¡°We fine, Erin.¡± She nodded, wide-eyed. ¡°Good.¡± She bobbed her head again. ¡°Good. What was that about Blake?¡± ¡°Blake hear some things.¡± ¡°What kind of things?¡± Bhan looked at me expectantly. ¡°Uh. There¡¯s a few.¡± Blake rolled his tongue around a suddenly dry mouth. ¡°Peeler¡¯s worried, for one. Whatever plan they had for, uh, killing Orvi needed a Lizardblood.¡± ¡°Did they say why?¡± Erin asked. ¡°No. Not that I heard, anyway. And, uh¡­¡± The sound stretched as he gathered his thoughts. ¡°Stitch¡­ and Jackson¡­ think Orvi didn¡¯t kill Maja.¡± Beyond a razor-sharp focus in their eyes, neither Bhan nor Sash reacted. But Erin visibly straightened. ¡°They¡¯re certain?¡± Blake eyed her sideways. ¡°They don¡¯t think Orvi was capable of making the wounds that ended her. And that he was definitely lying.¡± ¡°And they still want to kill him?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± Erin¡¯s gaze was fixed somewhere behind his head. ¡°He didn¡¯t- ¡° ¡°You knew him!¡± Blake yelled. Everyone present flinched ¨C including himself. He repeated the phrase, more quietly. ¡°You knew him.¡± Though he glared at Erin, it was Sash that looked away. His brows furrowed. After a moment, he yanked his cloak back off its hook and turned away. ¡°Where you going?¡± asked Bhan. ¡°I¡¯ve gotta tell Dash.¡± As he crouched back down, his hands and knees fell back into the freezing snow of the tunnel. Shivers ran down his arms, but he shuffled ahead anyway. From behind, protests grew increasingly distant as the wind¡¯s screaming grew louder and the cold laid itself upon his skin like chisels awaiting the touch of a hammer. Then he was staggering upright as the world howled all around him, his body twisting to search for some landmark. The storehouse: that was where Dash was supposed to be. Blake trudged through the snow, torquing his body to help shake his legs when they were covered in snow. Sometimes the ground beneath his feet was hard-packed; other times its flawless appearance would give beneath him without any indication of its flawed structure. As his foot landed upon one such spot, half his body fell into a concealed hole, folding one of his knees while the other jammed painfully against the ice. A pair of hands helped him clamber out. When he¡¯d been extracted, he found Erin shaking her head at him and moving onwards, with Bhan and Sash close behind. Blake followed. The relentless ferocity of the storm made hearing anything but its cries almost impossible, but Bhan managed to circumnavigate its anger by pulling Blake¡¯s ear next to his mouth. Before they¡¯d crawled after him, all three of them had alighted on one simple problem: Oeus ¨C the Owlblood ¨C and Olga ¨C the Oxblood ¨C would both be with Dash. On top of that, the boy hated being alone with any of the captives ¨C so much so that whenever his twin visited, he¡¯d frequently appear to drag her away. Someone would have to separate them. They¡¯d settled on Sash. The logic of it was obvious. Anyone else was liable to get beheaded. Erin would go with her, but that didn¡¯t change the fact they were putting a thirteen-year-old girl ¨C Orvi¡¯s sister ¨C at risk. But Blake tightened his jaw and said nothing, for there was nothing to say. The storehouse sat suspended in a maelstrom of white, as cracked as the lines of an old labourer¡¯s face. Between the feeble logs that made up its walls escaped an orange glow, making the building seem like a bottle trapping a firefly. The two men ducked around its side while Erin and Sash heaved open the door and entered. Minutes passed with hands stuck in armpits ¨C cold threatening to freeze their eyeballs solid in their skulls. Blake glanced at his fingers, and marvelled at the fact they were still attached. He squatted down to use his back as a windbreak, but every gust cut through his body as if it were nothing at all. When he heard the door open, it took every ounce of self-control not to seize Bhan and rush inside. It slammed shut and after a brief pause he did exactly that. Inside lay a dozen different ramshackle cabinets and an air thawed a single step above deadly by a firepit blazing in the building¡¯s centre, Pat ¨C the old dog ¨C curled around it. His ears flicked when Blake entered, but otherwise remained content not to move. The walls barely slowed the wind at all. Kneeling beside an open cabinet knelt Dash, shivering beneath his many layers while he shoved firewood inside. The adolescent consulted a strip of bark pasted on its door and added fifteen to its tally. Blake licked dry lips. ¡°Hey.¡± The boy whirled, hand falling to a small knife on his belt. ¡°Blake,¡± he stated, hand still hovering over its hilt. ¡°You¡¯re not supposed to be here.¡± The pock-marked young man turned to Bhan. ¡°Keep lookout, yeah?¡± When the older man acquiesced, he ambled over to the firepit and sat next to it. Briefly, his eyes fell upon the knife. ¡°What?¡± the boy growled. ¡°Ox¡¯s balls, Dash. Whaddaya think we¡¯re gonna do to you?¡± The adolescent¡¯s face remained carefully neutral. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Blake opened his mouth, then sighed. ¡°We¡¯re unarmed. And neither of us are lookin¡¯ to get stabbed. We¡¯re just here because I heard something I thought you should know.¡± ¡°And I had to be alone because¡­?¡± The young man winced. ¡°I¡¯d probably get my head lopped off for telling you.¡± Dash blinked. His hands fumbled for the whistle around his neck. ¡°What are you trying to do with my sister?¡± ¡°Nothing!¡± The exclamation was thick with exasperation. ¡°Absolutely nothin¡¯. She agreed- ¡± ¡°She doesn¡¯t know- ¡° ¡°This really isn¡¯t a good look for you, Dash. Making your sister pick between friends or you isn¡¯t fair.¡± ¡°You¡¯re a thief and a gang-leader!¡± ¡°Can¡¯t be a gang-leader without a gang,¡± Blake muttered. He continued, slightly louder. ¡°And I can guarantee I¡¯ve killed less people than your Esfarian friends.¡± Dash¡¯s jaw jutted forward. ¡°They had good reasons.¡± ¡°Come on, mate. If they¡¯re so good, why¡¯d your mother walk away?¡± The boy¡¯s mouth worked like a fish out of water. ¡°S- She had other reasons!¡± His voice cracked in the middle. ¡°That doesn¡¯t make them- ¡° Pat let loose a brief growl, and Blake paused. He ground his teeth. ¡°I didn¡¯t come here to talk about this. It¡¯s about Stitch.¡± Dash eyed him suspiciously. ¡°¡­What about her?¡± ¡°She reckons Orvi didn¡¯t kill Ma.¡± The boy¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°¡­You¡¯re lying.¡± Blake shook his head. ¡°You can ask Fink. Don¡¯t think he¡¯ll kill me for it. You can even ask Stitch.¡± ¡°The Ravenblood,¡± Dash spat, as if the phrase were some rotten thing lodged in his mouth, ¡°said he killed her himself!¡± ¡°Why d¡¯you think he said it, dumbass!?¡± Blake spat. ¡°Huh?! Think, Dash: if he¡¯s not some bloody mass-murderer ¨C if he¡¯s your brother ¨C why¡¯d he do it? When the whole city knows he¡¯s got some dead god in his veins? What possible reason could he have for saying he tricked you?¡± Dash stared at him. Pat sidled towards the boy, hackles raised. ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t know ¨C maybe, he didn¡¯t want anyone getting suspicious of the two kids adopted along with him!¡± ¡°That¡¯s wrong- ¡° ¡°He¡¯s your bloody brother,¡± Blake bellowed, ¡°and you fell for it like he was nothing to you. Stitch knows it. She thinks Orvi couldn¡¯t have hurt Maja if he tried ¨C that he was clearly lying. Jackson knows it. I know it; I reckon your sister knows it.¡± He paused, panting. Moisture pricked at his eyes. ¡°Why not you?¡± Dash¡¯s eyes were wide. His dog let loose a low whine. A voice cut in from behind. ¡°Blake,¡± Bhan warned. ¡°He a child.¡± Blake ignored the Face. ¡°We found a box filled with carvings Orvi made ¨C and he made one of you. You think he doesn¡¯t care about you?¡± He scoffed. ¡°No. You didn¡¯t think at all. You didn¡¯t¡­ You didn¡¯t bloody believe him.¡± ¡°I believed him.¡± ¡°You didn¡¯t believe in him.¡± Dash swallowed. ¡°If he just killed the Dolphinblood, then Ma wouldn¡¯t have hurt her foot. If he hadn¡¯t helped that kid, then all the Esfarians wouldn¡¯t have died. He hated her! He told me! Why would he have done that, if not¡­¡± Blake¡¯s lip curled. ¡°He was stupid.¡± ¡°He¡¯s a Ravenblood.¡± ¡°He was always a Ravenblood. Never stopped him from being your brother.¡± Blake shook his head. ¡°But you were so bloody eager to stop being his.¡± Dash blinked rapidly. His mouth formed shapes, but it took several tries for him to form words. ¡°Jackson and Stitch still want him dead. They know what a Ravenblood is. If we don¡¯t- ¡° ¡°Maja knew!¡± Blake interrupted, incredulous. ¡°Your mother! A general! You trust them more than her?¡± ¡°Blake!¡± Bhan snapped. ¡°All make mistakes. Stop- ¡± The young man levelled a finger towards the boy. ¡°You¡¯ve been runnin¡¯ from me all Frost. I¡¯m starting to think it¡¯s because you already knew all this, and you just didn¡¯t want anyone saying it out loud.¡± Dash¡¯s voice was desperate. His eyes avoided Blake¡¯s gaze. ¡°If he wasn¡¯t a Ravenblood, none of this would¡¯ve happened! We could¡¯ve all been a family. No one would¡¯ve gotten hurt.¡± ¡°How¡¯s what¡¯s in him his fault?¡± ¡°He chose- ¡° ¡°Chose? What choice can a six-year-old make?¡± ¡°If it was so obvious,¡± Dash murmured, ¡°why did it take you three years to go after him?¡± The fire in Blake¡¯s chest spluttered. ¡°Erin didn¡¯t want to go.¡± ¡°You could¡¯ve gone anyway.¡± The young man swallowed. Dash looked up. ¡°You thought he was innocent. Why didn¡¯t you go after him? And why now?¡± ¡°You were gonna kill him,¡± Blake said quietly. ¡°You couldn¡¯t have been certain. And why not earlier?¡± ¡°I¡­ had other people to take care of.¡± Dash¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°¡­I heard your Butcher Street Boys all died or got work with Esfaria.¡± Blake closed his eyes. ¡°And¡­¡± the boy slowly began, ¡°I remember you trying for work, too. But you never got hired.¡± Something twisted in his stomach. Dash blinked. When Blake opened his eyes, the kid was staring directly at him. ¡°That¡¯s when you left to find Orvi.¡± His hands groped blindly through the cold air. ¡°It¡¯s not¡­ He was always tougher than me,¡± he began. ¡°Better fighter. Smarter than me ¨C when he wasn¡¯t set on gettin¡¯ his hands or somethin¡¯ that wasn¡¯t his.¡± Blake stared at the firepit, its flames slithering through the air. ¡°Yeah, sure: he might¡¯ve changed. But he still is all that. He¡¯s still the same person. He¡¯ll be okay. Why¡­¡± His voice hitched. He coughed to clear it. ¡°Why can¡¯t you see that?¡± Dash leapt to his feet. ¡°You saw the town on the hill! There were dozens of bodies, and Peeler thinks they were all him. Do you think Orvi could¡¯ve done that?!¡± ¡°Peeler¡¯s a lying little rat,¡± insisted Blake. ¡°He would¡¯ve said anything to get you on board. And that isn''t the bloody question, is it? Did Orvi kill your mother?¡± The adolescent paused, finger still levelled accusingly. ¡°They don¡¯t know that. He planned everything ¨C he knew how the city would react.¡± ¡°They don¡¯t know,¡± repeated the young man. ¡°You don¡¯t know. He¡¯s your brother. Give him a chance.¡± ¡°No!¡± Dash¡¯s face contorted. ¡°No one gave me a chance. Why does he get one? Why don¡¯t I get one? Why- ¡° Blake snarled. ¡°You¡¯re not a kid anymore ¨C you¡¯re only one year younger than he was. Stop bein¡¯ such a selfish little brat- ¡° A canine growl interrupted him. ¡°You have no idea- ¡° Blake pushed through the boy¡¯s words. ¡°You¡¯re betting your brother¡¯s life- ¡° ¡°He was never- ¡° ¡°Gods ¨C he would¡¯ve died for you- ¡° ¡°Blake!¡± Bhan¡¯s voice split through their hisses like the crack of a whip. ¡°Enough.¡± With his mouth opened to deliver an incoherent retort, the young man turned. Yet when confronted with Bhan¡¯s worn face clenched in more anger than he thought the Face could muster, the words died in his throat. Without breaking eye-contact, the man gestured pointedly towards Dash, where the sound of Pat growling emanated. Whose eyes silently dripped tears. In an instant, Blake saw himself continuing his tirade. Or turning and fleeing into the storm. The instant distended into a moment, then the moment into a pregnant pause. Back in the Foot, tracking food and the movements of rival gangs had been only half of his job. The other half had been looking after dozens of children of all ages, smashing furniture or insulting one another or running away or folding themselves into a corner and crying, often occurring one after the other in quick succession. Though he¡¯d been several years younger, the same urge to discard them and walk away had persisted. Yet it had never been so powerful. Blake clenched his eyes shut, and drew Dash into a loose hug. The boy¡¯s arms hung limply by his side, yet he allowed it all the same. Between pauses formed by the boy¡¯s hitching breath, Dash managed to speak. ¡°Even if you¡¯re right¡­ He could still be like¡­ Stitch and Jackson say.¡± The young man stared through the gaps in the rickety ceiling. ¡°Just¡­ wait and see, yeah?¡± ¡°But what if¡­¡± Blake let the question trail into silence, unanswered.
It didn¡¯t take long to notice the howling of wind concealed several voices. Amidst the noise, only the occasional shouted word was comprehensible. ¡°¡­idea¡­¡± A pause. The rumbling voice could only belong to Olga. ¡°¡­stupid¡­safe¡­matter¡­home¡­¡± Another pause. Though neither of the men could decipher anything, Dash shrugged his way out of Blake¡¯s arms and muttered: ¡°That¡¯s Sash¡¯s voice.¡± Phrases emerged from the noise as the speakers grew closer. ¡°¡­best possible outcome¡­our lives for theirs is good sense¡­¡± A high, quavering voice protested, ¡°¡­they wanted!¡± ¡°Peeler has command, not Jackson.¡± ¡°They have not done anything wrong!¡± ¡°Sash,¡± came a lower, more even tone. Oeus¡¯ voice. ¡°We might not need to use the plan.¡± ¡°You have still made it! They deserve- ¡° Blake whispered to the other two. ¡°Where¡¯s Erin?¡± Bhan¡¯s gaze snapped towards him, then to the door. ¡°We leave.¡± The young man turned to Dash. ¡°Don¡¯t tell- ¡° ¡°I wouldn¡¯t,¡± the adolescent stated firmly. ¡°I won¡¯t.¡± The two men moved to the door. ¡°Thanks,¡± Blake said, belatedly. They hauled it open and stumbled into the seething mass of white. The tentative heat that had built over their time around the firepit fled within seconds, leaving Bhan¡¯s teeth chattering wildly. Blake grabbed the older man by the shoulder and began hauling him along, towards their snow-hut. He managed three steps before a hand closed around his wrist. ¡°Why are you two out here?¡± asked Fink, orange sideburns thick with snow. Peeking out of his pockets were several leaf-wrapped chunks of pemmican. Instinctively, Blake tried to yank his arm away, yet the attempt was immediately met with his body flipping through the air to land softly in the snow. A cackle resounded from above him. It was immediately cut off with a frustrated growl. ¡°Sorry,¡± the Foxblood said, before pulling him back to his feet. He brushed white powder off Blake¡¯s cloak, then shot the young man an apologetic smile with too many teeth. ¡°Instinct.¡± ¡°Nah, it¡¯s fine, I get it. Uh, it¡¯s bloody cold, so¡­¡± Blake smiled, and turned to walk away. The dark silhouette of Olga loomed from out of the snow. Beside her were two smaller shapes: Sash and Oeus. A handful of powerful strides brought the Oxblood¡¯s blunt, ugly features into clarity. She stopped half a dozen paces away. ¡°Did you hear that?¡± she rumbled, black eyes darting between the two captives. Fink frowned. ¡°Hear what?¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± Blake quickly grinned, patting the Foxblood¡¯s shoulder. ¡°What he said.¡± Olga stared. Blake¡¯s grin wobbled. ¡°You heard.¡± The lines of her face twisted. Rage built behind her eyes. ¡°Come with us.¡± ¡°What were you saying?¡± Fink repeated. She snorted. ¡°You expect me to believe you didn¡¯t hear?¡± ¡°I just came from their little hut; I was rushing. All I caught was the girl complaining.¡± Olga sighed. ¡°Peeler wants them to serve as makeshift Lizardbloods in the plan.¡± ¡°You¡¯re serious?¡± Blake half-shouted. ¡°You didn¡¯t hear,¡± the Oxblood stated flatly. ¡°Not that!¡± ¡°Olga,¡± Fink slowly began. ¡°They¡¯re not¡­ They¡¯ll die.¡± She glowered at him. The man moved closer, until he stood directly in front of her. ¡°This is against the Accords.¡± Her glare remained stable. ¡°It¡¯s the plan with the highest likelihood of success.¡± ¡°They aren¡¯t soldiers.¡± ¡°We have fought monsters, Fink ¨C Ravenkin,¡± she began. ¡°They all grew from animals. The Ravenblood was once human. It may still possess a human intellect. Or at least enough of one that it will drag hundreds of non-combatants down with it. There are no half measures.¡± ¡°He might not- ¡° ¡°Then we won¡¯t have to.¡± ¡°No, he might not be- ¡° ¡°Fink.¡± The utterance was tense with barely restrained anger. Fink stared up at her. Eventually, his shoulders slumped. Olga sidled past him, eyes fixed on Blake and Bhan. Behind her, the Foxblood began walking into the howling winds. The giant woman¡¯s lengthy strides carried her over to the captives in a handful of steps. Her hands rippled with more muscle than a human should possess. They didn¡¯t even have the decency to close around the war-hammer on her belt. A grown man¡¯s head would barely reach her elbows. ¡°Come with me,¡± she rumbled. Blake raised his hands, staring up at her. ¡°We won¡¯t run. Can¡¯t make it anywhere in the storm.¡± A smirk stretched across the Oxblood¡¯s blunt features. ¡°You will make it- ¡° Behind her, Fink¡¯s silhouette lashed an arm at Oeus¡¯. He wrapped a hand around Sash¡¯s mouth before the Owlblood¡¯s body hit the ground. ¡°- to where I need you.¡± Blake licked his lips. ¡°Uh, please. Wherever you¡¯re putting us, it¡¯ll be colder. We¡¯ll- We¡¯ll freeze.¡± Her jaw audibly creaked as her teeth ground together. ¡°Come, or I¡¯ll cut your number down to two.¡± The corners of his mouth twitched, trying for a smile that had no place being there. She lunged for his arm and he stumbled backwards. The back of his boot fell on a patch of icy snow and slid out from underneath him, sending him slamming to the ground. The Oxblood loomed above him, a sneer pasted beneath eyes stoked with fury beyond human measure. Blake fumbled through the snow for a weapon ¨C any weapon ¨C but his hands found only powder. Olga raised a massive boot, then staggered sideways as one of Fink¡¯s arms hooked around her neck while the other repeatedly sunk a dagger into the side of her neck. Her arms lashed out faster than mortal eyes could follow, snapping for the Foxblood on her back. Yet for all her fervour, all she received was a tendon rupturing with a distorted snap. She froze ¨C wild eyes at odds with her stillness ¨C then slammed herself downwards, onto where the Foxblood clung to, but Fink had slipped away the moments her toes had left the snow. Olga lay on the ground, air abandoning her mutilated throat in dull gurgles barely audible above the wind. One arm braced against the freezing ground, only to be nailed there by one of Fink¡¯s daggers. It slumped back down. Dark red blood slowly ate through the snow as it steamed, like poison scouring the face of an elk. Her eyes blinked towards the clouded sky. Her mouth moved. Blake didn¡¯t hear her final breath. The Foxblood¡¯s eyes were wide; his teeth bared in a manic grin. After a moment, he glanced at his hands and stared at its fingers, quietly drumming a repetitive beat around the dagger. When he gazed back at the body, his expression was hollowed of all savagery. Fink turned away from the sight with his eyelids screwed shut. Almost absent of any intonation, he asked, ¡°Do you want the blood?¡± It took a moment for Blake to realise the Blooded was talking to him. ¡°No,¡± he answered, before he had time to truly think. ¡°Never wanted to be anyone but me.¡± Fink nodded, eyes still closed. ¡°Lucky.¡± When Sash emerged from the storm, Bhan gingerly took her hand and began forging their back towards the storehouse. Blake walked in their steps for a few moments, before turning back and seizing Fink¡¯s hand. It took longer than it should for him to drag the man through the storehouse¡¯s doors. As soon as he sighted the dark blood splattering the Foxblood¡¯s hands, Dash was asking questions. Blake fielded the first few, but when they became more specific he too turned to stare at Fink. The Esfarian Blooded stared at the ground. ¡°I- ¡° The storehouse door slammed opened, triggering a startled bark from Pat and causing Fink to snap his blade towards the entrant¡¯s throat. Her cloak was drawn shut and her arms smuggled within, as if disdaining the threat the Foxblood posed. Above the dagger, Erin eyed the blade disdainfully. Her gaze fixed upon the blood dripping from it. ¡°The two outside died by your hand?¡± Fink lowered the weapon. His yellowed gaze shied away from hers. ¡°Why?¡± The man ran his filthy fingernails through thick orange hair. ¡°They were going to kill him,¡± he stated. ¡°Blake?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± Erin closed the door with the side of her boot. ¡°That was enough?¡± He pleaded as if the young woman held his life in her hands. ¡°They weren¡¯t good people.¡± ¡°But you thought ¨C you think ¨C they were doing good work.¡± Fink shook his head wearily. ¡°Why?¡± It took several long moments for him to gather a reply. The wind howled, and the others waited. When Fink spoke, he looked to Erin as his judge. ¡°At the Foot. Esfaria¡¯s nearly finished killing the Ravenkin. I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if they were all dead, by now. Your Orvi? He¡¯s the last one.¡± Fink rubbed the bridge of his nose and let loose a long, weary breath. ¡°I¡¯ve spent the last four years getting rid of the remnants of Avri. We heard ¡®the last Ravenblood¡¯¡­ and it sounded like a challenge. The last loose bit of thread in an otherwise immaculate garment, just waiting to be snipped away. That¡¯s what I heard, too. But¡­ ¡°He¡¯s the last, though. The rest of the Ravenblood lays in the Wastes, as empty of divinity as mortality itself. There won¡¯t be any more. What harm can one Ravenblood do?¡± No one replied. The question answered itself. ¡°I know. I know. But¡­ If he hasn¡¯t done anything¡­ ¡° His tone was quiet. Plaintive. ¡°If you could kill a person just for the blood they carried, then why not me? Why not you? Why not every Blooded that breathes?¡± Erin nodded slowly. ¡°Why not,¡± she said, and it wasn¡¯t a question. Fink looked away. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I can¡¯t know. But if your Orvi needs killing, then kill him.¡± ¡°And if he does end up needing to die,¡± Erin said slowly, ¡°will you do it?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± He smiled hollowly. ¡°Despite everything.¡± Erin nodded, lips drawn into a thin line. She slipped one arm out from her cloak to grip the Foxblood¡¯s shoulder bracingly. ¡°Why not,¡± she said. By the time Blake realised her hands were covered in red and blue and green blood, Erin had already whipped the long ivory stiletto protruding from her arm into Fink¡¯s guts and ripped the implement sideways. Her face flashed through dozens of different expressions before firming into a grim resolution. ¡°Fink!¡± Blake gasped, lunging to catch the man before he collapsed. Erin intercepted him. He struggled against her grip, mindless of the blood ¨C the blood of those within the house, he realised ¨C coating her torso beneath her cloak. Yet against muscles borne of hours of mindless exercise every morning his efforts were useless. ¡°Stay back. He¡¯s still dangerous,¡± Erin begged. ¡°Blake, please. Just leave it. Please, just leave it. Stay back. Don¡¯t look.¡± Her pleas continued in that vein, but the young man¡¯s eyes were fixed on Fink¡¯s. The Foxblood shuffled his way backwards to lean against one of the rickety walls. Small shakes wracked his shoulders while a repetitive ¡®Ah¡¯, ¡®Ah¡¯, left his mouth ¨C cackling, Blake realised. Orange seeped through his clothing then began spreading across the ground. It slowly leaked from his body. The wild hilarity drained from Fink¡¯s eyes as he stared at the orange liquid travelling across the ground, leaving only relief. He looked at Erin for several moments, then back to the blood. Fink smiled. The blood spread. The man paled. His smile fell. In the instant before Fink died, he gazed at his lifeforce with eyes full of fear. Chapter 62 - Frozen Flame I- Vin- Kit- Gast- Wil- Tully- ????- Seoras- Maja- Babs- Drue- Who? Where? I was¡­ *** -dreaming, ?n the same vein I alw?ys d?. My legs were heavy, as if plunged into the putrid mouth of a sucking bog. Weaving in and out of the shadows around me was Mother, barking instructions in some deeply true language I could scarcely understand. The steps she commanded rung with savage beauty, but though I swung my body my feet always slopped a beat too late. Every movement drew me deeper into the ravenous earth. I swung my sword, except with the mud reaching just below my breast it had become a lute. Mother looked down at it with a sneer then placed her boot upon my shoulder and began to slowly press down¡­ And I wrestled against the fur blankets burying me as someone shook my shoulders and reached for the sword laying beside my bed. ¡°Kit!¡± Davian hissed. ¡°Wha- Davian?¡± I rubbed my eyes. ¡°Blood¡¯re you doin¡¯ wakin¡¯ me up so early?¡± ¡°It¡¯s midday,¡± the old Strain stated flatly. ¡°Oh.¡± I¡¯d been up practicing my lute until I¡¯d passed out. Even beneath the callouses I¡¯d painstakingly built, my fingers still ached ¨C I must¡¯ve slept for only a handful of hours. But with Frost growing more brutal by the day, what hours I kept barely mattered. Beyond scheduled trips to gather wood, plants, and maintain the house, we rarely ventured outside. Some sun might¡¯ve been nice, but even unobstructed by roofs or trees it remained hidden under an inscrutable layer of grey. ¡°What¡¯s the fire, greybeard?¡± The appellation described Davian better than ever ¨C in the two months we¡¯d spent sheltering from the Frost, he¡¯d grown a beard that almost hid the twisted contours of his face. The Strain kept it impeccably maintained ¨C Ronnie¡¯d once told me they¡¯d caught him oiling it a few times. We still made fun of him for that. The older man sighed. ¡°Vin¡¯s gone.¡± I frowned. ¡°You looked in- ¡° ¡°Yes, Kit, I¡¯ve had a glance around.¡± I frowned. ¡°He with Ronnie?¡± The giant would often cut wood at midday, and the cold demanded anyone leaving went with a partner. Only idiots and corpses travelled alone, with the first usually heralding the second. ¡°No, Maddie¡¯s with them. He¡¯s disappeared.¡± I rubbed my eyes. ¡°By all that¡¯s good ¡®n green,¡± I muttered quietly. ¡°I¡¯ll have a look. Maybe he¡¯s squattin¡¯ in a corner or somethin¡¯ an¡¯ you missed him. Vin wouldn¡¯t do somethin¡¯ so stupid, right?¡± Davian¡¯s brows raised. ¡°Kit¡­¡± ¡°Godsdamn it, I know,¡± I snapped, hastily pulling my boots from beneath my bed. ¡°I¡¯ll be quick.¡± The room I shared with Jana and the kids was clustered with detritus: carved wood toys; three ramshackle cots layered with mouldy straw; various blankets the old lady was using to instruct the kids in sewing; her favourite abacus; scatterings of bark Maddie and occasionally Vin were using in a vain attempt to teach me how to read; several piles of stinking clothes no one could be bothered to wash. It was barely large enough to fit the cots and toeing through all of it felt unnervingly like dancing some prissy noble waltz. Feeling like a fool, I grabbed some of the less rancid shirts, trousers and socks and pulled them over the underclothes I slept in. I hopped out of the room while buckling my sword onto my waist. Our bedroom was situated on the second floor of the house ¨C two floors more than most places I¡¯d lived in ¨C amidst a cluster of similar rooms. Everyone except Wil and his kid slept on this level. That seemed fair enough: he¡¯d been the one that led us here. At this time of day, a glance in each room revealed that everyone was out. Each door ¨C built inside the house instead of cheaper, more sensible alternatives such as beads or blankets ¨C took significant physical persuading to open. We usually left it fractionally open to let in hot air from the fireplace burning at the end of the hall. Ronnie and Gast¡¯s room was impeccably organised, though the giant¡¯s bed was covered in a patch of Yowler¡¯s fur. Gast¡¯s nest of blankets and scratchy pillows lacked the signature lump that indicated she was having a midday nap. Maddie¡¯s room was almost laughably lousy, with crumb-ridden tomes, sheafs of paper, and haphazardly discarded jewellery she¡¯d pulled from Siik-knows-where all swarming across the ground like insects. As I walked down the hallway, my eyes were drawn to an oval of pink wood several shades lighter than the rest of the wall. It was the pale gravestone of a mirror that had apparently hung there for decades. I¡¯d only seen its shattered remnants. When we had travelled a few days away from the buried crater, the cold became fierce enough to coax snow from the sky in the middle of the day. With constant wind scouring our footprints away, it became apparent that Baylar¡¯s forces were no longer our greatest concern. Vin had been the first one to state what no one wanted to: we wouldn¡¯t make the journey to Fort Vane without freezing to death. With the Aching having likely wiped out most man-made structures, our initial plan was to find a good spot and fortify the location as best we could. Enduring the Frost with a ramshackle shelter would see some of us without toes, but frozen corpses have little use for digits. Then Wil had woken from his coma. He¡¯d sold us a story. According to him, since far, far before Houses, Heartlanders had gathered in certain places in the months before they thought an Aching might come. Thousands would make the pilgrimage to these locations, where these ancient families would collate what resources they¡¯d gathered amongst themselves and spend the ensuing quakes in ceremony and sacrifice. The large stone shelves beneath the dirt would keep them protected until they could finally emerge into a changed world. Spires was built on one such location ¨C the most important one, apparently, which had caused conflict with Heartlanders in its infant phase. Fort Vane was on another. And apparently, Wil¡¯s ancestral home was on another. I¡¯d always thought of the man as one of the Growers. Unbeknownst to anyone else, his departed wife had been the Grower ¨C he¡¯d married into the family. We would have never known were it not for his own son interrogating him on the matter earnestly. Travelling there had been an exercise in patience. Beforehand, Wil¡¯d been a quiet enough man to make Vin look loquacious. He was still almost as mute as Ronnie except for the occasional moment he¡¯d speak up to criticise someone. Every time I saw his disdainful face turn on anyone, supressing the urge to paint it black and blue was such a monumental task I might¡¯ve failed were it not for the Strains pulling me back. He''d sneered at Jana ¨C who had seen nearly seven decades of life ¨C for not keeping pace with people half her age. He¡¯d done the same to Gast barely moments later in wilful ignorance of her size. He¡¯d castigated Ronnie for struggling to light a fire, as if having two differently sized arms would make the task simple. He¡¯d yelled at his son for crying when he fell over. Willow and Daisy had disappeared in the night after he''d screamed at them with a red-face and clenched fists -- for not stirring a pot at the exact tempo necessary. I figured they''d had their fill of loud, angry men and decided to take their chances in the renewed Heartlands. The Aching had given food enough for the next few years, but for Wil to get them to throw their lot in with a monster-infested land on the edge of Frost... I still occasionally asked him what kind of Godsblood could breed such a bastard. Even grief made a poor excuse. I thumped him for that, after Willow and Daisy. I might¡¯ve killed him, were Wil not even less tolerant on himself. Every time he failed to cleanly slice a log in half, or poorly sew a tear in clothing, or spend too long harvesting the strange bulbed plants Vin had found were edible, he¡¯d swear at himself, or bat at the side of his head as if it were a faulty piece of equipment. Completely disregarding the fact he¡¯d been marching for more than half a day, often carrying someone else¡¯s pack on his back He had gradually become less of a pile of flaming faeces after a few days of mood-swings, but his Oxdung still peeked out occasionally. By the time we reached his house, he was almost tolerable. Despite possessing a mould-ridden frame lousy with cobwebs, a balcony stained by animal droppings, several missing doors, and an infestation of small rodents, the sheer scale of the place lent it an eerie gravity. Its exterior was still clad in the black bark of heartwoods, and its three-storey height ¨C combined with a stubby tower and several chimneys waiting atop its roof ¨C made it seem like the abandoned shell of some solemn giant. Vin refused us entry until he¡¯d searched the place. His excuse was that it was a prime monster den, and it was foolish to risk anyone but him. Initially, I¡¯d thought he was joking. He¡¯d spent the entire journey jogging up and down our line like some ragged herding dog, but that was just a matter of safety. The absurd humour tugging the edges of my mouth persisted when he threatened to tie me up, but vanished when he began yanking rope from Ronnie¡¯s pack. We¡¯d argued, but his fervour quickly burned through my baffled protests. He entered, and did not return. After a quarter-hour of waiting, I went after him. Vin¡¯d been right: a single Godkin had taken up residence inside. Its corpse lay in what was once the dining room, amidst a collection of shattered furniture. Its too-large eyes had revealed it to be an elk-turned-Owlkin ¨C easily the most dangerous type of monster I¡¯d ever fought. A single wound had pierced between its antlers and into its brain. I¡¯d carefully checked every room on the first floor. All were typical to an isolated house, albeit in extreme disarray and disrepair ¨C as if its inhabitants had vanished in the middle of their day. The kitchen¡¯s floor had caved in, leaving a bloodtech stove slumped in the crawlspace beneath the house. An open satchel of salt had been left to spill on the counter. The only room that¡¯d given me pause was what seemed to be a master bedroom. Unlike the rest of the house, everything in the room had seemed perfectly arranged. Someone had tried and failed to scrub bloodstains from its floor. That¡¯d been the last time Wil let me see that room. As I walked up the rickety stairs to the second storey, I¡¯d heard an irregular series of muffled gasps. Clearing the stairwell had revealed Vin to me instantly: sat with his knees drawn to his chest. An oval of wood wobbled on the wall above him, still containing a jagged series of reflective shards. The rest were embedded deep within Vin¡¯s knuckles. His eyes stared at nothing I could see. It had taken Davian several hours to extract all the pieces of the mirror from his mutilated fist. The first thing we did after moving into the house was remove all its mirrors. I tore my gaze from the pale oval and continued down the hall. Taja¡¯s little nook had a bunch of small carvings, practice swords, and the sweat-smeared mat where he exercised. Despite his efforts, it¡¯d take a lot more muscle to make himself into Vin. Davian¡¯s tiny closet was predictably empty of anything but his cot and various hunting supplies crammed beneath. Vin¡¯s room¡­ I spared Vin¡¯s room a glance. Staring longer tended to send shudders up my spine. I quickly stomped down the stairwell ¨C reinforced after a boring afternoon of Wil, Ronnie and myself arguing about repairing the stairs while everyone else repaired the stairs. I swerved into the kitchen, finding Taja carefully dicing several root-vegetables we¡¯d scavenged. I strode past him to tear open the door to the pantry: a sizeable closet stocked with various vegetables, bags of ground grain, jars of preserved fruits, smoked meats and lumps of tallow. It wasn¡¯t unusual to find Vin meticulously sorting everything before he put lunch together. Most of it had been gathered in the early days of Frost. Both Wil and Vin had agreed that the Aching, in exchange for a massively shortened length, had been incredibly violent. The winds¡¯d shown little sign of abating, and we¡¯d set about gathering as many supplies as possible before cold besieged the house. The land¡¯s renewal had made the process absurdly simple; you couldn¡¯t take twenty steps without stumbling over an edible root, smacking your head on a fruit, or barging into a berry bush. Preserving everything was another story. Every single one of us ¨C including the babies, sat upon a rock and swaddled in as many blankets as possible ¨C had spent days outside in the cold, feeding smoking racks in a frenzy, while Vin attempted to figure out whether any of the Heartland¡¯s bizarre red flora could be used as a preservative. Mostly by taste. Watching his face twist as he layered bizarre foods onto his tongue had even managed to get Maddie ¨C grim-faced since the crater ¨C chuckling. The short Heltian had, amidst all of our poorly-stifled laughter, shouted, ¡°Careful you don¡¯t burn your tongue off, Vin!¡± His red face ¨C chuckling through his own discomfort ¨C had frozen. His eyes had narrowed; he¡¯d frowned. ¡°Head Maleen, who¡­¡± We hadn¡¯t realised his irregular breaths were no longer due to what lay in his mouth. When he¡¯d walked off into the snow-smeared woods, I¡¯d thought he was just being a bad sport; that the work needed our attention more than an overgrown baby. Ronnie ¨C made peripheral to the preserving process due to their mismatched arms ¨C had been the only one to pursue. A half-hour later had seen the giant return in a flurry of gestures only Vin ¨C who¡¯d memorised most at unnerving speeds ¨C had a hope of interpreting. In his absence, they¡¯d quickly retrieved myself and the other Strains and led us into the forest, almost falling several times in their trembling haste. At the small stream in which Vin had stood waited a twisting of the air. Neither snow nor wind had been affected by its presence: they passed through the impossible filagree without altering their course. Similarly, the shimmering had remained mindless of its surroundings ¨C gently flaring in the riverbed while other parts dipped in and out of the water. Wil had told us later that this specific stream had remained mostly unaltered over the Achings, due to the stone on which it lay. He¡¯d visited once ¨C just to see it ¨C and stayed away afterwards. But the flickering had endured even without his presence, and as the days went by its shape grew more steadfast. The flaring in the riverbed slowly grew into the shape of feet, while pulsing hands methodically scraped phantom cloth in and out of the water. The ghost wasn¡¯t always there, and it wasn¡¯t always in the same spot. Sometimes its twin would wash at a slightly different location, often at the same time. Sometimes it appeared closer to the house. Once, on a sleepless night I¡¯d spent sat in the dining room, I saw it moving through the kitchen. But, ignorant of snow and storm, it remained. As time progressed, the barest hint of its features became perceivable in its delicate flickering. Initially, Vin¡¯d tried to perform at least one Divinity to it every day. He¡¯d carved a set of six masks to alternate through during the process ¨C not proper Faces, but according to words we¡¯d wheedled from him at breakfast, none of the local trees had viscous enough sap to make one. Despite his efforts to ¡®send it back to the blood¡¯, the ghost had endured. Eventually, he took to steadily copying the phantom into a small carving. At dinner one night, Wil and he had erupted into an argument about his efforts: one spoke of the need to work for tomorrow while the other spoke of responsibility to the dead. After one monumental blowout over dinner, both silently decided not to speak of it. Vin still wasn¡¯t satisfied with any one depiction, but I¡¯d managed to catch a glimpse of one of his discarded attempts. A washerwoman, broke-nosed and entering middle-age in the harshest way possible, ankle-deep in waters frozen mid-flow; her hands caught mid-air either lowering or raising a dishrag from the stream. She looked like Wil. I wiped the frown off my face and exited the pantry. Taja glanced up from a wispy, lump-ridden vegetable we still hadn¡¯t found a good name for. ¡°What are you looking for? Most of the fresher goods have been moved- ¡± ¡°-into the cold,¡± I finished for him. ¡°I know, kitchen-boy. You seen Vin?¡± His lips contorted at the nickname, undecided on whether to smile or scowl. ¡°Isn¡¯t he sleeping? He was out late.¡± ¡°You think he sleeps?¡± Before he could answer, I barrelled forward. ¡°Might be somewhere in his maze of a room, though.¡± ¡°Carving, maybe,¡± Taja was saying, but I¡¯d already strode past him. As I reemerged into the hallway, the door to the house slid open several inches to eject Davian, Ronnie, and Maddie. The trio hastily shook snow from their thick cloaks while the giant Strain signed with their smaller arm. I¡¯d learned enough to get by, but they moved at disconcerting speeds. I barely managed to catch the gesture Ronnie had commandeered for ¡®Vin¡¯ ¨C it had originally meant ¡®Turtle¡¯, though Ronnie often attached ¡®Dopey¡¯ to either end. If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°Slow down. I haven¡¯t seen him this morning, no. He¡¯s- ¡° More signs flashed by beneath Ronnie¡¯s plaintive stare. Davian tugged his fringe over his face. ¡°I understand completely, but no one person had been assigned- ¡° Maddie tore a strand of orange hair away from her eyes. ¡°We¡¯re all meant to be looking after one another. And he¡¯s been¡­¡± She gesticulated emptily. ¡°Precisely. It¡¯s our collective responsibility- ¡° He paused. ¡°Assigning blame is tangential. We need help searching the house.¡± Taja peeked his head out of the kitchen, next to where I stood. ¡°Vin¡¯s missing? But¡­¡± ¡°Give us a hand, yeah?¡± I snapped ¨C Too harsh, I immediately thought ¨C then turned and thundered up the stairs. It only took me five heartbeats to reach his door. I spent more than thrice that convincing myself to open it all the way. Vin¡¯s room had originally been spacious. Layered with faded tapestries and a thick brown carpet piled beneath a large bed, it was clearly intended to receive whatever guest was most esteemed at that moment. Jana, myself and the kids had gotten the largest guest room, but Wil had quietly insisted that Vin got the most well-appointed one. It was easy to see why. Sometimes, when I caught of his back, I remembered walking through that ruined village and seeing the corpses scattered: laying in heaps; face-down between the speartrees or looking to the clear skies. Their vacant, empty faces. Unlike me, Wil had never seen how Vin crumbled afterwards. He''d tried to shove Maddie in the smallest room. No one could begrudge him that, but Davian¡¯d quietly swapped with her anyway, claiming smaller spaces had a ¡®meditative quality¡¯ ¨C whatever that meant. Wil had said nothing about that, but he hadn¡¯t made a secret of the fact he¡¯d throw from the house as soon as Frost began evaporating from the land. The room Vin had gained no longer felt large. Makeshift shelves lining every wall seemed to draw the space in on itself. A desk Vin and Ronnie had dragged upstairs packed the room so tight that beyond a single, narrow chair there was no longer any space to sleep. The Blooded¡¯s onyx blade leaned sheathed against the table¡¯s side. Yet all of that was merely backdrop to the endless horde of carvings that blanketed every surface: holding vigil on the shelves; occupying the desk; fortifying teetering piles around the empty avenue leading to the chair. Every person in the house had at least two wooden doppelgangers in Vin¡¯s room. Mine leered unnervingly from a high shelf: twofold images of my own face distorted in cruel anger and spitting laughter. Dozens more figures ¨C both Blooded and mortal ¨C I couldn¡¯t recognise watched as my eyes flickered around the room. Most were humanoid, excepting a dog feasting on noodles while a rugged man smiled at him, and a monstrous bipedal Foxkin. The creature held a position of prominence on his desk. An underdeveloped arm was strangled by a bracelet adorned with a wing. Unlike the other carefully placed pieces, half-formed faces peered from massive piles of haphazardly discarded works. The majority were distorted attempts to carve six distinct figures: one that was vaguely recognisable as Tully; a dying Lizardblood; a small, nervous child; a broad-shouldered teenager wielding a sword and shield; an immense, one-armed warrior; and an eerie, featureless human. Their features were melded in bizarre ways. Most bore cracks, as if hurled fiercely. Missing from the collection was a single figure. It had come to hold a position of prominence on the dining room¡¯s new table after Wil had persuaded Vin to part with it. The carving depicted a broadly-built man ¨C face weathered by long exposure to the sun ¨C rubbing his fingers through dirt with his mouth pursed in concentration. I¡¯d seen him before: hints of his image passed through the remnants of the fields surrounding the house, all of which lay buried beneath leaves, weeds, and the rotten remains of fences and ploughs. When standing on the fields on quieter days ¨C where the snow fell straight and gentle ¨C it was possible to hear the tremulous sound of his whistling and singing beneath the wind. Like the solemn washerwoman, the carving of the farmer looked a lot like Wil. I tore my mind back to the room. Over Frost, Vin had taken to spending every hour unmolested by chores carving. In the last few weeks, he¡¯d started eating alone in his room after he finished cooking, leaving the rest of us to eat without the chef. After the second day doing so, almost everyone silently agreed we needed a way to wheedle him out. Maddie couldn¡¯t have been the one to go; conversations with her tended to leave Vin with his eyebrows furrowed, moments before he turned and walked away. Taja¡¯d been our next pick, given how gently Vin treated the teenager, but he¡¯d emerged from the cramped room with no success. By that point, I¡¯d grown well and truly sick of all the cowardly creeping about we¡¯d been doing, so I went up myself. We¡¯d had a kind of conversation, but only if you could call talking to an unresponsive chunk of ice a conversation. As my words ¨C as earnest as I could manage ¨C had rolled over his back with nothing more than grunts of acknowledgement, my tone had become jagged. I could begrudgingly accept the lack of eye-contact ¨C for whatever reason, he¡¯d barely looked at me since the crater ¨C as the price of interacting with him. But he hadn¡¯t even possessed the basic respect to stop carving his creepy statues as I spoke. In the middle of my sentence, he¡¯d sworn quietly and tossed a half-finished model of the washerwoman in a pile behind him. I¡¯d snapped. My hand had been wrapped around his arm before the carving hit the ground. As far as I¡¯d been concerned, Vin wasn¡¯t the kind of person to get truly angry. Sure, he¡¯d yell and growl if you annoyed him, but even when he¡¯d been going after¡­ Whip¡¯s killers, I don¡¯t think he¡¯d been mad. Not like I¡¯d been. Just sad. The most furious I¡¯d ever seen him was back at Ronnie¡¯s place, when the Strain had signed something about him trying to die. Yet even then, he¡¯d stopped with just a shove. In the moment when he rose from his chair and punched me in the stomach with the force of a charging bull, I hadn¡¯t believed he would ever stop. His eyes stared directly at my kneeling, gasping form, wide enough that I could see the capillaries within them curve back into his head. I¡¯d read his feet and torso, and knew his hands were readying to grab me. But he hadn¡¯t done anything. Vin had just frozen, furious gaze fixed on me as his jaw clenched hard enough to creak. I¡¯d stopped trying to persuade him after that. I took several steps deeper into the room. Everything within it seemed to sit in its proper place as far as I could remember ¨C everything except for Vin. Yet after several long moments of silent examination, I narrowed my eyes, then carefully stepped over to the man¡¯s workstation. On the desk lay several carvings in various states of development. But the short, curved knife that Vin used to work had disappeared from its spot. I barged out of the room and into the hallway. At its end, Gast carefully plodded down the stairs leading to the house¡¯s stubby lookout tower, her arms heavy with Yowler. The dog¡¯d taken to napping with her as the fat Strain looked over the land. Davian shifted his weight from foot to foot several steps above her. I looked up as I strode past. ¡°You see Vin leave?¡± Gast nodded. ¡°No one with him?¡± She shook her head. I snarled. ¡°You dumb- Why¡¯d you not tell anyone?¡± ¡°I thought he¡¯d return soon.¡± ¡°Why?¡± I barked. ¡°He wasn¡¯t wearing much.¡± I paused halfway down the stairs. ¡°What was he wearing?¡± ¡°Shirt,¡± she said. ¡°Pants.¡± ¡°Boots?¡± I asked. ¡°No.¡± I swore violently. ¡°Where¡¯d he go?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± ¡°What- ¡° ¡°It¡¯s impossible to see through the storm, Kit,¡± Davian said, carefully shuffling past the large woman. ¡°He could be anywhere. There¡¯s simply no way of narrowing down his location.¡± ¡°Bet I know a way,¡± I muttered as I continued travelling down the stairs. Above, I heard Davian ask Gast to keep an eye out in the tower. When I reached the bottom, I swung around the banister to accelerate into the adjacent doorway and ram into the door of Wil¡¯s room hard enough to make it shudder in its hinges. The impact jarred enough composure into my body for me to eye it nervously ¨C I didn¡¯t have the skill or the chits to replace its metal hinges ¨C yet that vanished as the door cracked open. Wil stood on the other side, his bare torso drenched in sweat. He was just a hair shorter than me ¨C though I could¡¯ve sworn he¡¯d been smaller a few months ago. Behind him, his boy stood beside a straw mat surrounded by several stones that I belatedly recognised from Taja¡¯s room. He and his boy had just been exercising, and by my reckoning according to a routine Vin devised. I leaned sideways to get a better look in the room, only for Wil¡¯s arm to stretch upwards and grab the doorway ¨C blocking my view. My eyes darted towards his. ¡°You know where Vin is?¡± I demanded. He held my gaze, but frowned. ¡°Vin¡¯s missin¡¯?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± ¡°Why would I- ¡° I ground my teeth. ¡°I¡¯d bet a sack ¡®o silver he¡¯s gone after yer ghosts. He¡¯s nowhere near by ¨C Gast would¡¯ve seen him ¨C so where¡¯d do them spirits o¡¯ yours gather?¡± His next words emerged slowly. ¡°What do you mean, my ghosts?¡± ¡°They look just like you,¡± I snapped. ¡°Out with it.¡± The worn man paused, eyes listing upwards as he tried to conjure a response. I shook my head disbelievingly. ¡°You go out an¡¯ watch that farmer bastard wherever he shows up.¡± A scoff escaped my mouth. ¡°Try to check what yer tryin¡¯ to sell me, cause it smells rotten.¡± Wil sighed. ¡°My father¡¯s no bastard, Kit.¡± ¡°Alright. Woman¡¯s yer mother?¡± He flinched. ¡°That doesn¡¯t matter.¡± An eyebrow rose up my forehead. ¡°¡­Sure. Well, Vin seems t¡¯love them ghosts o¡¯ yours. I reckon he¡¯s gone after ¡®em.¡± ¡°What do you want- ¡° The wind rattled the walls of the house. ¡°Where¡¯d they die, Wil?¡± Wil¡¯s lips twisted. I found mine contorting in turn. ¡°We don¡¯t have time.¡± My arm gestured expansively towards a shuttered window at the end of the hall, quivering beneath the boards we hammered over it. ¡°He¡¯s gonna die out there if no one gets him.¡± His mouth made shapes, but none emerged. I lowered my head closer to his while raising my hands to grasp at empty air. ¡°Give me somethin¡¯.¡± ¡°He¡¯s not at my father¡¯s grave,¡± the worn man admitted. ¡°How¡¯d you- ¡° ¡°He¡¯s not. But my mother¡¯s¡­ He¡¯d have no way of knowing where it is.¡± Graves were rare in the Heartlands, but I supposed the stone shelves beneath the area kept bodies safe enough, barring any digging animals. ¡°They¡¯re not buried together?¡± His mouth straightened into a thin line. ¡°No.¡± ¡°Tell me anyway.¡± ¡°Vin couldn¡¯t¡¯ve- ¡° ¡°You an¡¯ I got no idea what Vin could or couldn¡¯t do,¡± I said quickly. ¡°Man¡¯s stepped straight out of a godsdamn song. Tell me.¡± His eyes locked on an empty patch of air. ¡°Tell me.¡± ¡°Past the stream,¡± he whispered. ¡°Twixt the trees. That¡¯s all I know.¡± I stared at him, mouth slightly open to demand more information. His eyes flicked away from my own. ¡°Thanks,¡± I told him, then turned and rushed over to the front door. Wind whistled behind its thick wood, powerful enough to push our doorstop several inches away from its original place. Careful to avoid slipping on the melted snow covering the entryway, I reached to one of the hooks embedded in the wall and yanked one of the thicker cloaks around my neck. Footsteps padded behind me as I tried to hook its mismatched clasps together. ¡°Did Wil have any ideas?¡± Davian¡¯s old voice rasped. Several thumps sounded on the ceiling as people scurried through the second floor. I heard Taja ask Crumpet whether she knew where Vin was. Judging from the indignant croak that echoed through the house, they were probably from the filthy room we¡¯d cajoled a feral goat into the week after we¡¯d first entered. Without the temperamental creature, Wil¡¯s babies would¡¯ve starved. Elsewhere, Jana insulted Ronnie¡¯s attempts to ask questions with all the eloquence of a bard and the savagery of a mutt frothing from mushrooms. Usually, I¡¯d go up and wrestle in the verbal mud with the washed-up old whore over such transgressions, but there was no time. ¡°Some,¡± I told Davian, drawing a thick pair of mittens over my hands. ¡°Is he nearby?¡± the Strain asked. Behind me, Maddie stomping down the stairs. ¡°Maybe,¡± I said. ¡°Excuse me: ¡®maybe¡¯?¡± Davian asked. ¡°Do you know where he is or not?¡± ¡°Wil¡¯s sayin¡¯ he¡¯s past the stream,¡± I snapped, twisting my neck to glare at the old Strain¡¯s inscrutable visage. ¡°Tween some trees.¡± Most of the forestry nearby had been removed by generations of Wil¡¯s family. Finding more meant venturing to where heartwoods and speartrees curled around the edges of the stone shelf like the teeth of a protruding maw. Maddie began attempting to tug a cloak from the pegs. Her small frame made it difficult. ¡°That¡¯s a large area.¡± I looked down at her fruitless pulling. ¡°Princess, the storm¡¯s heavier ¡®n- ¡° ¡°You need the- ¡° ¡°Wait for Ronnie, yeah?¡± She looked up at me and scowled. A sudden smile broke over my face. I raised my hand to cover it. ¡°Okay,¡± she spat. I reached up and pulled down the cloak she was going for, then turned to venture out the doorway. ¡°Stop,¡± Davian muttered. ¡°Stop!¡± I whirled; teeth bared. ¡°What.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t go out there.¡± ¡°I can handle the cold for- ¡° He shook his head. ¡°This isn¡¯t about the snow or the Frost, Kit.¡± My eyes narrowed. ¡°You mean¡­ Vin?¡± He nodded. ¡°Davian,¡± I warned, ¡°even a Lizardblood can¡¯t- ¡° ¡°No, Kit,¡± he tentatively began. ¡°He¡¯s no simple Lizardblood. I¡¯ve known him for over a year now, and since I¡¯ve met him Vin has always been the type of man to keep his cards close to his chest.¡± ¡°That¡¯s nothin¡¯ t¡¯be- ¡° ¡°But now,¡± he interrupted, ¡°some part of him¡¯s come undone. We all know it. It¡¯s as if even he doesn¡¯t know what hand he¡¯s drawn. He¡¯s not safe.¡± There was a pause as I struggled to find something to say. A fist would be quicker; simpler. But it couldn¡¯t do anything but make him more scared. ¡°Sure,¡± I said, carefully feeling out the words, ¡°he never made much sense to me. But he¡¯s still laughing. Still makes jokes.¡± He rubbed his eyes. ¡°He breaks things, too. And even with something in his skull slowly dissolving, Vin¡¯s body remains as strong as ever. He has always ¨C unbeknownst to any of us ¨C been able to kill every single person around him. I¡­¡± I waited; teeth clenched. Davian¡¯s dark eyes locked tentatively on my own. Their pupils quivered. ¡°I¡¯m no longer sure I trust him not to.¡± I clamped my eyes shut. ¡°I¡¯ll go with Maddie.¡± My eyes flickered open. ¡°But you stay near my markers, and if you find him please, please be careful.¡± I opened my mouth, then closed it. Before I walked into the storm, all I could manage was a nod. The cold hit me like a brick the moment I began trudging through the snow. Frost was always dangerous. One of my earliest memories was of watching the camp¡¯s cook grip his blackened toe and slowly slide a knife into the skin, then slice it cleanly off with practiced ease. Man¡¯d ended up living for another eight years, until the moment he¡¯d been knifed in the gut by a boy we¡¯d robbed. He never got his toe back. I remembered days where the adults huddled around a fire to talk, Mother and Jana ¨C the scarring on the madam¡¯s face so fresh you could almost see the spurned lover casting acid over her ¨C both stern-faced. Days later, one of the older lads had returned with a small body dusted with flakes of ice. The child¡¯s mother had wept, while I¡¯d tried and failed to comprehend what happened to my friend. Fire could ward the cold away, but the white death still held its patient, inexorable vigil around the edges of the flames, waiting for the moment the temporal nature of heat ate itself into cold once again. Frost never passed without taking something. Yet as I stumbled through the snow, feeling it dig into the initial layers of my skin and then eating deeper, the constant howling of wind slowed, then finally ceased. I looked up from my boots to track the next yellow strip of cloth ¨C part of a network Davian had tied around trees, shrubs, and roots for thousands of paces in every direction ¨C and found the air crystal clear. Snow-covered fields sprawled around the edges of the house, fading into a long stream before vanishing entirely in the distant tree-line. All the pettier flora and fauna were interred beneath the endless white blanket. The ubiquitous crimson of the Heartlands was smothered. Nothing progressed in Frost. But nothing would decay. Everything, from the most precious children to the cruellest of tyrants, would be perfectly preserved in the moments of their death. Even ghosts. Trudging through the knee-deep snow brought little more than an ache in my legs and lungs, while the cold slowly penetrated my bones. When I felt sweat prickling at my torso despite the numbing of my legs, I doubled my pace, fearful that the beads would end up freezing to my body. As I grew closer to the stream and my eyes marked nothing ¨C no tracks or broken sticks ¨C I became increasingly certain I would need to turn back and travel a different direction. Then my eyes were drawn towards something twisting in the air. Colour flared in icy flickers as two silhouettes ¨C mindless of the snow falling through the bodies ¨C carried something through the stream. Their legs dipped through its frozen surface to wade through water that no longer flowed, then staggered up the opposite bank. I knew Vin would¡¯ve followed them. I staggered behind them as they walked into the trees, struggling to maintain the pace they¡¯d set on some hot, snowless day. I fumbled for the hilt of my sword, and when my numb fingers failed to detect anything but cold, I beat sensation back into them on the side of my leg. My trudging gradually lagged behind the two. While I huffed with the effort of accelerating one of the two figures dropped their burden in a sparking of crimson and turned away. In the absence of wind, I heard the whisper of someone¡¯s sobs. The shattered fragments of the ghosts drew together as the weeper was slammed against a tree ¨C its trunk fallen in the present day. The other shape had abandoned their burden beneath the snow and mouthed words in stern tones. As the weeper turned his head away, only to have it twisted back by the other¡¯s hands, I saw the features of the two for the first time. The stern man was the old farmer ¨C Wil¡¯s father. The one who¡¯d wept bore a face absent of the wrinkles I was accustomed to seeing. It was a younger Wil. My foot caught on a hidden chunk of ice and I fell into the snow. It was strangely comfortable. My sluggish mind noted that fact, then sparked with manic fear. For a moment, I violently flailed for traction before managing to shove myself back onto my feet. A violent shiver wracked my body, which forced a fraction more warmth into my bones. When I regained my composure, the ghosts were gone. ¡°Raven¡¯s bloody bones,¡± I swore, teeth chattering. ¡°Damn. Damn.¡± My eyes searched for any sign that would betray a passing, but the fast-falling snow allowed nothing. My ears found Vin instead. A harsh, guttural bellow echoed through the trees. Almost as soon as it began, it was strangled into nothing. I twisted, trying to track the sound before it faded completely. Another scream set my legs moving. I ran through the frozen forest, struggling to force my legs to cooperate as the strangled howls melted into long silences, then erupted again to shatter the quiet to pieces. Excessive panting dug ice-cold air into my throat, but despite finding a kind of rhythm in my gait my lungs quickly began burning. Above my head frozen streams of sap hung from branches while the strange new plants the Aching had brought drooped under the weight of snow. One broke apart when my reckless sprint drove my shoulder into its stem. Then a clearing opened in the forest, where a figure sat in front of the snow-smeared remnants of a campfire. His body ¨C clad in nothing more than a shirt and pair of trousers ¨C seemed like some kind of sculpture. The ice upon his shoulders crackled as he turned to face me. ¡°Jackal,¡± Vin greeted. ¡°Come to finish what you started?¡± Pointing that name towards me felt like a knife in the gut. ¡°What?¡± His jaw trembled. ¡°Do me the decency of dropping the act. Don¡¯t pretend- ¡° My vision caught on a splash of colour on his arm. ¡°Blood, Vin, what happened?¡± His forearms were drenched in strange black liquid. Yet what truly shocked me were the three pebble-sized caverns embedded in his arms. A thin string of gore hung limply from two, resolving in a clean cut. An eyeball hung from the third string. I gagged. ¡°Kit?¡± In his hand, his curved carving dagger waited, covered in black, sap-like liquid. ¡°Kit?¡± ¡°What is that?¡± A tremor travelled through my voice. He flinched and covered the holes. ¡°Nothing,¡± he muttered, eyes flicking away. ¡°I¡¯m getting rid of them.¡± I looked at them ¨C the strange, empty eye-sockets carved where none should be. My eyes darted away from the image, then found two eyeballs laying in the snow. I retched. Vin turned away from me, head leaning down over a patch of ground as he reversed his grip on the knife. He flinched when he saw what lay between his feet. ¡°Vin?¡± I whispered. ¡°I¡¯m getting rid of it,¡± he stated, more firmly. I rounded the side of the campfire to find his head bowed over a frozen puddle. He drew the knife closer to his face and tucked its tip underneath one of his eyeballs. The eyeball¡¯s iris was a darker black that its counterpart. Before I could allow myself to think, I lunged for the knife and used my entire body-weight to yank his arm downwards. There was a moment were Vin braced one arm with the other, arresting its fall entirely. I locked eyes with him. ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± I told him. ¡°Please.¡± His arm tensed and I almost went for my sword. But he simply let the knife drop to the ground, where I kicked it into the trees. Vin¡¯s hands clutched the side of his head. ¡°Gods, what is happening? What am I?¡± ¡°You- ¡± I licked my lips. My teeth chattered. ¡°You¡¯re you.¡± ¡°No,¡± he said, shaking his head, ¡°no. I¡¯m a¡­ A pair of grasping hands, and a bag full of severed heads. And feet.¡± He scoffed quietly at that. Somehow, my mind seized upon the village and the countless corpses that he¡¯d laid upon the hill. I¡¯d never been bothered by killing. But Vin wasn¡¯t me. ¡°You don¡¯t have to¡­¡± The thought struck me that I¡¯d completely misinterpreted his words. I continued anyway. ¡°It¡¯s not too late. You don¡¯t have to keep- ¡± ¡°That¡¯s not how time works, Kit.¡± His words were quiet and broken. ¡°It¡¯s not. I¡¯ll always be on the battlefield; beneath the roof; under an axe; on the mound; too little, too late. Nothing will ever change that. I don¡¯t want to be here anymore.¡± He bent over on himself, clutching his wounded arms. A strangled groan bubbled from his throat. ¡°I don¡¯t want to be this man,¡± he spat furiously. ¡°Let¡¯s go back.¡± I leaned forward to awkwardly hover a hand over his shoulder. ¡°I don¡¯t want to be this man,¡± he hissed, fingernails dragging down the sides of his arms. ¡°Okay,¡± I breathed. ¡°Okay. I understand. I¡¯m sorry. Calm down.¡± His eyes looked at me, manic and pleading. ¡°I don¡¯t want to be this man.¡± His nails ripped into the eye-sockets of his arm and tore into flesh. I fumbled for words; for actions; for anything. ¡°Get me out,¡± he whispered. ¡°Get me out!¡± For the briefest instant, the shock of the moment caused me to see him afresh. A large man curled in on himself, dark skin and mismatched eyes trembling like some frightened animal. His onyx hair was matted together by sweat and wrapped beneath a stained patchwork bandana. I blinked, and realised he looked fractionally different from the person I¡¯d met months ago. Writ into his dark skin were even darker veins. The fresh wounds on his arm oozed blood the colour of night. I swallowed. ¡°You¡¯re the Ravenblood?¡± A sound somewhere between a chuckle and a sob escaped him. ¡°Yeah,¡± he breathed, turning his head up to stare at the falling snow. ¡°I believe I am.¡± Chapter 63 - Rot I sat, waiting for Kit to strike her sword through my nape. I would be waiting a long time. A corner of my vision contorted wildly as I raised my head, flashing white and grey and black as the optic nerve dangling from my arm twisted as I moved. Optic nerve was an uncommon term: a medic, back in my marching days, had taught me it as I¡¯d poked around an enemy¡¯s crushed skull. That wasn¡¯t accurate ¨C it had been General Bina, in one of our late-night talks. Or had I read it in a book, hidden in a nook in my family¡¯s library? My vision spun. Yet the two of my eyes that remained intact flicked towards Kit with unnerving ease. The swordswoman slumped downwards, her weight crunching the frozen grass that peeked out of snow. She shivered slightly. The sensation of cold had transitioned into a lethal numbness broken only by spikes of pain from my arms. The dark skin coating my body was beginning to purple. That didn¡¯t seem relevant. I¡¯d died half-a-dozen times, only to be mixed into the skull of another person. Death was for other people; not me. Kit was another person, though. Without the benefits of Lizardblood, she¡¯d freeze as easily as any mortal. I needed to pull myself together. I blinked rapidly, only for the motion to set my stomach churning as I relearned the fact that one of my eyes had no eyelid. Its perception of the world was locked half a beat behind the others, and levering it out of its socket had damaged it badly enough that it could only detect colour as vague stains. The carving knife I had brought with me had been reassuringly familiar. In a world comprised of fire, slowly consuming itself unto ash, carving never changed. But even with my stolen Foxblood, sifting through mounds of snow to find it would take hours ¨C more time than either of us possessed. So I bent my head down and closed my canines around the optic nerve. Pain erupted through clenched teeth in the form of a distended groan and when the string of gore ¨C alight in agony ¨C began to fray my sight began to pulse with burning black spots. The world narrowed to a single, excruciating point. I reached a shuddering arm to it and yanked the entire strand. It snapped. The phantom of that horrific pain lingered for several seconds as I keeled around my midsection. My hand ineffectually waved around the wound, torn between the instinct to clutch it and the knowledge that it was better left alone. With mocking torpor, the agony ebbed away, leaving only cold. I spat a piece of gore onto the snow ¨C partially the optic nerve and partially a chunk of my cheek. I wiped my hand on my lips and it came away smeared with black. I needed to pull myself together. ¡°Fire,¡± I said quietly. My eyes flickered to the Jackal ¨C no, to Kit ¨C who gazed unblinking at a chunk of ice. ¡°Do you have something to light it with?¡± She glanced at me, then began fumbling at a small pouch tied to her belt. Her shaking fingers pawed at its entrance several times ineffectually before managing to finally open it. She grabbed something from within, raised it to her face to confirm she truly held it, then carefully handed it to me. I grabbed the flint and steel and staggered upright, then grunted as the motion sent daggers of pain into my arms. The lack of ravenous foliage and clawing branches gave the space we sat in the illusion of being a clearing; in truth, the trunks were as dense as anywhere else, but an unlikely arrangement of the nearby forest funnelled most of the nearby winds to this spot. Even with the firepit shielded from the worst of the gusts by virtue of being embedded in the ground, the windchill made it generally unpleasant. I¡¯d originally found this spot by following a pair of ghosts. I still wondered why they¡¯d chosen such an isolated spot for a grave. On a still day like this, the conditions reversed. All of the branches that had been stripped from trees by wind lay concealed beneath a few layers of snow, waiting for the barest lick of flame to spring to life. Most of it was heartwood. Though we¡¯d usually search for other woods to burn due to the stomach-curdling stench it released, with the open sky above its smell wouldn¡¯t stain the area irrevocably. As a plus, it tended to burn hard and hot. Kindling could be torn from bushes a few paces away. ¡®Torn¡¯? I paused, hand stretched halfway towards its tangling branches. ¡®Torn¡¯ seemed¡­ somewhat disrespectful. My childhood was decades away, but I still recalled my elder brother teaching me delicacy. To carefully examine the plant; to pick the brittle branches; to live the roots intact; to coax instead of tear. The plains had grass aplenty, but good shrubs or trees were blessings worth cultivating. But I was in the Heartlands. Whatever plants broke from the feckless fumbling of humans would be renewed years later, when the next Aching arose. Only the paranoid or ambitious bothered to cultivate in the present ¨C the future¡¯s rumblings would render their efforts pointless. Though some of the nomad¡¯s sensibilities might have aided us during the famine, redirecting manpower from other efforts towards tending to a land that would certainly be wiped clean in a handful of years was foolish. The Heartlanders would merely have to ration better; adjust to the new timeframe for Achings. But Head Maleen would make the call, of course, and considering my limited experience as a gatherer I certainly wasn¡¯t the woman to consult about long-term agricultural health¡­ Everything I knew bent itself against everything I knew. The dissonance in my thoughts made the flesh beneath my skin squirm. I needed to pull myself together. ¡°Fire,¡± I muttered, hands frozen around the thorny branches of a shrub. ¡°Fire.¡± My arms did not move. My breath quickened. This needed to be resolved. ¡°K-Kit,¡± I called, teeth chattering against my will. ¡°Do you gently remove branches or tear them off?¡± The query echoed slightly before vanishing into the snow. ¡°W-what?¡± was the response. ¡°Do you- ¡° ¡°I k-know what you b-bloody said, Vin. What¡¯re you- ¡° Kit growled incoherently. ¡°Just ch-chop it off.¡± I nodded to myself, then grew a jagged bone-spur from my arm. Doing so was difficult ¨C the Seed¡¯s powers lent themselves towards blunt edges or points. An uneven, saw-like surface was possible, but the limited combat applications made it less useful given the covert nature of our¡­ The next word lingered on the tip of my tongue. ??????????? It was there, in the hollow spaces between each thought ¨C a puzzle piece I¡¯d forced between my own fingers, back in the abandoned village. I couldn¡¯t regret not stealing everything from Seoras, though. Not feeling with every beat of my heart just how singularly right I¡¯d been. I scowled and beat the side of my head with my palm. The cold had sunk its covetous mass into my skin, angling for the little heat that remained in my bones. Without Lizardblood, Kit would be feeling worse. I needed to pull myself together. Sawing several wooden tendrils away from the bush took scarcely a handful of heartbeats, then I hurried back to the firepit, eyes darting away from anything that could possibly spur any rumination. That was an impossible endeavour ¨C even the most inanimate of objects could, from a static moment, spin a thousand possible permutations. I¡¯d spent my whole life seeing- ¡°No,¡± I hissed to myself. I arrived at the firepit and began carefully arranging a tepee of kindling and smaller sticks after clearing its bottom of snow. Kit¡¯s mute presence behind me was a ghoulish thing. Her every shift and shivering breath forced a tiny flinch through my spine. But when I tried and failed to force a spark into a slightly damp arrangement of wood, she said nothing. As I hastily worked through the process of sorting drier pieces from less useful ones, she spoke no words. It was only after I finally managed to coax a spark into a hungry flame that she asked me a question. Kit sat cross-legged beside me, feet and palms dangerously close to the flame. ¡°S-so¡­¡± She licked cracked lips. ¡°How¡¯s it work?¡± I raised a weary eyebrow. ¡°Ravenblood?¡± ¡°Uh-huh.¡± ¡°I can sense life in a certain range.¡± She attempted to snap her fingers, but they trembled too fiercely. ¡°Big range?¡± ¡°Used to be smaller.¡± I scratched at the wounds in my arm, then winced. ¡°But yes. And if I get blood on my head while someone¡¯s dying, I get their¡­ I get them, too.¡± ¡°Everythin¡¯?¡± ¡°Unless I¡­ Deliberately stop it. But I think that¡­ would kill me if I didn¡¯t steal a bit of Lizardblood.¡± ¡°D-damn,¡± she breathed. ¡°What a thing.¡± ¡°¡­You don¡¯t seem surprised.¡± Kit let loose a soft snort. ¡°I¡¯m s-surprised: believe you me. But it makes sense.¡± I waited for an explanation. ¡°W-who else but Avri¡¯s kin could beat me in a fight?¡± The statement was so startling I was forced to laugh. ¡°Sure, sure. Tell yourself that.¡± A soft smile lingered on the swordswoman¡¯s lips as she watched me. It slowly fell. ¡°T-the Battle of the Foot. With the Lizard.¡± I eyed her sideways. ¡°You kill yer mother?¡± ¡°That¡¯s a¡­ cruel thing to ask.¡± ¡°W-well,¡± she breathed out, her teeth chattering, ¡°no one¡¯s ever c-called me merciful.¡± A silence grew between the two of us. The gentle patter of snowfall around us felt like a cage. I stared at the fire and swallowed. ¡°Yeah. I killed her.¡± Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw Kit glance at me. ¡°¡­How?¡± ¡°I¡­¡± My brow furrowed. ¡°I stabbed her in the¡­¡± She gazed at me silently. I sighed. ¡°It¡¯s not¡­ I did a bunch of things. I made problems. I made a mess. For everyone. And¡­¡± I swallowed heavily. ¡°When she tried¡­¡± I drew in a shuddering breath. ¡°When she tried to get me out of it, I¡­¡± I put a hand over my eyes. The heat of the fire licked my face. ¡°I still hate her for making that choice. Leaving me with it.¡± Kit nodded slowly. ¡°But how can I hate her? I did it for him.¡± I paused. ¡°No: she did it for me. Because of me. If I were someone else, she wouldn¡¯t have¡­ ¡°And I ran away, too. Did the same thing to the twins that I ¨C that Ma ¨C did to me. Left them with all¡­¡± I traced my hands around the air, as if attempting to hold a vast weight. ¡°With all this.¡± I watched as the fire¡¯s yellow and red tongues licked towards the sky. ¡°I hope they¡¯re all okay.¡± Kit shifted towards me. ¡°Who?¡± ¡°My siblings. Blake. Erin. Jackson. Stitch. Jasmine. Miss Tran. The Barberfellows. My wife. The girls. My soldiers¡­¡± I shook my head. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. I can¡¯t see them. Won¡¯t do them any good. Being what I am.¡± She gazed at the fire. ¡°You should go. I¡¯m not a safe person.¡± Kit barked a laugh. ¡°Ha!¡± A lopsided smile curled across her face. ¡°That makes two of us, don¡¯t it?¡± I squinted at her. ¡°You wanna ask¡­¡± She clicked her tongue. ¡°What¡¯s his name? The big Owlblood at Fort Vane. You want him to get rid of yer Ravenblood, right?¡± I nodded. Kit leaned back and stretched her arms. ¡°That¡¯s easy. Easy as easy can be.¡± Her voice cracked.
Once we were both warm enough, the two of us began staggering back to the house. Kit started several conversations as we shuffled through snow, over a frozen river and under the twisting branches of heartwoods, yet after exchanges of various length I was forced to end them as my mind became intractably snagged on a set of words. We¡¯d continue travelling silently for a short time, then she¡¯d try again. Her efforts filled the silence where mine could not. ¡°You see the ghosts?¡± I nodded. ¡°Wil an¡¯ the farmer man?¡± I repeated the gesture. ¡°Whaddaya you think they were doin¡¯?¡± ¡°Carrying a body,¡± I stated flatly. Kit pursed her lips thoughtfully. ¡°I figured. You think her grave¡¯s nearby?¡± I ground my teeth. That was the question that grated me, night after night. Where was the ghost¡¯s body? Her corpse had been carried past the stone shelf, allowing the grave to be sucked away during the Aching. Beyond the phantom itself, were there any signs of her existence? Who would remember her; save a piece of who she once was before death stole her from the world? Kit looked at my face as it began to contort, and the conversation went no further. We continued staggering back, trusting Davian¡¯s yellow strips of cloth and the footprints Kit had left to mark the trail to the house. The wounds on my arms were packed with pristine snow that quickly stained into black. The heat of my body gradually melted it, so Kit would scoop more off the ground and worked them into the wounds as I groaned and beat my feet against the ground. Dirt would be better for staunching, but cleaning them out later would be painfully annoying. I¡¯d decided to wait until we got some better bandages instead. When Wil¡¯s house appeared from beneath a hail of snow, I turned to Kit. ¡°Are you going to tell them?¡± I asked her. Her brows tented slightly. ¡°If they need t¡¯know. It¡¯s a, uh¡­ I don¡¯t really know what it means.¡± ¡°To be a¡­¡± Forcing the term from my throat was surprisingly difficult. ¡°Ravenblood?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± ¡°Nothing good.¡± The swordswoman nodded slowly. ¡°That man in Fort Vane. You think he can get it outta you?¡± ¡°Maddie said he¡¯s the most singularly inventive Owlblood in existence, with Neelam gone.¡± I licked my lips. ¡°He¡¯ll get it out. He¡¯ll let its divinity lay in the air, to rot and fade into nothing.¡± ¡°Okay. If they need t¡¯know, will you¡­?¡± Weariness dogged me at her question. The knowledge that no sleep awaited me made it worse. None of the changes were normal. But meditating on them would only see all the pieces of my soul grind together. Or maybe I was driven by simple cowardice. ¡°I¡¯ll be fine.¡± I paused. ¡°You make the call, Kit.¡± She swore quietly. ¡°¡­Alrighty then.¡± We continued trudging onwards, hands tucked into armpits as we squinted through the snow¡¯s glare. Gast came out to meet us before we entered the house. She had been huddled at the top of the lookout tower alongside a flame of lifeforce I vaguely recognised as Yowler¡¯s. As she levered open the front door using her considerable weight, she paused. Her gaze alighted upon the wounds in my arm. ¡°I¡¯m okay,¡± I assured her. She glanced up at my face. ¡°You¡¯re not.¡± That response stifled whatever I was going to say next. ¡°Come on,¡± Kit muttered. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡± The swordswoman pushed me towards the open doorway, forcing me to duck lest I crack my head on it. Almost as soon as I crossed the precipice, the excruciatingly warm air within the house began defrosting the wounds upon my arms, driving needles of pain through my body as numbed skin began to recover. ¡°We boiled snow recently?¡± asked Kit. In response, the fat Strain headed into the kitchen and returned lugging a large pot of steaming water. We followed her into the living room, where she placed it at the foot of the large chair I sat in when we ate together. I slumped into it. The young woman began attempting to tug off the gloves on her hands, then scowled when her shaking fingers repeatedly failed to do so. ¡°You¡¯re gonna have to put him back together, Gast.¡± The Strain bobbed her head, then pulled a chair across from me and carefully lowered herself into it. She quickly pulled a soaked rag from the pot and began carefully cleaning my wounds. Each scrape against my hollowed arms provoked a screech of pain from my body, but worse than that was the sensation of hot cloth pressing against a piece of flesh that should be firmly within my body, yet remained pressed against warm air. It was wrong, but all my attempts to ignore it were shattered by the inexorably pressing of cloth. The intense discomfort grew more distended as my attention remained on it. I shifted my weight repeatedly to alleviate it, yet no relief came. I needed to keep myself together. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. Both the rag and the water in the pot quickly became soaked in black blood, but Gast continued her ministrations without remark. But though Kit made an admirable attempt to keep the others out, there was little she could do to stop Ronnie from entering. The giant Strain paused upon sighting me, then began signing questions with their mismatched hands. I repositioned my gaze towards an empty patch of wall, ignoring the burgeoning pressure in my chest. With Ronnie¡¯s entrance, the dam Kit¡¯s arms and warnings formed broke down, allowing Maddie and Davian and Taja and Wil and Jana into the room ¨C the last of which took a single look at my black-bleeding wounds and hastily dragged all the children present outside. Everyone talked and yelled and questioned and made an endless amount of noise as Gast dragged her rag through my arms with agonising slowness, and I lowered my head towards the ground as Kit tried to carefully give answers before breaking into furious shouting herself. Something itched on the back of my neck, but with my arms restrained I couldn¡¯t do anything about it. The cacophony continued while I shifted in my chair until the swordswoman managed to bellow everyone present into silence. I tried to ignore the carefully arranged questions and her considered responses and I heard everything anyway. Kit answered the most basic questions first: Where I¡¯d been; What wounded me; How she¡¯d found me. I would¡¯ve suspected a plan to gradually ease the group into the revelation were it not for Kit¡¯s woefully inadequate diplomacy skills. She just didn¡¯t know how to explain why my blood was black. I think even without getting an appropriate answer, most of the older individuals had figured it out by that point. They¡¯d been around when the Ravenbloods had swarmed out from the Wastes like a tide of locusts: they¡¯d heard the warnings and the signs blood-smeared, trembling survivors had carried into civilisation. I was almost certain Davian had figured it all out weeks beforehand. Wil even earlier. But they were still shocked to see I bled black. No paltry Ravenblood ever bled so dark. When Kit told everyone that they needed to get me to Fort Vane ¨C to get the conversion stone and destroy whatever blood came out of me ¨C I was relieved that I didn¡¯t have to raise the point myself. Her demand that they begin the journey immediately needed little explanation. That was when Wil began speaking. ¡°That¡¯s a dangerous idea,¡± he said. ¡°Frost is out lookin¡¯ to bury people this year, an¡¯ you¡¯re proposin¡¯ to go gallivantin¡¯ outside in it? Vane¡¯s still a few week¡¯s journey away in good conditions ¨C none of you will make it.¡± The dark-skinned young woman sighed. ¡°He¡¯s gonna get worse. I¡¯m not sayin¡¯ we strut out in a snowstorm with no plan, but we need to start preparin¡¯ to go.¡± Wil scoffed. ¡°You won¡¯t find anythin¡¯ that¡¯ll keep you from freezin¡¯.¡± ¡°Go stick yer head in an oven,¡± Kit spat. ¡°Gast¡¯ll rig somethin¡¯, or we¡¯ll put together a wagon, or we¡¯ll get some more blankets or somethin¡¯. We got time, and some of the people here¡¯ve got more brains than us two illiterate dirt-munchers have between us.¡± I shifted in my chair as they argued and flexed my fingers to subdue the tension waiting beneath my skin. Agony seeped from my arms as they gradually defrosted. Wil frowned. ¡°I¡¯ve taught myself to read over this Frost. I¡¯ll teach myself more. But I don¡¯t need teachin¡¯ to see that your proposal will get people killed.¡± Kit snarled. ¡°You teach yourself to bury yer mother in a godsdamned unmarked grave too?¡± Immediately after hissing that insult, she paused ¨C mouth open and eyes wide. Wil¡¯s were wider. ¡°What¡¯d you see?¡± Instead of retracting her remark, the swordswoman continued onwards more cautiously. ¡°What happened to her?¡± ¡°She died.¡± The statement came harsh and flat. ¡°What business of that is yours?¡± ¡°Cause her ghost¡¯s still out roamin¡¯,¡± she drawled, ¡°and you¡¯ll talk about old father but never her.¡± ¡°That¡¯s my choice. None of it alters th¡¯ fact your idea is poor.¡± Another voice sliced through the conversation before Kit could reply. ¡°Vin¡¯s fought for me,¡± Head Maleen said. ¡°For- for all of us. I believe that, at the very least, we should entertain the idea. If he wants it,¡± she added belatedly. It took me several moments to realise she was addressing me. Wasn¡¯t she referring to Vin? No. Yes. Me. My neck itched. I shifted in my chair, perception drawn to the unnatural scrape of bandages being wound around exposed skin. The pain chewing through my arms jarred my attempts to formulate a measured response. ¡°Get it out,¡± I muttered. My eyes did not leave the floor. ¡°Vin,¡± Wil wheedled, and I winced as the name jarred in my skull. ¡°You don¡¯t need to leave.¡± ¡°What¡¯re you talkin¡¯ about?¡± snapped Kit. The worn man ignored her. ¡°House Baylar¡¯s out of the picture. They can take Maddie to the Fort on their own.¡± I couldn¡¯t leave Head Maleen. Nor could I leave what she had offered me, up on that hill. The bandages were tucked into places they should not be and I shifted in my seat. ¡°You can stay here,¡± he pleaded. ¡°No one¡¯ll bother you. I won¡¯t let ¡®em.¡± ¡°Why would you keep me around?¡± I murmured. ¡°I owe you. For savin¡¯ what you could.¡± I looked at him. Desperation rimmed his eyes and his mouth. ¡°You¡¯re lying,¡± I told him. Wil screwed his eyes shut. ¡°It¡¯s the honest truth.¡± The wounds on my arm throbbed. ¡°Not all of it.¡± ¡°I am grateful,¡± he insisted. My voice grew angry; plaintive; discordant. ¡°What do you want?¡± My eyes fixed on him. He looked down. ¡°I¡¯m going- ¡° ¡°Don¡¯t.¡± ¡°- because I have to,¡± I growled then groaned as my arms throbbed and people I still hadn¡¯t looked at whispered to one another and a nausea grew in my gut and Kit had disappeared and I glanced around. Wil addressed me. ¡°Staying here is best for- ¡° Gast finished tying the final bandage and looked up. ¡°I¡¯m done.¡± Kit shoved her way through the crowd, reddened and wide-eyed. I shifted in my chair. ¡°What the blood is beneath yer room, Wil?¡± Kit shouted. ¡°What did you do?¡± The man whirled. ¡°What were you- ¡° The swordswoman shoved him. ¡°What is that basement?¡± Wil shook his head wildly. ¡°It¡¯s not- ¡° She raised an accusatory finger. ¡°You godsdamned- ¡° ¡°Let me- ¡° ¡°There were dozens of ghosts!¡± I blinked rapidly and lowered my head and shifted in my chair. ¡°It wasn¡¯t- ¡° In the next handful of heartbeats, several things happened. Kit lunged for Wil and wrapped her hands around his tunic. Wil got his arms between himself and her as she shook and screamed at him. Out of instinct, a small bone spur ¨C sharpened to a point ¨C began slowly growing from his wrist. The moment it appeared, my body stiffened, I stood upright, and punched him in the side of the head. My sudden movement made Kit release Wil and back away, leaving the man unsupported. Driven by the momentum of my punch, he fell to the side and slammed the back of his head on the corner of the table. A smear of blood was left on its wooden surface. Within my perception, I felt his life rapidly fade. By the time Wil hit the floor, there was no saving him. An unnatural quiet hung over those gathered in the living room. People looked at Wil; at Kit; at me. No one present could perceive the death throes of his lifeforce directly, but they¡¯d seen how he¡¯d fallen: limp as a wet rag, bereft of the instinctual reflexes any living human possessed. ¡°He¡¯s not breathing,¡± Taja said. Davian began moving to aid the fallen man. As I stared at Wil, comprehension dawned over my empty mind. He was dying. It was my fault. An overwhelming urge to save ¨C to preserve ¨C some part of the thing I¡¯d destroyed took hold of me. I wiped a finger along the blood on the table and wiped it on my forehead. Hera takes care of you. In the house, she ensures your stomach is always full; your body is always clean; your wounds are never ignored; your tears are always wiped. You keep her company her in the kitchen, helping her to peel vegetables or wash dishes. You help her mop the floor, and often hours painstakingly pulling a bucket half the size of your body from the river while obstinantly refusing all help. Hera ¨C who you later realise is your mother ¨C takes care of you. But it is Pa who you want to be. The others struggled to revive Wil. There was an old story of a heroic Lizardblood returning from death as a distraught lover beat their chest. Ronnie took it upon themself to do so. But that was a story, and Wil was no Lizardblood. Pa scares the monsters away with torches and spears, or shoots them from atop the highest room if they stay. Pa is strong and powerful. Pa takes care of the fields. If the quakes shake the earth, Pa tells Hera and you what needs doing and when. Pa is the one who speaks the loudest and the longest; whose words are never ignored. On the rare occasions when visitors arrive ¨C filthy from the road and ofttimes bleeding from the many dangers of the Heartlands ¨C Pa is the one to welcome them. And Pa is the one who carries their unconscious bodies to the basement. As I walked to the front door, a sudden gagging bent my body over. I retched streams of clear fluid onto the floorboards. As you get older, your duties move away from Hera¡¯s and towards Pa¡¯s. Strange things are cultivated in the fields: different every Aching. Curled or straight or crooked or bristling or drooping or low or rooted in the ground; bearing fruits or vegetables or needing to be ground. All distinct, except for their crimson colour and ubiquitous thorns. Though the Aching¡¯s turmoil never shakes the land around your home too badly, the plants always die, and the process must begin anew. Down the hall, Anton broke away from the other children and stepped passed Jana ¨C each arm begrudgingly wrapped around an infant. He peered through the entrance of the living room and did not move for some time. But it¡¯s hard work, filling plates enough for Pa and you and Hera and the livestock you keep and the people in the basement. Sometimes there simply isn¡¯t enough in the fields, and you two men must go foraging for more. Seeking monstrous Strains in the wilderness for meat or plucking what you can. However, the Aching occasionally offers only thin bounties: its renewal bringing less nutritious food and more foreboding forests. Or Frost is too harsh. Or the Aching just takes a bit too long coming. So, to meet the demands of living, Pa and you need to empty the basement and carry their bodies out to where the speartrees gaze skyward. Where Pa hangs the person upside-down from the tree and slits their neck open, allowing all their blood to drain downwards, onto the ground. With a sacrifice, the Heartlands always provides. One of my arms stretched towards him, yet motion from between my feet froze me still. Leering from the reflection generated by the bile ¨C its rancid taste fresh in my mouth ¨C was a monster. The first time this happens, you regurgitate your scarce breakfast onto the dirt. Carrying bodies through the wilderness is difficult, but knowing what will happen to them is more so. And something about seeing a person with two arms and two legs that looks just like you swinging from a rope on a tree is deeply sickening. Every time you and Pa are forced to perform this task, you try to argue those feelings into submission. They always linger. My flight carried me towards the door, but the burden of all the people within the house ¨C their fears; their life; their misguided affection ¨C had me pausing. No true thought marred the perfect unreality of the moment. The decision to stay passed without making itself known to me. As you become taller, Hera seems to grow more distant from you. Her concerns ¨C that seemed so all-encompassing when you were a child ¨C have become trivial things. You eat with her and you speak with her, yet though the feeling seems like sandstone through your intestines, you do not respect her. But you do love her. When you wake one night to an argument between Pa and Hera ¨C the first you¡¯ve ever heard ¨C you worry. By dawn, Hera is in the basement as well. I staggered up the stairwell. Pa doesn¡¯t like feeding the people in the basement. The task was always Hera¡¯s. Now it is yours. Unlike before, the person in the basement is not just any person. It¡¯s your mother. In the times you¡¯re meant to be sleeping, or an errand outside the house, Pa goes down to speak to Hera. He pleads and wheedles and demands her to return things the way they used to. She never acquiesces. Halfway to the top, the flexing of muscles in my arm as it grips the railing reignites the flow of blood from my wounds. Perhaps Pa notices your increasing remoteness; perhaps he simply grows weary of it all. One morning, Hera is dead, and the two of you carry her out to the wilderness. She becomes a sacrifice. The two of you return home in silence. That night, when Pa grows furious at his failed attempts to chop a vegetable to pieces, you beat him to death with a stool. The rage abates. You find yourself wailing and beating the walls and remembering who Pa was, beneath the horrible things he was forced to do. You curse your mother and you curse yourself. Your cries fill the walls with noise and nothing else. The house is empty. You try to fill it with something ¨C anything ¨C for several months. Eventually, you give in. You leave. The hazy warmth of the second floor engulfed me. Above, a hanging brazier flickered in remarkable sharpness. Your survival skills are negligible. Fortune is the only barrier between death from exposure and yourself. Miraculously, your body holds out until you pass the isolated territory around what was once your home and enter a nearby settlement, where you collapse. You¡¯re revived by the Grower family with weeks of food, water, and rest, and informed none of it came free. You have a debt to pay. Months of muscle-memory carried me to my room, but its cramped confines were no longer comforting. The work is familiar to you. Tending to the fields. Repairing boundaries. Shouting away those that transgress upon them. Identifying weeds and edible plants. The only foreign aspect is the blood that waters the ground: freely given by the workers in exchange for food or chits. But though the method is different, the vision of red liquid slowly seeping into pink dirt remains at the core of what you are. Gradually, you come to realise that the notion of debt is as well. At the long table where debtors sit to eat, while lifting a spoon from a bowl to your mouth, you come to believe that this act pays interest for a loan you could not consent to, and can never pay back. How can a person repay their birth? The only difference between the debt you repay with your labour and the one you repay with your every breath is that the former is fair: a year, and what you owe for the food and housing is done. The countless carvings that coated every surface felt foreign. As if the shapes they presented to me were a well-meaning lie. Everything seems to rot. You cannot see the people around you and the plants you care for as anything but monuments to decay; suspended in the day¡¯s slow death or the night¡¯s quiet tomb. All the small kindnesses each labourer pay one another in the fields or at meal times or in the drafty barracks you rest in are flayed within your mind¡¯s eye: temporary salves forced by the transparent wretchedness of being. You quietly repay your debt then continue working for chits. Conversation never came easy to you. Now, any words emerging from your throat ¨C no matter how true or well-meaning ¨C feel like lies. The twisted, thorny, grotesque plants you work with are, at least, honest. I turned from that and walked to the stairwell. Down the stairs to the third-storey came Yowler, greying fur catching the light as he gingerly treaded down each step. Towards the yelling beneath. You work through one Aching, then another ¨C the final one for over a decade. You work as the Growers and their contractors build walls and huddle together at night, their conversations stepping around the Raven¡¯s Cult¡¯s sudden and inexplicable desire to consume the world. You¡¯re working when a lone, wounded stranger is outed as a Ravenblood, and witness the grim resolution to kill the man in his sleep. You work as all others celebrate the slaying of a god and mourn the passing of heroes into legend. You work and unbeknownst to you, you are noticed by the Grower family. I carried the dog down to the first floor and walked back up. Individuals who know how to cultivate the Heartlands are rare. Farmers from outside the region are used to playing with different rules; those within rely on the Aching¡¯s bounty and their own strong arms to ward away its myriad dangers. Someone like you is rare. Your knowledge is wanted for the next generation of Growers, and they seek to bind you with their sixth daughter. An initial refusal is met with months of raised brows, pointed comments, and somewhat passive-aggressive statements. Out of a mixture of bafflement and frustration, you accept. Up, up. You meet your wife on the day you marry. This person is meant to be an extension of your being, just as you are meant to be an extension of theirs. All you see is a woman. She is not your mother. You are not your father. Her movements are strangely frightening. You¡¯re given a house, with you spending most of your time at one end, tentatively eying her out of the corner of your eye. She does the same. After a month of observation, everything becomes easier. She moulds herself around your idiosyncrasies. Your first night together is the second most nerve-wracking of your life. The first is the birth of Alton. To the stubby lookout tower. He draws you together ¨C uniting two disparate entities for a common goal. The decay lurking at the core of all things persists ¨C in him, too ¨C but the truth of it fades when you are with him. You become a tolerated part of all Grower gatherings: a silent set-piece to occasionally make statements to or half-heartedly rib. Only Old Snapper is completely at ease with merrily insulting you; a trait you imagine is borne of decades of practice. Alton grows. The Aching never returns. Thin slits showcased the outside world in its tumultuous frenzy. However, inside its small walls, the air was mostly still. At first, its absence is only felt in thinner harvests from the foragers: smaller portions and less variety. Then yields from each crop grow increasingly paltry. An outsider believes the earth itself has lost its vitality, and none among you have any idea how to restore the fleshy earth to its previous abundance. Attempts are made to mimic the techniques of farmers from beyond the Heartlands; Old Snapper manages to cajole several to give opinions. None work. Each empty plate drives more and more labourers away: at first with apologies, and later without a word. The arms of every adult soon becomes covered in scars in sacrifice to the earth. A blanket-covered chair sat in one corner next to a small brazier, still burning with whatever fuel Gast had fed it. I huddled opposite it. One day, strangers appear at the walls to the Grower¡¯s steadings. When they¡¯re invited in to sup with the family, they produce bronze weaponry from beneath shirts and begin to herd everyone out. A panicked attempt at rebellion is met with three dead. Seeing entrails exposed births a horrifying sense of relief within you. They allow you to gather clothes along with a few days of supplies and send you into the wilderness. I looked outside, into the snow, and I felt the sparks fly on the other side of the connection as I died. Some of the younger men and women plan to retake the Grower steadings from the bandits occupying it. The rest of you leave for Spires. Without weaponry, marching the trail back proves lethal for many. You wield a wooden spear against an Oxkin as large as the trees and survive amidst a field of carrion. Your wife fled with Alton. You find her body rotting beneath the malformed teeth of a Spiderkin. But Alton survives beneath the roots of a tree. Alton would never forgive me for what I¡¯d done. Your wife¡¯s family ¨C vastly reduced ¨C bear his grief. You only know how to model the raw, necessary operations of existence. Matters of the soul are beyond you. You are a poor father. But in Spires, you can at least work for him. Your role is gathering deceased ¨C bearing the marks of long years of sluggish starvation as flies herald days of decay. These bodies are drained of blood. You get no pay for the ones too old to yield crops. You come home and your family is always thinner. I closed my eyes. Old Snapper pulls enough strings to bind the Growers and a family of Smiths, where Owlblood is passed from dying parents to children in the strange way Heltians sometimes do. Seeing Alton eat a full meal bought by Old Snapper¡¯s silver tongue brings relief tinged by a dark undercurrent. But you push it down, and suddenly you are all in the process of fleeing the Heartlands in a caravan. My wounds still flared from the hollows in my arms that gaped beneath slowly-soaking bandages. The throb drew my attention to it and the rhythmic pain became almost reassuring. Like the throb of feet after a long day walking. Two weeks pass with little issue, then everyone begins dying. You hold a spear atop a hill and see a Face ¨C one of the storyteller-shamans who gave Divinities and officiated funerals ¨C kill dozens of people while his companion single-handedly fells several Blooded. They are avatars of death; yet you are alive because of them. The contradiction burns along with bodies, but gains no traction. Eventually it seeps upwards, away from you all. Below, my double felt my life begin to end. The broken, hole-ridden pieces of my mind phrased incomprehensible questions and my unbroken skull found answers. The remnants of the caravan are split into two groups. Vin and Kit take the more dangerous route, but you do not believe for a moment either will die. You¡¯re left with the need to sidestep the Baylarian line, marked by rows of blazing torches gradually moving forward over bristling fields of perfect darkness. The tallgrass slices the face and arms wrapped around your children. Beside you, Old Snapper and Atifi shield the infants with their bodies. One sees the blood dripping from the greybeard¡¯s face and gurgles. An orange-haired archer hears this and fires in the air. You all wait in silence. When it pins Snapper¡¯s calf to the floor, no one but the baby makes a sound. A life hollowed. He does not die immediately. However, that doesn¡¯t seem to matter. Five march out towards your location, matched by a woman wearing armour reinforced in what you can recognise ¨C after seeing the things the Smiths could make ¨C as Owlforged steel. Only magic can feed fire hot enough to smelt it, but here was a soldier clad in enough power to fill three normal Owlbloods. Her hair gleams in a brown braid. Your body readies itself to run. Davian reveals himself instead. I rested my head against the wood behind me. The metaphysical weight of the connection was heavy. Snapping it would be simple. They speak for long enough for your arms to ache and Snapper¡¯s stifled breaths to become ragged gasps. They speak so long that the moons change position in the sky. While you catch pleading tones, whatever words the Strain shares with the leader are lost to the darkness. In the end, the leader returns to the line, slings an arm over one of the torch-bearers, and points them towards the darkness. For a brief time, the line opens. You make it past. A few days later and a collection of fur-cloaked warriors chase you into precarious stone mountains. Half of the pursuers fall away. When you turn backwards, you see Old Snapper¡¯s limping form leading them astray. Atifi places a hand over her face and calls him an old cockroach. When the golden soldiers sight you, she follows Snapper¡¯s lead to make the next sacrifice. It might even be wise. You scurry into the earth and try to remember how to feed infants with stolen milk as you wait. The land is stinking and putrid ¨C your strongest suspicion proved in a heartbeat. To your shock, Vin reappears alongside Tully. You search for a way out. You find a river of blood instead. Divine power akin to sort that decided the battle on the hill. Enough to reverse the inevitable and stitch together something lasting for the children. Humanity is a small price to pay. But I didn¡¯t. Days of fever and incomprehensible dreams follow. You awake feeling no different. It takes some time to notice a redoubled revulsion towards the failures of those around you. Every mismanaged swing of an axe or poorly-phrased sentence or feeble-willed complaint grates against the walls of your heart. Your own failures ¨C your stupidity; weakness; cowardice ¨C are unbearable. So you work to become a better person. And though the memory is occluded by decades, you recall one man that was greater than all others. You go home. Ghosts greet you. Emerging from the throbbing of my wounds and the encroachment of the cold and the incomprehensible roiling of my mind dying from head trauma, an itch on my nape made itself known. Vin and Maleen teach you to read and write. You copy exercises the man teaches to Taja. Your father moves through the world: a model of confidence and raw power. Your skills and body develop at astonishing rates ¨C as if your decades of wasted life were all waiting for these moments. You try to teach Alton as best you can, and are frustrated by your inability to teach him well enough. Yet even so, you grow. But your mother and everything she represents endures in death just as stolidly as she did in life. The sight of her throws everything into disarray. Your father realigns everything. You watch him closely. That is why you notice that the ghosts only ever appear when Vin is nearby. Indulging in something as mundane as itching felt like a betrayal. But it only grew more intense, until the sensation overwhelmed all others. Some primordial instinct within you recognises Vin as important. Monumental. Through him the will of your father is preserved, as well as the shame of your mother. Yet his rapid deterioration is plain. Whatever pieces comprise his being are rearranging themselves into something more fundamental. When he returns one day, your suspicions are proven true. Then Kit finds your shame, and you are struck down. Your mind fades. Fragments. Decays into nothing. I raised a hand to the sensation and furiously ran my nails over it. Skin scraped away. And in the moment before oblivion, something holds you close¡­ My vision grew as an eye on the back of my neck fluttered open. Chapter 64 - Marathons End I ra? at a half-sprin? through the w?ods, one hand latching onto sn?wy branches for balance or casting aside frozen vines while the other clenched around the hilt of my sword. My body veered around heartwoods, slipped between the froze? lengths of speartrees and leapt over low-roots. Beads of clear ice bloomed red as they distorted the colour of the plants they clung ?o; melted in the day¡¯s peak and frozen again when the sky had faded into night. Numbness worked its way down from the t?ps of my fingers, and I resisted the urge to keep caressing my blade to clench my fist around the heated stone sown into my pocket. I couldn¡¯t afford to let my fighting arm go numb. Weeks of trudging through snow, shivering in shelters, and sleeping huddled for warmth had taken us from Wil¡¯s old home to the edge of the Heartlands. We¡¯d prepared for the trip as best we could, but even the small heating stones Gast had painstakingly carved for each of us couldn¡¯t fend off the cold forever. Vin¡¯s blood kept them going for a while, but eventually the heat faded as the blood¡¯s divinity returned to him. A few more of the rocks might¡¯ve done us good, but we¡¯d needed to leave as quickly as possible. Wil¡¯s kid had already tried to kill Vin once. Hadn¡¯t stopped the Ravenblood from spending an hour trying to coax the boy into coming with us. No success; the fact he¡¯d even made the attempt felt an eerie breed of bizarre. Then he¡¯d spent the next half-day extracting concessions from Jana. His requests slithered twixt threats and pleas, promising both reward and retribution for the children¡¯s fate. I might¡¯ve been tempted to try beating him into the dirt were it not for the fact a single swing from him could make me a drooling idiot for life and that Jana was a sick little snake who I still suspected hated kids. Though maybe that was unfair. She¡¯d taken care of Tippi and Crumpet for long enough. She¡¯d taken care of me when I was tiny and weak, during the days my parents led the band out. I wouldn¡¯t wish her ¡®care¡¯ on my worst enemy, but they¡¯d live. Regardless, none of them had marched into the snow with us. And every single moment we spent outside, I became increasingly certain they¡¯d made the right choice. The vengeful winds the Aching sent swirling across the land had calmed into something approaching normal. Frost was finally falling to Tempest, but the season still had enough teeth to steal toes and fingers from the unwary. As it stood, between Gast¡¯s heat-stone, my blood-stained furs and a cloth-stuffed helmet, I retained just enough heat to keep me from losing anything important. Just not to keep me comfortable. The cold clung to my skin like a disease. Snot squirted from my nose with every panting breath and I shivered like a drowned dog. The scars on my cheeks ached and my knuckles throbbed, as they had for the entire time we¡¯d been travelling. No amount of heat could scare the cold from the deepest parts of my marrow: it¡¯d set up camp in my body and sometimes I feared it¡¯d never leave. The short of it was that it was colder than Wump¡¯s deep-sea teats, and there was almost nothing I could do about it. Except run faster. While creaking my stiff limbs into a sprint had initially been difficult, a small part of me was grateful for the heat it spread through me. The rest focused on picking out obstacles looming through the fog and preventing myself from breaking my skull on a low branch. The Aching had wiped away most trails and the ubiquitous fog obscured anything more than a dozen paces away. Without Davian¡¯s yellow ribbons leading me back to our camp, I might¡¯ve gotten lost. Enough to lose me a few minutes at least. We could scarcely afford the waste. I needed to find someone who knew what to do. Back in Spires, it would¡¯ve been Whip. She¡¯d tell us what to do in a brawl. I¡¯d thought her dead weight at my first glance, but I hadn¡¯t ended up a monster-chewed corpse so I¡¯d been about as wrong as wrong could get. Then it would¡¯ve been Tully. Woman¡¯s face was a jigsaw just a bit too familiar to be comfortable, but she had given orders with the best of them. Vin should¡¯ve been next in line. Anyone could see it: instincts like his showed the man¡¯d been in more battles than there were hairs on Kani¡¯s arse. Helped that he didn¡¯t like fighting: a coward ¨C or just a less bloody-minded person, I supposed ¨C would keep losses low. Better than a dull brute like me ever could. I slid around one final tree and staggered into the crag where we¡¯d dug out camp. Though our tent was sturdy enough to keep water away, covering its roof with snow was the only way to keep heat inside. Davian had been the one to put forward the idea of pitching our tent against hills or in cracks ¨C in the darkness, it ended up looking like a big rock instead of a bed of bedraggled, shivering fugitives. Yet ever since I¡¯d watched the crater yawn open to reveal wet strings of meat beneath it, sleeping so close to the earth had ceased being reassured. A flinch travelled through me as a large silhouette slowly twisted its head towards me from its perch in the tangled crook of two branches. Its eyes were two unflinching pools of onyx, lit only by a dagger of beaming moonslight yet unmistakeable even through the fog. I unwittingly shuddered, then swore at myself and stepped closer. Vin¡¯s eyes were set warily, as if beholding a rabid animal. Before a heartbeat had passed, a crease formed between his brows. His gaze pointed at some far-off place, then returned to me without the hostility. ¡°You¡¯re done?¡± he asked eyes flickering towards the woods. All seven of them. They swivelled in his bare skin, somehow seeming more like jagged wounds than when I¡¯d found him pulling them out weeks ago. They¡¯d grown back. Maddie, Ronnie, and I had convinced him to keep them in. As each of the seven swerved back to stare at me, a weak part of me regretted that. A yellow eye on his arm drifted towards the forest. Vin glanced at it, then back at me. ¡°Kit,¡± he stated. ¡°Yeah, came out nice an¡¯ clean,¡± I blurted. ¡°Listen, we gotta figure out a way¡­¡± My voice drifted off as his eyes stared at me, even as the two in his head closed. The Ravenblood growled in frustration at something I could not see or hear, then launched the small carving he¡¯d been working on into the forest. Three eyelids blinked. ¡°Sorry,¡± he belatedly told me. I swallowed. ¡°Get yer stuff. We¡¯re leavin¡¯.¡± His unnerving gazes snapped towards me. ¡°What did you find?¡± ¡°Let me get Maddie an¡¯ Davian.¡± ¡°The Head should- ¡° he began, then stopped and beat a palm against the side of his head. He winced at himself. ¡°I understand. Go get them.¡± I took a hesitant step. When Vin made no move beyond lowering himself down from the tree, I carefully padded towards the concealed tent and tore its flap open. ¡°Get up,¡± I hissed into its side. Inside, Davian rolled into a crouch immediately as Taja and Maddie groaned. Beneath them, Ronnie flapped their infantile arm against their stomach in childish protest, while the giant¡¯s proportionate arm reached over and shook an unresponsive Gast. Yowler ¨C curled under Ronnie¡¯s arm ¨C staggered upright before releasing a mighty yawn. As the four humans and one dog extricated themselves from the tangled knot that bound their limbs together, the old Strain exited the tent. ¡°What has you so frightened?¡± Davian asked. ¡°I¡¯m not- ¡° ¡°What has you so frantic?¡± he corrected. ¡°There¡¯re torches an¡¯ people shoutin¡¯ in the fog a little ways away. They¡¯re ¡®tween us an¡¯ Vane.¡± Fort Vane was less than a day¡¯s travel away. We¡¯d seen it the previous day, before the mist had settled over the land; a strip of thin bandage over a rotting wound. An ugly little splotch of grey squatting at the edge of the horizon, a stone¡¯s throw from the Heartland¡¯s end: all grey stone and stumpy buildings packed inside stern walls so thick it¡¯d take the Ox itself to break them. One half-sphere of glass bulged from its top like a toad¡¯s eye. The whole place looked liable to chew up any would-be invaders and spit them out into the ditch someone had dug around the place, where they¡¯d be eaten by whatever ravenous creature might dwell there while the Fort watched, unblinking. From a distance, I hadn¡¯t liked the look of it. But funnily enough, having an army roaming around us made me appreciate its humourless walls a whole lot more. Davian nodded slowly. ¡°Do you think they¡¯re part of the groups from the crater? The Albrights or¡­ the¡­¡± ¡°Seeds,¡± I supplied. ¡°Vin said they¡¯re called that.¡± ¡°Yes, of course. Any indications of their affiliation?¡± I rolled my tongue around my mouth. ¡°Way they were talkin¡¯? I reckon they¡¯re Baylar.¡± His eyes regarded me from beneath wiry strands of greying hair. ¡°¡­Why do you think so?¡± he replied slowly, as if tasting the words in his mouth. ¡°It could be those people we saw in the crater.¡± ¡°Cause they were talkin¡¯ about a, uh¡­¡± I paused, searching my memory. ¡°A ¡®Heltian de-tach-ment sheltering fugitives¡¯. A ¡®dumb little Head¡¯.¡± My mimicry of a Baylarian accent still sounded disappointingly like my own voice. I waved the irrelevant thought away. ¡°Don¡¯t think either of the crater-people cared much about anythin¡¯ but each other.¡± The Strain inclined his head. ¡°And what lay beneath them.¡± A breath hissed through my teeth. ¡°Yeah,¡± I muttered. ¡°A river o¡¯ blood. Explains a lot.¡± ¡°Indeed,¡± Davian agreed. ¡°It is almost miraculous how well the existence of a god of all things was hidden- ¡° ¡°Anyway,¡± I snapped, ¡°there¡¯s a bloody army out the- ¡° ¡°With all this fog, how do you know it¡¯s an army?¡± the Strain asked. ¡°It could simply be a squad.¡± I barked a laugh. ¡°By all that¡¯s good ¡®n green, Davian, you think I would¡¯ve come runnin¡¯ if I weren¡¯t certain?¡± ¡°Well, it¡¯s easy- ¡° ¡°They lit up half the damn world,¡± I scoffed, then snarled. ¡°This is absolute rot. How¡¯d they find us? Aching should¡¯ve covered our tracks, an¡¯ the bloody Frost should¡¯ve stopped them.¡± Davian¡¯s face was indecipherable to most people. Before I¡¯d gotten to know him, his warped features made understanding what he truly felt a matter of trusting his words reflected his true thoughts. But with a face as cryptic as his, he¡¯d never needed to learn how to lie. The old Strain splayed his empty hands smoothly. If he¡¯d left it there, I would¡¯ve been none the wiser. However, he opened his mouth and far, far too casually, told me, ¡°I haven¡¯t the slightest, myself.¡± I looked at him, his beard and hair impeccably oiled. Few people went to all that trouble. ¡°You¡¯re takin¡¯ this pretty easy.¡± ¡°Of course I¡¯m scared,¡± he snapped, too quickly. ¡°But they aren¡¯t after us. If the worst-case scenario comes to pass, all we need to do is give them the erstwhile Head.¡± I nodded slowly, eyes drifting to the side. ¡°Sure.¡± I nodded while working my jaw, desperately straightening the emotions tugging at my features. ¡°Blood.¡± ¡°What is it?¡± I kept nodding, like some sort of boneless doll. ¡°What- ¡° He ducked to the side as my poorly-thrown punch glanced past his chin. The second managed to catch his shoulder. By the time I¡¯d cocked the third, surprise at my own actions had given way to more acutely-trained instincts and instead of attempting to hit him I slammed my body against his. His wiry build was similar to mine, but age had robbed him of whatever natural edge in strength masculinity gave him. Momentum and skill were both mine, allowing me to slip a foot behind his ankle and shove him into the snow. As he lay there stunned, I knelt on his chest and drew a knife. ¡°You- ¡° I hissed, fumbling the word. ¡°You- ¡° ¡°Kit, what are you doing?¡± Maddie screamed from within the tent. A hand fell on my shoulder. I shook it off. ¡°Those damn ribbons. They weren¡¯t to keep us from losin¡¯ our way. They were t¡¯lead Baylar to us.¡± ¡°Kit¡­¡± Taja called in low, soothing tones. ¡°Davian- ¡° ¡°Quit talkin¡¯ like I¡¯m crazy ¨C do I look like I¡¯ve more¡¯n two eyes? Ask him.¡± ¡°We can have a conversation when you don¡¯t have a knife to his throat!¡± Maddie yelled, voice cracking. ¡°Baylar¡¯s just over th¡¯ way,¡± I retorted, eyes locked on Davian¡¯s writhing features. ¡°We don¡¯t have time for anythin¡¯ but an interrogation.¡± ¡°Ronnie, don¡¯t- ¡° Gone was the earlier delicacy as Ronnie¡¯s hand fell on my shoulder. Its fingers sunk into my flesh like a pair of jaws. I groaned as it begun to wrench me backwards, but managed to seize a handful of Davian¡¯s coat as I did so. My muscles quivered as I tried to wrench his weight into range of my knife-arm, even as the giant Strain heaved us both backwards into the snow in an artless heap. My blood pulsed loudly in my ears as I saw Davian grip a knife in his belt, then release it a heartbeat later to in favour of trying to tug his coat away from me. My wordless snarls mixed with the cries of Maddie and Taja as I attempted to roll into a position with better leverage. Yowler barked, high and frantic. The pressure disappeared momentarily, only for Ronnie¡¯s arm to loop around my waist and lift me high into the air. As I flailed towards his freed body, Davian staggered upright and took several steps backwards. Then Vin seized the man and slammed him against a tree. The pack slung over the Ravenblood¡¯s back clacked in the perfect silence that followed. ¡°Ronnie,¡± he commanded, voice calmer than it¡¯d been for weeks, ¡°let her go. I think she¡¯s right.¡± The Strain¡¯s arm didn¡¯t budge. An eye on the Ravenblood¡¯s bare neck affixed the figure holding me. He didn¡¯t turn to face us. ¡°Do you remember when we were trying to sneak through Baylar¡¯s lines? How it was Davian of all people who got us through? We didn¡¯t have much time to think about it. Later, he told us he¡¯d said he¡¯d given the captain a bribe. That he¡¯d claimed to be some kind of merchant.¡± His voice was iron. ¡°A little thin for an excuse, don¡¯t you think?¡± Ronnie¡¯s arm loosened slightly, allowing me to slip underneath it. ¡°You weren¡¯t even bloody there,¡± I spat. Then, glancing at his impossible number of eyes, I moved onto the more pressing question. ¡°You didn¡¯t think to tell us this?¡± ¡°They tried to kill him too,¡± he stated. ¡°We all had bigger things on our minds than how he greased their palms, and most of the people who saw it ended up dead.¡± I tried to scoff, but my teeth were clenched too hard. ¡°How could you be so dumb?¡± ¡°Ronnie¡¯s been with Davian for years, and can¡¯t speak besides. I¡­¡± I heard the frown in his voice. ¡°I just wanted to be done with you all. Or¡­¡± He paused. ¡°I did? Is that right?¡± Maddie took a step closer to the man, hand cautiously held outward. ¡°Vin¡­¡± His brows drew closer. ¡°Head Maleen, he¡¯s not¡­¡± We held our breaths as he stared at the snow, frowning. Eventually, he exhaled. ¡°Regardless, of¡­ me¡­¡± Vin whispered the word as if saying it for the first time, ¡°¡­He¡¯s led them to us.¡± Davian stared rigidly up at him. His hair hung behind his head, revealing the warped set of his face in full. Beneath Vin¡¯s hands, the Strain¡¯s fingers twitched towards his hair, as if to pull it back down, but could not escape the far larger man¡¯s grip. I felt as if I were spying on something too intimate to be seen. But I wouldn¡¯t do him the decency of looking away. Ronnie made a gesture. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t,¡± Vin translated for the giant, without turning. The old man tried a weak smile, yet gave up before it had settled on his face. ¡°I- I just gave a few of our chits to¡­¡± His tone frayed at the end and trailed away into nothing. Another set of signs twisted the Strain¡¯s hands, growing increasingly sluggish until they dissipated entirely. ¡°The trail you made was never about keeping us safe? It was always¡­¡± Mutely, he shook his head. I rubbed the corners of my eyes, sneering against the emotion building there. ¡°Why¡¯d you- ¡° My voice cracked. ¡°Why?¡± ¡°They just wanted Maddie.¡± His voice broke. His eyes shone. ¡°They would¡¯ve paid us. The Captain gains prestige for tracking us. We receive a place in House Baylar. Everyone- ¡° Vin wrenched Davian towards him then slammed against the tree hard enough to pop something in the Strain¡¯s back. ¡°You signed up for the job!¡± he snapped. His eyes shivered; his jaw wobbled. ¡°Against my wishes. I told you this would happen; you don¡¯t get to complain when everything begins falling apart.¡± ¡°We didn¡¯t know- ¡° ¡°You went in with a half-cocked idea of what was occurring and stuck your nose in something that wasn¡¯t your business, and you want to complain? To sabotage everything? As if I didn¡¯t warn you!¡± ¡°They used us!¡± ¡°You were happy to let them!¡± Vin scoffed. ¡°What happened to wanting a better life for Strains? What- ¡° ¡°I was never a Strain!¡± Davian hissed. A harsh laugh escaped my throat. ¡°No? What are you then: a damned dog?¡± He struggled against Vin¡¯s grip, eyes panning frantically. ¡°Both of my parents were unblooded. They- ¡± I shook my head in disbelief. ¡°Maybe yer mother was gettin¡¯ a bit on the side.¡± ¡°There were no Blooded men around her!¡± he insisted. ¡°My father checked exhaustively.¡± ¡°Then what happened to yer face?¡± ¡°I was just¡­¡± His eyes were wide. ¡°Born this way.¡± ¡°That means,¡± I drawled, ¡°yer a damned Strain!¡± ¡°Then where are my abilities?¡± Davian affixed everyone standing in the clearing with his gaze, one after the other. ¡°Strength; Intellect; Perception; Any divine powers?¡± ¡°Strains aren¡¯t Blooded,¡± I stated. ¡°They don¡¯t get divinity.¡± ¡°Yet they hold an echo of the power.¡± ¡°How¡¯re you so good at trackin¡¯ then?¡± Before he could reply, I continued. ¡°Yer a Foxblood¡¯s kid. It¡¯s damn simple.¡± ¡°Fifty years can teach a man any amount of woodcraft!¡± he insisted. ¡°Any talent I have is mortal.¡± Taja¡¯s voice was a shock. The teenager rarely spoke. ¡°Are you trying to tell us that not all Strains¡­¡± His voice was tight. Something glinted in his eye. ¡°¡­Are descended from Blooded?¡± ¡°I know I was never a Strain. If I had another face, I would have been a Baylarian scion.¡± ¡°You were- ¡° ¡°I was.¡± His tone was flat; clipped to end on sharp points. ¡°But of course, my parents couldn¡¯t keep me. If it came out that our line sired something resembling a Strain, they would be seen as muddied. Impure. And who would believe some warped person was anything but the child of a Blooded? So I had to go.¡± Ronnie¡¯s hands flashed. ¡°You speak nonsense,¡± they said in Vin¡¯s voice. ¡°Strains are Strains.¡± ¡°I know I¡¯ll never be a noble, but I could be Baylarian again.¡± He swallowed. ¡°You could all be as well.¡± ¡°No,¡± said Taja. His arms were rigid by his side. ¡°Not everyone.¡± Vin craned his head around look at Taja. He turned back to Davian. ¡°Not Malee or Laja,¡± Vin rumbled. ¡°Not the Growers, or the Smiths. Not the guards. Not Whip.¡± It took a moment to realise he wasn¡¯t speaking for Ronnie. Then another to process what he¡¯d said. ¡°Baylar killed Whip,¡± I began. ¡°Spat a damned arrow into her gut. She died in our arms, and you wanna help them?!¡± ¡°The soldiers that hurt her are dead.¡± Something lifeless lay beneath Davian¡¯s voice. ¡°We hurt them. They hurt us. We ended them. If any fault lays in that process, it belongs to everyone involved.¡± His eyes drifted towards Maddie. ¡°To her most of all.¡± The orange-haired woman was so small. Her hands fiddled with some jewellery beneath her cloak. I stepped in front of his stare. ¡°Don¡¯t you look at her.¡± He glanced away. I tried to find some sort of satisfaction at that, but failed. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you take her?¡± Vin released the older man, allowing him to slump to the cold snow at the foot of the tree. ¡°Over Frost. You would¡¯ve had plenty of opportunities.¡± The lifeless set of Davian¡¯s eyes was marred by a deep wince. ¡°You would have followed.¡± ¡°Out of all of us, you¡¯re the better woodsman by far.¡± ¡°Against a Ravenblood?¡± Vin silently acceded the point. ¡°You could have distracted me in some way.¡± A pause. ¡°Easily.¡± ¡°I¡­¡± ¡°You could¡¯ve killed me.¡± ¡°I couldn¡¯t have.¡± The Ravenblood released a breath. ¡°Maybe not. But I refuse to believe that you couldn¡¯t have outplayed¡­ me, like this,¡± he whispered, then redoubled his voice. ¡°So all you did was leave a trail?¡± Davian said nothing. Ronnie signed something. ¡°Say something,¡± they said using Vin¡¯s voice. ¡°Why won¡¯t you defend yourself?¡± A laugh halfway to a sob slipped shamefully from me. ¡°Just a trail? So even when you¡¯re betrayin¡¯ us, you¡¯re a coward?¡± Gast¡¯s round body squeezed out of the tent. ¡°Don¡¯t.¡± I ignored her. ¡°Don¡¯t even have the will to stab us in the back properly?¡± I was barely understanding my own words. ¡°T¡¯fight for what you want? Had to bloody tip-toe ¡®round it. What¡¯s the point o¡¯ you, then? You- ¡° An arm shoved me to the side as Taja barrelled towards Davian, knife in hand. Before he¡¯d reached Vin, Gast¡¯s greater mass slammed into him and knocked him to the ground. Instead of rising, he remained in the snow, one forearm over his eyes. From behind his clenched teeth rose a dull whine. Davian closed his eyes. ¡°You should- ¡° His voice cracked like a rotten egg, and I covered my eyes and turned away. ¡°You should walk away from me. You¡¯re so close. I¡¯ll talk to them.¡± I whirled on the man. ¡°Why¡¯d you do this if you¡¯re jus¡¯ gonna give up on it? You think we can trust you, now?¡± ¡°I had to promise her something, to get us past. At the very least, she seemed honest. Head Maleen,¡± he spat, as if it were a shard of bone stuck in his mouth, ¡°never was. We all deserved better than this.¡± The wind whistled softly through the bare branches, which wept sap redly down their bark. Gast pinched one nostril shut, then ejected snot from the other onto Taja¡¯s back. ¡°Dunno,¡± she said. Taja squirmed beneath her. In reaction, Maddie gave an aggrieved bark at the disgusting display, then quietened as her gaze fell upon Davian again. His face hadn¡¯t moved. I tried to laugh, as if the whole thing were the punchline to a joke I¡¯d heard before. And I had heard it before ¨C from Mother; from Jana; from myself, in my lonely, angry moments ¨C but I still hadn¡¯t seen it coming. I was a fool. Ronnie¡¯s massive shoulders quivered silently. Yowler shifted beside the giant, shuffling his paws to keep the chill of the snow seeping into them. Iron cold had crept into my fingers. ¡°We killin¡¯ him?¡± I asked. ¡°No,¡± Vin snapped. ¡°We take him with us.¡± Everyone froze. ¡°What? Why?¡± He finally turned, readjusting his pack so he could clutch it to his chest. Too many eyes darted in dozens of different directions. ¡°We need to keep him.¡± I waited for him to supply the other half of that thought; the reason laying behind his demand. When nothing was forthcoming, I realised there was no other half. Maddie swallowed. ¡°We can¡¯t, Vin. Ferrying a resistant captive through hostile territory isn¡¯t a good idea.¡± ¡°It will be fine,¡± he insisted. Ronnie, who had turned away to begin shakily packing, shook their head. Yowler sat beside her, canine gaze darting towards whoever was speaking with panicked focus. ¡°You all want to leave him? We can¡¯t,¡± he demanded, fingers gripping the fabric of his bag. ¡°We can¡¯t. We can¡¯t. We can¡¯t.¡± ¡°¡­Why not?¡± I asked. ¡°Because we need to keep him safe.¡± That final word reverberated with something unnerving. ¡°He betrayed us, Vin.¡± I paused, thinking carefully. ¡°We don¡¯t need to kill him. Jus¡¯ leave him.¡± ¡°Davian will tell Baylar where we¡¯re going.¡± The syllables tumbled from his mouth like dead leaves. ¡°That Head Maleen is with us. We shouldn¡¯t. It¡¯s too dangerous.¡± I looked to Maddie for help. Her palms squirmed together while her jade eyes remained affixed at the ground. After a moment of viewing that dumbly, I placed a hand on her back. She paused, then smiled weakly at me. ¡°He will survive if we leave him,¡± the small woman stated gently. ¡°But we won¡¯t if we take him.¡± His body slowly turned as each of his seven eyes flickered between us, unnervingly asynchronous with one another. His hands clung to the fabric of his pack. Despite the darkness, his confusion was writ clear in his features. ¡°I can¡¯t leave him,¡± he stated. ¡°Why?¡± I pleaded. ¡°I can¡¯t.¡± I opened my mouth, but Maddie cut me off. ¡°What do you have in your bag, Vin?¡± His many eyes spun as he pulled it closer to his chest. In a foolish gambit to find reasons, I reached out and snatched at it. My fingers caught over its opening, but in the war between Vin¡¯s strength and mine the poorly-woven material of the pack was the first to give. The Ravenblood fumbled after the contents of the bag as they spilled into the snow. ¡°Ah, ah,¡± he exclaimed, many eyes wide. I looked down and found myself in miniature. And Whip. And Tully. And Taja and Wil and his kid and Maddie and Malee and Rita and Tippi and Odrin and Atifi and Jana and Old Snapper and Willow and Gast and Miriel and Crumpet and Aron and Laja and Wil and a dozen other people I didn¡¯t know and an Oxblooded woman I¡¯d seen him carve countless times, bereft of an arm but given a red grin across her throat, all writ in exquisite detail by ten thousand different strokes of a knife into frozen, unmoving moments. Their wooden eyes followed me as I stumbled backwards. ¡°Why?¡± I asked. All his eyes snapped towards me. ¡°Because they¡¯re mine.¡±
The heels of my boot trod silently on the roots of a heartwood. My efforts were ruined as three other pairs of feet crunched loudly in the snow behind me. Davian would know the right way to lead them: the firmest soil; the steadiest stones; the quietest route. We¡¯d left Davian behind, pulled from Vin¡¯s grasp when Taja promised, in no uncertain terms, that he¡¯d kill the old man if he came with us. And Davian, shamefully on his knees, pleading with Vin to let him go. So he¡¯d let him go. All that was left was a fat woman, a lopsided giant, a gawkish teenager, a noble without any of the things that made her noble, a thug with half the brains of most people but thrice the willingness to murder, a man with the blood of a dead god rotting in his veins, slowly driving him mad, and a dog. The lute I¡¯d tied to my back poorly whacked the back of my head with every step. I gave a long snort, gathering the snot in my sinuses, and hawked a lump of phlegm from the back of my throat into the snow. It blinked yellowly in the snow. After a moment of consideration, I kicked a chunk of snow over it and continued onwards. A few steps later, Gast¡¯s foot crushed that same lump of snow and the snot beneath. I snickered. She glanced at me, then at her boot. The silhouettes of the others loomed through the mist, and the contrast between their ghoulish figures and Gast¡¯s suspicious squint drove another chuckle from my throat. Ahead of us, Vin veered to the right. His stitched-together pack jangled with the miniature sculptures. We all stared at him, but no one made to follow. After a moment, I steeled myself and ambled towards him. ¡°What?¡± He marched onwards, all his mass making barely a whisper against the ground. The clack of wood within his bag was louder. ¡°They¡¯re to the left.¡± I peered into the darkness. Fingers of fog curled, gnarled and twisted, over my sight. ¡°Where¡¯re their torches?¡± ¡°Seems they¡¯ve put theirs out.¡± My teeth chewed cold-cracked lips. ¡°Should we go around?¡± He gazed forward. ¡°There is no ¡®around¡¯.¡± I frowned, then groaned. ¡°They¡¯ve encircled us?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± ¡°How¡¯d they know where we are?¡± ¡°They found Davian.¡± ¡°That- ¡° I growled incoherently. ¡°Should¡¯ve killed him.¡± He released a heavy breath that bloomed white amidst the cold. ¡°Mm.¡± I eyed him sideways, hoping for some response to measure his mood. When none was forthcoming, I cocked an eyebrow and attempted to coax one out. ¡°No argument? Lest my head¡¯s gettin¡¯ old, I remember it bein¡¯ you who- ¡° ¡°They have him now,¡± Vin snapped. ¡°I don¡¯t think they¡¯re treating him kindly.¡± I snorted. I blinked moisture from my eyes. Stomps resounded from behind as Ronnie caught up with us. The Strain¡¯s fingers worked frantically. All I could pick from a slurry of gestures was ¡®Reason?¡¯ ¡°I don¡¯t think he was forthcoming with his answers,¡± Vin muttered. ¡°And you know this for sure?¡± ¡°No. But he¡¯s hurting.¡± My lips woodenly twisted into that same tired old sneer I always wore. ¡°Maybe they didn¡¯t know about the deal.¡± Vin scoffed. ¡°Maybe he refused to say anything.¡± ¡°Serves him right. Hope he¡¯s bitten off his tongue,¡± I muttered, knowing I sounded like a child. ¡°Hope he dies. Hope he- ¡° Ronnie slammed the back of my helmet hard enough to send it spinning off my head. I swallowed the poison rising from within me, bent down, and picked it up. The Strain stomped away from me. ¡°Right,¡± Vin commanded. ¡°We¡¯ll need to break through.¡± I stared mutely. ¡°I¡¯ll need a moment to pick the precise spot,¡± he told us. ¡°But ready yourselves.¡± When Vin himself drew his onyx sword and raised it in the erratic light of the moons, I did the same. I wondered whether Ravenblood let someone plan a battle at the same time he examined a sword, then realised each of Vin¡¯s eyes were closed. Both he and the sword seemed two parts of a statue, with the blade the most important piece. Behind me, I heard Gast exchange several words with Ronnie, before the woman hoisted Yowler into the air and shoved him into Ronnie¡¯s pack. The dog moaned and writhed, but silenced at a gesture from his master. When Gast began shrugging her great-shield off her back, Taja hurriedly lifted it off her shoulders and held it aloft for the Strain to buckle her arm to. As Ronnie manoeuvred their axe from its holster, I belatedly began shifting my weight from foot to foot, seeking to loosen sore muscles. My arms were already filling with frantic energy. As I gradually danced in a circle, I turned to find Maddie with a white-knuckled grip around a dagger¡¯s hilt. ¡°Put that thing away ¡®fore you stab yerself,¡± I snapped. She flinched, then began fumbling it back into a sheath. ¡°No, wait,¡± I growled, mostly at myself. ¡°Show me yer grip.¡± Maddie bobbed her head and held the knife with her arms fully extended, like it was about to leap out of her hands and bite her. I placed my hand around the hint of hilt remaining and yanked it. I almost swallowed my own tongue when it left her hand. ¡°That¡¯s a bad grip,¡± I understated. The blade caught my eye, and I squinted at it, then ran my finger over its point. ¡°It¡¯s blunt. You plannin¡¯ on beatin¡¯ someone t¡¯death with it?¡± Her cheeks, already red from the cold, reddened further. I tossed the dagger into the snow and kicked snow over it. After transferring my sword to my left hand, I ran my fingers over my belt to select my best dagger. Only having three made it an easy selection. Back with the band, it might¡¯ve taken me the better part of an hour to find the best. After a moment considering its dual edges, I sheathed it and drew a single-edged one. ¡°Here.¡± I held it by the blade and handed it to her. She took it from my hand as if it were a snake¡¯s tail. ¡°Hold it blade-side away from you. Round chest-height,¡± I said, demonstrating the movements myself. ¡°Keep the other arm lower ¨C fer stoppin¡¯ anythin¡¯ guttin¡¯ you while your knife¡¯s elsewhere.¡± Her eyes ¨C trembling in quiet concentration ¨C flickered to me. ¡°You don¡¯t fight like that.¡± ¡°I¡¯m better¡¯n you. Anyone¡¯s better¡¯n you, an¡¯ anyone with anythin¡¯ bigger¡¯n a knife¡¯s gonna chop you in half, so don¡¯t- ¡° ¡°I¡¯ll let you do the fighting.¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± I demonstrated a reverse grip, as well as few stabs ¨C hurrying to get it done before the others were finished preparations. Briefly, I touched her arms to adjust her grip and almost immediately stopped when an uncomfortable heat flitted through my face. Maddie practiced a few stabs, face twisted in solemn focus, while I tried to fight warmth back into my legs. The energy sourced from the drawing of my sword was beginning to dim. I swallowed and glanced around. Gast gazed at some far-away thing, while Ronnie tried to reach their arms behind their back to pet Yowler. Vin was a black chasm amidst the darkness. From between withered, ancient-seeming branches a scattering of stars watched the moons gradually fall beneath the night sky¡¯s bowl. ¡°You, uh¡­ You think Davian was tellin¡¯ the truth?¡± ¡°About what?¡± Her large green eyes gazed up at me, searchingly. I looked away, both hands clasped together over my sword. ¡°Everything. Anything.¡± Maddie¡¯s tone was much calmer than it¡¯d been mere seconds before. ¡°I think if he were going to lie, he would¡¯ve done so about the betrayal.¡± She reversed her grip, feigning a stab through the air. ¡°And I think he was honest about that.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± I said, and felt my face crumple. I stepped behind Maddie ¨C out of her sight ¨C and buried my face in the crook of my arm. The quiet huffs of breath that accompanied the orange-haired woman¡¯s jabs ceased. ¡°Kit?¡± I heard snow crumple as she turned. I tried to seize the rhythm of my breathing. The clenching of my chest as it folded in on itself again and again, growing increasingly smaller until with one last fold it was nothing at all. The jagged shapes of my breathing receded from my awareness. Then it was just quiet. I took my arm off my face and looked at Maddie, and felt like crying. I glanced away. ¡°How many of us¡¯ll be left at the end, d¡¯you think?¡± I saw her face suddenly draw together as she held back tears. I saw Ronnie place a meaty hand over their small face. I saw Gast lay a hand on the giant¡¯s back. I saw Taja stare at the ground, fist clenched. I saw Vin flinch. ¡°I know where to go,¡± he said stiffly, and strode into the fog. Our boots crunched after him, beneath the cold, red branches of the Heartlands and the frozen sky far above. I slapped my unoccupied hand on my furs, beating sensation back into it, then switched hands and repeated the gesture. Someone¡¯s teeth were chattering. A few hundred steps passed and Vin whispered for us to be ready. Another five dozen and two men appeared from the darkness, gawping at us as we gawped at them. As one flinched backwards, he fumbled a spear that posed no opposition to the blade I sent hissing through his throat. His blood stained the snow an eager red. His partner stood, staring at the Ravenblood smeared with eyes like slime on a slug. Vin stared at him, perfectly frozen, his features folded into something approaching terror. Then the man screamed for help and died as Vin¡¯s onyx blade cleaved his body just above the waist. ¡°Blood,¡± he panted, sweat already beginning to soak through his bandana. ¡°Blood.¡± Shouts travelled through the fog as if from right behind us. One of Vin¡¯s eyes stared at the ground. I followed its gaze to the corpse. Beneath a stinking mess of gore, a hint of white revealed the meticulously arranged segments of the dead man¡¯s spine, sliced into something less than meaningless. His entrails steamed in the night air; immense heat slowly deteriorating into impossible cold. I wondered if he had felt just as frost-nipped as us, before he died. Whether we would steam just as well in the snow. I knew the answer. ¡°We gotta go,¡± I said.
Boots crunched through the snow and underbrush as we fled, leaving a trail of broken branches, torn shrubbery, and Baylarian corpses in our wake. Each that emerged from the fog scarcely have time to shout before Vin or I cut them down, but every scream yielded our location to the surrounding forces more surely than a beacon of flame. But frantic moments of violence were rare: the rest were filled with aching legs and arms, strangled lungs, and the long shadows of late night, My straining focus drew leering enemies from inanimate obstacles: making arms of low-hanging branches and spears of the icicles that hung from them and red eyes from red sap and faces from speartrees and soldiers from the long shadows of tall trees. All of this in constant, gruelling motion as my body pushed the landscape behind me, marred by my own bitter stubbornness desperately fending off the desire to rest. Blood pounded in my ears, screaming at me to do something, so I kept running. All of Davian¡¯s fault, the twisted little rat. Suddenly, Ronnie¡¯s panicked inhalation accompanied a stomach-churning sound of boots skidding on ice. It took the efforts of both Taja, Maddie, and Gast to arrest the giant¡¯s momentum before they crashed into one of the many pointed branches that seemed expressly designed to draw blood. Vin and I both halted as well, extending our blades to quiver against the fog. I stared into its heavy whiteness, simultaneously hoping it would give me something to kill and wishing I¡¯d never have to kill anything again. Vin¡¯s voice was scarcely louder than a soft breeze. ¡°Kit. Blooded coming.¡± A wince spread through his too-many eyes. ¡°The Foxblood¡¯s yours.¡± Then a flash of orange hair attached to a toothy grin emerged from the fog and I parried a short-sword that wriggled like a snake while ducking a glinting knife that screeched against the steel of my helm. My riposte aimed for the woman¡¯s armpit ¨C unarmoured and exposed from her swing ¨C but she pivoted sideways to trap my blade between her arm and body. Calculations flashed through my skull ¨C better to not fight it, surrendering use of my blade to immobilise her sword-arm ¨C before her knife swooped again, allowing me to barely close my fingers around her wrist. With both our arms locked, I slammed my skull into hers, and reared back, blood squirting, after she tilted her head to allow the hardest part of her skull to smash against my nose. This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. Weight fell on my sword-arm as she released my blade to swing her short-sword ¨C far more suited to our close range ¨C to chop at my back. I repositioned my sword to clumsily block and nearly lost it as the force of the blow reverberated up my arm. The Foxblood cackled and whipped her blade back for another blow. Unable to think of any better options, I wrapped my legs around hers and bore us both to the ground. We fell sideways into the cold snow in a tangle of limbs, as I desperately kept one hand clenched around her blade and the other around her knife-arm. The impact felt like a kick across the entire right side of my body. As I growled and she cackled in the snow, for a single, excruciating moment, I had no idea where her sword was. But mine was still clenched in a white-knuckled grip, so I awkwardly pressed it length-ways against her neck and began pushing. A sharp bark emerged from her throat as the woman abandoned her short-sword to slip fingers underneath my blade and begin pushing back. Her other hand writhed beneath my grip, and even as my steel scraped against bone I realised that in the next few seconds I would lose control over her knife-arm and she¡¯d kill me. I howled wordlessly in her face, pulled my feet upwards, and heaved her away from me. The effort might¡¯ve meant less than nothing, were it not for a purple glow that flashed over her stumbling form, stealing her legs from underneath her and slamming her head into the ground. It took scarcely a heartbeat for her to leap into a standing position, where Ronnie¡¯s axe slammed into a raised dagger and sent her flipping into the air. The woman¡¯s form twisted in an insane display of athleticism that failed to prevent an onyx blade sinking into the side of her neck. Blood sprayed everywhere and bones snapped as her twitching body crashed into the ground. All seven of Vin¡¯s eyes blinked rapidly. He grunted, hand raising towards his forehead, where the Foxblood¡¯s lifeforce was beginning to soak through his bandana. I scrambled upright, but before I could reach him Taja had already stumbled over to him and torn off the Ravenblood¡¯s bandana. At that, I halted, keeled over, and sucked in a massive breath. Including the woman I¡¯d fought, two other bodies lay dead around us, bearing hints of the broad, blunt features of Lizardbloods. Taja¡¯s lanky form hovered over the dead Foxblood for a moment before leaning down and tugging a scabbard from her belt. He¡¯d already picked up a spear from a soldier I¡¯d killed a while back, but I supposed everyone could use a second weapon. I scooped the woman¡¯s abandoned short-sword from the snow and handed it to him silently. He gave it a few a practice swings, then his face tightened. ¡°Here,¡± he said, and presented it to Maddie. ¡°I will use this spear.¡± Maddie¡¯s cloak fluttered as she shuffled closer to the bodies. ¡°But- ¡° ¡°He¡¯s right,¡± I said, ignoring the flicker of anger that filled me at his kindness. ¡°You need somethin¡¯ better¡¯n a knife. Probably a shield, too, if we can find one.¡± ¡°But- ¡° Fire filled me. ¡°You die, we get nothing,¡± I hissed. ¡°Take the damn sword, if only t¡¯block one swing.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know how to use one!¡± I growled incoherently. ¡°The pointy end goes away from you,¡± Taja offered. ¡°Yeah, that.¡± I seized the sheathed sword from the teenager and pressed it into her chest. She gingerly took it, then began several excruciating attempts to buckle it onto her belt. ¡°By all that¡¯s good¡¯n green,¡± I groaned, then snatched it from her, knelt, and began buckling it onto her myself. Ronnie curled a few fingers at Gast, who cocked an eyebrow quizzically. A few more signs and the woman turned to us. ¡°Ooooh,¡± she intoned. Ronnie shook their head and gave another firm set of signals. ¡°Oooh-oooh,¡± Gast groaned in an attempt to sound suggestive, pitching her voice far too high on the latter half. ¡°Shut up.¡± I was grateful my dark skin hid my flushing cheeks. Maddie frowned at them, then me, then blushed far more visibly. Ronnie gave a wobbly smile, and I was suddenly grateful for the humour. While I was working the straps around Maddie¡¯s waist, Vin approached the two remaining Strains and exchanged a few muttered words with them. Gast¡¯d guard both the rear and Maddie, while Ronnie would chop anyone who got too close and carry anyone who needed carrying. He muttered his plans in moments. ¡°You take the sides,¡± he told me. ¡°I¡¯ll take point. Taja: you stay in the middle and spear anyone you can. All of you need to seize any shields available. The larger the better.¡± ¡°Why?¡± I asked. ¡°Archers.¡± If there was ever a word to get people running, it was that one.
Everything hurt. My legs screamed with every step. My arm protested the weight of the bloodied sword attached to its end. My lungs spat fiery hatred to my brain. Sweat swamped my body beneath my furs in a sticky heat. Even my feet moaned pitifully, as if sitting in a soggy pair of boots and doing absolutely nothing were one of the worst fates the world could offer. It was all I could to wrangle my limbs into a vaguely coordinated order. But that¡¯s the job of a leader, isn¡¯t it? Screaming obedience into a bunch of ungrateful dullards with not an ounce of good sense between them. Still didn¡¯t stop it hurting. Vin was doing a good job at that ¨C making sure anyone who moaned or groaned knew the Baylarians were closing in on all sides. He¡¯d do a better job if he looked more than slightly fatigued by our hours of running. Instead, he seemed as if he¡¯d stepped in from a light stroll, making all my pain feel like a bad joke only he could laugh at. Almost made me wish I had some of his crazy, if it would stop my body from hurting. But besides him, I was probably the best-off of us all. Both Maddie and Taja tottered forward in a cloud of frosted panting thicker than the mist surrounding us, limbs stiffly flopping in every direction as if the muscle in them had turned to wood. Ronnie was a bit better ¨C the Strain¡¯s legs were thick enough that I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if they could carry another Ronnie and keep running ¨C but the weight of their body, scrap armour, pack, dog and axe had to be at least thrice the weight of my own load. The pressure of it all had lowered Ronnie¡¯s head, their bizarrely childish face slack with the mute delirium immense fatigue sometimes births. I¡¯d felt a kind of smug pride watching Gast stagger and wheeze her way behind us, until she¡¯d started tripping every three seconds. Pathetic gratitude had filled me when Vin had slung her over his shoulders like a bloated sack of potatoes, saving anyone else from carrying her. He¡¯d toss her over to Ronnie whenever the fighting was about to start, where the fat Strain would cast her witchcraft while fat beads of sweat dripped from rolls of flab. I ran, and knew it was only going to hurt worse the longer we ran. And we had a long run remaining. ¡°Ox¡¯s balls,¡± I swore. ¡°Wump¡¯s soggy teats. Lizard¡¯s rotten tongue.¡± Ronnie raised a weary head to glare balefully at me. ¡°Godsdamn bloody pile of greasy goddamned piece of stupid asshole garbage- ¡° ¡°Quiet,¡± Vin whispered. ¡°Go jump in- ¡° ¡°Quiet,¡± he snapped. ¡°Do any of you hear that? Is it real?¡± I shut up. Silence lay beyond the thud of our feet, whistling of rushing air, and throbbing blood. And beyond silence lay the high, frantic barks of a pack of dogs. ¡°Ox¡¯s bloody bollocks,¡± I swore. ¡°If I ever see Davian again, I¡¯ll gut him.¡±
I¡¯d never much liked watching people ride horses. The bit shoved in the horse¡¯s spitting mouth to drag its head whichever way the smug rider wanted, restrained by dozens of ropes tying down a beast whose only crime was being good at running. Worst of all, even when the rider did force the horse into a sprint, they couldn¡¯t help but pull out a switch and start beating the creature. A great, powerful animal, brought low by a strip of wood. Years prior, I¡¯d watched one of the band shoot a horseman in the gut and send him slumping off his horse. Seeing him get trampled by his mount remained one of the few memories of justice I had. But with a tsunami of roiling fur slavering barely thirty paces from my heels, I could¡¯ve really used someone beating my arse with a switch. We ran at an absolute sprint ¨C legs and arms pumping like damn stallions ¨C as branches and icicles and thorns ripped opened our skin like the whole forest was an angry mother determined to discipline her foolish children. But if the forest was a mother, it was one that hated the dogs: they had to lumber through shrubs and roots and branches we could leap over, and slammed into trunks or speartrees or branches they hadn¡¯t the height to see coming, and soon each was beaten bloody by the chase. Yet they didn¡¯t stop. They wouldn¡¯t, because there was a godsdamned Dolphinblood sitting astride the shoulders of a godsdamned massive Oxblood, whipping the dogs into a rabid frenzy far more ferocious than any horse-rider could manage by force alone. I hated that Blooded¡¯s guts. I needed that hatred, because sluggish surrender kept creeping into my mind and pure spite was the only thing hot enough to burn it away. Godsdamned Dolphinbloods. Mother¡¯d always said Yoot was her favourite god, and that was enough reason to think the entire bloodline worth wiping out. Ahead of me, Taja¡¯s eyes dulled as his legs began faltering. A thorny branch ripped open a long gash on his arm, but he didn¡¯t seem to notice. ¡°Taja,¡± I wheezed. He continued slowing until he ran next to me. ¡°Taja!¡± I punched him in the arm as hard as I could. ¡°If you don¡¯t stay in front of me, I¡¯ll slit yer damned throat an¡¯ leave you t¡¯the hounds.¡± The teenager glanced at me, which I responded to with another angry punch. Then I started smacking him, and with a solemn glower, he lowered his head and slowly pulled ahead of me. If I had to be the switch beating his arse, I would be. I increased my pace again to match his, then began muttering threats to anyone with the audacity to run slower than me. Finding the least essential, most tender parts of the other¡¯s bodies to hit despite the forest swaddled in shadowy mist soon dominated my focus. Perhaps that¡¯s why I missed the valley. Suddenly, my next step found the ground absent. Its panicked successor tried to find purchase on the icy snow beneath and completely failed. I shot past Maddie; Taja; Ronnie with Yowler watching me wide-eyed; Vin with Gast over his shoulder ¨C all with the good sense to slow. My hand smacked uselessly against the branches and trunks flashing past in a fruitless search for purchase. My other arm frantically tried to fumble my sword into its sheath before it gutted me, but moments later my arm caught in a shrub and whipped my momentum into a wild spin. Steel, fur and skin were shorn from my arm as I ripped free of an entire sleeve and my sword, alongside any semblance of control over my fall as I smashed backwards. Heels-over-head I fell; world flashing past in a chaotic swirl of black tinged with white and red. I coughed; flailed; tore my nails out on snow and ice and dirt ¨C and everything only spun faster. A purple glow swaddled my body, but any consideration of that was robbed from me by an impossible impact on my pelvis as I crashed into a speartree and spun sideways, slamming my helmed head on a root and setting a thousand sparks in my head; face slamming into the snow and swallowing a mouthful as one of my fingers jarred painfully against the ground. Stale sweat and grime mixed with snow and mud and dung as I rolled over everything the hillside had to offer. Then another titanic force slammed my entire body and my roll began to slow until I was sliding over cold, hard, flat ground. Then I stopped. The purple glow disappeared. I lay on a cold surface, blinking at the sky. Through the fog, whispers of orange were tickling the sky. My body hurt. It felt as if Enn had chewed me up. Then spat me into a crowd of swinging clubs. I regarded the pain disbelievingly. A groan escaped me. Why wasn¡¯t I dead? I felt for the lute strapped to my back. Miraculously, it was intact. The sudden urge to say something witty appeared in my mind. Like in a Divinity, or a song. ¡°Wuh,¡± I managed. I shifted myself sideways, then pushed myself cross-legged onto my elbow. Something caught my ear ¨C a crackle. Like the grumbling of an old greybeard, forced out of bed. I looked down. I sat on a smooth, flawless river: winding between the hill I¡¯d fallen from ¨C that the others streamed downwards even now ¨C and a far lower bank until it vanished behind the bend. Its surface was covered with a thin scattering of snow. Its frozen surface was just as thin. I cautiously moved my feet underneath my body, then flinched as the ice snarled in protest. I¡¯d sneered at a thousand snarls before, but I doubted it¡¯d do much good here. I lowered myself onto all fours. Beneath, the hidden waters beat at the ice. ¡°Kit!¡± came Vin¡¯s deep call. The man stood on the hillside¡¯s bank. Gast remained atop his shoulders, fingers dancing over a runestone. Judging by the strangle yelps from above, she was working some magic on the hounds. I tried not to wince at the noise. Few sounds were worse than a dog¡¯s whimper. They were scarcely a dozen paces away. The distance was as indomitable as the gods themselves. ¡°Are you alright?¡± Panic lined his voice. ¡°Gast tried to stop- ¡± ¡°Bloody no!¡± I snapped. ¡°Ice¡¯s thin. You didn¡¯t see this coming?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve no extra sense for hills,¡± he said, eyes shifting. He produced my sword from his belt and flung it underarm in an impressive arc. It plopped on the other side of the river. ¡°We¡¯ve- ¡° He whirled and caught Maddie in an extended arm before she could stumble onto the ice. Ronnie ¨C miraculously upright despite their weight ¨C stumbled next to him moments later. Vin looked between the two of them, then whispered something to the Strain. Gast slowly slid from his shoulders. I tried to find better footing. ¡°What- ¡° The Strain and the Ravenblood grabbed Maddie simultaneously and threw her sideways in much the same manner my sword had been tossed moments before. She gave a shrill shriek which abruptly cut off when her body smashed through the ice close to the other side of the bank. I moved my shaking body towards where she vanished under, before the short woman erupted from the waters ¨C apparently no more than waist deep where she stood ¨C and waddled onto the other side. Maddie began to let loose a series of swears through chattering teeth, but was cut off when Taja crashed through the ice a few short steps from where she had fallen. I glanced back to find the three far larger individuals beginning to gingerly lower themselves onto the ice. Their cautious movements were at odd with the panic strung through their faces. I began to do the same, when a glint caught my eye. An arrow sailed from the top of the hill we fell from then travelled through the air downwards. Then it embedded itself in the ice a few short steps above my head. From the ridgeline, someone loudly castigated an archer for firing out-of-turn. Snow flew as I scrambled on all fours across the ice, limbs gawky and uneven in the world¡¯s worst imitation of a mutt¡¯s lope. Creaking complaints accompanied my scrabbling, but an organised volley of arrows struck more fear in me than some grumpy remnant of a fading season. I slipped into the patch of open water Maddie and Taja had created, sloshed through it for a few meters, then scrambled up the bank and threw myself behind a tree-trunk. Shivering beside me, Maddie pressed my sword against my chest. The others weren¡¯t so fortunate. Or maybe they were just heavier. Either way, none had made it more than eight cautious paces from the bank, where the Dolphinblood had ensorcelled his legion of canines into torpor alongside a red-faced Oxblood. The man leered at the three of them above his protruding chin, before Vin whipped a stone from his sling at the man¡¯s head. It rung off his helmet like a dog, but even as he stumbled backwards the Oxblood shifted a massive halberd towards Vin. The dogs ¨C freed from their slothful doze ¨C ran up and down the bank baying. Yowler ¨C on Ronnie¡¯s back ¨C whimpered softly. There was no retreating back to the hill they came from. I saw Ronnie look up as a dozen arrows filled the sky. Vin followed the giant¡¯s gaze. He watched them, barely a flicker of emotion on his face. Fear only entered his many eyes when he looked at the two Strains beside him. The arrows reached the zenith of their arc and began falling. ¡°Hold your breath,¡± the Ravenblood told the Strains beside him. Then he raised both fists and smashed the ice beneath all three of them. They were sucked away by the current underneath. Barely a handful of heartbeats later, only a hole in the ice and a few scattered arrows marked them as having been there at all. The three of us remaining ran downstream.
A flicker of a silhouette had me swinging my blade through air ¨C through a shattering of light. The silhouette continued walking through the trees, according a path decided and ended Siik-knows how long ago. I sheathed my sword and continued running. ¡°Bloody ghosts,¡± I panted. Across the river and through the mist, the hounds bayed ¨C big, man-killing dogs, snorting and groaning in excitement ¨C but were caught between the urge to chase us and the need to check on their unconscious master. The Dolphinblood¡¯s helm had dented, and his chest rose and fell haltingly as his giant companion jogged after us. The Oxblood couldn¡¯t do anything: at a head taller than Ronnie and half again her weight, the frozen river formed an impenetrable barrier. Which was good, because Enn¡¯s ilk could swing faster than my mortal eyes could follow, leaving any combat with them a matter of judging their intentions before they moved. A gamble I¡¯d ended up on the better side of twice before but this warrior was no thin-blooded caravan guard. House Baylar was known more for making money than martial prowess, yet I still wouldn¡¯t bet my life on my skill overcoming a halberd that fell like lightning. If the others had clambered up on his side of the bank, I might be forced to anyway. I¡¯d chop him to pieces, I was sure. Definitely. I gripped the hilt of my sword harder. But as the three of us pounded between speartrees and branches to finally round the bend of the river, I couldn¡¯t supress a relieved sigh. The three of them had washed up on our side. That sigh caught when I realised Ronnie wasn¡¯t breathing. Vin beat at the giant¡¯s chest furiously, seven eyes rolling in every direction. He tilted the Strain onto their side and pounded their back, arms aglow with purple energy. Gast held a wriggling Yowler, whining and moaning as she ran one hand over his fur and the other over her runestone. She wheezed, staring at Ronnie¡¯s body. I slowed momentarily, then sprinted to the fallen Strain. I slid next to Vin, hands hovering over the body. ¡°What do I do?¡± The Ravenblood opened her mouth and reached inside. He said nothing. ¡°Vin, what do I do?¡± He scrabbled at Ronnie¡¯s armour, attempting to peel it off their chest. The whites of his eyes were huge. ¡°Uh.¡± I joined my hands with his and helped him doff the Strain¡¯s ramshackle breastplate. He slammed his palm into the Strain¡¯s chest as I desperately searched for some way to help. But all I knew how to do was hurt people; healing was beyond me. As Vin¡¯s grunts grew increasingly jagged, I began to suspect he was the same. Then the giant ejected a lungful of water onto their chest and erupted into harsh coughs. ¡°Ronnie?¡± I said, in concert with Maddie and Taja and Gast. Yowler wriggled from his master¡¯s arms and licked the giant¡¯s face hurriedly. The prone giant clenched their eyes shut and continued coughing. Vin rolled Ronnie onto their side and slid backwards. He halted against the trunk of a tree, head buried in his hands. None of us had time to pay attention to him. ¡°What happened?¡± Maddie asked. The fingers on Ronnie¡¯s child-like arm curled weakly, and for once Gast beat the Strain to a response. ¡°Too heavy,¡± the round woman supplied blandly, her eyes fixed on Ronnie. ¡°Under too long. Vin pulled them from the riverbed.¡± ¡°You¡¯re fine?¡± I frowned. ¡°You¡¯re a good swimmer?¡± Before processing my request, Gast touched Ronnie¡¯s face lightly. When the giant refused to crumble to dust, the woman huffed a small sigh. Then she glanced at me. ¡°I float,¡± the Strain said, rubbing her belly and sending ripples through it. ¡°Are you sayin¡¯¡­¡± My mouth hung open. ¡°Bein¡¯ fat helps you- ¡° It was a stupid revelati?n, by a stupid gir?, at a stupid time. ?e were all caught up in our own relief at Ronnie¡¯s survival: heads too deep in the sand to notice the arrows arcing above. Maybe the night and the fog would¡¯ve blocked it regardless. But Vin noticed ¨C I don¡¯t think he was capable of failing to. His jaw worked, all his eyes twitching t?wards us, but the only sound to e?erge from his throat was a dull growl. There was no warning wh?n he hurled Maddie and Taja into the forest like they were no more than two hefty pieces of luggage. Gast had a better view of the sky, and she seized Ronnie¡¯s leg and began trying to pull her. By the time I heard the shafts in the air, it was t?? late. Vin thr?? Gast an? I a?op Ron?ie, the? hi??elf over the th??? o? us. The whip-thud of falling arrows surrounded me as I squirmed beneath the oppressive chill of his body. Fo?? sh??ders wracked his body. The volley ended, and the Ravenblood pushed himself into a slovenly stumble, four shafts hanging from his back. His eyes blinked. His arms groped for his back. Black blood oozed from the wounds. ? ??????? ??????? ???. ¡°?¡¯ ? ???????,¡± he said. ?? ??? ???? ?????????. ¡°???¡­¡± I ???????, ?? ?? ? ??? ???? ????? ??????. ¡°????¡­¡± ?? ??????. ¡°??? ??? ?????? ???. ?¡¯ ?? ????.¡± ?? ??????? ?????? -- ??? ???? ?????????? ???? ?? ???? ?? ??. ¡°???????????, ?????????¡± ?¡¯ ?? ?????? ?????? ?????? ?? ????? ? ????? ?? ??????. ??? ? ???? ????? ?????. ?????????. W??t bu???ess d??s a ?hug h??e try??? to heal? ¡°We need to move,¡± he told us, eyes drifting sluggishly, then staggered away. How could any of us deny that?
It only got worse. Amongst the thousand little injuries borne from my roll down the hill was a small twinge in my hip. I was familiar with the ache: the kind old bodies blathered on about constantly and young bodies laughed off with a few nights¡¯ rest. I hadn¡¯t got a few nights¡¯ rest ¨C I hadn¡¯t even gotten a minute¡¯s, and as the ache transitioned from a dull throb to the reckless swings of an incompetent smith on red-hot metal, I was about as far from laughing as I¡¯d ever been. Vin snapped ¡®Right,¡¯ and another form emerged from the fog. I swung a trembling arm at it with all the stolid determination of a woodcutter doing the same thing, day after day after day, but with none of the strength, leaving my blade to skitter off the soldier¡¯s armour like a frightened spider. All I could think was ¡®At least it¡¯s not another damn ghost.¡¯ Ronnie ¨C having lost the axe that previously haunted her body in the river and replaced it with Gast ¨C punched the woman I¡¯d missed in the head so hard her body performed an entire cartwheel in the air and landed on her feet. I might¡¯ve thought she¡¯d never got hit at all, except for a gory mess of a nose and a jaw flapping far too low. She fell behind us as we continued onwards without breaking stride. Killing people was a taste I¡¯d worked hard to acquire, but even if the task hadn¡¯t soured a smidge in recent months, the constant repetition was enough to turn even the most colourful task flavourless. Murder was best done full of enough fire to make you believe you¡¯re a god yourself. And my entire body felt like a spent coal. I¡¯d make a pretty pathetic god. God of Premeditated Murder, maybe. Perhaps the God of Sore Legs. God of Rolling Very Quickly Down Hills seemed most likely. The Lizard? The Ox? The Fox? Better make room, or else the Ball might roll on top of them. I wheezed a laugh that felt like coughing broken glass, but hadn¡¯t the breath to share the joke. I had to laugh. Enough to keep everything else obstructed. With my head turned towards the sky, my foot was blind to the root that caught it and yanked my entire body downwards. I landed heavily, stunned, but someone was already pulling me onto my feet and I was running again. My legs hurt from running. My lungs hurt from breathing. My hip hurt from falling. My arms hurt from killing ¨C though, to be fair, they likely hurt a lot less than the soldiers they left dead. I¡¯d have liked to have dropped dead myself, but all evidence suggested that hurt even worse. But if Davian showed up offering to sink a knife into my back and finish the job he started, I might be sorely tempted. I cackled hard enough for my vision to swim, which wasn¡¯t hard at all, and lumbered after Vin. The sight of his back, soaked with midnight blood, obliterated the forced humour. The arrows were gone but the wounds remained, despite the Lizardblood he¡¯d claimed coursed through his veins. The Ravenblood ran in fits of gasping breaths, so silent I only noticed them by the cloud of white breath that followed him. My skin was soaked with sweat, but my body was wracked with shivers. The dogs barked distantly, yet even through the fugue of exhaustion squeezing my mind I noticed the sound was closer than it had been moments ago. Vin barrelled into a man, running him through on his sword even as his other arm sunk that strange bone-spike of into the soldier¡¯s skull. Gore splashed across his forehead. I swore, but Taja was already there, wiping it away. Vin blinked rapidly, then halted. I took a dozen steps past him before realising what had happened. When I finally finished blinking in mute incomprehension, I collapsed onto my back, amongst the others. Gast had been carried ¨C the lucky tub of lard ¨C so she didn¡¯t need to. ¡°Why do we stop?¡± the Strain asked, and I wanted to kill her. There was a strangled groan as Maddie raised a threatening hand towards her, somewhat ruined by the fact she sounded like a dying goat. His brows furrowed. ¡°Why¡¯re we running?¡± ¡°They¡¯ll,¡± I panted, ¡°kill us.¡± ¡°The¡­ Baylar. Right.¡± His eyes scanned the trees at mismatched paces. ¡°You all rest. In a tree. Somewhere safe. We¡¯ve time.¡± Maddie responded amidst jagged pants. ¡°What¡¯re you doing?¡± she slobbered. ¡°Ending the hounds.¡± He began walking back the direction we came. I blinked at his fading silhouette, then threw myself upright and shambled after him. Vin whirled fast enough to make me flinch. ¡°No,¡± he snapped. ¡°Stay here.¡± ¡°I can- ¡° My protests paused to haul in a great breath of air. ¡°- help you, bastard.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not- Or am- ¡° He clenched his eyes shut and growled. ¡°You cannot help me.¡± ¡°Go stick yer head in a monster¡¯s maw,¡± I sneered. ¡°You need all the help you can get, Ravenblood.¡± He jabbed a finger into my chest. ¡°Stay. Here.¡± I seized it, but hadn¡¯t the energy nor the strength to tear it away. ¡°Go. Die. Moron.¡± The Ravenblood smiled thinly. ¡°I don¡¯t think I can.¡± Then he turned and sprinted away, far too quickly for me to do anything but follow his orders. A cold sweat broke out over my abused body. He was our eyes in a sea of enemies, and without him we were blind. Any idiot could kill a man, but a pack of dogs and two Blooded? Why take that risk? He couldn¡¯t die? Avri itself could be killed. If even the gods themselves could fall, what chance did a Ravenblood with delusions of immortality have? I wished my gaze could pierce the fog around us, but if any of my fervent hopes were fulfilled we wouldn¡¯t be collapsed in the middle of a forest full of people that wanted to kill us, without Whip and without Davian and without Jana and the kids I¡¯d risked my life to save. Sometimes things just go wrong, and there¡¯s nothing you could¡¯ve done to prevent it. I didn¡¯t believe this was one of those times. We waited. Our panting faded into bated breath. The hounds howled their bloodlust into the fog. Ronnie broke a large branch from a tree for use as a club, Yowler¡¯s eyes flickering cautiously from their back. Maddie clutched her short-sword in the wrong grip. Taja stared into the spaces between trees. Gast listened with her eyes closed. I stretched and shook my limbs and limped back and forth. Then the howling was replaced with frantic yelps, then sharp wails, then nothing at all. With their braying stripped away dozens of short calls and blown horns were revealed to us: instruments for the Baylarian forces to gradually cleave towards our location. As we lay beneath the trees, waiting for our mad leader to return, the fog through the canopy began to glow with flickers of orange. The sun was rising, chasing the night away to return to its throne once more. Where it would burn away the layers of mist until we were completely exposed, and all eyes on sky and earth would know our location. Droplets of water beaded on the edges of blood-red leaves as the hoarfrost began to melt. Branches wept crystalline tears even as they lost their rigidity, once more capable of bending and tearing their gnarled, thorny branches into skin. I broke a long icicle from an overhanging branch and crunched it between my teeth, the freeze sending shards of pain into my skull while cooling my overheated body. Between the drooping of a leaf as it gathered droplets on its edge and it springing back to life, Vin¡¯s large silhouette appeared through the fraying borders of the fog. Those of us seated staggered upright ¨C Gast needing assistance from both myself and Taja ¨C in anticipation. He stomped into the clearing. Maddie stifled a gasp. The first thing I noticed were his arms. Each were covered in patchy chunks of fur, soaked with a mixture of red from whatever he had killed and thick drops of black oozing from the bites sunk into his arm. A flap of flesh hung from his forearm. His knuckles quivered. The second were his clothes. His jacket was in tatters, as was the shirt underneath. An ivory white plating gleamed from underneath. The third was his eye. The left in his skull ¨C once an earthy brown at odds with its deep black counterpart ¨C had been torn from his face. The entire left side of his face leaked gore. I gripped the hilt of my sword. ¡°Vin?¡± Maddie asked. He frowned, the expression twisting the gouge in his face. ¡°Vin?¡± After a pause, he continued. ¡°Oh. I ran into a few extra.¡± ¡°Are you¡­¡± His eye-socket gaped. ¡°There¡¯s no time. You need to keep moving.¡± I swallowed. ¡°Jus¡¯ let us- ¡° ¡°No,¡± he barked. ¡°Move.¡± My hackles raised, then fell at the raw need in his ruined face. We continued onwards. My eyes were fixed on the path ahead, but every hair on my neck bristled at the man walking behind us.
The sun rose. The fog was stripped away, layer by layer. Suddenly, the Heartlands were at an end. The red foliage, pink earth, gnarled heartwoods, unearthly mushrooms, crimson lichen, sharp grass and ubiquitous speartrees halted mere steps in front of us against a long strip of muddy snow. Past that were trees beginning to grow small, green leaves; their branches neither sharp nor gnarled. One was shaped like an elongated pyramid, limbs extending horizontally to sprout green needles. A few bushes rustled in the breeze that ran along the open space. Sprouts of rich green were beginning to poke from the muddy soil. I could count on one hand the number of times I¡¯d left the Heartlands. It always struck me how similar the plants were, in places where everything didn¡¯t bloom red. How unchanging; how immortal. The land could go a millennium without trying anything different. Yet when blood watered this earth, it remained an apathetic brown. Out here, when people died, the earth didn¡¯t care. There would be no Aching to save us from the strip of Baylarian soldiers standing across from us. Some two hundred yellow-clad individuals faced us: a wall of shields bristling with spears and short-swords arrayed in front of a row of archers. Around a dozen cavalry stood aloofly to the side, watching as their massive horses stomped the ground eagerly. A banner was raised at the back: a hexagonal turtle swimming through three thin lines of river-water. We stood in the protective shadow of a strange, red-leafed fern. Its thick leaves ought to break the outlines of our bodies enough to prevent any from seeing us. But with the rest of their forces coming in at our backs, we needed to move soon, lest we be crushed between the two forces. ¡°Davian,¡± I muttered, placing a hand over my eyes. ¡°Bloody fool.¡± ¡°Do we¡­¡± Taja¡¯s pupils shook. ¡°Go around?¡± Ronnie made two distinct gestures ¨C I recognised ¡®No¡¯, but not its antecessor. When no translation was forthcoming, I looked to Gast. ¡°No going back,¡± the Strain explained. Maddie swallowed. ¡°I can- ¡° ¡°No, you¡¯re not,¡± I told her. ¡°I didn¡¯t even- ¡° I waved a hand. ¡°Doesn¡¯t take a genius to figure it out. Give yerself up? Like Davian tried to? They¡¯ll slit our necks jus¡¯ t¡¯see us bleed.¡± ¡°We can negotiate- ¡° ¡°I¡¯m not gonna do no godsdamned negotiation,¡± I erupted, snarling, ¡°with the rats who killed half of us unless it¡¯s with their face gettin¡¯ ground in the dirt!¡± A short pause as my words echoed. Taja¡¯s lips thinned into a grim line. ¡°¡­I won¡¯t either.¡± Ronnie shook their head, teeth bared. Gast glanced at Maddie, then shrugged. ¡°It was never an option, Head Maleen,¡± Vin rumbled. The vicious injuries he¡¯d received had barely stopped bleeding, but somehow the sight of wounds that would outright incapacitate a normal man had him only giving an occasional wince as his movements stretched or reopened cuts. The left side of his face was dominated by a blackly gaping hole. Despite my efforts, my vision continually gravitated towards it. ¡°I¡¯ll get you all out of here,¡± he promised. ¡°How?¡± I scoffed. ¡°Grow some wings an¡¯ fly us over, Mr. Ravenblood?¡± Vin¡¯s six remaining eyes bored a hole into their ranks. ¡°We just need to get there.¡± ¡°There¡¯s no cover,¡± noted Maddie. ¡°That many archers won¡¯t miss all of us.¡± I nodded. ¡°We¡¯ll make a pretty set of hedgehogs by the time we make it.¡± Vin turned to Gast. ¡°Can you change trajectory of that many arrows?¡± ¡°No.¡± She paused, brows furrowing. ¡°Yes. With more Godsblood.¡± ¡°How much?¡± ¡°A lot.¡± Vin nodded slowly. ¡°¡­More than you¡¯ve taken before?¡± ¡°Yes. More than other Blooded could give.¡± ¡°Whaddaya mean?¡± I asked. ¡°Vin¡¯s blood is potent,¡± she told us. ¡°Like he¡¯s got a lotta Ravenblood?¡± I glanced at the large, too-many-eyed man. Gast shrugged, then turned to Vin. ¡°You should drink water.¡± I began to retrieve by waterskin, but stopped when Vin waved a hand. ¡°No,¡± he said. ¡°You need it more than I do.¡± My gaze darted towards his ravaged left eye, still leaking some viscous juice. After a brief moment of hesitation, I took the waterskin out. It sloshed thinly. Vin refused it. ¡°Lizardblood, remember?¡± he said with a grin. ¡°D¡¯you really think I¡¯m gonna- ¡° ¡°You¡¯ll feel it,¡± interrupted Gast. ¡°The loss of divinity.¡± He gave a smile that didn¡¯t reach his eyes. ¡°I could use a bit less.¡± ¡°It¡¯ll return,¡± she noted. ¡°After it¡¯s used, I know.¡± He sighed. ¡°Such is the case with any shed blood.¡± ¡°So, arrows are dealt with,¡± I began. Ronnie shot Gast a thumbs-up. ¡°But there¡¯re still cavalry, the entire godsdamned formation, and ¨C if we don¡¯t kill everyone, an¡¯ I doubt we will ¨C another five-minute run ¡®til Vane. An¡¯ there¡¯s undoubtedly a few Blooded hidin¡¯ twixt it all. I mean¡­¡± I chewed my lip. ¡°I figure we nab some shields an¡¯ scrunch up together when th¡¯ horsemen charge ¨C show ¡®em some real turtlin¡¯ ¨C but we needa kill them horses if we want any chance of makin¡¯ the run. Whaddayou think, Vin?¡± I glanced at the Ravenblood, then flinched. All of Vin¡¯s eyes were fixed on a single spot. Their pupils dilated. His empty eye-socket yawned strings of gore. He leaned forward. No one spoke. My mouth was suddenly dry. He took a step forward. My hand moved to grab his belt and haul him back, but I thought better of touching him. ¡°Woah, Vin,¡± I said, failing to hide the warble in my voice. ¡°You, uh¡­ Don¡¯t go out.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t recognise him at first,¡± he muttered, gaze unmoving. ¡°Who?¡± He raised an arm and extended a single finger. ¡°Davian.¡± My sight reeled across the invisible line his finger cast until it was finally pulled to the old Strain ¨C or just old man, I supposed ¨C himself. Slumping on the back of one of the warhorses, hands placed demurely together. I squinted. Not placed. Tied together. Even from the distance, I could tell his face was far more deformed than usual. Ronnie signed something. ¡°A few fingers are broken. Some fingernails have been torn out.¡± Vin swallowed. ¡°He¡¯s missing teeth. They¡¯ve taken his boots. He¡¯s¡­ Gods.¡± His jaw creaked audibly. A single one of his eyes leaked a long stream of water. ¡°He¡¯s been tortured.¡± Maddie repeated my thoughts. ¡°But why?¡± Her eyes were wide. ¡°He was on their side.¡± Ronnie buried their head in their hands. ¡°He must not have told them anythin¡¯. Or maybe they just like makin¡¯ faces a pretty shade o¡¯ purple.¡± I barked a hollow laugh. ¡°Bloody Davian.¡± ¡°D-do we¡­¡± Taja stuttered. ¡°Get him?¡± They must¡¯ve been torturing him the entire time we were running. But even on horseback, even with the winding, circuitous route their movements had forced us to make, how could they have forged through the unbroken wilderness before us? They must have been familiar with the area. I¡¯d never cut up a person myself ¨C bent fingers and tore flesh until answers came tumbling out. That was always Mother¡¯s job. But I¡¯d heard the screams. I¡¯d given myself a lot of reasons, but in the end they had always struck an discordant note within me. Knowing Davian ¨C stupid, bastard, old, worn Davian ¨C had screamed the same way¡­ Even so, I clenched my teeth and turned my head away to answer Taja. ¡°We¡¯ll die- ¡° ¡°Yes,¡± interrupted Vin. His ravaged eye-socket leered at Davian. ¡°We do.¡± ¡°We¡¯ll die,¡± I reiterated, keeping a watchful gaze on Vin¡¯s hands and feet for sudden movements. ¡°Maybe you won¡¯t, but th¡¯ rest of us¡¯re mortal as anythin¡¯. I understand you wanna help him, but you¡¯d jus¡¯ be tradin¡¯ our lives for Davian¡¯s.¡± He raised a hand to shield his one remaining eye but I flinched before I could stop myself. Judging by the sudden tightening of his face, he noticed. ¡°I¡¯ll lead you all to safety before going back for him.¡± Maddie winced. ¡°That isn¡¯t- ¡° ¡°It¡¯s stupid,¡± I snapped. ¡°There¡¯re nearly two hundred- ¡° Vin nodded. ¡°Sixteen cavalry, one-hundred and seventy-seven infantry ¨C fifty-nine shield-bearers, spearmen, and hammermen ¨C and fourteen archers. Two-hundred and seven.¡± My estimation was closer than I thought it¡¯d be. ¡°Yeah. Two an¡¯ seven. Siik knows how many Blooded- ¡° ¡°Three. Lizardblood, Oxblood, Owlblood.¡± Everyone except Gast stared at him. ¡°An Owlblood?¡± asked Taja. ¡°That¡¯s bad,¡± mused Maddie. ¡°How¡¯s Gast gonna block arrows if an actual Blooded¡¯s workin¡¯ against her?¡± ¡°A Spiderblood would be worse,¡± Vin told us. ¡°Yoot¡¯s ilk are easier to account for.¡± ¡°What¡¯re you- ¡° ¡°They¡¯ll enhance the first few volleys, and use some kind of bloodtech projectile or explosive if that fails. Possibly a variation of the blinder we used back at the farmstead if they¡¯ve already sifted through Heltia¡¯s ruins. If that fails, they¡¯ll have to move closer to foul our footing. None of these are good, but so long as we close our eyes and block our ears at the right moments, Gast should be able to handle the rest.¡± ¡°You¡¯re sure?¡± ¡°Any other, more devastating tactics will likely kill some of their own.¡± He paused, gazing at empty space, before continuing in a subdued tone. ¡°They would have to be truly desperate to resort to them.¡± ¡°What if they are?¡± ¡°They¡­ won¡¯t be.¡± He gestured vaguely at those of us gathered beneath the tree. ¡°Would you be?¡± I scowled. ¡°I didn¡¯t think so.¡± Vin crouched down, his blood-soaked back facing Gast. ¡°Take however much blood you need. We don¡¯t have long to plan.¡±
At the end of it all, our plan was so excruciatingly simple that it was a wonder we¡¯d needed to discuss it at all. Vin sprinted from the shadows of the tree with Gast, Maddie and Taja quickly following. Ronnie and I emerged moments later, taking our place in the formation¡¯s wings as our feet left snow and sunk into the thin strip of mud dividing the Heartlands from the rest of the world. It clung to our feet desperately, but the hysteria of earth would always come second to that of mortals. We quickly left the mud. Patches of delicate green grass met my boot for scarcely an instant before I sprung past. I stared at Vin¡¯s back, holding my breathing in an iron-grip even as I demanded the body I¡¯d spent the entire night wringing every drop of energy its flesh could possibly give yield just a bit more. My vision rocked in time to the pounding of my feet, and my eyes flickered towards the wall of yellow ahead, then back to the large man¡¯s bloodied spine. We ran as fast as the Ox itself, yet could not outrun the arrows. Distantly, some indistinct call commanded the ranks of archers to nock arrows. Then they slithered from the land in front of us to the sky above, gleaming purple in their transition towards their apex. For a moment, they basked in the dawn sky, leaving black outlines in the sea of mottled crimson lavishing above, yet both gravity and magic refused to allow them to stay there for long. They fell faster than they should have. As we ran Ronnie placed a hand on Gast¡¯s back as the other Strain gazed upwards ¨C her steady gaze performing calculations perpendicular to conventional reasoning ¨C then steadily tapped at the massive runestone strapped to her arm. A blinding glow emanated from the device, forcing all around her to close their eyes. Its radiance pierced through my eyelids, accompanied by thin thuds from every direction. Yet all of my focus lay on the soles of my feet: dissecting every single sensation from them in a manic bid to not trip on some errant arrow, fall, and have Gast¡¯s protection leave me behind. An arm flailed into my side as Maddie shouted, and I hauled her upright. The light faded and I opened eyes still alight with the afterimage of that massive glow. Between blinks I found the faces of the Baylarians close enough to count individual wrinkles: some stern or solemn or gleeful or nervous or outright confused beneath bronze helms as they watched six people charge towards a force they could not possible overcome. The shield-bearer directly in line of our charge took a single step back, but the crush of soldiers behind prevented her from moving further. From behind the shields a set of spears extended, readied to dive through skin and organ and flesh to emerge into empty air once again. A stolid middle-aged soldier clapped the trembling man beside him on the shoulder. From somewhere a drum beat, and the line resolved itself to receive us. Then Vin howled at them ¨C jagged and discordant, as if two screams had been fit into one ¨C and bounded forward faster than I¡¯d seen anyone ¨C Blooded or otherwise ¨C moved before. Several of those holding the front of the line flinched backwards, wide-eyed. They hadn¡¯t the time for anything else. He smashed into them in a blur of flashing onyx, blade darting like a minnow as the bone-spur on his left arm wrenched shields and smashed faces and shoved soldiers to the ground. People flew in the air. Soldiers fell with red grins on their throat or skull bent in the wrong shape. In three seconds, he must¡¯ve killed nearly a dozen people. The army¡¯s three layers were torn almost immediately. But there was no time for any more quiet observation. I¡¯d caught up. A man on the front of the line had turned his shield to face the Ravenblood, allowing my blade to cleave cleanly through the back of his neck, and then I was with Vin amidst all the screaming and heat. I stabbed a woman through her armpit and elbowed a spearman in his face. A shield-bearer screamed towards me and jabbed his short-sword towards my torso. I tried to move around it but bounced off a man holding a hammer and chisel towards me as if it were some magic ward so I staggered the opposite direction, whipping my blade into the shield-bearer¡¯s face with a crunch. When the haft of a spear whacked against my gut I turned and found myself gripped by a large man, beard bristling above meaty arms and a lightly armoured torso. I brought my sword up and tried to bash its hilt against his nose but he¡¯d grabbed my wrist and began squeezing. I wrenched my arm away but his hand already held a knife diving towards me, and I stepped backwards for more space and halted against another person which forced me to catch its tiny blade with my own. The far larger person bore it downwards, spittle flying from between his clenched teeth, and I slowly sunk to my knees. He reared his leg back for a kick which sailed past my head as I slipped aside and slit his femoral artery, crawled between his legs and stabbed someone else¡¯s ankles behind him and then sprung upright into the open, covered in spit, throat alight with a ragged roar. ¡°Come on!¡± Vin shouted from ahead. He and I had opened a large enough space to allow everyone to slip through the infantry and begin sprinting towards the archers. I was the furthest behind, but with most of the soldiers behind me unable to see how many of their fellows we¡¯d killed, it would take a moment for the officers to corral the rest into pursuing us. From Ronnie¡¯s back, their dog barked incessantly. There were moans and there were cries and there were screams. And there was someone drawing closer to me from behind. I grunted, ducked under another hissing blow and slashed a man who¡¯d fled the crush across the face. I left him clutching his face between gurgling howls as I sprinted away. The archers waited. We had to make sure they wouldn¡¯t fire as we were running the rest of the distance to Fort Vane. Vin had attempted to argue, but the simplest and cleanest answer to the problem their arrows posed was to kill as many of them as possible. The distance between the group and the fourteen archers would take barely ten seconds to cross. It was enough space for a few of the cannier ones to recover from their shock and loose arrows towards us. But Gast was pushing in front of Vin and slamming her shining great-shield to the ground. Every arrow fired flew towards the shield like flies to honey, cracking against its metal surface with such ferocity that the force sent Gast toppling to the ground. The lightly armoured archers muttered trembling words of encouragement to one another. The round Strain was hauled upright a moment later by the combined effort of Maddie and Taja, but the momentary pause gave the archers another chance to fire. I managed to dive behind Gast¡¯s shield a mere breath before they loosed their payload. But this time, her shield wasn¡¯t the only thing to glow purple. While we were distracted, a horsewoman previously close to the archers had pranced further away. Her huge round eyes and lack of expression betrayed her as an Owlblood. Both Vin and I barked a warning, but the arrows were already in the air. Once again, Gast¡¯s shield shone as her fingers danced across the runestone. Yet the moment the projectiles were released, they emanated a deep purple and swerved away ¨C far too wildly for them to hit any of us in mundane circumstances. But each still gravitated towards the shield, so they arced back towards the six of us huddled together. Some whipped in front of us and broke against the ground, their momentum entirely spent. Others snapped against the shield. But some turned sharply enough to curve behind the shield. I managed to yank Taja backwards an instant prior to an arrow sailing through where his body had been. Neither Vin nor Maddie were so lucky. From my position on the ground I saw Vin snap his left arm out in front of Ronnie¡¯s head, which immediately erupted in gore as an arrow pierced almost entirely through his forearm. He keeled around his impaled arm with a strangled groan. Beside him, Maddie slipped and fell heavily on her side. It took me several moments to realise one of her thighs had been shot. She blinked astonished tears onto the grass. I shoved myself upright. ¡°Bastards!¡± I shrieked, fire filling every inch of my body. Despite still holding their bows, they didn¡¯t have time for another shot before I was among them, chewing through each like a wolf amidst hens. I opened one¡¯s throat in the same swing I decapitated another. Broke through a bow held in quivering defence with two hacks, then ripped through the shoulder beneath. Smashed a woman in the head with my hilt, impaled another, then stabbed a third in the throat with a knife before I had even ripped my blade from their comrade. A massive club split the skull of a man in front of me as Ronnie stomped into the fray, face narrowed in grim determination. One flailed at me with a knife, causing me to take two steps backwards and dismember their entire forearm. A flash of a blade from a man in front forced me to crouch, pummel his crotch twice then jam the entirety of my blade through his chin and out the top of his head. The blood sprayed and I felt my snarling grimace transform into a grin. I¡¯d felt this way before. In places where bodies were pressed against one another, my limbs burning as I strived to kill everyone around me. Full of raw hatred for people I¡¯d never met. All-consuming lust for the sight of the blood of those that faced me; indefatigable proof of my worth writ with brutal simplicity. The lute strapped to my back couldn¡¯t sing to me like the sword could. In the stinking, spitting, thrashing crush of the melee, I was certain nothing could. Then there was no one left standing to hate, and all I had was a gore-smeared body, heavy limbs, and the cold air against my face. Behind me, someone gurgled a plea for their mother. Someone else begged and bargained with the blood leaving their body. Others just died. I looked at the sword in my hand; the thing I¡¯d spent most of my life drilling into every fibre of my muscles. Steel dressed in the torn remnants of other people¡¯s bodies. It used to shine. I wished it still did. The battlefield was a mess. Ronnie leaned on their club beside me, massive body almost as bloody as my own. Their face was twisted in a rictus of dull agony as they cradled an arm against their chest. Yowler barked and whined and moaned from their back. Behind us, the infantry had begun to wheel around at the behest of several mounted officers. Most bore an expression of disbelieving bafflement at the sight of us amongst the ruins of their archers, thought to be safe under the wall of shields and bronze they were meant to form. In their eyes, it must¡¯ve seemed like we¡¯d sprouted wings and flown over their entire formation. Those beside the point we¡¯d broken through knew better. Confusion was still scrawled across their faces, but underneath the blood and gore it slowly took a different, darker light. If those remaining managed to reach us with a charge, we would be crushed under the two-thirds of the infantry that still stood. I blinked at that number. Blinked at the sight of so many missing from the hundred-seventy-seven that had originally stood before us. Around fifty bodies lay in the bloody hole we¡¯d pierced through: necks severed; skulls pulped; lives obliterated. We¡¯d been among them for seconds. I¡¯d killed maybe six. My eyes were drawn farther out, towards Vin¡¯s blood-soaked body. He was withdrawing his boot from a pulped corpse that lay beside the fallen body of a horse. It screamed shrilly at a severed foreleg that would surely kill it. The Owlblood and her mount, I assumed. Every inch of his body was caked in strings of gore, as if he¡¯d waded through a cloying swamp of innards. Blood trickled from his nose and six remaining eyes. The Ravenblood ran a quivering hand through his hair. His eyes were fixed on each of us. The ruined half of his face turned towards me, and I looked away. Maddie limped towards Fort Vane, supported on one side by Taja. Gast stumbled in their wake, chest heaving. It was a clear shot to our destination: the walls that had seemed squat the previous day now dauntingly tall. A few more minutes of sprinting to add to the constant running that had filled our night. Its moat was wide enough to break a charge, but the hefty drawbridge would take time to lower and raise. Our little princess had been certain they would let us in. Which they¡¯d need to, because any attempt to swim the moat and scale the battlements to open the gate would likely end with a broken neck. If they didn¡¯t, I¡¯d have to try anyway. My eyes drifted back to the three as I grabbed Ronnie and began jogging towards them. A flicker of motion on my peripheral vision caught my attention. The cavalry ¨C bereft of eight officers which had whipped their horses over to scream order into the infantry ¨C were beginning to wheel towards them. I swore and sped into a sprint. Across from Ronnie and I, Vin did the same. As the eight remaining riders urged their horses from a canter into a gallop, it slowly dawned on me that none of us would make it before the horses trampled all three of them. We screamed warnings to the three of them, and Gast blearily turned her head in the direction we were pointing. She froze, her eyes locked onto the stallions ¨C some of the beasts Blooded in their own right and larger than any other creature on the battlefield ¨C bearing down upon them. A hand danced over the slate of runes attached to her hands. In response, all eight horses¡¯ legs lit up, and each went down in a tangle of horseflesh, as if splintered under the talons of some feckless god. They screamed and screamed, all rolling eyes and sweat-covered hide, spittle flying as their masters howled, crushed beneath their mounts¡¯ bodies. One horse wobbled upright, only for a bone to crumple like a dry twig underneath it. Two men survived the horses¡¯ fall. One was an Oxblood, who¡¯d been thrown clear of it all by the bucking of his gargantuan steed. Once he staggered upright, the man towered over the rest of the battlefield. His gaze fell on the mass of broken bodies, then his wide, disbelieving eyes fell onto Gast, Taja, and Maddie. Suddenly, the Blooded¡¯s ugly features twisted into rage beyond mortal comprehension. Behind him was Davian, bound arms bruised where they¡¯d shielded him from the fall. The giant flexed his meaty palms. A low rumble emanated from his chest as he began stomping towards them. When the Oxblood managed a full sprint, he would be as unstoppable as the wind itself. Davian must¡¯ve known this as well, because he¡¯d hauled a sword from the one of the dying horsemen. After a limping burst of speed, the far smaller man was close enough to throw his entire body upwards, into a ragged, sloppy swing. Any warrior worth investing Oxblood into should¡¯ve noticed his footsteps. But the Blooded couldn¡¯t be the same man he¡¯d been as a mortal. I wondered if he could hear anything in his divine rage. The blade slipped underneath the Oxblood''s lamellar armour to slam through skin, muscle, bone, and finally intestines. The old man howled as the impact shuddered through his broken fingers and staggered backwards, leaving the sword in the Oxblood. Who turned and kicked Davian with enough force to tear the wound across his own torso; to break every frail bone in the old man¡¯s torso in a series of snaps that in my mind sounded as if an entire forest had been torn asunder. In a sound that I knew I would never forget. The Oxblood collapsed, muscles no longer able to support his immense weight. Davian spun through the air like a ragdoll tossed by an angry child. He slammed against the grass. He rolled. He slowed. Bones stuck in every direction. His lips flapped, silent except for broken shards of noise. Ronnie, Vin and I finally arrived at the others and stared as Davian halted in front of the line of infantry, who had finally finished rotating themselves to face us. Distant as we were, I could still see them raise their feet. ¡°No,¡± Vin mumbled. He shivered like a frightened dog. They advanced. ¡°No, no,¡± he said. A boot fell upon Davian¡¯s shaking fingers with a crunch. ¡°Stop,¡± he said quietly, then continued at greater volume. ¡°Stop! Please!¡± But they could no more hear our cries than a child who had just seen the world collapse around them. Another boot crushed the old man¡¯s crooked elbow flat. ¡°No, no, no, no.¡± Vin pressed his skull between his two arms blackened by their own blood. Another boot pressed down on Davian¡¯s face, and then he vanished behind a forest of legs, inexorably moving onwards. Vin¡¯s sword dropped from limp fingers as he wrapped his arms around himself, eyes fixed on the point that old know-it-all had vanished. That was how I knew Davian was dead. ¡°Vin,¡± Taja said, and grabbed the torn remains of the Ravenblood¡¯s tunic. The man flinched away from the touch. I blinked. I swallowed. I rubbed moisture from my eyes. ¡°We needa move.¡± It took me a moment to recognise the words were my own. Vin said nothing. The army of infantry began speeding up. I worked saliva into my dry mouth. ¡°We need to godsdamn move, people.¡± Ronnie nodded through watery eyes. Maddie gave a wide-eyed nod. Gast bobbed her head. Taja nodded, lips in a thin line. Vin didn¡¯t move. ¡°You lumbering oaf.¡± The insult fell limply from my lips. ¡°We have to run.¡± ¡°It¡¯s all my fault,¡± he breathed. ¡°What¡¯re you talking about?¡± I finally snapped. ¡°Move, you damned fool!¡± ¡°I made the plan,¡± he said, gaze unmoving. ¡°I lied to you about who we were; where we were going. I organised the caravan for Head Maleen.¡± ¡°Tully?¡± Maddie breathed. ¡°Is that¡­¡± Her voice cracked, and her face folded into sudden tears. ¡°You aren¡¯t Tully, Vin,¡± Taja said, and the huge man¡¯s breathing grew increasingly erratic in response. ¡°You¡¯re not her. It cannot be your fault.¡± His eyes quivered, flickering between all of us yet not truly seeing anything. ¡°I killed Whip.¡± ¡°There was nothing you could do!¡± I snarled, surprised by the sudden severity of the emotion that welled within me. ¡°Nothing! She- She told us what to do! We all agreed to this! We all wanted this!¡± ¡°No one wanted this!¡± He jammed his sword in its sheath, opening his arms to the death around us. ¡°And I knew, I knew it would end this way. I could¡¯ve pushed harder in Spires, to avoid all of this ¨C persuaded you or sabotaged everything ¨C but I said- ¡° He gritted his teeth, blinking the one remaining eye on his face rapidly. ¡°- I said, ¡®It¡¯s not my business,¡¯¡± Despite his voice cracking into sharp, rough tones, he continued still. ¡°That carrion call, cowardice summarised in a single line, and I did nothing, and the second time on the hill when I was seduced by the thing I wanted most, and there¡¯s nothing,¡± he moaned, ¡°I did to stop any of this.¡± ¡°We made our choices! The past is the past,¡± I insisted with trembling lips. ¡°It¡¯s done. It¡¯s gone. We can¡¯t do anything; We move on.¡± But the time for persuading Vin had passed long ago. I was only speaking to myself. Tears leaked from each of the Ravenblood¡¯s eyes. The ravaged chasm of his empty eye-socket wept onyx blood. ¡°I killed her in every way that matters! My mistakes caused everything! I killed her! I slit her throat myself!¡± ¡°You didn¡¯t- ¡° I stopped. Whip hadn¡¯t died from a slit throat. ¡°Who¡¯re you talkin¡¯ about?¡± ¡°They won¡¯t kill me again. I¡¯ll protect you, this time,¡± he sobbed. ¡°I¡¯ll keep you safe. I¡¯ll keep you safe.¡± Ronnie¡¯s shoulders quietly shook as the giant wept. They faced towards the oncoming horde of Baylarian soldiers. ¡°Vin,¡± Maddie pleaded. ¡°We can¡¯t do this without you.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll protect you,¡± he promised. ¡°I¡¯ll keep you safe.¡± I grabbed the side of his shirt. ¡°Please.¡± But Vin wasn¡¯t there. All that remained was that same phrase, muttered endlessly by a frozen body, as if every minute contour of his soul was bent towards a single task. Calcified by a substance too intractable to budge at charging army or apocalypse. A thing that could only be still. Frozen in an eternal flinch. ¡°I¡¯ll keep you safe,¡± echoed endlessly, far quieter than the charging ranks of soldiers yet dominating my consciousness all the same. But even as Ronnie braced themselves for the impact of the wave of human flesh, Taja, Gast, and Maddie all stared at Vin¡¯s face in abject horror. I slowly inched around his body, and saw what they had. Vin¡¯s mouth was closed. The words continued from him, regardless. With slow, trembling steps, I followed the sound around to his back, where I¡¯d thought the wounds of the arrowheads had long since coagulated. Instead, the rent fragments of his tunic revealed his darkly bloodied back, where a toothless, tongueless maw quietly spoke. ¡°I¡¯ll keep you safe,¡± it said. ¡°I¡¯ll keep you safe.¡± My vision blurred too much to see. I was crying. I had been for some time. I sheathed my sword, and raised its scabbarded form above my head. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I told it. Perhaps he was too focused on the other enemies. Perhaps he truly could not move. Perhaps he had forgotten we weren¡¯t sculptures. Whatever the reason, Vin didn¡¯t move when I brought the weapon down on the back of his head. He listed sideways for a moment, then fell, motionless. I held the blade for a second. Then I drew it again. ¡°Ronnie,¡± I said, wiping my face, ¡°grab Vin. We need to get him to Vane. He¡¯ll get the blood out.¡± Chapter 65 - Fort Vane Underneath my fingertips, the lay of the Heartlands made itself clear. Eight tall spikes where there was once sixteen: the Spires of Heltia to the south-east, no longer beholden to its namesake but the whims of House Baylar ¨C more grounded than the city¡¯s predecessors, in their ruthless mercantile way. My hand walked its way west, finding tall towers and daunting walls made diminutive by scale: the Albright¡¯s castle, home of the most powerful family in the land and painted a gleaming gold ¨C or so others informed me. The territory that was exclusively theirs seemed small, but only when ignoring the fact that every other House existed at their tolerance. The fate of House Heltia made that clear. The Heartlands themselves were flat; as shapeless and inscrutable as whatever secrets it hid. Past its broad borders lay the recalcitrant grasses of House Esfaria ¨C the largest territory of all Houses but also one of the least productive. Unyielding earth generated an unyielding people, yet even the small harvest their land deigned to give was greater than anything the Wastes could provide. Its cracked earth and grainy material against my fingers felt like the lines of some ancient face, yet despite its barren nature House Esfaria reached downwards anyway, to the small city of the Foot and the oasis it cradled. And past there, the bones of the Raven and its people, invisible to my sense of touch but always quietly smouldering somewhere in the back of my mind. Esfaria strived to execute the monstrous Ravenkin and obtain whatever Godsblood had melded with the taboo blood that defined those creatures. According to all reports, the countless Ravenkin that had feasted on Avri¡¯s corpse in the days following its death were nearly eradicated. Esfaria had separated most of the Ravenblood and left it to languish into impotency under the harsh desert sun. My fingers flew northwards, past leagues of Esfarian territory and the former Heltian territory of the Heartlands, to brush past the Albright¡¯s flanks. There rolled smooth hills and fields of small bristles intended to represent grain that nevertheless felt rough against my skin: House Baylar¡¯s territory to the north of the Heartlands, studded with rivers and good soil excellent for making rich men richer. Or so it had been. With the Ox having emerged from the Heartlands like a monster from a mound of bloodied carrion, its rampage through Baylar land had seen it devastated for the first time in decades. The cost of obtaining Spires may yet outmatch the reward. Doubtless they would attempt to lure it back to Esfaria, where it had roamed their expansive plains for years, but I doubted the House would take kindly to that. And of the two Houses, Esfaria knew Enn¡¯s divine mind better. Baylar¡¯s hubris had enough irony to fill a dozen songs. And on the border of the Heartlands and Baylar proper lay the home of my own hubris: Fort Vane. Small and squat; untouched and unpunished. Inoffensive, despite everything. But there was irony there, all the same. Nothing had changed. No reward for four years of scheming. I¡¯d woven a thousand elaborate plans forming a net of schemes that felt, with each passing day bereft of any news, far too fragile to catch anything. The world was too large to fit under my fingertips. Yet too small to fit me at all. I withdrew my hands from the map my parents had commissioned for my brother a decade before their deaths and rubbed them over the tired lines of my face. I needed to sleep, but judging by the scant heat on my skin sunlight had already begun to shine through the windows of the observatory. Or so it had been called when my father was the protector of these lands ¨C the term ¡®observatory¡¯ took on a more amusing lilt cast from the mouth of a man who would never see from it. The room was perched somewhat haphazardly on top of the original Fort ¨C a relatively recent addition to what was a relatively young location. Fort Vane had been built at incredible expense in my grandfather¡¯s time, and the observatory had been built at incredible expense in my father¡¯s. I had already paid my dues, but only time would tell whether I had managed to herd anything here. I drummed my fingers against my collarbone, then sighed and slumped over to my work-table. Atop it squatted the project I had been working on for the past several years, its surface studded with a set of pincers (heat, activation array; bond, basic array; bond, recursive array), attached to a half a sphere (bond, recursive array; bond, recursive array; bond¡­) with every surface covered in runes I had painstakingly carved myself. Most of it was my own work, but it still irked me that the prototype was based on something I believed Neelam ¨C that old, ignorant man ¨C had created for House Esfaria¡¯s use. Neelam was undoubtedly a genius, but an excess of Owlblood had narrowed his perception so far that even a blind man had more vision than him. Better to keep Yoot¡¯s influence thinner ¨C enable focus ¨C and use mortal genius to bridge the gap than become a doddering, dazed fool like most Owlbloods. I felt the contraption and my own lack of further insight, then snorted. I couldn¡¯t even focus on the device I¡¯d created. It was a work so staggeringly complex that it was borderline incomprehensible when it was looked at in its entirety, yet I was certain the minutiae could be improved vastly. Greater efficiency; greater safety; generally better short and long-term prospects ¨C all were outside the scope of this prototype. But without the right person, it was impossible to test. And I had no real peers who could provide criticism. I¡¯d never had any. The drumming of my fingers echoed through the vast, empty room. I frowned, then tapped my fingers again. The way the sound bounced around the observatory was familiar, yet off. I tilted my head. ¡°Hello?¡± I called. A quiet scoff from a place I¡¯d thought empty had me turning so quickly I knocked a chisel from my worktable in my hurry. Another moment passed as the sharp sound of flint against metal grated on my ears. My nostrils flared as they caught the stench of cigarillos. ¡°How the hell did you get in here without setting off the door chimes, Valorie?¡± ¡°Slowly. Wanted t¡¯see how long it¡¯d take you t¡¯stop molestin¡¯ yer map an¡¯ notice. An¡¯ it¡¯s Val,¡± came her voice, ground to a harsh gravel after decades of smoking. ¡°If you¡¯d be so kind, boss-man.¡± I smiled wryly in the direction her words emanated from. ¡°Three letters seem far too short for a woman as talented as yourself.¡± She gave an amused bark, accompanied by a faint jingle as she slipped the bell I¡¯d given her onto her wrist. She only ever wore it in conversation with me, and I had never asked for anything more. ¡°Four¡¯s only a mite longer, so I¡¯m satisfied accompanyin¡¯ you in brevity.¡± ¡°You spoil me, Val.¡± I lay a hand on my chest dramatically. ¡°If only all my partners were as devoted as you, and I could have the Heartlands in more than just miniature.¡± We both chuckled at that. ¡°¡­You don¡¯t want the damned place, though, d¡¯you?¡± she asked suspiciously. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have sold it if I did,¡± I responded. ¡°Are the Baylarians still roaming about outside?¡± ¡°Yup. Waitin¡¯ fer th¡¯ runaway princess, I gather.¡± I sighed. ¡°Maleen. She doesn¡¯t deserve this.¡± ¡°Who does? She shoulda gone south.¡± ¡°We both know this fort was the only place she could have gone.¡± ¡°You gonna take her in if she makes it?¡± I nodded. ¡°If she makes it. But beyond these gates, my hands are tied. You¡¯re certain they won¡¯t storm us?¡± ¡°After what I did for ¡®em? An¡¯ with all them¡­¡± She paused, waiting for me to supply a name. I never had. ¡°¡­Big cloaked fellers at yer back?¡± ¡°They don¡¯t know about them.¡± I waited for a moment. ¡°¡­Not going to mention the king?¡± A small chime as she waved a hand. ¡°King does what king wants.¡± The grin in her voice shared space with a rare tinge of respect. ¡°If that means killin¡¯ you¡­¡± ¡°Not yet.¡± I rubbed the bridge of my nose. ¡°I just¡­¡± The urge to vent all my fears gave way to better judgement. Val was a dangerous person to share doubts with. ¡°They might siege us fer Maleen, though. Yer grandaddy put together some good defences here, but we¡¯ve too few sentries t¡¯use ¡®em well. No one thought she¡¯d make it this far. Heartlands¡¯s a bad enough place even without a whole army at yer heels. It¡¯s bad luck for her, but it¡¯d be a brain-dead move t¡¯let ¡®er in.¡± I nodded slowly. ¡°We¡¯ll see. Any sign of her?¡± She chuckled. ¡°S¡¯what I¡¯ve come in here for. They¡¯ve made a nice little wall o¡¯ flesh twixt the Heartlands an¡¯ here. Bunch o¡¯ riders dragged this old feller out with ¡®em.¡± She sniffed. ¡°Looks like they¡¯ve worked him over, but even with yer little far-sight thing, I can¡¯t see much more. Whaddaya think, boss-man?¡± The ¡®far-sight thing¡¯ was a device I¡¯d created to magnify light. It had been my first major project, put together to amplify light over a decade ago, but had languished in storage ever since. Ironic in hindsight, given I had possessed little use for it, but I had thought someone else might be impressed with it. But the few individuals in the Fort hadn¡¯t wanted it, and selling it would see replicas proliferate through the land with little profit for myself. Upon first using it, Val had launched into a tirade calling everyone who had refused it fools. The memory still lent a faint smile to my face, despite the fact I knew she had not done it for me. Or maybe she had weighed the cost-benefits and made the deliberate choice to do it for me. Beneath a thin skin of genuflection lay an iron core of cynical mockery. She wore a skin of good humour over a heart of ice. I had never thought women could come as cold as Val. My mother and her maids had been gentle, soft creatures. When Maleen had visited, she had been small and shy. I had heard her bodyguards were exceptions, but as silent as they were I hadn¡¯t been sure they truly existed. I¡¯d heard of great warrior women ¨C like General Maja, or Bina, or dozens of other heroes ¨C but they dwelled in the realm of stories. Swaddled within Fort Vane, insulated from the outside world in every way that mattered, I¡¯d never had a chance to meet anyone beyond the few dozen acquaintances. Until four years ago. Val took a long drag of her cigarillo. ¡°What¡¯re you day-dreamin¡¯ ¡®bout?¡± she asked. I considered lying, but thought honesty would be more enjoyable for her. ¡°Women.¡± ¡°Ha!¡± she barked. ¡°Typical. Who is it? One o¡¯ them prissy little maids? Maleen out there?¡± ¡°You¡¯re sure it isn¡¯t you?¡± A short pause, then she wheezed, long and hard. Just when I was beginning to get worried for her health, the scarred woman barely managed to get her laughter under control. ¡°By all that¡¯s good an¡¯ green, I hope not.¡± I raised an eyebrow, failing to conceal a smirk. ¡°I¡¯m not your type?¡± ¡°I like a man who jumps when I say jump.¡± A pause and swishing of hair as she shook her head. ¡°You try an¡¯ jump, an¡¯ you¡¯d jus¡¯ fall over.¡± ¡°It¡¯s probably a good thing that you don¡¯t lust over your future brother-in-law,¡± I joked. ¡°Not yet you ain¡¯t. Or are you ready t¡¯get all them documents ready to say so? ¡®Cause I¡¯m more¡¯n happy to speed this whole thing up.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure you would like that. But no. Not until we¡¯re done.¡± ¡°Can¡¯t blame a girl for tryin¡¯.¡± I said nothing at that. ¡°An¡¯ I know I haven¡¯t been a girl for a while, but¡­¡± I leaned over and picked up a chisel off the floor. ¡°Don¡¯t sulk,¡± she spat, ¡°it makes you look like a constipated dog. The little snot¡¯ll get here. You said yer cloak-buddies saw ¡®im by th¡¯ old crater.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve no clue how much I can trust them. Or how much they trust us.¡± An overly strong sweep of my arm whacked another instrument off my desk, and I restrained myself from growling as I bent down to pick it up. ¡°He could be with th¡¯ little Head, numb-nuts,¡± she snapped. ¡°That would be convenient, but I don¡¯t bet on convenience.¡± The word left a sour taste in my mouth. ¡°The plan¡¯s thin enough as-is. And what about the people after him? You do understand what it means for you if- ¡± ¡°You¡¯re worried about them?¡± Val gave a mocking laugh. ¡°Gods: I wouldn¡¯t trust them lot to keep them kids they caught tied up. I reckon that cloak-girl I told you about¡¯ll slit their bellies like a bunch of dead fish, if she hasn¡¯t already.¡± I shook my head as I finished rearranging my workstation. ¡°What?¡± she snarled. ¡°What? You got somethin¡¯ to say?¡± ¡°Calm down, Val- ¡° ¡°I want you to keep it together.¡± ¡°I¡¯m allowed some self-pity.¡± ¡°Some? It¡¯s disgusting- ¡° ¡°Val,¡± I warned, trying and failing to keep the anger from my voice. ¡°There we go.¡± And just like that, her provocations were gone. ¡°Put some spine into it. Have a bit of godsdamned belief.¡± I sighed heavily. A few moments ago I had felt a night without sleep weighing upon me. After the conversation with Val, I felt twice as exhausted. ¡°Let¡¯s go have a look at their ¡®wall of flesh,¡¯ then,¡± I said. She suddenly slapped me on the back. ¡°That¡¯s what I like t¡¯hear. Let¡¯s have a look..¡± At her approval, I rubbed at a sudden flush at the back of my neck and felt for the cane I kept at the observatory entrance. Dangerous, that. After finally managing to grasp it, I followed the soft chimes of Val¡¯s bell out onto the small veranda ringing the observatory proper. Wind whistled softly across the decorative battlements and ran its icy fingers through my hair. I crossed my arms over my chest and pressed my bare feet together. ¡°Cold, boss-man?¡± Val asked. ¡°Should I fetch yer down-blanket? Give you a massage? Heat some scented water an¡¯ wash yer lordly feet?¡± I had precisely zero chance of getting her to do any of those things for me. ¡°So long as we get back inside before too long, I¡¯ll be fine.¡± ¡°Well, don¡¯t let the wind carry you away,¡± she stated, bell jingling as she leaned on the battlements. ¡°Not much change at first blush. Better view, though.¡± ¡°Can you make out anything further away?¡± ¡°Hold yer damn horses ¨C it¡¯s barely dawn. You could hoist Kani¡¯s head on a flagpole out here and the Fox itself wouldn¡¯t make out anythin¡¯ but shadows an¡¯ fog.¡± ¡°The fog¡¯s still around?¡± ¡°¡­Mostly gone.¡± The wind whistled as a brief silence reigned. It stretched further. I drummed my fingers against my collarbone and wondered what kind of expression the person next to me was making. Just before the quiet extended from discomforting to outright unpleasant, Val spoke. ¡°Oh, movement.¡± There was a jingle as she raised the far-seer to her face. ¡°Damn, they¡¯re really goin¡¯ for it.¡± ¡°Who is?¡± ¡°Round six people ran from- ¡° A faint, insubstantial shout command carried over the plains. ¡°Bout to be spitted by arrows. Oh, damn!¡± Hair swished as she turned around. ¡°What is it?¡± I snapped. ¡°Some Owlblood jus¡¯ spewed a bunch o¡¯ light. ¡®nough to make someone blind,¡± she stated, then laughed. ¡°If they ain¡¯t already.¡± ¡°They¡¯re a strong Blooded?¡± ¡°They¡¯re bloody fat. Couldn¡¯t tell you much more¡¯n that.¡± ¡°And- ¡° ¡°Oh, look at ¡®im go!¡± Val shouted. ¡°Man jus¡¯ shattered the Baylar line! An¡¯ right behind him¡¯s this¡­¡± Her voice trailed away into nothing. ¡°What?¡± I said, because the only thing I could do was ask. ¡°What?¡± She breathed out a short laugh that was a pale imitation of her usual cackle. ¡°That¡¯s¡­¡± I resisted the urge to shake her. ¡°By the blood, Val, if you don¡¯t- ¡° ¡°It¡¯s my daughter,¡± she said. I blinked. ¡°You have a daughter?¡± She had never mentioned one. I had never imagined her capable of having one. The woman beside me did not seem to hear me. ¡°Ha,¡± she whispered. ¡°Let th¡¯ birdie out o¡¯ it¡¯s cage and it bloody flies back anyway. What¡¯s a lady t¡¯do?¡± I pursed my lips, angling my head elsewhere. ¡°Well.¡± There was a series of audible pops as she stretched her back. ¡°She¡¯s alive, I guess. If fate¡¯s gonna go t¡¯the trouble o¡¯ gift-wrappin¡¯ somethin¡¯ fer me, who am I to refuse?¡± At another time, I might have let her have a moment for herself. But we would need to make a decision about whether to open the gates soon. ¡°Your daughter,¡± I prompted. ¡°Kit,¡± she said. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t it be Pup?¡± I couldn¡¯t stop myself from asking. She paused. ¡°Oh, right. I kept tryin¡¯ t¡¯get people t¡¯call me ¡®the Lynx¡¯, or somethin¡¯. Kept robbin¡¯ people who though ¡®the Jackal¡¯ was a man. It pissed me off so I wanted a more feminine name. Always liked cats ¨C vicious creatures, them. Gave up a short while after she was born, but we¡¯d already been callin¡¯ her that fer a while.¡± I sucked air in between my teeth. It was an incredible coincidence that Val¡¯s daughter ¨C who I¡¯d never heard mentioned in the half-decade we had known one another ¨C would arrive alongside Maleen. Though, it was almost certain that any woman half as skilled as Val would be snapped up by Graves in a heartbeat. I hoped the old bodyguard had made it, if only for Tam and the girls. ¡°Y¡¯know, s¡¯pose it¡¯s a funny thing ¡®bout birds. Let ¡®em out o¡¯ the cage an¡¯ they¡¯ll jus¡¯ fly right on back.¡± ¡°What is she like?¡± ¡°Well, she¡¯s a good-lookin¡¯ girl. Not quite so pretty as me, but gettin¡¯ there.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯re so radiant that if I wasn¡¯t blind already the sight would burn my eyes from my skull.¡± She wheezed a laugh. ¡°Yup, that¡¯s me.¡± There was a quiet inhale as Val took another drag of her cigarillo. ¡°Strong ¡®n lean. Mean, too. Made sure t¡¯raise her tough as a brick. She¡¯s about as dumb as one, too, but no one has it all.¡± I replaced the frown tugging at my lips with a wry smile. ¡°Except you.¡± Another cackle. ¡°Right you are.¡± ¡°Will she help us?¡± ¡°She¡¯s canny enough t¡¯know what¡¯s good for her. She¡¯ll help me.¡± ¡°And me?¡± ¡°So long as you¡¯re on my side.¡± I sighed. ¡°I¡¯ve always dealt fairly with you, Val.¡± ¡°Mm. But I¡¯m jus¡¯ waitin¡¯ fer the day you decide fair ain¡¯t clever for you.¡± ¡°It will never be clever to make an enemy of you.¡± A brush of hair against shoulders as she inclined her head. ¡°Jus¡¯ makin¡¯ sure you remember that.¡± Another long pause followed as I gathered my thoughts. ¡°Is she a good fighter?¡± ¡°Yeah. Damn, look at her go. Jus¡¯ butchered two fellers down below. Bam bam,¡± she rattled rapidly, ¡°jus¡¯ like that. An¡¯ look at that big feller! An¡¯ that man¡­ Blood. Like an entire line o¡¯ soldiers is so much nothin¡¯.¡± ¡°Is she as skilled as you?¡± Val inhaled slowly, a low rattle in the depths of her abused voicebox. ¡°Val?¡± ¡°She¡¯s¡­¡± The woman ground at the words as if they were nails stuck in her throat. ¡°In a fair fight, she¡¯s better.¡± I sucked air through my teeth, weighing her bitter tone in my mind. It took several long moments to formulate an appropriate response. ¡°How often do you fight fair?¡± ¡°Never, if I can help it.¡± The grin had returned to her voice. ¡°That seems more your style,¡± I told her. Val snorted. ¡°Kit¡¯s in the archers ¨C whatever Owlblood or fancy gadgets she¡¯s got is doin¡¯ work ¨C along with some massive feller. Like a scythe through wheat. The big man¡­¡± The bell chimed as she shuffled forward. ¡°Yoot¡¯s ilk¡¯s stealin¡¯ his feet from under him. Bit o¡¯ fire. This guy though, he¡¯s somethin¡¯ else¡­ Oh! He¡¯s lopped th¡¯ legs of a horse. Th¡¯ Owlblood¡¯s horse!¡± ¡°His ally?¡± ¡°Use that thick skull o¡¯ yours.¡± she snapped. ¡°No, not his damned ally.¡± ¡°Well, I can¡¯t- ¡° ¡°Hoo-hoo!¡± she cried. ¡°Just crushed the lil¡¯ swine ¡®neath his boot. And¡­ Oh.¡± I felt like tearing out my hair. ¡°Just bloody tell me!¡± ¡°They¡¯re too spread out. With the cavalry¡­ Does Maleen have orange hair?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± I leaned close to Val, as if closer proximity would somehow grant me her sight. ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Well, I suppose that problem¡¯s ¡®bout t¡¯be solved.¡± ¡°She¡¯s there? I¡¯ll go and give the order to lower the- ¡± ¡°It¡¯s a stupid risk ¨C you know that. An¡¯ she¡¯s¡­¡± ¡°What?¡± I growled. ¡°Well, their Owlblood¡¯s doin¡¯ business again. Saved her noble hide, but seems some big bastard survived.¡± ¡°What happened?¡± ¡°Ox¡¯s balls, Gale ¨C I¡¯m gettin¡¯ to it. No bloody appreciation fer- ¡° ¡°Valorie!¡± I snapped. She cackled. ¡°Well, some big Oxblood jus¡¯ got stabbed by some guy, killed the feller and ripped his guts out in th¡¯ process. Enn always makes ¡®em simple. Say what you want ¡®bout them angry Blooded bastards, but they sure do know to die.¡± She took a drag of her cigarillo. ¡°I ever tell you ¡®bout this stupid bastard in Spires- ¡± A pause. ¡°They¡¯re not movin¡¯. Why ain¡¯t they movin¡¯?¡± ¡°They¡¯ve stopped?¡± ¡°They¡¯ve stopped in front of an entire godsdamned army.¡± She released a heavy breath. ¡°What th¡¯ blood¡¯re you doin¡¯, birdie?¡± The scene her words had created in my head was a static thing, broken by moments of sudden flux. Every idea of the physical in my head behaved the same: a single place; a single object; a single person ¨C all illusions created by my own grave ignorance. I knew all this, but could not change it. That meant sometimes I was simply wrong. More often, I possessed some combination of accurate elements and inaccurate ones. But sometimes, I was right. I took in a sudden breath. My heart thudded in my chest. ¡°The man¡¯s stopping them?¡± ¡°Yeah. How¡¯d you- ¡° ¡°What does he look like?¡± ¡°Huh. Tall ¨C ¡®tween an Oxblood or big mortal; probably a big Foxblood, judgin¡¯ by how he moved. Hair¡¯s too dark, though. He¡¯s broad. Got dark-ish skin. He¡¯s messed up, an¡¯ coated in some kinda black gunk.¡± ¡°How many eyes does he have?¡± I said quickly. A slight chime from the bell around her arm as she turned her entire body to face me. ¡°What?¡± I tried to grab her, missed, and screamed, ¡°How many eyes!?¡± An intake of breath as she understood what I was asking. Several excruciating seconds passed as she looked out at the battleground again. ¡°Gods. Six. Maybe seven. He¡¯s hurt bad.¡± I could barely breathe. ¡°My god¡­¡± I whispered. ¡°We need to get them in.¡± ¡°Gale- ¡° ¡°I¡¯ll handle it. Go.¡± I waved an arm towards where I knew the gatehouse was. ¡°Get them lowering it.¡± ¡°Won¡¯t be able to convince Baylar- ¡° ¡°Hurry up!¡± I screeched. ¡°Watch yer tone, boy,¡± she snapped. ¡°I¡¯ll do this for you, but you damn well better be haulin¡¯ your blind ass down behind me.¡± ¡°I will, so stop talking and move!¡± Val¡¯s grumbles gradually disappeared as she re-entered the observatory and barged out through the heavy door with an uncharacteristic amount of noise. I jogged after her, pausing only to snatch the device off my worktable and slip it into a pocket. The bells on the door jingled as I hauled it far enough open for me to squeeze through, then slipped into the stairwell. Descending was a cautious affair. I had broken an arm several years back when a maid had tipped a carafe of wine on the varnished wood and neglected to inform me. The stairs spilled into one end of the upper halls, where my own residence was. The room was musty, overly spacious, and generally unused. I paced over to a wardrobe and inserted a key from one of my pockets into it. When I pulled it open completely, I allowed myself to run my fingers over the worn, cracked, piecemeal tablets that waited within. Tales of blood and suffering and peace; of an eternal heaven and a temporal hell. I snatched my fingers away and slammed the door shut. I had a job to do. That large, empty room offered little else to me. Of greater interest was the attached workshop, where I did most of my tinkering. As soon as I entered it, the scent of burnt hair, reeking ozone, and unwashed bodies crawled up my nose ferociously. The final smell indicated the presence of either myself or my assistant, Colin, after several days of work. Given that I had bathed yesterday, the reek could only belong to Colin. The click-clack of the bell I¡¯d made to identify him soon proved me correct. ¡°Colin?¡± I called, swiping my cane rhythmically to avoid running into him, or any fallen tools that would stab into my bare feet. My implement soon snapped meatily against what must have been his calf. ¡°Hm?¡± The man gave a grunt that grew louder as he turned. ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°I need you to fill a sack with any bloodtech with combat applications.¡± ¡°Combat applications?¡± he asked, as if the phrase was entirely foreign to him. The Owlblood often struggled to equate the things we created ¨C often with the ability to violently propel objects or explosively detonate in a burst of flame ¨C with their practical use. Like most of Yoot¡¯s ilk, his focus was narrow and shallow; he missed simple things and shunned discourse. He was good at what he did, but without my guidance he would have gone the way of Neelam ¨C continually expanding something for no other reason than the desire to continually expand it. What use was magic that helped no one? I patiently began listing the items I wanted. They were stored inside the adjacent storage rooms and had likely remained unmoved since I placed them there, but recalling their exact location and painstakingly running my hands over their runes would take less time than Colin simply glancing at them. Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. After several failed attempts to impress upon him the need for haste, the bag was eventually filled with a select few items I thought might be useful for deterring any would-be invaders, or at least frightening them into a conversation. The bloodtech mounted on the walls would have to do most of the heavy lifting. I ran my fingers over the devices within the bag and hoped I would never have to use them on anyone. I tucked my cane under one arm and hobbled out under the weight of the sack without saying goodbye to Colin ¨C he cared little for pleasantries. The varnished wood beneath my feet was mostly smooth, yet frequently indented with the memories of countless domestic incidents: dragged furniture, dropped bottles, idle scratching, smashed plates and failed experiments all leaving a mark perceptible even through the soles of my feet. Accompanied by the almost silent hum of everburning lanterns, I continued loping towards my destination. The hallway was wide enough to allow two people to pass, but not without remark. The delicate rattling of Bella¡¯s bell ¨C one of the Fort¡¯s maids ¨C notified me of her presence a short time before its owner greeted me. ¡°M¡¯lord,¡± she muttered. No remark about my luggage. ¡°Careful of the mop water.¡± I opened my mouth to say something ¨C a witty retort, something to spur laughter ¨C then closed it. A nod was all she wanted. The mop water ¨C cold and musty ¨C clung to my feet as I trod past. She had moved out of my way. There were several routes that could be taken to the outer court, where the gatehouse lay, however the fastest was through the Hall of Mirrors. Within the expansive ceiling of the Hall, all sound soared and swooped, multiplied by its acoustics into a reverberation that enhanced its source a hundredfold. Every step was accompanied by a dozen others, slowly fading into nothing. Even the dull pad of my feet on stone seemed something much greater. The floor transitioned suddenly into glass, which formed a skylight for the dining chamber below. In its centre was a brazier that was almost constantly aflame during Frost, to which Colin and I had attached various bloodtech pipes which would heat air throughout the fort. There was no need for sight to know they wove their way through the air above me ¨C I¡¯d placed them there, after all. Even bowed beneath the weight of the sack as I was, I made sure to run one hand over the hot runes, assuring myself that they did truly exist. Originally, the Hall had been intended to host any visiting nobles ¨C a more stately counterpart to the homely dining area below ¨C but it proved too cold to eat in. The endless mirrors that lined the walls apparently created an effect that inspired in low doses and unnerved in high ones. The incredibly expensive space had held a few parties before the Fort¡¯s isolation slowly stifled such gatherings into nothingness. In the present, the Hall gathered a soft blanket of dust in its stale air. I liked the place: the Hall was wrapped in a familiar silence that few other places held. In a way, it was comforting. Though perhaps only to the blind. I¡¯d heard the maids say it was still good for lighting the dining chamber, at least. I gave the Hall¡¯s pipes one last pat as I exited it, then turned a sharp left into one of the servant¡¯s stairwells. Stomping down the precarious, winding steps put me at risk of jamming several splinters into the bottom of my feet. My only solace was the scent of baking down below. Whatever was being cooked was likely made with honey. We had not had honey for almost a year, but several of the people that came to negotiate with me had offered gifts. Several months back, one Baylarian ambassador had brought a hefty pot of honey that had needed three people to carry in. A rapidly-approaching tinkling warned me the kitchen-hand, Alfie, was barging up the stairwell heedlessly. The adolescent ran with a recklessness that had led both him and I into collisions several times before, so to avoid further embarrassment I pressed myself against the banister of the stairwell. The boy stumbled slightly upon sighting me, muttering an ¡®So sorry, m¡¯lord¡¯, then continued rushing upwards. ¡°If you are looking for your mother,¡± I called after him, ¡°she¡¯s mopping the floor past the Hall of Mirrors!¡± Bella wasn¡¯t a mother I would want. The simple act of exchanging words with me had been enough to earn him a hiding behind closed doors. The stone walls were not thick enough to conceal his sobbing the next day. But any interference on my behalf would be a severe overstep. The kind that I was certain Bella would outright rebuff, damaging the frayed authority that tethered the people of the Fort to me. Most had lived within its confines for decades, yet many had already departed upon my father¡¯s death and my brother¡¯s illness. With the weight of the sack across my shoulders, navigating the steep descent was barely manageable. Far more dangerous than the stairs themselves was the fact I rarely took them. When I clomped downwards and realised I¡¯d misremembered a stair that was not truly there, I was sent teetering downwards. The moment before I hit the ground, a sudden set of clangs accompanied a thick set of arms wrapping around my torso. ¡°Oh, blood,¡± the Fort¡¯s cook, Greta, groaned as her arms trembled. ¡°You an¡¯ your brother, eh? I¡¯m too bloody old and you¡¯re too bloody big fer me to keep catchin¡¯ the two of yous.¡± ¡°Apologies,¡± I said, scrambling to stand straight before both of us hit the floor. ¡°I was in a rush.¡± ¡°C¡¯mon m¡¯lord, have a honeyed flatcake, eh? Just finished ¡®em.¡± The pressure of her arms temporarily released as she moved to seize my hand instead ¨C as she used to, when I was a child. She begun guiding me into the kitchen the stairwell connected to. The scent of baking sweets was overwhelming, yet the kitchen was almost entirely silent: empty of the bustling that had once filled it. There simply were not enough people in the Fort to warrant too much effort. ¡°Spent a bloody year lookin¡¯ for some way o¡¯ bakin¡¯ bread tha¡¯ ain¡¯t borin¡¯, aye?¡± She gave a loud snort. ¡°Couldn¡¯ find one. Let me tell ya, m¡¯lord, if it takes me a hundred years to bake another loaf again, it¡¯ll be too soon.¡± The large bell around Greta¡¯s neck clanged as she continued speaking. She had been the first to agree to wearing one, but had requested the loudest one possible in exchange. Yet the cook had never spoken so loudly or laughed so boisterously, back when my family had been whole. A veneer of overly-wrought cheer fell on her whenever I was around. I was already trying to figure out a way to extract myself from her grip. ¡°You may need to bake another few loaves.¡± ¡°Wha¡¯? Why?¡± ¡°Val and I are working to admit entrance to several people,¡± I explained. ¡°One of them might need food that doesn¡¯t trouble the stomach overmuch.¡± ¡°Soup, then. Not bloody bread.¡± ¡°Alright. You¡¯re the expert, after all,¡± I said, gingerly pulling my hand from her grasp. ¡°Now, uh, if you¡¯ll excuse me¡­¡± ¡°O¡¯ course, m¡¯lord. And if you need- ¡° ¡°I¡¯ll be sure to let you know,¡± I stated rapidly, swinging the sack back onto my shoulders. ¡°I could help- ¡° ¡°I¡¯ll be fine,¡± I snapped. My retort seemed to hover in the short silence that followed. ¡°I appreciate the offer, Greta,¡± I said, more gently. ¡°But I will be fine.¡± The older woman sighed. ¡°Take care, Gale.¡± ¡°I will.¡± I walked out into the stagnant air of the dining hall, where most chairs had long since been placed atop their respective tables, to better allow the servants to clean underneath. The faint sound of disturbed water resounded through the empty space as one of the maids dipped a rag into a bucket and wiped the dust from the furniture. Her bell chimed slightly, but that revealed little ¨C there were three maids that occasionally swapped theirs. I did not know who she was. She knew that, and said nothing. I walked out of the hall. The dimensions of sound fundamentally altered as the air above me stretched into sky. A bell rung distantly as the guards atop the wall sounded an alarm, while Val and the soldier turned both stablemaster and captain of the guard ¨C Greta¡¯s husband Henrik ¨C argued with one another. The few horses that waited in the stables stomped nervously at the sound of their master yelling. The scent of grass and mud mingled pleasantly. Most of the structures within the Fort were pressed snugly against its battlements, sheltered from the elements by thick stone rooves. The exception was the outer court ¨C the mostly open space the drawbridge led in to. The rows of flowers that circled it had been uprooted in recent years and replaced with various vegetables, but otherwise remained mostly unaltered since the days of my grandfather. I braced myself and began squelching through the muddy snow towards the walls. ¡°Duke Vane!¡± a high voice called as a set of feet stomped past me. The full title seemed strange. Being a duke meant little in Heltia, given the only other nobility was the Heltian line itself. Either way, it did not belong to me. ¡°Tam,¡± I greeted. I still had not found the time to make her or her children bells. ¡°Just Lord Vane. My brother remains the Duke.¡± ¡°Right, o¡¯ course, many apologies,¡± she stated hurriedly. ¡°I heard that might be Maleen over the wall. Is Tully with her?¡± ¡°I¡¯m going to find that out right now.¡± ¡°You have to let her in,¡± Tam insisted. ¡°I will, Tam, regardless of who¡¯s there. You might need to prepare yourself for the worst- ¡° ¡°I know. I know. It¡¯s a long, dangerous road from Spires. But- ¡± ¡°Wait inside the Fort proper,¡± I warned. ¡°There may be arrows coming over the wall. You will be the first to see¡­ Whoever enters.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± she said quietly. ¡°Thank you, lord.¡± Her squelching steps quickly departed as I stomped towards the wall. ¡°Boss-man,¡± Val called from above. ¡°You need a hand with that?¡± ¡°No!¡± I replied, then reached the ladder. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Step back a beat.¡± I followed her instructions. She clambered down so quickly I could scarcely envisage how she had done it. ¡°Alright, hand it over.¡± I did so and she grunted under the weight. It was easy to forget that Val didn¡¯t have the body of a young woman. ¡°I¡¯ll take some things out- ¡° ¡°Pfft.¡± She began scaling the ladder, most likely one-handed. ¡°You,¡± Val grunted, ¡°think, ugh, I can¡¯t handle a bag?¡± ¡°I would have- ¡° ¡°I can handle a bag!¡± she ground out. A fleck of spittle fell on my hand from above. ¡°I could, nugh, toss this bag an¡¯ hit the Dolphin if I wanted!¡± She grunted and swore her way to the top of the wall without dropping the sack. I cautiously climbed after her, making sure to have at least three limbs on the ladder at all times. The top of the wall was filled with a tangle of noise as guards scurried back and forth in preparation for the oncoming army. I only ever came to this place to maintain or add the bloodtech weaponry mounted on the outer sides of the battlements ¨C a rare occurrence leaving me with a muddy idea of its layout. None of my disorientation was helped by the guards¡¯ lack of bells. Asking them to wear ones had seemed a good way to expose our garrison¡¯s lack of numbers to any would-be enemies. Part of me regretted that decision, now. I groped for a wall and leaned on the outer edges of the battlements, out of the way of the activity. ¡°¡­strange order, s¡¯all I¡¯m saying Miss Valorie,¡± a familiar voice sounded. Val let out a frustrated growl. ¡°Gale¡¯s told me- ¡° ¡°Lord Gale.¡± ¡°Yer bloody boss¡¯s given the order, alright?¡± ¡°Look, Val- ¡° ¡°Lady Valorie.¡± ¡°It¡¯s- ¡° ¡°Here¡¯s the big man hisself.¡± A chime followed as Val stomped over to me, seized my arm, and hauled me over to the man she was speaking with. ¡°You fall asleep or somethin¡¯?¡± Val drawled at me. ¡°Not like we¡¯re in a time sensitive situation. A lord needs his rest.¡± There was a pregnant silence as the guards around her processed those words. I could feel their eyes turn to me, awaiting some kind of rebuke that would never come. ¡°Henrik,¡± I greeted. ¡°M¡¯lord,¡± the captain of the Fort¡¯s guard stated. Henrik was an older man, but an infusion of Lizardblood in recent years kept him as fit as a young one. ¡°What¡¯s this ¡®bout the bridge gettin¡¯ down?¡± ¡°It¡¯s true.¡± ¡°Sir, if we¡¯re known to host fugitives- ¡° ¡°Running towards the Fort are Head Maleen and her few remaining companions.¡± There was a long pause as Henrik processed that. ¡°Are you sure?¡± ¡°Val, give him the far-seer.¡± She gave an audible grumble, and for a moment I thought she would refuse, but a moment later there was a short snap as she thwapped the long device into Henrik¡¯s waiting hand. Barely a heartbeat passed before Henrik was speaking again. ¡°Sir, with all due respect- ¡° ¡°No,¡± snapped Val, ¡°with respect. Don¡¯t matter if it¡¯s due or not, you speak t¡¯him like he¡¯s Wump itself.¡± Henrik continued tersely. ¡°They will not stop.¡± ¡°I have guarantees from all sides involved in this war, Henrik,¡± I assured. ¡°We will be fine.¡± ¡°Might be that none of those schmucks out there know that!¡± ¡°All we have to do is momentarily stop them,¡± I said. ¡°Get them open to negotiations. We don¡¯t need to shelter Maleen forever, but she needs to get behind these walls.¡± ¡°We have a dozen guards.¡± ¡°We have one of the most well-fortified positions in all the land and a surplus of bloodtech weaponry. You¡¯ve never had an opportunity to use my creations, but if need be they could kill every single remaining soldier out there.¡± His accent grew thicker alongside his agitation. ¡°If we kill ¡®em we¡¯ll be dealin¡¯ with more¡¯n just them! It¡¯ll be all o¡¯ Baylar!¡± ¡°Which is why we won¡¯t kill any of them,¡± I snapped. ¡°Lower the drawbridge. Make a show of force. Get them inside. Raise it. I will negotiate.¡± ¡°M¡¯lord- ¡° ¡°That¡¯s enough,¡± snapped Val. ¡°You have yer orders.¡± Henrik made a strangled noise, then sighed. ¡°Ambrose, why don¡¯t you help our duke along?¡± ¡°Lord,¡± I corrected. ¡°Give him the far-seer.¡± ¡°Yes, lord. Off you hop, Ambrose. There¡¯s a good lad.¡± A short sigh was shortly followed by a muttered ¡®My lord,¡¯ as Ambrose locked an arm around my own. Ambrose was Greta and Henrik¡¯s third and final child ¨C born almost two decades before I secured a small amount of Lizardblood to buoy Henrik¡¯s ailing health. Their first two daughter had already been married to some well-to-do merchants that used to trade between Baylar and Heltia, before the Jackal¡¯s continual pillaging of the trade routes led Baylar to suspect Heltia was purposefully reneging on their deal. The unions had been organised by my mother and myself, and had proved a great asset in contacting the bandit during the foetal stages of my plan ¨C back when the Jackal had just been a name on the other end of our letters, and I¡¯d yet to progress further than desperate fumbling. It wouldn¡¯t be an understatement to say I owed everything to that connection. I wouldn¡¯t have been able to get anywhere without her. Ambrose was only a few short years younger than me, but I supposed he would forever be a lad in his father¡¯s eyes. He had been a vague presence most of my life; one that lingered outside every conversation his parents exchanged mutely. We rarely spoke. ¡°Tell me what you see, Ambrose.¡± ¡°Spirits.¡± I frowned. ¡°What?¡± ¡°I mean,¡± the normally eloquent man stuttered, ¡°my lord, I¡¯ve seen several strange shapes in the forest, as the fog cleared. They resemble- ¡° ¡°Ghosts,¡± I mused, mind falling to the words engraved on the slabs hidden in my closet. ¡°Ghosts,¡± I repeated, a slow smile forming on my face. ¡°Sir?¡± ¡°I believe you. But I need to borrow your eyes for a moment. Tell me what you see.¡± ¡°Of course¡­¡± A pause. ¡°May I ask, how does this thing- ¡° I took the far-seer from him and extended it, keeping each of its many runes pressed against my consciousness. The deeper my examination went, the more power my Owlblood would push into them. With blood as thin as my own, the comprehension needed to go deeper. After a quick exertion of will to fill it with power, I handed it back for Ambrose to peer in. He inhaled a breath. ¡°What do you see?¡± ¡°Five are running ¨C one needing assistance from another and far slower ¨C while an¡­ Oxblood? Carries a sixth,¡± he reported. ¡°The army¡­ How many have died? There are corpses- ¡° ¡°Ignore them. What¡¯s the army doing? ¡°Chasing them.¡± ¡°Who- ¡° I stuttered, ¡°who¡¯s the one being carried?¡± ¡°A, uh, short, no, tall man. Covered in some kind of black substance.¡± My fingers twitched. ¡°You¡¯re sure?¡± I grated out. ¡°Yes.¡± I flexed my bare feet, feeling the contours of the freezing stone and the small chinks between them. ¡°My lord?¡± ¡°I¡­ How did they¡­¡± ¡°The remaining cavalry are charging them.¡± ¡°What? How long before they- ¡° ¡°Mere moments, my lord.¡± My jaw worked silently. ¡°Val!¡± I screamed. Steps immediately padded towards me. ¡°Bridge¡¯s lowerin¡¯, boss-man.¡± I vaguely noticed the heavy sounds of chain being unwound, but they were unimportant. ¡°Get the, get the ballista.¡± She comprehended my nebulous commands without issue and ran off towards one of the small ballistae mounted on the wall. They were closer to oversized crossbows, yet had been modified to propel their payload at far more vicious speeds. But the true difference lay in the bolts Colin had put together for them. I¡¯d reluctantly modified from designs originating in the Spires of Heltia, but then again, there was little bloodtech that wasn¡¯t. Neelam Heltia had been in a genius in every respect except the ones that mattered. ¡°Scare the Baylarians!¡± I called after her. ¡°No deaths, Valorie!¡± ¡°Not even one?¡± she joked back. ¡°Val!¡± She snorted, bell jingling as she waved an arm in acknowledgement. ¡°Keep describing,¡± I commanded Ambrose. ¡°Several of the horses seem to have fallen due to Owlblooded influence from a, uhm, round woman. Her magic seems to have run out.¡± I frowned. An Owlblood¡¯s power, originating from their body, shouldn¡¯t be finite. Steady, perhaps even borderline useless unless channelled through bloodtech for an individual as weak as myself, but not a resource that ran dry. The woman must be a layman using bloodtech, however modifying something as complex as momentum shouldn¡¯t be something a mortal could do without extensive knowledge of runes. A field which only those with a hint of Yoot altering their minds could comprehend. It was a paradox. But the mystery could wait. Ambrose continued speaking. ¡°The other cavalry seem to be wary of getting too close.¡± ¡°How many remain?¡± He counted in a whisper. ¡°One, two, three, four, five. Five, my lord.¡± ¡°Do they look¡­ important?¡± The young guard awaited further elucidation. I had little to give. I¡¯d never seen what I was attempting to describe. ¡°Uh, badges? Heraldry? Like¡­ officers?¡± ¡°We have identified them as officers, yes.¡± I hoped I was imagining the hint of exasperation in his tone. ¡°One seems to bear the marks of Dure.¡± ¡°A Lizardblood- ¡° ¡°The infantry have charged past the cavalry. They seem¡­ Unafraid.¡± ¡°Unafraid?¡± ¡°¡­Hateful.¡± ¡°Are they gaining ground?¡± ¡°Some faster than others, but yes. None seem particularly quick, but the limping one is slowing them dramatically.¡± I clenched my fingers ineffectually around my cane, leaning over the battlements as if it would help me comprehend the scene better. Guards shouted around us as they rushed to prepare for the oncoming soldiers, and I felt the almost overpowering urge to scream for silence; to be able to glean some hint of clashing swords or approaching footsteps. ¡°Val!¡± I cried. ¡°When can you fire?¡± ¡°Hold yer horses, Gale. It¡¯s a bloody hard shot yer demandin¡¯.¡± I turned to Ambrose. ¡°Do, do they- ¡° ¡°The swordswoman has slowed to combat the first three to reach them. She has¡­ killed one. Amputated another. The third, though¡­¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°Ah. She has been tackled.¡± That was Val¡¯s daughter. ¡°What do- ¡° ¡°The limping woman has stabbed the one who tackled her comrade. The spearman ¨C though he seems young ¨C who was assisting her has managed to impale another soldier on his implement.¡± ¡°Brave.¡± ¡°Perhaps,¡± Ambrose mused. ¡°But even with the teenager abandoning his weapon, they are far too slow to escape. The infantry will reach them in five. Four. Three- ¡° A massive retort ripped through the air in front of us, so loud I feared Enn itself had suddenly taken the field. The weapons of several guards around us clattered to the ground moments after the sound, while an echo like a thunderclap rushed through the plains around us. A faint ringing took residence within my ears. ¡°The ballista,¡± I said, releasing my cane to better grip the battlements. ¡°Has it killed anyone?¡± No words followed, only a slight rattle as Ambrose¡¯s helm rattled. ¡°Ambrose.¡± My fingers were clenched tight enough to ache. ¡°They¡­¡± ¡°We have tested these weapons. There should be no smoke; you should be able to clearly see what¡¯s happening.¡± ¡°I¡¯m just¡­¡± A pause. ¡°It was too bright. I can¡¯t see.¡± I growled incoherently. ¡°Val!¡± ¡°Yes?¡± came the distant reply. ¡°Did you close your eyes?¡± ¡°¡¯Course.¡± ¡°Warn the others next time.¡± There was no bite behind my demand. ¡°Have you killed anyone?¡± ¡°Well,¡± she chuckled, ¡°they certainly got a scare.¡± ¡°Are they moving?¡± ¡°Some¡¯ve fainted, but none were hit.¡± ¡°Is the army still charging? Are the refugees running?¡± ¡°By all that¡¯s good ¡®n green, give ¡®em a moment. They were right bloody next to it. Oh, but, yeah. Few soldier with more courage ¡®n wits are still runnin¡¯.¡± ¡°Is your daughter- ¡° A clank of armour as Ambrose¡¯s head snapped towards me. Val grunted, bell ringing alongside the sound of a heavy crank turning as she reloaded the weapon. ¡°Yup. Still down. She¡¯ll be up soon.¡± ¡°What- ¡° ¡°Get yer pissboy there t¡¯tell you what¡¯s goin¡¯ on,¡± she growled. ¡°I¡¯m busy savin¡¯ their hides, thank you.¡± ¡°Wha- Pissboy?¡± Ambrose straightened next to me. ¡°Shut yer filthy hole, you northern slag!¡± he screamed in his parent¡¯s accent. I winced at the volume. Val just cackled. ¡°Ambrose, be quiet and tell me what you see.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t- ¡° The strain of ignorance pierced through my patience and twisted my face in a vicious snarly. ¡°It doesn¡¯t bloody well matter whether you have wet yourself or smeared dung in your eyes and started to perform a bloody Divinity!¡± I hissed at him. ¡°So long as you can tell me what the hell¡¯s happening out there!¡± ¡°Uh,¡± he intoned bonelessly, ¡°well, uh, most of the army have halted. A few¡­ haven¡¯t noticed that fact, and are still running.¡± ¡°How many?¡± ¡°Maybe eight?¡± ¡°Are our refugees moving?¡± ¡°Yes, finally. The giant one has abandoned the large man further ahead to return and help them along.¡± ¡°They need to grab him,¡± I muttered. ¡°Tell me when- ¡° ¡°The big one has picked him back up. They aren¡¯t going faster than a walk, however.¡± ¡°Why?!¡± I snapped. ¡°There¡¯s an- ¡° ¡°My lord,¡± Ambrose quietly rebuked. Right. I was his lord. Val yelled a warning, giving everyone enough time to clamp their eyes shut and plug their eyes before another concussive bolt hit the middle of the battlefield. The infantry was apparently in disarray, with most of the stunned soldiers resisting any attempts for the cavalry to shove them back into formation. My own inefficacy had lulled me into a fugue. I was not just a spectator. There had to be something I could do. The fog of my own idiotic mania cleared from my mind, and I remembered what I¡¯d set out to do. I groped my way to the sack and retrieved one of the devices ¨C a relatively simple sound-amplifying set of runes ¨C and held it over my mouth. ¡°HOLD, BAYLAR.¡± My voice was almost enough to deafen my own ears. ¡°ALLOW THE REFUGEES ENTRANCE. NEGOTIATIONS MAY COMMENCE AFTERWARDS.¡± ¡°They won¡¯t like that,¡± muttered Val to me. I barely prevented myself from flinching. I hadn¡¯t heard her approach. ¡°There¡¯s no alternative. Are they stopping?¡± ¡°Uh-huh.¡± ¡°Then I¡¯ve done what I need to.¡± ¡°Mm. Well. Hope yer eventual negotiations go well.¡± ¡°It will be fine,¡± I told her, attempting to dull the edge that crept into my voice. ¡°Are they inside yet?¡± ¡°Give ¡®em a minute.¡± The sound of metal striking flint scraped against my eardrums as she lit a cigarillo. ¡°You go an¡¯ greet ¡®em. I¡¯ll keep them soldiers out there from gettin¡¯ too close.¡± I nodded. Val clapped me on the shoulder. ¡°Good work, boss. We¡¯re nearly there.¡± I rubbed the back of my neck, and began the laborious process of retrieving my cane and descending the walls into the outer court. After leaving firm instructions to demonstrate some of the nastier weapons if the Baylarians got any closer, Henrik quickly followed. I danced from foot to foot, fighting against the icy snow freezing my feet and the tension filling each limb. The urge to pace was almost overwhelming, but with the snowfall and ice ubiquitous through Frost, the ground often differed from day-to-day. If the visitor¡¯s first impression of me was of a blind man tripping into the snow because he couldn¡¯t sit still, I might break my own skull open with a rock. Time stretched. Every single one of my senses grew taut. It felt as if each individual movement in the area was grating against my skull: from the slow clanking of the lowering drawbridge to the barest brush of boots against stone atop the wall. A gust of chill air slithered across my skin. A bug crawled across my bare feet, and I shook it off with a swear, Emerging from beneath it all were five faltering pairs of footsteps. Henrik¡¯s ragged breathing grew louder as he leaned closer. ¡°Are you sure ¡®bout this, m¡¯lord? There¡¯s still time to raise th¡¯ bridge, keep ¡®em all out.¡± ¡°It cannot be for nothing,¡± I told him. ¡°Gale¡­¡± ¡°Come on,¡± I said, as the drawbridge finally touched ground with a dull thump. ¡°Let us greet our guests.¡± We walked, slowly and steadily, beneath the gatehouse. The shadows were cold, but the day had barely begun. There was ample time for it to grow warmer. I folded one arm behind my back as the footsteps halted on the other side of the draw bridge. All except one pair, who pushed themselves to the front of the group with a strangled grunt. ¡°Gale?¡± came a voice. Lower than it had been in that dry Summit all those years ago, when a troublesome girl had been entrusted into the care of a mopey teenager, because none of the adults had the time. Yet still familiar through all the differences. Despite myself, I found a soft smile on my face. She had always been a good kid. ¡°Maleen. Come on. Don¡¯t keep us waiting.¡± Maleen quietly sobbed as the group limped their way into the courtyard. Immediately, Henrik began reporting their injuries. ¡°Ma- Head Maleen has an arrow through her leg.¡± ¡°Gods.¡± My head snapped towards him. ¡°Can you tend to it?¡± ¡°She needs a doctor. A surgeon.¡± ¡°I know, but ever since Varas ran out on us we¡¯ve been in short supply. Surely you have ample medical experience? On the battlefield, I mean?¡± Henrik had been recruited from House Heltia¡¯s mercenary army, along with most of the guards on the wall. ¡°Some.¡± I tried to judge the contours of that brief response, but the tiny amount of information available to my ears yielded nothing. I swallowed. ¡°What do you need?¡± ¡°Greta, some twine, an¡¯ some o¡¯ that hard liquor your maids like to hide. And a hot iron.¡± I ran a hand through my hair, imagining the surgery. ¡°Gods.¡± ¡°But m¡¯lord¡­¡± Henrik sighed. ¡°The man looks far worse¡¯n her.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll handle him,¡± I assured the old guard. ¡°M¡¯lord?¡± ¡°From what I know, I believe him to be part Lizardblood.¡± ¡°¡­Part Lizardblood? What do you mean¡­?¡± Even with the dulling effect Lizardblood often inflicted on Blooded, it took Henrik little time to understand. ¡°Oh gods. His veins.¡± ¡°Help Maleen.¡± I paused for a moment. ¡°Bring one of the group with her so she feels more comfortable.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t leave you- ¡° ¡°The entire guard is on the walls, Val included. Surely you don¡¯t believe a group cunning enough to cross the Heartland, survive the Aching, and outfox Baylar to be stupid enough to attack me.¡± ¡°We need to- ¡° ¡°Henrik.¡± I ground my teeth. He should¡¯ve known better than to force me to command him. ¡°Do it.¡± Whatever expression he made must have been a sight to behold, but it was unavailable to me. ¡°¡­Yes m¡¯lord.¡± Then he was moving away, beginning the process of quietly explaining everything to Maleen. I ambled over to the four others, where some unwieldy weight was slowly being lowered to the ground. Distantly, I heard Tam¡¯s voice quietly breaking into sobs. Tully was not among them, then. I rubbed my eyes and continued onwards. ¡°Wait,¡± came a voice similar to one I knew well, yet missing the huskiness of long-abused lungs, ¡°Gale Vane¡¯s bloody blind?!¡± ¡°Kit¡­¡± rebuked Maleen, pausing her conversation with Henrik. ¡°He¡¯s the best the Heartlands has, now.¡± ¡°The best can¡¯t even see the godsdamned runes, Maddie! How¡¯s he supposed t¡¯help- ¡° ¡°Perhaps tell me what you need first,¡± I snapped in her direction, unwittingly scrunching my nose as if I¡¯d smelled some overcooked, underdone meal I¡¯d eaten far too many times before. ¡°And maybe avoid judging my competence from what you first see ¨C as someone who can never make that mistake, I assure you it will do wonders for your future relationships. Because I seem to be your only choice, Kit.¡± ¡°Listen, you little¡­¡± There was a frayed quality to her voice I had missed in my initial ire. ¡°I jus¡¯¡­¡± My tone softened. ¡°What do you need?¡± ¡°Can you help¡­ this feller on the ground here?¡± I swayed my head, listening for any surrounding footsteps. Henrik, Maleen, and one other were departing. Several careful steps brought me closer to the three who remained, and the one on the ground. ¡°The Ravenblood?¡± I whispered. ¡°Wha¡­ How¡¯d you- ¡° ¡°He¡¯s covered in black blood, isn¡¯t he? Has black veins? It¡¯s not difficult to figure out.¡± There was a sound of fingers brushing past fingers from one of the taller ones. ¡°How do you know?¡± asked a different, smoother voice. ¡°You¡¯re blind.¡± The question would¡¯ve raised my hackles, were it not for gormless inquisitiveness of its tone. I turned towards the speaker, trying to gauge any mockery from them but unable to in the silence. ¡°Who asked that?¡± ¡°Gast,¡± replied the woman. ¡°¡­For Ronnie.¡± ¡°Is one of you the Owlblood?¡± I asked. ¡°Or perhaps. But one of you can read runes?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± said the same voice. I suddenly decided I didn¡¯t want to push Gast asking how she could read runes. It could only be uncomfortable. ¡°Alright. What do you want me to do precisely with this man?¡± ¡°Get th¡¯ blood out.¡± My breathing quickened, and I immediately fought to steady it. ¡°You¡¯re sure?¡± ¡°Look, I know it¡¯s¡­ I know it¡¯d be easy t¡¯end him, but he¡¯s done you a favour for gettin¡¯ Maddie here. An¡¯ he should get one in return, right?¡± I heard her swallow. ¡°Right? That was th¡¯ deal Maddie gave us. One wish from you, for what we¡¯ve done for her.¡± My brows wrinkled. ¡°I¡¯m not a star. I cannot grant wishes.¡± Silence. ¡°But I can try. For what you have done for me.¡± Everyone present released a breath. Except me, who struggled to keep mine firmly under control. For a moment, I considered not asking my next question. Leaving it unsaid, and simply going through with the operation without consent. But doing so would disrespect everything I believed in. It would all still work if he refused. ¡°Does he want this, though?¡± I said, carefully. ¡°Yeah. More¡¯n anythin¡¯.¡± There were noises of agreement from the two others. I swallowed, a fierce pricking emerging from the back of the back of my eyes. Leaning backwards, I felt the cold air wash over my face. At that moment, what did the sky look like? Did the world beyond my own ¨C ephemeral and forever beyond my grasp ¨C react to what had just been said? In the darkness of my mind, I felt it must have. After all, here was the moment where the world beyond my own ceased mattering. With a dig of my nails into my palms, I brought myself back to the outer court and reached into my pocket. I brought the device I had spent what seemed like unending hours working on and proffered it towards the rune-reader ¨C Gast. She gently retrieved it from my hand. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± Kit asked. ¡°A conversion stone,¡± I told her, voice steady. ¡°It¡¯s not gonna work- ¡° ¡°It¡¯s designed for the Ravenblood.¡± There was a pause. ¡°What?¡± A carefully moulded sigh emerged from my mouth. ¡°I wanted to prove I was better than Neelam.¡± ¡°Neelam Heltia?¡± Her tone grew agitated. ¡°So you jus¡¯ happened t¡¯design a conversion stone.¡± ¡°Neelam gave up. During the Heltian Conditions,¡± I added, ¡°the presiding Houses asked him whether it would be possible to simply take the Ravenblood from Cultists. He thought it would be too difficult. Too pointless. So when I heard the song about the Ravenblood of the Foot¡­¡± ¡°You made one.¡± ¡°It¡¯s keyed specifically for a Ravenblood who has assimilated an Oxblood ¨C that¡¯s all I knew about him. Is this¡­¡± I took an unwitting step forward. ¡°Is this him?¡± Ragged clothing brushed as the trio rotated their bodies. Their breathing remained harsh from their labours. A boot lifted off the snow and repositioned elsewhere. Between them ran an exchange as alien to me as the gods themselves. ¡°How do we know you¡¯re not jus¡¯ plugging poison into him?¡± Kit¡¯s words were stern, but her tone was exhausted. ¡°Get Gast here to check the runes. It obeys most basic principles of a conversion stone, though there are some truly extensive modifications. And to be frank,¡± I added, because her mother always appreciated frankness, ¡°if I wanted to kill you I would have shot you before you reached the walls.¡± ¡°Gast?¡± A pause hung. It grew fat and distended upon the tension that lay in the air. ¡°Good work,¡± she finally stated. ¡°How did you¡­¡± There was a slight brushing of flesh as she rotated the device. ¡°Oh, very good.¡± ¡°Gast?¡± Kit repeated. ¡°You made this?¡± I nodded. ¡°He¡¯s very good, Kit.¡± ¡°Does the¡­¡± Her voice was baffled. ¡°Is it a conversion stone?¡± ¡°Kit, he¡¯s very good.¡± ¡°Is it a conversion stone, Gast?¡± ¡°Yes. Maybe. I need more time.¡± ¡°Well, we got ¡®til he wakes up, so is it a conversion stone?¡± A silence. Gast must have nodded. ¡°Gods.¡± There was a rustle as she ran a hand through her hair. ¡°This¡¯s too good t¡¯be real. No one gets this lucky.¡± ¡°It¡¯s no coincidence you came here for this problem,¡± I told her. She seemed smarter than Val had given her credit for. ¡°With Spires gone, it¡¯s the only place you could have gone for this kind of help.¡± ¡°Blood. S¡¯pose you¡¯re right.¡± ¡°Now, Gast,¡± I said, ¡°if you could insert the device into the skin above his heart, it should begin operation. I also need to warn you that I don¡¯t believe it will remove all his Ravenblood; simply certain parts. I¡¯ll need to talk to¡­¡± ¡°Vin,¡± Kit supplied. ¡°Yes. Vin.¡± I rolled that name over my tongue. ¡°Vin. I¡¯ll need to ask him several questions in order to modify the device correctly. It will be some time before I can remove all of it.¡± ¡°It usually take that long?¡± ¡°Longer, for conversion stones made for generic blood types, however this will be designed specifically for him. It should take far less time than usual.¡± ¡°An¡¯ you can destroy the blood, too?¡± ¡°I can try?¡± That was no lie. I was being honest with them. I could try, if all else failed. ¡°Alright. Makes sense.¡± Snow crunched as Gast lowered herself to the ground. There was a short silence. ¡°It¡¯s done,¡± she said. ¡°Stone¡¯s on.¡± I leaned over and felt the device. It was in his skin. Just like that. A sudden weakness took my limbs, and I steadied myself with my cane. ¡°Well.¡± I gave a trembling smile. ¡°I should let you get settled. Gast and¡­ Ronnie, was it?¡± Silence. ¡°Ronnie jus¡¯ nodded,¡± Kit explained. ¡°He¡­ or she can¡¯t tell me themselves?¡± ¡°Nah, they can¡¯t speak. An¡¯ I dunno what they are.¡± ¡°Right.¡± Possibly the worst kind of person to interact with a man like me. ¡°I¡¯ll have a maid prepare some rooms for you and bring some food ¨C we have plenty of empty ones.¡± A short silence, followed by a crack of turning necks. They were looking at me. ¡°What?¡± I asked. ¡°Oh, uh, right. Gast?¡± ¡°Ronnie wants a wish.¡± I blinked. ¡°I can¡­ Could we discuss this later? I¡¯m sure it will be more productive when you¡¯ve rested.¡± ¡°They get rooms?¡± observed Kit. She gave a wet snort, then spat something onto the snow. ¡°What ¡®bout me?¡± ¡°I thought you would like to meet with your mother before you turn in.¡± There was a brief pause. Something shifted around us. I¡¯d made some sort of error. ¡°What?¡± she said weakly. ¡°Your mother, Valorie,¡± I told her, trying to decipher whatever had just happened from the faltering contours of her voice. ¡°She¡¯s employed within this fort.¡± ¡°You¡¯re jokin¡¯,¡± Kit muttered. ¡°What kind o¡¯ luck is that? You¡¯re messin¡¯ with me. Why would you- ¡± There came a call from atop the walls, falling from high above to land thin and distorted at our feet. Full of good humour and frayed edges. ¡°What kind o¡¯ luck indeed?¡± Val laughed. ¡°I¡¯ve never put much stock in hogwash like ¡®fate¡¯, but y¡¯know birdie, I think I¡¯m startin¡¯ t¡¯believe. Why else would you be here?¡± There came a set of sudden, frantic steps, accompanied by a set of dull grunts. Kit must have shoved her two companions behind her. Her feet shifted in a familiar way, and with some surprise I recognised the stance. Val occasionally trained with the guards, and she always began a bout with it when outnumbered. ¡°How¡¯re you alive?¡± The young woman¡¯s voice broke into harsh, painful pieces. ¡°Aw, c¡¯mon, Kit. Yer dear old mother could thread herself through the eye of a dragonfly, if needed. Prison bars an¡¯ th¡¯ Ox? Easy as easy can be.¡± A pause. ¡°No thanks t¡¯you, o¡¯ course.¡± ¡°I¡­¡± The swordswoman retreated further as Val carefully descended the ladder. ¡°It was a Heltian prison! I had no chance, Mother!¡± Val tutted as she drew closer. ¡°Kit?¡± Gast asked. ¡°I would¡¯ve died!¡± the young woman insisted. ¡°It was over.¡± ¡°I was jus¡¯ stronger¡¯n them, kid. Wanted what I did jus¡¯ a bit more fiercely than anyone else in that prison. Kept true to it. An¡¯ kept fightin¡¯ for it.¡± Val gave a barking laugh. ¡°S¡¯pose you didn¡¯t want it nearly as much.¡± I listened, stunned, to Kit retreating further. ¡°I did! I swear I did! But with you gone it was l-like¡­¡± ¡°L-like?¡± Val imitated her daughter¡¯s stutter mockingly. ¡°L-like what, huh?¡± ¡°I-It was like I was dreamin¡¯!¡± Kit pleaded. ¡°Like nothin¡¯ was real, an¡¯ I couldn¡¯t¡­¡± A high, barking cackle followed her words. ¡°Time to wake up, oh Kit o¡¯ mine.¡± I heard the grin in the Jackal¡¯s voice. ¡°Back t¡¯the real world with you.¡±
The negotiations between the Baylarian officer and myself took a simple form. They would threaten to besiege Fort Vane, and I would tell them to bring someone with negotiating powers. It was a bluff, predicated on the belief that I wanted to avoid any deaths ¨C we both knew I could devastate their army if it did surround us, but that would inevitably result in the full force of what was now the third most powerful House grinding me into dust. However, after explaining that my link to House Baylar had initially come through the Albrights, there was little they could do without consulting their superiors. Potentially antagonising the ruling House was a decision the negotiating officer was extremely happy to defer up the chain of command. They sat in an unenviable position: their failure to capture Maleen would surely result in a flogging and subsequent demotion, but pushing to get the Head back would likely result in a hanging. The compromise I offered was to give them leave to camp in the open fields around the fort, which would let the army ensure the erstwhile Head couldn¡¯t escape. The danger Maleen posed as the last remaining noble of House Heltia was only operative so long as she could make connections and eventually return to Spires. Killing her was ideal, but caging her came a close second. Of course, there was no certainty that the Albrights wouldn¡¯t endorse my execution, but the opposite was also true. House Heltia was eradicated in every way that mattered, indirectly giving our monarchs what they had wanted from the war. Overkill to deter the House away from a rumour, but criticising would be hypocrisy. Given that I represented one of the most skilled Owlsmiths remaining after the fall, killing me would be a serious loss. But if they knew my suspicions about Ichor and my association with the Seeds, it would be safer to silence me. But the point of the negotiation wasn¡¯t to persuade the Albrights, or even permanently deter House Baylar. My demand that they let me keep Maleen and bring someone with actual clout combined with the concession that they could remain nearby should have given the impression that I didn¡¯t want to keep the Head; I wanted to leverage her for more power. Gale Heltia had entered this game a minor player, yet remained only slightly stronger; why wouldn¡¯t such an ambitious man want more? So I kept lying and wheedling and concealing and smiling and prayed they would see as little as I always had. When they asked for the man who had killed so many of them as a token of good-will, I gripped the battlements fiercely enough to rip open my palms and told them it was cruel to blame the dog for the commands of the master. When the sluggish beat of boots against earth had finally trailed over the plains and into nothingness, I slid to the cold stone beneath my bare feet, heart beating in my ears. They had bought the story I sold them. Of minor player who sat at the same board as them. But in truth, I played a game of higher stakes. Of a hell with no more room for me, and the heaven with enough for everyone. And it was all reaching its final phase. I placed a hand over my sightless eyes and began to weep. Chapter 66 - Holes of the Heart I slid open the door and walked into my home, clutching the furry bundle tightly to my chest. ¡°Ma?¡± I whined. ¡°Can I keep a puppy?¡± All the shutters had been sealed. The door had been closed. The sun still stood a short distance above the horizon, but the restaurant was not open. We had been in a frenetic rush of business since the plague had ended. The residents of the Foot could finally meet and share in their quiet grief for all that the Raven¡¯s madness had cost them. This was the first time Ma had sealed everything this early in the day since then. I padded past the darkened eating area and into the kitchen, where bronze pots and pans lay unwashed aside a surplus of greasy bowls. ¡°Sash? Dash?¡± I called, gaze fixed on the disarray. Ma always kept it clean. A thump emanated from upstairs. Slowly, I lowered the dog to the ground. It quickly scampered from the darkness of the restaurant to the cold streets outside. I grabbed a knife still smeared with vegetable peelings and creeped past the our eating area, where darkness strangled the thin fingers of sunlight reaching through the shutters. The attic¡¯s ladder seemed gnarled and pale. It gave a long squeak as my weight settled onto it, startling me into a freezing. But after a few tense moments, I continued upwards into my room. A bed and a footlocker awaited me, alongside my ever-growing collection of cool rocks, colourful ribbons, and shiny things. I had the room to myself, but Ma kept saying that Dash would move in with me when he turned five. Which sucked: it was my room. I didn¡¯t want to share it with a baby. But as full of shadows as it was, it didn¡¯t seem much like the place I woke up every morning in. Every corner, errant knick-knack, and floorboard seemed to snarl at me from their dark alcoves. The deepest, darkest of all waited under my bed. I swallowed, gripped the knife, and quickly lowered my face to look under. The twins shivered, pressed as far back as they could wriggle their small bodies. Dash held a weeping Sash, his own eyes leaking heavy tears. ¡°Sash?¡± I asked. ¡°Dash?¡± They froze, then scrabbled out from under my bed and latched onto me, sobbing uncontrollably. I carefully placed the knife on the bed and rubbed their backs. Another tight squeeze, and I mustered the courage to ask them a question. ¡°What happened?¡± ¡°Ma!¡± Dash wailed, snot streaming from his nose. His sister let loose a broken, ¡°Uh-huh, uh-huh.¡± My tunic was growing wet where she buried her face in it. Then they were squeezing me as if doing anything else would kill them. They were five years younger than me. Only four years old. I hugged them for a while, then gingerly extracted myself from them. The twins looked up at me with teary eyes. ¡°No!¡± my sister pleaded, chubby cheeks quivering. ¡°Don¡¯t go!¡± said my brother. ¡°Stay here,¡± I told them. ¡°I¡¯ll be back quickerly.¡± Sash gave a small giggle. It was ¡®quickly¡¯, but I always said it wrong to make her laugh. But even so, the pair kept sobbing as I placed them in my bed, one at a time, and pulled its blankets over their head. After tucking them in, I turned, retrieved the knife, and began tip-toeing back down the stairs. My home sat choked in swaddling darkness. The shadows could¡¯ve concealed anything. I slipped my head through the door of Ma and the twin¡¯s room. Dimly, I picked out beds and dolls and toys and nothing else. The dining area was similarly untouched. I looked out at the courtyard, seeing its wide-open space and the well like the pustule of some massive god, and shivered. I went back to the kitchen. I went into the dining area, and blinking into the darkness, realised every table and chair had been shattered into pieces. All except one pair. ¡°General Maja?¡± I asked. A shadow turned to me in the darkness, eyes as black as the darkest pits. Even seated, she was immense. ¡°Orvi,¡± she rumbled. ¡°Where are your wounds?¡± I gripped the knife harder, yet was unable to stop myself from trembling. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Where are they?!¡± I remembered a spear: killing and being killed. ¡°I, I- ¡° A sound like a thunderclap made me flinch. ¡°WHERE?!¡± I¡¯d cut my brow yesterday, wrestling with Blake. It had already healed. ¡°I don¡¯t know- ¡° ¡°You ruined EVERYTHING!¡± the gargantuan woman bellowed. ¡°Why did I take you in?¡± I took a step backwards. ¡°M-Ma¡­¡± Still seated, she beat the side of her head with a series of ringing blows. ¡°Why? Why? How could I be such a fool?¡± My breaths were coming quickly. The tip of my knife trembled where I held it towards the seated shadow. ¡°But Ma¡­¡± I felt like crying. She clutched her head, releasing a harsh, resonant rumble. I couldn¡¯t make sense of it at the time as anything but a deep growl. But in hindsight, it was a sob. ¡°We¡¯re¡­¡± I fumbled. I didn¡¯t understand what was happening. All that work she put into us: were we not enough? ¡°We¡¯re worth it, right?¡± Her head remained in her grip. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Ma whispered. I stood, shivering as tears slid down my face, and waited for something else. Some caveat; a ¡®but¡¯ to make everything alright. But Ma didn¡¯t have anything else to say. I returned to the twins and spent a sleepless night consoling them. The restaurant opened and closed the next day at its usual time. Beyond the rote niceties of taking orders, Ma said nothing to anyone. The day after, she apologised to the twins and I for scaring us; claimed she would do better in the future. She did not apologise for the things she had said. She didn¡¯t even remember them. The day she broke every piece of furniture in the restaurant was the day Ma had realised I was a Ravenblood. In her memories, the moment she put all the pieces together and staggered to her knees in the kitchen defined that discovery. The rage afterwards was dimly lit. But the words? In the years since her death, I¡¯d scoured every single one of her memories. They were nowhere, nothing. She¡¯d forgotten them. They had meant that little to her. But I never doubted that in that moment, Ma had meant everything she said to me. Despair had been writ too clearly in her rough features to allow any other answer. I hurt her just by existing.
¡°Ma?¡± The name echoed through an empty space without reply. All was silence. It was quiet. I opened my eyes. Something was different. I moved to pull myself upright, then a wall of pain pushed me back downwards. My consciousness narrowed to the dull ache that permeated my entire body, and the pillars of agony that seemed to hoist the pain upright. My arms; back; neck; chest: all were raw with pain, as if strips of flesh had been flayed from each area. Gasps escaped me as I lay on the soft bed, gradually mustering the will to try again. My fingers clenched around blankets, utterly useless against the pain bearing down upon my mind, and my eyes flickered for distraction. The room I was in sat in the steady light of an everburning lamp mounted on one of its stone walls. Other than the bed I lay on, the only other pieces of furniture were an impressively cushioned divan, an armoire covered in carvings of birds in flight, and a desk. It held nothing more than a bucket of blackened water which soaked several long bandages. A metal pipe emerged from one wall and disappeared into the other, steaming slightly. A rich room, clean of dust yet empty of any objects, clothes, mess, dirt or other signs of day-to-day living. A room for guests. Important ones. I ground my teeth, gripped the mattress beneath me, and slowly raised myself into a seated position. My muscles trembled precariously as I sat there, waiting to regain my breath. Idly, I scratched at a scab on my chest. A frown broke over my face and I squinted at it. It seemed tiny at first glance, but judging by the discomfort it went deeper beneath my skin. The scab hinted that whatever caused it had only recently been removed. I took another glance around. Either I was under the care of Fort Vane or House Baylar, and I doubted the latter would offer such lavish accommodations. Another sharp inhalation and I was surging to my feet into a brief stagger that rapidly transitioned into an outright fall. Tangled in the blankets swaddling me moments ago, all I could do was throw out my arms and prevent my head from smashing against the floorboards beneath. I rolled slightly, then came to a halt with my cheek against the floor. The pain in my body flared in protest and several long curses slipped from my mouth. Slowly but surely, the pain¡¯s immediacy ebbed away. As if it were slipping somewhere distant. Alongside the press of wood. The sharp chill of the air. The light of the lamp. My tongue felt thick and heavy in my mouth. Something was different. I dragged myself over to the wall and used it to push myself upright. The blankets fell off my naked body, leaving only the scant bandages wrapped around my arms adorning me. But the door was all that mattered. Legs trembling, I slumped over to it. A lunge to grasp the handle had me teetering, but I managed to hurl it open and stumble out into the hall. Stone walls embraced either side of the hallway, studded with doors lit only by the gentle blue light of the ubiquitous bloodtech lanterns. These were beginning to flicker and die; lack of fuel twisting their light and setting shadows oscillating between bloated rotundity and emaciated starvation. A small painting sat between two doors. It depicted several figures on a mountaintop, yet its clarity was ruined by tendrils of feckless shadows. I cast several myself. As I leaned against a wall, panting, two ghosts carrying a third walked their fragmented forms into the room I had just left. One was giant, one was round with fat, both straining against their tall and well-muscled burden. When they disappeared through the doorway, a fourth followed, carefully tapping some kind of stick against the floor. I stared at their dissipating light, wide-eyed. After a short rest restored energy to my quivering muscles, I picked the direction the spirits had emerged from to stumble down. Though I frequently stumbled, my body¡¯s balance felt perfect. It was my mind that couldn¡¯t understand the weakness hounding each of my movements. With every step, I reached for strength that was no longer there, forcing me to cling to the wall like a limpet as I inched my way down the hall. My eyes were so focused on watching my feet that they almost missed the transition into a far larger area. At its centre a large brazier crackled, its light blocked in parts by winding pipes like the roots of a tangled tree: twisting through the flames and disappearing in every direction. The glass beneath the brazier revealed a dining area beneath, its vastness dogged by hollow darkness. The ceiling vanished into shadows far above. Yet as my gaze panned around the room, it was the lack of walls that arrested me. What should have buttressed the hallway vanished on either side, allowing the space to stretch into endless darkness speckled with equally spaced braziers burning; a road that narrowed into eternity. An impossible, endless hall towered within stone walls. Infinity made manifest; as if the sky had fallen sideways to squat unending beneath the Fort¡¯s ceiling. I walked towards that distance, ducking under pipes while fighting against my strained muscles, then glanced up and found a shadowy silhouette staring at me. I knew that creature: it had impaled me; decapitated me; stabbed me; beaten me; killed me countless times. I screamed and stumbled backwards, then raised my fists unsteadily. But the thing simply took a step back and fell into its own stance. And behind it a thousand increasingly distant figures did the same. My legs ached under my own weight. My throat heaved with growling gasps. I wanted to run, but I stumbled forward, and the figures advanced as well. When we stood mere steps away from one another, both of us turned our body to swing. But in the process, the firelight passed by my body and fell on the thing¡¯s. It stood of equal height to me, with a dark form wreathed in bandages. Skin stretched over bones like loose hide stretched over the ribs of a canoe. Sinewy muscle bulged was etched with grotesque clarity in the absence of fat. Above its emaciated body sat a shivering snarl. Two sunken eyes peered from beneath clumps of onyx hair, as dead as a corpse¡¯s. Dark veins squeezed every inch of flesh. I needed to kill it ¨C save everyone from this monster ¨C but I sensed no life from its barren body. We stared at one another, expressions falling into horrified comprehension. Then I reached forward and touched the surface of the mirror. How many people had I killed to get to this place? How many souls had I grafted to my own? I remembered dying and I remembered killing; each connection severed as blood leaked from my nostrils, ears, and eyes. The memories of those people were incomplete, but the terror accompanying their many deaths remained. And Seoras, and ????, and the soldiers on the hill. What had happened to this body; this wasted tree of flesh? This tomb of souls? What had happened to me? I looked downwards, at the bandages wrapped around the distant spikes of pain covering my body. My reflection watched as my hands slowly unwound the cloth from my arms. Beneath gaped a cavity weeping yellow pus. Necrotised flesh bearing the marks of a scalpel surrounded its edges. The remnants of an eye-socket. The eye itself had either been extracted, or rotted away on its own. Unwrapping the other bandages revealed the same. I looked at myself. Something was different. But it was all starting to feel very distant. A pair of footsteps light enough to be imperceptible were it not for my stolen Foxblood padded into the room. ¡°Hello?¡± an unfamiliar voice called. I ducked into the shadows, careful to keep my movement silent. A man stood in the entrance to the mirror-hall; shorter than average and extending a cane hesitantly in front of himself. ¡°Vin?¡± the man said, cocking his head. ¡°Is that you? We heard a scream.¡± I inched forward, frowning. He knew my name. And who was ¡®we¡¯? The second person to enter answered my question. It took me several sluggish moments to recognise their round figure. ¡°Gast.¡± The voice was rough from disuse. It took a moment to understand it was mine. Two heads panned across the area. Gast craned her head towards the darkness. ¡°Where are you?¡± I slowly twisted my way through the pipes and out of the shadows. Gast blinked at me owlishly. ¡°You¡¯re awake.¡± ¡°What happened?¡± I winced at the pain in my rusty voice-box. ¡°And who are you?¡± The man inclined his head. ¡°Gale Vane: acting lord of the Vane family.¡± I stared at him in silence. His hair was dark; his skin pale. Despite his thin body, he had a broad, earnest face. His eyes were a clouded blue. ¡°Vin: of no consequence,¡± I finally remembered to add. I bowed my head in return, but his pupils did not track the movement. The man was blind. ¡°That¡¯s hardly true,¡± he protested. ¡°I doubt there¡¯s anyone this side of the Dolphin so important. You¡¯re- you¡¯re the last Ravenblood!¡± I didn¡¯t correct him. ¡°You told him?¡± I asked Gast. ¡°He knew.¡± ¡°It was rather obvious,¡± Gale added. ¡°And I have little prejudice against Ravenbloods, if that¡¯s something you¡¯re concerned about.¡± ¡°They killed countless people,¡± I stated. ¡°Mm,¡± he hummed. ¡°If it¡¯s alright with you, Vin, could we take this discussion to my workshop? I¡¯ll be better equipped to explain what¡¯s happened to you there.¡± ¡°You got some of my Ravenblood out,¡± I stated. ¡°I did, yes.¡± Gale paused, then rapidly added, ¡°Upon the request of your friends, of course. I can, of course¡­¡± The man swallowed. ¡°Put it back in, if you- ¡° ¡°No,¡± I quickly cut in. ¡°You¡¯ve¡­¡± I ran a hand through my hair, eyes fixed on the ceiling. That was it, was it? Avri¡¯s essence: gone. Really? After everything? I released a heavy breath. ¡°You¡¯ve rendered me a¡­ great service.¡± ¡°Well¡­¡± The man¡¯s eyes blinked slowly. ¡°The extraction isn¡¯t quite done yet. I¡¯d, uh, appreciate it if you came with me.¡± My gaze panned around the dark hall. The brazier, chewing through wood as it provided the fiery light of the hall. The glass beneath it, allowing light into the dining area below. The mirrors, repeating everything they beheld. I inspected the fragile lines of my body. My nudity meant nothing ¨C strange, as I dimly recalled clothes being important to me ¨C but having a long conversation naked seemed somewhat off. ¡°I might need something to wear, first.¡± Gale gaped. ¡°You¡¯re naked?¡± ¡°He is,¡± said the round Strain beside him. ¡°You didn¡¯t- ¡° He sighed. ¡°There were clothes set aside for you in the room you woke up in.¡± My eyes slid back to the hall. I grunted an acknowledgement, then began moving back to my room. ¡°He just left?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Uh, well¡­ I suppose we should follow.¡± ¡°To watch him change?¡± ¡°¡­Gast, I¡¯m blind.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not.¡± Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. ¡°Why did you not say anything?!¡± ¡°You didn¡¯t ask.¡± I left their conversation behind. Walking was still difficult, yet my body was beginning to adjust. With every movement, I¡¯d been reaching for strength that was no longer there. Strength I no longer needed, to push my diminished weight. My slow shuffle was ponderous, yet the constant burden of time seemed less pressing. Eventually, I entered the room I¡¯d woke up in, searched the armoire, and clothed myself in a dark tunic, trousers, and a coat that seemed to have its edges embellished with purple silk. Its touch was as soft as freshly-fallen snow. Laid neatly beside the clothes waited my scabbarded sword, still depicting the story of a god slain by a giant in exquisite silver. I drew the onyx blade an inch and peered into its unflinching blackness. When it revealed nothing, I slammed it shut and buckled it to my waist. Its weight was unwieldy on my reduced body. The strange pair waited outside. They beckoned me in the opposite direction of the mirror-hall ¨C past a spiralling set of stairs haphazardly placed in the centre of the hallway and into an adjacent door. The room we entered was lit with harsh light. I squinted through the blue glare, revealing a surprisingly neat workshop ¨C perhaps the neatest I¡¯d ever seen amongst any smith, whether mortal or made divine by Yoot¡¯s essence. An everburning lantern glared as it swung from the ceiling. Chisels lay neatly on one side of a workbench which doubled as a set of drawers ¨C each handle carved in a unique shape. Embedded in the wall at the back of the room squatted a cracked kiln, empty of heat but still bearing the sharp scent of metal, flanked by racks of tongs, a few choice hammers, and several moulds. Every surface was clean of dust, grime, or any charcoal residue, but the workshop still stank with an acrid tang. Despite it all, the air of the workshop felt otherworldly. Swaddled in that same surreal fog that had blanketed me the moment I¡¯d woken up. ¡°Strange. A lord forges his own metal,¡± I found myself musing. Gale shuffled around the other of the workbench, rubbing the back of his neck. ¡°Well¡­ no. I¡¯m not a strong enough Owlblood to produce the temperatures needed to smelt iron or steel,¡± he admitted. ¡°Colin has to do it for me.¡± I looked at him. ¡°Colin?¡± ¡°My assistant. He¡¯s asleep right now.¡± Gale smiled, clouded eyes staring past my face. ¡°Which is quite rare for him, being honest.¡± The blind man began laboriously moving a set of chairs from the side of the room to the worktable that dominated the entire space. After a moment of mute watching, I blinked and began hurrying to assist him. When we had placed three chairs around the table, Gale gestured vaguely, then sat down. ¡°How are you feeling, Vin?¡± Gale asked. I took some time to consider the question. ¡°Hollow,¡± I finally answered. ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s unusual for Blooded who have lost some of their divinity. You shouldn¡¯t, uh¡­¡± His voice trailed into awkward silence. The smaller man leaned forward, turning his ear towards me. After a moment, he swallowed, then gripped his hands together. ¡°Do you remember- ¡° he began, then shook his head rapidly. ¡°No, wait. First of all, I should ask if you have any questions.¡± I stared at him, then seated myself on the opposite chair. Gast plonked herself down beside me. The Strain and I could peer over the workbench easily, but Gale¡¯s chin was partially covered by its form. Perhaps he didn¡¯t notice. It felt like that should be somewhat amusing to me. ¡°How long have I been unconscious for?¡± I asked. ¡°A week.¡± I leaned backwards. The chair was vaguely uncomfortable, I registered. ¡°¡­Huh. Why¡¯s¡­¡± I found myself rubbing sleep from my eyes. ¡°Why is my body so¡­¡± Gale nodded slowly, a pained expression on his face. ¡°Radical physical changes are known to be common in the process of Blooded becoming unblooded, and they become more pronounced if the removal is fast or takes much. Any loss of Godsblood is generally accompanied by a lower life expectancy than both their mortal and divine counterparts.¡± I bobbed my head woodenly. His sightless eyes widened. ¡°Ah! Only a small portion of your Ravenblood has been taken,¡± he added, ¡°so I don¡¯t believe it¡¯s something for you to worry about. Your condition is¡­ I¡¯ll explain in a moment.¡± I struggled to comprehend the information. Ma would¡¯ve died? Had she known? ¡°¡­Why don¡¯t more people know this?¡± I heard the words rattle from my throat. The blind man drummed his fingers against his collarbone, gingerly leaning his cane against the side of his chair. ¡°The Houses are¡­ incentivised to conceal this information.¡± A grunt. ¡°Because few would want to give their blood to the next generation if it meant dying.¡± ¡°Yes. Perhaps there are other reasons, but that¡¯s what I believe as well.¡± I screwed my eyes shut in an attempt to bring my distant mind closer to the conversation. ¡°Alright. Okay. That¡¯s in my future as well?¡± ¡°You¡­ don¡¯t want to stop?¡± ¡°No,¡± I answered. ¡°It¡¯s not¡­¡± He turned to me again, disbelieving. ¡°Really? Designing a stone specifically for you should hopefully reduce the chances of a bad outcome, but it¡¯s dangerous. And you¡¯re a powerful individual like this. One-of-a-kind. Endowed with entirely unique abilities. I¡¯ve preserved your Ravenblood in a device similar to what Neelam used at Spires, but- ¡± ¡°You preserved it?¡± I snapped. ¡°Why? Leave it in the sun, let the accursed stuff lose potency.¡± It had always seemed impossible to lose such an immense, dominating force, but upon consideration, leaving it in the sun would be enough to render it a useless black sludge. Gale shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m not sure Godsblood is so weak as to allow mere exposure to vanquish it.¡± ¡°It fades. I was a monster hunter¡­¡± A frown formed on my face. Was that correct? I¡¯d been so many other things¡­ The noble¡¯s words interrupted my thoughts. ¡°I understand you¡¯ve seen it happen many times, but even so.¡± ¡°Just¡­¡± I groped uselessly, then sighed. ¡°Get rid of it.¡± He hummed. ¡°You¡¯re certain you don¡¯t want it back?¡± ¡°No,¡± I told him. ¡°Reattach the stone.¡± ¡°Well,¡± he said with a sheepish wince, ¡°it¡¯s not quite that simple. What do you know about conversion stones?¡± I began counting off my fingers. ¡°They take and hold blood to be transferred without killing the original Blooded. Ideally, the original can help educate their successor. There have been none developed for Ravenbloods.¡± The blind man nodded, cloudy eyes brushing past my position. ¡°Not in the three centuries since they were invented. It¡¯s a long time, no? Especially since ¨C don¡¯t quote me on this ¨C most of the other types were made within decades of one another.¡± He scratched his cheek. ¡°I believe Dolphinblood conversion stones took the longest, but that was in a very different society. The Houses were so reduced to barely deserve the name ¨C they only came about because of the stones. Humanity was too scattered and disparate to support them. But with all our resources now, we should¡¯ve cracked Ravenblood long ago.¡± I shook my head. ¡°Avri¡¯s Cult would never want it. They had their own¡­ more lethal methods.¡± ¡°Even so,¡± he stressed, ¡°there¡¯s good reason none have been developed. You could make a generic conversion stone for Ravenbloods, but it would only work on those who have preserved a few souls.¡± My head snapped towards him. ¡°What was that?¡± He blinked. ¡°Pardon?¡± I was uncertain I¡¯d heard him properly. ¡°That word.¡± ¡°Souls? You¡¯re a Face, are you not? You believe in souls.¡± ¡°No,¡± I ground out. ¡°Before that.¡± He frowned. ¡°I was speaking of you taking from the dead.¡± ¡°You said ¡®preserve¡¯,¡± I snapped. ¡°Where¡¯d you hear that term?¡± ¡°What?¡± His features were warped in mute confusion. ¡°It¡¯s a word. Does it matter?¡± ¡°That¡¯s a cultist way of describing the process.¡± The Owlblood paused for a moment, then opened his empty arms. His eyes were aimed in my general direction. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for that? I didn¡¯t know.¡± I squinted at him, but was too exhausted to push it. ¡°Sure. Fine. So I¡¯m assuming a generic stone won¡¯t work on me.¡± Gale inclined his head in agreement. ¡°You¡¯ve taken in too many. I¡¯ll need to modify the design based on the other Godsblood mingling in your veins. I know it might seem a hassle, but it¡¯s actually very good for you,¡± he said quickly, ¡°because you¡¯ll have one adapted specifically for you- ¡° ¡°It¡¯s fine.¡± ¡° -which I believe will vastly reduce the chances of rapid deterioration, though potency of the blood will obviously have an¡­¡± He paused. ¡°Sorry, what?¡± ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± I told him. ¡°It¡¯s not a hassle.¡± ¡°Uh, alright.¡± He nodded to himself, releasing a sigh. ¡°That¡¯s good. You know, you¡¯ll be the first Ravenblood in history to lose his blood through this method.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± I agreed. ¡°I¡¯ll also be the last.¡± The blind noble hummed. ¡°Right. If you¡¯re concerned about the design,¡± he rapidly added, ¡°you can ask Gast about it.¡± ¡°It¡¯s very good,¡± the Strain provided from beside me, unprovoked. ¡°Works really well.¡± I glanced at her, somewhat surprised by her presence. ¡°Why¡¯re you here, anyway?¡± ¡°I¡¯m helping,¡± she claimed. ¡°I concur,¡± said Gale. ¡°She¡¯s been a great help reviewing my work. And developing new ones. She lacks formal training, but such a thing allows a unique perspective that¡¯s far more valuable ¨C at least to me.¡± The fat Strain nodded. ¡°Okay.¡± I dragged my gaze around the room, finally landing on the blind man. He fidgeted. ¡°What do you need me to do?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll just reattach the conversion stone, quickly ¨C see if it has truly finished its work.¡± He opened a drawer and produced what seemed to be a bisected metal sphere carved with a dizzying array of runes. I stared at them. Even after all my time in Spires ¨C a city wrought with bloodtech ¨C the sight of them caused a faint throbbing to take up residence in my skull. Only Yoot¡¯s ilk could make sense of it the infinitely small contours. A set of pincers flaky with dried blood bristled from its roof. Belatedly, I tore my eyes away. Gale twisted the device between both hands. With each rotation, he grew slightly more frantic. Eventually, the conversion stone spun rapidly. His eyes stared at the wall, ignorant of the toothy scowl growing on his face. The Strain and I watched him silently. Eventually, Gast spoke. ¡°Do you need help?¡± ¡°I- I made this thing, I should be able to¡­¡± Almost immediately, he tossed it on the table in disgust. ¡°Damn it, alright.¡± I eyed him, then realised I should say something. ¡°Are you- ¡° ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± Gale rubbed the bridge of his nose. ¡°Stupid of me,¡± he muttered. ¡°Really should¡¯ve expected this.¡± Gast stood, retrieved the device, and began lifting my shirt impassively. I frowned at her, but the mild discomfort at the invasion of my space barely registered. What did was a sharp pain from the already tender area of my flesh as the Strain flicked something and jammed it into my skin. ¡°Raven¡¯s bones,¡± I swore, rubbing my chest. Her eyes flickered towards mine. ¡°Sorry.¡± I waved a hand and she continued groping, as the pain from earlier ¨C having faded ¨C began to reignite. Before it could rise to a full inferno, Gast repeated the flicking motion and yanked it from my skin. ¡°Hell,¡± I swore. Then startled at my own bad language. It was unlike me to use Cult terms out loud. Or was I remembering a different person? Regardless, it was too dangerous a habit to keep. ¡°Nothing left,¡± Gast told the blind man. He pursed his lips. ¡°Good, good. Now Vin, the next step is to modify its design to target another part of your Ravenblood. For that, I¡¯ll need to know what kind of Blooded you¡¯ve incorporated. If it¡¯s alright by you, I¡¯d also like to know what age you received your blood; to modify the rate of extraction.¡± I frowned. Gale rubbed the back of his neck. ¡°¡­Is that alright with you?¡± The question was so distant it took a moment to realise it had been asked. ¡°Give me a moment.¡± When had I gotten it? Eighteen? Fourteen? Thirty? Twenty? My mind parsed through the ages like an old man sorting through a deck of cards. What answer was he looking for? Ravenblood. The notion was a pit of gravity in an empty abyss. He wanted to know when I had gotten the Ravenblood ¨C not any of the other Godsblood. ¡°I was six,¡± I found myself saying. Immediately, the Owlblood sucked air through his teeth and rocked back. ¡°That¡¯s not good. And that would make you¡­ Eighteen? Nineteen? And you would be fourteen when¡­ Gods. I thought you were older.¡± My brows furrowed. I was older, wasn¡¯t I? He clenched his teeth. ¡°Who would¡­ No. It¡¯s not for me to judge such actions. But it¡¯s little wonder your body has reacted so poorly.¡± My eyes flicked to his clouded pair. ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Godsblood is only meant to be given to people finished growing in their mortal, unvarnished forms.¡± There was a disparaging tilt to his lips. ¡°Or so the Houses say. Such phrasing belies an unexamined prejudice for divinity, but while those who become Blooded earlier are often more capable with its powers, they are often¡­ more prone to outbursts. Difficult to control. Amongst a gamut of other traits. And the outcomes for losing the blood that has been the scaffold which their body and mind has grown into¡­¡± He sighed. ¡°I suppose you¡¯ve seen it for yourself. I had no idea it was that bad for you. You need a doctor¡­ but the Fort¡¯s disappeared months ago. Your friends say you might have taken in a Lizardblood?¡± It took a moment to comprehend his lecture had ceased. ¡°I¡¯ve stolen some, yes.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not¡­¡± Gale released a heavy breath. ¡°Hopefully, it will fortify your body through the changes. We¡¯ll remove it last.¡± ¡°Last?¡± ¡°I have to deal with the Godsblood wrapped within your veins on an individual basis. Which is why I need to know what, specifically, you have.¡± That was a far easier question to answer than his previous one. ¡°Lizardblood. Spiderblood. Foxblood. Shrikeblood. Oxblood.¡± ¡°Shrikeblood?¡± I groped for words to describe it. The fat Strain beside me found them faster. ¡°Big god under the Heartlands.¡± Gale¡¯s eyes narrowed. His mouth hung slightly ajar. I idly noted that a small book could be slid in the space between his jaws easily. After a thoughtful pause, she continued. ¡°Or is the Heartlands, maybe. I dunno.¡± He began slowly drumming his collarbone. ¡°Shrikeblood. I see. That, uh¡­ Throws some dirt in this brew.¡± The man no longer seemed to address us. ¡°There¡¯s no precedent¡­ I don¡¯t know how¡­ I¡¯d at least need a pure ¡®Shrikeblood¡¯ to test¡­¡± Gale¡¯s words suddenly slipped away. ¡°Though¡­ Come to think of it, I might know some.¡± No one spoke. The everburning lamps flickered above the worktable. ¡°Though, being honest, I¡¯m not entirely certain ¨C so don¡¯t raise your hopes too high ¨C but even if I don¡¯t I¡¯m sure there will be a way. There must be one. I¡¯ll ask them.¡± ¡°Who?¡± I demanded. ¡°Some contacts of mine. It should pose no issue.¡± His face scrunched in on itself. ¡°Ugh, the blockade!¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°Oh,¡± he said, turning his head towards me, ¡°you wouldn¡¯t know. House Baylar has blockaded ¨C though they¡¯re calling it ¡®surveillance¡¯ ¨C Fort Vane. Supplies are no issue, but any visitors will have to pass through them.¡± ¡°Ugh.¡± He leaned backwards and groaned. ¡°That¡¯s frustrating. But I¡¯ll work something out, Vin.¡± The room we were in felt distinct from the rest of reality. ¡°Right.¡± I heard myself say. ¡°Is there anything else?¡± ¡°Just one final thing to check.¡± Gale sucked in a breath and leaned forward. ¡°There was a battle several decades ago between the Houses Esfaria, Baylar, and a detachment from House Illico, in the mountains bordering their territory. The Battle of Siik¡¯s Pass. What do you know of it?¡± My brow furrowed. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ It was¡­¡± There was an intense familiarity. Its name seemed to chime within me, pointing towards a piece of information I ought to have. ¡°The, the battle¡­¡± I clenched my teeth, eyes inwardly narrowed. I twisted in my chair. Whatever the answer was danced on the tip of my tongue, but that was impossible. If I had memory of something, I could recall it instantly. Even so, I persisted, and suddenly I recalled ruminating on the battle itself one cold night over a year ago. But none of the events I were considering made themselves known to me. Gale noticed my silence. ¡°Can you do it?¡± ¡°I- I can, I just need a moment.¡± ¡°If you have that memory, you should be able to remember instantly. That is the inheritance of Ravenbloods.¡± ¡°Give me a moment,¡± I snapped. There was a chasm in my mind where there had once been something more. Then it clicked. Something was different. I finally understood what it was. My head snapped upwards and I felt everything. The room¡¯s scent was cloyingly acrid; the light glaring into my skull; the immense pain of my body excruciating in its immediacy; the dull ringing that had suddenly rose within my ears. ¡°Who was the Esfarian commander of that battle?¡± I demanded. Gale told me. I got up and walked away. The blind man rose to follow, but cracked his shin against the side of the chair Gast sat in. ¡°Vin, where are you going?¡± he called, wincing. ¡°I need to find- ¡°
¡°Kit.¡± My name blared through the fog of sleep, startling me into panicked wakefulness. I rolled to my feet, pasting a feckless grin on my face. It remained there until I processed that the person in the doorway wasn¡¯t Mother. Though only its silhouette was visible, I could still see the figure was harsh and lean, as if even the merest hint of softness had been carved off its body, leaving no reserves but pure doggedness. I twisted a knob on the lamp next to my bed, sending azure light to brighten the room. His clothes hung off him emptily. The man¡¯s sunken gaze pierced through limp raven hair. ¡°Gods,¡± I breathed. I hadn¡¯t yet seen him, in the week we¡¯d spent in the Fort. ¡°Vin. You look like¡­¡± A steaming pile of Oxdung, but maybe it was better not to say it. ¡°Like a ghoul.¡± His voice was hoarse. ¡°I know. I need you to do something for me.¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± I nodded. ¡°O¡¯ course.¡± ¡°Have a duel with me.¡± I rubbed yellowed gravel from the corners of my eyes. ¡°What¡¯re you on about?¡± I said weakly. ¡°You look like you¡¯d lose a fight to a wet rag. Go back t¡¯sleep, you stupid bastard.¡± His body sped towards me, and I unwittingly flinched. Vin halted mere inches from me. ¡°Please, Kit.¡± His voice was raw. For a moment, I simply stared. ¡°Funny thing t¡¯ask, Vin,¡± I said, hiding my discomfort with a sneer, ¡°seein¡¯ as you¡¯re the one who refused t¡¯fight me.¡± ¡°What? What¡¯re you talking about?¡± the skeletal figure asked. ¡°When?¡± I threw up my arms. ¡°Back on th¡¯ farm, dumbass. Fer teachin¡¯ you music. You were against a real spar.¡± The tall man¡¯s brows drew together. ¡°When did I ever say that? I don¡¯t remember any of¡­¡± The words drifted into silence. I peered up at him. His face was frozen. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Please, Kit,¡± he breathed. ¡°¡­Fine. Whatever.¡± It was a stupid idea. I¡¯d break my arms just parrying one of his swings. He stared at me. I clapped my hands. ¡°Chop-chop, oaf. Let¡¯s go.¡± ¡°Where?¡± I sighed. ¡°Follow me.¡± When we¡¯d finally settled into the Fort, I¡¯d taken to sleeping fully dressed with my sword still around my waist. Uncomfortable, but at least it saved me the hassle of grabbing anything when I woke. There wasn¡¯t much to grab, anyway: the room was almost entirely empty save for some clothes and some books I was using to practice reading. That, and my lute. Neither lute nor books would be useful for a duel, which was good because the process of wiggling them out from their hiding place was annoying enough to leave me spitting and swearing. But there was no other way to keep them safe from Mother. I left the room, leading him down the hallway, past the creepy mirror-hall, and stomped down a wide, fancy staircase which led into the dining hall. Wooden tables and chairs covered the room, ranging from the kind seen at any old farmstead to grand, varnished tables and cushioned seats at the very back of the room, where the Vane family was meant to sit. In the week I¡¯d been here, I¡¯d only ever seen anyone seated there once ¨C just Gale himself on our first night, to commence a banquet that was less feast and more slightly filling meal. Even with everyone in the Fort present, it had still seemed an empty room, barren of all the glory it was meant to hold. I began walking towards the outer courts, then hesitated for a moment. A small side cupboard beckoned me. Inside waited a few practice weapons ¨C lead-filled wooden swords, blunted spears, and a halberd so beaten any edge it had once possessed had been lost. ¡°I¡¯m jus¡¯ scared I¡¯ll hurt you if we use real swords,¡± I claimed while taking two out. Vin didn¡¯t seem to register my excuse. His hands wrapped around the haft of the halberd. The sallow muscles of his forearms tensed like strained cords as he lifted it. His arms trembled momentarily, before allowing the weapon to slump back into its holster. I silently handed him the wooden sword and he took it from me without remark. The outer court covered a wide, open area lined by small vegetable gardens on either side. The cragged surface of the Fort¡¯s walls loomed high above us while the Fort proper pressed against our behind, cutting off sight of the land around us and leaving only the cold stars above to watch us. Frozen mud slid beneath my boots as we walked to a fenced area at its centre. I glanced down at Vin¡¯s feet and found them bare. ¡°Yer feet ain¡¯t cold?¡± ¡°They are.¡± He seemed almost surprised to discover that. ¡°D¡¯you wanna go get a pair o¡¯ boots?¡± ¡°No. I don¡¯t think this should take too long.¡± I couldn¡¯t stop a toothy snarl from warping my features. Cocky bastard. I hurdled the fence surrounding the training area, then stalked into position opposite him. ¡°How you wanna do this?¡± ¡°A point for each touch,¡± he replied. ¡°First to three wins.¡± ¡°You¡¯re on, oaf,¡± I spat, unbuckling my true sword and tossing it to the side. He carefully took off his onyx blade, then gently leaned its scabbarded form against a fence post. ¡°Let¡¯s begin.¡± My boots padded over the cold earth as I circled him, sword held neutrally. For a few moments, his stance mirrored my own. His arms trembled, then its tip dropped to the side, leaving his entire torso open to attack. The audacity. I ground my teeth, the lunged for him. My first, second, and third swings flowed into one another as he retreated, missing him entirely yet on the fourth he parried my blow, sliding it to his side while simultaneously sending his own blunted blade flashing for my leg. I hopped backwards, glaring at the tall man. He made no move to follow. The Ravenblood¡¯s muted gaze scanned my body silently. My next approach came amongst a slurry of testing stabs. Each was gently knocked aside by the tip of his blade as he continued backpedalling around the shadowy field. I snarled, lunged, and was immediately swatted on the side the head. ¡°Touch,¡± Vin called. ¡°One to me.¡± ¡°Go die,¡± I snapped. ¡°What in Dure¡¯s thick skull d¡¯you think yer doin¡¯?¡± He squinted at me. ¡°What?¡± ¡°You called me out here,¡± I growled, gesticulating with the wooden blade, ¡°an¡¯ you¡¯re not even gonna fight for real?¡± ¡°I¡¯m trying,¡± he stated flatly. ¡°Go die in a hole,¡± I told him, then fell back into neutral stance. I needed to do better. The man in front of me wasn¡¯t some half-trained peasant soldier I could bury with a few quick slices and a bad attitude. Focus. Breathe. And be ferocious. There was no room in me for more humiliation. I ran at him, ducking beneath one errant swing and slipping aside another to fall inside his guard. Yet the blow to his side I¡¯d planned was foiled as Vin raised a foot and kicked my side. It had barely any force behind it, but it threw off my momentum enough for him to sneak in another overhead blow, which I promptly blocked. I took some distance again, eyes narrowed into a glare. I¡¯d seen the man in front of me fight. Carve through the battlefield with a force that seemed to rival a god¡¯s, each of his attacks made a blur by the sheer power he¡¯d buried behind them. The lightness of his blows could be forgiven ¨C his week-long coma had clearly taken a toll on his musculature ¨C but raw power had never been his greatest asset. It was the incandescent skill with which he wielded weaponry ¨C clean, exacting, and precise, as if every manoeuvre had been writ in stone decades beforehand. And while his grace and exacting eye remained, his attitude was different. The controlled rage that twisted his mouth into a grim line as he slaughtered dozens had vanished into a lump of dull cinder. All that remained was a weak showing. I¡¯d spent days being ridiculed, but I never expected that Vin of all people would mock me as well. When he was the one that forced me here. That couldn¡¯t be trusted to keep himself together. To be reliable. He had guts of steel to treat me like this, despite all his failings. I had to show him I was someone who should be feared. I inched closer to him, then smashed his sword with my own. Repeatedly I batted at it, seeking to lever open his guard as he stiffly tried to dodge or mitigate each blow. But every time his blade grew a fraction more distant from its ideal placement. Until I cracked the sword from his hand, leaving him wincing as he clutched his fingers. I waited for him to produce another weapon. None came. ¡°Yer playin¡¯ with me,¡± I snarled. ¡°Use yer godsdamned bone-spikes!¡± He stared at me impassively as he drew his fists together. ¡°I¡¯m not trying to test them.¡± I gave a wordless scream and ran at him once again. Grunts reverberated through the midnight air as he ducked beneath one swing ¨C a wince on his face as he pushed himself back up ¨C stepped away from another, then cocked his fist. Usually I would keep attacking, but given Vin¡¯s punch could shatter bone I swiftly brought my blade between my body and his punch. It landed on the wooden blade, and I barely felt it. Vin looked down at his reddening fist, then back at me. ¡°Point to you,¡± he muttered. My face twisted. ¡°What¡¯re you doin¡¯, Vin?¡± I pointed my sword at him. ¡°What is this? You call me out here jus¡¯ t¡¯mock me?¡± His eyes widened, like mud-smeared moons buried in a bottomless pit. ¡°Mock you? Ha.¡± A smile split his face in two. ¡°Haha. Ha!¡± The Ravenblood covered his face with both hands as high, delighted laughter pealed from his throat. There was an edge to it I could not decipher. ¡°What?¡± I cocked my head, sneering. ¡°Huh? You wanna laugh? I¡¯ll give you somethin¡¯ to laugh about, you snot.¡± My rage grew as his laughter did. It was open and honest ¨C completely at odds with everything that frothed within me. ¡°Pick up yer bloody sword, Vin,¡± I loudly demanded. Yet his cackles continued ringing across the outer courts, reverberating between the walls and building as it rung into the night sky above. The cold settled into my skin, and I steeled myself against the shiver that threatened to wrack my body. I lunged forward and smashed my sword against his torso. ¡°Two,¡± I snarled, then slammed it against his body again, ¡°and godsdamn three! I win, so stop cackling!¡± Vin was sent staggering by the force of my blow. He removed his hands to clutch at the spots I¡¯d beaten him, revealing the heavy tears that rolled down his cheeks. My anger sputtered and died. ¡°I figured out what¡¯s different, Kit.¡± The Ravenblood¡¯s hoarse words erupted amidst fading laughter. ¡°She¡¯s gone.¡± ¡°Who?¡± I asked him. ¡°Who¡¯s gone?¡± Vin¡¯s torso folded as he bent over, clutching his face as the remnants of his harsh cries streamed through his fingers. The stars and moons shone from above, but the darkness between them seemed greater than light alone could conquer. He removed his hands and straightened in that brittle starlight, and though his gaunt body faced me, the dark pits of his eyes stared at the sky. ¡°Ma.¡± A tremulous smile found its way amongst the tears. ¡°She¡¯s finally free.¡± Chapter 67 (1/2) - Sloughing Flesh The tray of food in my hands clattered as I walked, ears open for any obstacles. Porridge, shredded fruit, and honeyed tea: a meal simple enough for my brother to digest. Or so I hoped. Blind marching had never appealed to me, but without sight I had no other choice. Bereft of cane or companion, the only tool left to navigate these halls without incident was deep concentration. Falling would be unacceptable. In my mind¡¯s eye, my brother was still a tiny boy. Tripping and fumbling his way around the Fort; both the clumsiest little creature that had ever tip-toed through this strip of land and heir to the Vane family. After all, the eldest son was blind. And a noble didn¡¯t need to be able to run to be capable of rule. When Mael was eight, and I fourteen, he had been taken by the Albrights as many influential nobles leaders were ¨C which, as the only subordinate Heltian family, we apparently were. For the purposes of ¡®education¡¯. I had been slightly envious at the time, but with over a decade of time to ponder I had realised that the education was neither in arithmetic or the art of ruling, but instead in extoling grace and power of the Albrights. The family was impressive, by all reports: tall, broad, rich, well-muscled, and most importantly, skilled ¨C the perfect warrior-kings for this violent land. Hostages like my brother were necessary to remind the other nobles of this. They had returned him a mere year later, so that when Mael died, we would not think it their fault. He couldn¡¯t stand without help. His muscles had wasted away to useless strips. By the time three years had passed, father was dead of flu and mother of a heart attack. Leaving my brother and I the last remaining members of the Vane family: a lineage loyal to House Heltia for nearly a century. We received a single letter ¨C signed by Neelam but undoubtedly written by a secretary ¨C and a lonely, nine-year-old girl who begged not to be sent back to the Nest. Because in her own home, the only people who lifted their gazes from their projects and spoke to her were the ones who were paid to. That was all the help we received. Mael¡¯s condition had deteriorated rapidly. I¡¯d tried doctors: first the ones that would tell me what I wanted to hear and finally the ones who told me the truth. I¡¯d tried countless contraptions: ones for reducing the stress of his own weight on his organs and body and ones to fortify his muscles. None could stop his deterioration. Though it would leave both of us Blooded and barred from making an heir, I¡¯d tried Lizardblood. The strain of his body rejecting it nearly killed. I tried every single suggestion my laboured mind produced. Some of it helped. But nothing could prevent the only family I had left from sliding through my fingers. Through it all, I¡¯d returned to the stone tablets carted from the Wastes all those years ago. Every night, my fingers would run along those fractured promises. An eternal paradise beyond hell; tens of thousands saved at the cost of tens of thousands dead. A dream stripped to its bones by forces beyond anyone¡¯s control. Yet as prospects dwindled, my faith grew. Anything to save him. If I had realised earlier, could I have prevented all this? Could I have helped him? He was such a good kid. No one deserved this fate less than my son. I shook my head, trying to rattle everything back into its rightful place. I was confusing them. Not him. My brother. The floorboards beneath my feet had been warmed by the sunlight streaming through the hall¡¯s windows. Initially, stepping into its humid air was comforting after a long stretch out in Frost¡¯s cold was soothing. But the longer I spent in this part of the Fort, the more stifling the heat became. Sweat constricted my skin in layers of slime. My heart felt ready to pound out from my chest. But the doctors said the heat would do Mael good. I walked slowly, methodically, but it was not slow enough to prevent me from arriving at his door. It was a small room with a large window. Mael couldn¡¯t move. He had barely spoken for months. Sometimes I had wondered, when I had a maid read to him, whether he could hear anything at all. I had been running out of time. I wrapped my fingers around the door¡¯s handle. Everything would be better, now. All my tests were as they should be. I had done it. Yet for the seventh time in seven days, I couldn¡¯t manage to bring my hand down. I could not help but sense the vast, gaping emptiness behind the door. A gentle ringing came from beside me. ¡°D¡¯you want us t¡¯bring it in?¡± ¡°Val,¡± I grunted. ¡°Is that Kit with you?¡± ¡°Mm.¡± There was a quiet slap of hand against shoulder. ¡°Go on. Don¡¯t keep th¡¯ boss-man waitin¡¯.¡± ¡°Hey Gale.¡± Kit sucked a breath between her teeth. ¡°You good?¡± ¡°I am fine,¡± I rumbled. ¡°Lotta¡­ nothin¡¯ fer a man doin¡¯ fine.¡± I drummed my fingers against my collarbone. ¡°I can see how you might think that.¡± ¡°Impressive, a blind man seein¡¯ so- ¡° There was a louder thwack. ¡°Eyup, sorry ¡®bout her. Don¡¯t you got work to do? I¡¯ll go feed an¡¯ read Mael for you.¡± ¡°I would¡­¡± I paused to take a breath. ¡°I would appreciate that.¡± ¡°No problem.¡± The weight of the tray shifted off my hands as Val took it. ¡°Reckon Mr. Skin ¡®n Bones¡¯s waitin¡¯ for you.¡± ¡°Do not call him that.¡± My voice cracked like thunder. ¡°Have some respect. Especially if you want to keep concealing yourself from him.¡± I could almost hear her teeth creaking as she clenched them. ¡°¡­Sure. Be seein¡¯ you.¡± The door creaked open, then closed a moment later. I rubbed the bridge of my nose, then turned and marched back the way I came. All was shadow, yet of every patch of darkness in this world the Fort was the most familiar to me. I needed no light to navigate it. Even without sound, the lives of people rung in the darkness: maids cleaning and repairing, guards watching Baylar atop the walls, and the Fort¡¯s many guests crawling through the lightless labyrinth. The loudest sat perfectly still, waiting. I took a deep breath in and moved towards him. It took several minutes to reach my workshop, where Orvi waited. ¡°Apologies for the wait,¡± I told him as I entered, walking over to my workbench and retrieving several instruments from the drawers. ¡°I had some things to take care of.¡± ¡°That¡¯s fine,¡± he answered. I had heard his voice repeatedly through the past few days, yet the depth of it still surprised me. I knew a little of what he had gone through in the past four, but he had been aged far past his eighteen years. His birthday would be soon. ¡°Though the workshop was empty. Where¡¯s Colin gone?¡± ¡°I¡­¡± My brows drew together, and I smoothed them. ¡°He is massively sleep-deprived and overworked,¡± I told him, voice steady. ¡°I have made certain he will be taking a break.¡± A shrug lay in his reply. ¡°Alright.¡± ¡°How is the conversion stone progressing?¡± I kept my tone businesslike. ¡°It¡¯s done.¡± ¡°You¡¯re sure? The Foxblood is gone?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve no memories of Babs anymore.¡± I nodded slowly. ¡°Are you alright with that?¡± ¡°¡­What?¡± ¡°A part of you is gone. Losing Godsblood can be- ¡° I cut myself off. ¡°Is difficult.¡± An undercurrent of confusion ran through his words. ¡°¡­I¡¯ll be fine, Gale.¡± The name left me briefly rattled, but I powered through. ¡°How are you, then?¡± ¡°Alright.¡± I carefully walked over to where he was seated, touching his shoulder and narrowing my eyes towards him. As if they would help me see better. ¡°Any weakness? Pain? Stiffness?¡± ¡°Some.¡± I scowled. ¡°Where?¡± ¡°It¡¯s not one place.¡± Sometimes talking with him was like pulling teeth from a prisoner. ¡°Where, Orvi?¡± ¡°¡­What? Orvi?¡± I sighed and rubbed one of my shoulders. ¡°That¡¯s your name. Or did I get it wrong?¡± ¡°Where did you- ¡° A cultivated excuse fell from my lips with ease. ¡°I have done my research.¡± ¡°Since I¡¯ve gotten here?¡± ¡°After the¡­ events of the Foot,¡± I slowly began, ¡°the identity of the Ravenblood was circulated amongst the Houses. Your name amongst them.¡± A pause settled between us. I allowed it. ¡°¡­Which is why I changed it.¡± I nodded. ¡°Why Vin?¡± ¡°It¡¯s part of an older name. Just like Orvi was.¡± I ran my hands through my scalp, finding a thick head of hair instead of stubble. ¡°¡­You had another name?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± I hadn¡¯t known. ¡°Will you¡­¡± I paused to swallow down the lump in my throat. ¡°Tell me what it was?¡± There a brief silence as he considered my request. ¡°No.¡± I turned around and took several steps away, jaw tightened against the sharp sting at the back of my eyes. No cheeky insults. None of his casual wit, or the nervous way he cracked jokes when under pressure. I couldn¡¯t imagine a slight smirk twisting the corners of his lips. Just a flat, impenetrable voice. More than anything, I wished I could see him. A rattling breath ripped from my mouth, only fractionally less frayed than the feeling that resided in my chest. ¡°I will respect your privacy. Where is your pain?¡± ¡°All over. But my arms are bad.¡± There was a slight sucking noise. My brows furrowed. ¡°Did you just take out the conversion stone by yourself?¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± he droned. ¡°Orvi, that was- ¡° ¡°Please don¡¯t call me Orvi.¡± ¡°¡­Vin. That was foolish.¡± He may have shrugged, or waved an arm, or done nothing at all. Either way, I received no verbal acknowledgement of my statement. ¡°Here.¡± I splayed my hand and the boy deposited the conversion stone into it. I hefted it, feeling its weight. Slight, for something so immense. ¡°That¡¯s all of it?¡± ¡°That¡¯s all.¡± I gave a solemn nod, then knelt beside my workbench and began feeling the shapes of its many drawers. Eventually, I found the temporary storage device I had designed for Ravenblood. ¡°What¡¯s next to be removed?¡± I tapped my fingers against the side of the contraption, pursing my lips. ¡°¡­We will need to wait.¡± His gaze pressed into my skin. ¡°¡­Why.¡± ¡°I need to examine the properties of Shrikeblood.¡± An eighth god came as little surprise, but I still knew nothing about it. ¡°And as your Lizardblood provides a fortifying effect for your body, I believe the Spiderblood might do the same for your mind. Or at the very least, that removing it would be disastrous.¡± ¡°Then just remove whatever excess Ravenblood is in me.¡± I sighed, finally inserting the conversion stone into the storage unit and powering it in a moment of fierce concentration. ¡°The task is impossible.¡± I stood to my full height, which seemed strangely short. ¡°Your Ravenblood is the Godsblood I¡¯m working to remove. Do not allow my talk of different types of blood to fool you ¨C within your veins, all of it is Ravenblood. It is irrevocably entwined with the divinity of the dead. If it was withdrawn indiscriminately ¨C without accounting for differences in blood ¨C it¡¯s¡­¡± ¡°What?¡± he asked, at my long pause. To my mind, the indiscriminate removal of Ravenblood had seemed such a transparently poor idea that I had difficulty explaining my original reasons for barring that route. ¡°The exact result is unclear. It is certain that the stuff in your veins would be entirely unique, amongst both humans or gods, whether living or dead. Imbalanced and uneven. The things it tells your being would be haphazard and incomplete. You would almost certainly die.¡± This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. ¡°How¡¯s that any different from what¡¯s going to happen to me?¡± My head snapped towards his voice. ¡°What do you mean?¡± He quietly scoffed. ¡°Isn¡¯t that what happens to Blooded who remove their blood? They die?¡± I tried to look at Orvi. ¡°Ha.¡± My laugh was a barren, desolate thing. ¡°Did¡­ your mother die?¡± ¡°She would¡¯ve eventually.¡± I took a moment to parse my thoughts. ¡°The General had almost half a decade with her Oxblood depleted, and I imagine she had another dozen or so years in her. None of this is immediate.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think Ma had the same amount of divinity as I do.¡± I suppressed a groan. ¡°Nevertheless, if we can acquire some of Dure¡¯s essence and assimilate it with you after the removal, then you should be held together.¡± He grunted. I turned away, grappling with the urge to break something. I¡¯d had more responsive conversations with brick walls. How could I make this foolish child understand? How could I make him listen? ¡°I understand if you feel alone, O- Vin. You are the only person to have ever done this. But- ¡± ¡°You understand?¡± His tone was cordial. ¡°Oh, I see.¡± I clenched my jaw, then slowly pulled a chair opposite the boy and lowered myself into it. ¡°Have you noticed that many of the staff here wear bells?¡± ¡°I have, yes.¡± ¡°Have you noticed they sound different?¡± There was a dull sound as he scratched the side of his face. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Did you know I made each of those bells personally?¡± ¡°¡­No.¡± It was easy to recall creating them. The delicate work of a tiny hammer and chisel against iron as I worked every piece of the miniscule chimes for hours upon hours. I¡¯d been able to make functional bells in mere hours, but the tiny adjustments needed to personalise each took days at its minimum. Creating one for every employee within the Fort had dominated my life for months. I¡¯d even made some for the guards in order to avoid them feeling left out ¨C though wearing them atop the walls was barred. Despite the constant errors I¡¯d made attempting to work such tiny pieces, the process had never left me frustrated. ¡°I, uh¡­ I spent a lot of time working on them. Just one would take several days to finish.¡± I rubbed the back of my neck. ¡°Making each look good was beyond me. But I wanted to make sure that at the very least each bell sounded like the person wearing it.¡± Silence. His response was invisible to me. I swallowed and continued. ¡°Each chime was different for every person. I made sure of that. It was, uh¡­¡± My voice cracked. ¡°It was meant to be a gift.¡± Orvi said nothing. ¡°A few months went by, and everything¡­ felt better. When someone was in a room, I could know who they were just by listening. My ears could be my eyes. For a short time there was no more¡­¡± I gesticulated widely, searching for the right word. ¡°Doubts. I thought everyone enjoyed the gifts, or at least appreciated them. And maybe there was a group of maids that were quiet, but they were laughing more often and I thought it meant they thought the way I moved was funny, because sometimes I think it¡¯s bizarre myself. ¡°Then I was passing one of them in the hall one day, and I needed something ¨C I forget what it was. So I say, ¡®Landa, do you know where this thing is?¡¯ And I hear her moving away, and I think she¡¯s going to get it but I want nothing less than to disturb her work, so I stop her again. And I tell her I just want to know its location. She keeps walking away and I just stand there. And then Bella ¨C our head maid ¨C walks past, and I ask her if she knows whether Landa¡¯s alright.¡± I let out a heavy breath. ¡°She was confused. Landa was on the other side of the Fort. Because I hadn¡¯t been speaking to Landa, I had been speaking to the maid wearing her bell. The one I¡¯d spent days making just for her. They had been swapping theirs ever since they received them. I suppose they thought it was a good prank, to make sure I knew nothing of the people around me. And I just couldn¡¯t notice.¡± A snort escaped me. ¡°Funny, huh?¡± There was a rustle as Orvi shifted. ¡°Did you ever say anything?¡± ¡°What could I tell her? They¡¯re my maids, not my dogs. Why should they wear collars if they don¡¯t want to?¡± ¡°It¡¯s not the same thing.¡± I smiled weakly. ¡°Perhaps not. But I said nothing all the same.¡± Orvi released a long sigh. Relief mixed with discomfort followed the wake of that confession. I¡¯d never told anyone. However, I hadn¡¯t told Orvi simply to share. ¡°The point being that the Fort can be a dark, empty place. Living here can be difficult.¡± I buttressed my fingers together. ¡°But I am here to help you, if you would just talk to me.¡± There was a long silence. Yet instead of it feeling empty, like most did, it was gravid with the weight of Orvi¡¯s next words. ¡°At the end of this, without the Ravenblood, will I die and stay dead?¡± A lump formed in my throat, forcing me to speak around it. ¡°There¡¯s no way of knowing. Your Ravenblood might still take your soul upon death, to be ferried to the Blooded who next possesses your blood.¡± ¡°Avri didn¡¯t do that.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°The Raven. Its blood was empty of any memories when I received it.¡± ¡°What?¡± Disbelief filled my voice. ¡°Why would it¡­ The Raven keeps souls ¨C why would it not give some to you? To, to save them? That¡¯s what it does. Is it even possible for it to do otherwise?¡± ¡°For a god, maybe,¡± Orvi mused. ¡°It would¡¯ve been too noticeable for the General to let us live. I think it was to smuggle us out ¨C hide the fact that any blood survived in the first place.¡± Us? Oh. The twins. I pushed myself to my feet and walked to the other side of the room. Words failed to capture what a fool I had been. To his credit, the boy quickly realised what had happened. ¡°Sorry, my tongue feels unwieldy with all the blood I¡¯m losing. I meant ¡®I¡¯.¡± I nodded, careful to keep the gesture as smooth as possible. ¡°Regardless, even if you were to remove all your Ravenblood, it¡¯s a possibility that despite your wishes, some remnants of you will remain in the blood, to be revived in the next body it dwells in.¡± ¡°If the blood is destroyed ¨C if it loses its potency ¨C then that won¡¯t happen, will it?¡± My brows raised. ¡°I imagine not.¡± ¡°Then make sure it¡¯s gone.¡± ¡°If you partake of Lizardblood when all of this is done,¡± I growled, ¡°then you can make sure of it yourself.¡± ¡°Do you really think that will work?¡± ¡°There are several cases of such incidents occurring. With Oxbloods and Foxbloods, for the most part, however even an Owlblood who Heltia wanted to keep alive for their knowledge had their life extended. And,¡± I added, ¡°there are hints that other blood types will work as well.¡± I should know. ¡°Huh.¡± ¡°When do you want this done?¡± ¡°When do I want what done?¡± ¡°The Lizardblood.¡± There was silence. ¡°Orvi¡­¡± I said softly. ¡°This is not something that can simply be left undecided.¡± ¡°Just make a decision.¡± ¡°Not without your permission.¡± After a pause, he let loose an opaque grunt. ¡°Orvi.¡± I stressed his name with all the gentle severity I could muster. ¡°I know this is difficult. I know you want to make this tomorrow¡¯s problem. But you must decide.¡± ¡°I might live a decently long life without it,¡± he protested. ¡°There is no way of knowing that.¡± ¡°You said you¡¯d help me, didn¡¯t you? Then find that out.¡± ¡°Orvi.¡± ¡°You go do that.¡± There was a scrape as he stood from his chair. ¡°I¡¯m gonna go. Let me know if you need anything.¡± ¡°We have several diplomats coming tonight,¡± I stated rapidly. ¡°Baylarian and otherwise. There will be a gathering in the Hall of Mirrors. I would like you to be there for it.¡± ¡°Fine.¡± Then footsteps, ringing in my mind as they drew further from me. ¡°Orvi?¡± I called. His voice grew louder as he turned. ¡°Yeah?¡± ¡°Make sure to take care of yourself.¡± He said nothing to that. I-
-sat with my back against the Fort walls, watching the two blurs dance like a mole watches a pair of eagles. In the back of my mind, Kit and Taja¡¯s fires mirrored the steps my eyes failed to behold. The outer courts seemed to ripple through a veil of water: starbursts of muted colour exploding in perfect silence. Wind drew its long, sinuous tongue against the edge of my ear, and I felt it as the Fort¡¯s walls felt me leaning against them. ¡°Do you think Kit¡¯s teaching him anything?¡± someone said from beside me. Fingers flickered. ¡°She just wants to hit something,¡± a duller, more monotonous voice replied. More movements. ¡°Or maybe she doesn¡¯t like him.¡± There was a sympathetic hiss as one blur cracked the other to the ground. ¡°Do you think he¡¯s okay?¡± A shrug from someone far above me. ¡°Gast?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t know.¡± A hand flashed, shape mangled by the speed of its movement. ¡°Do we get to eat your cakes yet?¡± ¡°No, not until they¡¯re done.¡± ¡®Flicker, flicker,¡¯ went those huge, mismatched palms. ¡°Eating it would be nice. With the show.¡± ¡°I think we should all try them together. And, I don¡¯t think you should look forward to them that much. I don¡¯t think they¡¯re very good.¡± Shapes moved. Blurs danced. ¡°Have you tried them?¡± ¡°I wanted to wait for you all.¡± ¡°Well- ¡° One of the figures beside me turned slightly. A hand fell on my leg and shifted it sideways. ¡°Gods, that¡¯s freezing! Vin, why didn¡¯t you move your leg from the puddle?¡± I clenched my eyelids closed, then opened them again. ¡°Can you repeat that?¡± ¡°Your leg,¡± Head Maleen hissed. ¡°You just let it sit in a muddy pool of melted ice-water.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± I drew my leg close to my chest. Raised my hand to clench around the pant-leg, squeezing water from the fabric. It was soaked. ¡°Sorry.¡± ¡°Do we need to re-do your bandages?¡± she asked. ¡°I think I saw some inside.¡± ¡°It¡¯s fine. I¡¯ll do it in a bit.¡± It was a beautiful day. The skies stretched in an endless blue, as if it were a sea that stretched for eternity. A bird sat on top of the battlements singing to its chicks, and the rest of the courtyard got to bask in whatever merriment was left over. Kit laughed from the arena, spurring Taja into an uneasy chuckle. Guards milled atop the walls. An armoured man brushed a horse. Conversation zipped around in a low buzz. The ground was soft. The sunlight bright and warm. If only I could feel any of it. Time went by. Head Maleen¡¯s cakes were eaten and a discussion followed. I stared at the blue above and wondered whether any fish swum through its inverted waters. Words and sensations and colour and tastes washed over me like waves over a filthy beach, stealing mud, sand, and grime until nothing but silence remained. The sun paddled across the sky. Suddenly, I rose to my feet. ¡°Where you goin¡¯, Vin?¡± Kit had finished sparring some time ago. She had moved nearby. ¡°Gotta change my dressings,¡± I found myself answering. ¡°Sure, sure. Don¡¯t grease yerself up too much. You¡¯re helpin¡¯ Maddie an¡¯ th¡¯ others tonight, right?¡± I squinted. ¡°With th¡¯ diplomats an¡¯ such.¡± ¡°Yeah. Sure. I¡¯ll see you all later.¡± Maleen, Ronnie, Kit, and Taja ¨C seated on a fur blanket nearby ¨C all turned to look at Gast. The fat Strain blinked, then hauled herself upright. ¡°I¡¯ll come.¡± I rubbed the fatigue from my eyes. ¡°Where?¡± ¡°With you.¡± An argument stepped into my mouth, but grew old and died before it could leave. ¡°Alright. Let¡¯s go.¡± I stepped through the doors of the dining hall, most of my attention swallowed by the act of understanding where my limbs were in relation to my torso. I¡¯d fallen on my face several times during the process of uncaging Babs from my body, simply because I¡¯d forgotten how to walk properly. Gast¡¯s rolling gait beside me seemed a mockery, yet I couldn¡¯t help but see the humour in it. Two weeks ago, I had been carrying her weight and barely felt it. Now, I struggled to carry myself. But that was wishful thinking, wasn¡¯t it? I hadn¡¯t been carrying myself back then. I¡¯d barely been controlling my fall. ¡°I think you should stop,¡± Gast suddenly stated. I supported myself against the side of a table. ¡°Stop what?¡± ¡°Removing the Ravenblood.¡± I slowly rotated myself to stare at her. The Strain¡¯s chubby face was wide and open. My gaze narrowed into a glare. ¡°Are you joking?¡± ¡°No,¡± she stated simply. I leaned back against the top of the wood, feeling the dull throbs in my arms and releasing a long breath full of teeth. I considered shoving her to the ground. I considered bellowing in her face. I considered breaking down into tears. But I didn¡¯t feel like doing any of those things. ¡°Do you remember how I was?¡± I told her instead. ¡°Every thing you said could¡¯ve set me off. Everyone around me was completely at the mercy of whatever urges possessed me in that moment. I beat Kit for no reason. I died for no reason. Because that thing thought I was a threat, and now Alton¡¯s completely in the world with the cruellest person I could¡¯ve left him with.¡± ¡°That¡¯s done now.¡± I barked a disbelieving laugh. ¡°It¡¯s not. I just¡­ I thought I was Wil just then. I don¡¯t know who the hell I am, Gast, but I do know I¡¯m one bad day from falling apart, and we¡¯ve just pushed it back. How long until something like that happens again? Before I¡¯m nothing but a bundle of panic and fear blown by whatever breeze happens to be blowing that day?¡± Her gaze lowered for a second, then returned to my eyes. ¡°We¡¯ll be okay.¡± ¡°You were the ones who brought me here,¡± I whispered to her, eyes stretched as wide as they could go. ¡°Because you knew this was what needed to be done.¡± The light from the brazier in the hall above set the vast rooms shadows undulating around us. A silence elongated, yet instead of fraying the air between us it merely solidified it. On anyone else the pause would¡¯ve been a concession. For Gast, it was merely a sign of her mind grinding through responses. ¡°We didn¡¯t think it would cost this much,¡± she finally said. ¡°If I knew you¡¯d be so hurt¡­¡± I tutted. ¡°Gale thinks I¡¯m fine.¡± ¡°Gale¡¯s blind,¡± the Strain rebuked. ¡°He can¡¯t see how bad it is.¡± ¡°And how bad is it?¡± ¡°It¡¯s bad, Vin.¡± Her gaze bore into my own. ¡°It¡¯s really bad.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± I joked with half-remembered humour. ¡°You don¡¯t like my dashing looks?¡± The insides of her eyebrows were raised in quiet mourning. ¡°We didn¡¯t want this.¡± ¡°I want this.¡± My fists pressed against her chest. ¡°I need this.¡± Gast shook her head. ¡°You need to stop.¡± ¡°No.¡± The word was harsh even to my own ears. I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. ¡°You¡¯ve all done so much for me. When I had no one left in the world, you picked me from the shadows of Spires and gave me a place to be.¡± I rubbed my eyes. ¡°But I can¡¯t give you this.¡± ¡°Please?¡± Her voice was low. Her large eyes stared up at me plaintively. ¡°Please, Vin?¡± I shoved myself from the desk and moved my stiff limbs into a step away from Gast. Then another. And another. Each step grew in speed until I¡¯d settled into a shambling, uneven jog. Not flight. Just to see if I still could. ¡°Vin!¡± Gast shouted from behind me. My shins smashed into chairs as I lumbered along, kicking them aside or being tripped and barely catching myself on the sides of tables. However, the pain was dull, empty of all threat. I never stayed still for more than a moment. A hand grasped my shoulder and I shook it off, accelerating in an outright run. I barged through the doors leading deeper into the Fort and sprinted up a grand staircase, ramming my knees against the top step hard enough to pierce through the mist shrouding my perception. ¡°Raven¡¯s bones,¡± I hissed, spittle flying between clenched teeth. I knelt there a moment, clutching my knee as impotent fury beat back the urge to burst into tears constricting my veins. After a moment, a pair of lumbering footsteps from behind prodded me upright, back into a shambling sprint. It carried me upwards, past the stairs and into the second floor. In my eyes, the stone walls seemed to rotate then snap back into their original position and continue rotating once more. My legs carried me down the hallway, past the maids wearing the wrong bell shining the floor and into the Hall of Mirrors. I placed both hands beside my face to obstruct my sight of the room¡¯s walls and continued. Gale and several guards carefully were carefully removing pipes from around the brazier while I blundered past, miraculously avoiding them via a series of stumbles both planned and accidental. They stared, but after a few more steps, I was out again. Everything about the way I moved felt off. My body was too far forward; arms too stiff; legs placed inconsistently and unevenly. Falling was a constant threat. I¡¯d eventually adapted to my lack of strength, but the lack of coordination bit into my pride just a bit harder. But what other alternative did I have? The sting of that wound would quickly fall to nothing, but the bite of my veins would endure forever. I reached my room, entered, and collapsed on the chair in front of my desk. Though I wasn¡¯t particularly tired, my breath shuddered from my body in harsh, irregular bouts. When I failed to wrench my lungs into their rightful place, I made the decision to stop breathing altogether. Cautiously, I began unwinding the bandages from my left arm, quietly wincing as the process tore scabs and pustules from my flesh in a tangle of pain. After one final rip, the bandage was released with a wet protest, leaving my arm entirely bare. I extended it upwards to bask in the flickering azure light of the room. The pits of flesh in my arm had grown in both size and number. So great was the increase that my skin seemed a thin net over a network of exposed muscle, sinew, bones, and veins. Pus wept from the depths of those holes and trickled down the arm¡¯s length, tracing the flayed mechanisms of my being. Flecks of bandage clung to it. A mere attempt at moving from me sent a snap of motion down my shoulders into the labyrinth of meat, as countless tendons and fibres strained to obey my commands. It was too complex to be comprehensible. But my arm moved all the same. Nestled amongst what was once hidden throbbed inscrutable onyx veins. Muscles expanded and contracted around them, circulating Avri¡¯s essence through every piece of my body according to the beat of my heart. They seemed so fragile. As if the merest press of my fingernails would tear them open. ¡°Just wait. You¡¯ll be done,¡± I hissed at them. ¡°You¡¯ll be finished. And I¡¯ll be free.¡± Then I cleaned the pus-ridden holes with alcohol-soaked rags, re-bound my arms, and passed out. Chapter 67 (2/2) - Sloughing Flesh Within the Hall of Mirrors the diplomatic reception was in full swing. Several inhabitants of the Fort mingled with silk-clad Baylarian envoys and a handful of tall, well-muscled individuals in clean yet rugged garb. Polite conversation couched in ¡®what do you for work¡¯, ¡®I am such-and-such¡¯, and ¡®oh what happened at Spires was a true tragedy¡¯ emanated from the disparate gatherings in each part of the hall. Important topics ¨C such as the fact I¡¯d killed tens of Baylarian soldiers ¨C were swerved away from as though they were active explosives. Any true negotiation would take place afterwards, behind closed doors. Tables holding cakes, cheeses, dried meats, fruits, or carafes of wine were interspersed throughout the room for anyone to take and enjoy. The ever-present brazier spat flame in the centre of the room, casting it all in a heat just warm enough to have those with more than one layer tugging at their collars. Head Maleen stood with Gale as she argued vehemently with a Baylarian for her continued existence, while Kit glared at the bearded man from behind her. Ronnie stood by the finger-food, studiously working their way from one side of the assortment to the other. Beside the giant stood Taja, who, after wearing an expression of extreme discomfort at every stranger¡¯s attempt to talk to him, had decided to follow Ronnie¡¯s lead and feign muteness. Almost an hour earlier, Gast had talked to a single person, stared at the ceiling for ten minutes, and walked away. All of this was multiplied endlessly by the mirrors that made up the hall¡¯s walls. I tried not to look at them. Occasionally, my eyes would brush over a tall, hollow-cheeked man holding a cup of wine and a too-large sack in the walls and I would remember being at both ends of a murder. My gaze would crawl away, but the knowledge that he was still there would remain. I¡¯d arranged my limp hair so it fell over my eyes, concealing most of the man¡¯s face and obstructing my vision, but even with those blinders firmly in place I was getting to the point where the animal panic was almost impossible to overcome. Why had Gale wanted me here? I needed to leave soon. Deep swallows of wine only bought so much time. Every time I gulped the liquid down, my own face still stared from the pool of black liquid. The alcohol was too thin to conceal it. Bhan would understand me breaking my vow of abstinence, wouldn¡¯t he? After all, in this room of figures blurred by my faltering vision, full of muted and indistinct sounds, my receded eyes kept falling on Tam. The woman who had, all those years ago, seen a nervous, broken quartermaster and turned her into someone who no longer flinched at shadows. My wife. But the distance between us was too wide to cross. I wasn¡¯t the woman she remembered. I wasn¡¯t even a woman. Was I even Tully? Yet while my face and all it bore had been eaten in that crater, the memories remained embedded in my soul. Some of them were scar tissue. Seeing Kit was hard enough, sometimes ¨C she looked so much like the creature that birthed her. The Jackal¡¯s apparent death beneath Spires was small consolation. Occasionally, I saw that thing leaning out the corner of my vision, lips cocked to cackle in the same way it had in my nightmares. Knowing the Jackal was dead changed nothing for me if I couldn¡¯t believe it myself. But some of those memories were far more precious. Like the nights I had spent with General Bina, and the years with Tam and the girls. I had been a bad mother to them. Spending my days dedicated to a dream destined to be broken against Enn¡¯s back instead of nurturing my newborn family. Perhaps that was why it was difficult to face them. Or perhaps it was the fact that I was a ghost haunting someone else¡¯s body. My wife would never again see Tully when she looked at me. So I at least owed it to her to say goodbye. I drained the last of my wine and strode over to her. ¡°Tam?¡± I asked. She turned to me. The same sun-browned, lightly wrinkled face I remembered. Coupled with eyes reddened by grief and a smile directed towards a stranger. ¡°Vin, weren¡¯t it? You came with Head Maleen?¡± I stared at her. On the night we¡¯d met, the city had been so quiet. Wind always a carried a bitter chill atop those precarious bloodtech bridges spanning the distance between Spires, but with my back against the smithy¡¯s chimney its cold had simply been bracing. Like the gusts had only ever wanted to wake me up. Above the two of us, the night stars had seemed wrinkles around the gaze of two great moons. Despite being mere humans cradled by ivory fingers far greater than ourselves, the sky was gentle. That dawn had been brighter than any I¡¯d seen before. ¡°That¡¯s me,¡± I told the woman I¡¯d spent that night with. ¡°Vin.¡± A small name for a small person. ¡°Tully wanted for you to know¡­¡± I gazed into her eyes ¨C the same charred hazel I remembered. ¡°¡­That she was sorry for not being better to you.¡± Tam covered her mouth with one hand. Her eyelids fluttered like a butterfly¡¯s wings. ¡°That she wished that instead of catering to the needs of Heltia¡¯s Spires, she had spent more time with you and Hera and little Bina.¡± A small breath fell from my lips. ¡°And that she loved you all, and wants nothing more than future happiness for all of you; whatever shape it may take.¡± It took her a moment to work though that; to gentle the flow of tears streaming down her face. The urge to embrace her took root and I strangled it in the womb. ¡°Thank you,¡± Tam finally said, silent tears trailing down her face. She reached out and held my hands as she was wracked with quiet sorrow. Nothing else in the room mattered. When her throat opened enough to speak, she gave me a tiny smile and said, ¡°You¡¯re a lot like her, y¡¯know? It¡¯s a hard job, telling me this, but¡­¡± She blinked rapidly, voice turning hoarse. ¡°¡­Never one she shied away from.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I choked out. ¡°I suppose I am.¡± ¡°Thank you.¡± She slowly released her hands from my gentle grasp. ¡°I¡¯ll go tell the girls.¡± I held on for just one moment longer. Then I let go. ¡°Goodbye, Tam.¡± And she walked between the tables and past the brazier and through the sparse crowd until her back vanished down the side of the hall. I clenched my hands into fists. After a moment, I loosened them to rub the corners of my eyes. The void in my chest grew slightly larger. My body rotated, yet I witnessed nothing in the room but colours, shapes, and sounds. Devoid of all life. My arms reached down to retrieve the sack I¡¯d dropped earlier. With faltering, unfeeling steps I approached the flames of the brazier. Any shape they fell in was ephemeral: they flinched away from rigidity under an inexorable desire to continue their dance. Mindless of how the act ate away the substance that created them. I thought of the glowing embers that would remain come morning and of the Lizard¡¯s mountainously rotting body; consumed alive by the plague within it yet cursed by the same plague to never die. The fire would need fuel. Slowly, I deposited my empty cup of wine on a table, then opened the bag and withdrew a wooden figure. Beneath a floppy hat and a network of wrinkles, a man¡¯s lips were peeled back in a broken-toothed grin. Uncle Dirk. His hunting dog ¨C Pat ¨C lay at his feet, chomping through a bowl of noodles. It had taken me four attempts and a dozen hours of work to be satisfied I¡¯d captured some part of the monster-hunter. Dirk had died to a Ravenkin because of me. And I¡¯d embedded him in wood, as if it would change something. With a flick of the wrist, I tossed him into the fire. It was for an experiment. A suspicion that crept under my eyelids in the dark hours of night, when all in the Fort were asleep besides me. The figure crackled and blackened underneath the vast heat of capricious flames. Dirk¡¯s face buckled under the pressure. The figurines I carved were beautiful, in an amateur way. At least they had been to me. Undoubtedly the most precious things I owned. Watching the wood be consumed, I felt almost nothing. As I had when I¡¯d watched Taja be beat by Kit in the duel. When I¡¯d watched the sunrise atop the Fort walls. When I¡¯d heard the cook¡¯s assistant weeping as his mother beat him behind the walls. Little empathy. Little appreciation. Little compassion. That had been the Ravenblood. Like a Lizardblood¡¯s thick-headedness, or a Dolphinblood¡¯s arrogance, or an Oxblood¡¯s divine rage. The goodness Ma had told me I possessed had been the legacy of the black ichor running through my veins. Most remained still, but what had been taken seemed to have torn something far more important out with it. I released a light chuckle. An echo emanating from the great hollow within my torso. With my own emptiness confirmed, I quickly ripped my hand into the brazier and pulled Dirk out, frantically smothering him with my shirt. The fire was quickly snuffed into mere smoke, yet the sculpture had already become a blackened mess. Tears seeped from my eyes and I rubbed them into nothing with the sleeves of my shirt. ¡°Come on,¡± I muttered, trying to save what little pieces of him remained, ¡°come on.¡± Then I hissed as the immense heat pushed into my hand by the flame trickled past my numb fingertips and into the deeper meat of my hands. With the Foxblood taken from me, every sense except my sixth had deteriorated. Some parts of my hands and feet were entirely without sensation. I¡¯d thought it wouldn¡¯t hurt. As I clutched my hand to my chest, I realised I¡¯d thought wrong. ¡°Vin, right? I didn¡¯t think you would make it here.¡± I whirled to find a beefy woman cocking an eyebrow at my smoking hand ¨C one of the few non-Oxbloods I¡¯d met of a taller height with me. The trained set of her feet and her impressive physique suggested a warrior. Yet those features belied a surprisingly refined voice which frayed at its edges with the beginnings of old age. Despite her greying hair and lined face, she remained just as imposing as a younger woman. Though her eyes and skin carried a far darker tone, she looked a bit how I though Erin might, as an adult. This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. Though Erin would probably kill me if she ever saw me again. I shoved my burning hand and the figure it contained into a pocket, plastering a pleasant smile across my face. ¡°You know me?¡± The older woman inclined her head in acknowledgment. ¡°I¡¯m Gaia. We haven¡¯t been introduced properly, of course, but we have seen one another.¡± My eyes narrowed, then after a long moment searching my memory, widened. She had been one of the cloaked figures within the crater, all those months ago ¨C watching our group as we waited atop the mountains. The one that had fought the Albrights. I reached down for the sword on my waist, only to find it absent. I¡¯d left it in my room. At my reaction, she quickly raised her arms. ¡°Easy there,¡± Gaia crooned. ¡°We left you alone, didn¡¯t we?¡± ¡°Why are you here?¡± I demanded. ¡°Under Gale¡¯s invitation,¡± the taller woman explained. ¡°He¡¯s worried about you and thought we could help.¡± ¡°We? Why would you¡­¡± I swore quietly. ¡°You¡¯re a Shrikeblood.¡± She gave a pleased smile. ¡°You¡¯re quick on the uptake. But I suppose I should expect nothing less.¡± I eyed her. ¡°What in Siik¡¯s long sight were you doing fighting the Albrights?¡± The muscular woman gazed down at me and shrugged. ¡°We have different ideas of what the future should look like.¡± ¡°And what future do you want?¡± Her eyes crinkled around their edges. ¡°I suppose we¡¯ll see.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not- ¡° ¡°I¡¯m only here to introduce myself, Vin. Right now, I believe you¡¯re dealing with far more pressing issues than whatever I¡¯m up to.¡± She gestured towards my blistering hand with a wry smile. ¡°For what it¡¯s worth, the thing you bear upon your shoulders would break a lesser person. I hope we meet again, but if we don¡¯t¡­¡± I tried to read between her words. ?h? w?s imp?rt?nt. ???? ?? ??? S??ds. My attempts dissipated into the air. It was there ¨C right on the tip of my tongue. But that information had been shattered into a thousand pieces at the bottom of a hill. Where I¡¯d died for the fourth time. ¡°Why reveal yourself to me now, Gaia?¡± I found my mouth asking. ¡°After all these years of secrecy?¡± ¡°Who¡­?¡± Her eyes widened fractionally. ¡°Seoras.¡± I was br?k??. But enough of me remained to ask questions. ¡°You owe it to me- ¡° ¡°You knew our objective,¡± the Shrikeblood quietly mused. ¡°You don¡¯t anymore. Is that possible for a creature like you?¡± ¡°Gaia- ¡° There was a shout from behind me. ¡°O- Vin!¡± I turned to find Gale stomping his way through the sparse crowd towards me. ¡°Talks went well?¡± I asked. ¡°Maleen has it handled. You need- ¡° I turned, searching for Gaia, only to find her walking back to her rugged peers. Briefly, I considered going after her. But whatever secrets she held lacked all lustre. Much like the rest of the room. A hand fumbled for my arm, then wrapped around it. ¡°Vin.¡± Pain torqued through my muscles as cloth bandages grated against my exposed muscle. I tried to rip my arm from Gale¡¯s grasp, but despite his smaller frame the Blooded¡¯s strength far outstripped my own. I turned my eyes on him as agony sharpened my voice. ¡°What?¡± Immediately, he released me. ¡°Gods, I am sorry.¡± His clouded eyes were wide. In the light, one seemed a shade darker than its other blue. ¡°Are you hurt? Do you need someone to clean your wounds? I can let my husband know.¡± I groaned, trying to soothe the pain in both arms ¨C one singed and the other scraped raw. ¡°Husband? What?¡± ¡°Sorry, I meant Henrik. But- ¡± I tried to shake the pain clouding my skull. ¡°What do you want, Gale?¡± His hands hovered over my shoulders, trembling with the urge to seize them. The noble quickly lowered them to his side again. ¡°I have done tests. I have conferred with several individuals. I¡­¡± He rubbed his eyes. ¡°I suspected this may occur, but I never thought- ¡° A seed of unease took root within my chest. ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°Your body is deteriorating rapidly. Far faster than any other conversion case I have records of. At this rate, you will be dead before the month is done, whether your Ravenblood is removed or not.¡± Panic edged into his tone. ¡°We need to speed up the extraction process and get Dure¡¯s essence into you as soon as possible.¡± My gaze drifted around the room. It settled on the monster in the mirror: dark veins, sallow skin and apathetic eyes staring back. In that moment, I had no more energy for fear. ¡°Yeah. I figured that out myself.¡± ¡°You knew?¡± Gale breathed, then his words narrowed into something far more ferocious. ¡°Stupid child. Why did you not tell me?¡± I shrugged, mindless of the fact he wouldn¡¯t be capable of seeing the motion. ¡°There didn¡¯t seem to be a point. It won¡¯t change how this ends.¡± The person beside me froze. With loaded caution, the words continued. ¡°And how does this end, Orvi?¡± ¡°I won¡¯t take the Lizardblood.¡± Both of his hands clenched the air ineffectually. The whites of his eyes stood stark against their pupils. ¡°Why?¡± he pleaded. ¡°You will die, Orvi.¡± ¡°I refuse to trade one set of chains for another.¡± The words emerged sharply; thick with a rebuke I¡¯d hoped to hide. I sighed, then rubbed my arms. ¡°I already know what it¡¯s like to die. Better than anyone else alive. It¡¯s a small price to pay to be free of divinity.¡± I knew the cowardice inherent to that thought; to the things I¡¯d told Gale. But I didn¡¯t feel brave any more. For the most part, I just felt exhausted. The blind man¡¯s jaw worked impotently. His eyes searched frantically through the empty air, attempting to find me but destined to fail. Whatever words he was attempting to materialise were nowhere to be found. Eventually, he managed, ¡°I can give the Ravenblood back. If that is what it takes.¡± A weak smile settled over my face. ¡°Thank you, but no.¡± When I turned to walk away, an arm slithered through the air to grasp my torso. ¡°Don¡¯t do this, Orvi. I¡­¡± The Owlblood wrenched his eyes shut, then opened them again. ¡°Your mother died to keep you alive.¡± Slowly, I nodded in agreement. ¡°She was a loving parent. She chose to care for me.¡± The corners of my lips fell. ¡°But do you think she chose to love me? Do you think she made a conscious decision to hold affection for me? Or do you think it simply crept up through her veins, until one day it was there?¡± ¡°I- ¡° ¡°I already know the answer,¡± I said quietly. ¡°Ma died for the love that was forced upon her by the way her soul was written. Her love for me allowed no other choice but death.¡± ¡°You truly believe that? It¡¯s far from the truth, and even if it were¡­¡± He released a breath too furious to be called a scoff. ¡°It matters nothing, Orvi! Choice or lack thereof is irrelevant ¨C a sacrifice was made for you, and you are treating that gift as if it means¡­¡± He sliced his free hand through the air. ¡°As if it were some accident! Such disrespect for the woman who raised you is unfathomable!¡± ¡°Disrespect?¡± My jaw loosened. I swallowed and rubbed my eyes, gazing at some nothing in the air. ¡°She died because of me. If I can just get rid of the Ravenblood, then¡­¡± My sentence faltered. I didn¡¯t know. Distantly, I recognised that most of the words emerging from my mouth were nonsense. But if I could make my soul a pyre for her memory, then maybe it would mean I was a good son, despite everything I¡¯d done to her. The brazier¡¯s flames linked their fiery tendrils together, then twirled apart in showers of sparks. Conversation travelled at a low burble, just quiet enough to be indecipherable to me. Glances were thrown towards the pair of us: Gale on the verge of tears, and myself having been hollowed of them. Why was he so desperate? Gale¡¯s hand shook where it touched my body. ¡°Orvi- ¡° The tall, lithe arm of Kit clenched around the noble¡¯s shoulder. She had approached halfway through the conversation ¨C too late to hear anything but Gale¡¯s furious tone. ¡°Who d¡¯you think you¡¯re hissin¡¯ at, Gale?¡± she snarled, pulling him away from me. ¡°Better put that forked tongue o¡¯ yours twixt yer cheeks, ¡®fore it gets sliced off.¡± The man¡¯s grip loosened momentarily. That brief lapse gave me the opportunity to pull away from him, snatch the sack of figurines, and quickly begin fleeing from the hall as Kit and Gale¡¯s exchange fell into elevated mutters behind me. My hand slowly caressed the burnt figurine in my pocket, rolling the agony of juvenile blisters rubbing against charred wood through my receded mind. As I did so, my boots slipped over the glass floor beneath. Without conscious thought, my eyes flickered to the dining hall beneath us, where they froze on an insubstantial figure. Stumbling its way through chairs and tables was the shattered figure of a ghost. It slowly accelerated, until it disappeared out into a stairwell. My gaze clung to where it vanished. I accelerated my pace as I slid my way through groups of conversation, accidentally jarring my shoulder against a Baylarian dignitary and nearly popping my emaciated arm from its socket. I groaned, but managed to jog out of the hall of mirrors and enter the grand staircase, where the ghost knelt on one of the upper steps. It staggered upright, then sprinted straight for me. I froze, arms spread to catch it, when it passed straight through my body. I swallowed ¨C wide eyes staring at my chest and seeing no sign of its passing ¨C then turned to run after it. I followed it back through the Hall of Mirrors, where it ducked, staggered, and weaved around pipes that were no longer there ¨C a mismatch to my own movements around obstacles that were. I followed its staggering gait through the hallway afterwards; its bent form scarcely a misstep ahead of a fall. I followed as it mimed opening the door to my own room and rushed inside. I could not follow it further. By the time I had entered, it had vanished, leaving nothing but a pile of filthy bandages atop the room¡¯s desk. My body slumped onto the cushioned divan at the centre of the room and stared at the armoire opposite. The sack in my hands drooped from loose fingers with a dull clack. I sat there, and placed a hand over my eyes. Time passed in a barren fog. Souls flitted through the Fort, rising and flickering. Mine was steadier, but not unchanging. Eventually, I rose and opened the armoire. Inside lay the quiet blackness of the weapon that had been meant for my mother. My sword, carved from the Raven¡¯s bones. I closed my fingers around its grip then pulled it from its sheath. The blade¡¯s weight yanked my arms downwards and jarred it against the floor, sending it shivering from my hands. It landed quietly against the floorboards. I stared at it for a short while. Then I bent down, placed both hands around its hilt, and hauled it off the floor. My jaw clenched with exertion as I pointed the sword towards the ceiling. Pain throbbed through my abused arms as muscles quivered against peeling skin. The breath emerging from my mouth transitioned into quiet grunts. The blade¡¯s tip began quivering in a mirror of my body¡¯s shaking. Suddenly, the exertion caused my arms to give out. The sword clattered to the floor. I slumped down with it, slowly wrapping my trembling hands around my head. My eyes caught on the onyx blade, barely catching the azure light of the room yet still containing enough light to cast my own image back at me. All the meat had been stripped from the bones of my face. Dark veins wriggled through every thin strip of muscle I still possessed. Faintly necrotised skin clung to what remained. In the blade shivered a skeleton pretending to still have the strength belonging to the flesh stripped away from it. I could see little resemblance to the person I used to be. All that remained were the eyes; pupils trembling as they tried to behold the future. Death terrified me. Whether someone else¡¯s or my own. Bhan had taught me that spirits would roam the earth upon death, waiting for the touch of divine blood, where they would dwell until a bloodletting primed them for reincarnation. But despite knowing more ghosts than Bhan ever had, I knew in the marrow of my bones that death could only be a vast, depthless chasm that echoed with ravenous intent. Where souls would disappear until the end of time, beyond the sight of mortals or gods. Never to be savoured, or seen, or saved. Yet at the very least that unending fall must be quiet. Through a wide, expansive pit so great its sides could not be seen. Peaceful, in a way. My skin squeezed the afterlife that was my being until I felt its crush every single day. Fear, anxiety, sorrow, rage, apathy: each buffeted my consciousness without warning, sending me flinching or thrashing against the thing that caused it regardless of fault. Nothing made sense. I was not in control. I was nothing more than a monster, controlled by the nature coursing through it. Every day I continued to live threatened the people around me. Death terrified me. But what other choice was there? Chapter 68 - Flip-Side I lay in my bed, facing the ceiling under a set of heavy blankets. Fatigue nibbled at the edges of my eyes, but sleep had cast me out and I had no chance of fighting my way back to oblivion. Dawn wasn¡¯t too far away ¨C I could already hear the raucous songs of birds heralding the morning. When a pair of familiar boots clicked down the hall outside my room, every ounce of my attention became dominated by the specifics of that sound. Pathetic anxiety bloomed its putrid colours within my gut. I gripped the hilt of my sword beneath the sheets. The month-old scars clinging to my knuckles ached. The door creaked open. ¡°You up, birdie?¡± Mother said. Despite her tone, it wasn¡¯t a question. I slumped upright, plastering an expression of bedraggled stupor across my face. ¡°Am now, Mother.¡± ¡°Well, seein¡¯ as you¡¯re chompin¡¯ at th¡¯ bit,¡± she began, and tension danced across my skin as I wondered if she knew I¡¯d been awake, ¡°you can get dressed an¡¯ meet me at the eatin¡¯ room.¡± The door shut. After her footsteps receded, I threw off the blankets and slid out of bed, hastily adjusting my clothes to make it seem as if I hadn¡¯t slept in them. Both my boots and fancy new set of silks gave off a stench suspended somewhere between acceptable and foul, but I¡¯d need to save my spare set for the Baylarian¡¯s visit tonight. If I came stinking like a dead dog, I¡¯d be barred, and then who would look after Maddie? Vin, maybe, but I figured he had his hands full looking after himself. Didn¡¯t need me heaping more problems on his plate. I spent a few short moments beating my fear down to workable levels while painting my lips into the brash grin Mother liked to see me wear. Then I quickly exited the room and began jogging towards the dining hall. Being too early would lead to a few sharp questions I found hard to stomach, but being too late would be disrespectful, which always ended worse. After a brief run, I slowly stepped into the hall. A looming darkness warred with the feeble light shining from the brazier through the skylight above, each wrestling for control over the dining hall. Between the two lay a red glow biting from the end of Mother¡¯s cigarillo, where she stood smoking above a form with a blanket draped over it ¨C unmistakeably a corpse to my eyes. She took a long drag when I entered. ¡°Quick feet, Kit,¡± she puffed. ¡°Come help me move this feller.¡± I stood at the doorway. ¡°You kill him?¡± ¡°Her. And nah,¡± she drawled, ¡°not this one.¡± The clack of my boots against the floorboards rung out across the otherwise silent room. It seemed scarcely disturbed from the previous day. Each chair was still stacked on their respective tables. Neither fight nor flight had taken place in this room. Just a murder. I drew close enough to the body to toe the sheet away from its face. The grin stretched across my face stiffened. ¡°By the blood,¡± I swore. Laying at my mother¡¯s feet was the body of Greta ¨C the Fort¡¯s chef. She¡¯d been a nice lady. Gave me a second lunch a few times, when I was hungry and prowling outside the kitchen. Her son had been leery of me, but I supposed he¡¯d been right to be. After all, her thick neck¡¯d been snapped less than a day before the Baylarian dignitaries arrived. But despite the clean death, it hadn¡¯t been bloodless ¨C a slit vein in her wrist steadily soaked the blanket atop her. Seemed pointlessly cruel, hurting someone after their death-blow. Poor woman. I forced my lips to move. ¡°Who¡¯s gonna do th¡¯ cookin¡¯?¡± I asked, managing to sound slightly bored. ¡°Most of it¡¯s already made.¡± Mother sucked the end of her cigarillo thoughtfully. ¡°Maybe Gale¡¯ll do it.¡± ¡°A blind noble?¡± I queried, careful to keep the disbelief in my voice at acceptable levels. ¡°Don¡¯t you worry ¡®bout it, birdie.¡± She flicked my forehead lightly, and I concealed a flinch with a scowl of annoyance. ¡°You do th¡¯ carryin¡¯.¡± ¡°I did it last time.¡± ¡°Oh, but think o¡¯ yer poor old mother. Already had to carry you fer nine months, then spent twenty times that raisin¡¯ you!¡± She lay a hand on her back and gave an exaggerated groan. ¡°T¡¯be forced to carry jus¡¯ that bit more ¡®cause o¡¯ some unappreciative daughter! Why- ¡° ¡°Fine,¡± I told her, my eyes drifting down towards the body. I¡¯d more experience making corpses than moving them, but my time at the Fort seemed to be changing that. I squatted down, wrapped one hand around Greta¡¯s still-warm arm and the other on her bloating leg, and proceeded to twist her lifeless form towards the doors leading outside. After stopping to heave in several breaths, I braced myself to begin hauling her backwards. Behind me, Mother sniffed. ¡°Can¡¯t be easy, pullin¡¯ such a bloated old goat. Even back when she was walkin¡¯ I half-expected her t¡¯start chewin¡¯ on th¡¯ finery. Goddamn cattle.¡± She hawked a wad of spit onto the clean floorboards, then groaned at it. ¡°Ox¡¯s balls. Someone¡¯ll clean that up, surely?¡± I grunted as I manoeuvred the dead cook around a particularly large table. ¡°Maids¡¯re bloody cattle, too. Titter-titterin¡¯ nonstop. I told ¡®em on a visit a little while back it¡¯d be funny for ¡®em to switch bells ¨C figured such a thing might teach th¡¯ boss man to keep stackin¡¯ his chits on people with a lick o¡¯ sense. Like me. ¡°Those dull-eyed does actually did it, too.¡± She barked a quick laugh. ¡°Only thing funnier¡¯n swappin¡¯ bells is the empty-headed animals stupid enough to do it! Who do they think¡¯s payin¡¯ them, anyway?¡± I paused briefly to roll my shoulders and pop the encroaching soreness from my spine. ¡°I swear, Kit, all these people ever do is let the bloody shepherd make choices for ¡®em. All it takes is one little death t¡¯send ¡®em all stampedin¡¯. Makes this- ¡° she gestured towards me, ¡° -absolutely necessary fer the sweet little lambs t¡¯sleep at night. Bloody exhaustin¡¯.¡± This was the moment I needed to say something. Prove I wasn¡¯t cattle. But it needed to be well-thought ¨C I was following her orders, after all. Finding the words used to feel natural. I was out of practice moving through this kind of hierarchy. ¡°Jus¡¯ easier t¡¯keep th¡¯ blinders on, for people like them,¡± I said between grunts. ¡°They don¡¯t know what it is t¡¯want somethin¡¯. To chase after somethin¡¯. To hurt for somethin¡¯.¡± ¡°No they don¡¯t,¡± Mother agreed, and I gave a quiet sigh of relief. ¡°But it¡¯s not just about makin¡¯ choices, y¡¯know? Gotta see clearly. ¡°Take yer boy, for example.¡± She clicked her fingers. ¡°Vin. Dangerous, dangerous man. If he¡¯s eaten old Graves ¨C or Tully, I guess ¨C like you said, I reckon he¡¯s smart, too. Why d¡¯you think I¡¯ve told you to keep me outta his mind?¡± She scoffed. ¡°But he goes and throws all that danger in a goddamn ditch, for anyone to come an¡¯ pick up. What d¡¯you think he¡¯s tellin¡¯ himself? That he¡¯s doin¡¯ the right thing? Gettin¡¯ rid o¡¯ that big bad Ravenblood. That he couldn¡¯t handle that pressure? That no one could?¡± Mother took a long drag of her cigarillo. ¡°Dunno if he¡¯s right, Kit, but it don¡¯t matter, ¡®cause he¡¯s just makin¡¯ a weak choice and tryin¡¯ t¡¯make it seem strong. Stickin¡¯ his head as deep in th¡¯ sand as he can shove it. He¡¯s a hider, but you an¡¯ I? We see things how they are.¡± She held open the doors as I dragged the corpse through. ¡°An¡¯ I know how to keep us movin¡¯ above, on th¡¯ backs o¡¯ animals like him. So you jus¡¯ listen t¡¯me, birdie, and the whole world¡¯ll fall at our feet.¡± Mother gave my head a rub as she walked past. Her touch clung to my scalp long after her fingers had left it. As I stood in the Fort¡¯s entrance, I sent a glance up at the battlements, where guards supposedly patrolled. None marched with any kind of lantern ¨C doing so would give away our paltry numbers to our Baylarian overseers ¨C making it impossible to tell whether anyone was in position to peer over the side and witness me dragging their captain¡¯s wife over to a shallow grave. Mother slunk over to the stone handholds embedded in the stone and scurried up the side of the wall. After a few tense moments, a dark hand extended over the wall¡¯s lip and beckoned me to move. I readjusted the blanket over the body and gave another mighty heave backwards. Halfway to its destination, the blanket jiggled off to reveal Greta¡¯s limp head bouncing over the frozen earth as I dragged her body across the outer court and into the gardens. Her expression was faintly disapproving. I swore. If I left it revealed Mother might get caught. If she did, she¡¯d probably kill the poor bastard who found her. After a moment of weighing each potential consequence, I covered the corpse¡¯s face once again and squeezed the sheet tightly over the body. When I made it to the shadowed gardens, I found a ditch already waiting. A piece of cloth poking from its side hinted at Colin¡¯s body ¨C the Owlblooded assistant I¡¯d buried a few days before. His body reeked wetly. I dragged the body into the makeshift grave. ¡°Sorry,¡± I told it. ¡°You¡¯re no warrior. You didn¡¯t sign up for this. Didn¡¯t deserve this.¡± It gave no response. My lips tightened. I got to work burying it. When I was done, Mother ambled over and began replanting the crops our gravedigging had torn up. It felt as if fate should¡¯ve conspired to reveal Colin¡¯s corpse to the Fort by now. Yet despite discovery being only a few scoops of dirt away, no one ever thought to excavate the gardens under the light of day. They would inevitably be dug up and replanted in a few months, but Mother knew that as well. Whatever game she was playing operated for a far shorter span. The Jackal stopped to shake some dirt free of her hands and stub out the glowing end of her cigarillo in the grave-dirt. ¡°Y¡¯know, Gale told me this garden was pretty important. Heard th¡¯ famine hit Fort Vane almost harder¡¯n th¡¯ rest o¡¯ th¡¯ Heartlands. With you an¡¯ I killin¡¯ their caravans, Baylar refused to trade with ¡®em ¨C least until Gale got comfy with th¡¯ Albrights. ¡°All th¡¯ chits in th¡¯ land can¡¯t help a man with no one t¡¯trade with. An¡¯ th¡¯ edges of the Heartlands were picked clean. Way I heard it, a few people would¡¯ve starved without these gardens.¡± Mother smirked. ¡°Seems only right we give ¡®em somethin¡¯ t¡¯nibble on as a thank you.¡± Unlike the Heartlands, blood wouldn¡¯t make food grow here. The sacrifice would do nothing. But I figured keeping that fact to myself was wise. We finished concealing the murder as dawn broke over the walls of the Fort. A string of pops burst through the birdsong as Mother stretched. ¡°Righty then. Reckon we go see dear Mael, huh?¡± Her laughter washed over my grin like waves over a cracked, worn cliff-face. Stone was tough, but time and tide could wear anything down to dust. I was no exception.
¡°D¡¯you want us t¡¯bring it in?¡± asked Mother, a wry smile spread across her face as she wrapped a bell around her wrist. ¡°Val,¡± Gale greeted, voice far brusquer than it used to be. ¡°Is that Kit with you?¡± I stared at him for a moment, disbelieving. My approach had been almost silent. How had he known I was there? ¡°Mm.¡± A hand smacked against my shoulder hard enough to sting, and the Jackal shot a meaningful scowl my way. ¡°Go on,¡± she said, eyes wide in a silent threat. ¡°Don¡¯t keep th¡¯ boss-man waitin¡¯.¡± ¡°Hey Gale.¡± Out of the corner of my vision, Mother nodded in silent approval. ¡°You good?¡± I finished lamely. Gale¡¯s clouded eyes drifted over my face. ¡°I am fine,¡± he rumbled. The noble had been standing in the doorway, unmoving, when we¡¯d arrived. Far taller than he had in my memory. ¡°Lotta¡­¡± I tried to find a way to coax him into revealing what had changed, but my skill with words ended at insults and intimidation. ¡°¡­Nothin¡¯ fer a man doin¡¯ fine.¡± The man drummed his fingers against his collarbone. ¡°I can see why you might think that,¡± he conceded. Gale seemed more composed, too. A well-placed provocation might goad him into revealing more. ¡°Impressive, a blind man seein¡¯ so- ¡° My world rocked forward as a blow caught me on the back of the head. Ice-cold certainty of impending death filled me. It quickly melted when I realised I wasn¡¯t in a battlefield, and the hit hadn¡¯t been particularly heavy. Even so, I allowed Mother¡¯s punch to tip me to the ground where I landed without so much as a whisper. Gale¡¯s blindness would forgive an assault in front of him, but the man still had a working set of ears. ¡°¡­you got work to do?¡± Mother was saying. ¡°I¡¯ll go feed an¡¯ read Mael for you.¡± ¡°I would¡­¡± He paused to take a breath. ¡°I would appreciate that.¡± ¡°No problem.¡± Mother took the tray from him gingerly, as if taking a bone from a wild dog. ¡°Reckon Mr. Skin ¡®n Bones¡¯s waitin¡¯ for you.¡± ¡°Do not call him that.¡± His voice cracked with enough restrained fury to startle me. ¡°Have some respect. Especially if you want to keep concealing yourself from him.¡± Mother¡¯s face tightened into a predatory rictus and I hastily turned my gaze downwards. ¡°¡­Sure. Be seein¡¯ you.¡± Gale turned on his heel and marched away with an eerily graceful rhythm. From the ground, I watched the way his weight landed on the balls of his feet in a way constantly prepared for an assault. A warrior¡¯s walk, I realised. ¡°Prissy little prick,¡± Mother cussed when he was out of earshot. ¡°If he wasn¡¯t our ride back up, I would¡¯ve slit him side-to-side fer that.¡± With her anger turned on Gale, my own prodding would likely be forgotten. I cautiously pushed myself upright, and when the older woman gave no rebuke I straightened fully. ¡°You¡¯re gonna go feed, uh¡­¡± ¡°Mael,¡± Mother finished smugly. ¡°Yeah, him. That mean I can go?¡± I tried not to let hope colour my tone. ¡°You better come with me for a bit.¡± The Jackal adjusted her grip so one arm cradled the tray as the other proceeded to tip a bowl of shredded fruit into her mouth. She shoved the bowl of porridge into my own hands. ¡°Won¡¯t Mael be mad?¡± Mother coughed, letting loose a shower of fruit-flesh from her mouth. ¡°Gods no,¡± she managed amidst fits of hacking. ¡°Come an¡¯ have a look. You¡¯ll get it.¡± She cranked open the door, revealing a cramped, dust-smeared room illuminated only by morning light trinkling through a single window. That shallow stream of radiance traced a narrow bed surrounded by dull contraptions; each filigreed by eye-blurring sets of runes in staggering quantities, engraved as a result of what must have been countless hours worth of obsession. All were empty of purple light and caged by thin layers of dust. On the bed lay a desiccated corpse. ¡°Gale made all these devices t¡¯lighten Mael¡¯s body. Enough time and talent t¡¯kill a god, spent on a boy whose muscles couldn¡¯t keep him upright. Kept him alive ¡®til a few months back.¡± Mother shrugged. ¡°Kid¡¯s heart jus¡¯ gave out one day.¡± I looked at the corpse. Death had turned a young man¡¯s body into that of a shrivelled old crone. Yet it was in far better condition than any other month-old corpse I¡¯d ever seen. ¡°You preserved it?¡± Mother tsked. ¡°Yeah. Place reeked fer a while after, but I made sure no one was enterin¡¯ except me an¡¯ Gale. Can¡¯t have the Fort knowin¡¯.¡± Her form stood starkly at the corner of my gaze. Fond annoyance fixed her gaze to the body. ¡°You were meant to marry him.¡± ¡°I mean, sure.¡± The Jackal barked a laugh. ¡°If he lived through a wastin¡¯ body with not so much as a lick o¡¯ Lizardblood, he¡¯d damn well deserve me.¡± ¡°You didn¡¯t think he¡¯d live, though.¡± ¡°Nah. Plan was always Gale. An¡¯ ¡®cause no one likes a Blooded rulin¡¯ or havin¡¯ children, my hands would be on the reins o¡¯ th¡¯ Vanes.¡± She inclined her head. ¡°An¡¯ I guess yours, when I die.¡± I blinked. My mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. ¡°Does Gale know his brother¡¯s dead?¡± I asked, stepping around her previous statement. She snorted. ¡°Bein¡¯ blind¡¯s a good excuse, but I reckon he¡¯s too clever not to. Boss-man jus¡¯ don¡¯t wanna admit it.¡± ¡°No one told him?¡± ¡°The Fort¡¯s doctor wanted to,¡± she said casually. ¡°I made sure he didn¡¯t.¡± He¡¯d been the man who should¡¯ve helped Maddie and Vin when we¡¯d first entered the Fort. I wondered if he was buried near Colin and Greta. ¡°You¡¯re sure Gale knows?¡± She arced her shoulder to affix me with a withering glare. ¡°Boss used t¡¯visit little Mael here every day, but you know what happened as soon as his brother kicks it? Man stops visitin¡¯. Why d¡¯you think that is?¡± I gave a cursory shrug. ¡°¡¯Cause if Mael¡¯s dead, his whole big project don¡¯t mean much. All that work fer nothin¡¯.¡± Mother looked out the window with a dark chuckle. ¡°He an¡¯ Vin make quite the pair ¨C two black-blooded fools stickin¡¯ their heads in the dirt. Just in opposite directions. ¡°Poor Gale,¡± she crooned. ¡°Too clever t¡¯hide completely but too weak t¡¯tear the earth from his eyes. Luckily, he¡¯s got me t¡¯steer him right.¡± ¡°An¡¯ where¡¯re you steerin¡¯ him, Mother?¡± I carefully asked. ¡°I¡¯m steerin¡¯ us,¡± she said with snarling emphasis, ¡°above the fools that cover this land from end-to-end. They need people like us.¡± ¡°To rule?¡± Neutrality flavoured my voice into a bland, unassuming slop. ¡°To control.¡± Mother scoffed. ¡°They don¡¯t wanna think. They wanna get told things that make ¡®em feel good. Fact o¡¯ the matter is, their empty skulls make perfect footholds for people with real ambition. Who know what they are an¡¯ know what they want, an¡¯ know it without flinchin¡¯. You might not have my brains, Kit, but you ain¡¯t a coward like them. You¡¯re a different breed.¡± I grunted an affirmation. ¡°Now, you needa keep yer Ravenblood¡¯s attention away from Gale for a bit. You know a way t¡¯do that?¡± I gripped the hilt of my sword to prevent my fingers from trembling. ¡°Gonna teach Taja some moves. Others¡¯ll come an¡¯ watch.¡± Mother¡¯s brows raised. ¡°Th¡¯ wimpy nomad kid? What¡¯s teaching him t¡¯fight gonna do?¡± A furious retort rose from my throat, but bile from my gut yanked it back down. I shrugged. She waved an arm. ¡°Well, go ahead.¡± Instinctively, I took a step away, but paused. ¡°You¡¯re not gonna hurt any o¡¯ the people I came with, right?¡± Mother sneered lightly. ¡°Why d¡¯you care, birdie? Savin¡¯ ¡®em fer yerself?¡± ¡°Just owe them is all.¡± ¡°Can¡¯t hold debts t¡¯cattle, Kit.¡± ¡°I know, I know. But- ¡° ¡°I won¡¯t do anythin¡¯ to ¡®em without you, Kit.¡± Whatever happened, I would be able to stop her. So long as I knew who she was targeting, I¡¯d be able to move her away. Mother knew I was a thick-headed thug, but she¡¯d listen to me if I asked her something. I opened my mouth to ask for a greater concession, but a cocked eyebrow from her shot the attempt down. It would have to be enough.
My practice sword cracked against Taja¡¯s shin with vicious glee, forcing the teenager into a limping stumble backwards as his guard dropped. A swift blow batted his weapon from his hand while I rapped the side of his wrist with my knuckles. ¡°Again,¡± I snapped. Another exchange was met with swift punishment as the novice swordsman fumbled his weapon. As our bout progressed, Taja¡¯s eyes migrated from narrowed fixation on our bout to darting pupils swallowed by a sea of panicked white. His skill began to bend itself away from the process of learning into futile attempts to keep the thick piece of wood in my hand from wreaking pain upon him. Of all the places on his body, only his head was spared a bruising. ¡°Again!¡± Taja pressed himself back against the fence, then screwed his eyes closed and surged forward in a blind flurry of blows. I stepped aside and smashed his ankle, sending him rolling sideways amidst a pained chorus of moans. A song heralding my easy dominance of this young, empty-headed kid. He tried to push himself upright and failed as soon as weight fell on the beaten leg. I squatted over his supine form, sneering down at him. ¡°Get up.¡± Taja¡¯s eyes flickered away. ¡°Don¡¯t you wanna learn somethin¡¯? Be strong, instead of jus¡¯ a lump of dead weight we¡¯ve had to haul halfway across th¡¯ Heartlands?¡± I leaned closer to his face. ¡°Don¡¯t be weak. Get up.¡± Though he didn¡¯t meet my gaze, the thin young man slowly clambered back onto his feet. While we fell back into our exchanges, I gave him the same brash grin I¡¯d been wearing all morning. Taja¡¯s newfound determination lasted through the next ten minutes of one-sided beating. Until his form began flagging once again. Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. ¡°Come on!¡± I shouted as I slapped a half-hearted blow away. ¡°What about the stance I showed you earlier? The blows Vin taught you over Frost? Where¡¯re they, huh? Where¡¯s all that trainin¡¯ trickled to? Right outta yer ears, by the looks of it.¡± He swallowed and tried to fall into the neutral stance I¡¯d taught him, but I kicked him to the ground. ¡°Too slow!¡± I bellowed, jabbing at him with my practice sword. ¡°You think anyone¡¯s gonna wait fer you to amble into a half-arsed form? You think it¡¯d stop a Godkin? An enemy? A Baylarian soldier? Pathetic.¡± Tears pricked at the corners of Taja¡¯s eyes. I recoiled. My feet took several steps backwards before I could stop them. I tried to squeeze disgust into my face at his unabashed display of weakness, but my attempts were feeble themselves. For a moment, I considered slamming my wooden sword into Taja¡¯s ribs as he lay on the floor. For a moment, I considered calling the session off. Both options were paths someone more agile could walk. Not me. ¡°Isn¡¯t that enough, Kit?¡± I rotated my head too quickly. Maddie stood behind me, expression bent into concern and confusion beneath her orange locks. Her jade eyes fell upon me and I hardly dared to breathe. ¡°I don¡¯t know anything about swords, but I doubt Taja will learn anything right now.¡± I thinned my lips against the pathetic sense of relief welling inside of me. ¡°Sure. C¡¯mon Taja. It¡¯s done.¡± The nomad stared up at me, eyes wide. In my impatience, I bent down and manhandled him upright. After I¡¯d separated, I leaned in and wiped several patches of mud from his poorly-woven sparring clothes, though I only managed to work the filth further into its material. ¡°You did good,¡± I suddenly felt the urge to say, ¡°keepin¡¯ steady through all that. Good, uh, resilience.¡± Whether Taja felt that was enough of an apology was unclear. He simply limped back towards where the others were gathered, allowing Maddie to help him stiffly clamber over the fence. After several heartbeats had passed, I followed. From where they leaned against the Fort¡¯s walls, Ronnie gently eased Taja down to rest beside Gast, shooting me a tooth-filled frown as they did so. The other Strain looked at me expressionlessly. I steered away from both and settled beside Vin, who gave no indication he¡¯d registered my presence. Almost immediately, I began to regret my seating choice. The man next to me barely resembled the person he¡¯d been a month ago. Gone were the unsettling sets of eyes studding his arms, instead replaced with bandages which would gradually soak in a stinking mixture of yellow pus and blackened blood over the course of a day. Though his physical frame was only slightly diminished, the actual quantity of meat on it was so dangerously low that the clothes Gale had tailored to his form a mere two weeks ago hung limply off his body like rolls of skin on a fat man gone thin. Worst of all was his face. Sharp, skeletal features mounted by a sunken gaze terminating in hollow eyes. Whatever Vin had become was eggshell-thin; a mere blanket draped over the same primordial emptiness that filled mourners and monsters and drug-fiends and dogs holding vigil over corpses and the space between stars. But despite everything, he was the same person who had laughed and picked me up while we waited in that line in Spires, letting me hit him in the head. The man who had finished the fight I¡¯d started back in the bar. The same man who had defended my rear countless times. I owed him more than unease, but I didn¡¯t know what else someone like me could offer. While I struggled with the sensation of my arm pressing against the cords that formed his, Maddie slowly began taking us all aside. To discuss him, safe in the assurance that whatever sound entered Vin¡¯s ears wouldn¡¯t reach the person that lay behind them. We all swerved around the topic for a few minutes, until the prancing infuriated me enough that I cut to the meat of the issue. Only the blind would fail to see that he¡¯d lost something vital along with the Ravenblood Gale¡¯d removed. Surprisingly enough, Taja was the first to spit out the obvious counter: with the Ravenblood, he¡¯d been a man whose being was so full it was beginning to tear itself apart. Was a man in the process of being rent asunder any better than one whose whole, unblemished veins were filled with nothing at all? Maddie, Gast, Taja, Ronnie and I all sat and thought. Even the giant¡¯s dog ¨C Yowler ¨C had his jowls arranged in grim concentration. I rolled Vin through my mind repeatedly, like a forgotten word retreating from the tip of my tongue. I scratched my head. I got up and paced. The sunlight scattered over the Fort¡¯s stones and rejoined together in puddles that depicted images of the sky while birds sung from the battlements, yet the longer we dwelled in the dead-eyed man next to us the more good humour seemed to crumble. I joked that maybe we should just pump him with Ravenblood and roll him into a carpet, and Ronnie smacked me for disturbing their own musings. Gast stared at a beetle crawling through the mud. Taja broke a blade of grass between his hands until it was nothing but hints of green on the wind, glassy gaze fixed on nothing at all. Maddie hid beneath her cloak. Vin leaned against the wall, and for a single, quiet moment I looked at him and felt deep in my bones that he was carved out of barren stone. It was when I squinted harder and came to the abrupt realisation that Vin lived still that I gave up. We¡¯d need to talk to the man; I told the others. Let him know what we¡¯d seen and hope it was some kind of massive revelation to him. Tell him that the one thing he¡¯d wanted from Maddie as a reward for months of labour and murder and death could maybe perhaps be postponed, because five nosy people were concerned. I didn¡¯t have much hope, but we¡¯d need to pick someone to relay that message. I was mildly pissed off when everyone immediately passed over me to tell him and began a debate over the best diplomat that, after many twist and turns, crashed into Gast on account of her being the most singularly inoffensive person ever to exist. After all, it took doing something to cause conflict. If doing nothing were a contest, Gast¡¯d be tied first with rocks. Nevertheless, getting angry at the fat Strain was much like getting angry at an owl ¨C she¡¯d just kind of give you a look that simultaneously made you feel stupid and undoubtedly in the wrong. I would know; sometimes her giving every response in grunts or shrugs had me wanting to leap on Gast¡¯s back and tear her hair out. With that settled, a foetal silence began seeping between us, before Maddie aborted it with a sudden cry. ¡°The cakes!¡± she announced, before standing to rush within the Fort. I squinted after her. ¡°She hit her head?¡± Ronnie grinned while their hands contorted. ¡°Maddie made cakes,¡± Gast translated. The giant gave the other Strain a thinned look, then elbowed her. ¡°She¡¯s excited,¡± the fat woman added flatly. Ronnie shifted from their spot leaning against the wall and slowly turned their entire body to face Gast. The round Strain gave a slow blink. ¡°She¡¯s excited about the cakes she made.¡± Ronnie nodded, finally satisfied. ¡°Right,¡± I drawled, eying both of them. ¡°Y¡¯know, I coulda got that from th¡¯ first thing you said.¡± The giant shook their head as their fingers darted through several short, vigorous signs. ¡°Flavour,¡± Gast translated. ¡°Yeah, what¡¯s it taste like?¡± I asked. The teeth set within Ronnie¡¯s infantile face ground together noisily, but if the Strain wanted long, flowery sentences they shouldn¡¯t¡¯ve gotten Gast to say them. ¡°She¡¯s never baked,¡± Gast stated. I looked to Ronnie¡¯s hands and was somewhat surprised to find them still. She¡¯d supplied that information unprompted. ¡°¡­Do you think it will taste good?¡± Taja interjected, leaning his bruised body to stare after Maddie. Ronnie¡¯s hands flashed. ¡°The cook¡¯s with her,¡± Gast translated. ¡°Should be fine.¡± I concealed my face from the people beside me, only to find Vin¡¯s sunken gaze directed towards me. Whether he saw merely skin-deep or peeled past layers of flesh to seize upon my soul was illegible ¨C the Ravenblood¡¯s eyes betrayed nothing. ¡°She seems to be elsewhere, today,¡± Taja responded, mindless of my discomfort. Ronnie gave a single, firm sign: ¡®Bad¡¯. Gast stared at the giant¡¯s hands, then turned to stare both Taja and I in the eyes. Her gaze was full of austere severity. ¡°Not good.¡± Maddie returned with a baking pan ¨C iron, an expense that was unsurprising in a Fort with an attached Owlsmith. It was dotted with thick pastries with sizes oscillating between ones just large enough to fit in my palm to mammoth chunks of dough which would need two hands to hold. Thin streams of green stuffing ¨C some kind of jam, maybe? ¨C puddled in the cake¡¯s peak, which was a dubiously light shade of brown. The young woman swayed the pan beneath each of our faces, jade eyes beaming from beneath a tangle of orange locks. Everyone present found mundane objects ¨C bugs; rocks; muddy patches of ground ¨C to examine, excepting Gast whose scepticism was writ plainly on her face. Just as Maddie¡¯s face began to fall and I was preparing to seize one, Vin¡¯s hand snaked onto the pan, snatched a large cake, and began chewing it. Sticky strings of dough stretched between his jaw. ¡°Do you like it?¡± Maddie asked. He swallowed and shoved the second half of the cake inside his mouth. Maddie gave a toothy grin, which suddenly formed the most singularly argument for eating dubious food that I¡¯d ever borne witness to. Accompanied by Maddie¡¯s expectant gaze, I inhaled a quick breath and shoved it in my mouth. It took several seconds to process the sheer enormity of the flavour and texture. When the cogs of my stunned mind began turning again, I looked at Vin¡¯s face ¨C blank except for a pair of eyes slyly directed away from my face. Belatedly, my tongue began fleeing from the alien object occupying my mouth. Once, when I was much younger, I¡¯d consumed one of the new fruits the Aching had supplied. It was painted broadly in a swirl of pretty colours: bright, bold and engrossing. Even as a child, Father had warned me countless times to not eat plants without being certain they were safe, especially after an Aching. But in the small hours of the morning before, Mother had staggered into my tent, shaken me awake, and hissed at her bleary-eyed daughter that Father was a brain-dead fool who knew nothing about anything. I wanted to believe her. Eating the fruit would serve as proof of my faith. Mother and Father had been out on a raid. I¡¯d nearly died. Only Jana shoving chunks of charcoal in my mouth amidst a flurry of panicked insults saved my life. The cold, brittle taste of it coating every fold of my cheeks filled my tastebuds every time I thought back on that moment. I didn¡¯t recall that event, though, because Maddie¡¯s cakes tasted far worse than charcoal. As I thoughtfully chewed, all that came to mind was lukewarm pigeon guts and the overwhelming urge to eject the contents of my mouth and paw at my tongue. But the princess¡¯s hopeful stare kept my expression perfectly blank. Mustering the courage to swallow the bizarre combination of liquid flavouring and undercooked dough took six attempts. ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± I told her hoarsely. I¡¯d heard the best lies contain a grain of truth. This one was utterly pathetic. Despite that, I realised everyone present believed me. Which meant I could try the same trick as Vin. Glee bubbled in my chest. I gingerly took another cake off the baking pan and offered it to Ronnie. ¡°It¡¯s good.¡± The lopsided Strain¡¯s eyes darted to Vin, then myself, then the pastry. They took a small one and shoved it in their mouth. A slight widening of their eyes was the only hint that Ronnie¡¯s tastebuds had been sacked. While they looked at me, expression torn between despair and hilarity, Ronnie signed: ¡®Good¡¯. Taja took the bait next. Under my glare and Ronnie¡¯s trembling lips, the teenager¡¯s jaws slowly worked around the dough, eying the pair of us as we desperately tried to stop ourselves from laughing. Gast went after. In the wisest decision of the entire meal, she held the cake in her mouth as she rose to walk across the outer court, where she discreetly spat it behind a bush. Maddie might¡¯ve noticed Gast¡¯s stealth-puke if she weren¡¯t in the process of delicately biting into one of the few remaining. Her face immediately contorted. ¡°Oh, gods,¡± she repeated as flecks of saliva, dough, and jam evacuated her mouth. A snort erupted from my nose amongst a stream of snot, which drove the young Head into gagging the contents of her cheeks onto the ground as an uncontrollable fit of giggles wracked my body. Yowler ambling over, licking the dough, and then deciding to spit it out launched my hysterics into almost painful heights. Ronnie wheezed silently. Even Taja and Gast managed a few chuckles. When it was done, I turned to the man beside me. ¡°You¡¯re a mad genius, Vin,¡± I told him as I tried to stifle a set of hiccups. ¡°How¡¯d you think t¡¯do that?¡± My laughter choked into silence as his eyes drifted over my form without recognition. He chewed another disgusting wad of dough and I watched the lump in his throat bob as he swallowed it. Nothing in his face indicated anything he changed. Vin hadn¡¯t been pretending to tolerate the flavour. He simply hadn¡¯t noticed it. Later, after we sent Gast to talk with him, she returned and slumped to the ground next to us. Splinters sprouted from her shins like tiny speartrees ¨C remnants of her ramming through furniture in a frantic bid to catch Vin. They quickly began swelling. We asked her questions, but her silence said more than any words. Failure.
The Baylarian diplomats were more pretentious than I¡¯d expected. Hailed through the gates were a gaggle of yellow-robed men, all togas and hairy chests and arms despite Frost still clinging by its nails. Hairiest of all were their faces ¨C beards practically dripping with oil that made them seem less like bundles of hair and more like languid river-creatures clinging to their faces. The hair atop their head ¨C the little they had ¨C was similarly styled. As I watched the Fort¡¯s guards search them for weapons, I wondered why Baylarian fashion was so bizarre. Another group quickly entered on their heels. At first I believed them servants of the Baylarians, but their rough garb itched a memory from the back of my mind. They bore cloaks and builds almost identical to the people who¡¯d fought the Albrights in the crater. Gale ¨C who greeted a huge, dark-skinned woman upon her entry ¨C seemed completely at ease with them. When I clambered down and hissed a warning in the blind man¡¯s ear, he waved me away. His complete disregard for the danger we were in spurred me into the Hall of Mirrors, to tell Maddie and the others we needed to leave. The young Head gave a smile that didn¡¯t reach her eyes and said we didn¡¯t have a choice. Which left me glaring at the Baylarian diplomats who approached her as I leaned against a wall and took angry sips of wine. The mirrors lining each side of the hall made it seem utterly massive, but the people dwelling within ¨C despite being multiplied a thousand times as the infinite mirrors narrowed to nothing ¨C utterly failed to fill it. I scowled quietly. At least Mother was elsewhere. ¡°¡­take Heltia so easily?¡± Maddie was asking the one diplomat who remained, having remained mostly silent until his fellows. The Baylarian she spoke to drained his fourth cup of wine. I might be swayed to drink as well, were I unarmed and entirely surrounded by people with good reason to loathe me. ¡°Well, any city could be taken with little more than a bundle of bread and promises of aid, had Enn gotten to it first. House Baylar can hardly take credit for immense tactical acumen.¡± ¡°You disapprove?¡± came the innocent query. He went to nod, but stopped himself. ¡°You lived in Heltia, once. You understand what Neelam created. Undoubtedly both an economic and military threat, given your, erm, Owlsmithed¡­¡± ¡°Bloodtech,¡± Maddie supplied. ¡°Yes, ¡®bloodtech¡¯. A great threat, but also a great opportunity.¡± The diplomat shook his head mournfully. ¡°You know, I travelled there once. When we all gathered to create the Heltian Conditions ¨C to debate how mortals could fell a god ¨C I was a junior scribe to our delegation. A singularly beautiful place, your city. Bridge upon bridge, defying gravity as they towered as if to challenge the sun; seeing the enormity of that place, it felt as if the mass of humanity was one step from becoming a god.¡± Maddie¡¯s lips trembled as she nodded. ¡°What a waste,¡± he said, jaw tightening. ¡°What a truly irredeemable waste. I am so¡­¡± If he apologised, I was going to kill him ¨C diplomat or not. Instead, he gently placed his cup on a nearby table. ¡°I cannot apologise to you. And I¡¯m sorry for that.¡± Maddie¡¯s eyelids lowered, twin shutters withstanding a storm. Her narrow shoulders shook twice, then stilled. ¡°I understand- ¡° Her voice hitched. She discreetly cleared her throat and continued. ¡°But surely Baylar could have annexed Spires. With much time and many losses, of course, but wouldn¡¯t such a famously mercantile House be prepared to sacrifice short-term profit for long-term gains? Why use Enn at all?¡± ¡°House Baylar did not goad the Ox into attacking Spires,¡± the diplomat stated woodenly. ¡°We simply offered support after the city and its leaders crumbled.¡± I snorted. Maddie¡¯s lips tightened. Behind the oil and finery wrought with Baylarian colours, a terrible lucidity settled on the diplomat. His eyes tightened in black sympathy, and his voice lowered to a whisper. ¡°¡­However, if a House devoted to profit were to do such a thing, it would be reasonable to suggest they were acting under strict restrictions from a higher authority.¡± The young Head¡¯s eyes snapped upwards. ¡°What powerful people would want such a promising, powerful city ruined instead of annexed? Who could possible stand above a House?¡± The diplomat licked his lips. ¡°And what player might whisper the idea in the ears of those powerful people?¡± He swallowed, and asked one final question: no longer rhetorical but a legitimate plea for answers. ¡°And what might the whisperer gain from such an event?¡± His eyes flickered elsewhere. I followed his gaze, and found a blind man exchanging heated words with the wasted figure of our Ravenblood. It was as if ice-water had been poured over my body. ¡°Say nothing,¡± the diplomat told us. ¡°I cannot be on your side. But though my role in these negotiations is too humble to know the objectives, understand the game that has been played. You are worms on a hook, but there must be room to wriggle off.¡± ¡°Jus¡¯ let it go?¡± I asked him. He nodded. Maddie touched my arm, but I shook her off. ¡°For what?¡± ¡°Pardon?¡± ¡°We spent months runnin¡¯, fightin¡¯, dyin¡¯ for this. We lost people,¡± I told him, teeth clenched and eyes wide, ¡°and we got nothin¡¯ left of them. For this?¡± His head tilted away from mine. ¡°Kit¡­¡± Maddie turned and placed both arms on mine. Water leaked from her eyes. I looked at her. ¡°We- what? How- You¡¯re jus¡¯ tryin¡¯ to¡­¡± I clenched my eyes tight on the tears brewing there, then opened them. ¡°Blood!¡± I placed my hands over my eyes as harsh breaths shuddered through my body. It was all too much. The diplomat had to be lying. Someone had to be lying. Who was lying? I removed the limbs obstructing my sight and found Gale seizing Vin by the arm. ¡°Kit,¡± Maddie pleaded, but her grieving sobs filled my ears and that blind man my vision. I shook her off and shoved my way through the crowd towards him. Gale seethed, red-faced, as he whispered at Vin. The Ravenblood was held tight in his grip and as I approached, I saw discomfort break through the apathy on Vin¡¯s face. My hasty movements sent an elbow barging into one of the maids but brought me close enough to grip the noble¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Who d¡¯you think you¡¯re hissin¡¯ at, Gale?¡± I snarled, pulling Gale away from Vin. ¡°Better put that forked tongue o¡¯ yours twixt yer cheeks, ¡®fore it gets sliced off.¡± Immediately, Vin pulled away, snatched a sack from the ground and began scurrying out of the hall. Wrapped around his hands were the singed remnants of a bandage, beginning to merge with the flesh beneath. ¡°What in the blood did you do t¡¯his hand?¡± I crushed the noble¡¯s arms in both hands as spittle coated his face. ¡°Huh? What¡¯d you do?¡± I was taken aback when Gale returned my snarl with one of his own. ¡°You believe I did that?¡± he thundered. ¡°The boy burned his own hand. Orvi¡¯s falling apart, and none of you are trying to stop him.¡± ¡°Stop him?¡± I snapped, shaking him slightly. ¡°You¡¯re the one who took the godsdamned blood!¡± ¡°And I am trying to put it back, stupid girl.¡± ¡°Girl? You¡¯re barely older¡¯n I am.¡± He scoffed. After the blind man grasped my hands I watched, disbelieving, as he began to peel them off his shoulders with enough force to bruise them. I ripped myself away from him and massaged my palms. ¡°So?¡± I demanded, eying him. ¡°What¡¯s th¡¯ point of all that work gettin¡¯ rid o¡¯ his blood jus¡¯ to put it back?¡± Suddenly, Vin shambled back into the room in pursuit of a shattering in the air. Both of us watched his stick-like figure move through the Hall and disappear out the other side. Gale worked his jaw as he slowly unclenched his palms. ¡°I changed my mind.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Because Orvi is dying.¡± I ignored the unfamiliar name. There were more pressing matters. ¡°He¡¯s dying?¡± It should¡¯ve been more of a shock. ¡°Kit.¡± It was Gale¡¯s turn to seize my shoulders. ¡°Your friend ¨C you are friends, yes?¡± I considered that. Nodding my head felt like pulling an abandoned lever from years¡¯ worth of rust, but I managed. Gale¡¯s mismatched eyes managed to find my own. ¡°Your friend has mere weeks to live,¡± he insisted. ¡°He refuses to listen to me. He sees me as a stranger. But you know him, correct?¡± ¡°I- ¡° ¡°You are close?¡± His gaze tried to bore into my own. ¡°You- ¡± I cut his frantic words off. ¡°We tried, okay? Jus¡¯ today. We all tried t¡¯get him t¡¯stop, an¡¯ it failed.¡± Gale reached into a pocket and withdrew a cylindrical device to shove against my chest. My lip curled. ¡°What in Siik¡¯s legs is this, blind man?¡± ¡°Ravenblood.¡± I tossed it back to him as if it were a flaming coal. ¡°Go shove it up yer- ¡° ¡°You need to stab Orvi with this,¡± he said rapidly, snatching my hand and curling my fingers around it. ¡°Depress this button on the top. Rapid Godsblood transfusion would be dangerous for most, but Orvi¡¯s body has already adapted to it.¡± I looked through the device, trying to scry what lay at its core. Everything I knew about Vin ¨C every tiny smile and moment of pure stillness ¨C screamed that he would refuse it. However, my attempt didn¡¯t have to end there. Ronnie and I would probably be able to hold him down while Gast unloaded the Ravenblood back into him. Together, we could put him back to what he used to be. As I envisaged us commandeering his body as if it were some kind of divine right, bile emerged from the back of my throat. Yet I¡¯d killed countless people before; stealing from them in a way far more fundamental. At least this would help the person I attacked. ¡®This is you, Kit,¡¯ came a thought slithering from between the cracks of my mind. ¡®You want him to live. He¡¯s too scared to make a choice. You¡¯re not. So why don¡¯t you make it for him?¡¯ Why not? That was a question I had no reply to. Even so, trickling from the back of my mind emerged an intuition: Vin was Vin. And even with him throwing all his martial ability away, I still respected him. ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± I told Gale. Sightless eyes scrawled across my face desperately. ¡°Please, Kit. I can give you anything, if only you do this one thing for me.¡± I tried a grin. ¡°Y¡¯already owe me one wish. How¡¯s that- ¡° ¡°Kit.¡± The word rumbled out with the snap of an order. I sneered at it. ¡°Why d¡¯you care so much about him anyway? You¡¯ve- ¡° ¡°He is my son,¡± the person in front of me thundered. ¡°There is nothing I wouldn¡¯t do for him.¡± ¡°Son?¡± I snorted. ¡°Sorry, pal, but th¡¯ metaphor¡¯s a little¡­¡± My voice trailed away. Within the depths of my mind, facts slotted together in cracks of lightning: Gale¡¯s strength; shortening temper; changes in gait; oscillating personality; sudden bouts of confusion; obsession with ¡®Orvi¡¯. The person in front of me was no longer just Gale. The name slipped from between my lips unprompted. ¡°Maja?¡± Then a hand snapped around my neck as the Ravenblood hoisted me off my feet and began dragging me by my throat out of the hall. The heels of my boots scraped against glass as I fought to reopen my airway, but even as my fingernails ripped into the side of its wrist the grip refused to falter. I tried to scream for the others, but my voice had narrowed into a reedy croak and the Ravenblood concealed my own bent body with its own. Gale-Maja moved too quickly to allow my feet purchase, leaving them as ineffectual as a newborn doe¡¯s. Instead of leaving them to skitter across the ground, I gripped the Ravenblood¡¯s arms and hauled myself upright, finally finding the presence of mind to draw a knife from my belt and slash at the wrist. Before I could draw more than a thin trickle of blood the blind Ravenblood released the hand around my neck and used the other to slam me into the side of the hallway it had dragged me into. The back of my skull smashed into the stone, leaving my vision flickering with flashes of white. I fumbled as the thing reared back again, and barely managed to jam my dagger into the thing¡¯s forearm. It grunted, then roared as I twisted the blade, forcing the tendons inside to release me. I stumbled several steps backwards, blinking away the pain twisting through my skull and throat. The Gale-Maja thing levelled its clouded eyes in my direction. Still tilting its head in an effort to detect me, it ripped a piece of fabric from its shirt and began slowly wrapping the wound back together. Pitch-black blood quickly soaked the makeshift bandage. I gripped the hilt of my sword, but refrained from drawing it lest the noise of metal on leather betray me. I expected the Ravenblood to begin pacing through the hallway in search of me. Instead, it straightened, drew in a breath, and bellowed, ¡°Valorie!¡± My eyes shivered in their sockets. Saliva filled my mouth. ¡°I¡¯m not trying to kill you, Kit,¡± the Ravenblood stated. It still looked like Gale, but the movement of its eyes were sharper than any blade. I should¡¯ve known as soon as they started to change. ¡°But I couldn¡¯t allow that discussion to occur amongst company.¡± I reversed my dagger. I¡¯d killed a few Oxbloods before, but each time I¡¯d come hairs away from a split skull. I¡¯d put chits on me versus almost any other Blooded, but mortals just weren¡¯t meant to contend with movements faster than lightning. And General Maja was legendary. Vin¡¯s monstrous martial prowess must¡¯ve come from her, and I wasn¡¯t thick enough to think I could defeat him in his prime. As soon as it realised where I was, it¡¯d have me. But Gale was blind. Footsteps echoed down the hall behind the Ravenblood. Its head turned. I took the opportunity to lunge forward, but in a flash of sudden panic I realised my sheath had scraped against the side of the hall. The resulting blow was off-target yet still managed to crack into my arm hard enough to send me spinning to the ground. The floorboards cracked against my side and I scrambled backwards with all the mindless fear of a stuck pig. The thing did not pursue. ¡°You told me she was stupid,¡± it said. A chill ran down my spine as Mother arrived next to the Ravenblood. She cocked an eyebrow in my direction. ¡°She is.¡± ¡°A single slip of the tongue was all it took, Val,¡± it rebuked sternly. ¡°You miscalculated.¡± ¡°Me?¡± She scoffed. ¡°Listen, boss-man: if you were too loose-lipped to keep yer secrets from slippin¡¯ into the thickest skull in th¡¯ world, I think that¡¯s on you.¡± The Ravenblood grunted. ¡°Perhaps. I don¡¯t want to kill your daughter, Val.¡± Mother shot me a secretive grin as I tried to still my trembles. ¡°¡¯Preciate that.¡± ¡°Persuade her to keep this secret. Persuade her to stab this,¡± it said, folding the device into Mother¡¯s hands, ¡°into Mael.¡± ¡°Mael?¡± ¡°Orvi,¡± it corrected. ¡°Orvi.¡± A grin began to lift one side of my mother¡¯s face. ¡°You want him- ¡° ¡°If he doesn¡¯t live through this month, I will kill everyone in this Fort,¡± the Ravenblood stated calmly. ¡°What¡¯s new?¡± ¡°Including you, Valorie. And I will let you rot, afterwards.¡± ¡°Ah.¡± She chewed that idea in her mouth for a time. The anger in her next word was transparent, even to the blind. ¡°Well.¡± ¡°I understand it may not be ideal for you to have two Ravenbloods around,¡± Gale-Maja acceded, ¡°hence the threat. Rest assured my son¡¯s continued existence is not negotiable.¡± Mother hummed. ¡°Well¡­¡± she stated slyly. ¡°Your son¡¯s pretty tough. If I fail- ¡° She raised her hands. ¡°Don¡¯t think I will, o¡¯ course, but if I do¡­¡± I rose to my feet, eyes fixed on the Jackal¡¯s mouth. ¡°Whaddaya think o¡¯ savin¡¯ him, hm?¡± After a pause, she added: ¡°Just as a back-up plan.¡± A shiver passed through the Ravenblood¡¯s body. It stayed silent for a time. ¡°I will think on it.¡± Mother tossed the device back to it. ¡°You keep this here thing for now, boss-man. Reckon you¡¯ve got a better chance o¡¯ stickin¡¯ him with it anyway. Probably best fer you t¡¯get back ¡®fore the negotiatin¡¯ starts in earnest.¡± She paused. ¡°Unless you want th¡¯ princess to go belly-up.¡± The Ravenblood stared at the woman ¨C both barely of a height with one another ¨C unblinking. Mother met the gaze without flinching, but just before she managed to stifle it by clenching both hands together I noticed a tremor running through her fingers. ¡°We are tied together in this, Val,¡± the Ravenblood said, clouded eyes narrowed. ¡°If I sink, you do as well. Avri¡¯s essence is volatile even without exacerbation. Caution would serve you well.¡± ¡°I¡¯m here fer both o¡¯ us, Gale.¡± ¡°Gale?¡± The Ravenblood¡¯s smile did not reach its eyes. ¡°Remember that I¡¯ve come to represent more than just the Vanes. I¡¯ve seen you before, General Valorie. Serving your backwater House; the largest fish in a very, very small pond. I see you now, as well.¡± Mother¡¯s lips thinned. ¡°Right.¡± ¡°Can I trust you?¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± she replied quickly. Quick enough to reek of fear or a lie. A mistake she¡¯d always screamed at me for. I could hardly believe my ears. The Ravenblood grunted, then aimed its blind gaze elsewhere. ¡°I apologise for my brusqueness, Kit. You¡¯ve been a good friend to my¡­¡± Its eyebrows tented. ¡°To Orvi. Please continue.¡± Then it walked away, leaving me clutching a knife and Mother glaring after its retreating back. A scowl twisted through the dozens of scars crossing her face. ¡°You love yer mother,¡± she said, turning eyes that were far too wide on me, ¡°right birdie?¡± Something horrible was brewing behind that stare. My back pressed against the wall as I nodded. ¡°Then I want you t¡¯do somethin¡¯ for me. Show me you¡¯re loyal. That you¡¯re not like th¡¯ rest o¡¯ them.¡± Mother turned to walk away. ¡°C¡¯mon.¡± I followed her through the halls of the Fort, down a staircase, and into the outer court. Where, bathed in starlight, Gast slowly examined the many plants growing within a garden. A hand closed around my own, slowly guiding it to the sword on my waist. Underneath someone else¡¯s power, my sword was drawn from its sheath. A shoulder nudged mine. ¡°Won¡¯t do anythin¡¯ without you, I said. So go on. Show me you¡¯re on my side, birdie.¡± Then Mother pushed me forward. Chapter 69 (1/3) - Ghost In a little gap between the body of the Fort and its walls curled the outer court. I liked the outer court. Especially at night. Unlike the main Fort, it kept just a bit of itself open to the sky. The gardens ringed it. The walls cradled it. The ground spoke of the comings and goings of the past day. But despite that, silence seeped from the dirt. From the stone. From the sky. Peaceful, in the way of still things. I liked noise too. But the talk between everyone inside wasn¡¯t an easy noise. Not like the noise that Ronnie and Davian and Whip and Kit and Vin and Maddie and Taja made. There was a little spot between all their noise. That was where I curled. Quiet. Deep down, underneath words and cries and the beating of hearts, everything was quiet. It was the quiet that lay at the centre of a whirlpool. Mindlessly sucking its surroundings into nothing. The placid eye it all revolved around didn¡¯t care it meant everything. That was why the outer court felt truer at night than it did in the day. Because the loudness was stripped away. My path took me across the bones of the outer court¡¯s silence. Thinking. The gardens made me think of Whip. She didn¡¯t like vegetables. Her face would wrinkle like a pig¡¯s anus whenever they entered her mouth. She¡¯d say ¡®Ugh,¡¯ and stick out her tongue. No one minded until Vin joined. He didn¡¯t like when we didn¡¯t eat everything. He¡¯d have a big frown on his face. When he¡¯d been with us for a little while, he¡¯d started saying it out loud. I missed Whip. She would talk at me for hours. At the end, she would hobble over to me and say with a big smile, ¡®Thanks for listening!¡¯ I leaned down and looked at a stick. There was a bug crawling on it. Some kind of fuzzy centipede. Slowly working its way along the stick. I stared at it for some time. Ronnie gave me Whip¡¯s big crossbow. Gale and I were making it better. He was teaching me a lot. I talked a lot with him. Gale was a person who needed to talk a lot. Always needed his noise. He was very close to the quiet. We had good talks. We talked about the crossbow again today. It was nearly done. Sometimes I would hold it and think. No one liked that. It made them sad. Except for Kit, because even when she was sad, she wanted to know more about Whip. And Vin would listen, too. Vin couldn¡¯t listen, anymore. Noise was too weak to stab through his ears. I hoped he would be okay. The centipede paused at the end of the stick. It wiggled back and forth. Finally, it settled on a path and began crawling down. I missed Davian. He was the closest in age to me. We¡¯d known each other for a while. The others were young. Vin sometimes wasn¡¯t young, but he didn¡¯t count. Davian moved like me. He was old. Davian liked talking, but we didn¡¯t have to. Ronnie always had to talk. Kit was sometimes frustrated with my quiet. Maddie and Taja were nice, but they didn¡¯t talk to me. These days, there was a lot of talking. A lot of moving. A lot of noise. I liked noise, but all sounds were lies. All shapes delusion. My thoughts were sometimes in words and sometimes weren¡¯t. They were lies too. Irrelevant. But I was human. We traded in the irrelevant. So, I liked the noise. But sometimes it all started to stink and I had to go somewhere else. Nothing in the outer courts smelled worse than Kit and her mum, talking behind my back. ¡°¡­Show me you¡¯re on my side, birdie,¡± the older woman was saying. I watched the centipede squirm away across the dirt. Cold out, for a bug like that. Kit stumbled forward. I turned to find her eyes boring through the darkness. Like two lanterns. She held her sword in both hands. Its tip shivered. Before we¡¯d entered the Fort, I¡¯d never really seen Kit scared. I nodded at her. She shook slightly. Craned her neck back. ¡°What¡¯s it you want me t¡¯do?¡± The woman¡¯s face was patchwork. Separated and bound by thin white scars. Like Tully¡¯s. They ruined the pattern of her face. Made it so you could hardly recognise the thing she wore as laughter. ¡°Boss-man likes yer round cow over there. Nothin¡¯ romantic, sure, but you see how much they talk?¡± In the past few weeks, Gale and I had talked often. He liked to hear about Vin, mostly. Or ¡®Orvi¡¯. Wanted to know what had happened to him the past four or five years. I didn¡¯t think I¡¯d known him for more than a year before we left Spires, so I couldn¡¯t tell him much. So sometimes Gale would talk about himself. Sometimes about his projects. Vin¡¯s conversion stones. Whip¡¯s crossbow. The wishes he was trying to grant. He needed to talk. He needed to be answered, too. So I talked as well. I¡¯d said to him I was different from other people. I didn¡¯t see what they did. I didn¡¯t think everyone¡¯s eyes worked the same as mine. Or their minds were louder. Maybe that meant they saw farther. Gale understood. He didn¡¯t see anyone at all. We were both alike. If I were different, maybe I would¡¯ve noticed sooner. My gaze had been too close. Or too far. Looking at plants and bugs. Or runes. Or the flow of noise from quiet. I was beginning to think I¡¯d missed the simplest thing of all. Kit¡¯s mum was trying to get her to kill me. I was going to die tonight. Because if Kit refused, her mum would do it herself. And Kit was too scared to stop her. ¡°Gale thinks he¡¯s so mighty,¡± the woman hissed. Her lips were peeled so far back I could see her reddened gums. ¡°So much grander¡¯n th¡¯ rest o¡¯ us. Un-touchable. Hah! All I have t¡¯do¡¯s ring th¡¯ right bell, and he¡¯ll come runnin¡¯.¡± Kit¡¯s gaze turned back to me. Her eyes were very wide. ¡°What bell¡¯s that, Mother?¡± ¡°Start yer friend there on th¡¯ road to dyin¡¯. Boss-man¡¯ll pull her back.¡± I began moving sideways. Slowly. Carefully. Like a ghost. ¡°You want me to kill her?¡± ¡°I want you to show him ¨C show me ¨C that you¡¯re my daughter.¡± I reached the wall. ¡°It¡¯ll kill you.¡± She sneered. ¡°He¡¯ll ¡®save¡¯ her. I don¡¯t even think he sees it as dyin¡¯.¡± ¡°Mother, you don¡¯t- ¡° ¡°You think I can¡¯t beat him?!¡± Kit¡¯s mum barked. ¡°I could split him like a wet wad o¡¯ paper! He needs me, an¡¯ I don¡¯t need him, and he¡¯s gotta know that!¡± Kit stared at the ground. Her jaw quivered. The older woman leaned forward. Lips pressed against her daughter¡¯s ear. ¡°He can¡¯t threaten me, birdie, ¡®cause he¡¯s mine. An¡¯ he¡¯ll know that, when he comes runnin¡¯. Jus¡¯ like you do.¡± My fingers brushed against the ladder. I got a grip on its rungs. The corners of Kit¡¯s mouth tried to quirk upwards. ¡°That¡¯s, uh, that¡¯s funny, Mother. But we don¡¯t get anythin¡¯ from this.¡± ¡°I do. An¡¯ you¡¯re with me, so you do too.¡± I hoisted myself upwards. My hands burned. The grip was bad. I was heavy. ¡°She¡¯s bloody runnin¡¯!¡± A scoff. ¡°Go get her.¡± A discordant set of footsteps from behind. Out-of-tune. Slow. Enough that I could make it a few more rungs. My breath burned as it ran from my mouth. Panting. I was no good at running. But I¡¯d left my runeslate (momentum, motion, recursive array) in my room. No blood to power it. After all, I was a fake Owlblood. Sometimes I felt like a fake person. A ghost. Silence playing at noise. That¡¯s what Strains were. Ronnie and Whip and Davian and I. With the asymmetry and the crutches and the twisting. All a dozen little ways to be quiet. A stranger had once said we¡¯d been in the oven too long, or too little. We¡¯d come out half-formed, or cracked. That we should blame our parents for becoming the muted corner of humanity. I¡¯d thought some people were different. Like Vin. Strong; likeable; powerful. Or Maddie. Head of a House. Or even Kit. Loud; aggressive; outspoken. But they were just in another corner. Just as muffled. I reached the top of the ladder as Kit mounted the bottom. The stone of the walls cut into my hands as I pulled myself onto the battlements. My arms already ached. ¡°Stop,¡± I told her. Kit did. ¡°Blood¡¯re you stoppin¡¯ for?¡± barked her mother. ¡°Keep goin¡¯!¡± It was as if Kits¡¯s joints had calcified. But in the end, they creaked upwards. I turned and hurried down the battlements. Frost fought and lost against Tempest in the air around. A heavy wind blew across my body. My fringe hopped like a little bug. Leaping above grass. The Fort¡¯s body began to press against its walls as my feet took me away from the outer court. Cold stone on one side. Open air on the other. Kit bent upwards behind me. The Jackal stood at her shoulder. Looping around would take me back. If both followed, the path back into the Fort would be clear. But I wasn¡¯t fast. They¡¯d catch me before then. My vision panned sideways, towards the cut stone of the Fort. Its form was squat; toad-like. It had only two floors. The second rose above the battlements I stood atop. No windows peeked from its inscrutable form. But if I reached above, I could grab its slanted roof. On the roof was Gale¡¯s observatory. I¡¯d been up there. Gale and I had talked about Vin. He¡¯d squinted against the wind, pupils drifting across an invisible landscape. Asked whether Vin was happy. I had no answer. I didn¡¯t know much about happiness. I didn¡¯t know much about anything, except the things I did. I knew that I wouldn¡¯t be able to climb the observatory. It wasn¡¯t high ¨C more a nipple sticking from the peak of the roof¡¯s tiles ¨C but it was high enough. Yet if its door was open, my cries would be heard. The mirror-hall was still full. Someone might come. Ronnie or Vin or Gale. Or even a stranger. They might help. They might not. I pressed my body against the wall and began scrabbling for its lip. As soon as I began trying to pull myself up, I realised I wasn¡¯t strong enough. My feet barely left the ground for a few seconds before my arms gave out. I looked around. Further along the battlements lay one of Gale¡¯s rune-worked ballistae (force, bond, activation array). A long crate ¨C for bolts, maybe ¨C beside it might support my weight. In the opposite direction, a figure moved towards me. Kit hunched over her bared blade. Shivers wracked her body. She looked scared. Her mother was no longer behind her. ¡°Can I go past you?¡± I asked. Kit halted. Then swallowed heavily. Her silence was reply enough. I didn¡¯t say anything else to her. If she had to kill me, she had to kill me. The swordswoman was moving slowly. Slower than even me. But if she was alone, her mother would be rounding the opposite side. If I¡¯d powered my runestone, I might¡¯ve been able to move past them. Tripped them up. But Vin was decaying. A long time ago, I¡¯d watched a tree be eaten by termites. It had taken a while. I¡¯d had nothing better to do than watch. The termites had tasted decent enough. Though I hadn¡¯t the words to describe what I was seeing at the time, its slow orbit towards dissolution remained embedded deep in my mind. Deeper than any rune. Thousands of red dots swarming at a touch. Seeping in and out of gashes in a trunk. Spreading rot. A branch pointed skyward one day, then fallen to the ground the next. Pink swelling from beneath its warping wood. Until one morning, I woke to find it collapsed. Vin wasn¡¯t a tree. There were no termites. But they were similar enough that I already knew where he¡¯d end up. I couldn¡¯t ask him for the thing that kept him standing. Gale had refused as well. I¡¯d left my runestone in my room. It was heavy. A decade of carving in weight. Nothing more than rock, without another¡¯s blood to bring it to life. I hurried further along, then knelt. I strained against the long crate until it pressed against the wall. It took a few moments to clamber atop it. When I¡¯d finished, I placed forearms over the edge of the roof and began pushing myself onto its slope. I flailed one of my legs sideways. A toe caught on a tile. It slipped a heartbeat later. Then a shoulder pushed into my butt and began pushing me up. ¡°Would it,¡± Kit grunted, ¡°kill you t¡¯unsheathe a few pounds o¡¯ fat.¡± Maybe. I thought fat had saved my life a few times. Probably more than muscle had. With Kit helping, I managed to settle my weight against the roof. My weight balanced precariously on its incline. ¡°Mother¡¯s waitin¡¯ by th¡¯ court,¡± Kit whispered. ¡°I¡¯ll needa t¡¯run round an¡¯ tell her you¡¯re not there. She¡¯ll know I¡¯m helpin¡¯ if I don¡¯t. You needa get up there an¡¯ do it quick.¡± I nodded at her and began slowly pushing myself upwards. For a long moment, Kit did nothing. Eventually, I heard her footsteps growing distant. The tiles crowning the Fort were unadorned. Smooth from exposure. Its incline was slight, but even slight was enough to unsettle my balance. I went up slowly. Slow was safe. Quieter than its counterpart. The observatory stared above me. The heavy eye of this place. It protruded only slightly from the roof¡¯s peak. That was enough to take its veranda a decent leap upwards. High enough for me to jump, fail to catch its edge, roll down the tiles, and break my skull on the landing below. So when I reached its base, I called upwards. ¡°Help,¡± I said. The word trailed away breaths from my face. ¡°Help!¡± I tried again. I watched it vanish into the night. ¡°Help!¡± I shouted. ¡°Shut up,¡± came a voice from behind. Bracing myself against the side of the structure, I turned. The Jackal slowly worked her way up the roof. Everything on her face was twisted by the scowl carving its way across it. ¡°Figures,¡± she spat, ¡°Kit wouldn¡¯t have the guts t¡¯do what I ask her to. Figures half-a-year away from me¡¯ll scramble what little¡¯s in her head ¡®til its good fer no one ¨C least o¡¯ all herself. Really, fat lady, what in Enn¡¯s arm happened to¡­¡± She paused, brow scrunched, then snapped her fingers. ¡°¡®Filial piety¡¯ ¨C that¡¯s the one. What happened?¡± I shrugged. Took a step back. ¡°Stupid little whore o¡¯ a daughter. Beddin¡¯ with whatever fat cow throws her a bone.¡± Her voice was like a knife against a whetstone. ¡°You like yer mother, fat lady?¡± I shrugged again. ¡°We give everythin¡¯ t¡¯you. Carry you ¡®round fer th¡¯ better part of a godsdamned year ¨C a year that coulda been spent doin¡¯ anythin¡¯ else ¨C and all you get¡¯s a pissin¡¯, wailin¡¯ skin-sack o¡¯ dung and a whole lotta disappointment.¡± Her face darkened. ¡°S¡¯pose I shouldn¡¯t be surprised. I hated my mother, too. But my mother was a weak little slime, worthy o¡¯ nothin¡¯ but a shallow ditch. I¡¯m different from her. But try and try and try as I might, a bit o¡¯ appreciation seems too much t¡¯ask for! An¡¯ oh look! Here comes th¡¯ ungrateful pissant now!¡± Kit carefully stepped upwards from behind me. Her hands were open at her side. ¡°Mother. You, uh, you- ¡± ¡°You uh you uh you uh- ¡° The Jackal sneered. ¡°After deliberately disobeyin¡¯ me, th¡¯ least you could do is speak like a human bein¡¯, ¡®stead of a brain-damaged bird.¡± ¡°You weren¡¯t there.¡± ¡°¡¯Cause I was checkin¡¯. Good thing I did.¡± She scoffed. Ran a hand through her hair. Sighed. ¡°One thing, Kit. I asked one thing o¡¯ you.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think- ¡° She threw up her arms. ¡°I don¡¯t ask you t¡¯bloody think, Kit! I ask you to cut.¡± She snorted. ¡°Seems you can¡¯t even do that anymore.¡± ¡°No, Mother, I- ¡° The older woman staggered forward until she was a hand¡¯s span from Kit¡¯s. ¡°You like her more¡¯n you like me? Hm?¡± She brought her face inches from her daughter¡¯s. ¡°Hm? S¡¯that it? Nearly two decades, beaten by six months? Should I stuff my face everyday ¡®til I can only fit clothes fer cattle ¨C would you like me then? Appreciate what I done fer you?¡± ¡°That¡¯s not- ¡° ¡°Then what is it, Kit? ¡®Cause I¡¯d really like t¡¯know.¡± Kit¡¯s eyes darted to me, then back to her mother. ¡°Gale likes her.¡± The Jackal shook her head in disgust. Her daughter¡¯s eyes widened at that. ¡°It¡¯s not a good idea- ¡° ¡°You wouldn¡¯t know a good idea if I crammed it down yer throat.¡± She grasped Kit¡¯s shoulders. Her words came slow. Heavy. ¡°Give me a real reason.¡± Kit just stared at her. The older woman sighed. ¡°Figures.¡± She released her grip and cast her gaze skywards. ¡°That¡¯s okay, Kit. I figured out a way you can help me and yer round friend there.¡± The Jackal extended a hand. ¡°Gimme yer sword.¡± Kit¡¯s reply was the tremulous cheep of a cornered rodent. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Yer sword. Give it to me.¡± At her daughter¡¯s mute incomprehension, the scarred woman sighed. ¡°You wanna help me or not?¡± Wide eyes locked onto the woman¡¯s tight glare. ¡°Help me and her, Kit.¡± A desperate smile wobbled across her face. Then Kit¡¯s blade was frantically unbuckled and shoved into the Jackal¡¯s arms. She weighed the sword in her hand, giving several experimental swing. ¡°Pretty good,¡± she stated, lips pursed. ¡°Decent balance. It Owlforged, you reckon?¡± Kit¡¯s hands were whitening where they clenched around each other. ¡°Think so.¡± ¡°Hm.¡± She gave it a final twirl before swiping it at me. I blocked the first blow with my hands. One fell apart. The other caught the blade between two halves of a shattered bone. My fingers toppled to the ground. I stumbled backwards. My head cracked against the bottom of the veranda. I tried to catch myself with hands that no longer existed. My failure marked me falling stiffly against the tower¡¯s base. I didn¡¯t understand. The Jackal tore the weapon from the ruined digits that used to be my own. It retreated to her side. The angle was carefully positioned. Painstakingly chosen. I didn¡¯t block the second blow. Its steel was catapulted through my stomach. It slowed. Tore through something vital within me. Then finally halted. I stared at the weapon protruding from my gut. Felt it tug against an intestine. The sensation was grandparent to nausea; the sneering, bloody-toothed wrongness of a body gone bitter-
-and the fugue nailing me to the divan was shattered in the reflection of a fading fire. Gast was dying. I snatched my onyx sword from where it sat and barrelled out of my room. Amongst the many flames flickering within the Fort¡¯s dead walls, three swayed above me. One ¨C tumultuous, as if oil had been flicked into its manic grasp ¨C I recognised as Kit¡¯s; another ¨C as smooth as ever, even as its edges ebbed infinitesimally lower ¨C was clearly Gast¡¯s. The third had been flitting around for days. I¡¯d taken it for a maid. Yet no common maid made a murderer ¨C not with Kit around. Whatever wound had been inflicted upon Gast wouldn¡¯t kill her instantly. But it was grievous. That was all I could discern. Whether it could be treated or not was beyond- I shook that thought away. I had to be able to save her. There was no other alternative. My fumbling gait took me to the staircase spiralling further up the hall. Anticipating a dexterity I no longer had, I took the stairs three at a time and was immediately forced to use my hands to paw up like some malformed rodent. As I did so, my mind began parsing the logic of my actions: though I¡¯d never been inside, I¡¯d noticed the observatory bulging atop the Fort opened into some kind of veranda. Once up there, I would have a direct path to them. I staggered up onto the landing and rammed my shoulder into the doors next to it. The rebound nearly sent me tripping back down the stairs, but I managed to recover my balance and force the immaculately varnished wood into creaking open. Beyond the entranceway, the observatory was lit only by the two moons staring through the glass above. They were immense. As if the Owl¡¯s stare had soared into the sky for the purpose of burrowing into the souls of mortals below. Both the huge map-table dominating the space and the small workbench shoved to the side sparked interest within my mind, but it was quickly squashed by voices emanating outside. ¡°¡­help her,¡± came a coarse voice. A mirror to Kit¡¯s, yet charred into gnarled cinders by some combination of age and abuse. It sent a shudder up my spine. ¡°Help me.¡± An indecipherable murmur, followed by a pained grunt. Gast¡¯s words. I searched for an exit within the darkness of the room and quickly locked onto the opaque silhouette of a door marring the transparent glass. ¡°Okay.¡± There was Kit¡¯s tone; torn down into a dull croak. ¡°See you later.¡± On that final word, her voice snapped like a dry twig. ¡°Gast.¡± I barged onto the balcony and cast my eyes below. They fell on Kit kneeling above the impaled form of Gast. A sword hung limply from the Strain¡¯s gut. Intestines gleamed wetly beside it. Yet despite that, Gast had pulled herself up the sword to place two ravaged hands around Kit. Wet lines ran from the swordswoman¡¯s eyelashes to her chin, terminating in thick tears. Snot dripped from her nose. The white sclera of her eyes was shot through with blood. Beneath her, the Strain¡¯s gaze was unfaltering. Though Gast¡¯s breathing spasmed through her body as if strummed by a mad musician, her expression was familiar. The lines of her face were steady. She looked at Kit and gave a quirk of the lips. Then Kit drew a dagger and opened Gast¡¯s throat. A strangled croak emerged from my throat. Kit looked up and saw me. Horror squirmed across her face. Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. Another figure from further down the roof swore. ¡°Ox¡¯s bloody balls.¡± My eyes darted towards her. Carved in black shot through with scars of white stood the figure from my nightmares. The Jackal: grin twisted into an angry sneer as it gazed up at me. ¡°Godsdamnit,¡± it hissed. ¡°Jus¡¯ had t¡¯see it. An I can¡¯t bloody well kill you, either. May as well shove half-a-decade workin¡¯ with Gale down th¡¯ dung-hole.¡± My mouth was dry. I could barely bring myself to move. That fact alone was what drove me to speak. ¡°Gale knows?¡± ¡°N- ¡° It cut itself off, staring silently at a wall. Its chuckle was filigreed with fury. The hairs of my neck stood at the sound. ¡°Sure does. He¡¯s gone an¡¯ killed Colin an¡¯ Greta, too ¨C would you believe it?¡± I pushed another word through the stranglehold on my throat. ¡°Why?¡± ¡°You¡¯re a smart feller, Vin,¡± it stated. ¡°I¡¯m sure you can figure it out.¡± Another pulse ran through my mind. Gast would die soon. One by one, I uncurled my fingers from the stone battlements and began readying myself to leap down. ¡°Guess that¡¯s my cue to skedaddle.¡± The Jackal gave a lazy wave, then began walking down the roof. ¡°Catch you later, Ravenblood.¡± It took several shameful moments to muster the courage to lower myself down. The creature that haunted me was down there. Corporeal. Wrought with raw, physical power ¨C the same that had carved my face apart all those years ago. But Gast was dying, so I dropped down. I landed awkwardly. Pain spiked through an ankle ¨C nothing compared to that in my arms in neck. And that nothing compared to what lay beneath me. I lowered myself next to Kit. In front of Gast. The Strain blinked quietly. Blood flowed freely from the cut in her neck, soaking through the impeccably tailored clothes Maddie had forced her into for the reception. Crimson spread to Kit as well, yet the dull moan emerging from the swordwoman¡¯s throat did not falter. The flow died as it ebbed through the material, leaving only a smear to trickle into the wound in her belly. Her eyes flicked from Kit¡¯s to mine. They were large and clear. My eyes blurred as I comprehended what the blood leaving her body meant. The absence in my body faded. It felt as if some very small, very large thing was dying inside of me. In deep, enduring agony that flailed against the walls of my flesh. Some animal impulse set my shoulders shaking; sobs breaking from my throat. An old, ugly instinct that slept until called. And at the same time, the need to stop it. ¡°Please stay,¡± I told her. ¡°Don¡¯t go.¡± No one called me a fool for my plea. Instead, Gast released a swaying hand from Kit¡¯s shoulders and daubed two of her fingers in the blood fleeing from her neck. Slowly, she moved the hand towards me. Yet it faltered. She lacked the strength to raise it further. I lowered my head. With trembling hands, I slid my bandana off my forehead. Gast extended a pair of fingers and anointed me with her blood. Memory has never held much sway over you. But here is the press of another soul for which memory is everything, and it is with their fingers that you pull open the calcified bedrock that sleeps beneath your being. Kit¡¯s hand failed to muffle her sobs. Existence can always be divided in two. Such demarcations are artificial, yet knowing this never stops them nestling into the furrows of your mind. The most central to your reality is ¡®Noise¡¯ and ¡®Quiet¡¯; ¡®Motion¡¯ and ¡®Stillness¡¯; ¡®Heat¡¯ and ¡®Cold¡¯. Yet the one that has persisted the longest is ¡®Here¡¯ and ¡®There¡¯. You are ¡®Here¡¯. Memory is ¡®There¡¯. We knelt on the roof. This late in the season, Frost and Tempest mingled. At some moments, the wind¡¯s bony hands felt as if they would cut through all warmth. In its next breath, it would breathe humidity into our bodies. You walk amidst speartrees and bushes and plants and a thousand other red mosses and mushrooms and lichens and plants that coat the space around you. There is a trail of insects winding their way through bark; a flock of birds cocking their heads; a small furry creature scurrying through trees. Here is the scraping of thirst and the yowling of hunger; the press of dozens of scrapes and scabs and bites; the opening that is you. There is a monster: thick skull smashing the forest around it or orange eyes twitching above a snarl or sluggish body slowly shedding flesh. Here is you: creeping away from the destruction or hiding in the roots of a tree with held breath or witnessing the undying thing journey towards its end. You are Here. You watch There. This is the fundamental truth. Wide eyes beheld us. Astonished, at seeing and being seen. Wearing two sets of eyes in a single, impossible mind. The sun and moon take turns in the sky. Yesterday slowly recedes into irrelevance. You sleep often. You eat small crawling things or fat roots twisting from the ground. You drink from puddles in leaves or burbling streams. When the many-shaped leaves get bitten from their branches you find things to cover yourself with and sleep during the day. When snow falls, you shiver into caves of white during the day and walk during the night. Whenever your toes go white you rub them until sensation returns. Some blacken and fall off your feet. Occasionally, you find a dead creature. They are always so still. Yet such stillness attracts life, and so you can never spend as much time examining them as you would like. Instead, you break their veins open with sharp stones and feed the crimson juice in them to the dirt. The dirt always returns with thick fruits ¨C enough to feed you for a time. You do these things repeatedly, and you walk. Here is you. There is everything else. I ¨C or she ¨C stared between our shoulders. I ¨C she, him ¨C grasped the dying woman¡¯s body and carefully lifted her upright. Two gasps escaped us at a the singular pain in our gut. A small crack forms in this truth. Eyes that are not your own follow you one night. A possum, gaze flashing when it catches the light of the moons, is stalking you. Not to fight ¨C fighting and killing is the domain of big, fast things ¨C but simply to see. It is when you catch yourself in a puddle that you understand. Small, slight, thin, filthy: this is no surprise. But even as you are Here, you are also There, within that small of water. Slowly, as time rotates above you, you come to understand that a part of you exists in the same way as possums and bugs and anything that can be touched and felt. And you come to realise that while you are Here, the possum has its own Here. In which you are There. Dying used to be cleaner. Before I got so mixed-up. It is when this conclusion washes over you that you come to believe that creatures like you exist. Once you begin looking, you find them quickly. They thread their bodies through fur-like coverings; they carry inverted shells woven from leaves; they carefully pick the fruits and mushrooms and vegetables and mosses you are too scared to. They return to dens of felled trees and wield stones sharper than any you¡¯ve held. But they have four limbs and a head. They move like you. So you watch them. Some strange alloy; a meal with far too many ingredients and coincidence as its only chef. As days pass, the dozen that you follow begin looking around. Eyes darting when alone. ¡°Gast,¡± you hear, over and over. Much later, you realise you misheard. They were saying ¡°Ghost.¡± None of it felt like circumstance, though. Eventually, you are caught. They approach with face coverings and make sounds at you. Their hands fold over your thin arms. They doff their masks. Stunned to find your form corporeal. They take you to their den and wipe the filth from your body. They see what lays underneath. They begin to teach you about the world they swim in. About tools and clothes and cooking and cooperation and communication. About the way in which sounds can fit together. About the way in which the endless stretch of yesterdays and tomorrows can be measured. About yourself. You are perhaps eight or nine. You are female. You are human. You are pitiful. Your name is Gast-girl. Then, later, just Gast. There you are, they say. I wondered if this could¡¯ve ended differently. Language comes easily to you. The family that has taken you in suspect you were taught some by your parents, before whatever circumstances led to you roaming the Heartlands. The simple truth is, the way words hook together present a tapestry with a far clearer meaning than the inscrutable workings of wood and flesh. But you have learned it too late to be good at weaving your own words. As such, you understand more than you can say. I doubted even the gods knew the answer. Or maybe they knew it too well. Every meal is far more than you can eat. You grow far more slowly than the other children. For every hour you spend awake another three are spent sleeping. Though all of these are comfortable things, the adults ¨C fish that swim through these human waters far more adeptly than others ¨C speak their concern out loud. There are five other children. Every time they hear of the adult¡¯s concern they yell or throw stones at you. I felt us sink into one another. Each incomprehensible insult and tiny wound. Distant and fresh. When layers of flab appear on you confusion strikes through all human interactions with you. You think it normal, at first ¨C you¡¯ve seen some of the carnivore animals sporting thicker coats. They tended to sleep a lot as well. Yet through your increasingly deft comprehension skills you manage to glean the source of their suspicion: fat is meant to be a reflection of what you eat, and you consume less than half the other children do. All of them are as lean as cold itself. When the fat keeps pooling off you, the adults produce some truth internal to you. Over the course of days, their gazes change. Disorientation coursed through me. Every shake of Kit¡¯s shoulders at half-speed. You¡¯ve heard of gods. You have never seen one. They exist on the far side of There; the same place where nobles and cities and oceans dwell. But you have seen monsters. You are told they are Blooded ¨C albeit ones whose choices have been overwhelmed by divine instinct. These Blooded are the weak kin to gods. Made dangerous, erratic, and vile by their association. Capable of great acts, yet more inclined to spread the same kind of terror gods do. Creatures that need a measured, human hand to guide them. You are kin to these creatures. The taboo offspring of a Blooded that abandoned their responsibility to humanity; chose instinct over discretion. Twisted by their parent¡¯s sin. You are a Strain. There you are, they say. The caress of night an eternity. And so you are marked in the eyes of everyone else. For the second time in your life, you realise that your Here is everyone else¡¯s There. But this time, you know there are no exceptions. A lifetime, spent mindless of the thing measured it. You have survived for years alone, they say. You will be fine, they say. You have a month to prepare to leave, they say. They die before the week has finished. Everything a contradiction. Everything made alien. You are gathering in the forest ¨C grass basket balanced atop your head as stone sickle tugs through herbs, roots and fruits ¨C as you have learned to do. When you hear loud yelling you hide ¨C eyes wide as you share space with a swarm of termites in the hollow of the tree ¨C as you have learned to do. The children yell at you often. Once, they threw stones at you. When questioned about the bruises by adults, you told them such. They stopped, until you became a Strain. Though this yell is different, you hide until they stop. Within that tree, your mind slowly parses through a deer slowly torn apart by an orange-furred godkin, and the sounds it made. You compare it to the sound you hear now. They are not the same. But they are the same enough. The family is screaming. Everything an impossible affront, but no fury to contain it. After a night and a day curled within the hollow, you return. They lay strewn amidst the den. Adults do not move when shaken. Some of the children wear second smiles across their throats. One you¡¯ve never seen before: a black-haired woman with a split in the back of her head large enough to see brains. The bloodied axe that dealt the blow is in the hands of the woman who taught you to speak. The youngest are completely gone. The corpses are very, very still. People just like me, tolling backwards unto eternity. It is not the stillness of death. Death has passed; taken its due in a flurry of violence and screams. This is the silence that reigns afterwards. It is the stillness of absence. A sudden vanishing, borne by some force you cannot see. Or simply what once existed stripped away to what must. Though it passes over the forest around the corpses, some of that absence seeps into you. Your silence seems only right. We were quiet on that roof, too. Even the dying, for we wore each other¡¯s eyes. Respect for the dead by trying to mimic them. Kit failed. It takes a week to bury them. Then, as promised, you leave. You return to that familiar play of sleeping and walking ¨C insects picked off trees and water sucked from plants. You are better at finding food, now. Better at avoiding freezing, with knowledge of bark weaving and clothes and shoes. But the passing of days is more desolate. You notice more of those quiet bodies. Where motion has stolen somewhere distant. You come to see it in the chain of insects winding around a tree, day after day. The sharp conversation of birds, couched in head-twitches and empty eyes. The fact that when you throw a stone upwards, it always falls back down. And you begin to see the absence embedded deep within the Here you wear. Like some transparent cocoon, waiting to flower into a flightless moth. Except there is no flowering. There is no cocoon; no butterfly. There is a thing that cannot be caged by words, and there is the creeping understanding that it dwells inside everything. Between the place where I watched my body and felt a lifetime pass, I, too, failed. Colourless ghost. The small fumblings of temporal things, spun into forever. Here and There is infinity. And what is infinity, if not nothing at all? I suppose it didn¡¯t matter. Sometimes, when the ache of it becomes too dreadful, you find your way to humans again. Your imposition is tolerated for its low price: you speak little, eat little, and can share news of whatever monsters you¡¯ve seen roaming the surrounding wilderness. A week is enough for your otherness to send you scurrying back. Just reeling her into me. Or being reeled into her. An irrelevant distinction for a phenomenon wrought in nonsense. Over the years, you come to trade the trinkets you find in the Heartlands ¨C flat, glossy obsidian from riverbanks or chunks of quartzite toed from beneath rotting leaves ¨C for boots, a proper bag, a coat. Somewhere along the way, you cease growing. Survival becomes easier, yet the space it opens in your day is empty. Spent watching a hawk circle a scabby tree-rodent, or a cave¡¯s icicles slowly melting, or a tree weeping blood from where your axe has hit it. You sleep. You eat. You walk. Things were happening within the Fort. In the quiet meals you spend at homesteads, the slurping of soup becomes overcome by rumours of a city being built within the Heartlands. Such a thing is rare: the rare shelfs of stone that shield against the Aching are used as gatherings for markets ¨C trading in tools and scrimshaw and weavings and blood ¨C or festivals during Spirit season. They are usually cared for by a single lineage, but are regarded as the collective inheritance of all Heartlanders. Houses have veered away from the Heartlands ¨C it¡¯s too unstable a bet to place chits on ¨C but one stirred up by the Albright¡¯s war is evidently game. I could feel them, in that extra-sense. That I mapped in flame and distance, but could not be measured in either. At this point, it had become instinctual. You make your way towards this city. It¡¯s something to do. Forest turns to grassland to hillocks to rock-shelves to swamps to scrublands. All crimson-red, each plant similar yet entirely unique from its siblings. It¡¯s in this way that the Heartlands and the Achings that shape it strike you as strangely human. People are loud, after all ¨C always seeking to cover silence by filling their days. It is when the rumbles that precipitate the Heartlands shake the earth that the similarities are closest. You always spend them in the highest, most stable point possible. It is always very, very loud. Not like how it¡¯d been when I rocked Sash and Dash back and forth in the triage tents, as Ma held down those seizing too fiercely. I tried not to think about that too often. The new landscape is distinct from the old. New fruit, new plants, new mushrooms, new mosses, new lichen, new leaves like daggers or pitchers or snowflakes or hands. Yet they¡¯re all dyed from the same shades of red; all taking every opportunity to tear open exposed skin of whatever walks by. The Heartlands grows. It takes different forms. But it never truly changes. I tried. But more often than not, my sleepless nights were spent trawling through every day I¡¯d found before. The new city sneaks across the horizon one day. Initially, you believe it to be sixteen parallel speartrees poking from a field of grass. You grow closer. The grass is not grass. It is a forest. Slowly, you comprehend the scale has deceived you. The ivory spires are unmistakeably speartrees, yet their size is beyond anything you¡¯ve encountered before. As if to mock both mountains and gods, they tower above the land. Only clouds are higher, but clouds simply float. The spires rose of their own energy, in a weight that can only be measured in thousands of humans. And bridges are being built between them. Even now, I¡¯m still doing it. They¡¯re thin. Far, far too long. Sometimes they break under wind pressure. They are also impossible. Instinctively, you understand they shouldn¡¯t be capable of tolerating their own weight. The glowing symbols on their bottom hold the key. Not just for their alien engineering, but to some sleeping part of you locked away. Neelam Heltia finds you squatting beneath one of the bridges in progress. Both Strain and Head sit in silence for a time, before you ask him what one of the symbols mean. He explains it. You keep staring. Enough of that. Owlic runes are perpendicular to conventional logic. Even as you stare at them you know they¡¯re nonsense. Devices contrived to blur one thing into another. A joke played on the world. But plenty of nonsense things exist in the world; bizarre yet unchallenged by reality. Here is a nonsense you can decipher. That fit together in ways you can understand. Even if the basic symbols are incomprehensible, the ways in which they fit together are intuitive. Yet unlike spoken language, you are not too late to be decent at this one. A gathering within Fort Vane. The spectator part of my mind was hooked by that. Neelam sees you seeing. For a moment, your Here is shared. He asks you to help in the initial days of construction and you acquiesce. The Head is better than you in the craft in every way. More learned, but also more talented. He rarely sleeps or pauses in his goal of hollowing the spires into a true city. You operate on a different time. One slower; rife with digressions towards sun or stars or horizon or plants or the way in which one of Neelam¡¯s tiny nephews pats your belly and gives you a wide smile. Your pace never matches the other¡¯s, but that bothers you little. All those little lights. Maddie amongst them. A larger flame: Gale. One day, some of Neelam¡¯s companions ask if you¡¯re an Owlblood. Because you have never seen language as a means for anything but sharing, you tell them you are a Strain. Then you leave immediately. The Jackal, scurrying through the stone bowels. Time rotates beside you; its revolution in the sky above dragging you through the same day repeatedly. But joining the things filling the dead space is your craft: chiselling basic runes in your slate into increasingly elaborate patterns. You cannot test any of it: the power is beyond you, alone. All you can do is imagine. Most of the time, that is enough. Maybe she¡¯d begun to realise the kind of catastrophic mistake she¡¯d made. Yet I somehow doubted a mind like hers could comprehend ¡®I¡¯ and ¡®mistake¡¯ in the same thought. Years pass. Achings pass. The land cracks open and writhes for a new form. Creepers tug on your hair after one. They¡¯re replaced with bald, bulbous fruits after another which kill any animal that eats it. A band of cockroaches forage through underbrush far thicker than it was a decade ago. The sun is always the same. That would mean she¡¯d changed. And nothing ever changed. One day you return to Spires. They¡¯ve grown just a tiny bit. Heltia has burrowed into them. Their bridges span larger gaps and carry houses on their backs, but with neither money nor Godsblood, you are barred from them. Instead, you spend several days roaming the bottom of the city. Only the poorest settle there willingly: the mass of humanity and their stockpiles attract monsters, allowing little defence to be raised. But you are better at hiding at them. Where others may die, you are simply silent. Whose thoughts were bleeding into me? Gast¡¯s? Vin¡¯s? And who was Vin, anyway? Between sleeping curled in a crook between pipes and plodding into the surrounding wilderness for food, most of your days are spent attempting to crack the purple leylines that channel Spires¡¯s magic. By adding addition, auxiliary runes, the power flowing through them can be channelled into the slab of stone you¡¯ve spent countless hours poring over. This requires sidling into the blind-spot of Heltia¡¯s guards and spending several hours suspended from a pipe by a chorded knot of vine. You succeed in your endevour. Unsurprisingly, the first feat of witchcraft your runeslate performs is tearing itself apart. You fix it and try again. This process continues for some time. A contusion of strings. One day, you notice a man with a warped face. You continue noticing him. He occasionally travels with a lopsided ¨C girl? boy? ¨C of an indeterminate age, who is constantly followed by a large dog with drooping jowls. You¡¯re no good at guessing these things. Occasionally they are visited by a very large man, who delivers money to the smaller one and avoids looking at the child. The warped man speaks; the child writes on wax tablets and raises them towards him in response. This is bizarre. A walking body. It is the day you manage your first real success with your slate that they notice you. The child approaches you while you leave the city and raises the wax tablet towards you. Her chaperone quickly notices your incomprehension and translates. ¡®Are you a Strain?¡¯ The answer to that question is, as it has been every day since you were found in the wilderness, yes. They are excited. They are Strains as well. They invite you to live with them. You do. A person who had made a very big mistake. They aren¡¯t like you. They sleep for only a third of the day; they speak easily to one another, even the one with no words; they rush towards things that will come anyway. Yet when bands of teenagers surround the house to etch genitals and warbling cusses in charcoal, you sit together. Every morning, you eat breakfast together ¨C face-to-face, looking one another in the eye. When someone speaks, they are heard. For you, that¡¯s more than enough. I traced the stunned part of my mind over those within the Fort, until my stupor shattered like glass. Davian grows more lines across his face. Ronnie grows upwards and outwards, until their head reaches your shoulder. Yowler grows older. Whatever chits you gain are given in exchange for Davian¡¯s tutoring of Ronnie, but you¡¯ve lived long enough on the Heartland¡¯s bounty that the bite of empty chit-strings never reach your bellies. Then one last Aching comes, and the world is torn asunder. Our minds met, and in doing so the dying woman saw me flinch away. She gently brought my gaze back to where it needed to be. The Aching is far violenter than any you¡¯ve witnessed before. The land rattles for what feels like weeks. Its aftershocks are felt in hordes of black-haired, dark-eyed individuals roaming across the land like a tide of locusts; chewing apart whatever living thing reaches their gullet in a tear-stained feast. One night, panicked shouts echo beneath the inscrutable Spires. You huddle together. The next morning, Heltia finds twenty dead Ravenbloods and nearly one hundred butchered civilians. Whispers flit between mourner¡¯s cries: Avri¡¯s Cult has lost what little sanity it once possessed. My eyes widened. A vicious chill stole through me. The Houses ¨C as great and insubstantial as gods, to you ¨C come together in Spires. They leave in a tide of bronze and flesh that seemed larger than the horizon dared contain. They never return, yet the Raven is reported as dead all the same. Revenge came too swift and too shocking to halt the tears of the mourners. No mere wind or caress of ice could compare. It didn¡¯t come from any external force. The city begins to pull itself back together. As always, you continue onwards. You begin to measure time in the elevation of Ronnie¡¯s shoulders: at your armpit; beside your shoulder; at your head; above your head. Until one day, the teenage giant returns with a girl with a crutch under her arm and dark rings beneath her eyes. Another Strain. Soon enough, it as if Whip has always been there. Instead, it rose from a low suspicion that steamed into a solid understanding. The famine creeps up on you all. The Aching is not as rhythmic as the turning of the sky, but it does always come. Three years march to four. Then to five. Then to six. The delay itself means nothing to you. It is the held breath of all Heartlanders that fights its way between your slow walks through the wilderness; your etchings; the hunted-animal look in the other Strains¡¯ eyes. You venture further and further outwards to find bushels and trees already picked clean. With people around you, everything is growing easier. Everything except hunger. More than anything, I¡¯d wanted to be rid of the Ravenblood. It is on the eighth year that all Heartlanders ¨C from the nobles in the Nest far above it all to the harvesters on the earth ¨C begin to prepare for a world without an Aching. The outer edges of Spires are already empty. The animals that flit beneath crimson branches are growing hungrier, as are the monsters that feast upon them. People begin ripping their skin open to water the earth and feed their family. The sunken-cheeked emerge from the wilderness carrying all they own and are met with the sight of another hundred like them. Everyone you pass walks in garments too loose and a hardening dagger in their eye. The well that feeds all life within the Heartlands is drying up. The first to be pushed away are people like you. So much so that as soon as I¡¯d been told it was possible, I¡¯d buried all doubts in service of pursuing it. Your foraging skills can do no more than garnish the plates of the others. Whip ¨C still so small ¨C needs food. As do the others. You¡¯re all hired onto a small team of gatherers. Few speak to you. You go on four trips before you¡¯re all replaced with another. You search for work as an Owlsmith. Your lack of innate magic is immediately disturbing to all that see you work with runes. You¡¯re hired on to perform repairs on some of the derelict parts of Spires. Your skills are lacking, and when you nearly fall to your death after a strong gust of wind leaves you hanging from a pipe a gods-length above the earth, the others beg you to stop. But it wasn¡¯t courage that had brought us to this place. Killed Gast ¨C killed me. Killed Spider knew how many people, from Fort Vane all the way back to the Wastes. Would maybe kill us all. Davian is the one who suggests you hunt monsters. Heltia needs individuals to clear swathes of land. He tells you that many die doing this. That for the Houses, it¡¯s likely a matter of spending a few lives in exchange for more time. To set up more secure trade routes, he hopes. He trains you all, and you fall into it. You end each monster ¨C Godkin or mere Strain ¨C with the careful steps of people lost in a labyrinth. Each time you make it back buys more time. It was the stilted sibling to hope. A fear so black only one path seemed lit. Time was once insignificant. It seemed to ignore you. But it doesn¡¯t ignore anyone else. Davian, Ronnie, Whip ¨C the fat recedes from their muscles. Their skin grows sallow. They become lean ¨C even Ronnie, with their impossibly over-defined musculature. Not you, though. You are Here. They are There. Whatever noise they hold is gradually receding into silence. It was abject stupidity. It was wilful ignorance. It was my great, enduring cowardice. The trade routes fail. A bandit dubbed ¡®the Jackal¡¯ ¨C an ex-general from the north, though you¡¯re not sure what that means ¨C has sabotaged most of the caravans carrying Heltian bloodtech for Baylarian food. House Baylar isn¡¯t happy, and their unhappiness means the Spires of Heltia are alone. Suddenly, the last Ravenblood appears in stories across Spires. A scheming killer, playing at innocence to trick one of humanity¡¯s greatest heroes into baring her heart. Some sort of Declaration confirms this to the Heartlanders, and they spit whenever the person is mentioned. You never meet this Ravenblood. You never meet the Jackal¡¯s daughter. But you do meet Vin, and you do meet Kit. And then there are two more. The refusal to look myself in the eye. But for a moment, I had two pairs. Enough to be shown what I was too terrified to see. Whip is the one who brings him in. She likes stray animals, and there¡¯re few creatures more stray than the person she drags in ¨C bedraggled, covered with bruises and stinking of cheap liquor. A story-teller, or so he claims, trained by a man now imprisoned for crimes that could not possibly be his. At first, he only comes with you when you hunt, then retreats elsewhere when you return. To spend everything he earns gambling, Ronnie scoffs. But as the months pass, he smiles more. He spends more time with you. Gale¡¯s flame had grown larger, hadn¡¯t it? Significantly larger. Kit comes later. Leaner and meaner than any hunting hound ¨C slouching into the group with a scowl and a hard word for anyone who dares raise a lip at her. All of you are used to taking it. Except Vin, who barely manages a civil dislike for her. But you all fall into a routine, eventually. Almost as large as my own. You like them. All of you find your place in the huddle. Then you find a way out. Your mule dies, though, and your cart is scrapped, and everyone dies, and then Whip dies. And then there¡¯s more walking and you¡¯re stuck in a cave. And between all this chaos, you look at the sky and at the earth at your feet and it¡¯s always so quiet: up there; down here. Quiet everywhere. ¡°Oh, gods,¡± one of us said. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± You made it to the Fort. Whip and Davian echoing into silence, and Maddie and Taja squeezing their own frayed edges into the spaces that remain. Vin falls apart, too ¨C not one piece at a time but shaken apart all at once by some monstrosity only he can see. Then he shivers and twitches and puts himself back together. You all see it. Even him. But you can¡¯t do anything. My words echoed. Kit weeps for you when her mother slits you open. Apologises over and over for something she did not do. Screams and snots at the nose. When her mother tells her to put you out of your misery, she puts a knife to your neck. Then takes it away, and beats herself in the side of the head, red-eyed; calls herself a fool and a thug. You pull yourself up on the blade. You¡¯ve never had many words, but they¡¯re harder to get out when dying than ever before. You¡¯d always thought dying would be easy. If everyone did it, how could it be hard? And it¡¯s not hard. The hard part is telling Kit that everything is okay. And she doesn¡¯t believe you: she says you did everything right. You weren¡¯t weak or cowardly or untrue. But right or wrong never mattered with things like this. In your last moments, all that really matters is she takes the knife for herself. She accepts your wishes. Then Vin¡¯s there, and there¡¯s one last thing you can do for them. My silent apology went unacknowledged. There was nothing to forgive. Gast had already gotten everything she had ever expected from the world. Ronnie fears quiet. That they¡¯ll be alone, when all the non-Strains leave them behind. Taja is like the giant, in that. Maddie is scared that she¡¯s given up. That she¡¯s sacrificed so many for something she never cared about. Vin¡¯s soul is too loud. There is no quiet in him, so he takes his carving knives and tries to hollow some out. Kit is scared. She¡¯s scared of her mother and what her mother means. But right here, right now, she¡¯s scared there will be nothing left of you, when you die. Some time ago, Kit would have been fundamentally mistaken. After all, she¡¯d never expected anything at all. Because in the beginning, you were never anything at all. Dust on the wind, made substantial only by the fact it knew it was being carried. That was then. You¡¯re not a very good runesmith. You can¡¯t fix a lot of things. Least of all the silence that dominates everything you are. But you can leave something for them. That last flicker. It¡¯s a good night. Stars are bright. The firmament is clear. Your body is cold. Yet on the edge of that great hole on which all of existence straddles, something else tugs you back¡­ Then two visions turned into one, and all that was left of Gast were Kit¡¯s low howls, a cooling body, ten tiny cuts where I¡¯d drove my fingernails into my head, and everything that she was, stitched into a patchwork soul. Just I, once more. Chapter 69 (2/3) - Ghost I got up before Kit did. She hadn¡¯t reached the stage I was at. Tears so raw they should¡¯ve been red were still being wrung from the folds of her face; moisture seeping into any surface that would allow it. A dull peal ripped from her chest. Her body was still soaked in my blood. I was further along. A kind of confused numbness pressed against my shoulders like some ceremonial garb, and it threatened to stifle the thing that had just been given to me. I stood to throw it off. To touch the clothes I wore: not silk, but smooth and dark with perfectly-formed buttons wrought with delicate indentations, bound to the material of my clothes. To run my mind¡¯s tongue along the fiery ruins of my arms and the stabbing in the back of my neck. To trace my fingers along my scabbarded sword ¨C carved from the bones of a dead god and with the story of a dead hero, or villain, or whatever people would call her a century from now. To feel the weight of my body settle onto my feet. I got up and forced myself to stay there. My vision shivered like stressed glass. Then I left Kit where she was to reach for the observatory¡¯s balcony. The tips of my fingers slid against its lower edge. I eyed the distance for a moment before jumping upwards and clenching my fingers around the balcony¡¯s lip. The effort of pulling myself into the Fort was immense. Yet though I was weaker than I had been, my body had also become lighter; mere sinew and gristle grinding together. I strained onto my elbows. A kicked foot sideways toed the ledge, giving me enough to leverage to roll myself over the top. I hadn¡¯t needed Kit to help me, that time. I straightened and looked down at the swordswoman, still bent over my body. ¡°Stay there,¡± I managed to tell her. ¡°I¡¯ll be back.¡± Someone had died within the Fort moments ago, sending lifeforce scattering like petals in wind. The echo of that death could be heard in a guttural exchange that sounded down the hallways of Fort Vane to squeeze up the stairwell and into the observatory proper. The only decipherable aspect of it to my ears was how raw it was. In the time we¡¯d been gone, whatever meeting the lord of the Fort had held with House Baylar had gone wrong. I could feel Gale writhing in my mind¡¯s eye. Tam, the girls, Maddie, Taja, Ronnie, and even the giant¡¯s dog were still stuck inside. I¡¯d figure out what was happening. I¡¯d get them out. Then I could take the next step. In a cascade of sparks, Gale rushed through another two and sucked their flames into his own. I rushed down the steps into the wavering azure light of the hallway, bringing to my ears someone¡¯s panicked threats against the Vane family, which quickly guttered into a scream. Balancing my gait between stealth and speed, I quickly shambled my way into the Hall of Mirrors. The reflections on either side threatened to dominate my being, forcing me to shield my eyes from the sight of them. Huddling within the Hall were several maids, the assistant chef ¨C folded in his mother¡¯s arms ¨C and Taja, directly behind Ronnie, who held an entire table in their good arm for use as a makeshift shield. The corpse of a Baylarian lay at its centre, where the brazier had once stood. His neck was a ruin of splintered bone and cartilage: artfully oiled hair irrevocably marred by blood. Someone had twisted his head until it faced behind him. Darkness licked the corners of the room. My entrance prompted little more than a flicker of the eyes from the gathered groups, before their gaze returned to the glass floor. Through it, I saw Gale, standing amidst the shattered furniture of the dining hall. At his feet were two bodies ¨C still clad in their robes and impeccably oiled beards. Arrayed against him were the guards of the Fort. ¡°Henrik,¡± the noble was saying, accent dipping into one I¡¯d never from his mouth, ¡°listen to me. It looks bad, but I have- ¡° ¡°You killed her,¡± the Fort¡¯s captain of the guard blurted. ¡°You stole her soul.¡± ¡°I¡¯m no corpse, Henny- ¡° ¡°Oh, gods.¡± The old man retched, worn lines in his face beading with sweat. ¡°Don¡¯t you speak with her voice,¡± another guard ¨C Henrik¡¯s son, I recalled ¨C spat. His voice splintered. ¡°Don¡¯t.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve only done what I needed to.¡± ¡°You killed a bloody delegate!¡± The tip of the man¡¯s spear wobbled. ¡°You killed mum!¡± Another accent emerged from Gale¡¯s throat. Familiar, somehow. ¡°The delegation was under the impression they were negotiating from a position of power. They needed reminding of the kind of connections I wield.¡± The son¡¯s face reddened, but his father placed a hand on the boy¡¯s shoulder. ¡°¡­What about Greta?¡± ¡°She¡­ I¡­¡± Though his features were hidden from my sight, I could sense the furrowed brows and frown etched across his face. I¡¯d felt them on my own enough times to know. ¡°I¡­ I? Knew something was wrong with¡­ Gale was¡­ I was¡­¡± ¡°He¡¯s mad,¡± Henrik muttered. ¡°Utterly insane.¡± Gale shook his head vigorously. ¡°I know what it looks like, Henrik. But though their bodies decay ¨C as all do, in time ¨C I¡¯m keeping them safe.¡± Henrik¡¯s face folded. ¡°It was about Mael, then?¡± He released one hand from his spear to rub his eyes. ¡°Your family? I should¡¯ve known.¡± ¡°What other choice did I have, Henrik?¡± The Ravenblood¡¯s voice cracked. ¡°What else is there to strive for, when you¡¯re a person like me?¡± Gale¡¯s figure ¨C less slender than it had been weeks before yet still shorter than most men ¨C stepped forward, and the dozen or so guards stepped backwards. The pause that followed seemed delicate enough to allow me to pad over to my companions. Both Taja and Ronnie¡¯s eyes were still as they looked at me. ¡°You need to go,¡± I whispered. ¡°Take everyone here, grab some blankets from the bedrooms, and go up the observatory. There¡¯s a way out through the balcony ¨C use the sheets as a rope if you need to.¡± Ronnie signed ¡®Dog¡¯. ¡°Yowler is¡­¡± I searched for the giant¡¯s dog for a moment. ¡°Still in your room. You shouldn¡¯t run into anyone if you get him.¡± I paused. ¡°Three doors down from yours is a room containing a woman and two young children. It would¡­¡± I swallowed a lump in my throat. ¡°Please get them out as well.¡± ¡°What are you doing, Vin?¡± Taja asked, eyes locked onto Gale¡¯s increasingly desperate pleas towards the guards. ¡°I¡¯ve got to get Head Maleen.¡± ¡°She was part of the negotiations. I don¡¯t- ¡° ¡°She¡¯s alive,¡± I interrupted. The teenager shook his head. ¡°I just don¡¯t think you can beat him, Vin.¡± I gave a weak smile. ¡°You¡¯ve seen me fight- ¡° Taja winced. ¡°And now he¡¯s got what you had.¡± I licked my lips. ¡°We don¡¯t know that.¡± ¡°Vin¡­¡± ¡°He¡¯s blind. I¡¯ll avoid him; it should be fine.¡± ¡°Can he¡­ sense things like you can?¡± ¡°It took me years to understand how to interpret what my extra sense means,¡± I stated firmly. ¡°Years to comprehend how the things I felt mapped to the world around me. There¡¯s no possibility he¡¯s done so in a few weeks.¡± ¡°Still¡­¡± I took the boy by the shoulders and bent down until my eyes were level with his own. ¡°You need to save these people, Taja. Can you do that for me?¡± Despite the fearful cast of his eyes, he nodded. I turned to the Strain. ¡°Ronnie?¡± The giant nodded down at me. ¡°¡­The Jackal¡¯s also in the Fort,¡± I told them. ¡°Kit¡¯s mother. You need to avoid her.¡± Ronnie¡¯s fingers curled into ¡®Question¡¯. ¡°¡­You¡¯ll see when you make it to the roof. Just- ¡± Another voice cut into the exchange occurring below. ¡°Gale. This isn¡¯t what we agreed on.¡± I glanced through the glass floor, to the dining chamber. A tall, dark figure had pushed in front of the guards ¨C Gaia, the Shrikeblooded woman I¡¯d talked to earlier. The blind noble shook his head disparagingly. ¡°What else did you expect from me?¡± ¡°Not to actively sabotage the meeting,¡± she growled. ¡°You understood I would be volatile- ¡° ¡°I thought you would have better control- ¡° ¡°You expected me to simply allow them to walk over every single one of my counter-proposals?¡± ¡°You have what you wanted,¡± the older woman insisted. ¡°There was no need to resort to violence.¡± ¡°I did not desire this, Gaia,¡± the man rumbled. Behind that firm tone was a brittle edge. ¡°But I am capable of- ¡° ¡°You need to keep an iron grip on yourself,¡± Gaia stated firmly. ¡°Nothing occurred that cannot be undone, but if you keep behaving like this any kind of alliance will be impossible.¡± She scowled. ¡°I¡¯m going to leave, now. I¡¯ll return tomorrow.¡± Henrik craned his neck sideways to look at her. ¡°You¡¯d just leave us?¡± ¡°If you fight him, you will die,¡± the Shrikeblood stated gently. ¡°I won¡¯t stop you. But I won¡¯t throw my life away, either.¡± ¡°Gale¡¯s only gonna get worse,¡± Henrik insisted. ¡°That¡¯s the way Ravenbloods work.¡± She inclined her head ¨C whether in acknowledgement or in farewell, I was unsure ¨C then slowly backed out of the dining hall. A thickening tension rose in her wake. Gale shifted into a strange stance: one hand splayed open beside his head with the other extended in predatory laxness. The nervous shifting of the guards ceased. The minute adjustments quaking their limbs stilled. They did not dare to breathe. ¡°Ready, men,¡± Henrik commanded. ¡°Lower- ¡° It took ten heartbeats for them to die. The Jackal¡¯s blade cleaved through the guard-captain¡¯s neck as she slid from outside the doorway, spraying blood in the faces of those beside him. Their ensuing flinch gave Gale ¨C palm still held in its bizarre position ¨C the opportunity to step forward, yank a spear from a man¡¯s hand, and splinter his skull using its haft. He stepped between three separate spear-thrusts and was suddenly between them in a flurry of elbows driving against skulls. The crack of breaking bone was audible from above, but the sudden seizure of their souls by Gale was obvious only to me. The Jackal ¨C still unnoticed ¨C hacked another three hapless guards down as Gale dominated their attention. Each of his steps measured the precise distance needed to remove him from danger, with every twist of his body heralding another dodge or another corpse. Gale¡¯s movements were a dance made possible only by his complete mastery of the situation. Throughout it all, Gale never moved the hand beside his head. By the time Henrik¡¯s partially decapitated form slumped to the ground, only his son remained. The young man pointed his spear from the Jackal to Gale repeatedly as his knees trembled. The old monster glanced at the Ravenblood. ¡°You wanna kill him?¡± Gale shook his head. The Jackal shrugged, then casually stepped forward and impaled the man on its blade. The blind man let loose a hoarse yelp. ¡°I didn¡¯t want you to kill him!¡± The creature beside him sniffed. ¡°Oh. Thought you meant you didn¡¯t wanna kill him yerself.¡± I tore my gaze from the fight and began shoving the two beside me from the Hall. When that was done, I grabbed the servants cowering throughout the room and pushed them towards Taja. ¡°Enjoy the show?¡± came a craggy yell from below. I looked downwards to find the Jackal staring at me from amongst the gored corpses. Beside her, Gale ¨C amidst a flurry of twitches and strained mutterings ¨C removed a palm from where it pounded against the side of his head and pointed it in my direction. In its centre was a single eye. ¡°Orvi?¡± the Ravenblood said. ¡°Is it¡­ Is that you?¡± I sprinted from the Hall. Head Maleen was in the kitchen attached to the dining area; she¡¯d likely hidden in there when the killing began. Which meant there were decent odds the pair would enter it, if only to use the staircase adjacent to it. I had my doubts that either would kill a House Head ¨C however politically castrated ¨C immediately, especially considering Gale¡¯s history with her, but they would inevitably capture her. From there, her fate would be determined by the whims of the Jackal and Gale¡¯s fragile mental state. Every single person they¡¯d killed, Gale had assimilated. More than twelve people. More than I ever had. I¡¯d spent the first six years of my life watching as people like him and I sloughed apart under the weight of too many poorly-tied pieces. Whatever sinew that bound Gale together would be fraying rapidly. I slammed into the employee stairwell, resisting the urge to take the steps two at a time in favour of rallying my diminished reflexes and avoiding a fall. The majority of my attention was dominated by Gale and the Jackal flitting through the shattered dining area. Every time they seemed to veer in the direction of the kitchen, my heart bubbled into my throat. Yet I barged into the room before they entered, locked onto Head Maleen huddled behind an oven, and seized her. She flinched backwards, slamming her head against the clay stove. ¡°Maleen, it¡¯s me,¡± I whispered. She cringed away, hands pushing against my chest. ¡°It¡¯s Tully,¡± I said. ¡°What?¡± Her green eyes flicked open. ¡°Vin?¡± I blinked. ¡°Yeah. Come on. Come on.¡± The orange-haired woman allowed me to pull her upright and begin dragging her up the stairs. When we reached the warbling light of the upstairs hallway without pursuit, I finally allowed myself to talk. ¡°What the hell happened?¡± I demanded. ¡°Gale killed a diplomat? Why?¡± Head Maleen blinked, then swallowed. ¡°I don¡¯t know. It¡¯s not¡­ it¡¯s not like him.¡± ¡°He¡¯s taken the Ravenblood I shed,¡± I told her while we walked. ¡°It¡¯s not just Gale making decisions anymore.¡± Maleen glanced at me. ¡°Is it?¡± I felt the urge to shield my face. ¡°What were the diplomats asking that aggravated him?¡± ¡°They were talking about you.¡± ¡°What?¡± We passed into the Hall of Mirrors. My eyes drifted sideways, beholding myself scattered an infinite number of times along the hall stretching into eternity. The dead diplomat¡¯s glare was multiplied a million times. The collapse of his neck seemed endless. I saw a haggard monster guiding a shorter woman through that landscape. It looked at me. The sudden skittishness of a mouse caught beneath the Fox¡¯s gaze wracked my body. I looked away. ¡°The diplomat wanted to use you,¡± Maleen continued, eyes generously cast away from me. ¡°¡®The last Ravenblood¡¯; a chance to prove the Albrights were lying in their Declaration, if someone testified you were elsewhere. They wanted to parade you around.¡± We passed from the Hall and I released the breath I¡¯d been holding. ¡°Gale didn¡¯t like that?¡± I asked. ¡°The moment you were mentioned, he began trying to shut down the conversation.¡± She paused. ¡°Without any kind of subtlety, which is unlike him. Which is also strange, because they wanted me to do something similar and he seemed fine with it. I guess that makes sense ¨C you¡¯re more at risk of execution ¨C but he didn¡¯t seem to like any time you were named at all. But the Baylarians dismissed him ¨C they were only really talking to the warrior-lady.¡± ¡°Gaia?¡± ¡°Yeah. Then¡­¡± She released a shuddering breath. ¡°When they were barely paying any attention to him, he said something about ¡®making the scales clear to the delegation¡¯, killed one, and everyone ran.¡± I ran a hand through my hair. ¡°Gods.¡± Maleen nodded. As we approached the spiral staircase leading to the observatory, I veered towards Gale¡¯s room instead. When I tried the door handle, I found it unlocked. Beside me, the short woman tugged at my sleeve. ¡°What are you doing?¡± ¡°His workshop might have something we can use,¡± I explained. ¡°We¡¯re not Owlbloods. Neither of us will know what anything does,¡± she protested. ¡°No, I, uh¡­¡± I swallowed. ¡°I will.¡± Her eyes widened. ¡°What happened?¡± I ignored her question. ¡°You search his room: let me know if you find anything. I¡¯ll go through the workshop.¡± Maleen¡¯s voice was hoarse. ¡°Who died?¡± I entered the bedroom ¨C shrouded in a darkness that made all that entered it blind ¨C then fumbled my way towards the attached workshop. ¡°Vin!¡± came the call from behind. I walked into the workshop. Nothing about the space had been altered since my visit that morning: the massive table dominating the space remained where it was, as did the kiln, its adjacent tools, and the acrid scent permeating every surface. Its impeccably ordered confines rang discordantly against everything else that had happened. Everything should¡¯ve been torn asunder. It hadn¡¯t, though, so I went into the storage and began running my eyes over the bloodtech (heat, light, basic array; bond, basic array; force, momentum, recursive array¡­) devices within. Amongst tools for easily creating flame, generating cold, producing bright lights, launching light loads into the air and many, many bells lay two dials that echoed the movements of one another. It seemed useful for communicative purposes, so I tucked them into a pocket. However, any objects that could¡¯ve been used as weapons were conspicuously absent. I recalled there being more the previous day, when I¡¯d visited Gale to work on Whip¡¯s crossbow. Which should¡¯ve still been present; Gale must¡¯ve moved it. I emerged back into the bedroom, I found one of the everburning lanterns on its wall lighting the room in a barren glow. Beside a large bed, Maleen feebly shook the handle of a wardrobe. When she turned, I found tears running down her face. Her reddened eyes fixed on mine. ¡°How did it happen?¡± I didn¡¯t need to ask what she was referring to. ¡°Kit¡¯s mum. The Jackal.¡± The delicate lines of her face drew together. A sob broke from her throat. I stood still. ¡°It wasn¡¯t Kit¡¯s fault.¡± The young woman nodded, then wiped her face with her sleeves. It failed to staunch the tears. ¡°Did it hurt?¡± she managed. ¡°No,¡± I lied. Another small nod as Maleen slumped onto the bed beside her. She gestured vaguely towards the wardrobe before burying her face in her hands. I swallowed, then approached it. The darkly rich wood its shape had been wrought in from shone in the flickering light, showing the marks of countless fingernails in stark clarity. Decade¡¯s worth of markings, likely made in either idle boredom or legitimate accident. No other embellishments marked it beyond that, but the almost seamless lines of its doors and legs marked an outstanding display of woodcraft. Nestled on the edges of one of its doors was a simple keyhole. A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Instead of trying to pick the lock ¨C I hadn¡¯t done so in years, and I¡¯d always been horrible at it anyway ¨C I reached upwards and used my bodyweight to slam the wardrobe onto the floor. The sound of the impact drove a flinch from Maleen, as did the moment when I hopped onto its back and began stomping. With every crack of my boot against wood I felt myself wince ¨C it was an utter waste of a beautiful piece of furniture ¨C but we hadn¡¯t time for prettier methods. It took six kicks for the wood to splinter, then another three for it to give entirely. When a hole large enough to fit an arm had been created, I slithered my hand inside and began groping within. It was almost entirely empty, except for several stone slates. There were around five inside, but it only took me withdrawing one to recognise what they were. Head Maleen¡¯s sobs quietened. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± Her voice sent a shiver through me. As if she weren¡¯t staring at a stone tablet but my flayed skeleton. But I owed an answer. ¡°It tells a tale,¡± I grunted. ¡°You can read it?¡± There was no writing embedded in the stone: merely tiny pictographs. Made either by an illiterate or in a time before writing. From its ancient surface, I judged it the latter. It¡¯d take weeks for most to decipher. But I barely even had to look at it. ¡°See this?¡± I tapped the figure of a dark bird in flight. Its image reappeared constantly throughout the story. ¡°That¡¯s our protagonist. It¡¯s roosting in its nest¡­¡± My fingers ran over the dark cave in which the avian lived in. ¡°¡­In a state of perfect peace. But it hears these cries from outside its home, so it takes flight.¡± The cadence of my voice fell into the same worn tracks the Aunt¡¯s words had walked a lifetime ago. My hands brushed over the image of a deer with its throat torn out, slowly bleeding to death in a bed of grass. ¡°First found is the deer: small and lithe; spends most of its days gay and blithe. The eyes of our bird espy it felled: its blood spent in the turn of the earth. ¡°Gracious bird does sight the oncoming loss, and saves poor deer in the folds of its coat.¡± I tapped the new image of the bird. The brown eyes of the deer peeked out from amidst its feathers. ¡°¡®Twas the dog that killed me!¡¯ the deer cries. ¡®Fangs biting to steal but a chunk of my life!¡¯ ¡°Both of them follow the howls of the dog; both find it lain in the shade of a log.¡± I tapped another image: a large hunting dog with vast gouges ripped through its side. ¡°Second found is the hound: noble and proud; spends most of its days patrolling its pound. The eyes of our bird espy it felled: its blood spent in the turn of the earth. ¡°Gracious bird does sight the oncoming loss, and saves poor dog in the folds of its coat.¡± The dog¡¯s eyes joined that of the deer embedded in the bird¡¯s flank. ¡°¡®Twas the beast that killed me!¡¯ the dog cries. ¡®Claws slashing to steal but a slice of my life!¡¯ ¡°All of them follow the roars of the beast; all find it felled in a desert so deep.¡± My fingers stopped at the pictograph which dominated the slate: a cracked wasteland bereft of greenery. A monstrous figure that could only be a Godkin lay sprawled in a dry riverbed, bones stark against its thin hide. The bird watched it with three sets of eyes. ¡°Last found is the beast: savage and lean; spends most of its days looking to eat. The eyes of our bird espy it felled: its blood spent in the turn of the earth. ¡°Gracious bird does sight the oncoming loss, and saves poor beast in the folds of its coat.¡± The bird was large now: made mighty by those it had saved. Four pairs of eyes peered from the black of its feathers. ¡°¡®Twas the world that killed me!¡¯ the beast cries. ¡®Earth making me kill for a fraction of life!¡¯ ¡°All of them find this final truth: the earth spends its people in pursuit of the moon. Its turning made in a millstone of pain, and only one bird can prevent this fate.¡± The final words of the story petered into the musky air of the room. My vision trawled through the empty air and found nothing. I felt a migraine brewing in the side of my skull. An arm snaked from behind me and ran across the slate. ¡°What about this bit?¡± I squinted downwards. There was another set of pictographs below the final image of the bird; an addendum to the story I was familiar with. It depicted the bird soaring through the air to settle in a cave. ¡°That¡¯s the cave the story began in. Its original nest.¡± I blinked. ¡°But that would make the story cyclical. The end is the beginning and the beginning is the end.¡± ¡°You sound surprised,¡± Maleen noted. ¡°It¡¯s¡­¡± I groped for the words, then hastily yanked two other tablets from the wardrobe. ¡°Look at these other slates.¡± One was dominated by two opposing vistas: one in which fields of the dying sprouted blood-soaked flowers and trees as they writhed in constant suffering, and another in which countless smiling figures joined hands. ¡°Hell and heaven,¡± I explained, gesturing to the exemplar of pain and its peaceful alternate. ¡°Earth and paradise.¡± Another depicted a collection of cross-legged figures circled by a ward of feathers, apparently protecting them from a sea of churning chaos that drove beast, man, and monster into violence against one another. ¡°Same thing. Notice how in both pieces, the ¡®heaven¡¯ has almost no motion, while the ¡®hell¡¯ is absolutely blanketed in it?¡± Maleen nodded. ¡°That¡¯s because paradise is supposedly eternal, and doesn¡¯t change. The story I just read to you implies constant movement. It¡¯s not¡­¡± I ground my teeth as I searched for an explanation. ¡°It doesn¡¯t fit with the Raven Cult¡¯s philosophy?¡± Maleen quietly offered. I snapped my fingers. ¡°Exactly. It¡¯s undoubtedly a Cultist tale, but it¡¯s got an unusual shape for one.¡± Maleen gave me a weak smile as the tears dried on her face. ¡°If they¡¯re using pictures instead of writing, it might be an earlier version of the story.¡± I leaned backwards. ¡°You¡¯re probably right. I guess I never thought of it as a story that changed.¡± She didn¡¯t ask how I knew the story in the first place. I was grateful. Every telling had felt exciting, once. When I was a child amongst others, sitting cross-legged in our playroom to listen to our Aunt. To know that my god was so kind and generous. Before I realised what ¡®taking into the folds of its coat¡¯ truly meant. ¡°It¡¯s just¡­¡± Maleen gazed at some warping of the floorboards. ¡°It feels strange to think they had art.¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± ¡°How did¡­ How did Gale get these?¡± I shrugged. ¡°Maybe one of the Godslayers sold them, after the battle. It¡¯s not as if they made many chits from¡­ You know.¡± ¡°They didn¡¯t?¡± I turned to look at her. ¡°Most were conscripts, Maleen. They weren¡¯t paid. And most actual commissioned officers were only given standard rates for the battle ¨C I believe only the northern Houses were the exception, and only because of the distance they needed to travel. It still wasn¡¯t a huge amount.¡± She released a weary sigh. ¡°Gale must¡¯ve bought them at some point.¡± I rubbed the bridge of my nose. ¡°He¡¯s a godsdamned Raven Cultist. Revived its practices after it spent a decade in the dirt.¡± ¡°Do you think he¡¯s the only one?¡± ¡°Yeah. He wouldn¡¯t¡¯ve had to kill the guards if he had any other following the creed.¡± I sighed. ¡°The last bloody Raven Cultist. Gods.¡± We digested that for a moment, alongside the auxiliary implication: the astronomically low likelihood that the last Ravenblood coming to the last Raven Cultist was a coincidence. ¡°Gale¡¯s not stupid. A god was killed for this ¨C why would he think a mortal would fare better?¡± I shrugged helplessly. ¡°Maybe he thinks he¡¯s smarter than the Raven was.¡± ¡°Is he?¡± I snorted humourlessly. ¡°One of them¡¯s famously insane, so- ¡° A distant shout stopped my words where they stood. ¡°Orvi!¡± The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. Maleen¡¯s head twisted towards the doorway. ¡°That¡¯s Gale.¡± ¡°Come on.¡± I hastily scrambled to my feet. ¡°We need to go.¡± The pair of us quickly exited and mounted the stairwell outside. Maleen strode upwards first, yet when my eyes brushed over a deep gouge made in the varnished wood, I halted. My hands fell to my belly, and the wound that was no longer there. That thought sent me loping back down the hallway. ¡°Keep going,¡± I called backwards, voice lowered, ¡°I¡¯ll be fast.¡± I yanked the door to my room open, stepped inside, then eyed the set of bandages floating in blackened water and realised I¡¯d went into the wrong room. Instead, I moved three doors down and entered my other room. Where I was met by a rotund silhouette formed by the shattered air, sitting cross-legged in the corner. A ghost. I stared at it. It grew firmer as I watched; its kaleidoscopic form more defined. It was unmistakeably Gast, yet the features of its face scraped together in indecipherable ways; twisting under my eye as the distorted light that formed it rotated. Then it rose and shuffled over to the bed, where a slight depression in the mound of blankets atop it marked the body that had once slept there. The ghost¡¯s head faced the bed in a stillness only marred by the slow rise of its chest. Then it detached a piece of itself and slid it beneath the covers. Afterwards, it gradually turned, walked through my body, and exited the room. I eyed the place where it had hid an insubstantial chunk of its form. Then, I lifted the blanket and exposed the runeslate beneath. It would be easy to pick it up. I¡¯d done it almost every day for more than a decade. Hadn¡¯t I? Had it been me, watching the years as they passed above me? Was Gast even in this body? Or was that simply a convenient way to label the madness running through my veins? Was it just her echo? Just another piece left behind, like the depression in the bed where her body had once laid, and the runeslate that lay atop it? Like the ghost that had trodden the same path I remembered walking just that morning? Like the body quietly shedding its blood beneath the Fort¡¯s summit? Which one of us was true? Which was her? Was it any of us? Yet I remembered giving Vin ¨C giving me ¨C myself, before I died. Because I wanted to help. Believing that a lie would be sacrilege. A disrespect that violated the borders of what I was. The drum of my heartbeat in my ears guided my hands as they wrapped around the edges of the runeslate. A thousand tiny imperfections surrounded its runes, where my chisel had missed or the tablet had slipped from my hands. They blended into the array of runes writ across the stone: the veins of a decade of labour stretched into an ineffable story. My hands shook. I blinked heavily. Then I brought it to my forehead and closed my eyes. When the moment passed, I began strapping it to the ruin of my left arm. The bandages scraped against the exposed flesh and sinew beneath. My breath hissed through my teeth as pain whipped through my body like a tangle of thorns, yet I managed to finish binding it before slumping against a wall. Agony throbbed where the runeslate pressed against my bandages like a collar of flame. It ebbed, and I left the room to return to the observatory. I moved quickly. When I¡¯d finally hurried after Maleen, peaked the stairwell and pushed through the door to the observatory, my eyes briefly ran over the map that dominated the room. The borders between Houses were marked with a thin ditch, while their names were carved into the earth itself. The known world ¨C stretching from the mountains of the Wastes in the south to the Dolphin¡¯s seas in the north ¨C rendered so a blind man could see them. By the time I¡¯d arrived, I found Head Maleen had already entered the balcony and begun hesitantly climbing down the blanket-rope either Taja or Ronnie had mounted on the ornate battlements. Her eyes locked on mine before she lowered out of sight, and I heard her shout something to whoever waited below. Before following her, I approached the small workstation lining on the corners of the room. Swallowing the space atop it was Whip¡¯s massive crossbow. It¡¯d always dwarfed the girl¡¯s size ¨C she¡¯d only ever managed to keep it level by bracing it against her crutch. Several runes (force, recursive array; heat, momentum, recursive array) lined its firing mechanism: designed to allow people without an Oxblood¡¯s strength to cock the weapon. Amplifying the force a person exerted on its string necessitated a complex pattern; one I¡¯d never be capable of designing alone. Gale had also added a stirrup to its nose. The bolts sitting in a quiver beside it had been made with spearwood ¨C incredibly difficult to work and incredibly sturdy once formed ¨C making it possible to fire ten without a single one breaking. I ¨C or Gast, I reminded myself ¨C had painted it a light green. The colour of Whip¡¯s eyes. Beside it lay two other items. One was a chunky device studded with a head-aching assortment of runes (heat, light, recursive array; force, activation array; force¡­) far too complex for me to comprehend without a month or three at my disposal. But they convened on a long grid of buttons. I pressed one. ¡°AAAA,¡± the device screeched discordantly, driving a nail through each of my ears. Almost immediately, morbid curiosity drove me to press another. ¡°DJAH,¡± it hissed, but my fingers were already in my ears. Neatly ordered behind it was a set of documents. Made of paper instead of the usual wax tablets used for logistic or household affairs ¨C Gale hadn¡¯t gotten them for himself to read. My gaze barrelled through their contents. I¡¯d read enough of their sort as a Heltian quartermaster that I barely needed a minute to parse their contents. They seemed to be written by some kind of informant, reporting on the results of a request to discern the origins of a Spider Strain. The writer had managed to narrow her origins to the western region: either Leydenese or western Baylarian territory. They inferred that this made it unlikely the Strain¡¯s parent had acquired their Spiderblood through monster hunting ¨C Siik was on the opposite side of the continent and Spiderkin were proportionally sparse in the area. The informant promised their next step would be accessing the Blooded records of both Houses to discern whether a deserting Spiderblood was the parent of this Strain. I stared at the assortment of objects. The crossbow had been made on my request. The prototype speaking device had to be for the only mute in the Fort: Ronnie. Following that pattern, the information ¨C about Whip, and where she¡¯d come from ¨C must¡¯ve been gathered under Kit¡¯s request. These were the wishes Head Maleen had promised us, to make us stay on the top of the hill months ago. Gale was trying to grant them. The speaking device alone was staggering complex, even to an Owlblood of Gale¡¯s skill. Merely making sound wasn¡¯t difficult, but modifying it? Even a single vowel could¡¯ve only been produced by countless hours of drudgery ¨C mapping and remapping the same sets of runes over and over just to slightly modify the sound. I¡¯d learned when we worked on the crossbow together that Gale ¨C like many Owlbloods ¨C was a creature of great focus. Obsession. Yet even obsession needed a seed for it to grow. He¡¯d done all that labour for a Strain that he couldn¡¯t communicate with. For a promise that someone else had made on his behalf. What possible seed had there been? As my fingers brushed over the workstation, they knocked aside a piece of metal that let loose a slight tinkle. A bell, I realised. For who, I did not know. I eyed the four objects for a moment, then slung the crossbow and its bolts over my back. I didn¡¯t quite know who it now belonged to, but it wasn¡¯t Gale. My fingers twitched with the primordial urge to pocket the other three. I left them, though. It didn¡¯t take long for me to follow Head Maleen down the makeshift rope and arrive at the balcony. Ronnie ¨C along with their dog tied to their back ¨C Taja, and Maleen squatted around Kit, who knelt at my body. The sight of my corpse clanged discordantly against the walls of my skull. I felt my eyes tremble in their sockets, so I looked downwards, past the sloped tiles of the roof to its lip, where the maids were carefully lowering themselves onto the battlements. With the Jackal and Gale inside the Fort, they had a clear shot to the exit. My eyes halted on Tam: helping the girls down. Her gaze found my own, and she offered a small nod. Belatedly, I returned it. Behind them, a long, empty strip of grass stretched from the Fort to the Heartlands. Mere grass and shrubbery, terminating in a monstrous mass of forest punctuated by ivory speartrees; the pillars which held up the Heartland¡¯s canopy. Starvation and soldiers and a god and Frost and my own diseased mind had chased us through it. We¡¯d shed lives to escape. To end up here. A rough voice broke through the silence. ¡°I wanted to say thanks.¡± Kit¡¯s stare burrowed into the blood of my corpse trailing between the tiles of the roof. It slowly trickled down the roof. ¡°Back in Spires, there weren¡¯t a whole lotta people willin¡¯ t¡¯put up with someone like me.¡± She chuckled lightly. ¡°Weren¡¯t any at all, ¡®cept you. An¡¯ I know it wasn¡¯t easy. I¡¯m not an easy person. An¡¯ I know you, uh¡­¡± Her voice broke. ¡°You didn¡¯t have much choice, ¡®cause there weren¡¯t many offerin¡¯ t¡¯join you but you, uh¡­¡± Kit blinked rapidly. ¡°I wanted to say thanks.¡± Ronnie signed something. ¡°Why are you saying this?¡± I translated. Kit nodded slowly while she chewed her lip. ¡°You all should get outta here.¡± ¡°And what¡¯re you doing?¡± I challenged. ¡°I gotta stay.¡± Maleen¡¯s lips curved downwards. ¡°Why would we leave without you?¡± she growled. Kit¡¯s eyes were still. The tears that had fled from them left them perfectly dry. ¡°I gotta stay with Mother.¡± ¡°That¡¯s absolute drivel and you know it,¡± the short Head snapped. The swordswoman turned, revealing her face. Its sharp features ¨C scars and cocky eyes ¨C had crumpled, as if the person that lay behind them had been crushed under the foot of a giant. I¡¯d never seen her wear that expression before. Yet at the same time, she looked more like Kit than ever before. She pointed at my corpse; quietly cooling in the twilight air. The wind blowing across the plain tangled with her hair. ¡°This¡¯s what I am.¡± The young woman clenched both hands. Her eyes were plaintive. ¡°This¡¯s all I am.¡± Dawn was beginning to seep into the sky. The many clouds above the horizon began to blush red. Another day to mock us with its beauty. ¡°You know, I used to be a thief.¡± My voice surprised even me. ¡°Not because I needed to steal. I just liked it. I¡¯d break into places and take the things I found were the most beautiful. I¡¯d do it constantly. Every chance I got.¡± I turned my gaze away from the others, to where a speck of a bird hopped across the grass surrounding the Fort. ¡°So when House Esfaria came to the Foot, I figured: why not steal from them? And when someone came to me and said they¡¯d help, I figured: why not?¡± Every moment that my thoughts pass through my mouth seemed to leave me a little more naked. The urge to stop and cover up filled me. Momentum kept me going. ¡°Only, they were a Leydenese plant. And almost all the people posted by House Esfaria died because of what I did, and when the Lizard came to the Foot there was no one to stop it except House Leyden and my mother. And she died.¡± The sound of my teeth grinding together filled my ears. ¡°Because I couldn¡¯t keep my nose out of other people¡¯s business. Because I can¡¯t seem to help fumbling every single task I¡¯ve ever been given. Because all I ever do is take. ¡°I try not to steal any more. But I still take, constantly.¡± I clenched my eyes shut. ¡°And it¡¯s no longer trinkets, or silver, or pretty stones; it¡¯s people.¡± My mouth felt full of sand. ¡°It¡¯s people.¡± Words kept tumbling from my lips; a deluge to smother any possible replies. ¡°You know, almost everything I¡¯ve said ¨C from six all the way to fourteen ¨C has been a lie? I lied to everyone. Indiscriminately. So often that I could do it without a thought. I could tell someone a thing I knew not to be true, and not even register that I¡¯d just deceived them. You know I didn¡¯t even tell my mother I was a Ravenblood until just before she died?" A bird began singing, spurring a wry scoff into breaking from my throat. ¡°Since I left the Foot, I¡¯ve had more to lie about. I think I¡¯ve gotten worse at it, though. But I kept doing it anyway. My own mentor never knew I was a Ravenblood, and he¡¯s dead, too ¨C I left him beneath one of the towers the Ox broke through. He¡¯s dead, and all he ever knew of me was a lie. I¡¯ve lied to each and every one of you, and I¡¯m sorry. ¡°I¡¯m a thief and I¡¯m a liar and I mess everything up. And I¡¯m a Ravenblood. I keep thinking that I can take these things and just¡­ dump them.¡± The next words caught in my throat. I felt like I was about to choke. I clenched my teeth against the sensation. Behind my closed eyelids, the others waited. The silence stretched. There were no more excuses. ¡°But I can¡¯t,¡± I managed in a tremulous whisper. ¡°They¡¯ll follow me until I die. Because they¡¯re mine.¡± I opened my eyes. Taja¡¯s gaze was narrow; almost suspicious. The childish features mounted on Ronnie¡¯s face lay at odds with the mournful way they twisted. Head Maleen¡¯s lips trembled on the border of rebuke and tears. From deep within the tired lines of her face, Kit watched. ¡°I¡¯ve got to kill Gale,¡± I told them. ¡°And- ¡° ¡°Rot on that!¡± Kit blurted. ¡°Did you steal someone¡¯s brain damage, too? A flight of bloody stairs¡¯s enough t¡¯thrash you within an inch o¡¯ yer life. You can¡¯t beat my Mother. You¡¯re not capable of it.¡± My gaze descended upon her, and she swallowed heavily. ¡°I¡¯m responsible for this. I need to fix it.¡± ¡°You can leave- ¡° ¡°And what happens if I leave, Kit?¡± I snapped. ¡°How many more days do I have left?¡± Her mouth worked silently. ¡°I- I saw you freeze up,¡± the swordswoman stuttered. ¡°When Mother came round. You¡¯re terrified of her.¡± A feeble chuckle dribbled from her lips. ¡°You¡¯re, you¡¯re too weak. Too stupid.¡± I didn¡¯t deny it. ¡°If she doesn¡¯t kill me, my failing body will. I have to try and fix this.¡± For a brief moment, Kit considered that. After several heartbeats passed, she rose to her feet; leaving my body to carefully walk over to the blanket-rope trailing beneath the observatory. She carefully found a spot where her boots wouldn¡¯t slip on the steep slope of the roof. When she turned back to us, her eyes shone above a mouth twisted into a sneer. ¡°How¡¯s this for a reason?¡± Her sword hissed as it left her sheath. ¡°If you put one hand on that there rope, I¡¯ll kill you.¡± The others flinched back. ¡°Kit,¡± Maleen, ¡°what- ¡° ¡°That goes for you too, Maddie!¡± she screamed. ¡°It goes fer all o¡¯ you!¡± I raised my hands. ¡°Kit- ¡± ¡°You can¡¯t beat her,¡± she snarled. ¡°So keep stealin¡¯, keep lyin¡¯, and keep fumblin¡¯, ¡®cause that¡¯s all you¡¯ll ever do.¡± My expression began to mirror her own. ¡°Kit- ¡° ¡°If you want up,¡± Kit hissed, spittle flying from her mouth ¡°you¡¯re gonna have to kill me.¡± I paused. ¡°So come on, oaf,¡± she drawled derisively, idly flipping the sword in her hand. ¡°Fight me.¡± I looked at her. Her belligerent sneer intensified into a rictus of mockery. ¡°Put that thick skull o¡¯ yours to use. Fight me.¡± I licked my lips. ¡°I need- ¡° ¡°Fight me.¡± ¡° -your help.¡± Dawn light trickled across one side of her face. The eye the light shone into flickered closed, then open. The tip of her sword quivered. ¡°Are you stupid?¡± I would¡¯ve rather ripped out my own nails than ask her. But they¡¯d fallen out a few nights ago. ¡°Leave if it gets dangerous. But I¡­¡± I clenched my fists. ¡°Everything that made me powerful was stolen. I¡¯ve got some ideas, but¡­ If Gale leaves the Fort, he could kill countless people. This is too important to leave¡­ to me.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t beat Gale and the Jackal. I¡­¡± Decades of nightmares flashed before my eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t know if I can even defeat just her.¡± I tried to get the words out. To ask her. My mouth worked. But I couldn¡¯t do it. ¡°You need our help,¡± Maleen stated, and a fear ignited through my body because I couldn¡¯t deny it. A panicked laugh erupted from Kit. Her eyes slipped from mine and fumbled through the empty air around us. ¡°You¡¯re cracked in th¡¯ head.¡± Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned to find Ronnie¡¯s blue eyes staring straight into me. The giant pointed to my dead body, then unslung a massive axe from where it hung on their back. The message was clear. ¡°I¡­ I brought you here.¡± Maleen¡¯s teeth clenched, but she seemed determined to look at me without flinching. ¡°It¡¯s my fault. I¡¯ll help too.¡± Taja¡¯s eyes darted between the two of them. Then they stilled, and his gaze turned south: to the crimson mass of the Heartlands squatting on the horizon. When I was about to turn away, he spoke. ¡°I will as well.¡± ¡°None of you have to,¡± I said. I wanted to deny them. But there was a need in me, and I¡¯d never fulfil it alone. ¡°I know,¡± he replied. ¡°But I should.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want any of you dying- ¡° The teenager interrupted me. ¡°I won¡¯t. We won¡¯t.¡± He turned to look at the other two. ¡°Right?¡± Somewhat bemusedly, the pair nodded. I ran my hand through my hair. ¡°Okay, so- ¡° A voice from behind me shattered my sentence halfway. ¡°What do you godsdamned fools think you¡¯re talkin¡¯ ¡®bout? None o¡¯ you are so much as gettin¡¯ into th¡¯ Fort.¡± ¡°Please help,¡± I asked her. Her eyes widened. A shiver travelled through her body. ¡°I can¡¯t leave him in the Fort. He¡¯s an Aspirant.¡± I paused, realising she¡¯d be unfamiliar with the term. ¡°A Raven Cultist. He¡¯ll kill and he¡¯ll keep killing. That¡¯s what they do. And he¡¯ll do it with the blood I gave him.¡± Her teeth were bared. Yet the sneer had abandoned her lips, leaving only the futile stubbornness of a cornered animal. ¡°No. If you want in, you¡¯ll have t¡¯separate my head an¡¯ my neck. ¡®Cause that¡¯s th¡¯ only way you¡¯ll stop me.¡± ¡°Kit¡­¡± She stepped forward and pressed the point of her blade into my stomach. ¡°Fight me.¡± I stared at her. Slowly, I shook my head. She pushed her sword deeper: past my shirt to bite into the skin beneath. Her face consumed my vision: ravaged by fatigue and desperation. ¡°Fight me.¡± I unsheathed my sword. Its onyx edge drew in the dying light of the day. Kit smiled ¨C broad and full of relief ¨C and withdrew her sword to take a step back. I threw the blade to the roof beneath our feet, where it settled between two tiles. ¡°I¡¯m not fighting you.¡± She drew back. Her lips opened slightly. Deep in their weary sockets, her eyes quivered. ¡°You fight me, or I¡¯ll kill you.¡± I breathed out. ¡°No.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not playin¡¯, Vin. I¡¯ll gut you ¨C just watch.¡± A weak smile flashed across my face. ¡°I¡¯d lose anyway. Without my blood- ¡° ¡°Don¡¯t gimme that garbage, Vin,¡± the swordswoman spat. ¡°I see th¡¯ crossbow. There¡¯s always a chance.¡± ¡°A chance for what, Kit?¡± I pointed at the sword on the ground. ¡°The only way that ends is with one of us dead.¡± ¡°What else d¡¯you want from me?¡± she pleaded. ¡°T¡¯play th¡¯ godsdamned hero?¡± Kit chuckled, devoid of any mirth. ¡°Heroes ain¡¯t real, Vin. This- ¡° she shook her sword, ¡°-is who we are. Now kill me or leave.¡± Once again, I shook my head, but this time my eyes didn¡¯t leave hers. ¡°Stop pretending you can¡¯t put down the sword.¡± Her lips peeled back. The shocking white of her sclera left her pupils drowning in a lake of white. For a few seconds, her jaw worked soundlessly. Eventually, she spoke. ¡°I can¡¯t.¡± Seconds passed. I just nodded to her and myself. ¡°I understand- ¡° ¡°You don¡¯t- ¡° ¡°I do.¡± The words escaped me in a hiss. An image flashed by: two children; a blanket; a body. ¡°I get it. Maybe you can¡¯t. But you still have a choice, Kit.¡± She looked at me, more terrified than I¡¯d ever seen her. ¡°I can¡¯t leave this.¡± The words floated on the tip of my tongue. I swallowed, then forced them out. ¡°And I can¡¯t¡­ do this alone.¡± The admittance was slow and halting. ¡°Not without you.¡± Kit stared at me, perfectly still. ¡°So either look at what you¡¯re doing, or kill me.¡± The young woman stumbled sideways, sending her sword in a half-hearted swipe in my direction. It missed. ¡°Fight me,¡± she whispered. ¡°No.¡± Kit fumbled a dagger from her belt and tossed it towards me. It bounced off my chest and slid down the tiles of the Fort¡¯s peak. At the sight of it clattering down, she released a sound halfway between a growl and a scream. ¡°I can¡¯t beat her,¡± I muttered to her. ¡°But you can.¡± Her voice came in a low whine. ¡°I can¡¯t.¡± What was I doing? What was I asking of her? How could I ask her to do this for me? After everything? But though I could take most of the danger on myself, I wouldn¡¯t be able to kill Gale without help. And if I left Kit in this place, I felt as if she¡¯d never leave. ¡°You¡¯re the best mortal swordswoman I¡¯ve seen,¡± I told her, blinking against ineffable tears pricking at the back of my eyes, ¡°in this life or any other, Kit. She doesn¡¯t stand a chance.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not about that,¡± she protested. ¡°She will kill me ¨C she¡¯d kill anyone.¡± I took a step closer. ¡°Are you gonna spend the rest of your life under her thumb, then?¡± Her sword lowered. ¡°It¡¯s a partnership.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not.¡± ¡°She¡¯s my mother,¡± Kit protested. ¡°I have to help her.¡± ¡°She¡¯s a monster,¡± I spat, ¡°and the only thing you owe her is the edge of your blade.¡± ¡°I¡¯m no different, Vin,¡± she begged. ¡°You have to see that.¡± ¡°You¡¯re not like her.¡± I pointed to the person I used to be ¨C to Gast. ¡°She died telling you that. And you¡¯d disbelieve it?¡± She flinched. ¡°I¡­¡± Then Maleen stepped past her sword and reached up to wrap her arms around Kit¡¯s shoulders. The far taller woman froze. ¡°We¡¯ll help,¡± Maleen promised. A crooked sob broke from Kit¡¯s body as she began quietly shaking. Her hands were stuck at her sides, but Maleen¡¯s embrace wrapped tight around her body. She let her head fall on the other girl¡¯s shoulder. From atop the roof, we watched a line of diplomats and servants-made-refugees trail across the plains we¡¯d sprinted through weeks before. The sun clawed its way above the horizon and leapt for the sky above, where a layer of clouds heralded its coming by reflecting its radiance. To the side of its ascension, the crimson mass of the Heartlands shed the last remnants of Frost. A hot wind blew across the plains, blasting our hair behind our heads. Tempest was coming. I hoped the others would be alive to see it. After a while, Kit raised her head again. Her eyes were dry. ¡°Alright. What¡¯s th¡¯ plan?¡± Chapter 69 (3/3) - Ghost Within the small room I¡¯d unwittingly made a tomb, I sat on my brother¡¯s deathbed and held one of the last remnants of my family. For the first time in my life, I could see him. See the delicate, almost translucent skin that trapped his flesh. See what thin hair remained on his head. See the cloud that had settled within his eyes. See that I held a corpse. But I cradled Mael in my arms anyway. The night had been long. By the time dawn peered through the window of Mael¡¯s room, I¡¯d already died a dozen times. My husband, father, and commander was dead. My son and comrade robbed of life. The guards I¡¯d known for years slaughtered like cattle. The family that was me flickering in my skull; both dead and alive. Their beings squirmed through the cogs of my mind, undergirding each thought. Yet unless I inhabited one of the brief moments where their machinations lost all subtlety, they were invisible to me. Just as a person cannot see the brain in their skull or the heart in their chest, so too could I not see the stitching of my being. Everyone would be safe, in me. I¡¯d endured decades of combat, violence, and the fall of a god. I¡¯d endured my own death. I could endure the world, for them. But in this world, I was the last of the Vanes. My father was dead. My mother ¨C having left behind the curse that stole the musculature of Mael¡¯s body ¨C was dead. My brother ¨C with his small smiles and countless fragile reassurances ¨C was dead. All that remained were my children. Sash. Dash. And foolish, foolish Orvi. ¡°How¡¯d you know this whole thing was gonna work, Gale?¡± came a voice beside me. I looked to Val. The person that¡¯d killed my family. Killed me. Fear fuelled a familiar, relentless rage that rose into an inferno whenever her image entered my sight. But there were still uses for one such as her. ¡°What, specifically?¡± She snorted. ¡°Enn, for one. You an¡¯ th¡¯ lady figured the kid was somewhere in th¡¯ Heartlands. How¡¯d you know Enn¡¯d flush him out?¡± I turned my palm back to Mael, and the mortal flesh that had bound him. ¡°There was only one place in the Heartlands he could go. With the famine, only Spires would offer sustenance and company.¡± The swordswoman whistled. ¡°Gods-damn, Gale. That¡¯s why you had me breakin¡¯ trade twixt Heltia an¡¯ Baylar?¡± ¡°One of the reasons,¡± I muttered. ¡°You know there were other interests at play.¡± ¡°Playin¡¯ both sides,¡± she surmised. ¡°But you settled on ol¡¯ Gaia downstairs.¡± An amused breath left her mouth. ¡°Still. Pretty thin plan.¡± ¡°I know.¡± ¡°He coulda died.¡± It was my turn to scoff. ¡°What¡¯s so funny, huh?¡± the Jackal demanded. ¡°You wanna share, clever man?¡± Man? Oh. ¡°The idea of a creature like him dying is absurd.¡± A vicious laugh began her retort. ¡°Them tablets really scrambled your brain, didn¡¯t they? Everything dies, even ¨C as we¡¯ve all found ¨C gods. What¡¯s gonna save you?¡± I shook my head wearily. ¡°The Raven didn¡¯t plan. It couldn¡¯t. Its blood pointed its eyes towards what was, instead of what could be.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve got that same blood in you,¡± she noted. ¡°I¡¯ve also got Gaia. And you. To make plans when I cannot, and guide me when I slip.¡± I heard the smirk in her voice. ¡°The Raven had enough power t¡¯make plannin¡¯ irrelevant. An¡¯ it died.¡± ¡°The death of god is a fragile thing,¡± I said. I-
-asked, ¡°What¡¯s th¡¯ plan?¡± Vin raised a skeletal hand to his sallow face and rubbed two fingers along the bridge of his nose. ¡°Nothing overly complex.¡± ¡°Unlike you,¡± I joked, trying to stop my hand from shaking before Maddie noticed. I failed, and when she closed a hand around my shivering palm without comment another round of tears threatened to spring from my eyes. How¡¯d Vin said all that stuff before without feeling like a damned fool? He probably had. The thought made me feel a little less humiliated. ¡°Complexity won¡¯t work,¡± he began to explain. Maddie turned away from me slightly to get a better look at him, but still kept one arm around my back. I noticed several soft, downy orange hairs on the back of her neck and felt myself flush. Then I dug my nails into my palms. My childish outburst earlier had rattled me, when I needed to pull myself together. If I didn¡¯t focus, we were going to die. ¡°Both Gale and the Jackal are extremely volatile,¡± Vin continued. ¡°They¡¯re not reasonable actors.¡± ¡°This ain¡¯t some Divinity,¡± I told him. ¡°We don¡¯t need no Faces t¡¯act, here.¡± His sunken eyes squinted at me from deep within their sockets. ¡°No, I mean¡­ Any prediction I make had a higher chance of being wrong than right. A complicated plan won¡¯t survive contact with them. ¡°But,¡± he continued, ¡°we do know a few things about them. Namely, that Gale seems to have some sort of fixation towards me. Likely due to the fact I¡¯m a Ravenblood.¡± I swallowed. ¡°Uh, Vin- ¡° ¡°Which means that- ¡° ¡°Vin.¡± ¡°Kit,¡± he snapped, ¡°you can speak me when I¡¯m done.¡± I licked my lips. ¡°I needa tell you somethin¡¯.¡± Something foul entered the lines of his face. ¡°No. You don¡¯t.¡± ¡°Gale¡¯s not jus¡¯ Gale. There¡¯s¡­¡± The right words escaped me. What was the best way to tell someone that a ghost of a loved one possessed the person they had to kill? ¡°¡­someone else in there, too. It¡¯s- ¡° ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± he interrupted. He raised one arm towards me and inhaled a shuddering breath. ¡°Please, just don¡¯t.¡± I quietened. ¡°Okay.¡± His mismatched eyes fluttered as he shook his hands. ¡°Okay. What I¡¯m saying is that I¡¯ll take Gale. Distract him. I¡¯ll be in far less danger than anyone else interacting with him. Meanwhile, Kit will fight the Jackal, with Ronnie and Taja backing her up.¡± He locked eyes with the giant Strain and the far smaller teenager. ¡°Don¡¯t engage directly unless Kit truly needs help. She¡¯s the only one that matches the Jackal¡¯s skill.¡± Taja nodded, however Ronnie flexed both hands in careful, deliberate patterns I couldn¡¯t decipher. The night still held onto some shadows, and they kept the giant¡¯s hands vague. This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. Vin saw what I didn¡¯t. ¡°The Jackal¡¯s too quick,¡± he replied to Ronnie. ¡°If you miss, then its counter-swing will either kill or maim you. You¡¯ll be leaving Kit and Taja to face it alone.¡± ¡°It?¡± I asked. ¡°Her counter-swing,¡± he corrected. ¡°The point is, when you¡¯re done all of you¡¯ll wrap back around and assist me with Gale. I need all of you alive for that, understand?¡± His sunken gaze was locked on Ronnie. Begrudgingly, the Strain nodded. Maddie chirped from beside me. ¡°What about me?¡± ¡°You¡¯ll be with them,¡± Vin stated quickly, ¡°overseeing everything that¡¯s happening.¡± ¡°What does that mean?¡± she asked. ¡°Kit will be engaged, Ronnie¡¯s mute, and Taja¡¯s too¡­¡± The Ravenblood¡¯s mouth opened wordlessly for several moments. ¡°¡­quiet to give orders. You¡¯ll stand back and keep everyone notified if the situation changes.¡± Maddie¡¯s nose wrinkled; the stuff spewing from Vin¡¯s mouth reeked of Oxdung. A blanket of mud thrown to conceal the fact he didn¡¯t want to put our young Head in danger. ¡°I can¡¯t help?¡± ¡°You¡¯re also,¡± he said slowly, as if she were a child, ¡°on communications.¡± The kindly expression was immensely disturbing on his emaciated face. She looked to me for support, and I shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t know, Maddie, sounds pretty reasonable t¡¯me.¡± The image of Maddie within arm¡¯s length of my Mother set my guts churning. Maddie grumbled, but eventually detached from me to allow Vin to walk her through the usage of some bloodtech device which would apparently allow her to send simple messages to him via its twin. I rubbed my knuckles in her absence. The scars across them ached. While they were doing so, Ronnie signed something to him. My mouth worked as I tried to remember what the two distinct gestures meant. ¡°What about you?¡± I eventually translated. Vin glanced up, a quizzical expression on his face. Ronnie shook their head, and I reformed my translation. ¡°Who¡¯s helpin¡¯ you?¡± He waved an arm. ¡°I¡¯ll be fine.¡± I scoffed. He turned on me. ¡°Gale doesn¡¯t want to kill me.¡± ¡°Oh, sure. Gale¡¯s jus¡¯ gonna ¡®save¡¯ you,¡± I drawled, both hands curling into rabbit ears. ¡°I¡¯m sure that¡¯s real different.¡± ¡°If it comes to that,¡± he stated, careful to enunciate each syllable perfectly, ¡°I have a plan for Gale.¡± ¡°And what is that plan?¡± He turned away. ¡°What¡¯s the plan, Vin?¡± ¡°It will work.¡± He paused. ¡°However, I can¡¯t risk telling you.¡± ¡°You¡¯re jokin¡¯,¡± I stated flatly. The scars across my knuckles ached. ¡°Here? Now?¡± ¡°Gale finished removing my Foxblood today. He might be listening.¡± Ronnie gave several rapid signs, but I spoke over the top of them. ¡°Why¡¯d you bloody well tell us the other stuff?¡± ¡°Because there¡¯s nothing he can do to stop the plan,¡± Vin snapped. ¡°It¡¯s too simple. The only thing they can possibly do is stay together, and I will separate Gale from the Jackal. There¡¯s nothing that can be done to prevent that. But he can stop this element, and as you cannot possibly help me with it there¡¯s no point in risking telling you.¡± Maddie frowned. ¡°That¡¯s a poor excuse,¡± she stated tersely. ¡°It¡¯s the only excuse you¡¯re getting,¡± he said softly. ¡°Now-
¡°-I still don¡¯t get it,¡± Val mused over my shoulder. The arms I kept around my brother¡¯s body tightened. ¡°Get what?¡± ¡°You hiss some sweet words an¡¯ get th¡¯ Albrights t¡¯get House Baylar t¡¯get th¡¯ Ox t¡¯smash Spires.¡± Val laughed disbelievingly. ¡°I¡¯ve seen runes less complicated.¡± ¡°The only complicated part was Enn,¡± I stated bluntly. ¡°Everything else was outside my influence.¡± ¡°You hitched a ride on their cart, huh?¡± I did not dignify her answer with a response. ¡°So you spook our poor little Ravenblood outta Spires,¡± she drawled. ¡°How you figure he¡¯s gonna end up here?¡± ¡°Going south means running into House Baylar¡¯s lines,¡± I stated tersely. ¡°Flanking the Heartlands to the east and west are House Leyden and House Esfaria ¨C the former having a hand in his mother¡¯s death and the latter in destroying his home. And running too far north brings him back to Baylarian territory.¡± Val scoffed. ¡°Man like him could bloody well live in th¡¯ woods, if he wanted to.¡± My releasing one hand from Mael was accompanied by a sudden sense of loss. The sensation of his emaciated body against my skin fled, leaving behind only air. Yet unlike yesterday, I had another means of filling the gap. I turned one of my eyes onto the Jackal and saw the mocking grin slapped across her scarred face shift into something more uncomfortable. We stared at one another. She licked her lips. Finally, I answered. ¡°He would have companions,¡± I slowly explained. ¡°Who, exactly, I did not know. But he would have them, and they would need to survive.¡± Her ensuing question was more guarded. ¡°¡­How d¡¯you figure?¡± ¡°The Lizardblooded are difficult to change. Oxbloods anger quickly. Kani¡¯s ilk seek constant stimulus. And the Ravenblooded need company.¡± ¡°Why?¡± My patience broke. ¡°I do not know, Valorie; whether it is a fundamental aspect of the blood or merely a manifestation of such a trait is a mystery barely gleaned from wordless slates older than human memory; I do. Not. Know.¡± My head turned to face her, lips peeled in a furious grimace. ¡°Do you want to know what I do know?¡± Though my body had been almost emptied of Oxblood, its departure had left behind a mind that had spent half a century running through the tracks its veins had set. Despite the dereliction of my veins, those tracks remained. It was all too easy to step back onto them. My tone dripped with controlled violence. ¡°I know you deliberately concealed my brother¡¯s death from me. I know you killed Gast, despite me explicitly telling you not to. I know your actions have antagonised their group badly enough that they will seek to kill us.¡± Her lips drew back: not into the sneer that so often twisted her face but a far rawer snarl. ¡°My daughter¡¯ll- ¡° ¡°Your daughter?¡± I thundered. ¡°Is this the one you chained in the middle of an encampment until she could perform the precise movements you demanded of her? The one who you forced to perform sword drills until her hands bled? The one you constantly disparage? That one?¡± She remained silent. ¡°The only thing that prevented Kit from killing you was her timidity.¡± ¡°My daughter¡¯s not- ¡° I laughed at her. ¡°Then why are you not dead, Valorie? Because Kit has both the means and the justification to sever your head from your body.¡± ¡°Justification? I¡¯ve given her everything- ¡° ¡°And now you have taken away one of her closest friends. You have,¡± I rumbled, ¡°hurt my son.¡± ¡°Friends?¡± the Jackal scoffed. ¡°People like us don¡¯t have friends.¡± It was a surprise to find that comment, despite confirming everything I¡¯d ever suspected about our relationship, still burned. From a twitch at the corner of her mouth, I found that Val immediately regretted her indiscretion. ¡°Perhaps,¡± I acknowledged with a slow nod. ¡°But believing your daughter to be ¡®like us¡¯ is a bold assumption.¡± Her face tightened. ¡°I raised her.¡± ¡°And now she will kill you.¡± ¡°Fine,¡± she snapped. ¡°I messed up, killin¡¯ the cow. An¡¯ you messed up, killin¡¯ them diplomats. So what¡¯s the plan fer keepin¡¯ Kit¡¯s sword outta o¡¯ our throats, boss-man?¡± ¡°The plan?¡± I let out a small laugh. ¡°To prevent them from killing us? I¡¯ve no plan for that.¡± I slowly lowered Mael back onto his bed, then drew myself to my full height. It still felt off to me ¨C the unwieldy physique I¡¯d acquired ¨C yet despite its relatively diminuitive height I filled it well enough to drive the Jackal back a step. She eyed me, one hand on the hilt of her blade, as I turned to her. ¡°My plan,¡± I said, ¡°is to save my son from himself.¡± I-
-was the first to climb back into the observatory. Kit, Maleen, Ronnie, and Taja would follow soon, but until then, I was alone. So I was the only one in the observatory when the monster appeared. It stood in the centre of a panel of glass dawn had yet to reach. Hanging against the lingering darkness of night stood its tall, emaciated body, capped by a ravaged face studded with two shadowed eyes. Onyx veins twisted beneath its skin, pulsing to the rhythm of the beat in my ears. Oily blood soaked through the bandages wrapping its arms. The beautiful clothes hanging limply over its form seemed a half-hearted veneer. Despite most its meat being stripped away, the broadness of its frame still held the same promise of the thing that had killed me. Who had stabbed me on the end of its blade; impaled me on the tip of a speartree; allowed my body to be crushed beneath the earth; broken my skull for a mere step; watched me as I died. It craned its head towards me, one brown eye and one black. For once, I did not look away from the reflection. I allowed my eyes to bore into it. To see the other end of those deaths: myself. The thing that I¡¯d become. That I¡¯d always been, beneath the flesh layered over my veins. Ravenblood. The Ravenkin of the Wastes would slowly be hunted by House Esfaria. Some would¡¯ve eaten vast amounts of the Raven¡¯s rotting corpse, but with only small lizards and insects to feed them the blood would be empty; impotent. The monster hunters would easily slay the Ravenkin. They would leave the blood to turn to dust in the wind. With House Esfaria having likely fulfilled their promise to hunt every single Ravenkin that had eaten Avri¡¯s corpse, only four Ravenblooded remained in existence. If Jackson kept Sash and Dash away from death, theirs would never manifest. But it was too late for Gale. Its death was already a certainty. Kit had whined and moaned regarding my ¡®secret plan¡¯. I couldn¡¯t tell them what it was. They would stop me, and my goal was too important to let that happen. No Ravenblood would escape this place. The plan for ending it was not complex. If I killed him, I would guard its divinity as it faded into nothing. Then I would find a quiet place to die. If it defeated me, I would not die ¨C I could not, at the hands of a Ravenblood. Instead, I would leverage the decade of experience I had over it. I would tear the jaws of its mind open and pour myself into its body. Once inside, I would break our flesh and our soul. I would kill us. There were only two ways a battle between Ravenbloods could go. Either way, I¡¯d win. Either way, I¡¯d lose. Chapter 70 - Mirror Images I said- Gale said. No, Maja. Or was it Greta? Henrik? Ambrose? Colin? One of the guards, trapped where two moments meet: shattered skull or torn throat or scrambled brain; some unknowing and others cognizant; all beholding the thing they used to serve tearing them apart. Wait. ? shivered. I know her. Kit. I shivered at the bottom. Kit shivered at the bottom. P???ed herself up. I took something from her. Couldn¡¯t forget if I tried. Couldn¡¯t forget anything if I tried. That¡¯s out of order. I¡¯m trying. I¡¯m trying. I need a moment; just a moment. I- I turned¡­ Vin turned. Orvi turned. Not him. Wil? Gast? Tully? Se?ras? Or even ????, whoever he was before the speartree hoisted him above the crater like a flag of flesh. Even Drue, named for his toughness, who had stepped aside so long ago. Or the pieces my veins gaped around; those levers they tried to touch but found emptied. I don¡¯t have a moment. There¡¯s no time. I¡¯ll break. Please, god, just hold a moment longer. Long enough for me to try once more.
The room was empty. A bed. A window. A corpse. Motes of dust caught in the dawn light. If my brother could open his eyes, he would be able to see them. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I said. ¡°I wanted¡­¡± I had wanted to save him. Yet every treatment had failed. None of us truly understood what stole the strength from his muscles, forcing him into the slow, meticulous gait that he waddled around the Fort in. That caused my father to beat my mother for not disclosing the curse that wracked her family. That created a silence that no amount of bells would ever fill. We all understood what it meant. One day, the strength would seep from his heart. It would cease beating. Despite my best efforts, I knew I couldn¡¯t prevent him dying. All I could do was make his death mean something. The secrets I¡¯d shared; the deals I¡¯d made; the promises I would have to keep ¨C all were in service to a plan thinner than Bite leaves on the forest floor, awaiting the crush of a boot. No boot ever fell. Miraculously, the plan had worked. Too late. My eyes fell over my brother¡¯s mummified corpse. I¡¯d memories of seeing him as a child ¨C the two of us begging for cakes ¨C but this was the first time I ¨C Gale ¨C was seeing him. I wished the eyes had come sooner. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± They were the only words that meant anything. ¡°I¡­¡± I hadn¡¯t failed. Not yet. Mael was gone, but I still had family that needed saving. The nomads that had raised me were dead. Sickness and old age had taken them decades ago. Whatever wound the news might have made was dulled by the decades between our parting and their death. Even so, the scar it left still ached, sometimes. The way we had parted had gotten stuck in my skin, and I had lost the chance to remove it. Sash. Dash. Orvi. My children. They remained. As long as they lived, I hadn¡¯t failed. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I said one final time. ¡°I can¡¯t save you. But I can still save my son.¡± There was no response. There was nothing left in the room to hear me. I clenched my teeth against the tears and left. The Jackal waited outside. ¡°You done?¡± she asked. ¡°Yes.¡± Val pushed herself off the wall she leaned against. ¡°And you¡¯re serious?¡± Her eyes affixed mine. I nodded. ¡°It never had to be me.¡± She grabbed a fistful of my tunic and shook me once. ¡°I need you alive, Gale.¡± With excessive care, I brought my hands to hers and removed them from my clothes. She allowed me. ¡°The paperwork has been completed. You will inherit the Vane family.¡± ¡°Godsdamnit, Gale.¡± The scars on her face seemed to thin as she cast her eyes to the ceiling in disbelief. ¡°Whatever you an¡¯ th¡¯ big lady cooked up: I want in. That was always th¡¯ deal.¡± ¡°The deal still stands. But we each need to solve our own problems.¡± ¡°No help?¡± she drawled, then sighed. ¡°Yeah. We each gotta deal with our own.¡± ¡°If I see her, I¡¯ll send her outside. That¡¯s all I can promise.¡± Val spun on her heel and walked in the opposite direction to the outer courts. I turned my head. ¡°Where are you going?¡± ¡°Got some preparations t¡¯make.¡± She sucked air between her teeth as she walked away. ¡°Don¡¯t you worry. I¡¯ll be there.¡± I watched her disappear into the cogs of the Fort, to foul whatever machinery stood in the way of her schemes. Then I rolled my shoulders and-
-sh?ver?d at the b?ttom of the sheet-rope. The silent quakes only wracked my sword-hand ¨C everything else I¡¯d managed to bury underneath my skin. Yet the final piece that betrayed my stillness as a lie evaded capture. Despite clenching my other hand around its wrist, I couldn¡¯t stop it. My mouth was drier than bones. I needed to fix this before we fought Mother. She¡¯d eat me alive. My shivers would only add spice to the meal. ¡°Kit?¡± Maddie called from above. I¡¯d thought pulling Ronnie into the observatory would take more time. ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m alright,¡± I drawled. ¡°Jus¡¯ gimme a moment.¡± The brief pause before she responded was enough to set me cringing away. ¡°Take all the time you need.¡± Rarely had more humiliating words been spoken. I took a few deep, bracing breaths, then shook some rabid energy out of my limbs. A temporary solution, but there weren¡¯t any permanent ones in my arsenal. I¡¯d about three things I could do well, and calming myself¡¯d never been one of them. When I hauled myself into the observatory, my hand was still shaking. Vin gave me a terse nod as I entered. Scarcely minutes ago, he¡¯d thrown the doors of his mind open to us; now, they were as tight as any vault. If I didn¡¯t know better, I would¡¯ve thought he was playing us. As it was, I reckoned he was, at the very least, hiding something. But I figured that if Vin didn¡¯t have a few secrets to squat on like a hen with her egg, he wouldn¡¯t know what to do with himself. I gave a feeble chuckle at that image. ¡°Gale¡¯s in the dining hall,¡± Vin stated. ¡°Jackal¡¯s waiting in the outer courts. Likely planning something.¡± ¡°That¡¯s a given,¡± I croaked. Though the conversation ended there, Vin remained still. After a few heartbeats, he unslung Whip¡¯s crossbow from his shoulder and offered it to Maddie. ¡°Are you¡­¡± She blinked rapidly. ¡°Are you sure?¡± Vin¡¯s eyes flickered towards Ronnie and I. We both nodded. ¡°You won¡¯t need it?¡± ¡°Better that you have it than me,¡± he said. ¡°I might get one shot off before I¡¯m forced to ditch it. It¡¯s not worth me having. Do you know how to use it?¡± To my surprise, she nodded. ¡°Rita showed me.¡± Vin blinked. ¡°Alright. Remember: be careful, you four. You¡¯ll all make it if you are.¡± ¡°You know me.¡± I managed a bold smirk. ¡°Careful-est girl this side o¡¯ th¡¯ Dolphin.¡± He gave a startled snort, which sent a thin trickle of snot from his nose. When he seemed oblivious of its presence, Ronnie gently tapped their nose. Vin wiped at it, then stared at his hand with creased brows. The humour of the situation felt stilted. No one spoke. Finally, the Ravenblood shot me a tight smile. ¡°Okay, ¡®careful-est girl¡¯: I¡¯ll take point, you take the rear. Should be nothing between here and the dining hall, but best to be careful.¡± Vin was right. As we walked a winding route from hall to hall, we didn¡¯t run into so much as dust. Within Fort Vane, only we moved. It was as if we walked through a set of paintings. Vistas of hall and stairs and storerooms cast beneath the low light of dawn in brightly frozen strokes. Mundane objects were replaced by alien twins ¨C untouchable beneath the atmosphere that gripped the Fort. Despite their immutability, the walls seemed as substantial as air. And the air weightier than the walls. A million years could pass, yet I was gripped by the cold certainty that nothing we walked through would change. Even so, the places we walked through leered at us. Across their stretch of canvas, we were the foreigners. Vin navigated it easily. We sheltered in his wake. Suddenly, the world around us tightened further. We¡¯d arrived at the doors of the dining hall. On the other side was a presence my mind flinched away from. My hand shivered. ¡°We can still turn back,¡± Maddie said quietly. ¡°You can,¡± Vin said. Then he braced his hands against the double doors and slowly pushed against them. The crack widened: first a chair and the small door to the kitchen that lay behind it, then a table. An abandoned meal lay atop it. For a moment, Vin halted ¨C his eyes trembling blindly. I dared to hope we might turn away. But a mute grimace twisted his face, and Vin shoved each door whirling into the walls beside them with a crash, ripping the doorway wide open and revealing the final stretch of the painting. Corpses lay against the walls of the dining hall. Head to toe; toe to head ¨C the broken bodies of the guards and diplomats I¡¯d seen it passing formed a chain lining the perimeter of the room. I¡¯d seen each face in passing before. In the shattered face of one robed corpse, I thought I saw the Baylarian who¡¯d warned Maddie of the House¡¯s plotting. Smears of brain, bone, and blood trailed from the entrance of the outer courts; the route someone had dragged the bodies. Chairs and tables were scattered around the room. Some were untouched. Fragments of bone studded others. Others were nothing but splinters of wood. Taja¡¯s eyes flickered to the corpses, then to Vin. Towards the back of the room, the other Ravenblood sat. Black veins; sightless eyes; a grimace stretched across its face. Upon the sound of our entering, its head jerked towards us. It stood, and raised a single, eye-studded palm towards Vin. The two stared at one another for several long moments. Vin¡¯s voice emerged frayed. ¡°Ma?¡± he asked. Its grimace deepened. Its blind eyes fell for a brief moment, then fought their way back to Vin¡¯s. ¡°Orvi,¡± the Ravenblood replied. The quiet began to deepen. Until it was heavy enough to be tangible, where it waited in the air. With every heartbeat that passed, my ears anticipated a sound to break it ¨C speech; stomp; scream ¨C but when the next moment finally arrived only silence waited. As time stretched, I painstakingly turned my head to the man beside me. Maybe a more eloquent person than I could describe the expression that passed over Vin¡¯s face. I couldn¡¯t. The thing that crashed through him was beyond my tongue¡¯s ability to capture. All I could say was that behind Vin¡¯s eyes, I saw something breaking. He clenched his eyelids shut. The thing that used to be Gale glanced at me. ¡°Your mother is in the courtyard.¡± The rumbling words rode the contours of the silence; almost inaudible despite their depth. I nodded. I took the first step, then the next. The others walked silently behind us. When I reached the door, my throat finally managed to reopen. ¡°Are you sure you¡¯ll make it?¡± Vin¡¯s eyes were still closed. ¡°I¡¯ve got ideas,¡± he uttered. ¡°What about me?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve got none for you.¡± Feebly, I opened my mouth to protest. ¡°You don¡¯t need any,¡± he continued quietly. ¡°You¡¯re better than her.¡± My heart pounded in my ears. I felt light-headed. ¡°Just keep your head on straight. You¡¯ll be fine.¡± I nodded. ¡°Good luck.¡± He managed one feeble smile. I inhaled a breath, but couldn¡¯t bring my arms up further. ¡°Kit,¡± Maddie gently said. ¡°We¡¯ll be with you.¡± I took one, final breath, and h?ul?d ?he d?ors open. ??-
-left the room. The door shut behind them. I turned and opened my eyes. Something had fallen upon me. Even the slightest sensation had become intolerable. The constant prodding pain from my arms and neck. The abyss of sensation in the middle of my spine. The scrape of stiff bandages against my flayed flesh. The runeslate cinched tight over the top of them. The dull ache that suffused my body. The twinge in my ankle. The brush of my hair against my neck. The sway of clothes upon my skin. The bloat of a tongue in my mouth. The air through my nose. The throbbing of a vein in my neck. All were amplified a hundredfold. But none more so than the sight in front of me. The measured precision of the feet, setting the body as solid as a mountain. The deliberate flow of the upper torso, set in a slowness both predatory and reassuring. The terseness of the expression, revealing an uncertainty that belied everything else. The mournful set of the eyes when they found my own. The mannerisms of my mother, worn by Gale. The Ravenblood¡¯s mouth opened. ¡°Orvi- ¡° ¡°Don¡¯t.¡± I raised a hand. ¡°Don¡¯t.¡± My stomach churned. The sight of it filled me with the urge to escape my skin. This thing was ghoulish. Utterly incomprehensible. A horror beyond what earth could offer, wrested from some deep, unimaginable nightmare. But I didn¡¯t need imagination to see it anymore. The terrible truth was before my eyes. Ma, both worn by and wearing what pulsed beneath her skin. Resurrected from the bowels of my memory. Something gave in me.
That was what started it, I think. Though in truth, it started long ago. Where the seed of that corpse flower were planted. And here, they finally began to bloom.
Orvi clawed at the blackened bandages wrapped around his arms, cinching parts looser or winding them tighter in a disordered frenzy. Cloths ripped from his arms alongside the flakes of dried blood adhering them to his wounds. His fingernails moved upwards, tearing the sleeves of his shirt before falling upon the wrappings beneath. The cloth trapped beneath the runeslate tied to his arm refused to give. A series of pained grunts tore from his throat, yet he only pulled harder. Until finally, the last bandages tore with a sound like slicing meat, and he threw them to the floor. I angled my palms towards the bandages. Attached to the blood was a large chunk of skin and flesh. For the first time, I saw the ruin I¡¯d made of my son¡¯s arms: muscle and sinew exposed to open air in a tangle of purpled meat, pus-ridden cavities, and onyx veins. And I saw how the decay stretched past the forearms it originally occupied to the biceps, then the shoulders ¨C where Orvi had flayed himself by tearing the bandages away. The white of his collarbone peeked through the flesh. The words were stuck in my throat. Nothing I had said the past weeks had reached him. It still felt as if I were shouting across some immense abyss. But if words were all I had, then I would use them. ¡°Orvi- ¡° ¡°What?¡± he barked. The capillaries in his eyes darkened them inexorably. ¡°What do you want?¡± ¡°Stop,¡± I crooned gently, taking a step towards him. I splayed my arms passively to the side. ¡°Hurting yourself will not help you.¡± ¡°At this point it won¡¯t make a difference,¡± he snapped back. A strained note ran through his voice. ¡°What are you doing, Ma?¡± ¡°I am here to help you.¡± ¡°You murdered these people.¡± ¡°Was I meant to allow them to do the same to me?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t- ¡° He covered his forehead with a hand. ¡°You ended Ravenblood. Executed hundreds of Ravenbloods ¨C your own soldiers. All for the purpose of finishing the threat. Yet you¡¯ll¡­ You¡¯ll protect it?¡± I thought carefully on that. The answer was obvious ¨C at least to me ¨C but it needed to be told in a way he would respect. Yet I had no knowledge of what that was. The man I faced was four years¡¯ more worn than the boy I had raised. That time was a gulf between us. Or perhaps it had always been there ¨C from the moment I demanded he spear my subordinate in the throat to the instant I opened my own ¨C and I had simply been blind to it. Either way, my voice seemed too shallow to bridge that gap. But I had to try. In the end, my answer emerged unaltered. ¡°I made a mistake.¡± His face collapsed on itself. ¡°No.¡± He turned away from me. ¡°No, no, no.¡± ¡°Orvi,¡± I said, ¡°you are a Ravenblood.¡± Still facing away, he pressed two palms against his forehead. The skin across them was flaking; dead. He muttered something. Another step brought my body fractionally closer. ¡°What is it?¡± I asked. His voice came louder. ¡°You¡¯re warped.¡± His statement echoed through the hall. ¡°The Raven was mad ¨C you knew that. You experienced it. Ending its blood was the right decision.¡± ¡°Orvi,¡± I said gently. ¡°There is no space for someone like you in this world.¡± My son looked at me. ¡°So I will make some.¡± I-
-?????? ??? ??????? a?? st?p?ed int? the ?uter courts. Dozens of footprints covered the mud between my group and the gatehouse, trailing through both the gardens lining the space¡¯s edges ¨C trampled between Siik-knows how many pairs of boots ¨C and the fence ringing the central area ¨C smashed in several places where someone had blundered through. Towards the back, the stables doors hung open; empty except for a lone mule staring disinterestedly towards us. Reminded me a bit of the Missus ¨C our old donkey. We¡¯d lost him a long time ago. The gatehouse itself gaped open into a vista of rolling plains and the brightening sky. In the dawn shadows, it took a moment to find our quarry. Mother leaned over the top of the battlements, idly puffing a cigarillo. Upon sighting me, a grin spread across her face. My legs seized. Her smile widened. ¡°There she is. My guest o¡¯ honour, come to dance with this ol¡¯ bag o¡¯ bones.¡± ¡°We don¡¯t have t¡¯do this,¡± I said, smoothing the stutter that threatened to creep into my voice. From the look on her face, she heard it anyway. ¡°Alrighty then,¡± she drawled, still smiling. ¡°You step aside. Lemme finish my business here.¡± ¡°What business?¡± I asked, forcing a threatening tone. ¡°Makin¡¯ you kill them guards inside. Why?¡± ¡°Come on, Kit.¡± She adopted an exaggerated look of disappointment. ¡°You know what this¡¯s about. Same as always.¡± ¡°¡­Th¡¯ business o¡¯ power.¡± She snapped her fingers. ¡°Business o¡¯ power, an¡¯ those with th¡¯ grit t¡¯grab it. There¡¯s chaff, and there¡¯s more worthy grain. Like you an¡¯ I.¡± The others shuffled behind me, yet allowed the exchange to continue. I snorted. ¡°You¡¯re sayin¡¯ it¡¯s for me?¡± Mother laughed. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t lie to you. We all do what we want to do, an¡¯ no one¡¯s free from that.¡± She paused. ¡°Besides: anythin¡¯ worth doin¡¯s worth doin¡¯ fer yerself.¡± I swallowed. ¡°You¡¯re twisted.¡± ¡°If I am twisted, it was by somethin¡¯ long ago.¡± The scarred old woman took another long drag of her cigarillo, then watched the smoke drift apart thoughtfully. ¡°I¡¯ll be me, no matter what. An¡¯ I s¡¯pose you¡¯ll be you.¡± I tried one last time. ¡°If you leave, I¡¯ll let you go.¡± The scarred old woman scoffed. ¡°Would th¡¯ woman that raised you leave?¡± I knew the answer. ¡°¡­No.¡± ¡°Maybe I changed. Jus¡¯ fer you.¡± We both weighed that line between us. The morning air was still cold, but warming rapidly. ¡°So much fer not lyin¡¯,¡± I said. She gave an amused huff. ¡°Yeah, I figured you wouldn¡¯t buy that. I ain¡¯t never changed, Kit.¡± Without breaking eye contact, she plucked the cigarillo from her mouth and ground it beneath her feet. ¡°You¡¯re the one that has.¡± ¡°I guess so,¡± I replied. Mother sneered. ¡°Thanks t¡¯them damn rats behind you.¡± She gestured towards Ronnie, Taja, and Maddie. ¡°Y¡¯know, they won¡¯t care about you like I do. They ain¡¯t raised you. An¡¯ they sure as th¡¯ gods themselves don¡¯t love you.¡± Maddie¡¯s voice snapped out. ¡°Kit doesn¡¯t have- ¡° ¡°By the blood, shut yer face.¡± The Jackal¡¯s voice was like the crack of a whip. ¡°I¡¯m talkin¡¯ to my godsdamned daughter!¡± Maddie flinched. Suddenly, with our roles defined, my legs moved easier. ¡°Yeah,¡± I said, stepping forward. ¡°I guess you don¡¯t change.¡± ¡°Eyup,¡± she drawled. ¡°Blood, maybe you didn¡¯t change. Maybe you was always like this, an¡¯ it¡¯s only showin¡¯ now. Or maybe th¡¯ rest o¡¯ the world jus¡¯ rubbed off on you. I guess it don¡¯t matter. ¡°We are what we are. You know what you¡¯re in for. I do too.¡± She sighed. ¡°Spent th¡¯ better part o¡¯ two decades tryin¡¯ to avoid this,¡± she muttered, ¡°but I guess blood don¡¯t lie. Speakin¡¯ o¡¯ blood¡­¡± When the Jackal bent behind the battlements, I immediately realised what she was doing. I veered left, then juked right, so that when she reemerged and fired a crossbow shining with purple runes towards me, the bolt ¨C fast enough that it was only visible when it embedded in the mud beside me ¨C missed entirely. I knew her well enough to predict that. What I failed to predict was her bending down and producing a second crossbow. I moved, but my boots skidded beneath me and I fell into a crouch. My knees were coiled to bounce back upright, but I was already within her sights. Then there was a wall of flesh accompanied by a spray of blood as Ronnie spun to the ground with an immense thud. I stared for a moment as the giant¡¯s feeble arm pawed for the bloody hole that pierced through its mighty counterpart. An improbable feather ¨C a piece of the quarrel ¨C protruded from the cavity. Their mouth lay open in a silent howl. All I could think of was tiny Whip, dying of the bolt in her gut as I made music for her. But a shout sent my eyes upwards, where I found a third crossbow being pulled from behind the battlements. The Jackal¡¯s face returned with a vicious sneer, only for her eyes to widen as Maddie raised Whip¡¯s crossbow in her direction. She ducked beneath, making space for me to sprint across the dirt of the outer courts to leap onto the ladder and shoot upwards. I scrambled onto its peak to find Mother crouched with a loaded crossbow in hand. Her eyes widened into huge orbs. The crossbow shivered upwards, fired, and all I felt was a gust of wind racing past my ear. My eyes fixed on the cause immediately. Her hands were shaking. I took several steps forward as my blade hissed from its sheath, then sent it swinging downwards in a huge overhead swing. Mother stumbled out of the way, but my blow found its target all the same: the crate of loaded crossbows beside her, which broke apart under sharp steel and several swift kicks from my boot. An echo of my blade¡¯s draw sounded as Mother drew her own sword. We faced one another. Our boots were silent as we drew ourselves into a readied stance. The sun¡¯s reflection shone from the edge of our blades. ¡°You¡¯re a bad person, Mother.¡± She smiled thinly. ¡°If I taught you anythin¡¯, it¡¯s that good ¡®n bad¡¯s jus¡¯ lip-service people pay to themselves. T¡¯make up reasons to do what they want to anyway. Like godsdamned mutts chasin¡¯ their own tail.¡± ¡°Maybe,¡± I admitted. ¡°But there¡¯s people, there¡¯s pain, and there¡¯s loss. That means somethin¡¯ ¨C somethin¡¯ like good an¡¯ bad ¨C but you can¡¯t see it.¡± She shook her head with a wry grin. ¡°You jus¡¯ wanna gut me.¡± I looked inside myself. Found she wasn¡¯t quite wrong. ¡°Yeah, well,¡± I said, smiling weakly, ¡°I am my mother¡¯s daughter.¡± The Jackal laughed. ¡°I¡¯m proud o¡¯ you, Kit. You know what you want. You know why you want it. That¡¯s real power, there.¡± She flipped her sword. ¡°Well come on, daughter o¡¯ mine. Let¡¯s see if you can get it.¡± W? st?pp?? ?o?????-
-and I stepped backwards, slamming my leg against the corner of a table. I barely noticed. ¡°That¡¯s what this is about?¡± My breath rushed hard and fast from between my teeth. ¡°Me?¡± Ma gave a grave nod. ¡°I need to keep you safe.¡± ¡°By dying for me?¡± She knew immediately what I spoke of. ¡°Even if I had lived through my wounds, I would have been a cripple. The choice I made was a fair one.¡± ¡°Choice?¡± I could scarcely believe that such words spewed from her mouth. Her memories were lost to me, but I¡¯d traced them so many times their echoes endured. They reeked of lies or delusions ¨C and neither belonged to the woman I¡¯d known. ¡°There was no choice.¡± A frown flitted across her face. ¡°I died because I loved you.¡± I shook my head. ¡°Your love hit you like a knife in the neck. Monstrously powerful, and completely out of your control. The kind of love that steals everything ¨C even the chance to say no. On the roof that day, there were no choices.¡± ¡°What¡¯s wrong with that, Orvi?¡± I grasped the air in front of me. ¡°Because I caged you in that love.¡± My eyes locked with hers and, finding them sightless, turned to the dark orbs embedded in her palms. Ma had to understand. ¡°I forced you here. And I¡¯ve kept you here, even as you gave everything for me. I have to set you free from me, once and for all.¡± Ma¡¯s face tightened. Her eyes shone, and I felt sickened by the fact that I¡¯d hurt her again, when she should be beyond all hurt. Her voice was hoarse when she responded. ¡°That¡¯s what Ravenblood is, Orvi.¡± I shook my head. ¡°You¡¯ve been in that body for a few days,¡± I stated. ¡°You have no idea what Ravenblood is.¡± Ma lowered her hands to the side and took a deep, shuddering breath. From her pocket, she retrieved a tube. At its head were two pincers. The Ravenblood Babs was in. That Gale had taken from me the day before. Ma¡¯d kept it for me. ¡°I am sorry,¡± she carefully told me, ¡°that I have left you alone for all these years. And I¡¯m sorry I¡¯ve left you with¡­¡± She swallowed heavily. ¡°You might die, Orvi. Please take the Ravenblood back.¡± ¡°Get rid of it, Ma,¡± I pleaded. ¡°Finish what you started. End this piece of Avri, and let the memory of it fade to nothing.¡± ¡°My deed was illusory. But you,¡± Ma stated fiercely, ¡°are not.¡± Our words were heard, but not accepted. The problem was not that we were different. It was that we were just similar enough to understand exactly where the other stood. To see the flaws beneath our foundation. And to know that our minds were already set in ice.
And so we fought.
??? ?? ??????? ?o?e, ? kic?e? th? sh?ttered remnants of a crossbow forward, where they tangled with my mother¡¯s legs. She swore as I rushed forward, instinctually inching backwards to retreat yet stumbling as her feet caught on an errant chunk of wood. I ducked underneath her warding slash to aim my own blow towards her legs, only for her to angle the wood around her calf so my blade caught in it. Even as the momentum jarred her leg, the Jackal grinned at my trapped weapon. But she¡¯d failed to anticipate that when I yanked my sword backwards, it would pull her directly into my fist. Her jaw was smashed sideways as my knuckles jarred painfully. I allowed her to catch herself on the side of the battlements. ¡°Ox¡¯s balls,¡± I swore as I shook my hand. Mother blinked rapidly. The legs beneath her wobbled. I squinted at her. It would be far too easy to slit her throat. ¡°You good?¡± I asked, eying her warily. It took Mother shoving herself back onto her feet for me to realise her weakness hadn¡¯t been feigned. ¡°By the blood,¡± I muttered. ¡°You really felt that, huh?¡± She spat a wad of reddened spit onto the stone beneath us. ¡°Who taught you t¡¯punch like that? I know butterflies that hit heavier.¡± I rubbed my aching knuckles against the side of my sword-arm, still staring at her. ¡°Uh¡­¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± She sighed. ¡°Damn. I really thought I¡¯d match you fer longer. Didn¡¯t even get a godsdamn hit in.¡± Mother¡¯s scarred face twisted into a vicious tirade of curses, then settled just as quickly. ¡°Oh well.¡± I frowned. ¡°You givin¡¯ up?¡± She doled me a lazy grin. ¡°I mean, you¡¯re the one on a timer t¡¯get rid o¡¯ me, right? You might be havin¡¯ an easy time with me, but yer boy inside¡¯s gonna be a bloody mess if you take too long. Not to mention,¡± she drawled, placing a hand in her pocket as if we were strolling instead of fighting, ¡°the big feller down there¡¯s gonna bleed to death soon enough.¡± My eyes flickered. Below, Taja and Maddie were packing torn pieces of their clothing into Ronnie¡¯s wound while the giant mouthed swears and beat the ground beside them with their arm. I didn¡¯t think Ronnie would bleed to death. Why had Mother¡­ I looked back and barely had time to close my eyes before something detonated in front of me. A dull ringing immediately settled into my ears as I stumbled backwards, entirely blind except for a few splotches at the edge of my vision. Through them, I saw a dark blur approaching. My legs backpedalled rapidly ¨C barely prevented from turning into an outright sprint ¨C when the combination of a flash of metal and a rush of air had my instincts slamming me into the side of the battlements before I could understand why. Mother¡¯s steel sword missed my heart, but her fist did not. It slammed against my jaw with enough force to send my head cracking against the stone behind me. Another flash drove me to roll backwards with the momentum her punch¡¯d lent me. When I finally found my feet again, I swayed my head blindly from side to side and managed to find Mother¡¯s face as a blur in the corner of my eyes. She was pointing at me and yelling something I was entirely deaf to. Talking. Even here. She sure did like to talk. ¡°Why¡¯d you do all this?¡± My mouth went through the motions of speech, but the only thing I heard was a vague buzz. ¡°Kill all them people? What¡¯s it for?¡± A blur I thought might be her eyes widened slightly. I guessed she was saying some variation of: ¡®You can hear me?¡¯ I nodded. Mother opened her arms expansively and said something. Her lips moved for a few more moments, then paused. ¡°¡­Sure,¡± I belatedly blurted, ¡°but why?¡± She tilted her head to the side and continued speaking, mindless of the fact I couldn¡¯t hear her. Every time she paused, I filled the space with a nod or some meaningless acknowledgement of the words I could not understand. Before everything had fallen apart, there¡¯d been days where Mother had spent hours complaining to me about members of the band: their stupidity or idiocy or money-grubbing ways (that was Jana) or people turning soft (almost always Father, before he¡¯d died). Some of my earliest memories were of her groaning pitifully because of something I could barely understand; asking whether she should¡¯ve done anything differently but seeking only one reply. This was no different. I didn¡¯t need ears to figure out what she was saying: something about power and weakness and domination and such. Stuff I didn¡¯t disagree with. She could weave a good enough set of words to net just about anyone with a beating heart, but without my ears she just looked like a bloody-faced woman flapping her gums and arms. I would¡¯ve laughed, if I hadn¡¯t been so scared she¡¯d figure out my game and kill me. To my relief, in the space my bland statements made my hearing and vision slowly began to resemble something functional. Mother must¡¯ve used one of the loud, flashing things Tully had thrown all the way back at the abandoned farmstead, but whatever it was¡¯d probably been much weaker, for its effects to fade so quickly. Made sense: she¡¯d probably snatched it from Gale, who by his own account was a weak Owlblood ¨C probably not much power to put into the thing. Maybe she¡¯d used Colin¡¯s blood, before he died. I¡¯d gotten lucky that the device¡¯s Godsblood hadn¡¯t lost potency; if Gale¡¯d used the Ravenblood he had now, his divinity would¡¯ve been enough to render me blind and deaf for the rest of my short life. I shuddered at the thought. Mother frowned at me, then said something that lilted upwards at the end. A question. ¡°Jus¡¯ wonderin¡¯ why you haven¡¯t killed me is all.¡± The ringing in my ears had faded enough that I could comprehend my own words. I barely made out something about ¡®fairness¡¯ and ¡®proof¡¯. ¡°You sure it wasn¡¯t ¡®cause you wanted a chat?¡± Mother swayed one hand from side-to-side. Though both my hearing and vision were still muddied, I figured it best to end the game while I was ahead. ¡°Y¡¯know I couldn¡¯t hear you this whole time?¡± Mother stared at me for a moment, then swore ferociously. ¡°Gimme a summary,¡± I offered. ¡°You absolute ingrate,¡± she spat. After a moment, her fury evaporated into an abrupt laugh. ¡°Guess you had to, t¡¯stop me guttin¡¯ you. Fair¡¯s fair. As I was sayin¡¯: We¡¯re all gonna die one day, Kit. Whether you amble yer way over or run all th¡¯ way makes no difference. Death¡¯s as mundane as life, and life¡¯s so damn ubiquitous you can find it in whatever chunk o¡¯ dung you scrape off the ground. No big loss to squash whatever beetles come crawlin¡¯ out.¡± ¡°An¡¯ you¡¯re different?¡± She cackled. ¡°I¡¯m jus¡¯ a different breed o¡¯ beetle, Kit. So are you. But the great thing about all this¡¯s that even beetles can scale th¡¯ back of a god.¡± She pointed her blade towards me. ¡°Same as anyone else: I kill ¡®cause it¡¯s what I need t¡¯do to get where I wanna be.¡± ¡°Atop it all,¡± I finished for her. ¡°Where you deserve.¡± Mother sneered. ¡°Damn straight. An¡¯ this late in the game, all that¡¯s left t¡¯get through is you. Th¡¯ girl who can¡¯t damn well listen.¡± I str?ightened and sp?n my swor?, squi?ti?? thro?gh the blur that settled ?ver my vi??on. ¡°Y?u¡¯re ?n, ol? l?dy.¡± ? ??????? ??????? ??-
-the next step Ma took I wreathed in purple borne of the runeslate bound to my skinless arm. Rather than allow the sudden jerking of her feet to throw her gait off, she simply stilled, her hand placing her weight on a table with a care that was no longer necessary. ¡°Gast, then,¡± she stated. The name set me blinking. It was mine- No, I was¡­ Not Wil. Not Tully. Not ????. Not Se?ras. Not Orvi. A migraine ravaged the edges of my skull. I grabbed it and heaved in a desperate bid to split it open; free my brain from its cage of blood and bone. In the space my confusion made, Ma continued walking forward. With one hand still clutching my head, I grasped the onyx sword belted to my side and ripped it from its scabbard. Its midnight blade stole the light of the room¡¯s lanterns. Though the sheer heft of it caused my emaciated arm to tremble, I nevertheless managed to extend it towards her. ¡°There is no need to fight,¡± she said. Pain was the world; my words a thin froth atop it. ¡°If I tell you to stop,¡± I panted, ¡°will you?¡± ¡°¡­No.¡± I clawed my way back to coherency. My body was bent over. ¡°What right do you have to make that decision for me?¡± She looked away. ¡°¡­The only right that matters, in this space.¡± ¡°The same right that let you put your blood on my forehead, on that roof,¡± I finished for her. I couldn¡¯t allow her to try it again. ¡°It won¡¯t work. If you try it again, I¡¯ll deny it. I¡¯m stronger now. And if I fail, I¡¯ll gut myself. You¡¯ll find no purchase in this body.¡± Failure was possible, there. Ma was strong. I thought I could wrest control from her, if she crept into my body, but that could simply be the insidious tongue of conceit; a symptom of the dulled imagination the past few weeks of stupor had buried me in. Neither could I be certain that the same would apply if I went into her. It was best to either kill her outright or weaken her first ¨C make her vulnerable before she killed me. The safest option was the bloodier one¡­ Ma¡¯s rumble interrupted my words. ¡°I speak of an older right.¡± I looked at her. Saw arms stiffen; her legs coil. ¡°Oh,¡± I said. She thought the same as me. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she muttered. My body tensed. ¡°I get it, Ma.¡± Then she was sprinting at me with all the power of a galloping horse and moments before contact I managed to shove a table onto its side and kick it towards her but the paltry force my foot imbued in it was laughable so with a brush of my runeslate I multiplied it until it sped towards Ma¡¯s legs which swiftly sprung over the obstacle only for a hurled chair to smash against her torso and send her to the ground and I fled backwards, eyes wide. The former general was up again in scarcely a heartbeat and I scrambled backwards like a rabbit under the gaze of a swooping eagle. My heart thudded in my chest as I bashed into another table behind me with enough force to send me flipping over it moments before Ma¡¯s arms seized the space I¡¯d just occupied. She loomed over me and I kicked the table upwards so its purple-suffused edge crashed into her head and sent her stumbling backwards, giving me just enough time to leap to my feet and angle my sword at her chest. Then Ma looked at me and my blade froze where it was. ¡°Come on,¡± I told myself. My vision blurred. I forced every ounce of will I had into simply pushing the sword downwards. Yet all I could see was everything she used to mean to me, before this. The fear and hope and the raw need to be worthy of all she¡¯d given. But then I saw the eyes ¨C unblinking, blacker than pitch ¨C staring from her palms. In them, an emaciated figure loomed. I thrusted my blade and she slipped aside. Her palm pounded into my face faster than my eyes could follow and I stumbled backwards, spitting teeth and blood. My back halted against the dining hall¡¯s walls. Several paces distant, Ma¡¯s arms were spread uselessly. ¡°Oh gods,¡± she said, blind eyes wide. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Orvi.¡± I shook the stars from my vision. The pain barely registered against the agony of air against my raw arms. I spat a chunk of something onto the ground and felt the brush of air on my gums. One single thought wormed through it all: I was losing. I was weak ¨C incredibly weak. My arms barely held any strength. This rotting shell of a body felt less like mine than the one I fought. And if I lost, it would never leave. ¡°Orvi?¡± No reply was given. I began tracing my way around the side of the room. It was only when she moved to follow that I spoke. ¡°Ambrose; Henrik; Ma; Gale,¡± I hissed at her. ¡°Who are they? Why did you kill them?¡± Ma paused for a moment. I saw her frown. ¡°I¡­¡± ¡°Who else did you kill?¡± I demanded. ¡°They can¡¯t have been the first.¡± ¡°No,¡± she muttered, bringing a hand to her head. ¡°It wasn¡¯t¡­¡± My mind grasped the edges of what Gale had hidden. ¡°Where¡¯s Colin? Where¡¯s Greta?¡± ¡°What do you mean? I¡¯m right¡­¡± She blinked rapidly. ¡°Here.¡± I was halfway there. ¡°Why did you kill them?¡± Her breathing was heavy. ¡°I didn¡¯t¡­ I needed¡­¡± ¡°Colin because you needed his Owlblood.¡± I sneered. ¡°That was all it took to end someone who¡¯d spent years helping you?¡± ¡°I¡­ I¡­¡± ¡°What about Greta? What could a godsdamn cook have that you needed so badly?¡± ¡°She¡­ she knew I was acting different,¡± the Ravenblood protested. ¡°If she¡¯d simply promised to keep silent, there would¡¯ve been no need to hurt her!¡± ¡°You killed her.¡± Wide eyes trembled towards nothing at all. ¡°I saved her.¡± Unwittingly I took a step closer. ¡°Do you remember dying?¡± The Ravenblood¡¯s nails dragged furrows down the side of her face. ¡°Did you feel saved?¡± I demanded. Suddenly, Ma stilled. I froze where I stood. ¡°Many people don¡¯t understand.¡± It was impossible to know who spoke from Gale¡¯s mouth. ¡°Disease. Suffering. Death. All are symptoms of the world outside.¡± All four of the Ravenblood¡¯s eyes affixed my own. ¡°So long as I have the strength, those I save will never be harmed.¡± Something had changed in her, in the shadowy, insubstantial places where ghosts dwell. Something had seeped into that fragmented world, darker than black; whispering kind words to hide its toothsome maw. If I could dismiss her as only a sack of flesh hollowed of any hint of Ma, it might¡¯ve been easier. But she was there, and all I managed was a shake of my head. Ma cautiously stepped towards me. ¡°We¡¯re capable of this, Orvi.¡± The vial of Ravenblood was gripped tightly in her hands. She was wrong. But nothing I said would show her that. Instead, the words that emerged my mouth were: ¡°I can¡¯t.¡± Then I ran. Footsteps thundered behind me as I sprinted as fast as my sluggish body could manage through the various tables and chairs scattered throughout the room. Each time I passed one, I pawed it backwards while modifying the force via which they travelled, sending them shooting back towards my pursuer. None hit, but the fact she hadn¡¯t already caught me told volumes of their efficacy. I barged shoulder-first through the door of the attached kitchen ¨C letting loose a hoarse scream as something tore from my collarbone ¨C and staggered towards the stove, where a pot waited. I dropped the onyx blade at my feet and peered inside. Mercifully, it was still full of water. Momentum & Force were my runeslate¡¯s focuses. Light held a small corner, while Bond was entirely beyond its scope. I¡¯d barely managed to carve Heat along its margins, but the exponential intricacy of casting it at a distance meant that casting past my fingertips outstripped my comprehension of the magic. And even that paltry distance was only possible if I could work the magic through my arm ¨C air was too thin a conduit. All that meant was that if I wanted to make the pot of water boil, I needed to shove one hand in it while I did so. A slight pinch was all I felt at first. Then groans ground through clenched teeth as the skin of my hand reddened. Then I watched that skin simply slough away. Rising bubbles distorted the intricate string of tendons, bone, and veins that formed my hand. Then the pain in my hand outstripped that of my arms. As if a vice were crushing every individual fleck of them. A scream ripped from my throat. By the time the fourth heartbeat of heating passed, Ma slammed into the room. I ripped my hand from the pot ¨C resisting the urge to uselessly clutch at it ¨C and grabbed the pot with the other to hurl towards her. She staggered sideways a mere instant before the airborne water shone purple and shot towards her hands. She tried to dodge but it was already too late. The boiling water fell into the unblinking eyes lodged in her palms. They reddened as the water remained within them, unable to blink and clear them away. The other Ravenblood screamed, ¡°No!¡± as I slumped against an oven, skeletal hand over my mouth to hide from the blind thing raging through the kitchen. I-
-?????? ?????? ???? ????? ?????????? ?? ???? ?????????; ?? ?????? ????? ????¡¯? ?????????? ???????? ?? ?????????. ???? ??????? ?? ??ulty vis??n, ? ????d ??? M???er¡¯s bl?rred snee?, f????ng ?? wit? t?e ??ge t? surg? forw?rd ¨C t? wip? the disp?ragement off her face ¨C but I resisted it. She knew exactly what she was doing. Yet when her hand fell into her p?cket I could retreat no longer. Her arm ¨C visible as a haze of darkness against a diffus?on of dawn light ¨C struck sideways, allowing me to infer the position of her blade, which was imperceptibly vague except for the moments where its steel caught the sun. I raised mine to the side in an undignified block which misjudged where her weapon¡¯s e?ge would land badly enough the impact rattled my bones, however it was enough for me to close the distance and grab her other wrist. The edge of Mother¡¯s blade whacked against my back and I grunted in pain, but the awkward angle was enough armour to stop the cut from going further than skin-deep. She yanked her head back, but I mirrored the Foxblood that¡¯d nearly broken my nose weeks ago and angled my forehead downwards, so the ensuing headbutt smashed the softest part of Mother¡¯s face into the hardest part of my skull. The force was enough that she would¡¯ve fallen, were my grip on her arm not so firm. Her fingers twitched around the ?rb in her hand. ¡°Go on,¡± I said, muscles trembling as I gradually pulled it before her eyes. ¡°Set it off, ol¡¯ lady.¡± The Jackal snarled, then dropped it. I released my grip and batted it over the side of the battlements. I didn¡¯t know to use it anyway. We both took a single step backwards, the? extended our swords so they nearly touched. I watched her free hand carefully. ¡°You¡¯re a filthy little whore,¡± Mother spat. Her scowl turned mocking. ¡°S¡¯that what Jana taught you, huh? How t¡¯lay on yer godsdamned back for whoever comes yer way; maybe spurn a customer an¡¯ get acid thrown on you.¡± I blinked, and barely stopped myself from taking another step back. At my silence, h?r scowl grew darker. ¡°Real easy to toss me aside, after I¡¯ve given you everythin¡¯ you¡¯ll ever need. Y¡¯know how easy you had it? I gave you everythin¡¯. I had nothing; jus¡¯ a mother who couldn¡¯t¡¯ve cared less an¡¯ a rotation o¡¯ ¡®Uncles¡¯ t¡¯beat the snot outta me. Then I spent th¡¯ better part o¡¯ two years trekkin¡¯ out t¡¯Korla, because at least with all their military dyin¡¯ constantly it¡¯s easy to climb th¡¯ ranks. So long as you don¡¯t bloody well get stabbed or maimed or shot through with arrows or used as a decoy for a godsdamn flankin¡¯ manoeuvre! Your soft arse wouldn¡¯t survive a day in a place like that.¡± I¡¯d heard it all before. Of more interest was the flicker of orange moving across the outer courts. Before my opponent c?uld turn, I spoke. ¡°I would.¡± ¡°Cause I gave you every tool you¡¯d need t¡¯do it!¡± Mother bellowed, blade trembling. ¡°Took me fourteen damn years t¡¯end that whore; you¡¯d do it a bloody afternoon.¡± There were only two people Mother regularly called that. Jana ¨C because she used work as an ¡®escort¡¯, whatever that entailed ¨C and the one that¡¯d raised her. ¡°You killed your mother?¡± I blurted. She paused. ¡°Yeah,¡± came her answer. The shockin? part wasn¡¯t the matricide. ¡°You spent hours groanin¡¯ at me about all the things that happened t¡¯you as a kid, an¡¯ never told me that?¡± Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. ¡°Well, I was tryin¡¯ t¡¯make sure you didn¡¯t f?llow my lead.¡± My mouth opened, then closed. It opened again. ¡°How much o¡¯ the stuff you did t¡¯me was makin¡¯ sure I didn¡¯t kill you too?¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t give you reason,¡± the Jackal spat. ¡°I was gonna give you everythin¡¯, so long as you jus¡¯ listened.¡± She barked a laugh. ¡°Guess it¡¯s in th¡¯ blood.¡± I twisted my gaze s? that the one spot where my vision was clear contained Mother¡¯s face: scarred, mocking, and delighted at the expression on my face. ¡°You made me do this,¡± I tried to tell her. ¡°Sure,¡± she drawled with a lazy nod. ¡°But not cause o¡¯ anythin¡¯ I done here.¡± She leaned forward, grinning toothily. ¡°I hammered my shape into yer godsdamn veins a bit too well.¡± I flinched, then red??bled my voice in a feeble attempt to hide it. ¡°You ain¡¯t no god, an¡¯ I ain¡¯t no Blooded.¡± ¡°But I put myself in there all the same.¡± Her sneer deep??ed. ¡°You could kill me where I stand, an¡¯ every time you swing a sword I¡¯ll still be there. You¡¯ll still speak with my voice. An¡¯ I¡¯ll still be waitin¡¯ fer you each night, at th¡¯ edges o¡¯ yer dreams.¡± In the brightening world, her voice faded instantly. Yet as it echoed through my skull, her words only grew louder. I feared they¡¯d never fade. I tightened my grip on my sword. ¡°You¡¯re an idiot,¡± I said weakly. ¡°What did you think I¡¯d do, when you started killin¡¯ my friends?¡± ¡°Friends?¡± Mother repeated in a tone she reserved for dogs and fools. I ??ushed deeply. ¡°Oh, lil¡¯ Kit prancin¡¯ ¡®round, makin¡¯ flower-crowns with her damned friends. What¡¯ve they done fer you but led you on a wild chase through the Heartlands and get your face all scarred up?¡± When Mad?ie finally made her way to the top of the ladder, my eyes didn¡¯t move from Mother¡¯s. She s?w me, gave a tight smile, and raised her hand. The device I¡¯d batted down into the outer courts ¨C where the others could retrieve it ¨C was contained within. I¡¯d had n? idea how to use it. But Maddie was Heltian. ¡°Well,¡± I said softly. ¡°?y friend¡¯s about to brain th¡¯ back o¡¯ yer head.¡± I turned my face away and plugged my e?rs at the same moment that my mother cautiously turned her head. The detonation was th?nderous, yet when I tur?ed back my vision and hearing ?ere barely weaker than before. Mother sw?re as she flaile? her s??rd b??k an? fo??h. I d????? a swing, gr??bed her ?egs, ?nd tossed her over the edge of the battlements. ??? ?????? ???? ??? ????? ?? ??????? ????. ? ?????? ???? ?? ???? ??? ???? ???? ??????? ?? ????. ??? ?????? ??? ?????, ???? ?????? ??. ¡°???¡¯ ? ?????,¡± ? ???? ??????. ???? ?????? ??, ??? ???????, ¡°????? ???¡¯ ? ?????? ?????????.¡± ¡°????? ??. ??¡¯ ???¡¯ ? ????? ?? ????.¡± ?-
-tried to stifle my screams, wipe the water away, but my eyes ¨C my eyes ¨C were scalding into useless lumps of jelly alongside any hope of sight I¡¯d ever held. Blinking was an impossibility, so nothing could end the sight of the kitchen¡¯s lines fuzzing apart as the colours of it bloomed until they dominated my vision. Until there were no more lines, and no more certainty. Colours ¨C beautiful, intangible and meaningless ¨C were all that remained. I was blind again. My scream narrowed as my lungs emptied. Then it dwindled to little more than a pathetic whine. I culled it, and began groping around the room. ¡°Why?¡± I asked. ¡°I¡¯m just¡­¡± I paused to clench my palms tightly. It felt as if stakes had been driven through them. ¡°I¡¯m just trying to help! And you¡¯ve blinded me in exchange?!¡± A quiet part of my mind told me I knew why. That Orvi had presented his agenda clearly in his rejection of mine. But the pain of those colours demanded release. ¡°Why are you here?¡± I hissed. ¡°Why are you not in the Wastes? You had family there! Was what we made not enough for you? Every day I strived to make what we had safe and comfortable for you. Did I fail? Was I wrong?¡± There was a clatter from across the tiny room. I ran towards it, felt a waft of air, and managed to raise an arm quickly enough to prevent something sharp from stabbing into my sternum. Instead, it ripped through my forearm before jamming against the bone of my elbow. I tore it out. Felt it in my hand. A knife. A kitchen knife. Thrown from somewhere in the room. ¡°I would¡¯ve killed to have what you had, Orvi,¡± I whispered. ¡°I have killed. To have friends. Someone who would laugh at my jokes. To have two siblings; to care and be cared for. To have a parent that would give their life for you. Anything instead of silence. Why would you leave?¡± I didn¡¯t expect a reply. One found me regardless. ¡°They thought I killed Ma.¡± My head snapped towards the voice. ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t you have stayed and tried to fix it?¡± There was a metallic clang. ¡°Everyone knew I was a Ravenblood.¡± A quaver distorted that last word; Orvi quickly stifled it. ¡°They would¡¯ve hurt them simply for associating with me.¡± I spoke more softly. ¡°They may have hurt them regardless, Orvi.¡± His voice retreated upwards, along the stairs at the back of the kitchen. ¡°Dash called me a monster.¡± I swept my leg forward, and finally found the first step. ¡°¡­That was it?¡± ¡°He was right. I killed you.¡± ¡°Orvi¡­¡± I wished I could just see him. ¡°You did not murder me. You played no part in the choice I made.¡± ¡°Really, Ma?¡± A brittle chuckle. ¡°Is that what you did? Is that what we¡¯re doing here? Making choices?¡± ¡°Your time with my mind must have confused you. The blame is not in you. It is in me.¡± ¡°The fact there were no Esfarians to help deter the Lizard was my fault. Your missing arm was my fault.¡± He reached the top of the stairs. ¡°Whatever caused you to die is something I put there.¡± ¡°You would take my death from me?¡± I demanded, struggling to place my feet along the narrow staircase as my eyes burned. Nothing. No response. ¡°Orvi?¡± I winced at a spike of pain from my torn arm. ¡°Orvi?¡± ¡°I¡¯m here to kill you.¡± The reply was soft. It was also directly in front of me. ¡°And your death is mine.¡± A boot thrust against my chest. For a moment I teetered. My fingernails barely managed to slide into a divot in the wall. Then something heavy crashed into them and I fell. I managed to wrap both arms around my head before slamming into the corner of a stair. Another two turns of the world and a heavy object clubbed my side ¨C an oven, I surmised. After struggling to my feet, another shard of pain erupted from my thigh followed by a clattering from behind. A knife again. His strategy, I realised, was simple. Orvi had gathered the knives in the kitchen ¨C likely within a metal pot. He would accelerate them towards me using Gast¡¯s runeslate while I flailed. I¡¯d decades of experience fighting and moving blind, but none whatsoever doing both simultaneously. The wounds would mount. At my weakest point, he would try to execute me. Before my palm-strike had torn half his cheek from his face, he had hesitated. He might once more. But it would not last forever. My rapid turn was accompanied by another metallic clattering against a wall ¨C my sudden movement had ruined his aim. I barged back into the dining hall. Three tables were dodged on memory; in my haste, the fourth crashed into my knee with enough force that it would have broken something, were I still in¡­ Maja¡¯s body? My body? Whose body? As I frowned into myself, a fourth knife shot into my back and rebounded off a rib. A pained bark emerged from my mouth as I instinctually beat at my back and brushed my burned eyes against fabric. Another blade drew a line of fire along my ribs. I screamed and felt my mind fall into a casting (force, undirected/absentee), twisting and falling in and out of focus as I descended into where things met and moved everything in the room away from myself. A grunt as Orvi fell. Instead of going to him and ensuring his safety, I sprinted towards the side of the room and ripped open the cupboard waiting there. Within were several weapons. It took scarcely a heartbeat to find the telltale heft of a halberd ¨C even blunted as it was ¨C and charge back outwards. One leg stuttered beneath me as Gast¡¯s magic stole the momentum of it, and I failed to restore it before it sent me crashing to my knees. Yet though the sweep of the halberd in my hands should have deterred anyone drawing closer, a sudden rebound jarred my arm. I¡¯d hit some kind of armour; neither bronze nor iron nor Owlforged steel. Stone, I judged from the blunt sound of the impact. Or bone. My knuckles clenched around the haft of my halberd. ¡°Shrikeblood,¡± I mused. I¡¯d barely been aware of their existence before meeting Gaia, beyond a few superstitious mutterings amongst the officers. Ones that were quickly met with discipline ¨C mention of the god was outlawed. I¡¯d certainly never fought one. But bone, however divine, was only bone. There was a limit to what he could do with it. Something clattered as Orvi landed heavily on the ground, giving me leave to sprint towards the back of the room and haul the doors there open. Within was the telltale whir of bloodtech. I ducked a pipe and drew closer to its centre. I was certain Orvi knew the layout of the Fort as well as I, by this point. Even thin Ravenbloods possessed excellent memories; with a slightly greater dose of divinity, theirs became perfect. But simply because Orvi knew the layout as well as I did not mean he understood it. Not in the same manner I did. My outstretched hand fell upon the intricate lay of carved stone embedded in the ceiling. We were directly underneath my workshop. The maintenance and alteration of the machine was made possible via a hatch in the storeroom. Its complexity was borne of the extraneous demands of distance and efficiency; at its core was a very simple array. One that lit the everburning lanterns of the Fort. They were for the sake of others. I did not need them. But Orvi did. When the door finally creaked as my son ran inside, I lifted my halberd and brought my full strength down on the device above. Something hard cracked against my back ¨C the pot, alongside the knives it contained ¨C but his blow was too late. For a moment, the azure colours blooming across my vision held. Then they ebbed to black. We stood in absolute darkness. I-
-??????? ??? ?????? ????? ?? M????? ??? ?????l? ????????? ???? ??? r????. ??¡¯ ? ???? ??? ?????? ??? ?????? ?? ???? ??, ??? ????? ????¡¯ ? ???? ???? ?? ????. ??t??? ??? ????a?? ???????? ?? ???? ??????? ???? ??? ????????? ??????? ?? ??? s?????s. ¡°???nie ?????¡± ? ??????? ???? ?? T???. ??? ??? ???? ??????? ??? ???? ??. I? ?as th? giant t???self tha? e??ed up gi??ng m? a thumbs-up. Mothe? finished working her way out of the stable. The mule¡¯s front legs rapidly beat at the wreckage her fall had created. Mother¡¯s fall¡¯d managed to destroy the entire structure, but the poor beast had still drawn the far worse hand. She squinted owlishly towards the courtyard, swaying her head back and forth. ¡°You broke anythin¡¯?¡± I cal?ed to her. She finally worked her way to her feet, bent-over at her back. A wince passed across her face as she cracked her back and groaned. ¡°Who¡¯s talkin¡¯? S¡¯that you, Kit?¡± ¡°You mess up yer back?¡± ¡°You think you managed t¡¯mess- ¡° A second groa? belied her words as she bent over and crouched beside a chunk of wood. I rai?ed an eyebrow. ¡°What¡¯re you doin¡¯?¡± From behind the barrier, I heard her say, ¡°Real gracious o¡¯ you, lettin¡¯ me know where y¡¯are and standin¡¯ that far away.¡± ¡°What- ¡° I froze, then shouted. ¡°Maddie get back up! Taja, stay-¡± Mother tossed a large sphere into the sky. I turned and ran. It descended directly behind me. The moment it touched ground, it explo???, ??????? ?? ?????? ???????. ?? ???? ??????? ?? ????? ?? ?? ?????. ? ??????? ????? ??? ?????? -- ????, ????? -- ???? ?????? ???? ??? ????????? ??????-???. ?? ???? ??????? ???? ??? ??????. Th? pain caug?? on a lump in my thr?at. I barke? a strange cough-scream. Grime covered my body. I lay on my side. ?y fingers hurt. Another cough-wheeze. It transformed into a groan as I slid one arm from where it lay trapped underneath my body. It lay in the dirt. I brought it to my eyes. ?t took a moment to recognise them. Beneath the dirt my skin was smeared in lurked my hand. The last two finger? on my sword-hand were bent sideways. Perpendicular to themselv??. I managed not to scream. Then I rolled and found myself face-to-face with the pale face of Greta and I did. My attempt to scrabbl? away from the corpse failed immediately as the brush of earth against my spine flared the chisel of pain embedded into every inch of my back into all-consuming agony. Dirt pressed against my cheek as I flailed away from what scorched me but the fire that burned me burned in me and there was no escape. When I pressed my hands against the garden bed to rise, I felt the bones in my broken fingers shift. Then and there I v??ited ¨C thick strings of bile and undigested food appearing beneath my body. The shock of it shot me to my feet, where I barely managed to avoid slumping against the wall behind me. Once again, I glanced at my fingers. I¡¯d hold a sword again one day. Surely, I thought. But if I didn¡¯t find a way to get through the next few minutes without it, I would never see another day. Acro?s the outer courts, Ronnie gradually bro??ht themselves to their feet. In front of them stood a dark blur ¨C Taja, standing between the giant and Mother. His hand shook around the hilt of the sword I¡¯d dropped in the explosion. A singular, shattered ghost knelt in the centre of it all with hands pressed against its eyes. Unlike any other I¡¯d seen before, for it grew more solid with every second that passed. I took a step towards them and nearly fell. Several paces distant, Maddie reached the bottom of the ladder ¨C entirely unharmed ¨C and moved towards me. Instead, I wrested my gait into a limping jog towards the two. It wouldn¡¯t be fast enough. The Jackal¡¯s blade fell towards Taja like a scythe towards grain. It bounced off the threshes ¨C stalks revealed as iron. Taja had blocked the first blow. The second swooped like a bird, taking advantage of how the teenager¡¯s stance had weakened. He barely batted that one away. With his weapon swung far to the side, there was nothing to prevent a third from diving towards his chest like an eagle. Bereft of any other options, Taja simply let himself fall to the side. I came to the abrupt realisation that all were moves I had taught him the previous day. Fresh as the bruises I¡¯d left on his skin. Despite everything, they saved his life. But with his footing gone, she had him trapped. Before Mother could deliver the fourth, final blow, Ronnie swept one massive leg sideways. Though she hopped over it, the motion gave Taja time to scurry backwards and attempt to yank the giant to their feet. He provided little help, but it was enough for Ronnie to finally rise with their back pressed against the wall. When the Strain stepped forward, they formed a wall of their own. ¡°You look familiar.¡± Mother grinned. ¡°Like some big oaf o¡¯ an Oxblood I met back in Spires.¡± Ronnie¡¯s eyes widened. As did the Jackal¡¯s smile. ¡°You know, he talked a lot about a ¡®Ronnie¡¯ ¡®fore I killed him. Said he was sorry fer everythin¡¯. Name sound familiar t¡¯you?¡± She barked a laugh. ¡°Soon enough, I had him beggin¡¯ forgiveness from me as well.¡± Ronnie¡¯s arm flailed towards her, only for the giant to collapse to their knees as the bleeding in their shoulder redoubled. Mother managed h?lf a swing before I barged into her shoulder-first. She stumbled sideways under the weak assault. I swayed underneath one swing ¨C spittle flying from between my lips as it wrenched whatever wound had taken my back ¨C as Taja tossed the sword to me. I caught it from the air. She stepped backwards once, then twice. ¡°Wrong hand,¡± she told me. I panted, attempting to focus my vision. She squinted towards my grip. After her damaged vision filtered through her brain, her eyes widened. ¡°Oh.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± I wheezed. ¡°Oh.¡± ¡°Guess I broke that. You wanna know what else I broke?¡± I could barely stand. I needed more time. ¡°Sure.¡± Mother stepped backwards, gaze flickering between myself, Taja, Ronnie, and Maddie. When they fell on the Head, they found that the short woman had retrieved Whip¡¯s crossbow from wherever it had been stashed. Mother hastily bent downwards to retrieve a hefty chunk of the wrecked stable mere moments before the young H?ad fired her weapon. The bolt blurred into the makeshift shield. For a moment, I thought Mother had blocked it completely. Then a groan tore from her clenched teeth as her body swayed, revealing the quarrel¡¯s tip had protruded through the wood far enough to pierce her forearm. But she¡¯d survived long enough to reach her destination. From the wreckage of the barn, she produced two things. What seemed to be a tortoiseshell, and a carved length of wood with several strings attached. Entirely separate. Broken. Words dropped from my mouth like stones. ¡°My lute.¡± Mother sne?red. ¡°I smashed it. An¡¯ watch this.¡± She dropped it to the dirt and stomped the wood to pieces. ¡°So damn easy.¡± I felt my eyes shiver in their sockets. I took a single step forward. Maddie had brought the crossbow to the ground. Her foot was in the stirrup, frantically rearming its firing mechanism. ¡°Kit,¡± she gr?wled. I paused. I saw my Mother. I felt her wrecked eyes on my skin. For just a moment, I saw as she did. ¡°Jus¡¯ like killin¡¯ yer Father.¡± I looked at her. ¡°Oh yeah,¡± she drawled, a grin spreading across her grotesquely scarred face. ¡°I lied ¡®bout him bein¡¯ killed by caravan guards. Really used t¡¯like him, y¡¯know? Thought I¡¯d found a good partner. Man was different. A killer like me, but one with no ambition. Content t¡¯know his place. Beneath me.¡± I took another step towards her. Maddie barked another warning. Taja said something. My hands shivered as I stumbled closer. Mother¡¯s smile widened. ¡°Do you know when that changed? Was when you were born. At first, I thought givin¡¯ birth might change me; curb some o¡¯ the harsher lines in me. But I felt nothin¡¯ but sick lookin¡¯ at you. You squalled, night after night, an¡¯ I damn near strangled you for it. So dear old dad ended up bein¡¯ th¡¯ one who looked after you. Year after year with our little kit, each pilin¡¯ more fat over him. Eyes only fer you. An¡¯ he got soft. An¡¯ he got weak. An¡¯ he started t¡¯get ideas.¡± I twisted my visage furiously. ¡°You- ¡° ¡°But I still needed someone, Kit.¡± Her eyes bore into mine: savage and expectant. ¡°¡®Cause it just ain¡¯t possible t¡¯do everythin¡¯ on yer own. To make that next step, you got to have someone keepin¡¯ th¡¯ ground beneath you free o¡¯ dung. I very nearly gave up on endin¡¯ him. But then I realised: I had you. You¡¯d do anythin¡¯ fer so much as a sideways look from me. An if you¡¯d do anythin¡¯, I could make you into anythin¡¯. Like the perfect partner. ¡°I thought you was like me. Thought I needed t¡¯keep you in line. But you know what?¡± She leaned forward. ¡°You¡¯re just another damn cattle. I killed him ¡®cause o¡¯ you, an¡¯ I didn¡¯t even get anythin¡¯ out of it.¡± Maddie had nearly cranked the mechanism into place. ¡°Kit- ¡° I gave a low, guttural scream and charged at Mother. My feet ate the distance between us in heartbeats. My blade rose in preparation for a wide, overhead swing. When I was five steps away, my mother¡¯s vicious grin shifted fractionally. The mocking edge to it disappeared, replaced by a quiet relief. Her sword was raised in the only position her torn arm would allow: straightened in preparation to impale me on my own charge. We met with the blunt sound of tearing flesh. In the instant after the impact, we held one another. The sword I¡¯d held clattered to the dirt dully. The dawn light lit neither blood nor gore on its edge. Harsh, jagged pants broke from my throat as pain coursed through my body. I could scarcely believe what had just happened. From the look in Mother¡¯s eyes, neither could she. I tore the dagger from her ribs with a soft sucking sound. It had been in my hand the instant after I¡¯d dropped my sword. Her own sword departed her limp fingers. Its edge shone with the barest hint of my blood, drawn from a gouge along my ribs. Drip by drip, it was joined by Mother¡¯s. She coughed. ¡°You weren¡¯t mad?¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± I whispered. ¡°You were pretendin¡¯?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± ¡°You knew I killed him?¡± I swallowed. ¡°Yeah.¡± ¡°How?¡± ¡°Cause I know you, Mother.¡± I tucked my arms under her armpits as she began to slump. ¡°I knew you killed him the moment you came back alone. Who else would¡¯ve done it?¡± ¡°Damn,¡± she wheezed. ¡°I never¡­ I always thought you¡¯d leave if you knew.¡± ¡°Guess you were wrong.¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± A soft sigh. ¡°Guess I was. Anyone ever tell you you¡¯re a good liar?¡± ¡°Just you,¡± I said. ¡°Well.¡± My mother struggled to pull herself upright using my shoulders. ¡°You are.¡± From behind us, I heard Maddie shout, ¡°Kit! If you can- ¡° She sobbed. ¡°If you can still move her, I can take a shot!¡± ¡°It¡¯s over,¡± I muttered to myself. ¡°Kit, you need to- ¡° ¡°It¡¯s over,¡± I said, louder. My voice quavered, and I swallowed heavily. ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± Then there was only silence, and the weight of the woman I hated falling apart in my arms. I¡¯d fantasised about killing her, sometimes. The same way some people fantasised about vanquishing a god. It felt too real, now. ¡°Kit,¡± Mother said. ¡°I¡­¡± I leaned forward. There was a tug at my belt as Mother ripped a knife from it and rammed it upwards towards my neck. I tried to lean backwards, but the arms I¡¯d used to support her were trapped under hers in a death grip. Before the moment passed me, I grabbed her wrist, causing the bones of my broken fingers to grind together. The pain robbed the strength of my grip, and with a sudden roll of her hand Mother casually broke away from it. Only one hand was left to keep the weapon from killing me. It wasn¡¯t enough. The dagger¡¯s tip brushed my chin. I sucked in air and prepared to die. ¡°Got you,¡± Mother drawled weakly. And instead of ending me, she let the blade fall from her hand. It fell without a hint of blood on it. She sagged onto my body. ¡°Guess we can call that one a draw, eh?¡± she muttered. ¡°You never did beat me, in the end.¡± ¡°No,¡± I managed. ¡°But I guess I never beat you, either.¡± Her breathing began to slow. Somehow, I thought I¡¯d have more time. But she was so light. So suddenly old. Every breath aged her decades. Try as I might, I could barely feel where her fingers held mine. My throat was suddenly tight. ¡°Mother?¡± I asked. ¡°Yeah?¡± ¡°You ever regret it?¡± ?-
I- I¡­ No. Not I. I don¡¯t know what her answer was. I wasn¡¯t there. I didn¡¯t hear it. Only one person in the outer courts did. Whatever was said remains for her and her alone. Gods know I¡¯ve stolen enough already. After this moment, Kit unravels within me. There are flashes of clarity. Cohesion. A solemn moment that I ¨C that she ¨C did not expect. Incomprehensible tears from her eyes. A weary question to those that remained. A weight as they are helped to their feet. A movement into the dark innards of the Fort, flames held aloft above their head. And pain and panic and deep dread. But the threads fray. The specifics blur and reappear amidst a mound of fog. The answers have been shredded, and most of the pieces are missing. I do know one thing. The Jackal died in her daughter¡¯s arms. Kit finished what she set out to do. If only we were both so lucky.
When the lights fled, the world faded in their absence. The darkness was all-consuming. As if the boundaries of my skull encompassed reality. You lost your body in such darkness. You could be convinced that the world had never existed. You would be wrong, but convinced all the same. Despite the absence of breaths or footsteps, I could feel the other Ravenblood moving through the room. As if I were treading water above the Dolphin itself ¨C shape hidden beneath the fathomless blue of the ocean. Yet its presence was unmistakeable. I felt her lifeforce pace around me. Despite mingling with the smaller flames ¨C bugs and insects ¨C my attention nevertheless remained fixated on the one. Though her location was as obvious as it was in daylight, the specifics of her movements ¨C her plans ¨C were unknown. My breathing was almost silent: lungs held in aching tension as I forced slowness into an organ that wanted nothing more than to panic. As I carefully weaved my way through the room using an internal map I was condensing from a world of colour, my steps were also silent. Even so, I couldn¡¯t help but feel she knew precisely where I was. Her gaze was unmistakeable. I felt the edge of my runeslate and attempted to work my hand over the runes for light. The pain of both hands ¨C one blistered from the brazier the night before and the other stripped of all skin ¨C was enormous without sight to distract me. It served as undeniable proof they both existed. I fumbled once, twice, thrice. No light appeared. The boundaries of my perception had expanded once again. My runeslate had run dry of divinity to power it, I realised. The Ravenblood had returned to me. Without fuel, it was merely a lump of rock. In an attempt to trade blood for light, I shoved a tooth into my blistered hand and wrenched my head away. Only to be assaulted by the sensation of a thousand ants eating my skin. For a moment, I simply held my wrist and trembled against the urge to scream. What had happened? It was only when I compared the agony of both hands together that I realised. With a wrench of my teeth, I¡¯d degloved my entire hand. My breath came and went in gasps. My body ¨C the thing that always been there to support me, whatever my stupid ideas ¨C was finally failing. The Lizardblood I¡¯d stolen over twelve years ago could no longer keep my flesh on my bones. As I hissed at my pain, the fire paused. She knew where I was anyway. Silence was meaningless. The appearance of my voice was sacrilege against the quiet. ¡°You understand, right?¡± Silence. The flame flitted around me. I tried to look at her. ¡°You know why I¡¯m doing this!¡± Tap. Tap. Tap. The sound of talons scratching along metal. ¡°You removed your Oxblood as well! Even though it would¡¯ve killed you, one day.¡± ¡°I did not know that, at the time.¡± The voice was deep, yet edged with a far higher note. ¡°The Houses do not share that information with their Blooded.¡± ¡°But if you had known,¡± I asked the darkness, ¡°would you have done anything differently?¡± No response, beyond the constant tapping. But I needed none, for I already knew the answer. ¡°The Oxblood was dangerous. It was hurting us; it was hurting you. Instead of enduring it, you gave it to Jackson.¡± A long, metallic screech. ¡°The anger was a hammer with which I plied my craft. It was useful, until it was not.¡± ¡°It wasn¡¯t useful. It was you.¡± ¡°I retired.¡± ¡°You can¡¯t retire from blood. You can only die.¡± ¡°To die is to surrender any hope of improvement. So long as you live, there is a chance. Death is the end. But- ¡° ¡°And if I live, when will it end? I don¡¯t sleep anymore. All I do is stare downwards through the night, with only myself for company. The days blur into one another. The difference between yesterday and decades ago is so thin I can barely see it. I can¡¯t string eight thoughts together without falling apart, and there is no end to it. All you do is¡­¡± I curled my fingers incoherently. ¡°All you¡¯re doing is keeping me here. Let me go.¡± A great, weighty pause. Sound ceased. Then, ¡°You deserve to be saved as well.¡± And didn¡¯t that word whisper with pain and promise? Like the shine of a pretty stone, before it¡¯s ground into dust under the rapids of a river. Or the perfect balance of a blade, before it¡¯s snapped under the force of another. Or the smile of someone you love, the moment before you lose them forever. The chance to save them before they were lost was something no one could deny. ¡°This isn¡¯t the way,¡± I said. Ravenbloods were dangerous. Mad. I knew that personally. And with every death they stole, they only grew stronger. The Raven had kept its Aspirants¡¯ madness controllable ¨C it had consumed them before they frayed too far. But without Avri, there were no limits. Unleashed upon the world without a god to call it home, a Ravenblood would destroy countless lives. And who alive would be able to stop one with the skill of General Maja? Just me. My son, Alton, wouldn¡¯t survive the Ravenblood. Neither would Tam, or the girls, or Head Maleen. Or Ronnie, or Taja, or Kit. Or even Jana, with Tippi and Crumpet, back in the farmstead where I¡¯d grown up. Nor would Dash or Sash. Or Blake, or Erin. Or Jackson. Or Stitch. Or Miss Tran, or Jasmine or her family. Or the Butcher Street Boys, or even Peeler. That wouldn¡¯t change whether the Ravenblood wore Gale or I. This was the last chance. ¡°I have to kill you,¡± I told it. ¡°It¡¯s the only way to save everyone.¡± ¡°What about you?¡± ¡°It¡¯ll save me too.¡± ¡°You¡¯re delusional.¡± ¡°Like mother, like son.¡± I heard the stark smile in its voice. ¡°Like son, like mother.¡± An explosion from the outer court interrupted my thoughts. I didn¡¯t have time for caution. Kit had been hit; Ronnie was hurting. I couldn¡¯t play the fight safe anymore ¨C an hourglass hung over my head, and it was impossible to see how much sand remained in it. I finished slicing the flesh of my hand with my fingernails and wiped a bloodied palm over my runeslate. A beat later, my fingers danced across the runeslate, lighting the room in a low glow. In the space where I felt the other Ravenblood, something walked through the light. Solid, four-limbed. I swung my sword through it and felt no resistance. It was fully formed. Its clothing was visible, even while shattered by the air ¨C coloured a rich purple. It had a dark beard. And no facial features. A more complete ghost than any I¡¯d seen before. Beautiful in its vague permanence. Somehow, I¡¯d sensed life from it. Beneath it lay the source of that sense: a pot coursing with black blood. Within it, scratchings of runes circulated the lifeforce through an intricate maze filled with invisible walls. A bloodied knife lay beside it. It was a primitive imitation of a system of veins connected to a heart. Slowly ebbing away even as I watched it. But it¡¯d been enough to fool me for a moment, and that was all the time the other Ravenblood needed. Too late, I realised that one of the smaller flames I had ignored stood behind me. I turned. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± There was a flash of movement as Maja slammer her halberd down onto my left shoulder, shattering both the bone-layer I¡¯d grown over its top as protection and the collarbone beneath. Splinters of my skeleton embedded deep in my flesh. Somehow, I managed to keep my feet. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± I tried to throw myself sideways. Yet the halberd¡¯s descent was faster. It buried its blunted edge halfway through my shoulder. Black blood sprayed upwards, splattering across my face and eye. My arm jerked, then stilled ¨C heedless of my attempts to move it. The sheer force of the blow slammed me to my knees. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± I jerked my one good arm to the runeslate still strapped to its twin. Then the halberd descended one final time, cleaving through the shattered bone and paltry remnants of flesh tying my arm to my body. I groped weakly for a runeslate that was no longer there. Then tried to find the arm it was meant to be attached to. My eyes sluggishly followed a smear of light. Across the room, a runeslate lit the spur of ruined flesh it was tied to. Little more than thin strips of muscle and sinew hugging a piece of bone. Life sprayed from the stump they had left behind. The runeslate¡¯s glow reflected off the midnight blood pooling across the room. Then its absence hit like a wraith clawing through the edges of what I was and I screamed. Every fibre of my soul was filled with agony. It erupted from my lungs where I sent it deep into the earth pressed against my face, to be idly considered by whatever distant thing lurked beneath the veneer of reality; digested or discarded according to its whims. The mere presence of the pain was a brutal, senseless injustice. Forced upon my body for no other reason than the way in which it was carved. My body bled. My spine creaked. My throat tore itself apart. The pain did not ebb, but my energy did. My breath ran out. With a sullen click, a divot on the bloodtech communicator in my pocket shifted upwards. The others had defeated the Jackal. That wouldn¡¯t be the end, though. I tried to get up. But I listed to the side and fell. My cheek pressed against a warm pool of my own blood. The pain was a mist I could not bat away. A face appeared. Bone-white. Two hands shook. Something pressed against my ravaged shoulder and I managed to scream once more as the scent of burning flesh filled my nostrils. It stopped, but neither the stench nor the pain did. I bit the thing¡¯s collar and brought my blade to rest on its neck. It froze. The device it had burned me with clattered to the ground. If I had the energy, I could¡¯ve opened its throat. No. That was a lie. I had the energy. But I saw her ¨C swaying atop the roof at the blood loss from her missing arm ¨C in its eyes. I let the onyx sword fall from my fingers and slumped back onto my knees. The floor had been frigid. The blood soaking into my pants was only slightly warmer. In front of my swaying vision, the hands shook. They held a cylinder. Filled with blood. My blood. I tried to move away, but gods I was tired. Couldn¡¯t sleep, though. That was beyond me. Lurking above the haze that strangled my soul, the Ravenblood spoke. ¡°You will be fine. You will be okay. The blood ¨C the blood will not stay where it is. The blood will come back as it always does, yes? For the mere physicality of Godsblood cannot account for its properties; the blood does not follow the laws of base matter. When used in runic arrays it always returns to its host; when spilled upon the ground its divinity does not persist alongside the mere liquid. ¡°That¡¯s how a city like Spires operates. It does nothing outside a body outside a god outside a host it is bound to its host so you will be fine, Mael, you will be fine. Divinity will find you again; everything will be returned to where it should be. You will be saved, whether you choose it or not.¡± Thick strings of saliva fell from my open mouth. ¡°Val, Val has been hurt. I need to go. You will be fine, yes?¡± Don¡¯t, I tried to say. But all I did was grope at my stump as the pain choked sound from me. ¡°Yes. Yes. I¡¯ll return. But before I go¡­¡± I writhed as the cylinder was brought to my neck. The chill of the metal as it clamped onto my veins. Then with a furious burst of energy, I slapped it with my remaining arm to the floor and broke it under my boot. ¡°No. No. This cannot¡­ You cannot lose this. When it returns the divinity in all likelihood will be empty you need him and his Foxblood you need it I will hold it.¡± Then a grotesque slurping. ¡°You will be fine.¡± Then footsteps. Then a door closed. A flicker of light. Then it disappeared once more. ¡°Ngh,¡± I choked into the dark. ¡°Agh.¡± No one was there. Just myself, the lights, and the ghosts stepping above me, over me, through me, appearing increasingly solid with every heartbeat that passed but empty, because no one had saved them before the end. Only I could¡¯ve. Only I could¡¯ve. The pain. Gods, the pain. It was eating me alive. What would be left, at the end of all this? I choked and pawed at the burnt stump where my arm once was and I needed to find the energy to get up. I couldn¡¯t leave them again. Couldn¡¯t fail again. Couldn¡¯t let what little I had be lost. I howled at my feebleness. Then felt something snap in my body. My muscles strained against themselves as my body twisted. I tried to rise. Tried to rise. To rise. Rise. I-
-?????? ??????? ???? ??? Fort, makeshift torches raised above our heads. Ronnie¡¯d been carrying an old tinderbox. Might¡¯ve been Davian¡¯s, once. ???? ???? ?????????. ??????? ? few small windows providing light, darkness shrouded the hall. ??? ?????? ???? was ?????, a? ?? ?a? ???? ???? ?? ????????. Chairs ??? ?????? ???? ????? ?????? ??? ?????, ??????? ?? empty stretch in the centre of the room. ??????? black droplets ???? ?????? ?????? ??? ????. ??????? ghosts flitted across the room, mindless of ??? ?????????. ?????? ??, Ronnie¡¯s ???? ??????? as they tried to sign. But twitch was all they did. ??? ???? in their shoulder must¡¯ve messed with ???? ????? ?????. ???? ?? ???, ? ??? ?? ????; ? ????¡¯ ? ? doctor. The giant¡¯s lip curled in teary frustration. I felt the same. I still couldn¡¯t hold my sword. ???? ?? ????? ???? ? never would again. ??? ????? ?? ??? ???? ?? ??? ???? ??????-
-and I walked out. ¡°Gale?¡± Maleen¡¯s voice rung from a place ahead of me. I carefully closed the pair of doors behind me. ¡°Is¡­¡± I supported myself against a table I stumbled. Blood loss was doing me no favours. But it would remedy itself soon. ¡°Val dead?¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± came a familiar drawl. But it was too young and too open to be hers. A deep, shuddering sigh emerged from my chest. ¡°Is Vin alive?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I responded quickly. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t worry.¡± ¡°Looks like he did a number on you. Boiled yer creepy eyes; damn near peeled the skin off yer back. If you don¡¯t tell us why he ain¡¯t here, I might jus¡¯ finish the job.¡± The bite of the threat was blunted by the fatigue colouring her tone. ¡°He is¡­¡± I searched for the words. ¡°I¡¯m helping him with something.¡± Simultaneously, Kit and Maleen spoke. ¡°Ain¡¯t you Maja? Why th¡¯- ¡° ¡°Gale, this- ¡° They finished their statements, but I didn¡¯t hear them. Maja. Gale. I¡­ A piercing pain split my skull. My thoughts twisted in on themselves recursively ¨C a runic array that grew deeper the longer I spent gazing upon it; a series of broken engagements in an endless war. I frowned. I twitched. ¡°Turn back,¡± I interrupted. A pause. Their breathing was harsh against my ears. The stagnant air of the room pressed against my skin. As did the scent of blood curling through my nose. My pain slowly grew sharper. Babs¡¯ Foxblood ¨C I hadn¡¯t thought I would assimilate it so quickly. I¡¯d thought it would be more pleasant. But I could almost judge- ¡°What¡¯re you gonna do if we don¡¯t?¡± I didn¡¯t want to voice it. Not in front of the little girl that used to look up to me, when everything had been almost alright. But my silence was enough. ¡°Can¡¯t you stop this, Gale?¡± Gale. Me. ¡°I can¡¯t, Maleen. I¡¯ve come too far, and this is too important.¡± ¡°This won¡¯t bring your family back, Gale.¡± My eyes clenched tight upon the tears that suddenly sprung behind them. ¡°I know.¡± I opened them again. ¡°But I can still save those that remain.¡± ¡°But the Raven¡¯s Cult?¡± Disbelief coloured her tone. ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Why do you think that out of the eight gods that walk this land, only one fostered its own Cult?¡± ¡°Big ego,¡± Kit drawled dispassionately. ¡°An¡¯ th¡¯ Dolphin don¡¯t walk.¡± The question had been rhetorical. ¡°It¡¯s because out of all the gods that walk this earth, only one saw us as anything more than pebbles on the ground. Only one cared.¡± ¡°The Raven killed countless people, Gale,¡± Maleen crooned. ¡°It was mad.¡± ¡°All gods are mad!¡± I retorted. ¡°But the Raven was trying to save people.¡± ¡°By killing them?¡± I could hear the brush of her hair as she shook her head. Her soft voice continued. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter, Gale. The Raven is dead. No Cult can exist without it.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t understand,¡± I stated emphatically. ¡°More remains upon death than just a corpse.¡± There was a faint squelch as Val¡¯s daughter rubbed her eyes. ¡°Maddie, this ain¡¯t gonna work. His head¡¯s jus¡¯ ¡®bout scampered off.¡± ¡°Then leave,¡± I told her. The floor creaked as Kit turned to address me. ¡°Give us Vin, and we¡¯ll be outta yer hair faster¡¯n you can say blood.¡± ¡°What will you do if I do not?¡± I rumbled. ¡°You know.¡± ¡°The four of you stand little chance. Your wounds are far too heavy for you to pose a significant threat.¡± ¡°How d¡¯you even- ¡° The Jackal¡¯s child spat on the floor. ¡°Y¡¯know what?¡± ¡°Kit,¡± Maddie repeated, ¡°please.¡± ¡°I- ¡° Kit began, then paused as something rustled. ¡°Ronnie, I can hardly tell what yer sayin¡¯ even when- ¡° A guttural wail pierced from the door behind me. I struggled not to weep. ¡°He¡¯ll be okay.¡± They-
-????? ????????? ??????? the Ravenblood, drawing a dagger with my good hand ?????. ???? ??????, ? ????? ?????? ?????, ¡°????!¡± ??? we were past the time for waiting. That¡¯d been Vin screaming, as if he were on the verge of death, ??? ?? ?? let the thing in front of us ???? its way, he¡¯d end up ?? empty-eyed corpse ?????? ?? ?? ???? ?? ??? ???. ?? ?? ????¡­ If he were dying, we needed to be there for him. And the Ravenblood was in the way. ??? ??????? ?? ????? ????? ?????? ??????, ???? ? was within range of the blinded creature¡¯s halberd, ??-
-heard her approach and swept my halberd horizontally. The lack of resistance revealed my miss, as did a knife tearing a long gouge through my stomach. Yet my attacker was too slow to avoid a follow-up swing directed downwards, where it impacted against a leg with an audible snap. The girl screamed and crumpled, but I had no time to neutralise her completely ¨C the heavy steps of the mute giant were already within range. For a distended moment, they paused, giving ample notice for me to I step aside before a boot that would have crushed my ribcage flew through my previous position. Using the momentum of my first blow, I spun, reversed my grip, and rammed the butt of the halberd into the Strain¡¯s skull. I took two steps sideways ¨C I could not be certain Ronnie had been incapacitated, weakened by blood-loss as my attack was ¨C and as I¡¯d predicted the giant barrelled through the position I had left. As they passed, I brought the weight of my body down upon the heel of the Strain with a snap, causing them to topple like a felled tree. Then I swung my halberd horizontally, misjudging my target ¨C the head ¨C and instead of chopping it in half merely slammed it with my haft. When I moved forward to end them ¨C the threat such a large individual posed to my blinded self vastly outweighed the consequences of saving them ¨C something pierced through my abdomen with enough force to send me stumbling away. The pain nearly overwhelmed me before I crushed it. A cursory grope revealed the instrument to be an arrow or bolt of some kind. It had likely perforated my intestines, however for a Lizardblood like myself such an injury would result only in hampered mobility and a week of sickness, provided I could ignore the pain. I could have likely deflected the projectile entirely, had I properly assimilated Owlblood into my fighting style. Owlblood? Wasn¡¯t I- The sound of cranking interrupted my thoughts-
-?? ?????? ????? ??? ???????? ?? ??????????? ??? ??????? ????. I managed to silence my screams ??? ???? ?????? ?? ?????. ¡°??????,¡± ? ???????, ¡°it can hear where you are.¡± ?? ??? ??? ????. ??? ??????????¡¯ ? ???? ?????? ??????? ??? ????????, ??????? ?? ? ?????, and launched it towards Maddie. It shattered against her shoulder, spinning her around until the side of her head cracked against the stone wall behind her. ?-
-rose to my knees. Agony suffused my body. Fumbled blindly for the thing it had dropped. Then rose to my feet, where-
-I heard Maleen slump to the floor. Neither her nor the giant moved. Val¡¯s daughter was conscious; however, her grunts and muted howls were immobile. She posed no threat. But while they breathed, they could interfere. Were I still the general I once was, killing them outright would be the wise move. But better options were available to me, now. It was possible to save them as well. Yet I could not begin immediately. One remained standing. Where was he? I could feel his lifeforce tremble. He must have purposefully stifled his breathing. All I needed to do was wait for a mistake. I slowly picked up a chair, braced it against a table, and broke off all four of its legs with the side of my foot. I-
-??? ??? ???????? ?????? ???????? ??? ?????. ??? ? ??????, ? ????¡¯ ? ???? ???? ?? ??? ?????. ???? ? ????????. My eyes flickered to Taja, painstakingly lowering his leg between splinters of furniture. Whip¡¯s loaded crossbow lay under one arm. The other was clamped tight around his mouth, beneath a pair of bulging eyes. With every step, he drew minutely closer to the Ravenblood. ??? ???? ?????? ??? ????. ??-
-balance was off. In the darkness, I couldn¡¯t know why. Had to move, but when I took my first step I stumbled to my left-
-where a creak emanated from. I threw one of the legs towards it, magnifying the force transform the blunt splinter of wood into a javelin. It broke against a back wall. Even so, I heard a grunt. Yet while drawing my arm back for a second attempt, a cacophony shattered my attempts at focusing. ¡°AARGH!¡± Kit bellowed from beside me as she continually sheathed and unsheathed her sword to create a jagged screech of metal. The second missed entirely, and whatever movements the teenager was making lay concealed behind the storm of noise. So I took the third chunk of wood and whipped it blindly towards the young woman¡¯s body. Something-
-crunched. There was pain. And a sudden sense of wrongness that ran through it all. I looked sideways. To the end of the arm. Fingers were twisted like the branches of a gnarled, dead tree. Defeated in their life¡¯s search for sunlight. Made grey by that terrible loss. Blood leaked from that ruin. Bone peeked through in places. It was my hand. My sword-hand. I didn¡¯t understand. I couldn¡¯t understand. The blood continued to leak. Above, the Ravenblood muttered, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Val. I could not help you. But at least your daughter remains.¡± It reached down, daubed its fingers in blood, and spread it across- -my forehead. I watched myself. A pale, black-haired monstrosity. Flayed spine; dark blood spreading across its torso. And a tall, dark-skinned young woman; cheeks split by twin scars. The hand that had been my life ruined in a single blow. Eyes wide with the horror of a soul cracked wide open. I remembered her ????. ¡°No,¡± I told myself. ¡°Don¡¯t fight it.¡± But the twin consciousnesses began to ???? bec?use I w??ldn¡¯t al??w m?self to become ju?t a memory. No. Wait. Me? ?? It wouldn¡¯t matter. The strength of the blood that coursed through me was undeniable. My will forced the quavering walls of the channel open. A bolt rammed through my neck and my concentration ?????? ?????, and I was one again, but I barely caught the edge of the channel and I-
-could feel her dying. I was going to save-
-her, I would not allow K?t to fade into nothing. But ?-
-had to save them. Had to save them. Just a bit further, and I could end what hurt us. I-
-fel? myself ??ain away. H??low. Frag?ent. ?-
-pushed the door open and staggered into the dining hall. At first, my entrance was unnoticed. A constant stream of ghosts entered and exited the Fort, conspiring to block my vision. Through their shoulders and shattered silhouettes I took in what my absence had enabled. Head Maleen was unconscious near the doorway, while Ronnie bled quietly beneath the table Taja had mounted. The young man frantically worked the loading mechanism of his crossbow. Kit writhed feebly on the ground beneath the other Ravenblood ¨C Ma or Gale or Colin or Ambrose or Greta or Henrik or whatever it was ¨C whispered meaningless reassurances to the crippled swordswoman. For Kit¡¯s dominant hand did not resemble a hand so much as the broken end of a pipe, continually pumping her life away. They breathed. I could still save them. The Ravenblood itself should¡¯ve been dead. Flaps of skin hung off its body where my knives had struck it earlier. There was a bolt embedded in its neck and a gouge in its stomach. Onyx blood smeared every inch of its skin. As I watched, the wound in its gut blinked wetly. A small eye had grown there. Yet despite it all, the creature stood. Taja was the first to notice me. He flinched backwards, and fell off the table to land heavily on his side. His jaw worked silently. His eyes never left my left arm. When the Ravenblood¡¯s gaze shot to the fallen teenager, I lurched towards it. The monster took a straight chunk of wood and reared back, causing me to whip my left arm forward and slap it out of its hand. It turned, and I saw the blood on its forehead. The return blow knocked it aside. My eyes flickered to Kit as she slowly died. I could still save her. I-
-???? Orvi ????? ???? ?? ?? ????. Through my slowly bolstering vision, I saw what looked like him next to my body as well. ¡°? ??? ???? ???,¡± ?? ????. ¡°??? ?¡¯ ?? ???? ?? ???? ???? ????.¡± I heard it from where I stood, as well. ¡°I can save you,¡± he said. ¡°But I¡¯ll need to take your hand.¡± ¡°N?¡±, ? ????. ¡°No,¡± I heard myself say. Then I said it again. ¡°No. I¡¯m saving her.¡± ¡°K??. ? ???¡¯ t ???? ?o?. ??? ???¡¯ l? ??? ?f ? d??¡¯ ?.¡± He ¨C something about that word seemed off ¨C ignored me. ¡°Kit. I won¡¯t make you. But you¡¯ll die if I don¡¯t.¡± ? ??????. I sobbed. Then, briefly, my vision returned to the singular as she fought me. ¡°I won¡¯t let myself become just a memory,¡± Kit hissed furiously. ¡°I won¡¯t.¡± Orvi nodded, took his blade in his left hand, and brought it down upon her wrist. It severed without resistance. The gnarled, broken thing that was separated seemed foreign to my body. As if it had dropped from the sky mere seconds before. For an instant, its departure barely seemed a loss. Then I realised that with it had gone any hope of healing, and ? howled. I paused, blinking my new eye. Orvi¡¯s left hand? But that thought shattered as I felt ?? lifeforce drain faster, and knew I still had a chance to save her. Myself. As Orvi produced something from his pocket ¨C the heated device I¡¯d hastily scratched mere minutes before to cauterise his wounds ¨C I charged him. He batted aside the tip of my halberd, but the bulk of my weight barged into him. Yet even as I rammed him into a wall, he managed to toss the device to the floor. Where it slid against Kit¡¯s side. I ?????? it, and ???? ?? ???? against ?? ????. I saw myself seize it, and smelled it sizzling against the lone hand that held it. ???? ?- -she released a harsh, guttural scream as she pressed against the stump of her forearm, cauterising the limb. But the barest hint of the connection remained, until- -I pressed my forehead against the Ravenblood¡¯s and suddenly felt the world as a trio, then severed the conduit between the three of us.
That¡¯s the last time I was ever Kit.
The swordswoman shuddered upon the ground. Her eyes ¨C rolled back in her head ¨C began to redden as several capillaries burst. Blood leaked from her nose. Her lifeforce flickered like a candle in a dream. Severing the connection wounded the Ravenblood. The person they were trying to save invariably died afterwards. But it seemed that for the girl I used to be, something important had been taken. ¡°Taja!¡± Orvi yelled. ¡°Get them out of here!¡± Then a chisel of bone rammed into my gut once, twice, thrice, and I shoved myself off him to stumble backwards. It was there that I received my first good look at him since my vision had miraculously returned. Each wound my son had taken had torn a little more of his skin away. Alongside his cheek, half of his gaunt face had been ripped from its flesh. His teeth were exposed in a permanent grimace. The gulleys and peaks of the other half of his visage were filled with the midnight liquid leaking from his eyes and ears and nostrils. His right arm was a chunk of meat riddled with dark veins, capped by the onyx blade he somehow still clutched. His left arm¡­ His left arm was not human. The shattered pieces of his shoulder met an alien material spun of glistening darkness. Threads joined together to weave what resembled a thick, muscular arm yet as I watched the appendage collapsed as if formed of primordial ooze. A blink later and it had reassembled itself into a shorter, more dextrous appendage. There were no indications it had ever been anything malleable. Until it collapsed barely a heartbeat later and reformed once again. Then did it again. My tongue began to work again. ¡°Orvi, do you- ¡° He took a single step backwards. ¡°Don¡¯t- ¡° He ran. I pursued. We-
-exited the dining hall at a sprint, swerving towards the grand staircase at its end. My gait was off ¨C some great weight seemed to tug on my left side ¨C yet the Ravenblood¡¯s wounds were slowing it. We fled the sunlight peeking through the door by the entrance to the Fort. I needed to give Taja space to clear the dining area; to save them. That word rung like a gong. A shiver travelled through my body at the thought of it ¨C neither painful nor pleasant but vibrating with a sensation I could not define. My eyes kept catching on the beautiful craftsmanship of the stairs; my ears on the way our pained grunts reverberated through the space; my feet on the strength of the stairs as I mounted the first landing. The impeccably smooth stone of the railing seemed to dominate everything. The air around stunk of lightning. It all seemed so still. Was the blood within me beginning to subsume my humanity? Was this the moment where I transitioned from a merely human monster to a Ravenkin proper? Was I finally losing my mind? It didn¡¯t matter. All I needed to do was hold on for a bit longer. When we reached the Hall of Mirrors, I could end it. There was a grunt as the Ravenblood behind me smashed its shin on the first landing, shortly followed by a purple glow that caught my leg moments before I entered the second floor. I tripped and fell into a roll ¨C the same kind I¡¯d seen Kit or Davian or myself perform, when I wasn¡¯t falling apart ¨C before springing back to my feet. The Ravenblood had caught up. ¡°Ambrose,¡± it said, lighting the everburning lanterns along the room with a wave of a hand, ¡°stop. You won¡¯t be able to get rid of- ¡± I slammed my sword back into its sheath and grew a long, pointed shaft of bone from my right wrist. In an instant beyond conscious comprehension, I panned through a hundred different memories of archers and pulled a memory of Davian firing downwards, then mimicked his stance. I nocked the makeshift arrow on the string of my left arm and fired it at my adversary. A purple shroud turned what might¡¯ve been a head-shot into a mere torn ear. The Ravenblood winced and leaned to its side. ¡°Ambrose- ¡° I retreated several more steps and adjusted my strategy. More power. The memory I drew was of Whip, leaning heavily on her crutch as she pointed her armament towards an oncoming monster. The mechanisms of a crossbow were far too complex to imitate, but the sheer force was simple. I nocked the haphazard bolt on the mechanism on my left arm and fired it. At our close range, it flew directly into the Ravenblood¡¯s cheek, tearing half its face away. It gurgled for a moment, then grabbed both the bolt in its neck and the one I¡¯d shot and ripped them out in a shower of blood and cartilage. I expected the monster to fall. Instead of falling, it stepped forward and swung its halberd. I hopped backwards, scarcely avoiding its tip disembowelling me. Maja¡¯s form filled the hallway. ¡°You,¡± it managed, voice a whispered croak rattling from its ruined neck. ¡°Will fail.¡± ¡°I¡¯m going to end this.¡± ¡°Is it,¡± it laboriously uttered, ¡°worth throwing yourself away? Giving up the search for more?¡± ¡°More?¡± A harsh laugh bubbled from my throat. ¡°There is no more than this." ¡°Child¡­¡± Its voice faded. We lurched in the thin light of the hallway: entities that should not, by right, be standing. ¡°We,¡± I said, gesturing from the Ravenblood to myself, ¡°are marionette monsters. Tied by the laws of blood and bone. Pulled this way and that by those barbed manacles, sharp enough that each tug flays the flesh of our being just a bit more. Until every brush of air against our skin is agony, and our flailing breaks the world around us. And when our energy is spent, all that remains will be a set of veins, dancing to the tune of their chains. ¡°I can¡¯t leave you to that fate,¡± I finished. ¡°I¡¯ll save you.¡± ¡°You chose to help me.¡± Its speech sounded like bones scraping together. ¡°You took this path.¡± ¡°Do you really think, even now, that my actions can violate what I am?¡± I tapped an onyx vein on my cheek. ¡°Nothing I do is outside the reach of my chains. I cannot see the way in which they move me, but they move all the same.¡± ¡°To your death?¡± ¡°Dumb iron cares nothing for whether it lives or dies.¡± ¡°Why are we different, then?¡± it pleaded. ¡°Trying to do different things?¡± ¡°Are we, Ma?¡± I looked at the dark blood caking her body; the single eye peering from the darkness of her stomach. ¡°Because in the end, we¡¯re both trying to save one another. The only difference between us is that you haven¡¯t lived in these veins for as long as I have.¡± I-
-looked at this ruin of a man in front of me. Who had crumbled under nothing more than the weight of his own existence. I tried to pull him back upwards. ¡°Is there nothing for you here, child?¡± My questions were a prayer that I hoped became his. ¡°I remember you playing with Sash and Dash. I see you now, with your friends. There are so many people in this world. Enough places to fill a hundred lifetimes. Soaring vistas; snowy mountains ¨C on the corner of the world our continent sits in, you could spend a lifetime walking and never see it all.¡± ¡°And if I spent a lifetime walking, would I see it with different eyes? Ponder it with a different skull? Feel it with a different heart?¡± A weak smile fell across the half of his torn face that remained. He shook his head. ¡°My world will be the same no matter where I go.¡± If only I were more eloquent. If only I had not wasted so many years dead. If only I had left him in a kinder way. If only I could reach past the void that separated us and persuade him that he needed to live. ¡­But I was capable of that now, was I not? Reaching past the abyss that divided people was within my domain. What was the purpose of acquiring Ravenblood, if not saving the people I cared for? ¡°There it is,¡± my son said. My halberd thundered towards him and his ensuing parry was weak enough that he nearly lost hold of his blade. That first, testing blow echoed through the hallway. I paused to allow him time to switch the onyx blade from his right hand to his otherworldly left. In return, he gave me time to scrawl a set of runes in my own blood along the edge of the halberd, designed to make its blunt edges as sharp as my son¡¯s sword. He painstakingly thinned his stance, anticipating the thrusts our narrow environment would force upon us. I did the same. When our weapons touched again, their echoes were music. For my first stab, my counterpart retorted with a simple step. His rebuttal came in the form of two whirling slashes, which was rebuked by an open palm against the blade¡¯s flat. When I pulled my overextended halberd backwards to catch him in the spine, my son neatly anticipated the strategy and slipped beneath. His response drew a hint of blood before I rebuffed with a flare of indigo magic. We paused for a beat, then fell upon one another once more. Each of our exchanges seemed perfectly prepared, as if instead of reading the other¡¯s moves in the barest twitches of muscle we had known them from a timeless rehearsal, spanning eons but preserved in the crystallised breath of a moment, before it shattered upon the future¡¯s arrival. My own steps were informed by the skills I had painstakingly learned over decades of discipline, the burgeoning acuteness of my perception, and the magic that once been the only way I could help the world; his I recognised as drawn from his memory ¨C the flowing northern forms of the Jackal and her greatest student; rapid projectiles from a bow or crossbow; the falling of a great axe powered by an immense musculature; my own precise, gliding forms created to reduce tendon strain ¨C judiciously applied by an understanding beyond his years. All chosen in an eyelid¡¯s flicker. Time lost its weight as our weapons sung together. Steps were given; taken. Blows were exchanged. Avoidances measured in the beat of the other¡¯s movements. Our injuries bloomed the same colour. But try as we might, our positions grew more precarious. Our dance inched closer to its finale. That¡¯s the true hell. Despite our best efforts, all things end. The tip of my halberd dug into his chest, flaying the skin from his torso. His sword took my right arm at the elbow. With my left, I cleaved his right leg in two. On his way to the ground, he twisted his body to sever my left leg. In one final spin, I grasped my halberd, braced it in indigo, and cleaved it entirely through my counterpart¡¯s skull. It embedded in the stone behind with a thud. The wound spanned the breadth of his cheekbone and upper head, stealing an eye, a brow, and a quarter of his head. We fell to the floor. Ebony liquid began to pump across the wood in gouts. It took a moment for my mind to return. ¡°Orvi?¡± I asked. ¡°Mael? Ambrose?¡± I dug the fingernails of remaining hand into the floorboards. They slipped. I tried to push my body towards him with my leg. I could not. All I could do was bleed. ¡°No,¡± I croaked. I had not intended to kill him. Yet it was a fool who raised their weapon with anything other than murderous intent. When had I become- I stopped. My son¡¯s lifeforce was steady. In fact, it had barely flickered. I had been entirely wrong. All I had been thinking of throughout our battle was who I was fighting. I had forgotten to consider what I was fighting. From where it had spilled, the Ravenblood he¡¯d lost began to slowly draw closer to him. It crept up his body. Into his wounds. Around them. Through them. Despite the missing limbs and the gouge torn through his skull, he began to pull himself upright. I-
I¡­ I¡­ Half my vision was gone. Where it used to be dwelled nothing at all. I didn¡¯t fear that like I used to. Not the quiet itself. But it wasn¡¯t the emptiness that always exists between spaces. It was the absence of the blind. Those that failed to perceive what lay before them. A promise of colour, hidden behind a wall that could never be broken. I feared that. And I feared it would remain that way forever. When my vision doubled, that fear endured. As it did when my vision tripled. Quadrupled. I raised the arm I still possessed to grasp the stone wall behind me and pulled myself into a seated position. Opposite me, the other Ravenblood did the same. The tips of our boots touched. ¡°It won¡¯t work,¡± it whispered. ¡°It will,¡± I insisted. ¡°Death won¡¯t kill what we are. When has it ever?¡± ¡°There has to be an end.¡± As I watched, the creature opposite¡¯s bleeding halted. Then began to reverse. ¡°You believe our death will destroy the blood.¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°What do you think happens to a Blooded¡¯s divinity when they die? ¡°It fades.¡± The blood gathered at the end of its-
-limbs. ¡°Why would it?¡± I asked. ¡°That¡¯s what happens when any Blooded dies,¡± was the response. ¡°After a time, the divinity fades from them.¡± ¡°Haven¡¯t you wondered why?¡± ¡°¡­Not really. Isn¡¯t it the sun?¡± The blood began to thread itself into something more solid. ¡°Is divinity so weak as to be defeated by mere sunlight? And when you shed your blood and leave it in the sun, is that divinity lost forever?¡± ¡°¡­No.¡± ¡°When your blood is used in the creation of magic, is it lost?¡± ¡°It comes back. But it has something to return to. Nothing remains of the dead.¡± The claim hung precariously above us: amalgams of the deceased. The blood at the end of his limbs-
-continued to wind downwards. ¡°The return of the blood is the principle the Spires of Heltia maintained itself upon. An entire city can only rest on a fundamental thing.¡± ¡°But a city lives and breathes. A corpse does not.¡± ¡°Then consider the corpse of an Oxblood. Is its divinity so weak to disappear from mere exposure? Or does it vanish because it goes somewhere?¡± ¡°This is all speculation.¡± The roots of the limbs solidified, then began to shift. The beginnings of a dozen distinct arms and legs flitted across the eerie substance. ¡°My hypothesis was that the mechanism by which blood returns does not cease alongside the flesh.¡± ¡°Why would the blood not decay? Like anything else?¡± ¡°Because it is unlike anything else. Godsblood needs a host. And so the Oxblood would return to the highest concentration of its ilk that remained.¡± ¡°¡­Enn. The Ox.¡± There was a constant, rhythmic beating-
-as his obsidian heart ¨C exposed from our battle ¨C began to be covered by the slow crawl of the blood. ¡°All evidence pointed here. Do you remember the teachings of Faces? It must feel long ago, now.¡± ¡°Ghosts are caught by gods. Only bloodletting can free them.¡± ¡°Doesn¡¯t that sound familiar? And why would gods, hunted and bled by humanity, not eventually run out of Divinity? They are not all Dure. How can such grievous injuries be healed?¡± ¡°¡­Because their blood always comes back.¡± The ends of the limbs grew defined, then redefined as they shifted. The heart was concealed; hidden tight at the centre of his being. ¡°It¡¯s obvious, if you think for a moment. But the most obvious answer ¨C the most convenient answer ¨C is the one most believe.¡± ¡°What does it matter? The god of Ravenblood is dead, now. There¡¯s nothing for our blood to return to.¡± ¡°Oh, my sweet child. When a god dies, where do you think its blood goes? The next highest concentration of its ilk.¡± ¡°¡­It¡¯s just a hypothesis. A guess. You said so yourself.¡± He began to push himself upright, and-
-the Ravenblood followed. ¡°It was. Until I confirmed it.¡± ¡°You¡¯re lying.¡± I picked up the halberd that lay between my feet. The thing opposite grabbed the sword that had fallen from my hands. Thick, shadowy ghosts flitted up and the hallway, pacing silently through a world that had long since moved past them. ¡°Gods twist reality around them. The weight of their blood warps the world beneath their feet.¡± ¡°You¡¯re wrong.¡± I moved to block its retreat and stabbed with the point of the halberd. It stepped backwards with a smooth parry. A shattering of air, growing increasingly solid, moved through our weapon as if they did not exist. ¡°It¡¯s true. You will have noticed. Dure draws small pieces of the land towards itself. That is what created the sandstorm in the Wastes. Enn pulls the world into the wake of its movement. That is what kills most of its victims. Kani enhances the senses of all creatures around it. That is what drives those within its territory mad. And what about the Raven? Think, child. What does the Raven do?¡± I roared and swung my halberd. It flew through air and the countless ghosts that dwelled within and met neither. ¡°When House Esfaria finishes killing every single Ravenkin that ate Avri¡¯s body ¨C that split its divinity between them ¨C and lets their blood ¡®lose potency¡¯ in the sun¡­¡± Its voice smoothened as it healed. Became familiar. ¡°¡­where does the blood go?¡± I braced my halberd sideways and barged into the Ravenblood, shoving it further and further backwards along the Hall. I was met with no resistance beyond the burning question in its eyes. ¡°When all of the Raven¡¯s divinity accumulates in the veins of a single being, how does the world twist?¡± There was a weight to the air around us. Moments stretched upon themselves until it felt as if they might last forever. In that space, everything was precious. From the weight of my blows to the dappled colours within the eyes that bloomed on the shifting limbs of my adversary. A great, terrible beauty, metastasizing through my body with every pulse of my veins. Zealotry coloured its words. ¡°The weight of its divinity calls forth the memory of the land.¡± ¡°¡­The god creates ghosts,¡± I realised. The ghosts flitting around us ¨C after-images of maids and guards and nobles from decades before ¨C did not see us. They did not care. But we did. We halted before the entrance to the Hall. My many eyes shuddered closed. The cold tendrils of the monster forced them open. ¡°Do you see, now?¡± it told me with a dreadful smile. ¡°It¡¯s not the gods that make the blood. "It¡¯s the blood that makes the gods.¡± I looked at the thing. Then I raised a leg and-
-kicked me into the Hall of Mirrors. Cold stone pressed against my back. Shadows danced as the everburning lanterns I had lit outside began to fade. But enough light remained to reveal the monster that had killed me peering from each wall. It peeked from every direction, gaze fixed upon my own. I pressed my hands over my eyes, but there were too many to blind them all. ¡°Do you see?¡± it hissed. ¡°Do you see? What are you?¡± I staggered upright, sword in hand. A silhouette brushed against my side and I slashed at it. Another, I attempted to stab, but found no resistance to my blow. A third flickered from the corner of one of my eyes, and I swung down upon it only to shatter a table. All were ghosts; crowding the hall from wall to wall and amplified endlessly by the mirrors. ¡°Are you Gale? Maja?¡± Each name was a chisel through my head, pitting thought and memory against one another. ¡°Greta? Colin-
¡°-Ambrose, Henrik, Kit, Gast,¡± and I felt myself insensate, manic, furious; dozens of clawing fingernails grinding along the inside of my skull, but my mouth kept moving, ¡°Wil, Tully- ¡°
¡°-Vin, Orvi, Corvin? What are you?¡± it demanded. ¡°What are you?!¡± And I had no answers. Just the thing I remembered tearing my body apart, over and over, staring at me, and the static tearing my head in a hundred directions, and the muted movements of the ghosts that once lived here. With a howl, I rose and charged at the walls of the Hall, sword screeching across the reflective surface. Shards exploded with every blow, embedding in the flesh that seemed to constrict my bones. The Ravenblood leaned on its halberd. Its eyes were fixed on the floor. ¡°If we were the last Ravenbloods, and both of us died, would I have been right? Would it have ended?¡± I slammed the pommel of the sword into the thing, then watched its form find a dozen ways to form an arm and do the same. ¡°No,¡± it answered. ¡°It would just gather here, wouldn¡¯t it? In the bones of this place. Until some other soul picked it up.¡± As the image fractured, I saw myself multiply. ¡°Did Avri know what it was doing, before it died?¡± I recoiled. Black droplets leaked from the Ravenblood¡¯s eyes. ¡°And if we died¡­ If I¡¯d done what I set out to do¡­ What would happen if there were two more Ravenbloods?¡± I stumbled away. My lopsided legs caught on the ground. ¡°It would just go to one of them.¡± It placed two arms over its head: one flayed, the other blooming an all-consuming black. ¡°I¡¯d be putting these chains on them.¡± I tried to rally my will against what faced me, as I had done so a thousand times before. But neither halberd nor blade could defeat it. There would be no victory. ¡°Oh, gods.¡± And-
-for the first time, I turned my head sideways. To truly see what awaited me in the mirror. At the Face that would wear me for the rest of my existence. Bhan had always said the Raven was my best. Four limbs. A flayed, human arm, mirrored by a fibrous mass of bound darkness, spiralling into an imitation of its counterpart. A bloodied leg, stripped of skin as its alternate lay frozen in a memory of what it once was: a thinner, booted foot to match what had been lost. As I watched, onyx blood subsumed the unmarred limbs. Its chest was smooth. Absent of certainty or clear markers of identity; fluctuating between an emaciated promise of frailty and a musculature heralding power. Its heart spoke via the pounding in my ears. And the three twisted maws embedded in its torso. ¡°Are.¡± ¡°You.¡± ¡°God?¡± They possessed neither tongues nor teeth, but, impossibly, sounded as if they did. They spoke in accents that were once mine. ¡°Is.¡± ¡°God. ¡°You?¡± Its head was a mass of shifting darkness. Noses curled above brows as wrinkles shot through them. There was no mouth. Only four eyes of slightly different colours staring back at me from countless bodies, as the Hall of Mirrors reflected itself with dispassionate ceaselessness. The Ravenblood and I were multiplied amongst the shards of that frozen moment interminably, from horizon to horizon. Farther than the eye could see. The thing that would fall upon my family, if I were to die. ¡°No.¡± ¡°Way.¡± ¡°Out.¡± I screamed with the three mouths-
-and raised the-
-halberd above my head. Then-
-brought-
-it-
-down-
-upon the glass-
-beneath our feet.
I- I¡­ I¡¯m trying; I¡¯m trying. Hold off for a few more moments. If I can make sense of all this¡­ But is that possible? I¡¯ve traced the threads of who I was through countless nights. Each time, it is there ¨C amidst the shower of glass, the faceless masses of ghosts, and the sudden weightlessness of the body ¨C that they fray together indistinctly. There is the fear and there is the fall. On both sides, that is the same. Nothing more distinguishes one from the other. I landed in the dining hall where I first fell to blows. No one awaited me there. My body broke upon the ground. Amidst the shattered furniture and corpses and the blood of my friends, it put itself back together. I rose and tore the Ravenblood apart. I stayed down and let myself be rent asunder. I don¡¯t know which writhing mass did which. I killed. I died. The distinction is thinner than a single layer of skin. And irrelevant, nonetheless. It ended the same either way. At the bottom. Trapped in a cage of my own being. No way out. Memory & Madness Epilogue Forest detritus crinkled softly under five pairs of boots and one set of paws. The early morning light filtered through a crimson canopy. A bird sung in an annoyingly amelodic manner. ¡°What you thinking?¡± Blake turned a pair of bleary eyes sideways, towards the Face walking next to him. Bhan¡¯s worn expression was tight from the exertion of their march, but he looked healthier than the younger man had ever seen him. The death of Frost and a few months of eating full rations had helped the older man shake the pallor he¡¯d carried during his imprisonment under Heltia, escape, and subsequent re-imprisonment by Esfaria. ¡°You know me,¡± Blake said, gaze returning to Erin¡¯s back, a dozen paces ahead of them. ¡°Not a thought in here.¡± ¡°Hm,¡± Bhan grunted. ¡°Pretend thoughts there. What you thinking?¡± Blake licked his lips, then craned his neck to peer over his shoulder. Behind them, the twins walked beside one another, with Pat roaming ahead and periodically looking back to ensure they followed. Both stared resolutely at their feet. Dash blinked heavily. In response, Sash slapped him on the back to keep him awake. He shot her an angry look, opened his mouth, and promptly gave up on whatever retort he¡¯d been brewing. ¡°They not listening, Blake.¡± Then the young man nearly tripped over something in the ground before Bhan caught him. Unfortunately for both, Blake was far taller and heavier than the Face, which left the pair clutching one another in a stumbling dance as they struggled to regain their footing. When they eventually managed to brace themselves against a speartree and recover, Blake glanced back at what had tripped him. It was an arrow embedded in the ground. A yellowed strip of cloth was caught on a branch nearby. ¡°Another one,¡± he muttered. ¡°Mm,¡± Bhan hummed in agreement. ¡°No dry blood, this time.¡± The pock-marked young man turned to Bhan. ¡°What in Siik¡¯s mountain happened here? Who¡¯d House Baylar fight? And why in the blood¡¯s Erin takin¡¯ us towards them?¡± ¡°She not scared,¡± Bhan mused. ¡°But war over. No reason to harm civilian.¡± Blake pursed his lips sceptically. ¡°Maybe. She¡¯s so confident, though. Why¡¯s she¡¯d make us walk through the night to head towards a House?¡± ¡°Fort Vane this way.¡± ¡°I know, but this is place¡¯s bloody weird, Bhan. And Erin¡­¡± He lowered his voice. ¡°She¡¯s off, mate.¡± There was no need for further explanation. Since she¡¯d massacred half the Esfarian hunters, Erin had offered neither excuses for her actions nor an account of how she¡¯d done it. The bone spur the young woman had grown from her arm and murdered Fink with seemed to be the key. The manifestation of a hidden type of Godsblood, and the hidden god it flowed from. Erin did not speak other than to give suggestions. When they¡¯d camped for the night, she did not meet anyone¡¯s eyes, and slept far away from the twins. The only promises she made to them was that there would be an answer to her actions. Whether that meant an explanation or retribution, no one but her knew. Her muscular frame was the largest of all of them. At the distance she walked from them, it seemed inscrutably small. They continued walking. Blake dropped backwards and managed to take the twins¡¯ packs after a short argument. Bhan quickly leveraged the same argument against the younger man to take one of the three he carried. Erin tilted her head, but said nothing. The day rolled forward as they stumbled along. Occasionally, they espied shattered pieces of air. Most were tiny: echoes of humble creatures foraging, storing food, or simply sitting upon a branch. Others prowled with predatory gaits. A few walked, like them, to destinations unknown. At their first appearance a day and a half ago, they had warranted a remark from all but Bhan, who had seemed bewildered that the others could see them. The Face had wanted to perform a Divinity for them, and though the two other adults had tried to deter him, it was only a panicked breakdown from Dash that kept the group moving forward. As their frequency grew, conversation dwindled. No remarks would make sense of the phantom activity that suddenly proliferated the wilderness. The world they walked through had merged with another, and all sensed that in this seemingly familiar land, they were foreigners. The ground crunched. The crimson forest and the speartrees that gripped it grew sparser, until their density grew feeble enough to allow a hot breeze to buffet their faces. The ghosts of long-dead creatures went about their business. The sun clawed its way up the sky, then, exhausted at its summit, began to fall. Then the Heartlands disappeared, and they stood before a great rolling plain with a Baylarian contingent arrayed in a line around it. Blake flinched backwards into the foliage until Sash gestured him back. The line was not facing them. They gazed at Fort Vane. Four of them exchanged a glance. When their gazes returned, they found Erin walking ahead. ¡°Erin,¡± Blake hissed, ¡°get your bloody arse back here!¡± She turned, exhaled heavily, and inclined her head towards a gathering of individuals bereft of the Baylarian yellow, who stood slightly behind the line. ¡°I know them. Come on.¡± The young woman continued, head low. Bhan was the first to follow. ¡°Come,¡± he said to the others. ¡°We knew it be like this, yes?¡± Sash took her brother¡¯s hand. The two walked in-step towards the Fort, their old hound trotting in their wake. Blake stared after them. At the hundreds of soldiers pointed towards whatever lay within the fort and its open gate. But more than either of these things, his tired eyes followed the back of the woman he¡¯d known for years as it drew away from him. He wondered how the Butcher Boys were doing in the Foot. Whether their various apprenticeships were treating them well. If the younger children he¡¯d cared for ¨C now mature enough to hold jobs ¨C were happy. If the House had forgotten the things he¡¯d done. But when he thought of the sandstone streets he¡¯d left, they felt just as empty as ever. So Blake adjusted the straps digging into his shoulders and followed. Far ahead of him, a Baylarian soldier clad in gleaming bronze split off from their contingent to address Erin. They pointed towards the forest. In response, Erin lifted the bottom of her shirt slightly, revealing the tattoo that lay beneath. After a few moments of contemplation, the soldier jerked their head towards the non-Baylarians gathered. By the time Blake had caught up, the strange individuals had already begun to step aside to allow them passage. They were an eclectic bunch: unarmoured and roughly garbed despite being amongst a military force and while most bore the straight scars of Heartlanders, several bore darker skin or paler, sun-burnt constitutions similar to the twins. Whatever organisation they belonged to recruited from far away. Despite their differing features, they bore a single commonality: tall, well-muscled builds. For the first time since he¡¯d finished growing, Blake felt small. At their centre was a woman whose greying hair belied a sturdy physique similar to Erin¡¯s, but slightly larger. Her dark eyes beheld Erin with little more than a squint, until they reached the twins and widened. She strode to the younger woman quickly. ¡°W-2, I presume?¡± the muscular woman inquired. Her enunciation was strangely precise for a warrior. "Though it might be easier if I knew your real name.¡± ¡°Uh, Erin, ma¡¯am.¡± ¡°Is this them?¡± Erin¡¯s green eyes were wide. ¡°Leader?¡± The older woman smiled gently. ¡°Just Gaia, now.¡± At the name, Erin threw a panicked look behind her. ¡°Am I allowed to know that?¡± ¡°Us Scattered Seeds have shed the need for secrecy,¡± the woman responded. ¡°Though any one of us may die, the movement will continue. I¡¯m no longer so important.¡± Erin swallowed. The four behind squinted at her. The only time Blake had seen her more nervous was when she¡¯d tried to hold a conversation with General Maja. ¡°Do you mind if I address them?¡± the leader asked. ¡°Of course not.¡± The younger woman managed to regain a firm tone. ¡°Go ahead.¡± Gaia lowered herself to one knee with a stifled groan. ¡°Dash. Sash.¡± Her gaze turned from the twins to the young man. ¡°Blake.¡± He found himself unable to respond. The scene displayed across his vision seemed as if it were at the end of a long tunnel. ¡°How you know them?¡± Bhan asked, at the same time Dash demanded, ¡°How do you know us?¡± The middle-aged woman paused for a moment. ¡°¡­We know of your brother.¡± ¡°Erin.¡± Blake found himself suddenly whirling on her. ¡°What¡¯ve you done?¡± The woman backed away a step, eyes wide. ¡°You bloody ratted us out?¡± She shook her head frantically. ¡°It¡¯s not like that, Blake.¡± He gestured between himself and her. ¡°Was any of this- ¡° ¡°We need Orvi,¡± Gaia quickly interrupted. ¡°And so we need you as well. You¡¯re in no danger.¡± This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. Dash opened his mouth angrily, but the Face quickly stepped in front of the adolescent. ¡°How we trust this?¡± ¡°If we wanted you dead, or in captivity, you would know by now.¡± Gaia¡¯s voice was gentle, but not enough to prevent a shiver running down Blake¡¯s spine. ¡°We need your help.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t spend months trawlin¡¯ through the Heartlands to get caught in this.¡± A plaintive note entered Blake¡¯s tone. ¡°We¡¯re just normal people. We can¡¯t help you. We¡¯ll just¡­ get him and go.¡± For a moment, the young man feared they would be set upon by the people flanking them on all sides. An image of the human cages he¡¯d seen beneath Bars flashed across his mind, alongside the tortured corpses rotting within them. Yet Gaia simply nodded and straightened. She gazed at the Fort. ¡°I¡¯ll tell the Baylarians to let you pass through.¡± She looked back at them, hot steel beneath her eyes. ¡°Enter the Fort. Find what remains of your friend. We can help take care of it, if only you help us.¡± They stared upwards at the woman for a moment. ¡°¡­Come,¡± Bhan said. The twins, the Face, and Blake departed with a dozen pairs of eyes on their backs. After a brief pause, Erin quickly followed. Their approach towards the Baylarian line was marked by a churning sense of unease. When a signal from Gaia caused the unceasing stretch of soldiers to break and allow entrance, the feeling only increased. Each affected nonchalance ¨C excepting Sash, who fidgeted constantly ¨C as they walked through, yet a silence empty of anything but stares weighed their steps down. As he walked, Blake felt the phantom sensation of an army¡¯s worth of spears impaling him. Though they passed unmolested by steel or remark, the hairs on his neck remained raised. Fort Vane squatted at the centre of the plain in stolid defiance of all that watched it. There was a gravity to the place. The living arrangement of bronze and yellow drew the eye to it, but so did its stillness. No one walked the soundless battlements. The open maw of the drawbridge revealed broken fencing and flecks of blood. And, briefly, the dark face of a teenager a few years older than the twins, whose eyes widened before he hastily ducked out of sight. ¡°Who¡¯s that?¡± Sash asked. ¡°Probably a godsdamned ghoul, with our luck,¡± Blake muttered. ¡°Blake,¡± Bhan rebuked. In a gentler tone, he turned to Sash. ¡°Maybe friend of brother, hm?¡± The girl nodded rapidly, but shuffled closer to her twin. The boy himself stared through the gate with a clenched jaw. Their hands clasped one another in a white-knuckled grip. Blake released a breath and tried a shaky smile. ¡°We¡¯re so close, yeah? Just a bit further, and we¡¯ve found him.¡± He took the lead with a tight smile and resisted the urge to duck as he passed under the shadow of the wall. Placing one foot in front of the next was a struggle. One he failed entirely when he heard the voices emanating from ahead. ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± someone groaned, ¡°I can¡¯t remember, Maddie, what, what happened? What happened?¡± ¡°Shh.¡± This voice was carefully enunciated to counter the slight slurring that edged into its corners. ¡°It¡¯ll be alright.¡± ¡°Maddie, it¡¯s full of holes.¡± They released a strangled cry. ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t¡­ It¡¯s gone. It¡¯s gone.¡± Blake raised a hand to halt those behind him, and carefully stepped into the outer courts. What awaited him there were four people: three sat against a stone wall while a fourth ¨C the teenager they¡¯d seen coming in ¨C held a spear towards the newcomer, teeth bared in a wide-eyed snarl. Upon a cursory glance, one seemed to be an Oxblood. Only Blake¡¯s acquaintance with Jackson and Maja revealed otherwise. Although bearing an impressive musculature, the person¡¯s arms and legs lacked the additional, inhuman muscles strong Oxbloods possessed. At their size, the absence was noticeable. It was their underdeveloped arm ¨C belonging more on the torso of a child than the huge individual ¨C and strangely youthful face that revealed the person as a Strain. But what truly drew the eyes was the massive wad of bloodied fabric packed into a hole in their good arm. When the Strain¡¯s eyes ¨C slightly diluted ¨C fell on Blake, they attempted to rise. Only for one of their legs to promptly give way and send them crashing down. The second was a small, flame-haired young woman. A strip of cloth was wrapped around her head, and her attention was focused entirely on the person beside her. If it wasn¡¯t for the frantic rolling of her eyes, Blake would¡¯ve thought the dark-skinned woman dead. Her back was a mess of blistered skin that makeshift bandages could not cover. One leg hung crooked off its knee. An arm simply ended at its forearm. The woman kept trying to grab the cloth-wrapped stump, only for her companion to push her hand back down. Something had broken her body. And Orvi was nowhere to be seen. The sweat-beaded face of the ruined woman locked onto Blake. ¡°Who¡¯re you?¡± she hissed through clenched teeth in a shower of spittle. ¡°Get th¡¯ blood outta here.¡± The other three gazed at him mutely. ¡°I¡¯m lookin¡¯ for my friend,¡± he blurted. ¡°Everyone that lived here¡¯s dead,¡± the scarred woman spat. The vigour of her words forced an agonised groan from her mouth. Her whole arm beat at the ground. ¡°He didn¡¯t live here,¡± Blake quickly replied. ¡°His name¡¯s Orvi.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t bloody well¡­¡± Her voice trailed into another wince. ¡°What?¡± ¡°He was travellin¡¯ here.¡± From behind him, Bhan¡¯s footsteps rounded the corner. ¡°Might know him as Vin.¡± A quieter voice responded. ¡°How many of you are there?¡± the teenager asked. ¡°There¡¯s, uh¡­¡± Blake¡¯s voice trailed away. He¡¯d expected a threat. But he hadn¡¯t seen worse wounds since the Lizard had left the Foot. It was as if a god had blown through the Fort. Dash pulled Sash into the outer courts, a challenging expression splayed across his face. It collapsed upon seeing that waited there. ¡°Kids,¡± the crippled woman groaned. ¡°We¡¯re his siblings,¡± Sash answered extremely quickly. ¡°Do you¡­ Can we help?¡± ¡°Sash,¡± Erin snapped as she walked in. ¡°Why don¡¯t you shut your hole?¡± Dash retorted, placing himself between his sister and the much larger woman. ¡°You¡¯re not in charge here anymore. We don¡¯t need a damn murderer.¡± ¡°Because the people trying to kill your brother were so innocent,¡± Erin stated flatly. ¡°That doesn¡¯t mean- ¡° ¡°Not the time,¡± the Face interrupted with a gravitas borne of years of training. He turned to the strangers. ¡°You are Ronnie and¡­ Kit?¡± The injured woman tried to leap onto her feet, only to collapse onto her side. ¡°How in th¡¯ blood d¡¯you know us?¡± she growled. ¡°I Face Bhan,¡± the older man said. ¡°Vin¡¯s teacher. He mention you.¡± She swore. ¡°Why¡¯re you- ¡° A tormented groan ripped from her mouth. ¡°Why¡¯re you here now?¡± ¡°Can we help?¡± Bhan asked. ¡°Bhan¡­¡± Erin¡¯s tone was low. ¡°What do you want us to do Erin?¡± Blake demanded. ¡°Leave them?¡± ¡°We¡¯re not doctors, Blake¡­¡± At their expressions, she paused, then ran a hand through her black hair. ¡°Damn it all. Fine. What do you need?¡± The orange-haired woman spoke for the first time. ¡°Help us inside.¡± ¡°Maddie,¡± the teenager said cautiously, ¡°it is not safe¡­¡± The young woman looked at up him. ¡°How long did you say I was unconscious for?¡± she muttered. ¡°¡­Around two hours?¡± ¡°And it has been another two. Whatever happened in there is over.¡± ¡°Something is still in there. I saw- ¡° ¡°It could be him.¡± ¡°It could be dangerous. We won¡¯t be able to- ¡° ¡°Excuse me,¡± Blake interrupted, ¡°but what the hell¡¯re you talkin¡¯ about?¡± The scarred woman gave a pained bark. ¡°Whether we¡¯ll find your Orvi,¡± she said, ¡°or a godsdamned corpse.¡±
Glass crunched between Blake¡¯s boots as he and Erin struggled to help Ronnie walk through the dining hall. Light from the flaming torch in Taja¡¯s hand glittered across dozens of shards strewn amidst the shattered furniture and corpses lining the room; the clear remnants of a hugely destructive battle. It felt as if he were stepping into the ruins of Spires again. Only this time, the shattered city was a place he was meant to know. Ahead of them, Kit ¨C supported by Bhan and Maddie ¨C had halted beside Taja and the twins. Pat gently whined. At their feet was a skeleton. Its clean white bones were a stark contrast to the insect-ridden viscera leaking from the corpses lining the room. Missing from its frame was a right arm, left leg and skull. Blake swallowed. ¡°Is that¡­¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Kit grunted. ¡°We¡¯ll¡­ We¡¯ll find out.¡± ¡°¡­I still believe you two should leave,¡± said Taja to the twins. ¡°Why would we?¡± Dash¡¯s voice had lost the fervour it held when Taja first asked them to stay outside. ¡°He¡¯s our brother.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not worth seeing this.¡± ¡°¡­No. I want to see him with my own eyes.¡± Taja did not press them. They continued through the room, then upwards along a vast staircase fancier than anything Blake¡¯d seen, outside Nests. Afterwards, they staggered along a black hallway. Patches of a dried black substance were smeared across the floor. Sash released a strangled yelp when her foot crunched on something. ¡°That¡¯s bone,¡± Taja whispered. Kit grunted as Maddie and Bhan helped her step forward. ¡°You twins sure you wanna see this?¡± Their only response was to keep walking forward. Within the oppressive darkness encroaching on their flickering light, no one behind could give any reply. It was the darkness in front that spoke. ¡°Whose is this?¡± ¡°It may be mine.¡± ¡°Could be someone else¡¯s.¡± Three distinct voices. Their accents dove, soared, and merged into different manners of speaking mid-sentence, without faltering. Every hair on Blake¡¯s body stood on-end. ¡°Who¡¯s that?¡± he whispered. Maddie licked her lips. ¡°¡­There shouldn¡¯t be three people left in the Fort.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not three people.¡± Sash¡¯s voice quavered. ¡°It¡¯s just one.¡± The arm Ronnie kept around Blake¡¯s shoulders twitched. The giant bared their teeth in frustration. Whatever the Strain had wanted to say was incommunicable. But judging by the way Taja and Maddie eyed Sash, they had noticed something as well. Blake squinted, then shook the thought from his head. It wasn¡¯t the time. Their torch¡¯s light eventually clawed its way into the fragments across the floor ahead, scattered before the opening to a much vaster room. They entered the space and found themselves flanked by figures on either side, silhouettes as broken as the mirror they lay within. The mirror-shards ceased at a square at the centre of the room ¨C the floor there had vanished. They continued onwards. ¡°It¡¯s a nice day.¡± ¡°To be killed by House Baylar?¡± ¡°To lose my mind?¡± The voices emanated from a spiral staircase at the end of the hall. A ghost walked by it. The nine present watched it go. ¡°They¡¯re coming.¡± ¡°Who is that with them?¡± ¡°Nothing can be said.¡± The voices were loud, now. ¡°Should we¡­¡± Bhan began. ¡°¡­Leave injured here?¡± ¡°¡­I don¡¯t think so,¡± Maddie said quietly. Though the motion twisted her burnt back, Kit nodded. ¡°I¡¯m bloody marked by this, ain¡¯t I?¡± A hollow grin stretched across her face. ¡°Sink or swim, we¡¯re here ¡®til the end.¡± Bhan, Maddie, and her began slowly limping up the stairs. The twins took a step forward. ¡°You don¡¯t have to go,¡± Blake found himself saying. Dash shook his head and said nothing. ¡°We need to see,¡± Sash answered hoarsely. They wept and followed upwards. Their steps were faltering, but faded upwards. ¡°¡­What else is there?¡± Taja muttered to himself. The teenager carried his light upwards, leaving them in darkness. Ronnie and Erin tried to step forward. They stumbled when Blake did not go with them. ¡°What is it?¡± his companion asked. ¡°Is that Orvs up there?¡± he asked. She gave no reply. The dark quiet was only broken by Ronnie¡¯s panting. His voice quavered. ¡°Is that him?¡± ¡°We have to go, Blake.¡± He didn¡¯t want to, though. More than anything, he wanted to be half the continent and half a decade distant. Despite knowing that place no longer existed, it still gleamed in his mind. Polished after countless days turning it over in his mind. Whatever waited up the stairs wasn¡¯t that. But it was the last piece of it that Blake had left. They walked up the staircase. At its peak were a set of wide open doors leading to an almost spherical polyhedric room. Dozens of glass panes formed the roof, letting in the heat of the afternoon sun. Everything within was rendered in terrible brightness: the map-table; the workbench; the kneeling, sobbing forms of the twins; the wide eyes of Taja and Ronnie; the tears running down Maddie¡¯s cheeks; the hand of Bhan where he covered his eyes; the faltering snarl of Kit; the grim draw of Erin¡¯s face; the god that huddled in a corner with a skull in its hand. It was huge: almost ten feet of black flesh twisting as it tried to cover the eyes embedded across its entire body. But there were too many and none could blink, dooming its attempts before they began. Three maws swum across its flesh. ¡°How¡¯d you make it here?¡± one asked with a quaver. ¡°Why did you leave?¡± the second demanded. And the third simply screamed hoarsely. Its head bore no mouths. Just a shifting mass of flesh that held a face much like a gnarl of bark, wisp of cloud, or stain of snow might. The only constant was the forms of eight eyes as they revolved around one another, independently flicking between the people gathered in the observatory. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t have come.¡± ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°I¡¯m so sorry.¡± Blake stumbled, caught himself on a wall, and slowly lowered himself to his knees. He stared at nothing. The collapsed form of Kit beside him mouthed the same words repeatedly, like a fish trapped in a circular stream. ¡®I can¡¯t.¡¯ Maddie shuffled towards the other woman and buried her face in Kit¡¯s chest. Sash cried towards the sky as Dash¡¯s wrenched face leaked snot and salvia towards the stone. Bhan held his head in his hands and begged for forgiveness. Taja had turned away entirely. Ronnie slammed their head against a pane of glass until it cracked. And Erin stepped in front of the man who had disappeared and fell to one knee. ¡°Oh, godling,¡± she pleaded. ¡°We beg of your aid.¡± ¡°What do you need?¡± ¡°For you of all people?¡± ¡°I can¡¯t give anyone anything.¡± She swallowed. ¡°To slay a god.¡± Book 2 Second Half Story So Far + Glossary + Characters Memory & Madness Second Half Dash has a nightmare of being lynched by members of the Foot, then awakens to speak to Sash. The next day, they, along with a group of Esfarian Ravenkin hunters tasked with killing their brother -- including Stitch, Peeler, and the hound Pat -- enter the half-ruined city of Spires, where they speak to the leader of the Baylarian force providing for displaced individuals. Afterwards, they encounter Blake attempting to wheedle supplies and information regarding Erin''s whereabouts from Baylarian bureaucrats. The young man is promptly captured. Afterwards, Fink -- a Foxblood -- and Pine -- a Dolphinblood -- interrogate Blake under the orders of Peeler. After the arrival of a captured Erin, Fink tortures her while Pine manipulates Blake into revealing that Orvi is likely heading to Fort Vane. Erin then convinces their captors to not kill them by claiming she had planned to murder Orvi when they found him, due to a supposed belief that all Blooded are monsters and deserve to die. Blake is unsure whether she''s telling the truth or not. Afterwards, he is visited by the Jackal, who mocks Blake while claiming she must depart for Fort Vane anyway. That night, Sash secretly tests herself for Godsblood and finds that she comes up positive. Amidst the corpses of the battle, Vin interrogates Andros, the leader of the Baylarian strike force, by offering drugs to salve the grievous pain the man is currently in. The Ravenblood hopes to confirm certain impressions. Afterwards, Vin consults with Tully, Rita, and Maddie -- who is apparently the renegade Head of Heltia after the family''s fall -- who collectively decide to split their force in two to penetrate the Baylarian line. One will enter the Fox''s forest, while the other -- bereft of any important figures -- will attempt to directly breach the Baylarian line in a hope their civilian status will give them reprieve. After a discussion with the remaining refugees, Vin consoles the teenaged Taja, who had lost both his brother and sister in the battle, and invites him to travel with them. Later, Vin finds ivory growing from his body and conceals this change from Kit. A week later, half of the group enters the Fox''s forest. Kit struggles with the sensation of the wounds, and the group quickly finds themselves harangued by what seems to be the Fox. The Fox easily outmatches them as they retreat, with all of its wounds seemingly disappearing. After Vin''s blood is exposed, Kit decapitates an uncaring Fox, and finds that they have been fighting a collection of hundreds of Foxes the entire battle. When a Fox offers the corpse of its fellow to Kit, Vin sacrifices Andros in a fit of sudden disgust for the man, and a refugee sacrifices her husband. Those remaining flee the forest. When setting camp, Vin keeps watch the entire night, having found his need for sleep massively reduced. In the morning, the group attempts to track their other half and finds them beneath the centre of a large crater besieged by two distinct parties: Albright soldiers and a strange group with the ability to grow ivory spikes. As both parties fight, Vin and Tully disguise themselves to sneak into a series of abandoned caves beneath the crater, where they find the others. As they search for a way out they come across a river of blood beneath the earth. Upon accidentally spilling a drop of Vin''s blood, the Aching begins. Wil deliberately quaffs the bloodied river and promptly falls unconscious. Vin, carrying an unconscious Wil, and Ronnie attempt to find a way out large enough for their bodies while the rest of the group flees through narrower avenues. In the earth''s shifting, Rita''s spine is broken and before asking Vin to kill her, she reveals she knows him a Ravenblood. Vin executes her. Ronnie and Vin -- who is forced to reveal his bone spikes to them -- widen a crack which allows them to flee the trembling earth. At Vin''s behest, Ronnie carries Wil to safety while Vin delves deeper into the crater to find the others. He''s quickly met with several strange individuals on the surface. One attacks him and is killed, but the other two parse Vin as the Ravenblood from the encounter. He flees to the remainder of the group and kills the Albrights harassing them. Tully chooses to stay upon the high vantage point at the centre of the crater to guide the others through the maze of falling stone. Vin leads the others out, then falls back to assist Gast and kills a nameless Albright soldier, who he takes unto him. Lacking the will to continue killing, Vin stops fighting, only for Tully''s death and memories to spur him back into flight. They manage to flee the crater as the ground breaks apart, revealing eyes and limbs and sinew and tendons beneath the earth, and find the unknown group -- containing several ''Shrikebloods'' -- departing without further harassment. As the season falls to Frost, they set out on a transformed land. As they camp for the night, Vin finds himself capable of using an instrument and encounters what he dubs a ''ghost''. Further into the season, Blake and Bhan perform menial tasks for their captors under the watch of Fink. Blake eavesdrops on the others and finds they plan to use the captives as bait for ''the Ravenblood'', and that neither Stitch nor Jackson believed Orvi to have killed Maja in the Foot. After relaying this to an accepting Sash and a distraught Dash, he is attacked by an Oxblood, who Fink kills in his defence. Immediately afterwards, Erin returns from apparently slaughtering every other hunter and murders Fink. Within Wil''s childhood farmstead, the remainder of the group -- bereft of almost all refugees after several deaths and flight in the crater -- wait out Frost. When Vin vanishes, Kit and the rest of the group begin searching for him out of concern for his fracturing mental state. Kit finds him coated in ice, digging out the eyes that have grown across his body and smeared in black blood. Now revealed as a Ravenblood, Vin returns to the house and kills Wil in a spike of anxiety. Weeks later, everyone -- with the exception of Jana and the children -- have departed early in a bid to get Vin to Fort Vane before his mind frays further. One night, Kit returns upon discovering Baylarian forces pursuing them and finds that Davian has betrayed them in a bid to exchange Maleen for the security of the others and his own personal return to Baylar: the family he was born to. After leaving him behind, the group flees Baylarian forces and breaks through a gathered army on the heels of Vin. When the Ravenblood freezes, the group finds he has grown a mouth in his back. Kit knocks him unconscious. In Fort Vane, its leader -- the blind Owlblood Gale Vane -- speaks to the Jackal regarding his authority with the Baylarian forces. Upon noticing the approach of Vin & the others, he rushes to let them in and produces a conversion stone already keyed to Ravenbloods for use on Vin. Though suspicious, the rest of the group allow its use on Vin. Vin dreams of the day Ma comprehended that he was a Ravenblood. He wakes to find himself severely weakened, and wanders into a hall of mirrors, where his reflection terrifies him. Upon meeting Gast & Gale, he assures the noble that he wishes for his Ravenblood to be removed. Gale informs him that the process requires using several distinct designs tailored to Vin and warns him that the process may lead to his death if not replaced by another type of Godsblood. Vin urges him to continue anyway. Later, upon sparring with Kit, Vin finds that Maja has left him and weeps. Some time later, Gale attempts to visit his bedridden brother but finds his way barred by the Jackal and her daughter -- Kit. In a consultation with Vin -- who has lost more blood and Babs along with it -- he urges the man to consider taking Lizardblood into his veins when the process is finished, but Vin deflects. After Kit ''trains'' Taja, Gast approaches Vin on behalf of the group and asks him to stop removing the Ravenblood. He refuses and flees to his room, where he rebandages his ruined arms and passes out. That night, in a diplomatic gathering, Vin barely manages to inform Tully''s wife of the Spiderblood''s death and encounters a large woman who introduces herself as Gaia and a Shrikeblood. When he reveals to Gale he has no intention of taking Lizardblood when his Ravenblood is removed and plans to die, Gale is rebuffed by Kit who believes the noble to be harming Vin. Vin flees to his room, where time passes for him in a fugue. Earlier that day, Kit disposes a corpse on behalf of her mother, who reports that she herself is doing so for Gale. This is not the first time this has occurred. The encounter with Gale repeats, and when taking food to Gale''s brother Kit finds the youth in question a mummified corpse. Kit sadistically trains Taja before Maddie interferes, and the group have a conversation about Vin''s decline that the man himself is oblivious to. In the diplomatic procession that night, a Baylarian quietly expresses remorse before warning Maddie of a strange political game being played around her: one which she may yet survive by making herself an important piece. Afterwards, Kit realises Gale has assimilated Vin''s lost Ravenblood which includes Maja, and is then attacked and threatened by the Ravenblood. The Jackal is also threatened. In response, Kit''s mother leads her to Gast and demands she kill the Strain as proof of loyalty. Despite Kit''s interference, the Jackal grievously wounds Gast with Kit''s own blade. Vin, sensing Gast dying, rushes to her to find Kit has slit Gast''s throat. The Jackal leaves. Gast anoints Vin''s forehead with her own blood and dies. Vin returns to the Fort to save those inside and finds several dead diplomats and the Ravenblood in an argument with the Fort''s guards -- who have realised the Blooded''s nature -- which ends with their death. Gaia rebukes the Ravenblood and leaves. Vin extracts Maleen and the two loot Gale Vane''s room, finding several artefacts belonging to the Raven''s fallen Cult detailing some of its philosophy. When they return to the others, Vin asks them for help killing the Ravenblood, which he has accepted as his responsibility. It is then revealed that Vin plans to die as well, with the other Ravenblood resolved to save Vin from himself. The Ravenblood informs the Jackal that they must each deal with their own problems, which the Jackal accepts. When the two Ravenbloods meet, Vin addresses Maja and finds the Ravenblood responding. Kit faces the Jackal, who quickly debilitates the other and forces her daughter to fight her without aid. Both parties speak to one another as they fight. Eventually, though injured, Kit manages to fatally wound her mother and although the Jackal has an opportunity to kill her, allows the younger woman to live. Yet Vin loses an arm to his opponent and collapses, allowing the Ravenblood to incapacitate Maleen and Ronnie, leaving a severely wounded Kit and Taja to face it. Vin emerges having regrown an arm to face the Ravenblood once more, but is too late to stop his counterpart from critically injuring Kit and beginning the process of (assimiliation?). Seeing no other alternative, he amputates Kit''s arm, leaving the crippled swordswoman to cauterise it herself and commanding Taja to take the others to safety. As the two Ravenbloods fight, they move deeper into the Fort until both deal what should be immediately fatal wounds to the other. Instead of dying, they find their bodies regrowing in a shifting black substance. There, the Ravenblood explains that it believes the laws of Godsblood has necessitated Vin becoming another Raven. They fight once more and emerge in a maelstrom of ghosts, where Vin concludes that he cannot allow both Ravenbloods to die, for if they do his siblings will inherit the mantle of a god. As eyes and talking mouths sprout from his skin, the two Ravenbloods kill and die. Blake, Erin, Bhan, and the twins arrive at Fort Vane to find Maddie, Ronnie, Taja and a confused Kit waiting outside. They exchange words and help each other inside, where they find at the top of the Fort a new god. Erin asks it for its assistance in committing deicide. Dramatis Personae This section will be filled according to comments (or left empty due to lack thereof). Other characters may be added if they are described. Credit will be given to those who contribute (unless they ask otherwise) and multiple descriptions may coexist within one character. Wastes Orvi: Dash: Sash: Blake: Erin: A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Jackson: Maja: Babs: Stitch: Heartlands Vin: Ronnie: Kit: Maleen/Maddie: Taja: Face Bhan: Gaia: Whip: Davian: Seoras: Tully: Wil: Gast: Valorie/the Jackal: Gale Vane: The other Ravenblood: Glossary The Wastes: An inhospitable wasteland unsuitable for life beyond a few small creatures and the monsters borne of the corpse of a dead god. Almost all of the aforementioned monsters have been killed by House Esfaria for the dual purposes of separating their Ravenblood from other types of Godsblood and ridding the world of Ravenblood. The Foot: Made hospitable only by the oasis at its centre, the Foot is the only city in the Wastes. Previously left derelict by a combination of mass conscription and plague, the Foot has come under the banner of House Esfaria and experienced increased prosperity as a result. This in spite of the fact that four years ago, contact with the Lizard led to plague throughout the city. Heartlands: A strange and alien environment where flora blooms crimson and harms itself constantly. Feeding blood to the ground yields grain in return, and a phenomena called ''the Aching'' occurs frequently. The region is supposedly under the control of House Heltia, given to them by the Albrights in exchange for assistance a century ago. The Heartlands may or may not be another name for the body of the Shrike. Speartrees: One of the most ubiquitous pieces of flora in the Heartlands, speartrees are tall, thin, pale, and -- like their namesake -- sharp. They are also incredibly tough. The titular spires within the city of Heltia are the largest speartrees in the Heartlands. The Aching: A phenomena that used to occur regularly. ''The Aching'' is a set of quakes which are accompanied by the rapid growth of flora within the Heartlands and a changing of the region''s geography. This growth can be halted by layers of stone. Heartlanders rely on the Aching for much of their food. Usually, the Aching occurs every few years. After the death of the Raven, a decade absent of Achings led to great famine. The Heartlands has recently experienced another Aching after a drop of Vin''s blood fell into an underground river of Godsblood. ''Sacrifice'': Term used for blood fed to the ground in exchange for food. The worsening famine has led to the impoverished bleeding themselves. Some children, dubbed ''bloodbags'', are kidnapped for this purpose. Face: A Face functions as a bard, actor, and shaman; travelling from place to place and performing ''the Artful Divinity'' -- usually shortened to just ''Divinity''. A Divinity is a ritualistic performance where the gods themselves, interpreted through the body of the Face, are the central characters. Each god has its own idiosyncrasies, however each Face plays them according to their preferences. Divinities are performed for crowds, who are expected to respond in certain ways -- saying certain phrases at its end and offering food or trinkets. They are also performed for supposed spirits, in an attempt to catch the spirits and prime them for reincarnation. This can apparently occur if the spirits become trapped within powerful blood and are then released in a bloodletting. Strains: The mutated offspring of Blooded or Godkin (monsters). Both are usually mostly infertile, however Strains are occasionally born to chance or if the concentration of divinity within the Blooded is weak. Same-sex relationships amongst Blooded are encouraged for related reasons. Strains are warped in unique, unusual ways, and are regarded with disgust by the general population. They tend to possess a weak echo of their parent''s powers. According to Davian, ''Strain'' may also be a catch-all term applied to anyone born with visible deformities, even if their parents are unblooded. Spires of Heltia: The home of House Heltia, Spires is built upon and around sixteen massive speartrees, hollowed out by immense labour and connected with gravity-defying bridges. It is surrounded by an immense body of refugees, who have travelled to Spires in an attempt to avoid starvation. A vital part of its infrastructure is bloodtech, which enables its bridges, elevators, plumbing, and everburning lanterns. Spires is the beating heart of bloodtech on the continent, even as its people strive to harvest the surrounding monster-ridden areas to avoid starvation. Devastated after an attack by the Ox and left under Baylarian control. Bloodtech/Runes: Magic formations grasped by the minds of the Owlblooded, runes are specially carved and seem to obey specific rules. Bloodtech can be used to create anything from kitchen supplies to explosives, and represent the main source of technological progress on the continent. They require either an Owlblood or Godsblood to operate. After Godsblood is used to fuel bloodtech, the lost divinity returns to the Blooded who gave it away. Conversion Stones: Bloodtech designed to extract a Blooded''s Godsblood. Some attribute the flourishing of the Houses and humanity as a direct result of the invention of conversion stones three centuries ago, which allow the original Blooded to educate their successor. Blooded who use conversion stones inevitably have their lifespan reduced, though this information is well-guarded by the Houses. Before Gale Vane developed one, there were no conversion stones for Ravenbloods. The Albright''s Declaration: The Declaration officially rescinds the Albright''s support of Heltia, due to charges of sheltering a Ravenblood and the unnatural ruling of a Blooded over humans. Most who speak of it believe there to be other motives. The Terms: A collection of conditions for the conflict of Houses to avoid unnecessary civilian casualties. It was created a century ago by the Albrights, after they became the rulers of the continent. Ichor: A rumoured substance supposedly found under the land which can supposedly fuel bloodtech in place of Godsblood. Heltia had put out a bounty for information regarding it. Part of House Heltia''s desperation for Ichor was due to fuel requirements of running bloodtech. Ichor may be Shrikeblood. Steel: A strong material that seemingly requires an Owlblood to smith, outmatching bronze or stone in utility. Chits: Currency. Made of either wood or silver. Chits are held on strings. Gods: Powerful entities regarded with great fear and disgust by humanity, gods are inscrutable and entirely unique to themselves. Seven are well-known, while a select few -- including Faces, for the sole purpose of subduing spirits -- are aware of an eighth. Gods tend to distort the world around them in ways unique to each god. Humanity has named each god after an animal, in addition to giving them their own names. Godsblood: Blood from one of the gods, which alters those that incorporate it into themselves both mentally and physically. The divinity contained within Godsblood returns to its Blooded after being spilled, unless that Blooded is dead. Supposedly, it then ''fades''. Blooded: Humans that have partaken in Godsblood. The strength of their powers and mental changes correspond to the amount of Godsblood partaken in. Past a certain point, the physical changes make a Blooded obvious. Godkin: Also known as monsters, Godkin are creatures that have imbibed too much Godsblood, becoming dangerous in the process. Godkin have had their beings subsumed by the mental influence of Godsblood. It is more difficult for a human to become Godkin than an animal, but it remains possible. Dure, the Lizard: Nomadic. Also known as ''the Plague'', ''the Suffering'', or the ''Ever-Dying''. A gargantuan entity, the Lizard is the carrier of innumerable parasites which constantly feast upon its body, and despite being in perpetual state of rot heals too fast for it to die. The danger the Lizard poses is almost entirely due to the parasites and plague its body holds, rather than any actual threat it poses. Dure draws small objects in its vicinity towards itself. Lizardbloods: Humans or animals altered by Dure''s blood. Lizardbloods have rapid regeneration. They are regarded as stupid by most. Lizardbloods also have strong wills. Notable Lizardbloods: Reagan. Enn, the Ox: Nomadic. Also known as ''the Furious'' and ''the Broken''. As large as a house, Enn is a skinless mass of muscle and fibre that can moves at unperceptible speeds and delivers immense force to whatever it hits, at the cost of breaking itself apart with each impact. After it screams, it must then put itself back together. Certain actions can anger it, for reasons unknown. The Ox draws nearby objects into its wake whenever it moves. Oxbloods: Humans or animals altered by Enn''s blood. Oxbloods are large, strong, and physically imposing. They are easy to enrage. Notable Oxbloods: General Maja, Jackson, Dervin. Kani, the Fox: Sedentary. Also known as ''the Glutton'' and ''the Ubiquitous''. Kani is rumoured to exist in several distinct locations simultaneously. In actuality, the Fox seems to exist in multiple different bodies. Whether they are distinct entities or the same spread over several bodies is unclear. Each ''Kani'' is roughly human-sized and possesses overdeveloped sensory organs. The Fox is known to toy with its victims and their possessions. It enhances the senses of those around it to an unpleasant degree. Foxbloods: Humans or animals altered by Kani''s blood. Foxbloods are skilled combatants, with incredible kinaesthetic awareness and advanced senses making each possess superhuman athletic abilities. Often sadistic. Notable Foxbloods: Aston, Bab (monstrous), Fink. Siik, the Spider: Sedentary. Known to dwell within a mountain it has claimed for itself. Spiderbloods: Humans or animals altered by Siik''s blood. Spiderbloods are capable of rapidly assessing situations, though they are often maligned as cowardly. Notable Spiderbloods: Tully, Peeler. Wump, the Dolphin: Mostly sedentary. Lives in the northern seas of the continent, apparently enslaving those around it. Dolphinbloods: Humans or animals altered by Wump''s blood. Dolphinbloods are capable of manipulating the emotions of those around them. Dolphinbloods are thought to be arrogant. Notable Dolphinbloods: Representative Fedor, Serl, Holt, Pine. Yoot, the Owl: Partially nomadic. An arcane entity thought to know much. Owlbloods: Humans or animals altered by Yoot''s blood. Owlbloods are capable of using magic, which manifests alongside purple light, and can comprehend, create, and fuel runes using their powers. Owlbloods are known to daydream or hyper-fixate. Notable Owlbloods: Captain Vernon, Odrin (weak), Neelam Heltia, Gale Vane. Avri, the Raven: Was sedentary. Killed by humanity eight years before the bulk of the story, due to its Aspirants suddenly becoming murderous. Avri was worshipped by a cult, which held the Raven to be capable of ''saving'' people and had its own theological beliefs and internal culture revolving around notions of heaven and hell. Avri had innumerable eyes and mouths, which gibbered madly. Ravenbloods: Humans or animals altered by Avri''s blood. Ravenbloods are capable of sensing the lifeforce of others, and can incorporate some aspect of the dying, so long as the dying''s blood is smeared across their forehead. It is unclear what this aspect is or how it works. Ravenblood seems to be inactive before the Blooded undergoes this process once. Ravenbloods are known to be insane, and immensely dangerous. They also have perfect memory. Notable Ravenbloods: Vin/Orvi, Sash & Dash (latent), Gale-Maja. The Shrike: Mentioned once. Little is known about the Shrike, besides that it strikes quickly, and disappears just as suddenly. Appears little, known by few. Individuals impaled upon speartrees are attributed to the Shrike, and held to be evidence of its existence. There are no Shrikebloods. The Shrike appears to either live under or be the Heartlands. Shrikebloods: Humans or animals altered by the Shrike''s blood. Shrikebloods are capable of growing ivory (or bone) from their body, which can be used either offensively or defensively. They tend to be large and muscular. It was believed there were no Shrikebloods, however they do seem to exist. Many Shrikebloods appear to be members of some secretive organisation. Little is known about them beyond this. Notable Shrikebloods: Erin, Seoras, Wil, Gaia. Houses: Noble organisations/Families that control resources, territory and Blooded. Houses may pursue their own agendas and war amongst themselves, but are overseen by House Albright. Generally, it is believed Blooded are unfit to rule Houses. Heads: The leaders of their respective Houses. House Esfaria: A House known for its military might and loyalty, House Esfaria controls much of the territory around the Heartlands and the Wastes, including the nomad regions. These are not necessarily productive territories. A red eagle adorns their crest. House Leyden: A House known for its subterfuge and chicanery. House Leyden was directly responsible for the death of the House Esfaria Representatives sent to the Foot. House Heltia: One of the youngest Houses, House Heltia was led by Neelam Heltia for over a century, who is believed to be the only Blooded Head amongst the Houses. They control a single city. The Vanes are their only subsidiary nobles. House Heltia generated most of their resources via a mercenary army, which could operate neutrally due to the Albright''s endorsement. Most are now dead, with Maddie/Maleen supposedly being its only remaining member. As such, she has become their Head by default, with her identity confirmed by a necklace. The Jackal, under instructions from House Baylar and Gale Vane, was responsible for the House''s poisoning. Purple adorns their crest. House Albright: The monarchs of the continent, who rose to their status a century ago.. House Albright has held an alliance with House Heltia since the younger House''s inception, however has recently rescinded it. Gold is a colour exclusive to the Albrights, under pain of death. Albright forces fought an unknown organisation of Shrikebloods within a crater that led to Shrikeblood. House Baylar: A House known mostly for its mercantile ways, it was nevertheless given leave to destroy House Heltia, seemingly by the Albrights. House Andoras: House Illico: House Korla: Heltian Conditions: A treaty between Houses for the purpose of killing the Raven and destroying its Cult. Preservation & Progress Prologue The sky was blue. The heavy clouds that flitted across it a crackling grey. The reeds that bristled across the land beneath were crimson. The earth that they sprouted from was red. And the droplets that slowly soaked into the dirt was black. On one knee, the sun-scorched hunt-master carefully rubbed the substance between thumb and forefinger. He raised a hand to the apprentice beside him, which was promptly filled with a rag he used to meticulously cleanse his hands. When he was finished, he turned ¨C a slight smile on his face ¨C and proclaimed, ¡°That confirms it, yer majesty. If there was ever any doubt our quarry was Avri¡¯s ilk.¡± He nodded in quiet satisfaction. ¡°Lads¡¯ve done their job well.¡± King Aaron ¨C Head of House Albright and third Monarch of Humanity ¨C graced his servant with a shallow incline of the chin. Little more could be allowed. With that done, he cast his eyes towards the centre of the clearing his hunting party had gathered outside of. The monster was held in the form of a lizard ¨C large enough that it would take a tall man two steps to walk from tail to head. Thick musculature banded its length, but for all its apparent power the beast seemed content to placidly dart its forked tongue in and out of a nearby puddle. Yet the blood that dripped from the gash in its side was not red. All present knew its true nature as surely as the colour of its blood: a Ravenkin of the Wastes, having fled north to escape the genocide of its kind and found itself on the western edge of the Heartlands. In Albright territory. With some assistance, of course. ¡°Your majesty,¡± came the clipped voice of one the teenagers to King Aaron¡¯s side, ¡°let me be the one to fell the monster.¡± The words were quickly met with an outburst of squabbling from the five other teenagers ¨C one from each House, excepting Albright and, obviously, Heltia. All were wards ¨C taken from their noble families on the cusp of puberty and trained within Albright lands ¨C and subduing the quarry of the hunt would bestow immense honour upon both themselves and their family. Considering the quarry was a Ravenkin ¨C potentially the most dangerous of monsters ¨C it might even be the kind of honour reputations were birthed on. But though their bickering was fierce, the middle-aged monarch paid more attention to those whose words lacked bite. The Baylarian ward¡¯s ¨C round-faced and reportedly a better fighter with numbers than swords ¨C protests were feeble, while the Leydenese ¨C the youngest of the lot, at thirteen years old ¨C had not yet developed the political acumen to feign eagerness. Given their penchant for conspiracy, House Leyden had long been the most impudent of their ilk, but Baylar was a far greater concern. It was always possible to kill two birds with one, pitch-black stone. As those arrayed around the clearing watched the monster, and those beside him tried to ignore the squabbling of children, the Head clasped his hands behind his back and flicked several fingers rhythmically. The signal was only seen by one: his immense, steel-clad companion, whose shadow the King walked in at all hours of the day. From beneath the giant¡¯s faceless helm, a soft huff emerged as its only response. A single, raised hand from the King immediately ended the youth¡¯s argument. In the wake of their words, the Monarch proclaimed: ¡°House Leyden and Baylar will have this honour.¡± The pair called to the challenge paled, but the King¡¯s gaze was already turning to the hunt-master, who promptly nodded and signalled the many hunters surrounding the clearing to ready their spears. At the change in their handler¡¯s disposition, the hounds accompanying the hunters bayed and snarled towards the monster. It immediately flinched away. King Aaron¡¯s eyes panned over the stretch of well-groomed individuals who ¨C excepting a few Albright hunters and soldiers ¨C formed the entire perimeter. Their immaculately dyed finery was marred with mud and grime from the hunt: the visiting nobles summoned for the gathering. With House Baylar conspicuously absent. The Ox itself was ravaging their lands. Who could deny them the necessity of staying to shelter from a god, especially when a commute could leave them smears beneath its horns? Certainly not the Monarch of Humanity. Despite the fact he knew without a shadow of a doubt that every reason they had given was an excuse designed to conceal whatever scheme they had been brewing. Yet even with his station, he could not rebuke them. When they met King Aaron¡¯s gaze, the nobility blanched, then turned their gazes to the two youths carefully advancing towards the Ravenkin. They did not blink. The pair stayed true to their training. The younger kept the spear while the elder had discarded his in favour of a battleaxe. Upon their approach, the monster darted towards the edge of the clearing. Yet instead of sanctuary, it found only steel points and the barking of dogs, sending it scuttling backwards. Its head whipped backwards and forwards. It tried once more to breach the line of spears, and once more it reeled backwards, midnight blood splattering the ground as its beady eyes rolled wildly. It watched the two youths approach. It trembled. It killed them in seconds. The younger ¨C whether out of nerves or bloodlust ¨C gave a shriek and charged forward before the Baylarian ward could respond. The spear dug into the beast¡¯s shoulder, pinning it to the ground for barely a moment before its haft warped, splintered, and snapped under the force the monster¡¯s divine theft lent it. Despite its timidity, the beast must have killed an Oxkin. The Leydenese adolescent stumbled forward, and the monster ripped its claws through the child¡¯s chest. The younger fell. By the time the Leydenese hit the ground, the Baylarian was entirely frozen several paces backwards. For a distended moment, monster and human stared at one another. Their eyes trembled in their sockets. Then the ward stepped forward with a shriek, and the Ravenkin darted forward, tore the teenager¡¯s feet from their perch, and began mauling the youth. The ward had time for a single, horrified scream before only the sound of squelching innards filled the clearing. Then the Ravenkin blinked rapidly and staggered sideways, flicking several flecks of gore coating its head onto the grass beneath. Beside him, the teenager who had initially requested the honour turned, took two steps into the forest, and vomited onto a tree. King Aaron did not watch the child die. He watched the nobles. He weighed their expressions: horrified at the waste and what it meant, or delighted at the opportunity it represented. And as always, his eyes found their hands, while his mind filled them with the many daggers that could point his way. Beneath the gold of his crown, the familiar ache of a migraine beat. Sweat beaded the King¡¯s nape. The handkerchief of the man looming behind him wiped it away. King Aaron inhaled through his nostrils, then snapped his fingers. On his signal, the man behind him ¨C large enough to block out the sun ¨C strode into the clearing, leaving the great-sword strapped to his back untouched. The Ravenkin lifted its bloodied head from where it stared at the youth¡¯s lifeless torso and scuttled backwards. Its maw opened and closed; forked tongue trying and failing to make purchase on rows of serrated teeth. Bizarre groans emerged from it as it pedalled backwards, staring up at the giant. Yet the fervour of its retreat was easily matched by the length of the giant¡¯s stride, and the barking at its back goaded it forward. Once more, it attempted to barge its assailant¡¯s legs from beneath him. But the steel did not bend. Instead, the giant fell to one knee and restrained the beast with both hands. The monster thrashed as panicked huffs wobbled from its maw. Its gaze was fixed on the youth¡¯s bodies. It screamed. But the man¡¯s grip was as heavy as the earth beneath their feet. The steel-clad giant rotated his helm towards Aaron and gave a single nod. The Monarch of Humanity strode into the clearing, fine riding boots clearing grass splattered with black and red with equal ease, and found himself before the Ravenkin. Its eyes bulged with fear. With a slice of his dagger, the King ended the hunt. All he could see was froth dripping from his hound¡¯s teeth and the endless shadow of the man who stood over him.
When the wards were buried and the monster¡¯s body placed under guard until its divinity faded, the hunting party briefly reposed under tarps of cured fur. Servants plied them with wine and platters of assorted cheeses, cured meats, and fruits. Amidst those brief revels were moments where their eyes would brush over the King. Beyond a few muttered condolences towards members of House Leyden, no one spoke of the dead youths. When the sun began to fall, the hunting party mounted their horses and trundled onwards under promises of a great feast. The Albright¡¯s castle was their destination: a labyrinth of keeps and spires growing ceaselessly under the ministrations of a dedicated team of Spiderblooded architects and labourers ¨C each paid as well as their predecessors had been more than a century ago, when its foundations were being laid. Few could walk its twisting halls without becoming hopelessly lost, and most members of the Albrights themselves did not understand its true layout. Beyond those used in active construction, every floor-plan its engineers had plotted over wax or paper had been destroyed. The anonymity of its layout was as much a shield as the castle walls themselves. Fortunately for the nobles, they were led by the Head Albright itself. Through a route only the canniest amongst them could sniff their way back from, stranding them in the expansive dining hall that lay at the centre of a maze of stone. Though richly appointed with banners and cloth-draped tables ¨C each in a different House¡¯s colour ¨C and servants carrying roasted pigs or thick flanks of lamb, alcohol of every variety and candles enough to make the sun feel envy, it was nevertheless a cage. One which would only open at the Albright¡¯s mercy. Or so King Aaron hoped. The feast itself passed in a blur. The King clasped hands while delivering honeyed promises that most would only realise concealed threats after the feast was over. Each casual comment had been designed in the days prior and memorised during the long nights that followed them. If any had enough wit to immediately uncover his intimidation they said nothing ¨C his contingent of golden guards deterred any rebuke. This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. Whatever hints of fatigue the King carried in his face were hidden by layers of compacted bark and sap crafted to match the dark colour of his skin. The aches across his body were concealed by rigid posture and loud laughter. Few passed without taking the opportunity to note the King¡¯s health and fitness. Once, the compliments had been authentic. Somewhere along the line, they had become petty lip-service. A century ago, House Albright had defeated the other Houses in a war that defined their position. But only one person in the room had been alive to see that day. Tales of the war had deteriorated into sallow, frayed things. And hounds had no respect for a master without teeth of their own. So it was that when a representative of House Leyden proclaimed that if their young scion had not been taught by Albrights both youths would have survived, the feast grew quieter. All tilted their ears towards the party, waiting for their king to stumble. Yet to the man himself, the insult came as a relief. ¡°Well,¡± King Aaron began, donning an amiable smile, ¡°that sounds like the beginnings of a friendly wager!¡± The Leydenese, ire ebbing, swallowed heavily. ¡°¡­Of what sort, your greatness?¡± The Head hid his expression behind the rim of a goblet. ¡°Why not pit one of your representatives against mine?¡± The man¡¯s lips quirked in a feeble smirk. ¡°I would not want to harm them- ¡° ¡°Oh, nonsense!¡± the King proclaimed, gesturing to the steel-clad giant behind him. ¡°Do you truly think it would be so difficult to wound one such as him?¡± ¡°Your man is exceptional, and Blooded besides!¡± Aaron¡¯s smile vanished. ¡°And,¡± he said, leaning forward, ¡°he was trained by House Albright.¡± ¡°Well- ¡° ¡°Will it be a fight, Leyden?¡± There was a long pause as the man¡¯s eyes flickered around the room. His fellow Leydenese buried their eyes in the food and alcohol in front of them. Behind him, a quiet jeering rose from the Esfarian table, where the nobility had broken their usual rigid discipline to heckle. In the end, the man muttered an apology. The King concealed his disappointment with a smile. ¡°Of course. Now,¡± he projected with a voice borne of years of training, cutting through the muttered insults the Esfarians threw towards the Leydenese, ¡°before I must retire for the night, might my fine company indulge me with their ears for a moment?¡± There was a brief ebb in the conversation around him, which was quickly conquered entirely as an avalanche of clanging built in the room ¨C the sound of dozens of flagons smashing against table as those gathered beat their assent. Those standing to mingle with others slapped the edges of the wood with open palms. Aaron strode towards the throne overseeing the room, then stood in front of it. ¡°Today, we have felled one of the most dangerous creatures to every walk this land: a foul monster; kin to the maddest of gods and made savage by their bond. In its rampage towards my land, it killed no less than seven of House Esfaria¡¯s finest monster hunters ¨C and the finest of House Esfaria are fine indeed.¡± All red-clad nobility present slammed their cups in approval. ¡°Your aid in felling this beast has been invaluable, and together we have rid the world of a drop of the divine malevolence that stalks this land.¡± King Aaron cast his eyes towards an empty table. ¡°I am sure that, were it not for their own godly tribulations, House Baylar would have been eager to do the same. After all, they were eager to obliterate the bloodline of a House tainted with the barest drop of inhumanity.¡± In light of his earlier dressing-down of Leyden, no one commented on the hypocrisy shadowing his faint disapproval. House Albright had been the one to allow Heltia¡¯s fall. Yet despite all present benefiting from its mercenary army over the years, leadership necessitated duplicity, and whatever loyalty they held to dead nobility was far outweighed far by the direction his speech was taking. The Monarch shook his head sadly. ¡°It is truly a shame. If the challenge the Ox poses is so great as to bar their mere presence, then how can they be expected to properly care for the lands of the House they destroyed?¡± Mutterings. Whispers. The sudden understanding that House Baylar¡¯s myriad gains had been poisoned from the beginning. That allegiances with the merchant House had become too costly to maintain. That with a handful of words everyone present had become both potential collaborator and rival. King Aaron waved a hand. ¡°But let us not speak poorly of those unable to defend themselves, or let it shadow the great service we have all provided today. We have felled a piece of the divine, as we had felled the divine itself thirteen years ago. And of course,¡± he said with a wry smile, ¡°if we have done it before, we can do it again.¡± The whispers grew as each of the nobles turned to their fellows. The Monarch could not discern the specifics, but he didn¡¯t need to be a Foxblood to understand what was passing between them. Some dark seed had sprouted from the corpse of the Raven. Their hunt had been designed to assure the nobles that such a thing could be squashed. ¡°Never shall it be said that the Houses are anything other than the guardians of humanity, protecting one another against a world content to see us dust. I must beg my leave ¨C lest my wife prove her tongue sharper than any Ravenkin¡¯s teeth,¡± he said, with a smirk spurring obligatory chuckles, ¡°but I hope today has reinvigorated your faith in yourself and those present. Enjoy a Divinity presented by the Face Rolf, and, of course, one another¡¯s company. Good night.¡± With that, he departed the room flanked by his guards. Leaving just enough meat for the dogs to bleed each other over. He released a single breath, but never stopped walking. The halls were interminable. Equipped with all the trappings a king¡¯s dwelling demanded ¨C at least in the more trafficked areas. But as the King walked through the halls, the finery lining them began to fade. Plush, gold-trimmed carpets faded into knitted rugs, then bare stone. Paintings commissioned from famed artisans mingled with immaculate sculptures, yet soon their positions were bare. Gleaming candelabras grew tarnished before vanishing entirely, leaving only the feeble lantern the Head held to fight the darkness. By the time the hallway became empty of anything but footsteps, King Aaron had dismissed his guards. Only he and the steel-clad giant behind walked the featureless halls. They passed the rooms of cousins and uncles and aunts and nieces and nephews and his mistresses and his wife and they kept walking. Until they reached an unmarked study, filled wall-to-wall with cabinets containing documents hand-picked for their insignificance. When the door was bolted behind them, both figures silently checked ceiling and floor for infiltrators. They found no one. The aging monarch released a small sigh, then began helping the giant move one of the cabinets sideways. After moving it sideways, King Aaron fell to one knee, drew a knife from his belt, and levered a panel from the floor upwards. Hidden beneath it was a trapdoor. The two men descended, allowing it to fall closed behind them. Absolute darkness enveloped them, but recollection served where sight did not. The basement was barely larger than a closet; even with the giant¡¯s faltering memory, there was little to remember. It contained two armchairs, an unlit everburning lamp, and a set of runes inscribed across every surface. The steel-clad man tore off his helmet and spat a wad of blood onto the runic array. The world outside silenced. As the basement itself would, to any waiting outside. The room flared with azure light, yet the smaller man¡¯s eyes were clenched shut. ¡°What was that, Aaron?¡± the giant demanded. ¡°Challenging the Leydenese to a duel? With me? Threatening an unblooded with the divine smells of weakness.¡± ¡°I¡¯m¡­¡± Aaron swallowed an apology. They would only leave the man more incensed. ¡°I could hardly challenge him myself.¡± ¡°You should have sent one of your guards,¡± the larger man declared. ¡°That¡¯s why we have them.¡± ¡°¡­I¡¯ll do better, next time.¡± ¡°See to it.¡± There was a groan as the giant carefully lowered himself into an armchair designed to hold his weight. ¡°Nephew.¡± Aaron opened his eyes. Even seated, the giant was large enough to gaze directly at him. Facing him was a caricature of an old man, whose visage had progressed past elderly into something truly ancient. As if all the tallow of human existence had been charred away, leaving something primordial. Thin hairs clung to a dark scalp speckled with spots and sprouted in clusters from nostrils and ears. Cracked lips perched atop a dangling chin. Sunken eye sockets surveyed the room above folds of sagging skin. All of it was hoisted by one ubiquitous sign of inhumanity: jagged growths of bone twisting the face into rigid immobility. They crackled every time the man spoke. Aaron lowered himself into his respective armchair. Both were impeccably cushioned, but he felt little comfort. After all, he faced the first Monarch of Humanity. The warlord Adam Albright: who, a century ago, had fought and manoeuvred the warring Houses into a standstill, then threatened his way into becoming the first among them. Held aloft as a paragon of human potential, unsullied by Godsblood. A symbol telling all people that they could be more than chaff for gods, if only they reached into themselves and found what they were truly capable of. And the oldest Shrikeblood in the world. ¡°We¡¯ve misstepped, Aaron,¡± his great uncle whispered. ¡°It all went awry.¡± The younger man shook his head frantically. ¡°Everything that we set out to do has been accomplished! The Spires of Heltia have been crippled- ¡° ¡°-and progress with bloodtech has been set back decades.¡± ¡°The extent of the destruction was a miscalculation but you understood the potential consequences from the beginning. In any case, we can poach their Owlbloods, now; centralise that power in a far more sustainable, controllable location. And they were far too close to uncovering the Shrike- ¡° ¡°-which will eventually be revealed in any case. No secrets last forever.¡± ¡°But we can control when and where our family is exposed.¡± Aaron shook his head. ¡°House Baylar is now stretched far too thin, and the northern Houses can now recoup some of their lost strength. The other Houses will chip pieces of it away¡­¡± But the old king was lowering his head. ¡°Neelam was meant to wound them. Fight them to a standstill. Instead¡­¡± ¡°Heltia was growing too powerful. And the Houses¡¯ attention has been redirected towards each other- ¡° ¡°-and they needed to be redirected because we¡¯ve lost one of the last people who bore witness to the strength of our blood!¡± ¡°They had forgotten regardless.¡± Aaron rubbed his temples. ¡°Uncle, you knew all of this. Every word I say came from your mouth first.¡± ¡°It¡¯s just¡­¡± The Shrikeblood clenched both fists hard enough they creaked. ¡°Gale Vane,¡± he muttered. ¡°I thought him a loathsome little thing. Wrapped up in revenge against a family whose only sin was ignorance.¡± Aaron let loose a controlled breath. ¡°Uncle¡­¡± ¡°Allied with a bandit. Breaking supply lines. Ideas about the Ox. We thought putting such a small piece on Baylar¡¯s side appropriate.¡± The ancient monarch let loose a disparaging scoff filled with phlegm. ¡°We missed the god for its monsters.¡± Aaron¡¯s jaw clenched. ¡°Who¡¯s the god in this metaphor?¡± The old giant raised his head. ¡°My wayward niece.¡± ¡°¡­Gaia,¡± Aaron stated, lips curling. His own aunt. Who had fled the burden of the throne to flit in and out of the peripherals of Albright vision for decades. ¡°You believe- ¡° A vehement bark cut him off. ¡°We¡¯ve achieved everything we set out to achieve, and it is not enough.¡± The Shrikeblood leaned forward, bringing the two men¡¯s faces close enough that their foreheads touched. A harsh groan of pain fled the giant¡¯s mouth as the jagged growths of bone perforating his body shifted, but remained still even as sweat began to leak from his forehead. The skin felt cold and lank against Aaron¡¯s forehead. Irregular lumps of bone pressed hard enough to break skin. ¡°We must be better than this, Aaron,¡± his great uncle whispered, eyes the crimson of the earth beneath their feet. ¡°Our role demands greatness ¨C more than any other. To guide humanity to a tomorrow without fear, we must be better. We must discard the flaws that drove us here.¡± Aaron ¨C king and catspaw for most of his four decades of life ¨C did not truly understand what those words meant. ¡®Proliferation¡¯ and ¡®prosperity¡¯ were the two guiding stars the Albrights pursued; a land where the slavering teeth the world dug into humanity were extracted by chains of law and power. Yet because their gaze remained fixed those lofty goals, it was sometimes difficult to see how the steps they took would get to them. ¡°The past is as rot. Look forward,¡± the Shrikeblood said. ¡°Be better.¡± And what other answers could there be? The pair sat in silence for a time. The blue lantern began to ebb, signalling their time in the small room was drawing to a close. Fangs of shadow grew longer. The old man broke the silence first. ¡°At the very least, we now have more time.¡± Aaron remained silent. ¡°Our soldiers have had more encounters with the Seeds in the past year than the four decades before combined. Whatever game she¡¯s playing is reaching its end. And she has the most powerful piece of all in her pocket.¡± ¡°The Raven,¡± Aaron stated quickly. ¡°It¡¯s not a rumour? It¡¯s resurrected- ¡° The old man shifted in his seat, stifling a groan of pain as he did so. ¡°Haven¡¯t you heard? They¡¯re not calling it the Raven, anymore.¡± ¡°Then¡­¡± The middle-aged man¡¯s eyes darted side-to-side. ¡°Those that have seen it. What have they named it?¡± ¡°What else for a creature that picked through the corpse of a god?¡± The ancient monster smiled wearily, and his teeth were shards of bloodied bone running through his own cheeks. ¡°The Vulture.¡± Chapter 71 - Dirge for the Divine ¡°In the beginning, there was a boy.¡± The cavern smelled of stone, dirt and dust. A damp musk overlayed by specks shed over millennia of existence. An ancient place mindless of its age, and mindless of the people gathered within it. ¡°A rascal; prone to mischief.¡± They sat or knelt or stood between stalagmites or beside the thin trickle of water winding deeper into the earth¡¯s veins. Some sheltered from the cold beneath fur blankets or thick coats while others stubbornly wore short sleeves and curled their lips towards the more warmly clothed among them. All gazed towards the front of the cavern, where shadows cast from behind a screen and a low, rhythmic voice curled its way around a Divinity. Sometimes, their eyes would creep towards the back as well. ¡°A boy with a family that loved him; a boy who collected shiny stones and discarded baubles; a boy who made grand promises his skills could not back; a boy who teased and was teased in turn; a boy quick with a laugh. In most ways, a boy you could find anywhere.¡± Sturdy shadows stood starkly against the candlelight illuminating the back of the screen: cut from bark through hours of dedication from a man rarely sedentary enough to work with anything more than a Face. But there was time. There would always be more time, now. ¡°Yet in one, single aspect, this boy was unlike any other. For unbeknownst to those around him, the boy¡¯s blood ran black. And his mother was the one tasked with ensuring it never ran again.¡± The shadows slid smoothly from action to action: the small boy peeking from the skeleton of some immense thing as his mother shifted back and forth, halberd in hand. The bones crumbled into buildings and the boy slid between its streets as his mother ¨C bereft of her halberd ¨C swept her shadow-arms through a kitchen. ¡°So the boy kept his secret. But nothing can be kept forever.¡± Something about the cavern shifted. The story and the cut-outs moved forward at the same pace. Borne by the momentum of the tale, it all still trundled forward. No one seemed to notice that a part of the world had snagged on the words that had fallen a few heartbeats back. None but Blake, who looked up at some thing at the back of the room, brows bowed in concern. ¡°His mother died for him, knowing what he was. But living is always harder than dying. And with the corpse of the one who raised him at his feet, the boy understood the kind of beast he would live as." The air felt rough. Coarse. Like the blunt edge of a stone scraping against burnt skin. The boy held the corpse of his mother, but it hadn¡¯t happened like that, had it? Nothing nearly so elegant. But how could Bhan have known otherwise? Amongst all of the people who stood on that roof, only one still breathed at the end of it. ¡°The boy ran far away and hid himself from the world. Yet the world did not hide from him, and try as he might, the boy could not stop himself from looking at it. So it was that when a dynasty fell the boy was there to catch what little remained of it. And in exchange for protection from the wind that threatened to extinguish it, that small ember promised what he wanted most.¡± The words were harsh; beating themselves against the walls of the cavern and leaping away before they could be caught. They seemed to titter to one another; sharing some hidden joke laced with mockery. The shadows ran and Blake squinted upwards. His frown deepened. ¡°An end to what lurked in his veins.¡± The young man¡¯s strangely pock-marked face twisted as he swore quietly. Then his form began to grow smaller as he twisted his way towards the front of the cavern. During his weaving between the muscular individuals watching the Divinity, his path was silent except for a few protests from those who had their visions obstructed and a handful of muttered apologies from Blake. ¡°The boy killed for that promise.¡± The story was too fast; fire melting ice to the tune of pounding blood. In the middle of the room, Blake squatted at the base of a stalagmite and muttered several words to Sash and Kit. The former swordswoman glanced backwards and the world shivered as a face that should not be distinct twisted in frustration. Her dark form awkwardly pushed itself upwards then limped out of the cavern. Sash¡¯s thumbs twiddled as she stared at Blake, but with a swallow and a nod she began moving towards where he began his journey. ¡°The only reward for his service would be death. For no one can live with empty veins. So the boy chose an end.¡± The story continued, yet the small body of Sash had managed to dance its way backwards. Not so small, any more. She was nearly fourteen. The baby fat had left her frame; spent to fuel her upwards growth and the season spent beneath the earth to leave her tall and lean and far, far too old. The girl shifted from foot to foot awkwardly, then began quietly speaking. ¡°The end did not find him.¡± But Blake had reached the screen as well, and though his words were distant whispers they seemed louder than any other in the room. ¡°Hey Bhan,¡± the young man hissed. ¡°You gotta stop.¡± ¡°Face Bhan,¡± came the stern reply. ¡°He having trouble?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± From behind the screen, the bob of his head seemed the dipping of an eclipsed sun. ¡°Orvs is- ¡° Despite being almost inaudible, the name sounded like the crack of a whip. Or a shock of lightning spearing through clouded skies. ¡°Blake,¡± Bhan snapped. ¡°No names.¡± ¡°But he¡¯s- ¡° ¡°You know it go bad,¡± the Face insisted. ¡°He has a name, Bhan.¡± ¡°That the problem,¡± the older man snapped. ¡°He got too many.¡± The finality of his words allowed no reply. The Face waited a beat before straightening. A chorus of pops creaked from his stiffened body as he stepped from behind the screen. The bark patterns in his hand were quickly slipped into pouches on his belt. A single, overly long squeeze of the eyelids was the only allowance the man made for his fatigue. ¡°Apologies, Seeds,¡± the man began, a plaintive smile on his face. His voice was hollowed of his usual accent, as it always was when performing a Divinity. ¡°Our tale must end here, for today.¡± Most of the audience accepted the news gracefully, excepting a single groan from a younger man who was instantly punched in the arms by everyone around him. The Face met the interruption with a wry smile. ¡°Fret not! The story of the new god will continue tomorrow. And there are other things to keep you occupied- ¡° ¡°Countin¡¯ rations!¡± one man drawled in a Heartlander accent. Emboldened, a young woman squeaked: ¡°Weapon forms!¡± Her voice was distinctive to the nomads. The man who had groaned grinned and exclaimed in a precise, clipped manner: ¡°Gambling!¡± He was pelted with another set of punches from those around him, yet they only served to embolden him. ¡°Of course,¡± he said, ¡°that is only if our Vulture allows!¡± Several eyes darted towards the back of the cavern. ¡°Shut up, Herod,¡± someone spat. Bhan¡¯s smile tightened slightly. ¡°This time tomorrow, yes?¡± A chorus of agreements followed as the warriors who had chosen to attend rose to their feet, shook the torpor from their limbs, and most began milling towards the tunnels exiting the cavern. Several were faster ¨C hurriedly jogging from the area with glances thrown over their shoulders. One hairy man was frantically attempting to quiet a child on the verge of tears. Sash was still speaking. ¡°¡­a little spot in the deep caves that Dash and I found, and though it is quite deep there is a beam of sunlight that travels down much like the centre shaft ¨C I believe there is a stone like a mirror or something reflecting it ¨C and we took Pat there and he slept and I believe it helped him a lot, because he hasn¡¯t limped in days¡­¡± She didn¡¯t seem aware of what she was saying. Just that she was filling the empty space. When the cavern had emptied of Shrikebloods, Blake and the Face approached Sash. ¡°How he doing?¡± Bhan asked. ¡°Good,¡± Sash replied, then twisted a finger through her hair and turned her gaze towards the ground. ¡°¡­I think.¡± Blake gave a wide smile belying the tightness of his eyes. ¡°He looks better. No more weird, uh¡­¡± He gestured vaguely around his face. ¡°He¡¯s lookin¡¯ almost as good as me.¡± Sash paused to process that, then giggled lightly. The young man¡¯s expression loosened. ¡°I bet we¡¯ll have him lippin¡¯ so much it¡¯ll take a rope ¡®round in the mouth to shut him up.¡± The girl nodded, eyes downcast. ¡°¡­Okay.¡± A short silence followed. It was broken by Bhan clearing his throat. ¡°Where your brother? With the dog?¡± ¡°Mhm.¡± ¡°See if he need help, eh?¡± Her eyes flicked upwards. ¡°¡­You do not need me?¡± The Face gently shook his head. ¡°You done plenty. Ugly and I have it.¡± ¡°Oi,¡± Blake stated flatly. ¡°Apologies. Pimply and I have it.¡± The younger man scoffed a chuckle. ¡°Watch it, old man. ¡®Les you want us to be known as Gimpy and Pimply.¡± ¡°My skin perfect,¡± Bhan retorted without looking at Blake. ¡°That¡¯s not what I- ¡° He waved a hand. ¡°Off you go, Sash.¡± After a moment of hesitation, the girl dipped her head and scurried from the cavern. When she had disappeared, Bhan slumped against a stalagmite and sighed. Blake squatted beside him. While the Face¡¯s gaze remained levelly against the back of the room, the tanned young man¡¯s faced the empty air. Time stretched. Bhan¡¯s piercing gaze did not shift, but eventually Blake produced a small wooden flask from the pocket of his coat. When he waved it invitingly under the Face¡¯s nose, the older man scowled. ¡°Not here,¡± he snapped. ¡°What¡¯s he gonna do? Get drunk off the fumes?¡± Blake snorted. ¡°If it was so easy t¡¯get a god sloshed, I reckon we¡¯d have a much easier time killin¡¯ the one beneath us.¡± ¡°Blake.¡± ¡°He¡¯s fine; he never had a problem with it back in the Foot, anyway.¡± Bhan shifted to look the other man in the eyes. ¡°This look like Foot to you?¡± A scowl crawled across Blake¡¯s face. ¡°You- ¡° ¡°Kit taking some time, eh? Why not go see her?¡± Blake released a long breath. ¡°We¡¯re not meant t¡¯be alone with- ¡± ¡°You make a poor, old man do it?¡± The corners of Bhan¡¯s mouth quirked. ¡°Shame, Blake; shame.¡± Blake sighed, then began levering himself upright. ¡°Bloody Faces,¡± he muttered, before exiting the cavern. His footsteps echoed long after he left. As did the voices blending indistinctly together as they filtered from outside: borne of the dozens of Shrikebloods that mingled throughout one of the many cave systems the Seeds had burrowed their way into. Five times their number could easily fit within the tunnels they had made their home, but they seemed more concerned with stealth than concentrating military might. Bhan¡¯s eyes traced the cavern. Several discordant cracks in the rock hinted at the quakes ¨C likely caused by past Achings, given the Heartland¡¯s proximity ¨C that fractured its image. Smears of dirt where warriors had tracked mud in from the constant storms rumbling outside further despoiled it. Yet despite it all, it remained a beautiful space, where colours swirled together in a mimicry of the river that had flowed over the many-hued stone for as long as gods had walked. Chance had preserved it, and- ¡°We miss you,¡± Bhan said. The cave system stretched farther than any maps or mortals knew. Yet none of the Shrikebloods that spent their days beneath the ground needed to know its full extent; the Seeds¡¯ encampment was huddled around a central shaft that bled into various other tunnels. Most of the Shrikebloods who had departed dragged their feet towards it through a thin crack chipped wide enough to walk through by weeks of chiselling. Their sluggish gait was uncharacteristic of their ilk, but weeks underground had a way of either sapping one¡¯s energy or increasing it to unmanageable levels at unpredictable intervals. The trail towards the central shaft was cool to the touch. Stalactites hanging from the ceiling forced the taller walkers to dip their head downwards and the sheer narrowness of the space meant that all present needed to walk in single-file. Their heads tilted; their wide eyes watched. They flinched away. ¡°Apology!¡± Bhan called from the back. ¡°Make way!¡± With a few muttered swears the Seeds pressed themselves against the side of the tunnel, allowing Bhan¡¯s significantly thinner form to barely slide between their bodies and the rock beside them. The Face¡¯s breath came harshly as his eyes darted between the stone walls that threatened to crush him. ¡°Wait!¡± he yelled. Then the tunnel creaked open into an interminable ceiling: slate climbing to pale shale to crumbling dirt riddled with roots and then into nothing at all as the ground ended and the sky began. Rain fell from that hole to the sky ¨C spat from the crackling clouds looming above ¨C and the distance it fell made each fat droplet seem unhurried in their path to the ground. Until they broke on the heads of the dozen or so people beneath, who held their arms over their heads as they hurried away. Or they broke on the rock, or slid down the walls. Or fell into the open branches of the immense tree that stood at the centre of the shaft. Bhan finally pushed his way out from one of the many tunnels that connected to the shaft and bent over at the knees. His attempts to slow his breathing were tremulous, but eventually succeeded. When he was done, he looked up. ¡°Pretty tree, eh?¡± It was a pale, ghostly thing. White as death. Yet unlike the insubstantial forms that occasionally flickered through the capillaries of the cave system, it was solid. A touch would leave the ripples and furrows of its bark naked to the mind. Its branches were thin and fragile, but specks of auburn leaves remained. Despite lacking nutrients and sunlight except for the few parts of the day when the sun was directly above, it lived. ¡°Old thing in old hole,¡± Face Bhan mused. ¡°Gods above old, too. Tree make no sound ¨C hurt no one ¨C but it old too.¡± The voices came from nowhere, bleeding over one another incomprehensibly. ¡°Gods ain¡¯t that different from trees, are they?¡± ¡°Maybe it did hurt someone. Maybe that¡¯s how it became old.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a lonely place for it.¡± Bhan¡¯s head jerked sideways. His expression was open. Yet when a beat had passed, it crumpled like dry leaves. He bit his cheek and squeezed his eyes shut. His hand felt small. Then he withdrew it, sucked in a breath and smoothed his face into something just shy of normalcy. ¡°Y¡¯alright old man?¡± came a low drawl. Limping around the other side of the tree was¡­ Kit? Kit. She was over there. Her scowl deepened every time her weight was placed on her bad leg. A sheathed sword in her off-hand doubled as a makeshift crutch. The other could hold nothing. She paused for a moment before drawing closer. Nevertheless, she stopped directly beside him. ¡°Eyah, Kit. Where you been?¡± Bhan asked. ¡°Runnin¡¯.¡± She spat onto the floor. ¡°Godsdamned lady¡¯s like a...¡± Her teeth ground together. ¡°What¡¯s th¡¯ word¡­¡± ¡°Tyrant?¡± ¡°Blood¡¯s that mean? An¡¯ no. Like a¡­ Like a¡­¡± A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. ¡°Mm. You see Blake?¡± She nodded. ¡°He¡¯s arguin¡¯ with Gaia an¡¯ Maddie ¨C a damn shame I couldn¡¯t pull her away ¨C an¡¯ Erin.¡± Her teeth ground together. ¡°Little rat deserves it. Had t¡¯get out o¡¯ there ¡®fore I slapped the mouth off her face.¡± Bhan frowned. ¡°Erin?¡± Her only response was another wad of spittle onto the floor. ¡°Eyah.¡± The rain dripped down their faces. Kit¡¯s nostrils flared as she idly fingered the bandage wrapped around her stump. ¡°Before you left Spire,¡± Bhan began, ¡°you and apprentice get in trouble? Kill people? In Spiral?¡± The former swordswoman¡¯s brows lowered. ¡°I¡­¡± ¡°What happen there?¡± ¡°We killed some people.¡± ¡°Before.¡± ¡°I¡­¡± She snapped her hand repeatedly. ¡°Come on.¡± Her lips peeled backwards. ¡°I should know this¡­¡± Bhan raised his hands. ¡°If remembering hard- ¡° ¡°Why don¡¯t you shut up, you old piece o¡¯ dirt?¡± The young woman shifted to jab a finger into the Face¡¯s chest, but lost her balance and stumbled to the side. ¡°Ox¡¯s balls,¡± Kit hissed. ¡°Bloody¡­ See what you made me do?¡± Bhan simply stared at her. ¡°Raven¡¯s bones!¡± Her five fingers curled impotently. She growled. She stilled. She rubbed her eyes and walked away. Limped across the shaft. Another offshoot swallowed her. Gone. Each droplet of rain was cold. As if they were ice instead of water. ¡°Better leave before wet,¡± Bhan muttered. The man left the sky and the tree. Both of his boots tapped against the floor of a wider tunnel. Unlike the room he¡¯d performed his Divinity in, everburning lanterns lit the passage in an otherworldly blue light. The surplus of Godsblood walking through the caves kept them lit at all hours. Yet beyond the lights lining the side of the path, all that adorned its walls were shadows. From ahead, voices echoed. ¡°¡­he¡¯s not a bloody toy, Erin!¡± ¡°Well, at least one of us has figured that out.¡± Their tones lowered into a dull rattling that crawled along the walls. Beat by beat, Bhan¡¯s legs brought him into a small chamber. Cozy, were it not for who were seated within. Around a feeble table that barely seemed sturdy enough to support the hills of wax tablets rolling atop it sat Gaia, Erin, and Head Maleen, whose concussion had long since given way to her characteristic acuity. It was unusual to see them alone ¨C Gaia was most often advised by several older individuals. But while the rank-and-file had little to do other than train, the Seed¡¯s leadership roiled in preparation. Like beetles preparing to besiege an anthill. That left only three remaining to undergo quieter preparations. Blake spat down at them. ¡°¡­absolutely wild! If he¡¯s a god, how d¡¯you think using him so much¡¯s gonna go?¡± He raised his eyebrows. ¡°Huh? Why do they even need him anyway?¡± ¡°We need to prove she¡¯s on our side,¡± the young Head said quietly, eyes turned downwards. ¡°Without a firm demonstration, none of them will care.¡± Gaia nodded towards the girl. Erin cocked an eyebrow. ¡°He? She? It is a god.¡± ¡°Go stick your head down Enn¡¯s throat, Erin,¡± Blake snapped, ¡°maybe you¡¯ll find a bit of tact down there.¡± ¡°Blake¡­¡± The young Shrikeblood rubbed the bridge of her nose. ¡°We¡¯re getting off topic. There¡¯s no other way.¡± ¡°Alright.¡± He released a breath. ¡°Alright. Say we table that. What about the, the¡­ the big piss-off weapon? Why¡¯s he gotta fuel that?¡± Gaia answered this time. ¡°We need something more potent than what mere Blooded can offer.¡± ¡°Well¡­¡± He ran a hand through his head. ¡°Isn¡¯t there some other way into the castle? I mean, you dug some of these tunnels.¡± ¡°We widened them.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not like we don¡¯t have time.¡± A sudden clearing of the throat drew all eyes to Bhan. ¡°Maybe. But he might not.¡± Blake¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°¡­What d¡¯you mean?¡± ¡°He a god- ¡° ¡°He¡¯s your friend- ¡° The protest was shattered. ¡°And a god. A god.¡± Those within the room shifted as Blake¡¯s eyes flickered between them. A snort erupted from his nostrils. Infinitesimally, Gaia¡¯s jaw tightened. ¡°Most gods are constant. Their conditions do not alter in any meaningful way.¡± She steepled her fingers. ¡°But there are two exceptions, and they are the deities we have concerned ourselves with. Your friend is going to change. And we have no idea whether those changes will leave it seeping through our fingers or not.¡± Blake¡¯s lips tightened. Then he scoffed. ¡°Come back to reality, Blake.¡± Erin¡¯s tone was coloured by a sharp rebuke. ¡°We¡¯re not playing, here.¡± ¡°No, you are bloody well playin¡¯,¡± he snapped back. ¡°You¡¯re playin¡¯ with Orvi¡¯s life.¡± The cavern was small. The people within carried bags beneath their eyes. They were tiny. Missives spilled over the table¡¯s rim in frantic disorder. The space was cramped. Maleen¡¯s fingers were stained with ink. She looked exhausted. The cavern was small. Miniscule. ¡°¡­¡± Whites of their eyes huge. ¡°¡­¡± Bhan was saying something. ¡°¡­at in bag? Show me what in your bag.¡± The bag. The bag was formed by roughly-spun fibre bound together by a single cord. Bereft of straps as it was, the term ¡®sack¡¯ might better describe it. But the others called it a bag so a bag it was. There were several objects within it. A pebble found underneath a river of water, perfectly smooth beyond a subtle rivet bisecting its skin. One broken wing. A dozen carvings ¨C some from heartwood or speartree, and others from stone ¨C of things that would not exist in a century. Whip¡¯s modified crossbow. A necklace offered by a woman who couldn¡¯t stop shaking. Bells taken from the bodies of the dead. A piece of rock shaped like the bones of an ancient deity, dead since time began and uprooted from the deep caves. And one midnight blade; wrapped in a scabbard wrapped in rolls of muffling cloth, so its presence might be quiet, if only for a moment. They were in the bag. ¡°Good stone,¡± said Bhan. ¡°I hold?¡± The stone stayed in the bag. ¡°Eyah.¡± Blake gave a weak smile. ¡°Kit told you. There was some trouble, earlier.¡± Erin ¨C who had stood ¨C lowered herself back into her chair. ¡°Trouble.¡± She paused. ¡°Right.¡± Gaia unclenched her knuckles. ¡°¡­Do you think the Shrikeblood conversion stones can be finished today?¡± Head Maleen released a breath she had been holding. ¡°She likes it,¡± she said, ¡°right?¡± ¡°I hope so.¡± The old Shrikeblood shifted slightly, then her eyes narrowed slightly as she sucked a sharp breath. Only Erin perceived the woman¡¯s wince. ¡°Are you alright, leader?¡± Gaia waved a hand. ¡°Fine.¡± Her throat sounded tight. The younger Shrikeblood gave a sceptical frown. ¡°You sure?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll have it looked at later.¡± Her eyes trailed towards the Face. ¡°Bhan ¨C you¡¯ll look after it?¡± ¡°We see, hm?¡± Suddenly, her tone grew harsh. ¡°We have five days.¡± Strained capillaries wound around the edges of her eye. ¡°I understand it¡¯s difficult, but we cannot stay like this. We must be better. Yes?¡± Her eyes panned around towards those present. ¡°Yes?¡± Bhan did not give a denial. He did not give anything at all.
The tunnel back was quiet. The rain amidst the branches a constant patter. The Face sat hunched underneath an outcropping of stone, brown eyes staring upwards. Every wrinkle on his face seemed to smoothen, as if his countless days beneath the sun had been stripped from him. His hands hung limply beneath his lap. Out of one of the many tunnels converging in that space spat Ronnie, their sheer size partially obscuring Taja and the old dog hobbling behind them. The giant walked with a slight limp -- a remnant of the tendon damage accrued in Fort Vane -- but nothing as pronounced as Kit''s. The two humans stood slightly apart, accompanied by neither gesture nor words. They wandered around the edges of that space; their forms orphaned by its sheer size. When their wandering gaze fell on the slumped Face, they briefly froze. Then they approached. Yowler¡¯s hackles bristled. Bhan¡¯s gaze dragged itself upwards. ¡°Eyah Ronnie. Eyah Taja.¡± Ronnie flushed, then gave a wave, which left the old runeslate attached to their arm quivering. The giant couldn¡¯t make use of it ¨C in fact, the mere sight of it likely caused headaches ¨C but they had wanted it all the same. Taja only shot a quick nod. ¡°What you doing?¡± Taja glanced at Ronnie, who produced a small box entirely covered in runes (heat, light, recursive array; force, activation array; force¡­) placed there by countless hours of labour. The Strain pressed a divot on in its side. ¡°WA,¡± it said. Another press. ¡°NN.¡± Another. ¡°DU,¡± it began, then fizzled into a sound like a hive of angry bees. ¡°Not meant to do that,¡± the Face theorised. Ronnie¡¯s already pink cheeks grew redder. They nodded. ¡°You meant wander?¡± The Strain bobbed their head. ¡°Find anything?¡± Ronnie raised a meaty finger towards the box, then their shoulders slumped and they looked towards Taja. ¡°Old carvings,¡± the youth explained. ¡°Very old.¡± Bhan hummed. ¡°You think people live here?¡± Taja narrowed his eyes in thought. Ronnie shoved the box back in a pocket in favour of using both hands to sign, though their fingers were less dextrous than normal. ¡°I am certain. There are too many art pieces for any other explanation.¡± ¡°Definitely. I don¡¯t see how there could be so much art otherwise.¡± ¡°Yeah, mostly ¡®cause there¡¯re paintings practically smeared across some caves.¡± Those gathered flinched at the translations. Ronnie glanced upwards. After a few moments, their thick legs shuffled slightly closer and presented the malfunctioning voice-box. Its problem was obvious. A dent ¨C from a careless fall, most likely ¨C had warped the bloodtech¡¯s material and distorted some of its runes as a result. Fortunately, its arrays were independent from one another, meaning local damage did not affect the entire device. Fixing it required only careful application of force and a touch-up to some of the more heavily marred sigils. While the repairs were being completed, Bhan made small-talk about their travels in the deeper caves ¨C answered by Taja with some prompting from Ronnie. Besides Erin and Head Maleen, most of those who had ended up at Fort Vane had little to occupy themselves with on their off-days. To fill the space, the teenager had taken to spelunking and, after a few weeks, Ronnie and their dog had joined him. From what they¡¯d said, the cave system had definitive ends in some directions ¨C it didn¡¯t extend near the Albright¡¯s castle, for example ¨C yet others swum beneath the earth ceaselessly. They¡¯d found a few auxiliary tunnels towards the surface and several signs of ancient human habitation in certain areas ¨C nothing that could be dated, but certainly older than the three centuries of recorded history. They¡¯d even accidentally stumbled into another Seed encampment further out, which had led to them being imprisoned for several days until Gaia managed to sort it out. Eventually, the repairs were finished. Ronnie signed ¡®Gratitude¡¯, and those present shuffled their feet and twiddled their thumbs for a few moments. Bhan¡¯s voice split the air. ¡°We seeing twins. You come and escort?¡± The lines on Taja¡¯s face grew slightly deeper, and when Ronnie shakily nodded, he released a weary sigh. ¡°Problem?¡± the Face asked. ¡°It is just¡­¡± A surly note entered his voice. ¡°I¡¯m on duty three days from now.¡± ¡°¡­Three days long time, Taja.¡± The teenager gave a light snort. ¡°Not long enough.¡± In response, Ronnie whacked him on the back of the head. They were immediately hit by a glare as the youth whirled. ¡°Do you believe my presence will make any sort of difference?¡± He continued without waiting for a response. ¡°If he wants to do something, he will do it. There is nothing any of us can do to stop it.¡± His eyes were dark. Lined. The rain fell. Whatever fat he might have possessed had long been burned away. Maybe even before his sibling¡¯s death. The tree cast a distended shadow. Its branches and twigs became knives in the black. No one seemed to notice. They were too busy. The giant mismatched hands tumbled through a series of gestures. ¡°We¡¯re here to stop his wants.¡± ¡°Our presence will prevent him from going so far.¡± ¡°You think we¡¯re here for nothin¡¯?¡± Once more, the voices dove through the air like wraiths; merging and diverging discordantly. Despite that, Taja seemed to understand enough. ¡°He barely liked me, anyway.¡± Ronnie shook their head vigorously. But Taja simply stared out into the rain pattering from above, teeth clenched. When the moment stretched, Bhan sighed. ¡°Not force you,¡± he acceded. ¡°We go alone.¡± Before they left, Ronnie attempted to convince Yowler to stay with Taja. The dog made a ponderous three-point-turn to eye the boy sceptically, but after the teenager offered him several pieces of jerky he begrudgingly acquiesced. With that settled, Taja dragged Yowler towards the tunnel to the barracks, which swallowed the pair whole. The middle-aged man gazed at where their forms had vanished for a moment, then turned to the Strain beside him. ¡°Where twins, anyway?¡± The giant shrugged.
It took over an hour to find them. Neither the Shrikebloods engaged in games of Web in the barracks nor those sparring in the training hall adjacent had seen Sash. One thought she had sighted Dash and Pat reading some of the books given to the Seeds as a gift, but when they asked Erin ¨C who was charged with the care of the disparate sets of books and artworks they possessed ¨C she claimed to have not seen him since that morning. It was one of the warriors tasked with guarding the choke-points into their encampment that yielded useable information: he¡¯d seen both the twins carrying their dog upwards, towards the surface, mere moments before they had arrived. The central passage to the surface was treacherous ¨C especially as damp as it was ¨C and entirely unlit. Gaia had categorically refused Shrikebloods adding any kind of permanent illumination or handhold outside their encampment, for fear it could give away their location. Yet the passage posed far less of a threat to two wiry adolescents than it did to a man ungracefully entering middle-age and a Strain with an arm so underdeveloped it could scarcely hold a cup of water without trembling. Both needed significant amounts of help. One damp portion saw Bhan slipping on one boot with enough centrifugal momentum to shatter his skull had he not been caught in time. He took more care afterwards, but the fatigue of the ascent soon turned him clumsy once more. The light of the everburning lantern held above proved too dim for him to sight most hazards. In the end, he demanded constant attention. There were several ledges that Ronnie was physically incapable of pulling their weight onto, which necessitated a push from the bottom and a pull from the top to shove them up without injury. Though the Strain was far fitter than Bhan, their additional mass also led to one dramatic roll that might¡¯ve tumbled them into a sheer drop had their momentum not been arrested in time. By the time the trek was nearly done, both were shame-faced and apologising almost constantly for the slightest mistakes. The pair quietened when the light of the everburning lantern they carried began to be overcome by grey chiaroscuro sharpening the lines of the cavern around them. Shortly afterwards, the dull whispers of two familiar voices permeated the air. ¡°¡­could go outside for only a moment?¡± A sigh. ¡°No means no, Sash.¡± ¡°You want to go outside, too!¡± ¡°Sh!¡± The pair finally rounded a corner, where an immense contraption squatted. Though its form was concealed beneath a mottled grey tarp, enough days had been spent around it that its image seemed obvious despite the layer around it. Its arms and mechanisms (force, activation array; force, recursive array; force¡­) resembled that of a dreidel, yet with a nose crafted using a spiral pattern that swirled outwards until it terminated at the point of the machine. It dominated the tunnel; so large that moving it upwards or downwards would necessitate dismantling some of the endless components of the device. By far the most eye-catching of these were two iron prongs hanging from its side. They led into a metal canister with an elaborate series of runes (bond; recursive array¡­) that had become commonplace due to Neelam¡¯s research. Wooden tubes would circulate the container¡¯s contents throughout the device, powering its overwhelmingly demanding runes. Even beneath the covering, the prongs leered at everything within the cavern. Sash and Dash sat beneath its nose, next to the tunnel-opening ¨C its light speckled with shadow by the shrubbery concealing the hole to the surface. Their hound, Pat, dozed between them, his body occasionally wracked by shivers despite the blanket wrapped around him. Bhan managed to draw enough air into his heaving chest to speak. ¡°We going out, then?¡± The twins¡¯ eyes turned to the pair and both immediately startled. Sash audibly yelled, before raising a hand to her chest and exclaiming, ¡°How did you three sneak so well?¡± ¡°More spry than I seem, hm?¡± the Face mused. Behind him, Ronnie shook their head while using their fingers to mime a person faceplanting. Sash snickered, causing Bhan to whip his head back around and squint towards the Strain, who in turn cast their gaze towards a spot on the ceiling. Dash kept his face turned towards the entrance. Eventually, the man turned back to the adolescents. ¡°What you do here?¡± ¡°Stuff,¡± said Dash. Sash was eager to elucidate her brother¡¯s lacking explanation. ¡°I wanted to go outside, because I do not like it in here. All the walls and the caves and the blue light is just¡­¡± Bhan supplied the words. ¡°Mm. Stifles.¡± ¡°I suppose that''s right. And I understand we are not meant to go outside- ¡° ¡°Which is why we¡¯re not going outside,¡± Dash interjected. ¡° -but I thought since it is thundering no one would notice or care, and Pat would probably like it too. He has not had the shakes since we got up here.¡± Her brother¡¯s jaw tightened. ¡°Sash¡­¡± The dog had been having seizures, the past few weeks. Age was finally catching up to him. Bhan¡¯s lips thinned. ¡°I see. I- ¡° He was interrupted. ¡°Did you two carry him up?¡± ¡°Was the passage dangerous?¡± ¡°Are you two alright?¡± The boy swallowed. ¡°We¡¯re fine.¡± ¡°You¡¯re sure?¡± ¡°You don¡¯t look fine.¡± ¡°Chin up, kid.¡± Dash rubbed his eyes. ¡°We are fine, Orvi.¡± His jaw trembled. ¡°You can stop asking.¡± The Face¡¯s gaze darted upwards. ¡°We not use name- ¡° ¡°Well, what am I supposed to call¡­¡± While still staring away, he gestured sideways. ¡°That. He¡¯s not bloody¡­ He¡¯s not.¡± Sash touched her twin¡¯s arm. ¡°It¡¯s okay, Dash- ¡° ¡°It¡¯s not okay.¡± His lips trembled. ¡°Pat¡¯s not okay; Orvi¡¯s not okay; we¡¯re not okay; it¡¯s not okay.¡± What was in there? In Dash¡¯s head. In Sash¡¯s. In the moments where they thought the other wasn¡¯t watching. When they thought no one was. When they stifled sobs and shaking shoulders but wept still. His sister¡¯s eyes were growing damp as well. ¡°It might be better if you let us go outside!¡± He threw up his hands. ¡°How would that be better?!¡± ¡°Maybe it would make you less of an frustrating fleck of dirt!¡± she yelled, matching his voice with her own. For a moment, Dash was taken aback, but he quickly found his feet. ¡°Well, maybe if you had anything normal in that head of yours, you would know you¡¯re¡­ you¡¯re wrong. Orvi would- ¡± ¡°¡®You¡¯re wrong?¡¯ That sounds like¡­ Like... Something a six-year-old would say.¡± Dash punched her in the arm. Sash grabbed the front of his coat and rolled him to the ground. He scratched her cheek. She slapped his. Pat roused and loosed a strangled bark. Ronnie moved forward. Bhan followed. The sounds of their struggle disappeared behind. Darkness covered the tunnel back. A lack of light so solid even divinity could not pierce it. Damp stone. Curved floor. Feet slipping. Droplets falling repeatedly. ¡°Drip.¡± ¡°Drip.¡± ¡°Drip.¡± The innate stillness of all had long since dripped away. Caves twisted themselves into knots. Patches of moss shivered beneath feet. Voices echoed from far away. Deep underground, the world moved. ¡°Gh.¡± ¡°Nuh.¡± ¡°Stop.¡± The shadows no longer slept. They soared. Swooped. Pecked. Raked. The absence of light took indistinct shape. A place once loved and the thing marring it. Bells unsounded. Raised palms. A crumbling tower. A hole without end. The grime that buried it. A halberd, a sword, a fist; the sound of breaking bodies. Ice. But the ice melted. The caverns blurred together. Every cave in truth one cave. In truth a thousand caves. Time remained interminable. Moments were asymmetrical. Some flew like wind. Others hung sluggishly. Like great fat worms. All screeched past with the sound of nails against sandstone. Each step was resurrected from the memory of a thousand others. Brought frothing from a sea of onyx to gulp half a breath. Then to be pushed down into that sluggish liquid. Light felt like a dream half-remembered. Until it was not, and the ceiling soared upwards to reveal the tree at the centre of the shaft. The sun had departed its midday respite and could no longer light the space. But the rain still dribbled downwards from the Tempest sky above. At the space¡¯s centre was Bhan. He had descended. Some time ago. He was speaking. To Maddie and Sash and Taja and Ronnie and Dash and Blake and Kit and Erin and Gaia and the Shrikebloods. Likely had been for some time. There were forty-five people in the cave. Many people. Too many people. A man was walking towards Bhan. One mentioned they had seen the god earlier. A man was walking towards Bhan. The bone-white tree hung over us. A man was walking towards Bhan. Reality seemed projected on a sphere of glass suspended in the depths of some great body of water. It spun by the power of the feet within and the images changed as it rolled. But never once did it move. Until it did. The thing that was me surged forward and seized the man ¨C made guilty by the eight eyes whirling across its body ¨C that moved towards its Face to fling him across the space, where his bones shattered against the trunk of the haunted tree with enough force to strip a layer of wood away, but though the man lay groaning he was a threat, for the man¡¯s chest moved and all that could move could change, and all that could change could steal. ¡°Control your god, damn it!¡± shouted Gaia, but the thing sprinted towards the man ¨C dozens of different gaits spiralling through its form ¨C where it gripped the insensate Shrikeblood to slam him against the dead tree and send tendrils burrowing through him and into the trunk behind in the shape of carving knives, swords, chisels, teeth, halberds, quarrels, arrows, folded hands, and tongues while the people behind it screamed or ran towards it. ¡°Every.¡± ¡°One.¡± ¡°Of.¡± ¡°You.¡± ¡°Needs.¡± ¡°To.¡± ¡°Get.¡± ¡°Away.¡± But though eight mouths moved, the words ran over one another and no one could understand. They all pawed its clammy flesh as the tree groaned, crackled, and died alongside the man whose organs had been destroyed by the force of a god, and the hands pulling or daggers punching or chisels piercing its body could not stop it. Though quieter than the other cries, one voice slithered through with a deafening bite. ¡°The boy I knew still there, beneath all that blood?¡± Bhan pleaded among the others. The man died and the ancient tree broke and shivers and nausea finally wracked its body and it was done. Countless fibres of wood split away from one another as the gouge torn through the base of that great plant widened. A young woman shrieked, ¡°Herod!¡±. Her attempts to save the empty body were stifled by three other Shrikebloods, who managed to pull her into the stream of people fleeing from the tree¡¯s widening shadow. Eventually, its main body met the walls and slid precariously around the space, shedding splintering branches as it did so, which spun wildly through the air. The tree¡¯s impact was great, but not great enough to prevent it from being halted by divine limbs where it was: caught between the walls of the shaft in a precarious lean. But it was already dead. Centuries of life broken in a handful of moments. Like the man beneath it; chest made a shower of gore. His blood spilled over the earth. Trickled away. Never to return. Unless¡­ ¡°You get away!¡± Erin screamed over the body of the man, javelin raised in reckless defiance. ¡°Don¡¯t touch him!¡± The blood departed. The tree''s lifeforce ¨C faint and disparate as all plants were ¨C flickered. Its death would be long and irrevocable. They stood of the edges of the space. They watched. ¡°He in there,¡± Bhan whispered. ¡°¡­Isn¡¯t he?¡± But there was no boy. There was never any boy. There was only the blood, and the things that had been buried within it. A walking mound of corpses. Chapter 72 - Round Shapes, Square Holes Amongst the Seeds hiking ¨C lumpy canvas satchels in various sizes slung over their shoulders ¨C Head Maleen stumbled sluggishly through the forest, sweat staining the back and armpits of the tunic she¡¯d donned. A constant drizzle fell from the canopy above, filling the air with a humidity so thick that moving felt closer to swimming than walking. Those present were mindless of the mud clinging to their clothing ¨C each carried a more elegant set of clothes for the conference as replacements. ¡°Y¡¯alright, Maddie?¡± asked¡­ Kit as she moved next to the young Head. Despite being burdened with a missing hand, constant limp, and a bag of equal size to the others, the only sign of her frustration was a gradually deepening scowl. ¡°Need help?¡± Maleen flushed deeply, straightening both arms to her side to conceal the damp patches beneath them. ¡°I¡¯m okay, thanks.¡± Kit raised an eyebrow, momentarily amused. ¡°You sure, princess?¡± The Head¡¯s blush faded. ¡°Yes,¡± she claimed, ducking beneath a low branch. Its leaves left a trail of water over her cheeks. ¡°Our friend back there is already carrying most of mine anyway.¡± The other woman leaned heavily on her scabbarded sword as she limped along. ¡°Don¡¯t think Ol¡¯ Beaky¡¯d mind takin¡¯ th¡¯ rest, Maddie.¡± ¡°What about you, then?¡± Her tone was strangled. ¡°Why not give him your pack?¡± ¡°Me?¡± Kit¡¯s cackle transformed into a grunt as her knee quirked sideways. ¡°You could just ¡®bout place a saddle on me an¡¯ ride me all the way there. I¡¯m fine.¡± At her words, a sudden fit of coughing broke from Maleen. Eyebrows scrunched, Kit leaned over the smaller woman and slapped her on the back rhythmically. When the coughs were choked into tiny gasps, she produced a flask from her hip and offered it to the Head, who took a few sparing swallows before handing it back. While Maleen recovered, Kit narrowed her eyes in thought. Eventually, she snorted. ¡°¡­Saddle, huh?¡± The smaller woman closed her eyes. ¡°Just kill me,¡± she muttered. With her eyelids shut, the young Head couldn¡¯t see the mute disbelief in Kit¡¯s expression slowly transform into a wide smile. She raised her arm to brush a finger against Maleen¡¯s cheek¡­ ¡°Well, I s¡¯pose I could be¡­¡± ¡­And found her hand absent. The former swordswoman withdrew her stump without touching Maleen¡¯s face. ¡°Reckon we¡¯re nearly there,¡± she said, jaw tightening. ¡°Think I¡¯ll check up front.¡± With that, Kit hobbled towards the front of the procession and left Maleen alone. When the small woman opened her eyes, she kept her gaze pointed towards the muddy earth. Her bronze curls had been straightened into a limp orange by the rain falling from above, constantly clinging to her eyelids. It was a wonder she could see anything at all. A strip of cloth might solve the issue. Head Maleen eyed it for a moment, then took a deep breath and gingerly retrieved it. ¡°Thank you,¡± she said, tying her hair behind her head. Afterwards, she straightened her back and continued onwards. The group¡¯s destination was supposedly a short distance from the cave system, but required eschewing animal trails for a path never meant to be walked by humans: overgrown with greenery, vegetation, and mildly poisonous plants that soon had the entire procession scratching their arms. Of the dozen members of the group ¨C besides Kit and Maleen, all large Shrikebloods ¨C only one deigned to remain with the straggling Head. For every inch of ground that grew between Maleen and the main group of Seeds, Erin¡¯s visage grew a little darker. Her fingers beat against her thigh a little faster. Eventually the hiker closest to the pair disappeared from eyeshot entirely, which boiled Erin¡¯s simmering impatience into words. ¡°Hurry up, Head,¡± the muscular woman snapped. ¡°I am,¡± Maleen managed to say between pants. ¡°Get the thing behind to carry you, if need be.¡± For a moment, she seemed to consider that. Then she shook her head. ¡°That would not,¡± she gasped, ¡°be a good look.¡± ¡°Neither is this,¡± Erin ground out between her teeth. Maleen did not reply. When the silence between them stretched, Erin ran a hand through her hair. ¡°Sorry. But you are the Head of Heltia. I¡­¡± Her jaw worked as she stared between the many trunks of the forest, searching for some kind of reply. ¡°¡­know it¡¯s hard, but we need you to do better.¡± Once again, Maleen did not reply. But her feets¡¯ cycle from humid air to mud to air again quickened for a short time. As it turned out, a short time was all that was needed. In the depths of the wilderness, beauty was not rare. It could be found in small things: the patterns of bark; a spiral of ants; the body of a small bird, utterly frozen in the moments before decay set in. Or in larger ones: the way distinct trees knotted themselves together in their quest for sun; the earthy scent of countless mushrooms, grasses, lichen and leaves tumbling over one another; the cruel, circuitous winding of a river as it ate the stones of its riverbed. Exacting in its equality, for patterns have no mind to discriminate with. The place Gaia had found held a gentler kind of splendour. In the gap between two steep hills, the branches of a fat lump of a beech-tree brushed the morning light into the sleepy shadow of the clearing. Scores of fallen sticks sat cradled by hundreds of blades of grass, grown long enough to tickle the knees of the scattering of Shrikebloods surveying the area. The ground sloped slightly, until it reached a tiny stream at the bottom of a ditch valiantly fighting its way over a gulley of stone. The ghosts of a few disparate insects flitted through vanished reeds. A gentle place. It wouldn¡¯t fit in the bag. Harsh, gravelly coughing broke the serenity of the scene. Gaia sat on a fallen branch near the centre of the clearing, hacking spittle into her hand as the Shrikebloods ¨C Erin included ¨C abandoned their bags to race over to her. Her waved protests only intensified their concern: flecks of blood covered her hands. The cartilage in her neck stood sharply against her skin. When her coughing subsided enough to allow a few words between them, the large woman waved Head Maleen over, forcing the crowd to separate. ¡°Apologies Head Maleen.¡± Her throat narrowed at the final word, just barely avoiding another fit of coughing. ¡°I don¡¯t think¡­¡± A pause. ¡°¡­I can handle the arrangements¡­¡± Another pause. ¡°¡­Could you take over?¡± At those words, the middle-aged woman erupted into another round of hacking spit and blood into her palms. Maleen stared, wide-eyed. Even as Gaia grappled with whatever afflicted her, she remained mighty: muscles and tendons bulging against skin as she struggled to bury the coughs fighting their way from her. Sickness and strength coursed through a single body, and the mere notion of that felt strange. But Maleen stretched her lips into a smile and nodded, for the trappings of luxury were needed to convince the Houses that the Seeds were more than a disparate bunch of dirt-munchers and with Gaia occupied mastering her breathing, the last remnant of House Heltia was all they had. ¡°You gonna be alright, Maddie?¡± yelled Kit, who¡¯d been busy bouncing a pebble on her boot at the edge of the clearing. ¡°Sounds a like a godsdamned hassle.¡± ¡°We have no one else, Kit,¡± Erin stated blandly. ¡°Why don¡¯t you go back t¡¯shovin¡¯ yer tongue up Gaia¡¯s arse?¡± the crippled woman spat. ¡°I ain¡¯t talkin¡¯ t¡¯you.¡± Erin spluttered, boots squelching as they twisted in the damp earth towards Kit. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ Vulgar.¡± Kit¡¯s scoff rang out over the clearing. ¡°What¡¯s vulgar¡¯s how you¡¯re pushin¡¯ all this work onto Maddie.¡± The Head in question opened her mouth. ¡°I¡¯m fine- ¡° ¡°You shut up, too,¡± she snapped. ¡°You could be burnin¡¯ alive and you wouldn¡¯t ask anyone t¡¯so much as piss on you.¡± The Shrikeblood inhaled bracingly. ¡°There¡¯s not much of a choice.¡± ¡°How ¡®bout you choose t¡¯shut up?¡± Erin eyed the other woman sideways. ¡°Kit¡­¡± ¡°What¡¯re you gonna do?¡± she sneered. ¡°Hit me?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t hit cripples.¡± Boots twisted in mud. The river burbled. No one seemed to notice Head Maleen¡¯s eyes flicking between everyone present. Gaia tried to speak, but coughs covered her words. Another Blooded took up her slack. ¡°Do you really want another tree knocked down, Erin?¡± ¡°Right.¡± The muscular woman slowly wiped the scowl from her face. ¡°Sorry.¡± The apology lacked any intonation. Kit¡¯s lips peeled back as she raised an arm. It ended in a stump. She stared at it for a few moments, then scoffed quietly to herself. Maleen was paler than usual. ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± They got to work. The young Head hesitantly told the Seeds to begin removing detritus from beneath the tree while she recovered from the walk. Kit had to be prevented from dragging a branch larger than her body from the clearing, lest she gouge the ground with unsightly furrows. When Maleen agreed with the instructions, the former swordswoman sat heavily beside Gaia while the other Seeds began hoisting an immense canvas tent ¨C treated to repel rain ¨C beneath the tree. With that done, several small tables and chairs some thing had carried were placed inside of the tent. A space large enough for the delegations to shelter from the ubiquitous drizzle had been created, yet preparations were far from complete. ¡°Miss Head,¡± called a Shrikeblood, gripping the edge of a table, ¡°where d¡¯you reckon these¡¯d fit?¡± Maleen instructed the woman to arrange them each table equidistantly and symmetrically, then had to explain what both terms meant. ¡°Head Maleen,¡± said a Seed with a gap-toothed smile, ¡°where¡¯s this go?¡± The young woman directed the man to hang the tapestry he held ¨C a depiction of an egg sat in a nest of bones some dextrous Seed had woven ¨C on one side of the tent. ¡°Head Maleen,¡± Erin called. ¡°Which platters should I set the food onto?¡± She gestured towards the silverware spilling out of someone¡¯s pack. ¡°Hey, uh, Head¡­ Maddie.¡± Kit¡¯s gaze followed the Seeds Maleen was instructing. Her five fingers precariously squeezed around three different candelabras. ¡°You¡­ Where d¡¯you want these?¡± Maleen swallowed, and pointed at the tables. ¡°Do you think a yellow carpet would be most complementary to House Baylar, Head Heltia? Or would purple better reflect your own nobility?¡± Both in addition to northern colours, she said, placed in accordance to seating arrangements. ¡°Are the snacks arranged well?¡± She reordered them. ¡°What manner of tablecloth should be used?¡± They only had one, anyway. ¡°We been stompin¡¯ mud in, Miss Head. Should I clean it?¡± Yes. ¡°Anythin¡¯ I can do fer you, Maddie?¡± Head Maleen blinked rapidly. After a few moments, she plastered a smile across her face. ¡°No.¡±
House Baylar arrived with little fanfare. Five individuals trekked over a hill: two blunt-featured men whose fur cloaks and ragged garb concealed the clanking of steel beneath, a tall, well-muscled mortal bearing a braided beard and a mane of hair that would have been impressive were it not for the rain drenching him ¨C all three blinded by a strip of cloth across their eyes ¨C and the two Shrikebloods that had escorted them. General Yalo and his two Lizardblooded guards. Dash had recounted his interaction with the General to Ronnie, when prompted ¨C both twins were more talkative around the Strain. From his account, the man¡¯s impressive title concealed a relative lack of military experience. None of that was surprising ¨C the greatest warriors of the Houses died with Avri ¨C but given the Albright¡¯s impressive campaign record a single ally, however economically powerful, boded poorly for supressing whatever remnants of House Albright remained after the battle. Which was why the arrival of Houses Illico, Andoras, and Korla was significant. The three northern Houses had long since entered their twilight years. With the Dolphin enslaving their population on one side and Baylar chipping away at their lands on the other, their day-to-day affairs were the most concerned with existential matters than any of the other Houses. The fact they arrived in concert was somewhat surprising given that they had resorted to cannibalising one another decades ago. Yet even if they hated one another, a show of solidarity against Houses Baylar and Heltia ¨C the former having paid the latter to fight the northern Houses frequently ¨C seemed to be worth more than whatever grudges they held. A stocky man with similar colourations to the twins represented Illico, a thin, dark-skinned man represented Andoras, and a narrow-eyed woman represented the fading House of Korla. They introduced themselves as Lonwo, Khoe, and Kara, respectively. Each were accompanied by two mortal guards ¨C excepting the Korlean, who was accompanied by a single Lizardblooded woman instead. All wore coloured silks symbolising their Houses ¨C brown, white, and grey respectively ¨C yet despite their finery being unsuited to wilderness travel the mud-stains were light. None seemed bothered by the grime. A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. These three diplomats could offer little in terms of economic support. But decades of experience fighting more numerous and better-equipped foes made their presence invaluable. If Gaia and Maleen could convince them the risks were worthwhile. If. But what could betrayal do? No one present knew the location of the gathering ¨C they¡¯d been blindfolded on the journey over ¨C and had been guarded by Seeds the entire time. Gaia could kill any one of them herself. And if an Albright contingent placed Kit, Head Maleen, or Erin under threat, they would not be abided. The branches of the great beech tree were rough, and its damp leaves ¨C mottled red and green ¨C sabotaged sight. Silhouettes of Seeds around the tent muted the light within. Even so, the flapping of the tent¡¯s canvas as the procession entered was as loud as Enn beating its palms against the earth. Their words seemed no less quiet. ¡°Gaia. Head Maleen.¡± General Yalo¡¯s silhouette dipped its head against the candlelight penetrating through the tent¡¯s canvas womb. ¡°Many thanks for your hospitality.¡± ¡°¡­Likewise,¡± intoned Kara moments after Yalo. Though her accent was similar to Bhan¡¯s, her tone was cold; cautious. The other two northerners gave grunts, but were otherwise content to let the woman speak for them. ¡°It¡¯s kind of you to deem our paltry hospitality sufficient,¡± replied Head Maleen. The practiced smile in her voice was easy to visualise. ¡°Had I the full resources of Heltia, I am sure a more impressive greeting could be arranged.¡± A pause. ¡°I¡¯m sure,¡± said General Yalo flatly. ¡°But they have been¡­ rearranged.¡± Maleen wore a more measured tone than usual. Anyone who didn¡¯t know her might think it natural. ¡°A steep injustice forced by Albright hands, if I am correct?¡± ¡°Of course,¡± the Baylarian responded. ¡°Safeguarded against them by us, for now.¡± ¡°And this incredible mistreatment is your reason for turning against House Albright.¡± ¡°An oppressor to rival the gods themselves,¡± Yalo agreed, yet when he continued his words were sharper. ¡°Delivered upon all of us; avoiding prosperity to keep the rest of us weak. Such oppression- ¡± The Korlean woman interrupted in a clipped, practiced accent obviously foreign to her. ¡°House Albright does not border our lands. House Albright is not our oppressor,¡± she stated bluntly. ¡°You are.¡± General Yalo missed a beat, but deftly concealed it by quickly packing a piece of cheese in his mouth. In the space his silence provided, the other two northerners spoke. ¡°You happy making use of oppression, eh?¡± remarked Khoe levelly. ¡°Eyah.¡± Lonwo gave a dark chuckle. ¡°How will this stop, hm?¡± ¡°You give- ¡° Kara began, then paused. ¡°Are you going to give guarantees?¡± ¡°Without a doubt,¡± stated General Yalo. ¡°We- ¡° ¡°How we trust you to keep them?¡± interrupted the stout Illican. ¡°We¡¯re a merchant House. We know the importance of keeping deals.¡± ¡°Deals heard by five?¡± The man scoffed. ¡°Pah. You a House first and last. You know King Aaron give leave to eat you?¡± ¡°Little Baylar buffet,¡± quipped his Andorish companion, ¡°for us to bury snouts in.¡± ¡°You¡¯d bend to those dogs?¡± snapped General Yalo. ¡°What does that make you?¡± ¡°Smart.¡± ¡°And better dog than swine,¡± Lonwo added, giving several mocking oinks. Sensing the conversation rapidly devolving into the northerners insulting a House they loathed, Gaia spoke. ¡°You¡¯re here because the Albrights will fall.¡± The hoarseness of her mistreated throat gave her words a haunting cadence. As if they were told by the earth itself instead of a mere mortal. ¡°Which is the only guarantee that matters.¡± ¡°¡­Prove it,¡± said the Korlean. ¡°Is your Vulture even here?¡± asked General Yalo. ¡°We can move elsewhere- ¡° ¡°You would¡¯ve seen it had you looked up.¡± Gaia coughed. ¡°Head Maleen?¡± There was a pause. ¡°Tully?¡± the young Head called. ¡°Can you come in here?¡± It was a cold day. The rain didn¡¯t help. Tempest was an ofttimes loud and hot season, as if the firmament above fought itself with every peal of thunder, but just as frequently was muted. Subtly bitter. Mud clung cloyingly. The tent¡¯s flaps felt far too rough. But its interior was beautiful. The arrangement of furniture, accessories and tapestries symmetrical and almost entirely without stain, despite being carried through leagues of mud. A vase of wildflowers sat on the table between. It was not perfect. Many of the subtler signs of esteem were missing ¨C the perfect symmetricity of the scene visually gave authority to all present, instead of just herself and Gaia. But Maleen hadn¡¯t the training to notice that. She had been allowed to shirk her duties for most of her childhood. But given the time she had spent studying, it was good work. Gaia and the Head had changed from their patchwork tunics into far more regal garb. The wrinkles that should have been marring Gaia¡¯s silks ¨C embossed with verdant landscapes bisected by great speartrees ¨C were entirely absent. A matronly Shrikeblood has spent nearly an hour smoothing them. Head Maleen herself wore a suit of runeworked chitin armour glowing a faint blue. The same she had worn on the hill, months ago. Repaired and revised to enhance her dignity as the leader of House Heltia. The diplomats did not look at her. They gripped the sides of their chairs, unmoving. ¡°It came?¡± The only part of Yalo¡¯s body that moved was his mouth. ¡°You didn¡¯t see the ghosts?¡± Maleen said innocently. ¡°We were blindfolded.¡± ¡°Eyah,¡± whispered Lonwo. The food on the table was interesting. Scrubbed clean. Too clean. ¡°What it doing?¡± asked Kara. ¡°Putting food in¡­¡± Yalo sounded bemused. ¡°¡­A sack?¡± ¡°As you can see,¡± Head Maleen began, lips drawn into a tight line, ¡°we have the god under¡­ Under control.¡± ¡°Raven¡¯s bones,¡± Khoe swore quietly. ¡°That¡¯s not a Ravenkin?¡± asked Yalo. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ That¡¯s the Vulture? No beak; no feathers?¡± The northerner¡¯s gazes flickered towards Maleen. ¡°It real?¡± they asked vehemently. Head Maleen nodded woodenly. ¡°It is. The Raven appeared similar, albeit much larger.¡± The Raven had been immense. Not of a size with the Lizard, but large enough that the cavern it lurked within could fit thousands of souls. Or one god. Of course, Maleen had never seen it. Whatever report she gave was deception. But that¡¯s diplomacy. General Yalo¡¯s eyes flickered back and forth. ¡°It¡¯s under your control?¡± There was a long pause. The young Head glanced at Gaia, who opened her mouth and was immediately interrupted by a pained wheeze emerging from it. The young woman turned her unblinking eyes back to Yalo. ¡°Certainly.¡± ¡°Prove it.¡± The Korlean¡¯s voice snapped like a whip in the quiet of the tent. ¡°Make it do thing.¡± Maleen stared at the woman, then nodded. ¡°This¡­ This table is bothering me. I¡¯d like it if someone moved it.¡± Despite her request, no one in the tent moved to help her. It was unsurprising. Negotiations were in full swing. And she was trying to make a point. Bending to make a point. Maleen bent. Head lowered sideways, away from the sight of others. Jade eyes shining. The table was moved outside. ¡°Why it listen to you?¡± the Korlean woman demanded. ¡°What you done?¡± Maleen pursed her lips. ¡°That¡¯s a secret.¡± ¡°Some Heltian project?¡± Khoe asked, brows furrowed. His Illican companion whirled to him. ¡°The Albright Declaration true? You hid Ravenblood?¡± Maleen shook her head. ¡°A blatant fabrication by the Albrights.¡± ¡°How this happen, then?¡± The bark of Lonwo¡¯s voice seemed cacophonous. Her lips trembled. ¡°Good fortune and judicious application of intelligence.¡± The northerner¡¯s voices began collapsing over one another. ¡°How it alive?¡± ¡°It ate Avri, fool.¡± ¡°So godkin, not god.¡± ¡°Esfaria guards corpse, though.¡± ¡°Esfaria failed?¡± ¡°One bug can slip through.¡± ¡°Godsblood fades. Nothing to eat.¡± A quiet query from Yalo interrupted them. ¡°Was the death of Avri part of your plan?¡± ¡°W-what?¡± The novice Head¡¯s incredulity failed to conceal her stutter. ¡°No!¡± ¡°How did you create a god?¡± he demanded. ¡°We didn¡¯t! What mortal can do such a thing?¡± ¡°Neelam Heltia was a genius- ¡° Her jaw wobbled. ¡°Why would he let you kill him, then?¡± ¡°You called it Tully?¡± Yalo¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°That was the birth-name of Graves. Your head of security. The Spiderblood who smuggled you through our lines.¡± Maleen¡¯s teeth creaked. ¡°How do you know her?¡± ¡°Are you joking?¡± he snapped. ¡°Who do you think I am?¡± ¡°Vulture is woman?¡± asked Kara. ¡°Gods men, if anything,¡± retorted Lonwo. The northern lady waved a hand. ¡°Bah.¡± His voice grew to a painful volume. ¡°Don¡¯t ¡®bah¡¯ me, woman.¡± ¡°Tully was no god a year ago,¡± the Baylarian stated. ¡°How powerful is this thing?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t- ¡° Maleen blinked rapidly. After a moment, she swallowed. ¡°Powerful enough.¡± ¡°Are you sure?¡± ¡°It¡¯s ten feet tall!¡± ¡°So are Oxbloods!¡± Erin peeked her head through the canvas flaps. ¡°Get it to kill an animal, Maleen,¡± she offered. ¡°Demonstrate its power.¡± The General nodded, braids bobbing as he did so. ¡°Your lackey displays remarkable sense.¡± Beneath the table, Maleen dug her nails into her thighs. Lonwo stood so quickly he nearly knocked his chair over. ¡°Give proof!¡± he shouted, jabbing a finger into her chest. His chest rose and fell rapidly. ¡°Proof god is here!¡± Gaia attempted to speak, only to break into another fit of coughs. Maleen¡¯s jaw worked silently. Her moist eyes glared at the table. ¡°Give us assurances, Head Heltia.¡± ¡°I- ¡° ¡°None.¡± ¡°Of.¡± ¡°You.¡± ¡°Appreciate.¡± ¡°That.¡± ¡°Which.¡± ¡°Is.¡± ¡°Present.¡± Indistinct words spat over one another. Impossible to comprehend, but enough all the same. He fell over the back of his chair. ¡°It- it- it speaks?! Wha- what did it say?¡± Head Maleen blanched. ¡°Quiet for a moment.¡± ¡°What- ¡° ¡°Be quiet.¡± The vehemence in her voice silenced them. ¡°We¡¯ll reconvene in a few minutes,¡± she said quietly. ¡°I need to take it outside.¡± Head Maleen stood and left the tent in one fluid motion. The dull drizzle falling from the sky quickly struck the woman¡¯s curls ¨C ritualistically dried and artfully arranged ¨C into limp strands. She strode down the shallow decline of the hill and past the gulley at its bottom. Then, boots sliding against the mud, she fought her way up the resulting slope. Of the Shrikebloods guarding the clearing, only one followed. ¡°Head Maleen,¡± Erin called in a projected whisper. ¡°Come back.¡± The young woman halted. ¡°We don¡¯t need them. Baylar has already provided everything the Seeds need, and the Northern forces are too far away to provide assistance.¡± Incredulity coloured the muscular woman¡¯s voice. ¡°This is all an opportunity for you.¡± Maleen mumbled something. The Shrikeblood called up at the smaller woman¡¯s back. ¡°Speak louder.¡± ¡°You¡¯re a hypocrite.¡± The patter of falling rain followed. Briefly, Erin had no words. ¡°We¡¯ve discussed this, Erin. What do you think is going to happen when House Albright falls? This whole continent ¨C the whole mortal realm ¨C will be wrapped in a succession war. What we¡¯re doing here is trying to prevent that. But you don¡¯t care. All you care about is the, the godsdamned Shrike.¡± The muscular woman winced. ¡°¡­The gods are the true enemy.¡± ¡°Is that so?¡± Maleen sniffed. ¡°To what? Human life? Because for someone who pretends to care for humans, you really don¡¯t seem to have a problem with us killing each other.¡± ¡°I¡­¡± Erin closed her mouth and gazed downwards. When no further reply was forthcoming, Maleen continued walking. She stumbled and slid between tree trunks; over roots; through bushes. Falling rain was soon stifled by the canopy above, leaving the forest damp and still. Hidden by clouds, the light from the sky had grown grey. The world seemed to occupy some space outside day and night. It was a cold day. Cold enough that the memory of warmth seemed a fantasy. Head Maleen stopped trying to suppress her tears. She simply braced herself against a tree trunk. Shivering. Weeping. Staring at nothing. Moisture that had built in the meeting fleeing. She did not see. Staring at nothing. Shivering to herself. ¡°This responsibility should never have been yours alone, Head Maleen.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t have to do this.¡± ¡°It¡¯s alright to leave.¡± Though she did not understand the individual words, the young woman understood enough. ¡°Why don¡¯t you,¡± she croaked, ¡°then?¡± ¡°There.¡± ¡°Is.¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Where.¡± ¡°Else.¡± ¡°To.¡± ¡°Go.¡± ¡°Maleen.¡± Tears travelled down. Through the creases of her face. Then fell from her chin. ¡°Nowhere else,¡± she murmured. ¡°I¡¯m the only one who can do this.¡± The thing that was me had nothing to say ¨C had too many things to say ¨C and those things burned beneath skin like writhing worms, but in the reflection of the opaque pools of rainwater and silt gathered in the roots of the place dwelled a thing that crawled from nightmares barren of reassurance, and though there were many objects in the bag none seemed capable or impressive enough to overcome the hand that offered it so the thing turned and walked away, towards the familiar flame flickering nearby. ¡°¡­An¡¯ we was runnin¡¯ through¡­ We must¡¯ve been runnin¡¯, cause we carried Vin t¡¯the Fort with Baylar chasin¡¯, an¡¯ I remember bein¡¯ sore. An¡¯ I know I saw Baylar comin¡¯ when I was pissin¡¯¡­ But there¡¯s a whole damn night twixt those two points, an¡¯ I don¡¯t know nothin¡¯ ¡®bout it.¡± A pause. ¡°I- I should know this. I got these scratches after. So I fell down. An¡¯¡­ I remember Vin gettin¡¯ shot by arrows, an¡¯ he told everyone it was alright and didn¡¯t let us help but then there¡¯s godsdamned nothin¡¯ ¡®cause I can¡¯t remember a single godsdamned thing from that night and¡­ I remember rememberin¡¯ it! Damn it!¡± In her blood-stained fur armour paced Kit, forward and back around the clearing she¡¯d sequestered herself in out of fear she¡¯d disturb the diplomats, and she muttered to herself and scowled and snarled and beat her remaining fist against trees and struggled to keep herself furious, because the alternative was worse, and then she saw the thing and stepped back and said ¡°You bloody did this,¡± before it threw her over its shoulder and ferried her back. To Maleen, where the swordswoman was dumped unceremoniously at her feet. The dark-skinned woman sputtered in the mud, barely managing to scrabble up to her knees but slipping too fiercely to scramble to her feet. ¡°You rat-bastard. What in Siik¡¯s thick skull¡¯re you¡­¡± Her voice trailed away as her eyes found Maleen ¨C desperately attempting to rub away the tears. ¡°Hey, hey, hey,¡± Kit crooned quietly. ¡°What¡¯s goin¡¯ on?¡± The former swordswoman didn¡¯t seem to notice her stump braced against the mud, nor her other hand folded around the side of Maleen¡¯s head. ¡°It¡¯s nothing,¡± the young Head said. Kit snorted lightly. ¡°Well it sure does look like- ¡° Suddenly, she paused as if struck across the face. After a few moments, she cleared her throat. ¡°Why don¡¯t you tell me anyway?¡± Maleen sniffled. ¡°You don¡¯t have to listen.¡± ¡°If I didn¡¯t wanna be here you wouldn¡¯t so much as smell me, alright?¡± A smirk stretched across her face. ¡°An¡¯ you know I smell pretty fierce.¡± Kit had begun bathing less frequently after the Fort. She¡¯d apparently been under the impression her stench was imperceptible, until the previous day when Sash had asked why she smelled so bad. The young woman had gotten increasingly furious as no one denied Sash¡¯s accusations. There was no anger, now. Maleen chuckled quietly, and Kit¡¯s grin loosened. ¡°So what is it?¡± The smaller woman¡¯s laughter grew thin, before vanishing entirely. ¡°¡­All this.¡± Kit waited for more. When none came, she gingerly leaned herself on the tree next to Maleen, wrapping her good arm around the smaller woman¡¯s head. Beads of rain converged into droplets on the canopy above and fell to the earth below, where they vanished into the mud. ¡°¡­Yeah.¡± Her murmur was barely audible. Scoured of intonation. ¡°I never thought I¡¯d be here either.¡± ¡°Because you didn¡¯t matter.¡± Kit spent a heartbeat digesting that, then squinted at Maleen. ¡°¡¯Scuse me?¡± ¡°You were¡­ You were a monster hunter.¡± ¡°A lowly dirt-munchin¡¯ peasant, huh?¡± ¡°I wasn¡¯t meant to matter.¡± Kit shifted, turning her entire body to face Maleen. The Head¡¯s eyes were still fixed on the ground. ¡°I¡­ I¡¯m alive because I didn¡¯t matter. Neelam Heltia¡¯s cousin¡¯s great-grandchild. A backup of a backup of so many backups.¡± ¡°But you lived in Nests.¡± ¡°We all did. But I don¡¯t¡­¡± Her voice descended into a growl. ¡°No one expected anything. No one cared. I didn¡¯t get poisoned because they forgot to invite me to dinner.¡± ¡°¡­Your parents- ¡° ¡°Didn¡¯t care. Both given Owlblood after they had me; both too busy staring at runes or at nothing to remember I existed.¡± Maleen rubbed at her eyes angrily. ¡°I read and I helped the servants and sometimes I talked to the guards and sometimes I snuck out into Spires and that was it.¡± ¡°Maddie¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯m not meant to be here, Kit.¡± Her face crumpled. ¡°I should be dead. I would be dead, if I¡¯d mattered. And I¡¯m trying.¡± ¡°¡­I know.¡± ¡°I¡¯m trying, but I don¡¯t know,¡± she sobbed, ¡°how to do any of this and I keep messing up and I¡¯m going to ruin it all.¡± For a stretch of time, Maleen buried her face in Kit¡¯s arm and wept. Little changed within that span. The rain fell from the sky and one young woman cried while the other looked upwards. The Head¡¯s composure returned within the space of a few moments. She shifted, wiped snot from her nose and the arm she¡¯d leaned against, glanced at Kit, then looked away. ¡°Sorry. I¡¯m fine, now.¡± Kit said nothing. ¡°I should get going.¡± ¡°Y¡¯know, I don¡¯t think any o¡¯ us expected to be the people we are, in the places we sit,¡± Kit said suddenly. ¡°An¡¯ it¡¯s hard. Fer you especially. But you¡¯re here, and you¡¯re playin¡¯ th¡¯ hand you was dealt, and I¡­¡± She rubbed the back of her neck. ¡°Win or lose, that takes guts. An¡¯ I admire that.¡± Maleen sniffed. ¡°Thanks.¡± ¡°We¡¯re here, y¡¯know?¡± Kit gave a strained smile. ¡°Whether you wanna stay or leave, we¡¯re with you. I bet even big an¡¯ dark over there¡¯d be with you. But I see you, Maddie. I don¡¯t see someone who,¡± she paused, licking her lips, ¡°who does or doesn¡¯t or should or shouldn¡¯t. I see you. An¡¯ you¡¯re good.¡± The young noble gazed out into the rain, orange curls dripping. ¡°I, uh¡­¡± Her voice cracked. ¡°I¡¯m the only one that can do this. The only Heltian.¡± ¡°You gonna do it, then?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll try.¡± ¡°Well then.¡± Kit made a shooing motion. ¡°Back you go, hm?¡± Head Maleen snorted, then wobbled to her feet and began carefully walking towards the tent. When she vanished, the smile fell from Kit¡¯s face. ¡°Stupid.¡± The former swordswoman stared at her missing hand. Tremulously, she raised it. Then beat it rhythmically against the side of her skull. ¡°Idiot. Idiot. What do you know? Head o¡¯ what? Head o¡¯ damn holes, maybe.¡± The young woman looked up, teeth clenched. ¡°What¡¯re you lookin¡¯ at? You happy? You bloody happy?¡± She buried her head in her arms. ¡°Jus¡¯ go.¡± Kit sat against the tree, teeth clenched, and said no more. The journey back was cold. Cast in the light of a myopic grey sky. The procession continued. The Head wore the same secretive smile that concealed nothing except her fear. A few more stones went in the sack. The procession left, having negotiated an agreement. Kit ripped the scowl from her face and joked with Maleen on the way home, and the young woman¡¯s smile finally reached her eyes. Erin kept to herself. Gaia coughed more. They trailed ahead. Entered the caves. Noticed no absences. Countless insects crawled through dirt and tree and foliage. Smaller birds sheltered in their nests while larger ones opened their wings and braved the heavy skies. Grass swayed. The sun fell beneath a rolling ocean of trees, lighting them aflame in one last gasp before it was submerged completely. Eventually, the day ended. Nothing else did. Chapter 73 - Forever Questions The tree had finally died. Little had changed on its exterior. The many branches forming its canopy still littered the stone beneath or hung half-broken from its peak. Its pale form still sat braced between the curved wall of the shaft. Lit only by the occasional flash of lightning from above, the immense gouge that had ripped it from its base still beaded with slowly-leaking sap. The tree had been dying for some time. But it was gone, now. An ancient edifice of the world, irrevocably torn from its home. The decades of ravenous insects that would chew through it would one day leave nothing but dust, yet that was a mere formality. Whatever gave this tall, pale pillar the strength to endure the centuries had been stolen. It was dead. The tree had finally died. Few could tell the difference. ¡°Orvi?¡± The central shaft that coalesced the cave systems into one tight intersection was dark. Despite the trees clustered around its top, everburning lanterns were never lit within, for they could signal the place¡¯s location. During the day it was dreary; sunlight only shone down it for an hour each day. At night ¨C illuminated only by flashes of lightning reflected off the wet stone ¨C it could be lethal. Only two Shrikeblooded guards watched the area, bodies perpetually oscillating between laxness as they drifted off and tension as they remembered what they guarded. And Sash. She should¡¯ve been asleep. She hadn¡¯t been sleeping much, lately. The pale girl stood beneath falling rain, dark circles beneath her eyes. Behind her, the trunk sliced the sky in two. ¡°I apologise,¡± she said, eyes down. ¡°I know I am not meant to call you that.¡± She came closer, then sat on a shelf of stone, arms wrapped around herself as rain settled into her pale hair. There were drier spots where the walls of the shaft curved outwards to form caves. Where the Seeds had dragged large stones to form makeshift barricades ¨C or seats. ¡°There¡¯s no need to move!¡± Sash insisted, shivering like a cat dunked in icy water. Yet eventually, she ambled over as well and allowed herself to be wrapped in a tapestry from the sack. For a time, she watched the rain. Listened to it break against the stone. ¡°Where did we come from?¡± she suddenly asked. ¡°You, Dash, and I.¡± ¡°The Foot.¡± ¡°The Cult.¡± ¡°You know?¡± She nodded. ¡°¡­But we were not sacrifices.¡± ¡°¡­No one in the mountain was.¡± ¡°If you didn¡¯t want to be there, you were dead.¡± ¡°If you were there, you were willing.¡± ¡°Who were my parents?¡± She clarified, ¡°My real parents?¡± ¡°You know.¡± ¡°Aspirants, like all the other children.¡± ¡°Dead, by Cultist hands.¡± Thunder rattled the world above, but deep in the earth it sounded far away. Sash huddled deeper in her makeshift blanket. Her hair was getting long. Initially, she shivered when her loose hair was gathered into a braid. Even so, she allowed it. ¡°¡­What happened to the other Cultist children?¡± A pause. ¡°You don¡¯t need to know.¡± ¡°They failed to assimilate Avri¡¯s power.¡± ¡°They all died.¡± For a time, a small nod was the only reply she gave. As the rain continued to fall ¨C neither cacophonous nor gentle, but the same dogged descent that had endured all Tempest ¨C Sash stated, ¡°But we did not.¡± The rain fell. The tree stayed. The guards recoiled. The sky raged. The girl stared and swallowed her spittle. ¡°I killed a monster and got blood on me,¡± she explained. ¡°Dash does not know.¡± A pause. ¡°Please don¡¯t be mad.¡± The world hung. Like a condemned man before the drop. The same way it always hung, yet some moments it was easier to ignore than others. Some days the man pleaded. Some days he was silent; allowing the sunlight to trickle from behind his silhouette. But the worst were when he smiled. Eyes crinkled at the corners. The world hung, and it took everything to keep it there. Gradually, the Shrikebloods lowered their spears. Sash¡¯s spine unstiffened. The rain continued to fall from the shaft¡¯s open maw, and with it travelled a bitter chill. ¡°Are we going to be okay?¡± There were no truths or lies that could make the answer reassuring. Silence was all that was offered. Time passed. Sash drooped, listed to the side, and fell asleep. In the morning, Blake and Taja were the first to find her. They were a strange combination. The tanned young man had become a compulsive conversationalist; scarcely a minute of silence could stretch before he filled it with a quip or question. The teenager was the opposite: stolidly clinging to his silence until all the bottled thoughts became too much and he vented a few into the world. At first, neither had sought the other¡¯s company. Yet as Tempest thundered along, they¡¯d settled into the silence between them. Blake had always been good with kids. It was unsurprising that they were the first to wander into the central shaft. Though pre-dawn light had begun to filter into the sky above, it had yet to touch the shadows shrouding the shaft below. Fatigued from the night¡¯s thunder, Tempest¡¯s perpetual rain had faded into a thin dribble. Sash slept, feet curled into the thick tapestry she was swaddled in. ¡°Huh,¡± Blake mused, standing at a cave¡¯s entrance, a slight smile across his face. Neither him nor Taja had entered from the barracks; they had been wandering for a while. ¡°You don¡¯t see that every day.¡± Taja squinted, then startled. The young man slowly crept closer. ¡°D¡¯you mind if I check her temperature, Or- ¡° ¡°Blake,¡± Taja snapped. ¡°Keep any names out of your mouth. It¡¯s not hard.¡± ¡°To you, maybe,¡± he muttered. Without further comment, Blake lowered his hand to Sash¡¯s forehead, then her cheek. ¡°Seems fine,¡± he stated. ¡°Which¡¯s surprisin¡¯, ¡®cause you¡¯re a bloody chilly fella. What was she doin¡¯ out here, anyway?¡± He waited. ¡°You won¡¯t get an answer,¡± the teenager stated from behind. Blake waited for a few more heartbeats, then deflated. ¡°Yeah,¡± he said quietly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. His smile had turned wry. ¡°Guess not.¡± After a few finger-snaps, the girl roused. Briefly, she flailed and nearly crashed head-first to the ground, were she not quickly halted. ¡°Nice catch,¡± Blake remarked. Sash continued to struggle, eyes two immense orbs rolling in her skull. ¡°Hey, hey, hey.¡± The young man seized her arms, then turned. ¡°Give me a hand here!¡± Before Taja or the two guards began moving, the girl stilled. ¡°Blake?¡± He gently released her onto the floor. ¡°Yeah.¡± She sat upright. ¡°Is Orvi still here?¡± For an instant, Blake froze as if confronted by a great beast. Before anyone else noticed, he mastered his face back into a grin. When Sash turned around, her struggles deflated. ¡°He is.¡± Behind them, Taja scoffed quietly. Blake flinched, but once more recovered quickly. ¡°It¡¯s early. Let¡¯s get you back to your cot, yeah?¡± ¡°No!¡± the adolescent yelped. ¡°I won¡¯t go.¡± Taja cocked his head, half-turning it towards a tunnel. ¡°What¡¯re we gonna do, then?¡± the pock-marked man asked. ¡°Breakfast isn¡¯t happenin¡¯ for another few hours yet.¡± ¡°I am not going.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not sayin¡¯ that you have to- ¡° Taja shushed them. ¡°¡­has settled nearby,¡± emanated Erin¡¯s voice from another tunnel. Despite the early hour, Gaia¡¯s reply was sharp. ¡°You¡¯re certain?¡± ¡°It¡¯s unmistakeable. Do you think it¡¯s here because of the Vulture?¡± ¡°¡­Most gods ignore one another. But¡­¡± Her heavy sigh deteriorated into a series of coughs. As Erin fussed over her leader, Taja raised his eyebrows at Blake, who narrowed his eyes in thought. ¡°¡­Another god?¡± he muttered. Sash gasped. ¡°It must be the Owl! That is the only one that ¡®settles¡¯ places!¡± The young man beside her attempted to cover Sash¡¯s mouth, but it was already too late. Instead of being beaten down by the pattering rain, her voice echoed around the shaft and into its attached caves. The trio held their breath while the two Shrikeblooded guards struggled between amusement and concern. Erin¡¯s voice reverberated outwards in response. ¡°¡­Sash?¡± The girl in question nodded. Blake shook his head in bemusement, then replied in her place. ¡°Along with Taja, Blake, and our resident god.¡± There was a pause, followed by a cuss that was originally quiet yet amplified by the acoustics of the cave. Hearing that, Gaia¡¯s hacking coughs morphed into wheezing laughter. When her coughing died, both women emerged from the azure glow permeating the tunnel. The aging woman motioned for her younger counterpart to speak. ¡°¡­Sash is correct.¡± The girl smiled widely, then blanched. Erin nodded at her. ¡°Yoot¡¯s nearby. Nowhere that will affect operations or logistics, but its mere proximity is noteworthy.¡± ¡°Does its magic reach here?¡± one of the guards asked. She shook her head. ¡°It¡¯s too far away. But I doubt it¡¯s coincidence.¡± Taja¡¯s palms fidgeted around the hilt of the sword he wore. ¡°¡­Will it come closer?¡± Erin opened her mouth, then closed it and looked to Gaia. The Shrikeblood spat a wad of blood into a rag and shook her head. ¡°Yoot never moves once settled,¡± she stated hoarsely. ¡°It¡¯ll stay there for a few months at minimum.¡± There was a long pause. ¡°Maybe it wants to watch?¡± Blake quipped. ¡°Could be coincidence.¡± ¡°The Owl has been noted to move closer to large-scale events, such as earthquakes.¡± ¡°Oxdung.¡± Though Blake visibly prevented himself from jerking his head towards the sounds, no one else followed his lead. Erin turned to the guards. ¡°What is it doing out here, anyway?¡± ¡°¡­It stared at the tree,¡± one answered. ¡°Then the girl came out. She talked to it for a bit and fell asleep.¡± ¡°What did she say?¡± The man shrugged. ¡°Too quiet.¡± The Shrikeblood glanced at Sash. ¡°What did you talk about?¡± The Ravenblood¡¯s gaze was directed at the ground. ¡°Sash.¡± She huddled deeper into her makeshift blanket. The muscular woman¡¯s face tightened. ¡°I¡¯m not going to hurt you- ¡° ¡°Erin.¡± Despite the ragged edge to it, Gaia¡¯s voice retained enough authority to quiet her subordinate. ¡°Why don¡¯t you review our logistics one more time?¡± The younger woman was savvy enough to know it wasn¡¯t a question. Reluctantly, she nodded and began picking her way across the shaft ¨C ducking beneath the lurching trunk as she did so ¨C yet before she departed, Erin turned. At the end of her gaze was Blake. He did not look back. Erin swallowed. Then left. Gaia watched her go. ¡°I¡¯ve been meaning to show you and your family something for a while,¡± she said. ¡°But it¡¯s been so busy I¡­¡± She cleared her throat of its remnant raggedness. ¡°¡­Haven¡¯t found time. You deserve to see it, though.¡± Her eyes caught on Sash. ¡°Will you go wake your brother and meet us by the lower exit?¡± The girl sat like Gaia had caught her with a hand in the sugar pot, but quickly scurried out of her blanket and into the tunnel to the barracks. The tapestry went back in the sack. Blake eyed it. ¡°¡­You gave that to her?¡± Though no answer was given, he seemed to breathe a short sigh of relief. The small smile across his face spread a little, however its advance was quickly vanquished by the sight of Taja sneaking beneath the rain towards another tunnel. ¡°Goin¡¯ roamin¡¯, nomad boy?¡± he called. The beginnings of a scowl began to twist Taja¡¯s face. ¡°I doubt you need me for this.¡± ¡°You gonna sleep?¡± ¡°¡­No.¡± ¡°You got anything better t¡¯do?¡± The teenager gave a growl of frustration. ¡°I¡¯m on-duty tomorrow, anyway!¡± ¡°Sash and I¡¯ll take care of big ¡®n beady.¡± The rap of his knuckles felt sharp. ¡°Just come along. You may as well.¡± Taja frowned quietly. ¡°¡­We¡¯re going into the deep caverns,¡± Gaia offered. ¡°It might be of interest to you.¡± ¡°¡­Should I get Ronnie?¡± he asked. She shook her head. ¡°It¡¯s a shame, but there are several sections I don¡¯t believe they can safely descend. Though perhaps you could scout it out; judge for yourself whether it¡¯s safe and take them down later.¡± If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. After a short moment of thought, he nodded quietly. Gaia exchanged several brief words with the guards ¨C confirmations and reassurances ¨C before leading Blake and Taja from the darkness of the central shaft. As it always would, the form of the ancient, pale tree remained. The patter of rain was consumed by layers of slate, shale, and root-ridden dirt. Left behind was the even glow of the everburning lanterns mounted on the wall, coupled with a brighter illumination from one dangling from Gaia¡¯s belt. To the bemusement of the two young men, she stopped by the storeroom to pick up a portable bloodtech oven, an additional lantern, and a satchel of rations: smoked strips of stringy meat coupled with bread that could double as bricks, courtesy of House Baylar. Standard fare for the Seeds, and just a bit more than necessary to sustain their physiques. The Shrike¡¯s divinity had a way of keeping people hungry. Regardless, whatever their destination was, it would take a good part of the day to get there. Sash waited exactly where she¡¯d been told to: one of the fortified divisions between the encampment proper and the deeper cave system. No one was with her. Blake released a weary breath. ¡°Your brother didn¡¯t wanna come.¡± Sash bobbed her head. ¡°Correct. He woke up, but when I explained our task to him, he said he wanted to stay with Pat.¡± ¡°Is your dog¡­¡± There was a short pause. ¡°Never mind. Apparently we¡¯re goin¡¯ pretty deep, so we better get movin¡¯, yeah?¡± Gaia inclined her head towards the shorter man. ¡°Well, uh¡­¡± Blake signalled towards the black tunnel ahead. ¡°Lead the way, boss-lady!¡± Besides messengers travelling to other Seed encampments, there was rarely any reason to delve deeper into the earth. While each cavern was unique ¨C minutely distinct in the crenulation of the stone, the presence of specific formation or the sounds of moisture coalescing on the ceiling above ¨C it was beyond mortal minds to memorise each distinction. Neither could the Seeds afford to mark passages; on the off chance an Albright contingent decided to investigate the tunnels, stumbling upon such signs would lead directly to a nearby encampment. A safe trip into the cave system was one that didn¡¯t go far. Gaia seemed uninterested in safety. While the woman consulted a scrawled map, the group travelled down: damp, slippery slopes; sheer drops with crumbling handholds; tiny crevices almost too small to fit their leader through. For the mortals present, sight of their surroundings was dependant on the waxing and waning of the two bloodtech lanterns, which could be refuelled but only at the cost of an opened wound in surroundings that veered between the sensory ablution of clean water and a nose-clogging level of mustiness. Dangers were static, but they advanced at the same rate the party did. Sash was barely tall enough to mount some of the stone shelfs she climbed up, yet asked no one for help until she slipped backwards and had to be caught. Blake was prevented from wandering into a sheer drop. Gaia had to stop multiple times to control the coughing fits that broke out every time she twisted her neck. Only Taja caused no trouble; he was familiar with the caves, and determined to stay close to the group. Sash was not, though. ¡°Sash?¡± Gaia called from across the cavern. The girl¡¯s light had trailed away from the other three, then promptly disappeared ¨C cut off by the cavern splitting in two. It wasn¡¯t the first time she¡¯d done this. Her tendency to roam further from the group to investigate some sparkle of reflected lamplight from a shiny stone or pool of water was constantly frustrating ¡°Yes?¡± came her echoing reply. ¡°Come back!¡± Gaia called. ¡°Give me a moment,¡± was her rambling reply. ¡°There¡¯s a truly interesting skeleton here wrapped in clothes I cannot identify ¨C some leathery material ¨C that I believe seems similar to what some of the Heartlanders I¡¯ve seen wear, however the style is marginally different and they seem to be in an advanced state of decay, and there¡¯s some metal but I do not believe it¡¯s sturdy?¡± A resounding snap echoed immediately afterwards. ¡°Yes, I¡¯ve just broken it.¡± ¡°Sash,¡± Blake shouted, ¡°we¡¯ve got no bloody clue where you are!¡± A quavering thread wrapped around her face. ¡°Where are you?¡± While Blake continued yelling and the Shrikeblood and Taja frantically scanned the cavern, Sash was bodily picked up and carried back over. When she was deposited back with the others, she glanced up somewhat sheepishly. ¡°Stop it.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t be an idiot.¡± ¡°Keep close next time.¡± The girl¡¯s flinch turned into a rapid series of nods. For the remainder of the journey, she stayed close. They stopped to break their fast after what must have been an hour of wandering. Judging from their blank expressions, the fare tasted poor. That was until Blake waggled his eyebrows and produced a hunk of cheese from one of his pockets, chuckling at Gaia¡¯s clear confusion as he broke it apart and handed pieces to each present. ¡°You want one, bud?¡± he asked. The piece was refused, and subsequently split between Sash and Taja, who were still growing. Though Gaia might have grown slightly over the past months as well. When they were done eating and applying cloth to some of their worst scrapes, she brushed crumbs from her tunic. ¡°I believe¡­¡± The Shrikeblood lifted her lantern to squint at her map. ¡°¡­we¡¯re getting close.¡± She looked up. ¡°I hope you don¡¯t mind getting wet.¡± The final section of the journey was through an underground river. Its flow was gentle enough to allow Blake, Sash, and Gaia to swim through, but Taja had never learned how to so much as tread water. After a few minutes of hesitation by the slope that fed into it, he reluctantly allowed himself to be carried ¨C alongside everyone¡¯s packs ¨C for most of the way. Yet the final stretch was entirely underwater. Taja¡¯s hair sloshed as he shook his head. ¡°No way.¡± ¡°It will be fine!¡± Sash smiled, treading water beside him. ¡°He has you!¡± ¡°Until he decides to stop and ponder some godly concern underwater, and I drown!¡± ¡°It¡¯s a short stretch,¡± Gaia stated. ¡°You won¡¯t be submerged for more than thirty seconds.¡± Taja tried to lean away from the others, but the grip was too tight. ¡°I don¡¯t know if I can hold my breath for that long.¡± In addition to several minutes practicing holding his breath, it took Gaia, Blake, and Sash swimming through the passage and back to persuade him that the journey was safe. Even that was likely because the lack of activity in freezing water was starting to make him shiver. The underwater passage was interesting. Perfectly smooth for most of its length; enough to persuade a casual observer that Enn had bored through it untold centuries ago. But it was the mere passage of water that had done so. After one final squeeze, Taja and the rest of the supplies were placed atop reasonably dry stone on the other side. The bloodtech oven was promptly activated with its door open, allowing those present to huddle around its heat. Gaia seemed unbothered by the cold. ¡°Get warmed up, you three,¡± she told the others quietly. As if she spoke in a tomb. ¡°We¡¯ll go ahead. You¡¯ll be able to see our light just around the bend.¡± Blake, Taja, and Sash gave shivering nods. Gaia turned. The cavern she had led the group to was relatively small compared to some of the ones they had strode through, yet there were clear signs it had once been much larger. Its ceiling ¨C studded with tiny stalactites ¨C transitioned from unbroken slate at points subtly transitioned to wisened portions of what had once been rubble before untold ages of moss had firmed it into a ceiling proper. One wall was, upon closer inspection, entirely comprised of broken pieces of stone ¨C the remnants of an earthquake or cave collapse. And though mortal eyes could not divine them, tiny etchings were embedded in the walls. ¡°I remember a few years back, you asked me why I believed the Raven would return; how I reached the same conclusion as you,¡± Gaia began. ¡°Your theory of Godsblood migration was the result of long experience with bloodtech, a handful of experiments, and extensive extrapolation. You described it as¡­ What was it?¡± She paused, eyes narrowing. ¡°¡®Stupidity or the first clear-headed examination of godly metaphysics.¡¯¡± It had been ¡®Either drooling idiocy or the first clear-headed examination of divine metaphysics perhaps ever.¡¯ But Gaia¡¯s words were close enough. ¡°But how did I come to believe that fallen gods would revive?¡± The Shrikeblood smiled thinly. ¡°That was your question. I said I would show you, when we had time.¡± The large woman arrived in front of a wall and after a few moments of calculation, placed her everburning lantern in the best possible spot to illuminate it. ¡°It¡¯s because I think there¡¯s precedent.¡± The wall¡¯s painting was faded; the small sculptures at its base made cracked and fragile by the passage of time. Neither script nor brush had held a place in their creation ¨C the ochre pigments had been inexpertly daubed on by hand. An ancient artwork cradled by the earth. The stone carvings depicted a familiar icon ¨C the many eyes of the Raven and its dark feathers ¨C alongside an unfamiliar one: a creature cast in lines of bone and overgrown flesh. It took little effort to recognise what god it represented. The painting depicted something else. Despite being wrought in imprecise smears, what it depicted was unmistakeable. A series of images were writ around a ring of black, forming an ocean on which the demarcated segments of the artwork were daubed around. The first saw an immense deity of countless mouths impaled on a pillar of bone. Its unending eyes were empty, its many limbs motionless, and its onyx blood fell in a deluge onto the earth below, forming the bedrock of black. The next found crimson flowers blooming from a midnight lake; reddened vines wrapping around a gargantuan skeleton. Tiny red birds barely recognisable as such ate the flora; nebulous yet mighty animals drunk from the lake. Amongst them were several bipeds. The third depicted something rising from the lake. Dripping with black smears of ochre was an unformed monster; a cloud of smoke given solidity by the press of an ancient human¡¯s finger. Birthed from the black like a foetus cut from its mother¡¯s womb. Its clawed hands hung possessively over the creatures clustered around the edges of its birthplace. In the fourth, the beast¡¯s body was curled in grief over the people and animals it had once protected. Its wards were daubed in harrowing detail: their sunken flesh and empty eye-sockets seemed decay personified. Yet even as its many eyes were focused on the bodies, its agonised flailing butchered the creatures that sat behind it in spurts of bloody red. That mound of the dead and dying was greater than what it grieved. Finally, amidst a field of bodies, the Raven threw itself on the faded grey spike. Then the cycle began again. Yet beneath the midnight lake that formed the bedrock of each stage, the earth concealed the core of the piece: an entity formed of tendon, bone, and blood. At its side were figures wielding grey weapons that were once white ¨C bone weapons ¨C that sliced through the necks of kneeling figures. With one immense, many-fingered hand the god beneath cupped the dripping blood of the sacrifices. With the other, it offered a bounty of meat and fruits. It was backwards. It was all backwards. ¡°What is this?¡± Sash asked. She had drawn closer. ¡°Not the Godslayers.¡± In the warbling blue light of the cavern, Gaia¡¯s brows formed pits of shadow where her eyes should be. ¡°I was lost in these caves, once. After I fled my House. I survived on lichen, mostly. Nearly starved anyway. But I found these. ¡°That was fifty years ago.¡± Blake and Taja drew closer, eyes wide. It was immense. ¡°Though it¡¯s uncertain, as far as I can tell the Raven is the only god that has ever died.¡± A hoarse edge lined Gaia¡¯s abused voice. ¡°But it didn¡¯t die just once.¡± The images fed into each other. ¡°¡­How many times?¡± asked Taja softly. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Death to birth to revival. To murder. To death. The Raven on the outside. Death on the inside. Hell sheltered against heaven. ¡°It¡¯s in reverse.¡± ¡°It¡¯s the opposite of what it should be.¡± ¡°Why?¡± No one understood. But Blake caught on. ¡°These people at the centre¡­¡± He raised a finger to tap the wall, then thought better of it. ¡°They¡¯re Shrikebloods. Like you. Like the Seeds. ¡°¡­Like a Cult.¡± Gaia slowly nodded. ¡°Hell.¡± ¡°Hell.¡± ¡°Hell.¡± ¡°Hell.¡± ¡°Hell.¡± ¡°Hell.¡± ¡°Hell.¡± ¡°Hell.¡± They flinched as eight different voices spoke the same word. Then Gaia nodded. ¡°That¡¯s right. The inverse of Raven Cult art, from what pieces I¡¯ve seen.¡± Sash¡¯s jaw was tight. ¡°Why does- ¡° She swallowed. Rubbed her eyes. ¡°Why does this happen to Ravenbloods?¡± ¡°Why?¡± Gaia repeated. ¡°Why?¡± she said, louder. Her voice hummed off the stone walls, producing a reverberation that spread throughout the cave system. A chorus asking the same question, over and over. ¡°You¡¯re not the first to ask,¡± she said, eyes hooded. ¡°A hundred million humans have walked the same ground we do now: whether naked, clothed in furs or wearing armour of bronze, their footsteps still exist. Given sufficient labour, we can dig down and unearth their bones.¡± She gestured to the wall. ¡°And when we crack their yellowed skeleton open, we will find the same marrow within. The same questions. What is good? What is the right thing to do? What is valuable? How do we find truth? A thousand questions; a hundred million echoes. ¡°Some of them found their answers.¡± Her gaze fell on the lantern pushing the shadows of the cavern away. ¡°But intellectual edification holds no warmth. Neither questions nor answers can break the bars of reality.¡± She stared at the god that lurked beneath the dying Ravens. ¡°We are blood before anything else. We live in the dirt, and we will die in it.¡± Her final words were a whisper. ¡°Unless something changes.¡± Gaia was a huge woman. Far beneath the surface, encapsulated by enough earth to cage or crush a powerful man to their death, she loomed far taller than Taja, Blake, or Sash. Amidst the fading echoes of her hoarse voice, they did not speak. They barely moved. Yet where the young men¡¯s gazes were fixed on Gaia¡¯s, Sash¡¯s eyes kept flickering back to the wall. ¡°The Shrike is your god.¡± Above damp eyes, Sash¡¯s eyebrows were furrowed. ¡°Why would you want to kill it?¡± The Shrikeblood took a moment to order her words. ¡°The same reason you look after yours.¡± Her gaze was tight. A fathomless space took root in the cavern. ¡°Ha!¡± Blake suddenly barked, a huge smile bisecting his face. His harsh laugh failed to fill the silence, but his feeble grin endured nonetheless. ¡°Why so serious, everyone? Don¡¯t we have- ¡° He swallowed heavily. ¡°Don¡¯t we have work to do? Things to attend to?¡± ¡°¡­Do you think this is how the Raven Cult began?¡± Taja whispered quietly. ¡°People gathering around someone they once knew?¡± As if it had been waiting for that question, Blake¡¯s face immediately contorted in a rictus of fury. He half-raised his fist in preparation to bludgeon the teenager across the face. Yet it trembled in the air. Eventually, he lowered it. His words were a whisper magnified by the quiet. ¡°Why¡¯d you show us this?¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t think you would¡­¡± Gaia¡¯s throat audibly tightened ¨C the beginning of a coughing fit. She kept her voice long enough to squeeze a few more words from it. ¡°You all deserved to know.¡± Deserved to know? Deserved? How did those creatures deserve to die at the flailing of the Raven¡¯s talons? Someone said something. But that atavistic god ¨C writ across the wall by the ancient fingers; in reverence or fear or the raw need to record the world around ¨C what did it think it deserved? The spike? The speartree? Another god to hold aloft the means to its end? But it didn¡¯t end. It just spiralled. The Raven¡¯s divinity had killed every child in its Cult. Barring three. Barring three. Someone said something, but the thing that was me no longer listened, for it was striding into the water and feeling the subterranean current¡¯s chill grip writhing flesh and rotating eyeballs, as mouths hummed and growled and choked with the wordless sensations gripping them ¨C trying to find sounds to catch them but utterly inefficacious in their attempts ¨C and it dug its shifting limbs beneath the water and yanked its body along without destination. Vision writhed, for in the absence of light the darkness knitted itself into patterns of its own ¨C mercifully indecipherable until they were not ¨C and the stone bounding the edges of the river weighed heavily but not as much as its own flesh, which sensed every inch of water pushing past and boundaries made flawless by the flowing movements of a tireless mason and the bubbles escaping to cling to either ceiling or a foul imitation of skin that could not decide which memory it would ape. From the river it surfaced into a cavern smeared with bat droppings and the creatures themselves screamed in fright and dropped from the ceiling to thicken the air with their bodies, so accustomed to the lightless depths that they seemed a part of the place, and the thing moved through the place alongside the ghosts of small things that hid under the earth while its limbs occasionally jerked to strike at what lay nearby and walked and walked. Until the cold of the place pressed down and stillness prevailed once more. The caverns were neither alive nor dead. They breathed in the same way a statue might; sung in the manner of a distant star. No minds had carved this space from the earth, nor hands hung it in a sea of black, but the caverns seemed kin to those things nonetheless. Few ghosts roamed the veins of the earth. Whatever lives that had once lit the dark paled to those that had dwelled on the surface. For despite the presence of gods, monsters and mortals willing to tear each other apart, at least up there it was bright and warm. People were willing to die for that. Gradually, a trail of gently glowing lives led to an impression of light breaking the dark ¨C what seemed to be a hallucination, at first. But it was an azure light hanging from a wall. Not the encampment Gaia, Blake, Taja and Sash had departed from hours ago, but a sister settlement replete with its own hive of Shrikebloods attending to the coming conflict. Yet they held little allure. Above their camp, the slate fell away into open air. Outside of a tiny exit hole ¨C the only path out that avoided the eyes of Seeds ¨C the clouds had cracked open to reveal a blue sky. Beneath it was a small glade. Tall grass tangled with wildflowers ¨C the kind that doubled as an invasive weed ¨C in a form of vegetative warfare while tiny insects gathered pollen, dew, and nectar from the warriors slowly pushing through a decades-long battle. A layer of mud beneath was beginning to dry under the patient gaze of the afternoon sun, but still retained enough moisture to squelch between toes. There was a warm stone at the centre of the clearing. Time passed, as it was wont to do. It was a good place for it. Then there was a squelch and a quiet gasp as a tiny child froze, mid-way out from the hole. Dirt smeared every gap of skin ¨C it was almost impossible to tell there was a boy underneath. The kid watched for several minutes, legs poised to bolt. When nothing changed, he opened his mouth and asked, ¡°Is ye a monster?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Maybe you shouldn¡¯t be parlaying with monsters, child.¡± ¡°D¡¯you think so?¡± The boy startled at the sounds so vigorously he nearly rolled backwards into the cave beneath ¨C a sheer drop that would undoubtedly break his skull. Instead, he was steadied and released. ¡°Me knows,¡± he exclaimed. ¡°Ye the god.¡± ¡°A god?¡± ¡°Which god?¡± ¡°What god?¡± The kid flapped his arms. ¡°Bird.¡± ¡°Which one?¡± ¡°There¡¯s three bird gods.¡± ¡°Owl, Shrike, or Raven?¡± ¡°Uh¡­¡± The boy had no clue. ¡°Why ye speak like that?¡± ¡°This?¡± ¡°This?¡± ¡°This?¡± ¡°No,¡± he laughed. ¡°That silly! Not how ye speak!¡± ¡°Not how you¡¯re meant to speak, you mean.¡± ¡°It is how I speak.¡± ¡°Weird, ain¡¯t it?¡± Once more, the kid cackled. As if he¡¯d just heard the funniest joke in the world. His tiny shoes squelched as he paced along the edge of the glade. He pointed at the bag. ¡°What in there?¡± By this point, there were many things in the bag. Several good rocks and sticks, the obvious quality of which the boy noted. A scarce collection of jewellery, which the boy ¨C lacking the age to acquire mature taste ¨C was uninterested in. Two books ¨C one of folk-tales and the other a treatise by a historian ¨C which had been begrudgingly yielded by Erin from Baylar¡¯s gifts. The boy was allowed to look at but not touch the weapons stored within ¨C a sword bound in layers of cloth and a huge crossbow with an elaborate sets of runes growing more intricate every day. A woven tapestry ¨C damp with rain ¨C and a crocheted piece of art depicting interlocking lines. A drawing on a strip of bark, discarded by an unsatisfied Seed. A few small carvings, which the boy played with for a bit. Untouched at the bottom of the sack was the jagged pieces of a conversion stone ¨C crushed in an iron grip after Fort Vane. They wouldn¡¯t live long if it was used. They had too much divinity. The boy particularly liked the carved figure of a giant with a halberd, who in his hand fought invisible beasts, climbed the great heights of a sapling, and had to be prevented from slaying a beetle who had been mistaken for a monster. The beetle was undeserving of such treatment. ¡°Me keep him?¡± ¡°It¡¯s not a ¡®him¡¯.¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Give it back.¡± His face scrunched. His tiny hand curled around it. He scowled. He did not give her back. ¡°You should return it.¡± ¡°Please give it back.¡± ¡°Stop.¡± He trembled, just a bit. The demands halted. After ample negotiation ¨C mostly involving the clarification of terms ¨C a larger, more robust figure was promised in exchange for the sculpture¡¯s return. The base body took scarcely a few minutes, but adding several articulated joints was fiendishly difficult work. Far easier than it had once been, however. The boy played with a few bugs while this occurred. The same beetle that had been declared a monster moments ago had become the ruler of a dirt castle, from which ¡®he¡¯ ordered other insects to perform inane tasks. But eventually, a small echo emerged from the caverns beneath. ¡°Buddy!¡± they called. ¡°Buddy! Where are ye?!¡± The child did not hear. ¡°Do you hear that?¡± ¡°Go back home.¡± ¡°Someone searches for you.¡± The boy frowned, then scurried towards the small hole and stuck his head into it. ¡°Uncle?¡± the boy called. There was a pause in the searcher¡¯s yell, before it began anew. ¡°Are ye up in th¡¯ bloody glade again?!¡± they bellowed, voice growing louder as they drew closer. ¡°I told ye, ye cannot go there without an adult.¡± ¡°But¡­¡± From directly beneath the exit hole, the masculine voice replied, ¡°No buts, ye rascal.¡± The child ¨C ¡®Buddy¡¯, or perhaps that was a nickname ¨C cast his gaze beneath his feet. ¡°Sorry.¡± A dusty middle-aged head poked from the hole. ¡°By all that¡¯s good ¡®n green, kiddo,¡± the worn Shrikeblood swore, shrugging his arm up through the tight confines to massage both temples. ¡°Yer father¡¯d slap me from th¡¯ grave if he knew I¡¯d let ye wander off.¡± ¡°Me not alone!¡± the kid said, producing an excuse from nowhere. ¡°Bird here!¡± ¡°I told ye bloody thick-tongued garbler, s¡¯not ¡®Me¡¯, it¡¯s¡­¡± The man followed his ward¡¯s finger, then blanched. ¡°Come here, Buddy.¡± The boy eyed his guardian¡¯s extended arms sceptically. ¡°Me getting toy.¡± ¡°Come here right now!¡± the Shrikeblood snapped, eyes shuddering around a single point. Though it was not yet finished, the figure was tossed closer to the child. He began to amble towards it. Then his guardian screamed, ¡°Don¡¯t touch that!¡± Buddy turned and looked. What did he see, in that moment? A harmless bird, twisted into something larger by a process unworthy of further investigation? Or had his wits finally caught up to his mouth? Did he peer further back and see the god beneath the mountain, eyes and mouths and body twisting to pour blood down the throats of children ¨C to knowingly curse them, even as it prepared to die ¨C and the field of corpses that remained afterwards; missing only three small bodies to become complete? Either way, pealing wails erupted from the child as he was dragged back down the hole. The toy was left in the grass.
They sent Sash into the glade. She shuffled over wildflowers and grasses, over the bugs living their little lives and the teetering remains of splintered trees surrounding the edge of the clearing. She paused near the rock. ¡°Are we going to be okay?¡± The same question. The same answer. As always. Chapter 74 - Frayed Bonds Tap. Tap. Taja rapped his fingernail against one of the sparse chisels rhythmically. His dark eyes ¨C pointed away from the assortment of rune-stridden devices that would bludgeon mortal minds into disarray ¨C were glazed over; directed at nothing at all. He leaned backwards and stared at the stone ceiling of the small cave. Then he rubbed his face. The teenager had been sitting in his chair by the worktable for over an hour, watching the same piece of bloodtech be created repeatedly. Even the unenthusiasm he¡¯d brought into the room had filtered away by the minutes, leaving him barren of anything but increasingly rapid fidgeting. But the work continued. Fwah. Fwah. Taja¡¯s sword ¨C good, solid steel looted from Fort Vane ¨C cut through the air in a series of patterns taught to him by¡­ By Kit. They were intended to be performed slowly in order to correct any deficiencies in form, yet while Taja had begun the exercise properly, his pace gradually grew faster. Sweat beaded his black skin; he¡¯d already completed the calisthenics routine designed for him months ago once today, and further exertion did his body no favours. A snarl split his face as he hauled the sword through the small alcove as if it were a snake he must wrestle with, marring his stance in favour of wild whirling. The narrow confines eventually caught the steel against stone, and the blade shuddered from his grip with such ferocity it would¡¯ve bit his torso had it not been halted. He collapsed back onto his chair, trying and failing to close his bared teeth. Merd¡­ Merd¡­ Taja¡¯s finger had halted on a single word in the book of folk tales lent to him. His mouth worked, silent but for the barest huff of breath as it tried to catch whatever term was scrawled in front of him. For the first few heartbeats, his tongue slowly ran through the sounds. But after that, it simply stopped. His glare burrowed into the pages, jaw growing tighter and tighter. He slid the book across the worktable, jarring several pieces of bronze from their perches and turning the chisel away from its target. ¡°Sorry,¡± he mumbled. Duh-DUM. Duh-DUM An inflated bladder padded with cloth was hurled against the wall, where it rebounded once off the wall to be reunited with Taja¡¯s hands. He repeated this motion, but frequently threw the ball too hard, fouling the pattern with the extra force and sending it careening across the room. Where he was forced to walk, hissing to himself, and retrieve it before dumping himself back onto his chair. The next time he pelted it at the wall, it flew back into his face. From the opening leading to the dead-end where the workshop had been arranged, there was a blunted snort as Bhan tried to smother his amusement. Taja turned two burning eyes onto the new arrival. ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°Apologies.¡± The Face cleared his throat. ¡°Eyah Taja. Just checking you.¡± ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± he stated bluntly. ¡°Anything else?¡± ¡°No ¡®How Divinity, Bhan?¡¯¡± the middle-aged man complained. ¡°Just ¡®We good, so go.¡¯¡± The teenager sighed. ¡°How was the Divinity?¡± Bhan rubbed the back of his head. ¡°Not many listen. They all nerves, Taja. Only today, then tomorrow, then¡­¡± He opened his hand expansively. ¡°Fight of lifetime.¡± ¡°Then the rest of our lives,¡± Taja muttered. The Face smiled weakly. ¡°Maybe this is rest of life for warrior, hm?¡± The youth nodded to himself, then suddenly smirked. ¡°What? Share joke.¡± ¡°Nothing.¡± Bhan groaned. ¡°Worst thing in world, joke untold.¡± Taja shook his head. Before the Face could continue airing his grievances, Erin cleared her throat from behind them. She had arrived at a hurried pace ¨C the muscular woman had spent the entire day flitting through the encampment like an aggrieved bee. There were a lot of things to check. ¡°How is it?¡± Erin asked Taja. ¡°He is fine.¡± ¡°Great.¡± Her eyes darted over the worktable. ¡°How many conversion stones has it made?¡± Taja¡¯s mouth opened, then closed. ¡°You didn¡¯t count.¡± ¡°I was not- ¡° ¡°Do you not know your numbers?¡± she demanded. ¡°Use your fingers and toes, if needed.¡± ¡°Erin,¡± Bhan snapped. ¡°He not a Seed.¡± She whirled on him, finger raised. ¡°Well he should bloody¡­¡± Her voice trailed away. ¡°Right. You are¡­ correct.¡± Erin rubbed the dark rings embedded in the pale skin beneath her eyes. ¡°Sorry, Taja.¡± All he gave in response was a jerky nod. ¡°That is¡­ twenty-eight conversion stones completed.¡± She eyed Bhan. ¡°They are keyed to Shrikeblood, yes?¡± ¡°I not Owlblood.¡± Erin released a short breath and reluctantly turned sideways. ¡°They are to¡­¡± Her lip twitched downwards at its edge. ¡°They are to specification?¡± ¡°They¡¯re for Shrikeblood, yes.¡± ¡°Leave the kid alone.¡± ¡°Should fully withdraw in a few hours, though the long-term effects of such rapid removal are almost guaranteed to be severe.¡± A short scoff emerged from the Shrikeblood. ¡°Did it agree?¡± she asked the other two. Both shrugged. ¡°Excellent,¡± she hissed. ¡°Absolutely impeccable. We¡¯ll have to spend time testing them. Gods.¡± Erin turned. Walked away. Those remaining looked. Stared. They conferred. Bhan glanced away to stare from the cavern¡¯s entrance. While he did so, Taja reached into his coat. Piled on the ground. Produced a bottle. Handed it off. It was some kind of liquor. Tasted like fire, but that was the only kind of slop that could be brewed in such awful conditions. When Bhan turned back, his face immediately twisted. ¡°You give him drink?¡± he snapped. ¡°Alcohol?¡± The teenager shrugged. ¡°He likes it.¡± ¡°Because he did not stop!¡± Bhan spat. ¡°In Foot: he drink, drink, drink. For months. And now he helpless, and you give him poison?!¡± ¡°It¡¯s his choice. It won¡¯t hurt him,¡± Taja muttered. ¡°Do you think alcohol even effects gods?¡± ¡°You not know.¡± Taja stood fast enough to knock over his chair. ¡°Do you know what I do know, Bhan?¡± he erupted. ¡°I know that if we can¡¯t calm this thing down, he will hurt someone. And I know that you want to play dice every time he starts twitching, but do you really think a bottle of cheap liquor is going to change anything?¡± Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. The Face stared, taken aback. ¡°Anything at all?¡± Taja reiterated. ¡°For him? For us? He bloody wants it, anyway.¡± Bhan¡¯s voice was quiet. ¡°He vulnerable.¡± ¡°He is,¡± Taja said, as if speaking to an idiot, ¡°a god.¡± ¡°He a person,¡± Bhan muttered. ¡°Do you know what my brother used to say?¡± Taja bit down a snarl. ¡°Humans are collections of desire. Wants.¡± He gripped his head, mouth working as it searched for an explanation. Eventually, he produced one. ¡°If a single person is a tapestry, then everything that they are is woven of the same thread; made of the same stuff. So even if they are patchwork, their mind all pulls in the same direction. That¡¯s why we do what we do.¡± He gestured sideways. ¡°Can you say the same about him? Is he all the same thread? If not, is it all pulling different directions? And where is he going to go, if it does? What is he going to do?¡± Bhan, always ready with a word, said nothing. He was not equal to the question. ¡°That is what I thought,¡± the youth spat. Taja ran from the room, mouth closed once more. For a time, the teenager stalked through the caverns aimlessly ¨C shuffling past the large Shrikebloods jogging through the capillaries of their hive in pursuit of work that had long been finished under their leader¡¯s exacting eye. He walked through the central shaft, where the felled tree leaned; pacing around the edge of the room where no one walked, kicking at scattered branches or twigs. Bereft of his coat, Taja rubbed his arms under the rain falling from above. He soon moved to the barracks, with its dim rows of cots separated by thin reed curtains to provide a veneer of privacy. Yet at this hour of the day, it was almost private in truth, for the only people within its dim light were Ronnie ¨C idly staring at the ceiling as they ran a hand over Yowler¡¯s fur ¨C and Blake ¨C rolled over against a wall in an almost flawless imitation of sleep, excepting his shallow breathing. Taja ignored the Strain¡¯s raised hand and glared at his own bed, barren beyond a few half-hearted sculptures and a flax mat to separate his body from the chill stone while exercising. The fervour of his steps had slowly begun to seep away into the cave¡¯s cold air. Despite his best efforts, his breathing was beginning to slow. If Taja had stopped there, he might have found the fire within himself guttering out. Instead, he travelled beneath dripping stalactites, over levelled rock and through narrow gaps to the storeroom: a vast space barely filled by clusters of crates. Each were held under the stern eye of a Shrikeblood, who added, subtracted, and tallied numbers on wax tablets that had undergone the same process the previous day. Most of the crates were daubed with a single yellow splotch. As good as a signature for anyone who found them, but House Baylar were past the point of plausible deniability. Taja must have known they were there. He¡¯d been in the storeroom before ¨C mastering the grimace tugging his face as he clenched his eyes closed and retrieved the rations. But at this moment, when he saw them, he physically recoiled. Then his limbs began to stiffen; his eyebrows arch; his eyes widen in slow increments. The teenager held his breath in that absurd pose for a few moments. Then he began wrenching crates to the floor and sinking his leg through the fragile boards forming them. One done, then two, then five were left as a splintery pile of jerky or bolts or superfluous armour. While he did this, he made a sound that was neither battle-cry nor ballad nor peal of terror, but the simple, violent exhalation of air. When the far older, more muscular, and well-trained Blooded in the room began forging towards him, Taja turned and ran. His lean form ducked Seeds and stone as he sprinted his way through the tunnels, ignoring greetings from Kit and Maleen who walked past to continue barrelling away. Taja shot past a pair of warriors guarding the encampment¡¯s exit and began clambering upwards on all fours without light, until he slipped on a patch of damp moss and jammed both elbows and knees against the floor. In almost absolute darkness, he bled for a bit. The teenager kept his face hidden behind both arms. His breathing began to slow. Eventually, Taja pawed at his face and sat up. His stare drifted across the dark cavern he¡¯d found himself in, mindless of the steep incline he¡¯d nearly ran straight in to. His gaze drifted past the way up and the way down. Two sightless eyes found nothing but shadow. ¡°Where are you going?¡± ¡°You goin¡¯ up?¡± ¡°Want me to take you?¡± Neither disagreement nor concordance left his mouth; just a heavy sigh. It wasn¡¯t assent. But it was enough. He was picked up and carried over the course of several minutes through the circuitous route upwards to be placed on his feet at the exit tunnel, next to the large bloodtech contraption the twins had sat beneath days ago. There were no guards posted around it; an unusual oversight, one Gaia would usually not allow. Perhaps she simply hadn¡¯t had the breath to give the order. The thin grey light penetrated through the opening, caressing the side of Taja¡¯s face like a one-armed mother. After a moment, he stepped into the rain. Tempest was fading into the brief blink that was Spirit season, yet its clouds still clung onto the sky by their nails, drooling flecks of rainwater as their teeth of lightning gnashed together. A tangible heat clung to the world along with the scent of thunder. The ground outside was a bog smeared with thin hairs of grass. Taja left his boots by the opening to sink his entire foot into it and wiggled his toes. He glanced sideways. ¡°We used to do this on the plains, when it rained. Though the mud never got so deep¡± He turned his gaze back to the sea of trees the world swum in. ¡°They would take me out of the yurt. Malee ¨C though he wasn¡¯t called that, back then ¨C would hold one of my hands and Laja the other. I thought¡­ I thought they were so old.¡± Taja looked down. ¡°But they weren¡¯t.¡± He pulled his feet out of the mud as it tried to suck him back and began to squelch backwards. In the entranceway, he paused and stared at the device ¨C concealed beneath a mottled tarp that would hide it from casual observation. Then he kicked it and immediately knelt to grip and groan when his bare foot proved weaker than its metal. Voices rang up the cavern. ¡°Kid!¡± they called. ¡°Where¡¯d you take the damned god?!¡± Taja paled as far as his dark skin would allow and began a limping crouch back outside, where he immediately slogged his ways into the trees. Face still twisted from the pain in his foot, he hopped his way over ground firmed by multitudes of roots, yet as the voices grew louder abandoned the hope of finding an excellent hiding spot and simply threw himself into a nearby shrub. His eyes stared out from the tangle. ¡°Go,¡± he whispered, making a shooing motion. ¡°Leave. Leave me alone!¡± He repeated this mantra for some time. Finally, he gave up and leaned back into the bush. Several minutes later, a familiarly lopsided gait squelched its way through the trees. ¡°What¡¯re you doin¡¯?¡± Kit snapped. The scabbarded sword she used as a crutch appeared more like a rod of mud, such was the amount that clung to it. ¡°You an idiot?¡± Taja buried his head in his hands. She angrily attempted to wipe mud off her pants with her one good hand, but only succeeded in smearing more on. ¡°Makin¡¯ me come out here,¡± the former swordswoman hissed. ¡°Bloody bush-baby. Leavin¡¯ a trail o¡¯ your slimy scat fer th¡¯ rest o¡¯ us to wipe up.¡± ¡°Sorry.¡± The apology only infuriated her further. ¡°Sorry? Sorry? I don¡¯t want yer sorries; I want you to quit bein¡¯ a godsdamn burden on th¡¯ rest o¡¯ us. Dragged your orphan ass across the Heartlands ¨C unpaid ¨C and you decide a good form o¡¯ repatriation is causin¡¯ us trouble. That sound okay to you?¡± Arms still covered Taja¡¯s face. ¡°No.¡± Kit levered herself taller on the stump of her missing hand. ¡°What good¡¯re you?¡± A twisted cousin of a smile began to crawl onto her face. ¡°But I guess where else¡¯re you gonna go? You¡¯re bloody well stuck here,¡± she laughed viciously, ¡°wastin¡¯ our time, and our godsdamn god.¡± A sudden sob wracked the youth. At the sight of his tears, the scars across her cheeks twisted as Kit¡¯s smile broadened viciously. ¡°Dim-witted illiterate weak-handed numbskull useless bastard o¡¯ a kid, an¡¯ if yer siblings were alive- ¡° Mid-sentence, the young woman suddenly gagged. She keeled over at the waist and stared at the mud, then retched. When she straightened, Kit looked like she¡¯d ran the length of the continent. Until her feet were bloodied nubs that could not lift any longer. Looked as if she had seen a wraith. But she hadn¡¯t. It was just her. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Kit whispered, eyes huge orbs of white. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean it. I¡¯m messed up. I¡¯m rotten.¡± Taja did not reveal his face to her. The woman beat the side of her head with her stump. ¡°Useless idiot,¡± she muttered to herself. ¡°Stay here. I¡¯ll get someone.¡± Kit departed, swearing and hissing between the trees until she was gone. Once she had left, Taja¡¯s muffled sobs grew louder. Rain fattened on leaves to drip onto his face, and he said nothing; no moment of wisdom or insight. Just tears. Kit reemerged with eyes that looked everywhere but at those beside her: Maleen, Ronnie and ¨C somehow ¨C the twins, with their dog trailing behind. Bhan jogged quickly after them, and Taja interred his face within his hands once more. Maleen and Ronnie knelt outside the shrub while Bhan carefully levered Taja from within it, whispering assurances all the way. Sash stared while Dash and Kit shuffled awkwardly around the outer edges of the group. When Bhan managed to fold the teenager into the space between the three of them, Maleen finally spoke. ¡°What¡¯s happening, Taja?¡± He said nothing. Ronnie¡¯s small face wrenched as they held the back of his head. The old runeslate weighed heavily on her arm. The tips of their fingers hinted at signs, but aborted before they coalesced into something comprehensible. ¡°You ran away from god-duty. You broke several crates. You ran out of the encampment. And you¡¯re out here with no boots. Tell us what¡¯s going on.¡± Taja opened his face. ¡°I knew him for maybe three months,¡± he protested, wet-faced. ¡°And now we are going to look after him every day until we die.¡± The youth¡¯s eyes turned sideways. ¡°I barely knew you. And now I have to look after you forever.¡± Ronnie shook her head, fingers flashing. ¡°Not forever.¡± ¡°It will end.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t have to do this. You can leave.¡± The Strain¡¯s head jerked around, for the last translation was not her own. Taja continued, unminding. ¡°Until what? Until the Vulture kills us? Until he scours our corpses and pretends to be us?¡± Tears trickled down his face. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± said Maleen, and the young woman brought him into her chest. ¡°I¡¯m sorry we made you do this.¡± Rain fell. The people around looked to the skies while Taja wept ¨C all the privacy they could afford. In the brief pauses between his sobs, he repeated the same phrase over and over again: ¡°I don¡¯t want to be here.¡±
While the group gathered around the weeping boy, others began crying as well. First Dash, who tried and failed to stop his face twisting into tears. Then Ronnie, who stood and moved to wait nearly out of eyeshot of the others, to give the teenager space. Maleen teared up. Finally, the mute astonishment faded from Sash¡¯s eyes and she buried her face in her twin¡¯s shoulder. Bhan and Kit simply stared at empty space, eyes hooded by shadow. While everyone¡¯s eyes were obscured by their grief, Pat turned a weary head towards the forest; fur clinging wetly to his emaciated form. He distanced himself from the twins. Then he dragged his shivering body away. He arduously slumped through the trees, the fire of his life guttering as it had for the past week. Then he settled somewhere far out of sight. Pat had finally found a place to die. But though no one else saw, the thing that was me followed after him, limbs stretched; to do something. Anything. Chapter 75 - God of Boundaries Over a week before, Ronnie had finished creating a book. In its form it was nothing extraordinary. Mere strips of wood bound together by two string loops. When held, the wooden pages had a tendency to slide away from their partners, leading to pages falling from the reader¡¯s hands, which often left the first and final pages of the tale mixed with the others and unclear. They did clack together pleasantly, though. Whether the result of the material ¨C some variant of oak, perhaps ¨C or the ink itself ¨C likely just pounded charcoal mixed with water ¨C the giant¡¯s impeccable calligraphy was occasionally smeared across itself, leaving certain segments borderline illegible. But its contents were surreal. And though the Strain could¡¯ve presented it as-is, or used the stiff, grating runic voice-box to orate for them, they became determined to have someone else read it out-loud; in their own voice. Prospects were slim for Ronnie. Would-be readers would have to be capable of reading, which narrowed the giant¡¯s criteria significantly. Though Bhan¡¯s literacy wasn¡¯t great ¨C he¡¯d often take dozens of minutes to decipher a single missive ¨C he was the natural first-choice: as a Face, his performative and memorisation skills were leagues above anyone else in the caverns. But the Strain tended to malfunction around Bhan, and every opportunity to ask left them flushed and glancing everywhere except at him. Given the amount of time they spent together, Taja was the next choice. He outright refused, citing his lacking skills. After that was the twins, who had the best reading abilities excepting Head Maleen, who was far too busy to be asked. While both were willing, in their initial practices each was so nervous ¨C Sash constantly fumbled lines and Dash stared into space in mute horror ¨C that Ronnie eventually freed them from the duty. Kit couldn¡¯t decipher anything longer than four letters. Erin and the other Shrikebloods simply weren¡¯t an option. It was when Ronnie was gazing at Bhan, inhaling deep breaths as they thumbed their book, that Blake stumbled along and casually asked what they held. When the Strain explained via several arduous uses of their bloodtech speaking box, he was instantly enamoured. Despite his near total illiteracy and Ronnie¡¯s communication being restricted to an unintuitive device that could speak only one syllable at a time, Ronnie somehow managed to teach him the words. The reading was held in the dead of night, in a small cavern off the side of the central shaft. Blake¡¯s voice was punctuated by the echo of raindrops being obliterated at the end of their long fall. It was called a Barnyard Epic. It went as follows: Twixt hills and holes there lay a space Layered in fields of dreary brown, Where radiant creatures interfaced With blackened skies that bore them down. That barren place concealed a barn Constantly under threat of raze Brave Hound patrolled its greatest charge: The beasts that rest beneath its gaze. Chickens, the Pups, Possum, Donkey; Bovine, Piglet, Lioness, Ewe; When earth place them on their knees, Circumstance brings them to you. Though Hound protects it all these years, Sickness man¡¯fest their foremost fears. Blake had paused at this spot, face growing increasingly pale the longer the words evaded him. Ronnie held aloft their wooden pages, but when they sparked no insight in the young man¡¯s eyes the Strain mimed chewing cud. He shot a quick smile of gratitude to the giant before continuing. ¡°Dog is down!¡± the Cow did whine, For they found Hound stilled within the night, And Cow did panic at the sight Because they relied on Dog¡¯s watchful sight. ¡°Ronnie wanted to keep switching Cow and Bull for its, even though they¡¯re supposed t¡¯be the same character,¡± Blake had whispered, hand raised in mock secrecy. ¡°Bloody confusin¡¯, and I told ¡®em so. So big an¡¯ lopsided¡¯s lettin¡¯ me use just ¡®Cow¡¯.¡± Ronnie glared at the smaller person. ¡°Yeesh,¡± he stated. ¡°Can¡¯t- ¡° The giant whacked on the back of the head. ¡°Canny my arse,¡± he muttered. Ronnie raised a threatening hand, and he¡¯d continued. But Cow was canny; silent but wry, They knew the Donkey was quite wise. And found him preaching by the plough, To hordes of chickens near their house. Blake had barely prevented himself from snorting at the next two words. ¡°Wise Ass,¡± Cow signed, ¡°our Dog is sick! ¡°His body slumbers when we need him fit!¡± And Donkey did join, though shaking his head: ¡°The weary should rest lest they end up dead.¡± They journeyed down deep, where Possum climbed Knew kinder answers marsupial liked, And found him hanging from the tree Bandying words with a lorikeet. ¡°Faithful Cuscus,¡± Ass did say, ¡°our Dog is sick!¡± ¡°His spirit falters so we must protect!¡± And Possum did say, raising his head: ¡°I¡¯ll ride along to restore his strength!¡± Blake had chuckled lightly, forcing Ronnie to whack him on the arm and goad him back on-target. They journeyed to Pig; stubborn but kind, Always saved food for the hungry to find, Pair found him wandering round the yard Awaiting the dealing of life¡¯s cards. ¡°Austere Pig,¡± Possum cried, ¡°our Dog is sick!¡± ¡°His body slumbers when I¡¯d want him fit!¡± And Piglet did groan, and ready his legs: ¡°I guess I¡¯ll have to see him fed.¡± Group ambled onwards for Pride Rock, Where mighty Lion prowled around, Clamping growls on filed fangs, Blunted to save world from her wrath. ¡°Guarded Lioness,¡± Pig presides, ¡°Hound lays stilled by force of night.¡± And Lion hauled her body up, Said, ¡°I will guard what Dog cannot.¡± Ronnie leaned on their overdeveloped arm, carefully staring. Not at Blake. They travelled to roost, amidst the chooks, Where Sheep did reign in her little nook; Presiding over strange decrees To duck the hands of humanity. ¡°Beautiful Sheep,¡± Lioness sung, ¡°I adore you; yer hair o¡¯ flamin¡¯ red an¡¯- ¡° Once more, Ronnie had delivered a truly immense wallop to Blake¡¯s back, which sent him rolling head-over-heels for a single revolution before he was quickly stopped. The young man lay there, trying to simultaneously chuckle and rub the spot in the middle of his back where he¡¯d been pounded and failed at both tasks. The Strain¡¯s glare eventually softened, and they helped Blake back into a seated position. ¡°Sorry,¡± the pock-marked young man said. ¡°Thought it¡¯d be funny. I don¡¯t usually make this many jokes.¡± Ronnie began to sign something, but Blake needed no translation. ¡°I¡¯ll stop,¡± he said. ¡°This¡¯s a serious thing, an¡¯ I think it¡¯s great.¡± The giant gave a halting nod. ¡°Alright. Let¡¯s wind it back a bit.¡± ¡°Regal Sheep,¡± the Lioness yowls, ¡°We need yer help to carry Dog round.¡± And Sheep did rise to sway hen¡¯s way, ¡°We¡¯ll shelter our Dog from pouring rain.¡± Finally group arrived at home: The barn beneath their skyward dome. Within they found the twofold Pups, That searched for Hound to redeem their stop. ¡°Brave Pups,¡± the crowd did howl, ¡°Join us in helping Hound rest now.¡± And Pups sprang upright valiantly, Said, ¡°We¡¯ll wait for his health!¡± Twixt hills and holes there lay a space Layered in fields of dreary brown, Where radiant creatures interfaced With blackened skies that bore them down. That barren place concealed a barn Constantly under threat of raze Brave Hound patrolled its greatest charge: The beasts that rest beneath its gaze. Chickens, the Pups, Possum, Donkey; Bovine, Piglet, Lioness, Ewe; When earth place them on their knees, Circumstance brings them to you. Though Hound protects it all these years, They¡¯ll protect it ¡®til he heals. Blake had released a long breath, then looked to Ronnie. The Strain¡¯s gaze was piercing. Their blue eyes raised as if in supplication. Weeks spent upon a plea that was far too earnest to be comfortable. Though the giant did not demand an answer, it seemed as if one was needed. Yet within all the layers of possibility that existed within words, none seemed equal to the task. Both Blake and Ronnie missed Erin walking in from the shaft behind them. The Shrikeblood had listened to the tale in its entirety, from front-to-back, her visage hidden by the bends of the cave. When she entered, her expression was carefully flattened. ¡°That was a good story,¡± she began. The pair turned. Ronnie¡¯s eyes were wide. ¡°Erin,¡± Blake sighed, ¡°leave it. It¡¯s a kind thing they¡¯ve- ¡° ¡°Kind, yes.¡± At midnight, even the thin light from the shaft behind had fled. To the pair, Erin¡¯s clenched jaw was imperceptible. ¡°Kind. But not true.¡± A scowl fought its way across Ronnie¡¯s face as the giant brought themselves to their full height. Normally, even Erin would¡¯ve been uneasy at the giant¡¯s sheer size and obvious physical power ¨C though she would hide her trepidation admirably. But some hateful force beating within her guided her focus elsewhere. ¡°Cows are not canny. Pups not brave; Donkeys unwise and possums¡­¡± The Shrikeblood¡¯s already vice-like jaw tightened further. ¡°Possums should direct their faith elsewhere.¡± Blake¡¯s voice was pained. ¡°Why¡¯re you doin¡¯ this?¡± ¡°Some things were carved long before any of us existed,¡± Erin spat. ¡°Some things don¡¯t change. So aim your ambitions elsewhere.¡± The large woman turned on her heel and departed, having stated what she had need to. Blake stared after her for a few moments, then spent some time muttering reassurances to Ronnie. But, eventually, he too departed. As if fleeing some unseen miasma. The Strain had slumped to the floor and stared upwards, as if trying to bore their gaze through earth and sky to reach whatever secrets the firmament held. But their attempts didn¡¯t seem to yield anything. Ronnie did not sleep, that night. They did not mention their story again.
Away from the others, Pat began to die. Whatever illness that wracked him with seizures had finally breached the barrier into something vital. The feeble mortality that surrounded all dogs had cornered him, and Pat knew it. By his own design, the hound was entirely alone; unseen by family or friend. Judging by the ebbing of his lifeforce, he had around a day to live before sickness collapsed his body. The old hunting hound¡¯s body weighed almost nothing. Weeks of a dead appetite had left him emaciated. A few short whines of protest escaped him before he surrendered entirely. Out of all the forces on earth, none could save him. ¡­Almost none. ¡°Good boy.¡± ¡°Brave boy, Pat.¡± ¡°Shh. Shh.¡± Out of curiosity or concern, Ronnie had followed. With the others busy mourning with Taja, the Strain had been the only one retaining enough composure to point their eyes outwards. They had ducked and slid between trunks and low-hanging branches placed in anticipation for far smaller creatures. They had found themself scarcely fifty paces away. They saw Pat being carried away. Ronnie froze, then fumbled in their pocket for their speaking box, only to find it empty ¨C likely left in their haste to find Taja. With admirable alacrity the giant then retrieved several pebbles from the ground and began hurling them in the direction of the others. When their stock was depleted, they retrieved a fallen branch, leaned it against a mossy boulder, and stomped it to produce a resounding crack that had birds leaping for the sky. The giant paused and listened. Their eyes were fixed on the direction they had entered from, where the barely audible sobs of those gathered remained. There was no sign anyone had heard, and Pat was nearly out of eyeshot. Ronnie pawed at the runeslate tied to their good arm with their underdeveloped one, but could not reach it. Nothing would occur if they could. Slowly, the Strain¡¯s arms fell to their side. Their childish face abruptly came to a standstill. All that awaited their attempts were silence and rain. For Ronnie hadn¡¯t the words to fill it. Instead of venturing back to inform the others and losing what little control of the situation they had, Ronnie took a feeble step forward and followed. Through the overgrown woods. Over thin, burbling streams grown fat with rainwater. Through glades studded with wildflowers. Between a humble ravine twixt two hills and the mud gathered at its bottom. Through rain. Over mud so thick every step was a fight to retrieve their feet. Through a river overflowing into the lands around, forcing them to ford water broken by the tops of trees. Up a hill. Through a horde of ghostly shatterings ambling across the landscape according to an ancient design. Up another hill. Up flowing inclines too rocky to support vegetation ¨C likely massive amounts of earth overturned by a god centuries ago. Up. Ronnie followed until they reached the small mountain¡¯s peak, and bent over at the waist, panting. Their fingers flexed weakly: ¡®Explain.¡¯ Wind and rain scratched at them, yet even through the veil of raindrops the view was excellent. The mountain Pat and Ronnie waited atop burst from a desert of green, with each mottled jade grain a water-soaked leaf. Occasionally, the sands cracked to reveal the forest floor beneath: pooling with stagnant water spat from the sky. The vegetation stretched until its termination just before the horizon under the hands of Albright lumberjacks. There, the monarch¡¯s castle squatted: a tangled shrub of corridors built from a patchwork of whatever types of stone their masons on-hand, whether slate or shale or granite. A short place clawing its way to the end of the sky, one fingernail at a time. Ahead, the jade earth was consumed by a muddied red. The space between those colours rippled outwards before flinching back inwards, reflecting whatever arcane formula determined the Heartland¡¯s rabid curvature. A few rare shrubs clung to the transitory space twixt green and red. In the hail of rain it seemed a thin strip of Wastes, transported from the distant south to near the top of the continent. On the crimson side, speartrees began pushing from the ground. Besides the pale trunks and ubiquitous heartwoods that fought to pierce one another through their tangled branches, fungi coloured every variant of red sprouted beneath ¨C so many they seemed another kind of grass. They spread across the rolling Heartlands and the rivets torn in it. Several ghosts wandered the land ¨C whether green or red ¨C entirely detached from their surroundings. One walked into the slope of a crimson hill and did not reemerge. And eventually, where the crimson distance reunited with its jade counterpart, sight reached a bloom of empurpled mist. Two bedraggled groups waited outside of it. Ronnie¡¯s eyes followed a finger there. The Strain stiffened. ¡®Joke/Humour,¡¯ their hand indicated hopefully. ¡°The dog needs help.¡± ¡°It¡¯s the only way.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t follow.¡± The giant shook their head mutely, then gave a mock snort. ¡®Leave,¡¯ ¡®You,¡¯ ¡®Think,¡¯ ¡®Question.¡¯ ¡°It wouldn¡¯t be abandonment.¡± ¡°No one could blame you.¡± ¡°Make the wise choice.¡± Ronnie did not make the wise choice. They asked if it would be better for them to carry Pat, and when denied steadied their heaving breath and straightened. In the absence of a deadline, the ideal route traced the border zone between the Heartlands and greener nature, thus circumnavigating an obstacle course of sharpened plants thirsting for blood. But walking as the crow flies would save several hours, and hours were in short supply. So the direct route was the one Ronnie followed. The journey down was far more treacherous than the way up. The wind¡¯s direction meant that this side bore the brunt of the rain, and it was only growing heavier. Above, clouds grew more darkly insensate at the hubris of those beneath and hurled heavier showers upon them. As Ronnie skidded down the lichen-strewn rocks, good arm turning from one side to the other to maintain balance while its feeble partner clung to their torso, the giant frequently threw themself backwards onto the stone. A hard landing, but always better than falling forward. As the rocks of the sudden mountain fell to sensible soil once more, the sky redoubled its efforts. Rain pelted against flesh with the impact of a contingent of suicidal bees and moving against the wind soon required Ronnie to physically lean into it, lest they lose their footing. Pat could be sheltered from it somewhat, but the sheer force of it ate away at what little heat his life had remaining. Tempest fought against its demise with one last burst of fury. Descending back beneath the greater canopy proved a shallow relief, for the stretch of empty land waited. The walk was just long enough to allow Ronnie to begin wringing the water from the bottom of their tunic, and then they followed out into the rain once more. A miserable, cloyingly wet heat clung to skin as they slogged in wet clothes across the place. The wisdom of animals left the place barren. Then they stepped past a long ivory spike, into the Heartlands. Home, for Ronnie ¨C as much as an ever-shifting land can be. Every Aching left the Heartlands unrecognisable. The mushrooms that blanketed the pink land had no precedent; if a mind could reach back through time and examine every species of fungus that ever stretched itself through soil, they would never find a match. After each Aching was a time of plenty, but also death. Heartlanders died in droves to poisonous unknown forage and though long experience taught them ways of better investigating their homeland¡¯s fruits, little was ever certain except speartrees. It didn¡¯t take any great insight to understand that these mushrooms were lethal. At a distance, the land¡¯s small bumps had seemed one of the place¡¯s many idiosyncrasies. Up-close, they were revealed to be fungus-covered corpses. Standing at the edge of the Heartlands, Ronnie¡¯s finger alone found three bodies out of the fifteen within sight. Most were animals: birds, tree-climbing rodents, a deer and other such herbivores. There was even a monster ¨C a large feline that was either a weak Oxblood or a lucky Strain ¨C its features mostly concealed by the thick pink caps covering its head. No scent of rot was perceptible: either the rain had beaten the smell down or the fungus sprouting from each body consumed the odour before it could rise. A shattering of air flitted around the burial mounds, idly chewing at grass that no longer existed. It was unclear whether its future self slept here, amongst the dead stretching as far as the eye could see. A graveyard interred by nature. ¡®We,¡¯ ¡®Go,¡¯ ¡®Question,¡¯ the giant signed. Either the mushrooms only murdered upon consumption or they did so simply by leaking miasma into the air around them. Evidence pointed to the former: the dead were either herbivores or carrion-eaters, and various small bugs still marched beneath the mushroom caps without pause. But mere guesses weren¡¯t enough to risk Ronnie and Pat¡¯s fate. The mushrooms tasted like a fistful of dirt mixed with roach eggs. Ronnie made an expression that would¡¯ve been accompanied by a disbelieving laugh on any other, then leapt into action. Their fist fell like a sledgehammer, and their arm squeezed like a vice yet both failed to dislodge the mushrooms from a crowd of gnashing teeth. Swallowing was difficult ¨C the deliberate abandonment of all sensibilities ¨C but an exertion of will sent them down easily. A digestive system was spun from recollection, forming as the mushrooms fell. Within it, a hollow reflection of consumption took place. Several effects arose from it. ¡°Urgh.¡± ¡°That¡¯s poison alright.¡± ¡°It doesn¡¯t seem to be the kind that outright kills.¡± Ronnie sneered, then delivered another punch. A yawn resounded ¨C more out of habit that anything else. Strange. Physical fatigue was a foreign thing, now. ¡°Not outright lethal. Some kind of artificial torpor?¡± ¡°Puts you t¡¯sleep.¡± ¡°Anesthetises you. Then starvation sets in.¡± Safe to walk over, at least. Anyone left debilitated could be carried out. It might¡¯ve even been kinder to make Pat eat one ¨C give him a brief reprieve from his sickness ¨C had it not carried the risk of outright killing him in his feeble state. The dog didn¡¯t have much time as-is. Feet fell, compacting the fungus they stepped upon into a slimy paste, transforming the already damp ground into treacherous footing. A sparse scattering of heartwoods climbed from the ground, attempting to tangle their dark branches into the sky, but already they seemed sickly. An occasional thin stalk bent over itself in an attempt to hold a heavy fruit aloft. Its trunk seemed like one long tendon. The Heartlands stretched onwards beneath a bombardment of rain and wind, bizarre and alien and ever-shifting; forsaking the bodies it left scattered behind. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. As Ronnie passed one small, lightly-covered lump, they paused and shifted slightly to the side. After lifting the rim of their soaked tunic to cover their mouth and nose, they ponderously lowered themself into a squat. Before falling, it had been a bird ¨C feathered red with black speckles to better hide in the Heartlands. Despite the fungus growing through its wings, the creature¡¯s tiny chest still rose and fell. Ronnie gagged. Then they straightened and raised their boot to crush it. The descent was halted. That was not the way. Not the way for it. It would fade and it would rot. Not the way to respect it. But if left, it would rot and fade. Not the way to save it. It would vanish like all the others. No. No. No. The thing that was me bent down and with quaking limbs severed the elaborate bonds tying bird to fungus and fungus to ground, carefully trimming the caps off its feathers but the mushrooms had grown into it and like Pat, it was too late so the bird joined the hound in ever-shifting arms rippling with eyes and tendons and it hunched over them to shield them from the rain and heat in the chill of its body and continued onwards, onwards, onwards; over the mushrooms and around the remnants of hateful speartrees and the dead too blind or foolish to flee and¡­ Ronnie drew closer, hesitantly. ¡®You,¡¯ ¡®Satisfactory,¡¯ ¡®Question.¡¯ The peal of rain was the only reply. Ronnie followed over the mushrooms. Through the furious storm¡¯s feckless rebuke of the earth. Through the stifling heat that set bodies sweating despite the wet. Over bodies that could no longer sweat. Around speartrees and the clawing nails of heartwood branches. Through puddles mingling with pink earth to form mud resembling putrefied flesh. Through this brief slice of the Heartlands, Ronnie followed. The purple mist expanded with every step. Eventually, it dominated the horizon, so thick and tall it seemed to eat the clouds and the rain that fell from it. A small stream trailed from within it. Nothing could be seen within beyond the first few steps. Two equally bedraggled groups waited outside. The first bore three familiar faces: the three Northern representatives from Head Maleen¡¯s meeting ¨C Kara Korla, Lonwo Illico, and Khoe Andoras ¨C arguing amongst themselves. The Illican and Andorish men were flanked by two mortal warriors each, who stared with bloodshot eyes at one another. The Korlean woman had only one Lizardblooded guard, whose frantic vigilance extended both to the men in front of her and the second group at their backs. The other group was larger, but wore stone or bronze weapons to the nobles¡¯ iron. Their fellowship contained mostly men with a few rugged women, some of whom wore shafts of speartree bound together as a kind of flexible yet uncomfortable armour. Every arm was covered in long, straight scars ¨C remnants of blood-sacrifice to the dirt ¨C a sure indication they were Heartlanders. Some zealously sharpened their weapons or continually checked and rechecked their straps, while others wore a familiar tightness around the lines of their face: mournful acceptance. Neither displayed any open hostility to the other, but though few would find the noble¡¯s muttering perceptible beneath the deluge, their exchange was growing increasingly ferocious. ¡°¡­cowards and fools,¡± the Korlean diplomat spat, narrow eyes darting between the men. ¡°One chance for Owlblood before war, and you squander?¡± The stocky Illican shook his head. ¡°Death helps none.¡± ¡°Puah, it not Enn. We sneak, nick a wing, then flee; it not notice. Even just sit in mist for hour. Or can Illico turn down Owlblood so easy?¡± Her voice cracked with the force of a whip. ¡°House Illico grown fat, eh? Give Baylar a nice feast!¡± ¡°Other Houses eat Baylar first,¡± Lonwo dismissed with a wave of his hand. ¡°Albright make such thing certain.¡± A shaken head from the thin Andorish man silenced both. ¡°Not if king dead.¡± ¡°Eyah,¡± Kara agreed. There was a shout from the Illican as he threw up his hands. ¡°More reason to live! Who will take over from Head if you corpse or Blooded, Kara?¡± A scoff emerged from the woman in question. ¡°My brothers, fool. We here because we mean as much as salt-snow. We die ¨C who cares? Not I. But we bring Godsblood back home in veins¡­¡± ¡°All who enter die. Our death a certainty if we go.¡± Khoe¡¯s voice was quiet. ¡°You know this.¡± ¡°Ah, but a chance for strong Owlblood worth a few deaths, hmm? How many Owlsmith your House have? One? Two?¡± The two men remained silent. ¡°There no fight without steel; no steel without Owlblood; no Owlblood without us going in today.¡± There was a long pause as the stout Illican shifted. ¡°¡­Abandon humanity?¡± Lonwo asked quietly. ¡°Corrupt our nobility? Our blood?¡± ¡°Abandon humanity or abandon responsibility,¡± Kara retorted. ¡°And Godsblood can be removed.¡± ¡°Not easily. Not without damage. And place life with such men?¡± The Illican¡¯s rebuke had lost its bite. ¡°Why not wait; gird ourself with warriors?¡± ¡°We on Albright territory; Owl¡¯s blood their bounty,¡± remarked the Andorish. ¡°No time. The mercenaries are here for same reason. Owl has blood enough for all. And any betrayal in there, all lose their bounty and all die.¡± ¡°Eyah,¡± Kara agreed. ¡°That trust, if ever any exists.¡± One final sigh emerged from the Illican before he turned to his guards and shot them a brief nod. When they responded with a crisp salute, he drew in a breath. ¡°Eyah, mercenaries!¡± His call rung out towards the other group, directed at a shrivelled woman whose skin had more in common with leather than flesh, who sucked on some kind of nut nestled in her cheek. She must have been their leader. ¡°We agree to work¡­¡± His gaze followed the gazes of the other god-hunting group. To Ronnie and Pat and the bird and their surroundings. ¡°Another ghost?¡± asked the mercenary leader. Her cheeks bulged with a small nut she sucked. ¡°Whole piles o¡¯ ¡®em round here, t¡¯be sure. Region¡¯s in sore need o¡¯ a Face. ¡°No ghost,¡± Lonwo breathed. ¡°Vulture.¡± ¡°¡­The new god?¡± Wary of opening his mouth, the Illican simply nodded. ¡°Damn it all,¡± the woman hissed between her few remaining teeth, gaze frozen. ¡°Th¡¯ blood¡¯s it lookin¡¯ at?¡± ¡°Us.¡± She released a short laugh ¨C less of humour and more to simply exhale. ¡°S¡¯got so many eyes it could be watchin¡¯ everythin¡¯.¡± ¡°Probably is.¡± ¡°If we run, s¡¯it gonna chase us?¡± Behind him, the other Heartlanders were already beginning to slowly back away. The leader was oblivious. ¡°Strain!¡± called the Andorish. He had been the only one to notice Ronnie¡¯s less noticeable frame. ¡°Is it dangerous?¡± The giant made no moments, until the fact the question had been directed at them registered. They carefully raised a palm and swayed it side-to-side, then made several discrete gestures. The nobles exchanged a glance while the Heartlander stared in mute disbelief. Behind them, the forms of her retreating companions were forced in the only direction they could go to escape ¨C through the purple mist. Their bodies were quickly consumed by it. ¡°Blood¡¯s that mean?¡± the mercenary leader whispered. Kara¡¯s reply was equally quiet. ¡°Silent-word,¡± she responded. ¡°But I understand nothing.¡± ¡°Lady, if I could¡­¡± The noble¡¯s Lizardblooded guard placed herself between her charge and the threat. ¡°Sign again?¡± Ronnie repeated the motions. The Blooded¡¯s mouth slowly traced the sounds. Everyone¡¯s eyes flickered between her and what lay ahead of them. The Illican opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it. ¡°Why it carry dog?¡± one of Lonwo¡¯s guards muttered. ¡°Quiet,¡± he hissed. ¡°Now.¡± Eventually, the Lizardblood produced a translation. ¡°Dangerous¡­ If provoked, I believe?¡± ¡°¡®Cause I was plannin¡¯ on annoyin¡¯ it.¡± The Heartlander ejected a wad of spittle reddened by the nut she sucked onto the ground ¡°Stop it,¡± the Korlean hissed disbelievingly. ¡°Leave its path.¡± ¡°Now hold on a moment, fancy pants,¡± the mercenary quietly drawled. ¡°If it¡¯s goin¡¯ this way, an¡¯ it ain¡¯t gonna kill us, why not tag along? God¡¯s ain¡¯t meant t¡¯hurt other gods. We¡¯re prob¡¯bly gon¡¯ die anyway. Ain¡¯t much t¡¯lose.¡± ¡°That is a bad idea.¡± ¡°You should leave.¡± ¡°The Owl¡¯s whims are nothing to trust.¡± The woman stumbled backwards. ¡°By all that¡¯s good ¡®n green,¡± she breathed. ¡°It speaks? What¡¯d it say?¡± ¡°Some variety of ¡®you fools¡¯,¡± Lonwo muttered. ¡°If you¡­¡± Khoe paused to work saliva through his mouth. ¡°¡­Spare us, then we going. Will you allow us the shelter of your back?¡± Ronnie stood behind, glancing between the nine remaining individuals and elsewhere. ¡°Ronnie.¡± ¡°Stay.¡± ¡°And.¡± ¡°Do.¡± ¡°Not.¡± ¡°Enter.¡± ¡°This.¡± ¡°Place.¡± For the vast majority who entered the Owl¡¯s mists would die, and no amount of numbers, martial prowess or strategy could weigh the dice in their favour. But even if they survived, they would depart as weak Owlbloods ¨C unless they were already Blooded. The closer they were to the centre, the more concentrated their divinity would become. And if they managed to bottle a drop of Yoot¡¯s blood, they would hold enough divinity for dozens of Owlbloods. Beyond that, little was known. If Ronnie entered, they would never depart or they would depart forever marked. The would-be god hunters exchanged a glance. Each word occupied the same instant; none were comprehensible. Their shifting exposed the old mercenary to her sudden dearth of companions, at which point she attempted to sneer but succeeded only in looking tired. ¡°Alright. Rest o¡¯ my gang o¡¯ cowards jus¡¯ ran.¡± She sucked furiously on the seed. ¡°Fools. One god¡¯s too spooky for ¡®em, so they run t¡¯another. We better catch up soon.¡± They would die in the mist if nothing protected them. They would likely still die if some thing did. But it was better than nothing. Pat was brought towards the mist. Each of the divinity seekers turned to follow. As did Ronnie. Where else could they go?
Empurpled fog suffused the pilgrims¡¯ bodies. Immediately, things began to slip. The apple of Lonwo¡¯s throat bobbed as he swallowed, yet though his mouth moved the words emanating from them came as if screamed from the other side of the horizon. Several others tilted their head in incomprehension. Yet despite being further away from him than the others, Kara¡¯s Lizardblooded guard immediately staggered, face a rictus of pain. Blood leaked from her ears, then dripped off their lobes to slouch to the muddied earth. Eyes flickering between Lonwo and the Blooded, the old Heartlander placed a finger across her lips. As she did so, her head tilted, but though her face moved the seed she sucked on did not. Nailed to the air, it ripped through her cheek in a red gleam then drifted away like pollen on a breeze. The others watched it disappear into the mist above. Ronnie¡¯s gaze, along with the others, was pointed towards the exit. Though the Lizardblooded guard glared significantly at her Korlean master, it was one of the Andorish who gripped his charge ¨C Khoe ¨C by the arm and dragged him back the way they came, though his partner embedded his feet firmly within the group. Lonwo longingly gazed after the two that had left. But the rest continued walking. For a time, the mist was impenetrable. All that accompanied the pilgrims were a few paces of muddied earth before it faded into nothing. Reality operated more or less consistently, but at times this pattern would be broken entirely. Sound often carried strangely; sometimes a scream would sound as if next to everyone yet other times footsteps seemed to vanish without mention, as if the sight of boots sinking into mud were somehow divorced from greater reality. There was an incident where Kara sunk, without prompting, neck-deep into the mud and had to be pulled from it by Ronnie. The rain variably fell like feathers, or lightning, or not at all. Then without warning, one of Lonwo¡¯s guards dropped. His body seized upon the dirt, lifeforce quivering like a fish thrown upon land. First, the dying man¡¯s skin was flayed from him, leaving muscle, sinew, tendons and fat to bear the rain falling upon it. Those pieces were separated from the body with a surgeon¡¯s finesse. Next, came his organs; all drifting upwards with the exception of the Illican¡¯s heart and brain. Like the rest of the pieces stripped away, his eyes hung in the air for several long seconds. Then piece-by-piece transformed into mist. The bones were next, with the exception of a strange, floppy line that had been once dwelled within the spine. Upon their departure the man was no longer recognisable as human, but a pile of beating strings that seemed to have risen wholesale from the earth. Finally, the capillaries and other strings that once bound the flesh and heart and brain to the rest of the body vanished into purple mist, leaving nothing but blood. The others stared at him. Kara shrieked mutely, while others simply paled and shivered. The Heartlander whirled, trying to see every corner of the mist at once. Ronnie vomited. They had just watched a living being unravel before their eyes. Reduced to less than a scream; a whisper. One of many that formed the fog around them. They had too few eyes to notice the single dark spot that sat in the distance, somehow perceptible behind the fog. Its gaze was like a bolt to the head. Its lifeforce was an ocean beyond any other entity in leagues, barring two. Then it was gone. The sacrilege was incomprehensible. They should have been left outside. Rendered unconscious. If needed. Even if the application of force lacked control. Even if it allowed the mushrooms to crawl past the Heartlands. Into them. Should have. In too far, now; in too far. What could be done? How could- Weakly, Pat¡¯s tongue brushed against shivering flesh. He blinked upwards. Fur shivered as his lifeforce seeped closer to death. They did not leave, and were not made to. Instead, they continued onwards, feet pressing mutely against the ground. All of a sudden, the mist receded. In its wake lay a familiar landscape made completely and utterly foreign by the way it had split apart. A set of smoothly rolling hills awaited the pilgrims, cut through by the veins of a river-system that grew fatter with each drop of rain. Green grass over soil and crimson mushrooms over earth mingled together. Speartrees thrust beside verdant green shrubs. Black, gnarled heartwoods sprouted leaves of jade. Great oaks crenulated with wrinkled bark leaked red sap from gouges, and from within them emerged great ivory spikes. The vegetation of two parallel places had begun to bleed together. Though fewer, its creatures did as well. The feathers of a bird were blended with the body of a mountain lion, leaving spindly avian legs broken under its form. It writhed between blades of crimson and olive, cuts opening to soak uselessly into soil that did not desire blood. The lion¡¯s head hung, glassy-eyed. But a small lump sprouting from its back screeched: the head of an eagle. A possum with far too many legs repeatedly tried and failed to climb a tree. A rat conjoined at the back with another dragged its dead partner along. One scaled elk lay lifeless on the dirt, gills motionless. A mangy dog and its conjoined monster flailed, teeth flashing as they bit into one another over and over again. Each flash of teeth slashed more of their combined blood onto the earth. A tiny ant beneath the pilgrim¡¯s feet fumbled around on the legs of a beetle. Children of earth and sky bound together dispassionately. The Heartlanders that had fled fumbled across the landscape. What had once been fifteen had been reduced to six, with no indication of where their companions were. Three pairs of legs stumbled together, as if tied by a knot. But there was no knot; there was only the melding of flesh. And at their panicked jostling, their skin was pressed further together, and where they touched their bodies sunk into one another, leaving trails of blood. Their eyes were wide; filled with a dreadful comprehension that none of the other merged creatures could possess. Their terrified screams sounded as no animal ever should. For they were completely and utterly silent. The three other Heartlanders circled around their melded peers, raising bronze weaponry to strike only to flinch back as the merged¡¯s dreadful flailing brought their skin perilously close to the others. It was only when one of the distorted trio collapsed from shock that the delineated could finally step forward and kill the trio. Ronnie and the blood-seekers shuffled further away from one another. Yet when the giant¡¯s eyes found Pat and the bird, they begun to sign. ¡®Dog,¡¯ ¡®Bird,¡¯ ¡®Safe,¡¯ ¡®Separate,¡¯ ¡®God/Divine,¡¯ ¡®Flesh/Meat,¡¯ ¡®Question.¡¯ The dog and the bird did remain distinct, despite their bodies pressed against dark. Warbling. Twisting- Pat¡¯s tongue darted out once more, licking. They seemed fine to touch, so long as they remained isolated from others and each other. A darker divinity than which suffused the mist shielded them. Whatever shift in reality that pressed things together had only arisen as the group had forged deeper into the mist. Otherwise, the Strain would have lost their arm in Kara when lifting the Korlean from the mud. Fortunate, it some ways, but it boded poorly. They would only be going further. This was communicated through a series of signs. Ronnie bobbed their head, then extended their good arm to sway across the mist-shrouded land, as if dowsing for some answer. The giant¡¯s query was answered with a finger towards what lay at the centre of it all. It was almost visible. Almost. At that moment, all it appeared to be was a deformed, mangled darkening of the purple mist. The seven remaining pilgrims exchanged glances. The Korlean and Illican guard glared meaningfully at Lonwo and Kara. The Andorish one simply began carefully shuffling down the hill. The Heartlander, after making a motion that might¡¯ve been a snort, followed. The Strain stared at their mismatched hands, then looked out at the malformed landscape. They gave a tight smile, then followed. A pack of ghosts loped across the landscape purposefully ¨C whole in form if not substance ¨C then vanished into the purple fog. Besides the pilgrims, the rain and the rivers, they were the only thing that seemed to move ¨C and they didn¡¯t truly move, did they? They never would. The seekers took a wide berth around anything that looked significant. The trees and animals were avoided. They emitted a kind of foul, unnatural beauty ¨C the sort that could only be found in this place. Entirely unique. So though some of the pilgrims looked tempted to kill them, they were left to struggle and make sense of their altered forms. Those of the Heartlanders that remained looked to their leader, then walked past her ¨C back the way they came. The mercenary directed a steady gaze towards their retreating spines, then looked at the corpse/s they had left behind. A thick pool of blood spread beneath them; their eyes frozen in a terror unique to them. Then she looked ahead once more. The remaining Andorish did not. He froze for a moment, then, without meeting their eyes, gave the rest of the pilgrims a single nod. After that, he turned on his heel to follow the Heartlanders. Lonwo shot Kara a hopeful glance, but when her visage remained resolute sighed mutely. Six remained to walk onwards. Ronnie stared after them expressionlessly. ¡®Leave.¡¯ ¡®Safe,¡¯ ¡®With,¡¯ ¡®You,¡¯ they retorted. ¡®No.¡¯ ¡®Yes.¡¯ ¡®Leave,¡¯ ¡®Before,¡¯ ¡®Blooded.¡¯ An extended pause. ¡®Ghost,¡¯ ¡®Fine.¡¯ They were not referring to ghosts, but someone who once shared the name. ¡®Ghost,¡¯ ¡®Not,¡¯ ¡®Blooded.¡¯ ¡®Ghost,¡¯ ¡®Not,¡¯ ¡®Fine.¡¯ ¡®Ghost¡­¡¯ The giant¡¯s fingers froze, twitching towards other signs but never actualising them. Whatever line of thought they pursued was eventually abandoned. ¡®Cannot,¡¯ ¡®Leave.¡¯ Ronnie could be beaten. Easily. Rendered unconscious; but would the rendering leave permanent marks? Yet the Strain was wounded by their mere presence in this place. Bound by tighter chains with every heartbeat that passed. That was a choice. That was a choice? A choice? Truly? Would death save more than it destroyed? Ronnie watched with a clenched jaw and wide eyes, as if form itself hinted at the arithmetic occurring within. Pat¡¯s tongue limply lapped at the flesh which bound it. No. Not yet. Not yet. The calculation ceased. When it ended, the giant released a breath and turned to follow the others. All routes to the centre ran through rivers. Though their current was weak, they carved through the aligned lands with a muted frenzy. As if fleeing from the mist¡¯s apex. Raindrops falling from the mist above were received without ripples ¨C the water did not receive their impact; only their mass. Nothing swum within them, distorted or otherwise. Crossing with Pat and the bird seemed strange. Great weight anchored feet, but despite its torpor the force of the river was that of an avalanche. Everything beneath the water was crushed. The two passengers were oblivious to the battle being fought beneath the waves, scarcely inches below them. But whether they would reach the other shore was never in question. Kara¡¯s Lizardblood took the fording as a sign of the thin river¡¯s safety. Ronnie saw the frantic signing on the opposite bank, but could not touch the Blooded to stop her. Her first, careful step into the water saw her ankle snap, and she slipped sideways. Into the water. When her legs splashed beneath the river, they reversed themselves as every bone within was torqued into splinters. When her torso hit it, all her organs were pulped. By that point, any mortal would already be dead. But the Lizardblood endured long enough to watch both of her arms be ripped away by the gentle current; feel her windpipe be crushed against itself. Then her head fell beneath the water, turning it opaque with a fine red mist. There was a tree ¨C some combination of a mighty beech and a gnarled, foetal product of the Aching ¨C on the other side that had collapsed under its own lopsided structure. The length of its trunk was enough to span the entire river, though manoeuvring it to hang over it without touching water was impossible. In the end, it had to be held up to form a makeshift bridge. Each pilgrim eyed it warily, but when Ronnie placed their bad arm onto it, their flesh did not meld with the wood. Five walked over the bridge without falling, then deeper into the mist. Once more it descended: thick enough that the crush of it could be felt entering the lungs. An exhalation left the fog stripped of some of its purple, fading from indigo into something that could be mistaken as blue. The rain began to slow ¨C both in terms of it growing sparser and physically, with each droplet growing sluggish mid-air. After a point, the stagnant beads of water began to split from themselves, again and again, until they merged with the mist around. The pilgrims were guided away from any other blush of lifeforce, and so saw none of the fading creatures that blanketed the landscape from end-to-end. They lurked just out of sight, always: the dead, dying, and tortured living. Siik only knew how they appeared to the naked eye. Perhaps they were simply more of what had already been witnessed. But this deep in, the rules were different. The transgressions borne of them would be as well. The pilgrim¡¯s eyes were steered away. The urge to see and hear the lives which matched the fires concealed by the mist was immense. To impress them upon memory; indelibly wind their scattered forms through thought. But those that remained needed help. As such, of that which lurked just behind a veil of purple, only one such thing was known for certain: They should not have existed. Repeatedly, the impossible occurred: unified flames of lifeforce would slough apart like slow-roasted meat, leaving two distinct entities were there should be one. This was not possible. It would mean splitting the essence of red; sweetness; triangles; the scent of burning ¨C dividing one by two to reach one. What horrible things could be born from such a process? Two gleaming mounds of flesh, each bearing half a face extrapolated into a whole one? Did one bear skin, and the other bones? But the process was impossible. And from it could only be born impossible things. Things that stepped from imaginings into reality. But the mere attempt to make two from one should have extinguished the creatures forever. As it did with the final Illican guard, who simply shivered once and dropped dead, as if his strings had been cut. Lonwo¡¯s face twisted with what might have been a single sob. He glanced backwards, then at the other pilgrims ¨C but they were too busy staring at what lay ahead. Neither creature nor corpse waited under their gaze. The mist had not cleared; its feckless mass constricted tighter than ever. It was a rock. A boulder covered in patches of pale white that might¡¯ve seemed like sun-spots on a human, but were likely mundane pieces of alpine moss, gripping tightly to their home in anticipation for ferocious winds that never came. It was not the lichen that drew the eye. Where the boulder met the earth was something easily overlooked. It did not tug at vision like a pattern on a tree might, hinting at a human face. It couldn¡¯t. It was no pattern at all. It was an angle. Two lines, where rock met soil. Just slightly adjacent to what was possible. As if reality had crossed its eyes. Repeatedly, the pilgrim¡¯s gazes traced the individual components of it. The lines. Individually, they made sense. Collectively, they did not. Even now, it would be easy to dismiss it as a hallucination ¨C but that would require an imagination capable of capturing something that squatted beyond the realm of possibility. Maybe everyone present was simply too stupid to comprehend it. Words fail. Memory does not. It was there, and in the coming steps, there were many more like it. More walking commenced; the Heartlander, Kara, Lonwo, and Ronnie carefully waddling behind like a raft of metaphysically-challenged ducklings through a violet sea of nonsense obstacles that would condemn at a touch. They did not walk for long. One final time, the fog receded. The pilgrims had reached the eye of the storm. There was a caldera: a bowl-shaped depression in the ground, rugged at its sides as if they were in the process of dissolving by the mist frothing within it. Or maybe it was a lake: filled with violet water skewed at writhing angles. Or perhaps it was a simple valley. It didn¡¯t matter. Hanging over it was a single tiny mushroom, slowly, delicately being stripped from itself by countless strings of purple ¨C thin yet articulate in ways hands were not. Cap was separated from gills, exposing its fleshy innards, then stalk, then the countless tiny strands that once bound it to soil; all as still as it had once been on the ground. It was held aloft by a glow of purple, underneath a single, immense eye that dominated the mist-shrouded sky. Its purple sclera and violet iris made a token strip around a pupil so immense the curvature of the lens beneath was perceptible. A transparent body surrounded it; riddled with capillaries and veins and chunks that might¡¯ve been a brain, had it not been so decentralised. Under its singular gaze, one-at-a-time, each individual component of the fungus shed pieces of itself into purple mist. The exact same process that the Illican guard had undergone. Flesh and blood and being severed from itself. Until nothing remained of them at all. Then a shroud of tiny purple fingers rotated the eye sideways, until its pupil was a singularity of black filling the sky. Directed neither at Ronnie nor the other mortals present. For a moment, it felt as the ground was growing upwards. But it was merely a cloud of purple rising, bringing Pat and the bird and their carrier upwards, to be held aloft by divinity¡¯s hand. Those present watched. Scalpels of purple peeled away onyx flesh. Strip by strip, they were separated from one another. Reduced, piece by piece. Fleck by fleck. Eight disembodied eyes drifted through the air, seeing all. But none faded to mist. The rotation of the immense eye grew faster, as did the reduction of the midnight flesh it dissected. The entity was as ungraspable as the land around it. Delivering sacrilege onto all it beheld. Its form was as mist; thoughts touching nothing of it. Its actions were cruel; senseless. The mortals below had eyes filled with awe. But in those above, there was only incomprehension. ¡°Heal Pat.¡± ¡°Heal the bird.¡± ¡°Please save them.¡± The eye was twisted under a veil of purple sideways. It stared at the dying bird. Slowly but surely, the mushrooms embedded in its chest were sliced from its feathered chest. Veins and flesh were knitted together. An open wound closed. In that writhing place, the bird hopped upright and took flight. It soared upwards under the eyes of all present, piercing the featureless mist. And though no mortal gaze could see it, to the sky above. It flew away. Then the eye turned to Pat and a whimper rang over that foul place as his fur was stripped from his body in a spray of blood. A world of touch, smell, and taste. Of the warmth of a body far greater than your own and the wriggling masses trying to attach to her. These things are denied to you. Her great mass kicks you aside, and though you search, you never find her again. But someone finds you. For the first thing you ever see is the broad, broken-toothed smile of the Friend. He calls you Pat, and so Pat you become. The thing that was me screamed and extended its limb in a spiral of darkened rope towards the other god. The Friend looks after you. Every day you wake before the sun, where he feeds you and runs you down with wet cloth. He carries you in a stretch of dead skin beneath his arm for many days, then when you¡¯re large enough to keep pace with Humans¡¯ long, twinned legs you walk beside him. There is a lot of walking. A lot of the Friend looking at the ground with his Pack. Many days you find nothing. But at the end of some, there is the creature you come to know as the Quarry ¨C the beast that clever Friend and his dextrous Pack with all their long teeth bring down. As the tendril drew a deep gouge across its Quarry, it brought its many eyes to bear upon the other thing but found no sign of change. The Friend also speaks to you. At first, you do not understand. But his sharp barks tell you what is Bad. Many things are Bad. Making dirt inside four walls: Bad. Fighting the furniture: Bad. Not coming when called: Bad. You are ofttimes Bad. But though you are certain the Friend will always love you, more than anything else in the world you want the Friend to be pleased with you. To croon at you; to tell you that you have done Good and been Good and are Good. Yet there was an opportunity afforded here: for the thing to bring its disparate pieces together ¨C binding them with an exertion of will ¨C into its grotesque onyx form as the black blood pulses in its ears, and spin itself on the momentum of the motion to pluck its ¨C its? Pat¡¯s? ¨C flayed body from the grasp of the god and send another limb trailing towards the ground. The Friend teaches you how to be Good. What signals should determine your behaviour; when you should be a nose for the smell-blind Pack; where you should make dirt and not; who is Pack and who is Other and what is Quarry. You spend time around many Humans, who like you and you like, but not as much as the Friend. Amongst them is the Big Woman ¨C who must be watched, for her obvious power ¨C and her three pups. They give the Friend and you food, which is very nice. There, Ronnie grasped the tendril in one great arm and yanked so fiercely that the giant fell to the ground, but the motion was enough to embed the thing¡¯s arm into the dirt as an anchor to reel itself down like a fish on a line; yet the eye allowed its retreat. You hunt the Quarry, for that is what the Friend and his Pack do. You eat. You walk the sandstone streets through Dust and Still. You encounter other dogs: some puppies, some venerable, but mostly suspicious characters whose obvious Otherhood makes them objects of deep concern. You sleep with the Friend at the end of every day, and you are content. Then on a day when the sky weeps black, the Friend dies. For the eye was looking elsewhere. The Friend is dead. He is dead when the Big Man brings you to find him. He is dead when the Big Man burns him. He is dead when his body is nothing but ash. Ronnie was lifted into the air within a haze of violet strings and the eye brought itself closer to the Strain, rotating ponderously between its two arms and the giant¡¯s neck. He is dead every day. He is dead when you eat. He is dead when you wait for him. He is dead when you search for him. He is dead when you doze. He is dead when you walk the streets at night. He is dead when you wake up and when you finally fall asleep, the Friend is dead. Though the thing leapt its legs were not enough to reach that great height. You are needed, still. For the Big Woman is dead, and the Pup was dangerous and you scared him away, leaving only the Girl and the Boy remaining. Alone, like you. And even if the Friend is dead, you will still be Good for him. Then Ronnie¡¯s larynx emerged from their neck with neither blood nor gore, leaving the giant silently clawing at their neck and the thing recalled a million moments to warp its limb into a mechanism that launched a bolt towards the sky. You stay with them. When they use their long fangs on air, you remain with them. When they push pieces of dead Quarry across the great empty of the world, you watch the world around them. When they sleep, you wake to check on Girl and then Boy. When the great horde of Others descend upon them, gnashing their teeth and held back only by the stern words of the Big Man, you show your teeth. When the Girl howls afterwards and the Boy sobs and yells at the sky, you stay with them. The spur of bone soared by Ronnie, then snapped backwards at the fleshy tether at its base, whipping around for the giant to seize in their good arm as the eye dismantled their voice-box with singular focus. One day, they leave. With another Pack, and the Healer. You go a long way, and the way is strange; full of smells and sounds and sights unlike any you know. It is sometimes scary, and sometimes when you wake in the mornings there is a moment where everything is still Home and the Friend is there, but then you remember he is not and you are far away. But though the walking is cold and long it is interesting and fun and the Girl and the Boy are with you, and they love you and you love them. Yet then it recreated the voice-box, and bound Ronnie with strings of its own to reinsert the larynx, and the first sound to ever emerge from Ronnie¡¯s mouth was a wordless howl of terror as the god¡¯s purple strings began cutting through their other arm, yet the vigour of the thing that was me¡¯s pulling was barely enough to seize it down. Then others join the Pack for a bit, and then the Pack is dead. The Bone Woman emerges covered in their blood. But the Boy and the Girl stay with her, so you do too. You walk and at the end is Pup intensified a thousandfold; made Quarry. But Quarry-Pup does not attack. So you go with the Bone People to a hole in the ground, and it is there you stop being able to move, sometimes. And when the immense eye turned back downwards, it seized on something else, for there, walking along a stretch of air as if solid ground waited just beneath the veneer of reality, was a ghost. You stop working and a great hurt is brought upon you. You blur in and out of coherency. There is sleep and there is pain. Though the Boy and the Girl try to give you food, you don¡¯t want it. You understand that you will be dead soon, and that the food is wasted on you. The Boy and the Girl cry, sometimes. You try to get up but you can¡¯t. You can¡¯t be Good because you can¡¯t get up. You know that is Bad. That hurts you most. Ronnie collapsed on the ground, with their only wound a superficial cut on their arm, but they were not the casualty, for there was death ¨C the end of all that had been laboured for ¨C and horrendous agony. You feel the death stirring from within your bones begin to wake. Some deep impulse tells you to wander away where none can find you. But the Quarry-Pup finds you even still, and it cradles you in its arms and it says many things at once; always whispering. It tells you over and over again you are Good. Even when you are torn from its arms and hurt beyond hurt is delivered upon you, it screams a scream beyond words and tells you that you are Good. So the thing that was me whispered such words one last time, and snapped its own neck between two hands. If you are truly Good, would the Friend be happy with you? Then it was over. Above, the eye patiently attempted to bring its strings to bear upon the ghost. Repeatedly, the miniscule empurpled fingers failed to find traction on the air and slipped through. Yet its only response was to begin sending its tendrils in at different angles. When that failed, a radiant haze of violet settled over the ghost, but its march was unaltered. For a moment, the eye gazed at nothing. Then the purple implements through which the god interfaced with the world turned on itself. Purple tendrils fell upon the eye. Layer by layer, it stripped its own being apart. Cornea from sclera from lens from the transparent body within. The many veins and capillaries extracted from itself. Each hung in the air by strings of purple. They were separated, and hung away from one another. Then, finally, each piece of the god dissolved into purple mist, and it was gone. What questions without end? Dissecting the bounds of reality, even as every slice tears the border of itself apart? Every man, woman and child knows the answer: Yoot; The Owl; the Mage; the Monk; the Dissolute; the one who asks. The only trace it left behind was the wall of violet fog surrounding the place, and the corpse on the ground beneath.
When Ronnie and the pilgrims were carried out, the day had fallen and night reigned, unchallenged by storm, rain, or cloud. Those that had remained soon fell unconscious as the fog drawn into their lungs throughout their pilgrimage made itself apparent. The substance was removed from Ronnie via a series of runes carved on a chunk of nearby bark ¨C a task made less complex by its proximity to the initial blooding ¨C which hopefully occurred immediately enough to prevent long-term effects. The Owlblood within the giant¡¯s body was stored with a glass vial offered by the Andorish guard who had taken Khoe from the place. The noble himself was dead. His brief exposure to the mist had let something vital within him slip. His corpse seemed too whole to be dead. Every second that passed came with the expectation that Khoe¡¯s chest would raise once more ¨C a shuddering breath accompanying his eyes flashing open, mindless of the blood that had dried on his eyes and ears. But beneath his peaceful veneer were motionless veins, and that dissonance seemed to beat with a pulse of its own. Neither the three Heartlanders nor the Andorish guard who had departed with them had managed to leave. The remaining Andorish guard refused to allow the operation on the three survivors ¨C Lonwo, Kara, and the Heartlander whose name hadn¡¯t been spoken aloud ¨C who slept still. They had sought Owlblood for reasons of their own, and to take it from them would render their suffering impotent. Pointless. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was cruel to rob the giant of the choice to become a Blooded, but is a choice made in ignorance truly qualified as such? It mattered little. In the end, the voiceless had no say. Perhaps the Owl¡¯s careless gift would change one half of that equation which ruled Ronnie¡¯s life. But until then, all that remained was to carry them and a derelict hound back to the Seeds. But though both were carried away from that place, the memory of it endured. The plants made alien by feckless stitching. The bodies merged together, and broken because of it. Two made from one. And that brought thoughts of one made from two. Of the blending of green and red. Of a raindrop falling into water and leaving no ripple. And that image¡¯s cousin, where the sky wept black and a crimson ocean did not feel its fall. The thing that was me thought of Sash and Dash ¨C of the Girl and the Boy ¨C surrounded by a horde that bled as red as the earth, and it was frightened. And it only knew one certain way to save them. Chapter 76 - Love Twists No skin, no nail, no bone, no hair, no brows, no nose, no jaw, no joint, no heat, no lungs, and no breath that wasn¡¯t lost long ago; just nine eyes to flinch across all corners of the world and too many jawless mouths to agree on what to say. A primordial pool animated by the ghosts swimming within, hauling itself across the landscape like the twisted shadow of an animal orphaned from its maker to sprint frenzied over a blur of red, green, and black, casting the birds, rodents, and scavengers that picked through the wilderness into a flurry of terrorised flight too ponderous to prevent them from being snatched had it the mind to, but the thing that was me barely had a mind to speak of ¨C only fractured impressions and dangerous intuitions to smother its transient coherence in the crib. But the recognition of a thing doesn¡¯t cure it from itself; it only exacerbates the malady that sketches its borders. Divine speed pushed the landscape behind at a pace impossible a few months ago and the power that defined every inch of its body made injury almost unthinkable, yet the dangers of the world were not measured in threats to itself but rather the way all ¨C from the moons blinking through the dappled canopy coursing overhead to the myriad creatures of different shapes, sizes and voices turning the earth beneath them ¨C shivered imperfectly on the indelible precipice that separated the countless feet of the present from the footsteps they would leave behind. Precedent was the name of the game mortality played: if it had died before it would die again; if it killed it would kill once more, once more, once more, until ¡®once more¡¯ stretched from horizon to horizon in a graveyard of compromise whose victims clawed at the roofs of their tombs, nails dirtied, forever robbed of the sunlight they had once beheld. The world was an hourglass fractured at its ceiling and its bottom, forever filling and draining in eternal equilibrium; unchanging, perhaps, unless you were a grain slipping from its base, tumbling head-over-heels into darkness, and despite the hands opened at the bottom there would be overflow and the weight ¨C gods, the weight ¨C would splinter fingerbone and tendon into a crimson mess. But the thing that was me¡¯s eight eyes had stopped drifting, and saw with absolute focus ¨C a fixation belonging only to gods ¨C and would could not look away. Terror. Do you understand terror, god? That which chokes all words; crushes all breath; leaves its victims insensate on their feet, begging in a frantic bid to make an accord with a universe that cannot listen; whispers without words promising, with every beat of the heart, a world which is bent against you and yours and hollow of all but foul and empty things. You do know terror, god. A strange shade of it crushes the edge of perception but it is coloured by an indecipherable sensation as foreign to this thing as the tide is to the beach it eats away, but there is still a chance ¨C a hope ¨C that this mound of sand can strangle the indomitable channel, so it runs from Here to There; days past, days distant, days lost, and the moment that separates them from tomorrow. The thing that was me ran beneath the empty night sky, unburdened by the weight of Ronnie and a corpse upon its shoulder, along the path it had walked half-a-day before, clawing itself forward, voices scratched and hoarse; a weight like mountains shaking everything that it was. Eventually, it arrived. Calls rang out through the still night air of all shades ¨C the hidden diaspora of Seeds from all corners of the continent unearthing themselves to search for the voiceless pawn they needed ¨C but no response would come, for they stretched through the shadowed forest but the twins were not there. They were not anywhere: not amongst the seekers or the voices ringing to the night sky, nor those forming a perimeter around to alert their peers on any trespassers; what had happened to them what had been done to them were they alright if anything ever¡­ Focus. Not with eyes, but the divinity that formed the bedrock of the thing¡¯s being: that which was blind to all but life and life¡¯s fading ¨C a confusing amalgamation foreign to mortal senses but that long experience could decipher and distinguish ¨C and there they were, underground. They were whole. They weren¡¯t dying yet. They weren¡¯t alone. They could never be alone, because nothing existed in isolation: no action could shake them free of the web of consequence that bound them ¨C whether formed of the tactile press of other¡¯s eyes or the cling of skin no creature could doff or the mere presence of the laws of earth and sky by which all must abide ¨C and so there was nowhere truly contained; nowhere truly safe. But there was a single truth all of humanity was defined by: if anything approached immortality, it was the blood of a god. There were those seeking to change that. Which was why the thing that was me slipped through the Seed¡¯s search-line and those accompanying them ¨C Erin, Bhan, Head Maleen, red-eyed Taja ¨C and the process was easy, for who amongst a legion of Shrikebloods could be expected to perceive a dark mass that could condense itself in a pinprick; launch through the sky above their heads; move faster than any mortal animal? Perhaps they saw a flicker, in the shadows beneath the canopy, but if they thought anything of it they said nothing, and so the group did not know the approach but there were more of the Seed¡¯s closing their grip around the twins like a ring of moths to strangle a flame so it needed to go faster; it needed to move. It slithered through the gap like a snake seen crushed beneath a boot long ago; skittered across the ceiling like the beetle plucked from its perch by a swooping bird; hurled itself across the open shaft like one of the bodies on that hill months ago when people were rent into husks by detonations beneath their feet, and it found its way into the barracks, where Ronnie was gently placed upon their cot and its eyes settled upon the twins. For a few moments, the mere sight of them was enough to throw a veil of calm over the scene. Yet that brief tranquillity did not extend to Sash, who rocked back and forth a cot while Dash embraced her, teeth clenched. ¡°What- what if he is gone again?¡± she stuttered out. ¡°What if he has run away?¡± ¡°We¡¯ll be okay, Sash,¡± her twin whispered, ¡°I promise.¡± Her voice collapsed into a discordant whine. ¡°You do not know that.¡± ¡°We¡¯ve done it before,¡± he insisted. ¡°We can do it again.¡± The adolescents¡¯ gangly limbs were splayed across the cot. The thin reed curtains separating each cot from the next provided the barest gesture towards privacy; enough to stifle sight but not their tremulous tones. But except for them, no other person waited in the barracks. Only a girl and the boy frantically trying to calm her were present. Yet no one thought to calm him. ¡°It was awful, Dash!¡± the girl exclaimed, craning her neck to stare at him. ¡°We- we almost died!¡± ¡°It was just hauling monster corpses,¡± Dash snapped, an edge creeping into his voice. ¡°An animal could¡¯ve done it.¡± ¡°We both collapsed several times, Dash!¡± Her eyes were wide. ¡°The hunters told us repeatedly to stop, but you did not listen and you¡¯re not listening now!¡± ¡°I¡¯m listening,¡± he insisted, ¡°I always listen.¡± Sash angrily fought her way out of Dash¡¯s arms, and despite the boy¡¯s reluctance he simply wasn¡¯t strong enough to disallow it. When she had finished, her entire body rotated to glare at him. ¡°We did all of that to get to here.¡± The whining note had fled from her voice. All that remained was earnest communication. ¡°If he leaves, then it all meant nothing.¡± ¡°We earned those merits to learn,¡± Dash argued. ¡°And we have learned. We know how to survive; I bet Jackson would be glad to have us working for him- ¡° ¡°Back in the Foot?¡± she hissed. ¡°They hate us there. They held you down and broke your bones.¡± He flinched, but tried to conceal it with a wave of his hand. ¡°That was years ago. They calmed down after a while.¡± The girl¡¯s teary gaze had morphed into a toothy grimace. She grabbed her hair and yanked on it, causing Dash to immediately grab her wrist. She slapped him with her other hand. ¡°You are so stupid. We could have died, and you know it!¡± Her twin gripped the other hand tight enough to bruise. ¡°So what?¡± he retorted angrily. ¡°What do you want us to do?¡± ¡°Find him!¡± A guttural yell burst from her. Then she blinked rapidly. ¡°If¡­ If we lose him¡­¡± ¡°We¡¯ve already lost him, Sash!¡± Dash shouted, eyes trembling. ¡°We lost him four years ago!¡± His jaw tightened as he tried and failed to slow his breathing. Then he continued hoarsely, ¡°It¡¯s done. It¡¯s over. There¡¯s nothing we can do. We¡¯re in the bloody epilogue now, because we were too late.¡± Immediately, Sash burst into tears. In response, Dash simply leaned backwards and cast his tired eyes skyward. Then screamed, and the calm shattered into sharp focus once more. The thing that was me unfurled from the ceiling to drop down and loom over the pair, and while the girl¡¯s face quickly broke into a relieved smile her twin stared longer, to observe the eyes crawling around one another ¨C flung by their partners like the crazed orbits of celestial bodies without a sun ¨C and the twitching of divine muscle into mismatched sets of limbs to defy the stillness the thing was most often swaddled in, causing Dash turned to his sister in pale terror to tell her: ¡°We¡¯ve gotta run.¡± And when his sister simply frowned uncomprehendingly, he seized her hand and pulled her from the cot, filling the caves with cries for help ¨C heedless of the danger that could arise from their reckless retreat. The twins blundered through several curtains before managing to disentangle themselves mid-stride and Dash hauled his sister along so vehemently she scarcely had room to protest beyond a few strangled squawks and the pair veered from the barracks with such momentum that they both slammed against the stone walls hard enough to rip their elbows open and they needed to be still because they were heading in exactly the wrong direction: towards the Seeds. But when Dash pulled his sister into the central shaft to cast his voice towards the open sky above, Blake pushed himself off the trunk of the ancient, deceased tree he had been seated upon, head-in-hands to groggily say, ¡°Woah, woah ¨C where¡¯s the fire, Dash?¡± ¡°The Vulture,¡± Dash panted. The young man needed no other explanation because he swore and interposed himself and with a stilted half-smile said, ¡°C¡¯mon, Orvs; take a few breaths and calm down, yeah?¡± ¡°Move, Blake.¡± ¡°Get out of the way.¡± ¡°You have no idea what¡¯s happening.¡± But if Blake could understand the deluge of words that tumbled from the thing¡¯s maws he did not show it; just maintained his creaky smile as Sash¡¯s disbelief slowly faded into unease. Blake¡¯s already fragile smile fractured at its edges. ¡°Why don¡¯t you tell me what¡¯s in the sack, huh?¡± ¡°The twins need to come back.¡± ¡°You know what¡¯s in the bloody sack.¡± ¡°The one formed of blackened flesh, bloated to incoherence, or the one empty of anything that breathes?¡± The voices screeched over one another frantically and even as they babbled the thing darted around the pock-marked man obstructing it, snapping countless branches fallen from the dead tree leaning above, yet despite his paltry divinity Blake managed to stumble in front of it once more. His smile teetered precariously. ¡°You know you shouldn¡¯t be with ¡®em when you¡¯re like this. Just give it a little bit, alright?¡± ¡°Blake,¡± Dash protested from behind the adult. ¡°He¡¯s fine!¡± the young man suddenly snapped, whipping his head around to glare at the boy. He swallowed, then continued. ¡°We¡¯re gonna work this out, and it¡¯ll all be good again, yeah?¡± In that moment, every competing notion that sought to fight its way from its mouths aligned ¨C whether by sheer focus or a uncontrollable thirst to make them understand or some other impulse bubbling from the froth of its being ¨C into single, discrete words, because they didn¡¯t know ¨C who could¡¯ve guessed such a thing? ¨C and it needed to get through. ¡°They.¡± ¡°Will.¡± ¡°Let.¡± ¡°None.¡± ¡°Survive.¡± ¡°So.¡± ¡°Blake.¡± ¡°Just.¡± ¡°MOVE.¡± For the first time since Fort Vane, Blake gazed at the thing and found his smile had slipped. It tried to step around him, and it didn¡¯t have time to play cat-and-mouse but the twins fled into a small tunnel adjoining the shaft and the young man managed to block it using his entire body. Blake looked up. ¡°Please,¡± he begged. The thing that was me trembled for a moment ¨C shivered with its entire being ¨C before finding the man arcing through the air and slamming against the tree it had felled with a resounding crack, where he slid to the floor. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. And all eyes were fixed on him, and all of its focus was on the limb that had batted him away, and Blake did not move. Did not smile. Just stared. And the thing that was me fled after the twins.
Eyes bulging with exertion, Dash¡¯s arm strained against the base of the two feet that protruded from the small crevice in a frantic bid to shove his sister deeper into the path that would lead her upwards. The soft blue light of the everburning lantern he¡¯d packed her with crawled wildly over the crushing confines as Sash¡¯s chest rose and fell like a hummingbird¡¯s wings, her fingers fluttering over the walls for any gaps to cram themselves into but failing to find anything in their panic. Each shove squeezed her deeper, as if she were travelling through the bowels of an immutable stone giant, and every inch gained left smears of blood behind. With one final heave, the boy pushed his twin past the narrowest point of the crack and through the other side, where the path upwards waited. Sash clawed her way out then spun, extending trembling fingers backwards to reach towards her brother. Despite the air thrumming through her chest, the girl managed to speak. ¡°Hurry up, Dash!¡± The boy¡¯s words trailed softly through the gap. ¡°I won¡¯t fit.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°My shoulders are too broad,¡± he claimed. Sash gave an incoherent squawk. ¡°Now is not the time to pretend you are bigger than you are!¡± She extended her pale arm further through. ¡°Get in here!¡± ¡°Go get help.¡± ¡°You said you¡¯d come!¡± ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± he stated, feigning a stifled groan. ¡°I hurt my leg.¡± Sash¡¯s lungs beat at her chest like a caged animal. ¡°Just, just wait¡­ Uh, no, uh, hide. I¡¯ll be back.¡± The jangling of her lantern and the patter of feet faded as his sister frantically sprinted upwards. Eventually, the blue light disappeared from the crevice entirely. It left Dash alone as the bloodtech lighting studding the tunnel ate through its Shrikeblooded fuel and slowly crawled closer to darkness. His leg was entirely uninjured. Sash had never been good at seeing through deception, but Dash hadn¡¯t always been a good liar. When had he learned? He took his twin¡¯s advice to hide. He crept down the tunnel towards the storeroom. Where the piles of rations, weaponry, ammunition and armour offered shadow enough to consume even the largest of children. His blue eyes flinched back and forth. He twisted around stalagmites. He turned. Saw nothing. The only sound filling the caverns were the thin peel of his bare feet away from the stone, which hung in the tunnel like a thunderclap. Silence lurked everywhere else. He did not know Sash¡¯s words were hastily-spoken. That if she had thought for a moment, she would have known that nothing could hide from this shade of god. But Dash couldn¡¯t have known himself. His Ravenblood slept; inert, for the touch of death had never sullied it. He crept into the storeroom, each step measured by the sound it created against the tremulous energy seizing his legs while the thing that was me followed behind him entirely unnoticed despite his darting eyes, for he did not distinguish it from the crawling shadows that possessed the caverns. His gaze fell on a set of crates arranged against the wall so they formed a slight alcove and jogged over to it, weaving around containers, piles of military equipment and abandoned tally-sheets as the slap of his feet rang over the silence, yet when he knelt to begin shuffling into it he finally noticed a silhouette wrought from the absence of feeble blue lighting stalking towards him. Dash had enough time to let loose a single shout before the thing barged through the meticulously assorted piles to send showers of steel spinning through the air madly, and the boy barely managed to squeeze behind a crate when a dagger clattered through the space he¡¯d occupied moments earlier. His hand slithered out of cover to seize the knife¡¯s hilt, but then it was outside ¨C blackened flesh eclipsing the thin azure light leaking around the crates and slipping tendrils within ¨C and Dash fought his way backwards on hands and knees to lurch from the other side and slowly break into a sprint towards the exit. But the thing had already darted backwards to lurk between him and his destination. In response, Dash picked up the discarded lid of a crate and hurled the square of wood towards it. After it smacked against the thing¡¯s chest, the makeshift projectile toppled to the cold stone. ¡°Go!¡± he shouted, ¡°Get out of here!¡± It didn¡¯t move; it didn¡¯t speak. Dash drew back, jaw as tight as his eyes were wide, then drew his face into a weak sneer and scooped a spear from the ground. Despite the smoothness and certainty of the throw, the boy seemed shocked when it embedded deep in the thing¡¯s chest ¨C yet even when a shot of sudden agony coursed through its divine confines, it nonetheless seemed insignificant. ¡°What do you want from me?¡± He blinked rapidly. ¡°Why are you still here? To torment me?¡± The maws broke open like an overstressed dam. ¡°You¡¯re in danger.¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Aren¡¯t you?¡± ¡°You and your sister are under threat.¡± ¡°You must come.¡± ¡°Just listen.¡± ¡°Was that true?¡± ¡°Stay away.¡± ¡°There¡¯s nothing for you here but dead ends, Dash.¡± Even if the thoughts pecking their way through its malformed skull were untrue, their end-result wouldn¡¯t be: Dash would always be under threat, for that was what it meant to breathe, so it just needed to get closer, yet when it stepped forward, a familiar voice arrested its movement. ¡°Hold it fer a moment, oaf.¡± Its nine eyes ¨C previously fixated entirely on the boy ahead ¨C crawled over the surface of its body to stare at Kit, who stood bent-over at the entrance of the cavern, body heaving with gasps as sweat trickled down her skin. ¡°Little birdie told me,¡± she panted, ¡°that you needed some help down¡­¡± A wet cough broke from her throat, and she spat a wad of clear phlegm onto the stone. ¡°Blood, I¡¯m out o¡¯ shape.¡± Dash managed to reign in his shock. ¡°Is she alright?¡± Kit straightened. ¡°She¡¯s fine. Headin¡¯ up t¡¯get more help.¡± Her eyes flickered rapidly, entirely at odds with the cocky grin she wore across her face. ¡°Reckon we can jus¡¯ calm down a moment; take a little break, maybe ¨C jus¡¯ you an¡¯ I.¡± ¡°Is Blake alright?¡± ¡°Are you doing okay?¡± ¡°If you keep doing this, you¡¯ll die.¡± Kit caught the end of one statement, and her eyes went wide. ¡°Well I guess I¡¯ll, uh¡­¡± she said quietly, then with excessive caution, she slowly drew the blade she used as a makeshift crutch with her off-hand. Merely holding it set her muscles trembling, and Kit¡¯s fierce scowl faded into a grim line almost as soon as it appeared, and she waved a hand significantly to Dash, who stared at the gesture blankly before settling into a scowl of his own. ¡°I¡¯m not leaving you here,¡± he snapped. ¡°Yer head filled with nothin¡¯ but bone?¡± she retorted, ¡°He don¡¯t give a damn about me, so scurry on away ¡®fore he bites yer head off.¡± The boy¡¯s mouth worked as he attempted to formulate some kind of response, but with Kit present a new obstacle had formed, so the thing that was me stepped towards him only to have the former swordswoman interposing herself between the two ¨C this kind of thing occurred with unsettling frequency, that day; a symptom borne of a deep misapprehension of the thing that they faced. Yet Kit was nothing if not arrogantly brave and though everyone present knew a single line of steel posed no obstacle she extended it nonetheless, to press its tip against the writhing, alien skin that wore the thing and Dash took the opportunity to flee past both and though it would¡¯ve been simple to stop him, he was allowed to pass. ¡°You¡­¡± ¡°What foolish ideas flit through that head of yours?¡± ¡°You should leave, kid.¡± The lean woman scoffed, saying, ¡°What else am I gonna do?¡± The thing that was me took the blade between its articulated fingers and even with Kit pushing the sword through its chest a slow flex of the fabricated musculature saw it bend from her grip, to be tossed across the room and removed as an obstacle to gripping the woman¡¯s neck and lifting her above the ground, where she flailed and beat at its grip ineffectually and rammed her fist and stump against it over and over through clenched teeth as furious tears beaded the corners of her eyes until her useless struggles faded along with her breath and the thing stared at her as its heart pounded like a war-drum then dropped her to the ground. Where she gasped and snarled and dug her fingers into her stump and screamed. The thing buried her in crates and departed. In the meantime, Dash had created a good distance. He scurried through the caverns like a rat through a maze, skittering from tunnel to tunnel with no regard for stealth, each step followed by cries for help that could only be heeded by the only thing that heard them yet he lowered his head and strained his body to outpace that which he called ¨C he just needed to wait; why wouldn¡¯t he wait?; of course he wouldn¡¯t wait ¨C and when it drew closer he dived into a narrow gap that threatened to crush his chest and steal his breath but though he screamed he avoided the tendrils seeking to save him and escaped from the encampment into the deep, lightless confines of the ancient caverns. And the thing¡¯s voices followed him. ¡°You need to stop.¡± ¡°You need to understand.¡± ¡°You need to see.¡± They dogged Dash¡¯s steps, nipping at his heels as he fought blindly through the darkness. ¡°A child forced to bloody his spear.¡± Each of its stomps shook the caverns and set its eyes rolling as the words swooped from the indefatigable veins that wove through the earth. ¡°A mountain of corpses, carved by a single glaive.¡± Dash¡¯s bare feet caught on a stalagmite, slashing open the bottom of his feet but when it lunged for him he dove sideways under some fell instinct. ¡°A world empty of all but one.¡± Where he descended into a gaping pit as fathomless as any eye and rolled downwards, unable to reach out to arrest his fall without sight to guide him and leaving his only recourse to shield his body. ¡°A room with no exits.¡± Stone grated the side of his face; drove its lifeless fists into his sides; nipped the edges of his skin: all as it pulled him inexorably downwards, towards a destination he could not understand through anything but screams. ¡°The work of a lifetime, reduced to rubble.¡± But behind him came the far harsher sound of a great weight following afterwards, so he leaned further into the fall¡¯s mindless grasp even as it sought to break him until the slope subsided and his roll slowed, then halted entirely, leaving him motionless in the cold. ¡°A father¡¯s hands around a mother¡¯s throat.¡± He stood, shivering as wet blood burned its way from the cuts and scrapes tearing his clothes and body but there was no rest for the voices drew closer, following him still; each and every one of them seeming to call for some an answer to the question he had solved long, long ago, and far, far too late to matter. ¡°Days without end, suspended by absence.¡± Sobs broke from his throat as he stumbled away ¨C feet slapping against a floor he could no longer see as hands searched for something to define his surroundings, but failed to find a thing ¨C and hot tears trickled down his face but his paltry gait was no match for that which buried the voices he knew with more voices than he could understand. ¡°A home made of ashes.¡± They grew twofold for every stagger he managed; burgeoned into a titanic cacophony to drown the darkness beneath relentless static; beneath words and sentences he could comprehend but not decipher, and though he himself howled and jammed his fingers into his ears its portentous words spoke louder than any of his efforts, and when a wall buffeted his shoulder with all the force of his blind flight he toppled. ¡°A broken tree burning blacker than night.¡± Though he fell, he fell against the stone beside him where his blind groping finally revealed a passage barely larger than him, and he ignored its promise that it would grow tighter to reach forward and pull himself through with nothing more than the leverage of his fingernails, greased by blood and tears to slide further down, stone pressing down until his sobs were strangled to nothing and he reached the crevice¡¯s terminus, cradled by darkness and unyielding stone. ¡°This is your reality, Dash.¡± And the thing clawed its way after him, relentlessly striving to force its far greater mass into following failing ¡°It will grind you into dust, then resurrect you to be destroyed once more.¡± but the stone gave way before its divine flesh did ¡°It will burn you and bury your ashes beyond the gaze of stars.¡± splintering like a falling tree as cracks wound its way up the tunnel to falter against his hands ¡°It will choke you with your own being.¡± and it wrenched its body through as the earth above began to groan under the stress it was forced to bear against its suddenly tractable will ¡°It will break you from yourself.¡± and it began to crumble as the thing broke space for itself in the tiny space the world afforded it, even as its efforts brought the cave crumbling downwards onto its back. It carried that familiar weight upon its back with trembling muscles ¨C desperately calling every memory of permanence and will to strengthen its spine ¨C to shield the boy. And Dash found it had brought a lantern with his own blood smeared against it, lighting the space as he stared upwards, eyes holding the weight of the many gazes bearing down upon him. Despite the wound marring his body, the tactility of his skin revealed that Dash was whole; revealed the moisture streaming from his eyes; the way his entire body shivered. And he was crying, repeating: ¡°I¡¯m sorry; it¡¯s my fault. I¡¯m sorry; it¡¯s my fault.¡± Over and over again. Suddenly, the theoretical agony that awaited Dash in the future was outweighed by the anguish buried deep within his words. And ending him had never seemed more unjust. What did it mean, to be mistaken? Was it merely a fault in reason or perception; all thought entirely occluded by emotion? And when coupled with the sheer physical power to embed that mistake into reality; what did it mean? To not understand, even after seeing the abject terror carved plainly across Dash¡¯s face, whether the thoughtless, fearful attempt to hasten his end was even a mistake in the first place? Perhaps it wasn¡¯t logic that had failed, but the resolution ¨C the same resolution that had faltered over and over, since it had fled from the Owl ¨C to carry it through. After all, if the Raven had taught anything, it was that madness was inherited through the veins. But the thing that was me felt its determination grow silent. Finally, it was quiet once more.
For a time, there were no words. Nothing accompanied the tiny crevice beyond a crackling from above as flesh suspended a mountain above it, and the glow of the lantern fed by a steady stream of black blood, lighting Dash¡¯s tear-stricken face in an otherworldly glow. There was nowhere else to look. Eventually, after a few aborted attempts, the boy managed to speak. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Orv,¡± he sobbed. ¡°I thought- I didn¡¯t want- If I had just believed in you¡­¡± This moment of clarity was seized just long enough to pace the voices a beat apart ¨C leverage them into comprehensibility. ¡°Then what?¡± ¡°It wouldn¡¯t have changed anything.¡± ¡°The entirety of the Foot knew. It was no longer home.¡± The adolescent shook his head furiously. ¡°We could¡¯ve come with you!¡± ¡°To starve?¡± ¡°To suffer?¡± ¡°To be placed in constant danger? No.¡± ¡°But we could¡¯ve helped!¡± he protested. ¡°We could¡¯ve stopped this from ever happening!¡± ¡°This was always going to happen.¡± ¡°The same laws that governed divinity determined the shape of this present. Nothing could have prevented them.¡± ¡°You were better off in the Foot. Far away from¡­ this.¡± His face wrenched: deep lines burying themselves in a face that had no right to hold them. ¡°The Foot was awful. We worked for House Esfaria for years, just to get the training so we¡¯d have the thinnest shot at getting to you. They all thought we were Ravenbloods, too. For years. Only Jackson stopped them from killing us.¡± ¡°¡­¡± ¡°¡­¡± ¡°¡­¡± The silence stretched. Dash swallowed heavily, then covered his eyes with his hands. ¡°¡­All three of us are Ravenbloods, aren¡¯t we?¡± ¡°¡­Yeah.¡± ¡°¡­Yes.¡± ¡°¡­That¡¯s correct.¡± ¡°I thought,¡± he began, ¡°I thought that the Cult had ruined you. That they¡¯d buried something horrible inside of you.¡± ¡°They did- ¡° ¡°Their teachings were- ¡° ¡°Perhaps the Cult- ¡° ¡°Not the Ravenblood,¡± he interrupted, shaking as head as well as he could manage in the strangling confines. ¡°I thought you¡­¡± His mouth opened and closed as he reordered his thoughts. ¡°When you and Blake tied that Dolphinblood up in the basement, and you refused to kill him, I thought you were being weird. You would get Dolphinblood. The diluted power of a god.¡± The boy¡¯s mouth hovered halfway between a smile, a scowl, and a deep sneer. ¡°I didn¡¯t get it. People die all the time. And he had nearly killed you. If anyone deserved it, it was him. ¡°But you said no.¡± A bitter undercurrent travelled beneath his voice. ¡°You said no, and you said it was because you hated Ma. Because she killed your parents. And I thought¡­ I just had this feeling that there was something in you that none of us had ever seen. This¡­ This thing that I sometimes caught glimpses of. And that it had been put there by the same people that ruined the Foot and sacrificed thousands of people. ¡°And I guess- ¡° The words caught in his throat, but he struggled onward. ¡°I guess I thought that whatever that thing was, it was truer than the brother who I¡¯d been with every single day for eight years.¡± ¡°And I was wrong,¡± he choked out, ¡°and I¡¯m so sorry I let you down.¡± Then Dash¡¯s voice was drowned by the jagged sounds wrenching their way from his throat as his small body wept; trapped in that tiny space bereft of the room to look away.
While he waited, the adolescent spoke of the four years he¡¯d spent away. Of long hours labouring as part of the Esfarian machine; built expressly to eradicate Ravenkin and separate the divinity that waited within. Of heatstroke and arguments between him and his sister. Of being held down and beaten by a horde of the Foot¡¯s denizens, rabid with hatred for the Ravenblood that had destroyed their home. Of convincing Jackson to send them with the hunting party; of his initial refusal, his conferral with Stitch, and the mournful cast of his face when he accepted. Of the fact Dash suspected the Esfarian had sent them out to die. Of long hours trekking and tracking on the tail of Blake and Erin. Of the morning they finally caught them, and the devastation that wreaked the Spires of Heltia. Of his sister, disappearing that night, and the things she tried to tell him afterwards that he did not listen to. Of a Frost stained with a kaleidoscope of Godsblood, and the one that had opened veins. Of the Fort, and that he did not know what he¡¯d hoped to find within. Of finding. Of being found. ¡°I missed you, Orvi,¡± he said to that tiny space. But where was that person, now?
Kit managed to track the boy¡¯s location down, and with the assistance of several Seeds, a rope tied around Dash¡¯s waist and the ceiling held up with divine hands, they managed to extract him without injury. With the most fragile cargo removed from the location, departing it with a body as malleable as the mind itself was a simple task. But though the space was lost under a hail of collapsed stone, it endured within memory. As did the tiny smears of blood along the halls Dash had been pursued down, and the agony etched into his soul that had remained unnoticed until but a few moments ago. The selfish cruelty of that pursuit. The sheer stupidity of it all. So despite Kit and Dash¡¯s protests, the Shrikebloods were allowed to shackle cold chains of steel around a motionless body. To drag that weight upwards, and to stab fiery needles deep into bloated veins. To slot in place the piece that would break the Albright¡¯s watchtower. To set the runes created while sheltering from their gaze beneath Tempest¡¯s fury alight in radiant glory, and uproot them from their throne before their insidious rot could spread further. To make their way to the god beneath it all. There was pain, of course. There were screams. There was nothing that was undeserved. Chapter 77 - the Place We Once Lived An old scream hung in the stagnant air. Though he tried to keep his inhalations as shallow as possible, with every rise and fall of Blake¡¯s chest came a cutting pain. Any twist of his torso spurred another bout of sharp agony to assault him, so the young man sat in the exact position he¡¯d been carelessly tossed into hours ago. The fallen tree pressed against his back, and the ache of broken ribs against his front. Far above, the sun transformed the clear sky into an endless blue, but none of its heat reached him. Blake felt cold. Distant wails echoed down the caverns ¨C a chorus of thousands originating from just one creature. The Seeds had dragged the new god upwards; to bury the huge contraption the being had made for them into its flesh and suck out its blood to power that self-same machine. The thing that used to be Blake¡¯s friend screamed like a field of corpses given voice. A horrifying sound that the mind kept trying and failing to make sense of. Blake sat, breathing imperceptibly slight, and stared at a ghost. His eyes plucked at the places where its edges frayed into nothingness, attempting to parse the exact point they disappeared. Yet repeatedly, he found that pinprick outside of the acuity of his eyes. If he was capable of putting together some kind of magnifying tool, or simply possessed sharper sight, then maybe it would be possible to find it. But increasingly, he¡¯d begun to suspect it didn¡¯t exist at all. Just an empty shaft, far-off screams, the pain in his chest, and the dull weariness permeating it all. More Shrikebloods ran through the caverns, their footsteps and muted exchanges a pale accompaniment to the howls of a god. Their words were indistinguishable from one another. It was self-evident, the others had told him, why they would want to kill a god. Blake hadn¡¯t inquired ¨C hadn¡¯t wanted to inquire ¨C any further. But their entire group ¨C the Scattered Seeds, Gaia had called them ¨C seemed one unfathomable mass: crawling forward with all the purpose of a god. Or a colony of ants. With alien motives mapped to unanswerable intentions. Each moving according to a design beyond them. Every encampment gave different answers when asked about their goals. Cutting off the Albright¡¯s power, said one. One populated mostly by Heartlanders spoke of wresting control over the region from the god. Another simply wanted to match the deed of the Godslayers over a dozen years prior; etch themselves into history as their predecessors had done. Yet as he sat, each breath a tired grimace, he couldn¡¯t help but notice that Erin¡¯s low tones didn¡¯t seem to be among them. When the god had disappeared the day before, every Seed was given a search radius. Erin¡¯s had been slightly further away from the rest. A position of privilege, afforded because of her supposed familiarity with the god. A location he had heard. Blake hadn¡¯t asked for a role. Instead, he¡¯d waited. He¡¯d done a lot of waiting. Slowly, he removed a hand from his ribs and placed it against the rough bark of the trunk behind him. Then he began to push. When a sharp stabbing in his torso rattled the strength from his arm, the young man stopped. After a short break, he tried once more. Eventually, ribs afire with a pain that dominated every ounce of his consciousness except the one piece charged with pushing, he got to his feet. He started carefully moving forward. None of the lanterns had been lit that day, and the sun had yet to extend its light so far down. In the dull darkness that remained, the only sounds were the far-away screams of the god, the skittering of fallen branches kicked by Blake¡¯s feet and his strained breathing as he struggled across the shaft. When he was faced with the lurking abyss of one of the adjacent tunnels, he smeared the blood from one of his cuts on a lantern he¡¯d demounted from its wall and fumbled onwards in the feeble glow his insignificant Oxblood provided. The pock-marked man braced himself against the rough walls of the path, then shuffled along the rows of cots within the barracks and past Ronnie¡¯s sweating slumber to the room¡¯s quiet termination, where his own possessions lay. Everything he had been able to carry through half the continent lay there. Some of it had been traded for information on the Face Bhan and his apprentice. Most had been confiscated by the Esfarian hunters, and left with their bodies when no one except Erin had the stomach to rifle through their corpses. What remained was a bedroll, a banged-up copper pot, his wood axe, water-skin, a good, heavy knife and an accompanying whetstone, and a few small carvings. Blake had tried to convince Orvs to create more. Patiently offered good pieces of wood sourced from trips to the surface. Sat for hours upon hours, coaxing and wheedling his way into the god¡¯s full attention. And sometimes it would sprout a thin, sharp shard of speartree from the black masses of what could have been hands, and begin slicing away at them. Inevitably, its flesh would transition from stillness to a frantic shuffling. The thing that was once his friend never finished them. They were left ill-defined, with central features abandoned to languish as forever incomplete. Each failure had been quietly crushed beneath Blake¡¯s hand. ¡°Try again,¡± he¡¯d whisper to it. ¡°One more time.¡± Yet no sudden changes materialised from its hesitant limbs. It had left him stranded in the present. Laboriously, Blake strapped the knife to his belt and tied the axe to his shoulders. Then he picked up a single wooden figure, gripped his ribs and slowly began walking upwards. Those steps passed in a fugue of insidious pain creeping at every twist of his torso and long exertion building with every faltering step. His beaten body ached with the urge to draw deep, fulfilling breaths, but each attempt was punished with a shard hammered into his side. The young man was frequently forced to stop and recover; leaning against a wall while feeling far more aged than he had any right to be. The agonised screams grew louder, but though he cringed with every discordant screech, Blake no longer had the energy to block his ears. He doggedly trudged onwards: past inclines that seemed to stretch forever and insurmountable walls he somehow found the grit to scale; past the Shrikeblooded warriors scurrying through the earth¡¯s veins like a kicked anthill and obstacles wreathed in shadow. Past a familiar bend in the tunnel that fell away to reveal Kit ¨C a weary snarl drooping from her face ¨C and the three Seeds holding her back. The twins, Dash covered in welts and blood while Sash was smeared with mud and grime, shared the same trail of dried tears beneath both their eyes. Taja, head bowed with featureless guilt, despite Maddie¡¯s arms around his shoulders ¨C perhaps more for her sake than his. The Face Bhan, quips and lessons vanished from his lips to leave behind only the deep lines of his features and the mute horror twisting them. And finally Gaia, silently directing her people to continue operating the huge, head-aching contraption with the spiral tip, by stabbing it into a divine being. Blake looked at them, his stare trying to peel back their skin and reach what lay beneath. It failed. None of them called to him, or took him by the arm. None of them noticed Blake shuffle past. But the thing that was once his friend ¨C the thing that was me ¨C did. Where its gut-wrenching, writhing flesh was impaled upon the machine to draw the blood that would fuel it, it screamed with empty maws that studded its immense form like pock-marks, eyes crawling across its body as its musculature waxed and waned like a moon married to a mad, torturous sun, and a world that saw only riches in its sky. Blake shuffled from the caverns and left them all behind. Into the heat of the sun¡¯s zenith. Where the birds sung and the leaves swayed and the forest was alive with animal life and all their animal concerns: deer delicately chewing on grass; possums scuttling over high branches; great hogs snuffling through undergrowth that Blake gave a wide berth. It was nothing like the Wastes. This day was the first of Spirit season, he realised. The shortest of all five seasons ¨C five, instead of the two they¡¯d had in the Wastes ¨C at only a week long. This season, Bhan had told him, was closest to the many ghosts that roamed the land, awaiting the bloodletting of gods or word of a Face to find peace. While it was ongoing ¨C not everywhere, and not every year ¨C it was possible to see waves of green and orange flowing through the sky, carrying those souls to wherever they go, after life. Or so Blake had heard. The sky was blue today. Blake gripped his side and trudged past it. His eyes slid over all they beheld. Until they finally staggered to his first destination. Sometimes, out in the wilderness that dominated the continent, a wanderer stumbled upon the remnants of what had once been a home. A wooden hovel with its thatched roof collapsed; a mud-brick hut with a wall caved in; half a shed formed of charred logs; a fallen fence containing the remnants of bird-feed. Sometimes these derelict properties languished alone; other times they gathered in a small of collection of other buildings, strangely solitary despite their proximity. Many things could leave a place derelict. Back in during Frost, in the abandoned village he, Bhan, and Erin had been held captive within, the village had probably been abandoned due to the Heartland¡¯s famine. Their former residents could likely be found in Spires or on the road to it, quietly waiting in a grave. Attacks by godkin or the rumoured movement of the gods themselves could force a family to uproot themselves; drifting upon the wind until, if they were fortunate enough, they found a new place to settle. Blake had even heard of a place abandoned simply due to the fact the two people that lived there couldn¡¯t tolerate one another any longer. Which had always seemed funny to him, for reasons he couldn¡¯t quite pin down. Regardless of cause, they were all similar in the end. He¡¯d grown up in such a place. Most of the Foot had been abandoned due to the dual factors of forced conscription by the Houses and the plague that followed the Raven¡¯s death. Of the entire city, only the markets and the Frond¡¯s fields could truly be said to breathe. The rest simply gathered sand and dust, furniture slowly rotting as time passed. Blake remembered running with Orvs alongside some other dirt-stained kids for hours, and never running out of space to stretch his arms out wide. That place didn¡¯t exist anymore. House Esfaria had seen to that. Brought their soldiers and their bloodtech; their masons and smiths and cordwainers and hunters and dozens of other trades Blake couldn¡¯t wrap his head around. The city was fuller than it had ever been, and that meant there was less room than ever. At the end of his stiff, lurching gait and the pain each breath drove into his ribs was a small stone wall seated in a meadow. Its apex barely reached his waist, and its length stretched a few paces in either direction. Perhaps it had once surrounded a house, or been part of one itself. Barely a whisper of that existed in the present: only a few scattered rocks hinting at a far taller structure, before the vines had begun to crawl over it. Blake carefully seated himself upon it and caught his breath underneath the sunlight. A breeze played with his hair. It had grown far longer than he usually kept it. But he never had managed to grow a beard, beyond a bit of scraggly fluff. A small bird ¨C red feathers dotted with black speckles ¨C foraged through the grass for bugs. But the pock-marked young man stared at nothing. After a time, he pulled the wooden figure from his pouch. Frozen in wood was a youth. Perched atop a tiny stool, hand frozen halfway to his knee as he laughed uproariously at some undefined joke. Close-cropped hair. An easy smile sat on a face unmarred by pock-marks, torture, or starvation. Eyes full of laughter. A kid for whom breathing was as easy as anything else. A person who had no need for hope. Once, it had seemed that youth could come to life at any moment. Blake had thought all his tears had dried in the shaft, but somehow, he found them falling once more. He found a quiet spot at the end of the wall for that figure. Where the sun was bright and the air was warm. And left it there.
¡°Erin.¡± The woman in question stiffened, her shout for a god that was no longer there terminating on her lips, and reached for the javelins holstered on the small of her back. A beat passed, then she turned and realised who had spoken. ¡°Blake?¡± She stood in the ashen remnants of a glade, once lit ablaze by an errant strike of lightning that had extinguished just as quickly under Tempest¡¯s fury. A layer of dust concealed the dirt, and the leaves of the single surviving charred tree slowly swayed, pale as disease, under a slight breeze. The only other feature of the clearing were the stumps ¨C so burnt they were barely recognisable as such ¨C scattered eclectically across it. Blake sat atop one, hands pressed against his side. It had taken him hours to reach his former travelling companion. Gaia had sent her to this place because the god was known to frequent it. Whether out of affection or something else, only it knew. The large, muscular woman deposited her javelin back in its pouch, where it clanged mildly against its fellows. A grey cloud had passed over the sky, reducing the colourless surroundings into even more lifeless shades. Erin¡¯s skin was a vicious red from the sun, Blake idly noticed. A dark indentation stretched under her eyes. Erin must have been searching for the better part of a day. Given the disarray that had spread throughout the Seed¡¯s ranks, it was no surprise that they had neglected to tell her the god had returned. ¡°Did they find it?¡± she asked, then her eyes widened as she set eyes upon his state. ¡°Gods, Blake; what happened to you?¡± She slid to her knees in front of him, reaching into her pouch for a roll of cloth. ¡°Where does it hurt? Is anything broken? If you breathe- ¡± He couldn¡¯t stand it. ¡°D¡¯you remember,¡± Blake interrupted, ¡°that day in Maja¡¯s restaurant? When Orvs was absolutely fumin¡¯ ¡®bout his mother havin¡¯ better luck with girls than him?¡± ¡°The day Sash nearly choked you out,¡± she supplied, lips quirking as she looked up. He didn¡¯t acknowledge the light ribbing. ¡°Was that a good day, for you?¡± The young man¡¯s tone was monotonous; like a mountain range pounded flat. ¡°Were you happy?¡± Her smile fell. Blake was not smiling, either. He was not making any expression at all. The Blooded took that in and slowly straightened. ¡°What is this about?¡± Her voice ¨C deep for a woman ¨C had gone entirely still. Neither rasps nor assonance accompanied it; merely the edges of words chiselled from ice. Forcing sounds from his throat felt to Blake like rolling boulders up a hill. ¡°Were you happy, Erin?¡± The woman who¡¯d once been his second-in-command in keeping his gang of orphans afloat slowly bobbed her head. Blake gave a slight snort. ¡°What?¡± she snapped. ¡°You¡¯ve spent the entirety of Tempest dancing around the issue. If you want to ask me something, then- ¡± ¡°What do you think this is about?¡± Despite his tone lacking anything but fatigue, she flinched. The wounded man nodded, then turned his hollow eyes towards the ground. ¡°I had a good time, that day. Things were good. We¡¯d made a nice little corner of the Foot for ourselves, yeah?¡± Erin didn¡¯t answer. It was clear he didn¡¯t want her to. ¡°Took a while. Since Mumma died, it¡¯d been hard. But I got there, in the end.¡± He paused, then gave a short chuckle which quickly transformed into a wince. ¡°You never talk about your mother.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t either. Lot o¡¯ kids in the Foot don¡¯t.¡± He gave a worn laugh, then grunted with pain. ¡°I dunno. I guess I don¡¯t remember that much. You might¡¯ve gathered she was a, uh¡­ What¡¯s the word¡­¡± Erin waited. ¡°¡­A prostitute. Course I didn¡¯t know what that was at the time; just that she¡¯d kick me out when people came callin¡¯, an¡¯ let me back in when they left. When the Godslayers came marchin¡¯, I guess that was a lot o¡¯ business for a bit, but, uh¡­¡± He stared at the ground. Wind kicked up ash. ¡°Might¡¯ve been the plague, might¡¯ve been she just, uh¡­ Caught somethin¡¯ from her clients. But then she was gone an¡¯ I was left behind.¡± He scoffed. ¡°Like I said. Typical kind o¡¯ story in the Foot. Heard dozens like it myself.¡± ¡°¡­Was she a good mother?¡± He rubbed the back of his head. ¡°Iunno.¡± If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. In some ways, she hadn¡¯t been. Blake could recognise that in hindsight. He remembered spending hours outside in the Still heat, growing thirstier and thirstier underneath the baking sun while he ran out of things to do waiting for his mum to finish with a client. He recalled thinking that this was what bread must feel like when it was in an oven. Sometimes, if he told her he was hungry and she was in a mood, the only reply he¡¯d get was a smack across the face. He remembered falling once, ripping his knee open and bursting into tears, only for Mumma to ignore his cries. Yet better fragments floated around the back of his skull. Mumma humming quietly while she waited for him to fall asleep. Her watching him eat with a broad smile across her face. A day when they¡¯d gone to the market, swum in the oasis, and played with some other kids, leaving him so bone-weary that she¡¯d been forced to carry him home. Blake remembered feeling safe, then. Like the walls of their little hovel formed the outer edge of eternity. When she died, he should¡¯ve learned otherwise. Afterwards, he¡¯d spent years carving himself a piece of the world. As a dumb kid, it¡¯d been simpler. Yet it¡¯d all turned to smoke anyway. ¡°Felt like I had everythin¡¯ figured out, when I met you.¡± Erin smirked. ¡°I never told you this, but I thought you did as well. You were coordinating a whole gang ¨C either kids who¡¯d sooner kill you than look at you or ones where making them speak was like pulling teeth. The fact you managed them all was a miracle.¡± Blake shrugged. ¡°They didn¡¯t all listen to me, personally. Jus¡¯ pointed the older ones they did listen to towards them.¡± He hadn¡¯t always been good at it. Sometimes it was hard to work for kids determined to hate you. But Blake had been patient. And he hadn¡¯t been alone. ¡°Delegation¡¯s a skill as well.¡± ¡°Mm,¡± he grunted. ¡°They¡¯re all off doin¡¯ their own thing, now. Have it all figured out, I guess.¡± Erin nodded, smiling tightly. ¡°Would you believe it.¡± His voice had lost what little animation it had. ¡°I figured somethin¡¯ out too, Erin.¡± ¡°And¡­¡± She swallowed heavily. ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°Orvs; the god; the Vulture: whatever you wanna call it¡­¡± He turned his gaze back up, where Erin stood, perfectly still. A stranger in a friend¡¯s body. ¡°It freaked out. Hurt some people. But, you see, it yelled out somethin¡¯ while it did so. What d¡¯you think it said?¡± ¡°What?¡± Her voice was a whisper. Blake leaned forward. ¡°They¡¯ll let none survive.¡± The words were quiet, but rung loudly in the quiet of that burnt place. Several clouds slowly drifted across the sky. Briefly, they parted to reveal a beam of the falling sun, which fell upon Erin¡¯s face. The woman looked as if she¡¯d woken from a nightmare, only to find it lurking in the corners of her bedroom. The injured man removed his hands from his ribs and placed them on his knees to carefully lever himself upright. A blade of pain forced a grunt from his lips, however beyond that he remained silent as he stared at her, several paces distant. ¡°Was this the plan from the beginnin¡¯?¡± he asked, breathing shallow and ragged. ¡°You befriendin¡¯ Orvi, me; gettin¡¯ the Ravenblood out here?¡± ¡°I simply¡­¡± Erin swallowed heavily, fingers frantically fiddling with a button on her pants. ¡°I just did odd jobs for them. And they wanted to know if a Ravenblood appeared- ¡° ¡°How long was it ¡®just odd jobs¡¯?¡± Blake¡¯s voice curled in a monotonous imitation of her own. She didn¡¯t answer. ¡°Y¡¯know,¡± he began, ¡°Shrikeblood¡¯s got even fewer tells than Ravenblood. None o¡¯ the orange hair of Foxbloods, or the bluntness o¡¯ Lizardbloods or the long faces and massive bodies o¡¯ Oxbloods. I thought the only similarity was that you were all big, but that¡¯s not even true, is it?¡± He stepped forward, and Erin stepped back. ¡°Because Taja told me they knew a man who drunk directly from the source, an¡¯ that he didn¡¯t get any bigger after.¡± The wounded man hissed against the pain in his side. ¡°Didn¡¯t live long enough.¡± Erin splayed her hands, stare plaintive. ¡°You need help- ¡° ¡°And,¡± Blake continued over her, ¡°that¡¯s bloody interestin¡¯, isn¡¯t it? Because it means someone ¨C maybe a girl, for example ¨C could¡¯ve been a Shrikeblood for ages and no one would know she was anythin¡¯ but your standard, everyday mortal.¡± ¡°Blake- ¡° He took another stiff step towards her, teeth bared in a perpetual grimace. ¡°Remind me: when did you say your second growth spurt start, again? The one that hasn¡¯t ended?¡± There was no space for her to answer before his voice stumbled on. ¡°A little before we met, wasn¡¯t it?¡± The Shrikeblood¡¯s gaze did not meet his own. ¡°¡®They¡¯ll let none survive.¡¯ Whaddaya think that means, Erin? ¡®Cause all the other Seeds seem t¡¯think we¡¯re jus¡¯ killin¡¯ one House; one god.¡± He winced as the fervour of his speech jarred his side. ¡°So why did our new god say that? The one that shouldn¡¯t exist. Because the Raven died halfway across the continent, and Orvs became a god without so much as touchin¡¯ its corpse.¡± Blake inhaled a breath, then leaned further forward, grunting as his torso bent. ¡°I won¡¯t say I understand it, but it seems to me like divinity¡¯s a godsdamned hot potato. Tossed from Blooded to Blooded when a god dies. Reckon that means that if you were, I don¡¯t know¡­¡± He raised his eyes to the air, then lowered them. ¡°Tryin¡¯ to kill a god, maybe you¡¯d have to get rid o¡¯ all of its Blooded t¡¯make the death stick.¡± He took one final step. This time, Erin did not retreat. ¡°And it¡¯s a real coincidence that you¡¯ve got all the Ravenblood in the world in one place, and all the Shrikeblood either in the veins of the Seeds or stompin¡¯ through the castle you¡¯re about to invade.¡± The only sign a person inhabited his face was the tightness around his eyes. ¡°Whaddaya think all those Shrikeblood conversion stones you¡¯ve got the god makin¡¯ are for, Erin?¡± Once more, she said nothing. ¡°So,¡± he said, gazing with dead eyes, intonation absent from his voice, ¡°what¡¯s the plan, Erin?¡± ¡°I¡­ I¡¯m not Gaia,¡± she protested. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Blake cocked his fist, then there was a flash of white as his head snapped backwards, sending his body teetering backwards. He barely managed to catch himself in a halting stagger before he fell to the ground. ¡°Sorry.¡± In front of him, Erin withdrew her hand from the punch she¡¯d thrown, yet maintained her sturdy brawling stance. ¡°I thought you were going to- ¡° The person opposite her pinched one nostril shut and shot blood onto the ash. ¡°Oxdung. You worked your way up the ranks quick, huh? Made good use o¡¯ your knowledge o¡¯ Orvi, I bet. You know more than your average Seed, I¡¯m sure.¡± Belatedly, he paused and added, ¡°By the way, I was gonna hit you.¡± Erin¡¯s tiny movements ¨C her breath, her cautious shifting from leg-to-leg, the susurrus of thoughts flitting across her face ¨C ceased. Her eyes fixated on a spot in the air. ¡°Don¡¯t try an¡¯ lie t¡¯me,¡± Blake warned. ¡°Okay,¡± she said, suddenly nodding to herself as she worked up the nerve to speak. The fathomless green eyes perched on her face didn¡¯t move. ¡°Alright. Sure. The plan.¡± She continued nodding. ¡°The plan.¡± Suddenly, her stare locked onto his own. ¡°You can¡¯t tell anyone.¡± A humourless, blood-filled snort emerged from Blake¡¯s nostrils. ¡°Who would believe me?¡± ¡°I mean it.¡± His lips quirked at the corner. ¡°Fine.¡± For a few moments, the Shrikeblood continued to stare at him. An almost brown smear ran beneath his nose where she¡¯d punched him. Whatever she was attempting to glean, Erin emerged from her inspection dissatisfied. Regardless, she continued. ¡°¡­You¡¯re mostly right. The Vulture will kill the Shrike, and so two gods will become one. Then we will force it to kill the other six.¡± He blinked. ¡°All o¡¯ them?¡± Erin slowly nodded. ¡°All of them.¡± ¡°We¡¯ve¡­¡± For the first time that day, Blake felt as if he¡¯d been struck. ¡°It¡¯s almost lost its mind, and that¡¯s just with one type of blood. You think it¡¯ll listen to you with seven more?¡± ¡°The moment the Seeds can¡¯t control it¡­¡± The Blooded opened her mouth then closed it several times as she searched for the words. Blake finished for her. ¡°You kill it.¡± The large woman bobbed her head mutely. ¡°¡­And the conversion stones?¡± ¡°We remove all Shrikeblood from the Seeds before the deicide and kill any of us who refuse.¡± ¡°There¡¯s more¡¯n jus¡¯ Shrikeblood in th¡¯ other gods.¡± She looked at him, ¡°¡­I know.¡± ¡°¡­Like how the Houses dealt with the Raven Cult. But with all Blooded.¡± Blake glanced at the woman he used to know. ¡°Am I right?¡± ¡°¡­Or just the Blooded of every god it¡¯s killed before being put down.¡± ¡°That¡¯s insane,¡± the young man stated blandly. ¡°Every Blooded? Every monster? How long¡¯s that gonna take?¡± Erin gave a shrug that belied the severe set of her features. ¡°Generations, maybe. Getting rid of all of us is the project of a century. But perhaps the time will go faster, with the help of a god.¡± ¡°And how d¡¯you figure you¡¯re gonna kill that god?¡± he inquired, unable to prevent a trace of mockery entering his voice. ¡°Hit it real hard?¡± ¡°Gaia said that before Gale Heltia became¡­¡± She didn¡¯t finish the sentence. ¡°He created a piece of bloodtech. Put it in a god, and it¡¯s self-perpetuating. It will eventually kill it with the power of its own divinity.¡± A hint of teeth entered his tone. ¡°And you¡¯re gonna put that in Orvs?¡± ¡°Orvi¡¯s dead, Blake,¡± Erin suddenly snapped, face contorting in deep, wretched fury. ¡°Godsblood has eaten him alive. I doubt it¡¯s even capable of thought. It¡¯s an empty vessel aping those that have already left. Nothing about this thing is worthy of your consideration. Nothing. If Orvi¡¯s still in there, he would¡¯ve begged us to get him out.¡± ¡°Erin. I have two things left.¡± The tanned young man cringed as he stepped closer and pain jarred his side. ¡°I have you. And I have him. You¡¯ll break that. I don¡¯t care if he¡¯s gone. I¡¯ll hold vigil over his ghost. So please just¡­¡± Blake tried on a smile. Cautiously moved it over his lips, and the muscles around them. Brought it into the wrinkles around his eyes. Then held it there, at tension with the entropy gradually metastasizing behind his gaze. He managed to keep it there for a few moments before it slipped away. ¡°¡­Let it be.¡± Erin clenched her eyes shut and turned her head away, teeth gritted in reluctance. As if telling dark truths to a child better left ignorant. ¡°We¡¯ll all be better off with it dead.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not hurting anyone,¡± he managed. She barked a humourless laugh. ¡°Are you joking? It¡¯s murdered plenty. It hurt you.¡± ¡°You¡¯re really gonna kill what¡¯s left of him?¡± ¡°You asked, Blake,¡± she stated tersely. ¡°That¡¯s the plan.¡± There was a long pause as Blake felt his surprise fading. After all, he¡¯d known something had triggered the Vulture¡¯s sudden fixation on the twins. The scope of Erin¡¯s plan was immense ¨C stupidly so ¨C and throbbed with a quiet hubris. It was little wonder the other Seeds gave different answers: they likely didn¡¯t know. Anyone sensible would take one good look at their objective and wander right on to the other side of the continent. But the real question wasn¡¯t whether Erin believed it was possible. He released a weary breath. ¡°What¡¯s the world gonna look like at the end o¡¯ your plan?¡± he asked. ¡°What¡¯s the world you see, when it¡¯s over? While they¡¯d been speaking, the horizon had begun to redden. The sun had fallen below the clouds, and its light fought through the gaps of distant hills and the dense forest stretching around their location to reach the ashen meadow they stood within, alighting the charred logs and stretch of grey beneath their feet crimson once more. ¡°No gods. No monsters. No Blooded. Just¡­¡± He ignored the pain and stretched his arms, mind sketching what the place at the end of Erin¡¯s path might look like. ¡°People. Spires hangin¡¯ over the land, with all their bridges and the little humans walking over them in-between. All the Godsblood in the world to power it. This whole forest made a field, to make as much food as you can eat an¡¯ then some. ¡°Houses, stretchin¡¯ from horizon to horizon,¡± he finished. ¡°But none with room for you or me.¡± Erin¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°It might not get that far, Blake.¡± ¡°But that¡¯s still the dream, isn¡¯t it?¡± He peered at the mottled clouds covering the sky, and imagined the verdant lights that Spirit might bring. ¡°Get the Vulture t¡¯eat the gods. Kill it. Flatten all the edges of the world. Make it a smooth, level place. Fit for only humanity.¡± Her lips tightened. ¡°The gods are monsters.¡± ¡°Your people¡¯ve locked a god beneath the earth,¡± he hissed, ¡°and are pumpin¡¯ it for everythin¡¯ it¡¯s worth. The Vulture screams, Erin. Gods walk ¨C these unspeakable titans; the greatest o¡¯ their kind and unique in their own ways ¨C and we¡­ we swarm ¡®em. Bite at their heels for their blood to put in our veins and make machines. They¡¯re dangerous, maybe, but they¡¯re not¡­¡± A memory drew itself towards the present: white halls full of bars, trapping broken corpses in a tomb of man¡¯s making. ¡°They don¡¯t put people in cages.¡± ¡°They are a cage,¡± the Shrikeblood snarled. ¡°While they hound us, we cannot grow. Their cruelty marks the limits of what humanity can be. You say the Vulture screams?¡± For the first time since their confrontation had begun, she leaned down towards Blake, seeking his dark eyes with her brighter pair. ¡°What makes their screams more worthy than humanity¡¯s? Than mine? They ache with eight voices, even as they quash hundreds of thousands of others. Why should they be allowed to exist? Their beauty? Some misguided notion of romance?¡± she snapped, voice a flash of hateful steel. ¡°What is romance, when confronted with a graveyard that spans the entire continent?¡± ¡°So you¡¯ll replace it with somethin¡¯ that¡¯s the same, no matter where you walk,¡± Blake quietly stated. Erin opened her mouth, face tensed as if to continue her tirade, then closed it. Eventually, she gave a simple nod. He gazed at the ash beneath his feet. It crunched minutely as his boots shifted. ¡°We could walk away.¡± The larger woman¡¯s face suddenly wrenched. ¡°Wander off. Find some place to live. Some good food. Some good company.¡± He smiled lightly as a thought occurred to him. ¡°Bet I could find someone just as ugly as Maja t¡¯date you.¡± ¡°Blake,¡± she mumbled, covering her eyes, ¡°please.¡± ¡°Or,¡± he continued over her, ¡°we could stay here. But you¡¯re gonna have t¡¯get through me.¡± Erin stiffened, and slowly removed her hands from her eyes. ¡°¡­What?¡± she whispered. With excessive caution, Blake removed his axe from where it hung on his belt and spun it several times between his hands. Despite that, the motion still had pain pounding on his chest. ¡°I reckon I know what you¡¯re gonna choose.¡± ¡°Blake,¡± she said, eyes wide as moons, ¡°come on. Don¡¯t do this.¡± ¡°Why shouldn¡¯t I?¡± ¡°You¡¯re all I have,¡± she pleaded, voice quavering. ¡°I¡¯ve burned every other bridge to get here. Every person I could¡¯ve been. You¡¯re all I¡¯ve kept.¡± Desperation swum through her words. ¡°Without you, there¡¯s nothing left.¡± In a field of ash, with the sun shining behind, her face was locked tight within shadow. But hints of her expression lay in her muscular form: the slumped set of her shoulders; the tightness of her fists; the tendon wound tight against the skin of her neck. Her frame seemed far smaller with that desolation as a backdrop. The absence didn¡¯t dominate her form with great mass; it simply removed everything that could give perspective. Despite her position in the Scattered Seeds, Erin¡¯s body had become an island unto itself. Some part of Blake recognised looking away as selfish. The sure sign of a poor friend. Yet nevertheless, his eyes gravitated downwards, towards the head of his axe. Past its blunt edges and within its polished metal lay his own face, writ in stark clarity. Filthy hair brushed his chin, which was adorned with a scraggly beard. A limp pair of lips. Dried sweat and tears had cut through the grime of his face ¨C forever marred with the pockmarked remnants of the plague the Lizard had left in the Foot. Beneath his lowered brows were a set of eyes. They were neither colourful, nor beautiful. Not like Erin¡¯s green pair, or Orvi¡¯s expressive set ¨C always flitting around like two excited birds. They were just eyes. Containing nothing more than what they beheld. There were empty, now. ¡°Well.¡± Blake¡¯s hollow gaze left his axe to seek out Erin¡¯s own. ¡°What¡¯s one more figure for the pyre?¡± Then he spun his axe¡¯s head forward and swung for her, torso blazing with agony. The Shrikeblood ducked underneath and slammed her fist into his chin, rocking Blake¡¯s head backwards before everything went dark. The impact of his head against the ground woke him. He blinked. Their steps had kicked a cloud of ash into the air that sucked into his lungs with every breath. All he could do was laugh. Every harsh bark sparked his torso with another blaze of agony beyond anything he¡¯d felt that day, yet that only made him laugh harder. ¡°Why?¡± Erin asked from above him. His laughter vanished as if had never begun. ¡°Why?¡± Blake repeated, blood dripping from his nostrils. Erin stepped away as he staggered upright, bracing his body against his fallen axe. ¡°Because I¡¯m sick of this,¡± he muttered. ¡°Sick of this,¡± Blake hissed at her, weeping. ¡°Sick of this.¡± Pain shot from his chest with every word. ¡°I¡¯m sick of this. I¡¯m sick of this,¡± he chanted, teeth bared and bloodied. ¡°I¡¯m sick of this. I¡¯m so godsdamned sick of trying to find something that doesn¡¯t exist anymore.¡± Erin¡¯s eyes trembled in their sockets. ¡°Then let go, Blake.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± he spat. She shook her head in mute denial. ¡°Either you die here,¡± he said, wiping the tears from his face, ¡°or I do.¡± Erin opened her hands. ¡°But you won¡¯t win,¡± she pleaded. Blake barked one last laugh at that, then swung his axe towards her. Once again, Erin stepped aside, feet crunching firmly over the ash, and he stumbled forward with the momentum. Black spots danced before his eyes. Blake turned on his heel and barged into her, yet she matched him with her greater mass. Her hands closed around his but to both their surprises he managed to wrangle his arm from her grasp and slug her across the face. The blow pained him more than her, but even as his ribs erupted in protest his fist was falling once more: a savage hammer-blow that caught her on the side of the head. When Erin stumbled backwards, Blake readied his axe once more and swung. With a few fluttering steps, the Shrikeblood evaded the blow with ease. As he¡¯d known she would. The young man swung, punched, tackled; Erin dodged, slipped, rebuffed. Each of his failures to harm her came with a punishing blow, and though none ever had his vision flickering all stoked the agony in his ribs that threatened to eat him alive. Yet for every four swings she evaded, one fist would glance off the side of her ribs or skull, or the blunted edge of his axe would hammer into her side. Even so, were it any other day, he wouldn¡¯t have been standing. Blake felt ghoulish. Like a rotten thing that could not be put down, no matter how many blows it took. Then Erin produced a javelin from her back and slammed it through his foot.
The thing that was me felt something flicker, and tore itself from the machine and the people weaving metal through its flesh and the deserved pain they brought to sprint from the cave.
Of course he screamed. It might not have been his first, that fight ¨C maybe he¡¯d been screaming with every miss that jarred his side or blow that rocked his vision. Maybe he¡¯d screamed simply to kindle some heat within his veins. But this was the first blow he felt deep in his bones. The point of the javelin entered through the top of his boot and exited the bottom, having muscled aside bone and tendon to pierce his foot entirely. Blake was nailed to the ash that blanketed their battleground. One knee buckled as he groaned, fingers curling ineffectually through the air. Above him, Erin spoke. ¡°You can¡¯t beat me.¡± The young man spat blood and laced his fingers around the javelin. An attempt at chuckling emerged as a pained hiss instead. ¡°Why are you doing this?¡± ¡°I¡¯m gonna¡­¡± His eyelids fluttered as a sudden bout of dizziness overtook him. ¡°¡­You know.¡± His voice grew in ferocity. ¡°You know.¡± ¡°You can, if- ¡° With a great bellow, Blake tore the javelin from himself and smashed its haft into Erin¡¯s side. Involuntarily, she released a gasp of air. He did it again, and again, but on the third swing she trapped the javelin between her elbow and tore it from his hands, casting it aside to punch him in the torso. From that point onwards, every blow she delivered was aimed at his ribs: expressly designed to beat him into submission. He responded with shouts, flailing arms, and the occasional connecting hit. But the pain was beginning to seem like something glimpsed at the end of a long road. Every impact seemed to push him deeper into some intangible cave, and eventually, Blake ceased being capable of connecting the things he saw with reality. The ground beneath his feet was a deception. Taste; tactility; sight; scent; sound: their non-existence had become self-evident. His body was someone else¡¯s; his memory an extended delusion. His very name felt a flicker of sunlight: sensed but never held. A small part of his mind was concerned with the fight: the movement of Erin¡¯s limbs; her flickering eyes and what intentions they translated to. It coiled, barren of anything but empty calculation, awaiting the moment where he could hurt her most. But for the rest of Blake their fumbling dance might¡¯ve been shadows twisting on a wall. All his wild swings and jagged shouts seemed mere froth layered over one central truth. Blake felt cold. The fire he feigned could not light the empty hearth at his core. So it was that when the Shrikeblood had punched him to his knees and braced a javelin around his throat to choke him unconscious, when the exhausted man felt its point dig into his neck, he twisted into the agony instead of away from it. There was no bravery in it, for there was no fear. And because of the shifting of his body and her complete focus on his submission instead of where her javelin lay, Erin accidentally tore his throat open. Blake fell. His blood hit the ground first. ¡°No, no,¡± he heard her say. ¡°Oh, gods. I didn¡¯t- What? Why?¡± He felt himself blink. Though beyond anything he¡¯d ever felt, the pain was not painful. But it was a surprise. It sucked him back into his body. Then her hands were on the wound. Look at all that blood. Where was it all coming from? Could one human really make so much? Blake didn¡¯t know. He stared upwards. The sun hadn¡¯t set yet. But he felt cold. So cold. He found himself trying to laugh. Like a hero from a song might, facing their demise. Took a few moments for him to give up. Couldn¡¯t believe it¡¯d worked. Didn¡¯t know if he regretted it. Didn¡¯t have time to sort those feelings out. He¡¯d never been good at that, anyway. Erin was saying something to him. She was furious. Weeping, too. What he¡¯d inflicted upon her was crueller than anything she¡¯d done to him. He¡¯d been a¡­ He¡¯d been¡­ The thoughts slipped from his grasp. Some great dark thing obscured the sun, and he felt ice-cold fingers upon his throat. Then the derelict walls of his reality suddenly grew.
Blake died without so much as a whisper. The thing that was me stared at the corpse and the girl grieving beside it. Unable to avert its eyes. The pain in its ribs had faded, but the cold lingered still. Chapter 78 - Missing Chords A mass grave sprawled beneath Kit¡¯s feet. The point of her scabbarded sword found purchase amongst the bloodstained grass and golden armour as she limped through the dead. Dappled sunlight emerged from the canopy above to caress lifeless skin of all colours. Each of the corpses stared fathomlessly at somewhere beyond sight. Their bodies were still warm. Three dozen Albright soldiers had stumbled upon the Seeds rallying towards their master¡¯s castle. Though this retinue numbered less than a fifth of Gaia¡¯s overall forces ¨C four other encampments were mobilising from different locations ¨C they had nevertheless dispatched the group with minimal casualties, and no fatalities. Even so, each of the Shrikeblooded warriors paced with agitation as their leaders ¨C Gaia, Erin, and several advisors ¨C conferred between one another. Deep circles ran beneath Erin¡¯s frantic eyes, and her words were full of spittle. A stroke of poor fortune for both parties: the soldier¡¯s because however well-trained they were, no contingent could ever hope to beat double their number in Blooded warriors; the Shrikeblood¡¯s because one had escaped. But only the former¡¯s fortune had proved lethal. There had hardly been a choice, for them. All Albright soldiers had families in villages near the castle. Generous, for a House to offer their warriors such assurances ¨C until a dereliction of duty left their children without heads. Their fate had been sealed the moment they had become trapped in their role: a formation of gilded golems, patrolling with deliberate disregard for the souls that animated them. The Seed¡¯s gazes were fixed upon their leaders; eyes tight with expectation. Kit¡¯s were between her feet. Despite all the people gathered between the trees, only two pairs of feet walked amongst the dead. Sweat beaded her face with every second step. The lean woman¡¯s blade hadn¡¯t been drawn, yet its scabbard was already stained with blood. It prodded the lifeless soldiers. She manipulated its length with practiced ease to flip cadavers onto their backs and remove stiffened limbs from their side. Instinctually, its point sought strings of chits or pouches at their side. But though Kit eyed them quietly, it would take one more hand than she had to bend down and pick them up. For all her practice picking through the dead, she had missed the one thing that might interest her most: a lacquered wooden lute, miraculously unbroken by the fall of the armoured soldier who had carried it. Only its strings had snapped, and even they were easily replaceable. After several long moments staring at the body ¨C Should his helmet be lifted? Should words be spoken? Should the body be left untouched? ¨C the instrument was carefully extracted from the warrior¡¯s scratched armour. Beneath flakes of gold lay blunt steel. Once removed, the lute was brought over to Kit, whose pained grunts accompanied her as she limped amongst the corpses. When her idle poking was interrupted, she craned her neck upwards with a cocked eyebrow. Yet the moment her eyes brushed over the lute, they did not leave. The instrument was extended towards her. ¡°An¡¯ what am I gonna do with that one-handed, Beaky?¡± Kit¡¯s lazy drawl belied the intensity of her gaze. Like a mortal transfixed by a god. ¡°Use it t¡¯scratch my back? Maybe shove it up my ass?¡± It did not move. Her lips curled into a light sneer. ¡°You got an answer? ¡®Cause it seems to me I can¡¯t bloody well use the damned thing,¡± she spat, brandishing her stump, ¡°so why don¡¯t you jus¡¯ play it yerself. Ain¡¯t much use to me.¡± A final quaver ruined the intensity of her speech Without a sack to shove it in, the lute was slung over a limb for safe-keeping. The Seeds continued to argue while Kit returned her tightened gaze to the bodies. Yet occasionally, when she thought no one was looking, her eyes would flicker to the lute once more.
For Kit, yesterday had ended with a nightmare. Likewise, her morning had begun with one. The previous night, there had been a small debate about who should accompany the Seeds to the Albrights the next day. Bhan, Blake, Ronnie and Kit had been the only true contenders for the role ¨C the twins and Taja were children and Maleen couldn¡¯t be endangered due to her political importance. With Ronnie still unconscious from her ordeal at the talons of Yoot and¡­ Blake having apparently disappeared that morning, the Face and her had remained the only options. The Face had claimed that as a speaker for the gods, he was best equipped to simultaneously raise the morale of the Seeds and calm any unbalanced entities that might be marching with them. It was a reasonable, persuasive argument. Unfortunately for Bhan, Kit was not in a reasonable mood. She had strangled that debate in the crib through a combination of insults, brow-beating, and waving her stump around as if she were offering a torch to those who¡¯d never seen fire before. The former swordswoman argued two points: of the two, she had the most experience in warzones, and that her demise would be less crippling than Bhan¡¯s. Of those gathered, no one¡¯s words were equal to the crackle in her eyes. Afterwards, she¡¯d slept. Kit had always been good at falling unconscious. She had become less adept at the sleeping itself. In her cot, the young woman¡¯s sweat-soaked blankets tangled with her limbs as she writhed. Lightly, for the regency of slumber was ponderous compared to the intentionality of the body¡¯s rightful liege, and whatever small groans escaped from her mouth were easy to ignore, for the occupants of the barracks. After all, Kit wasn¡¯t the only one with nightmares. And as those around her had learned, anyone who sought to wake her would be met with a barrage of pointed insults designed to conceal her embarrassment. Who would brave such treacherous waters to save someone who wanted to drown? Head Maleen, of course. She hadn¡¯t slept at all, that night ¨C merely lain abed and stared at the featureless darkness of the cavern¡¯s ceiling, teeth gritted while her fingers seized at her chest. Occasionally, she threw a glance in Kit¡¯s direction. A waking nightmare must¡¯ve prowled behind her eyes. When Maleen noticed Kit¡¯s shaking, she quickly stood upright and creeped over. Initially, the orange-haired woman tried to rouse her with a brief touch and a few muttered words. When those attempts were revealed as failures, Maleen stilled, gaze following Kit¡¯s twisting form with clenched teeth. Her hands hovered over the larger woman, yet failed to find any avenue to touch her. Then suddenly the small Head heaved in a vast breath and seized Kit by the shoulders. Kit¡¯s awakening came with no struggle, sudden blows, or screams of terror. Instead, her whole arm seized her former sword-arm by the elbow and bore it onto her bedding as her eyes rolled wildly in their sockets. Each of her breaths emerged as a puff of white mist from between clenched teeth. Then her eyes caught onto the person who held her. ¡°Wha¡­ Maddie? Why¡¯re you wakin¡¯ me up?¡± Kit¡¯s voice ¨C rough from sleep ¨C rolled over the barracks quietly. She swayed her head to the side and squinted. ¡°An¡¯ blood¡¯s the big oaf doin¡¯ with you?¡± Maleen chose to answer the second question first. ¡°She was there when I got here. And you were having a nightmare.¡± Kit extended an accusatory finger past the smaller woman¡¯s shoulder. ¡°You¡¯re a damn creep, y¡¯know that?¡± Her dark eyes met a jade pair. ¡°An¡¯ you jus¡¯ woke me up fer no godsdamned reason, ¡®cause I wasn¡¯t havin¡¯ a nightmare. Go back to sleep.¡± The smaller woman removed her hands from Kit¡¯s shoulders to perch on the side of the cot, lips quietly quirked downwards. Kit released a heavy sigh. ¡°Don¡¯t gimme that look. I¡¯m fine, Maddie.¡± ¡°What was it you said to me, back during the reception of the northern Houses?¡± The Head tapped a single finger on her chin in mock thought, then adopted a caricature of Kit¡¯s accent. ¡°¡®You ain¡¯t so much as ask fer piss if you on fire.¡¯¡± A scowl stretched across Kit¡¯s face. ¡°I don¡¯t sound like that.¡± The imitation continued. Her voice couldn¡¯t quite hit the other woman¡¯s lower notes. ¡°Well,¡± Maleen drawled, ¡°if¡¯n you say so, little lady.¡± ¡°Eugh.¡± Kit¡¯s face scrunched as if confronted with an overflowing latrine. ¡°Stop.¡± ¡°Now, you jus¡¯ know that I don¡¯t damn well believe I will, because¡­¡± The accent paused for a beat to correct herself. ¡°¡¯Cause I reckon I¡¯ve got to offer an ear¡­ T¡¯do to you as you¡¯ve done t¡¯me.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t even know what you¡¯re sayin¡¯, Maddie.¡± The former swordswoman buried her face in her hands. ¡°It¡¯s so bad. S¡¯like you¡¯re talkin¡¯ through a mouth full o¡¯ mash. I don¡¯t sound like that.¡± Maleen raised a plucked eyebrow. Kit peeked through her fingers. ¡°I don¡¯t, right?¡± The eyebrow retained its menacing position. ¡°Well, say somethin¡¯.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll tell you if you say what you was dreamin¡¯ ¡®bout.¡± Another scowl. ¡°Jus¡¯ stop with the damned voice, alright? I don¡¯t even sound like that,¡± she insisted. Maleen nodded, returning to her usual careful enunciation. ¡°I will, Kit. But tell me.¡± The other woman said nothing for several moments. Briefly, Maleen opened her mouth ¨C perhaps to fill the uncanny silence Kit had brought into the space between them ¨C however she forced it shut once more. Instead, to remedy the asymmetry of their relative positions ¨C Kit prone while Maleen sat over her ¨C the young Head lowered herself beside her, to stare at the ceiling. The former swordswoman rolled onto her side, to face away from Maleen. ¡°Okay,¡± she murmured.
An army stood on the horizon. Troops of gleaming metal, made lambent by the sun. Press-ganged common-folk, swaddled in gambesons or thick cotton clothing, hoisting spears tipped with shining bronze. The career soldiers, plated with bone lamellar reinforced with bronze over their old sweat-stained gambesons. And their final evolution: elite contingents of seasoned warriors mixed with Blooded; moulded of steel beaten into them through every battle they¡¯d been through. Alone, each was grimy and weak. Yet arranged together, they were clean, disciplined, and great. A formation of humanity that at its nadir was pure chaos. But at its zenith, where its components aligned in perfect symphony, all its disparate parts flowed like currents of silver swirled by a god-like hand. A long time ago, that arrangement had lain at the core of House Esfaria. Strength borne of discipline, ready to grind any enemies beneath cogs of sweat and blood. In that regard, the Seeds were similar. Beneath the hill on which Gaia stood were rows of seasoned Shrikebloods, the majority bereft of visible weapons or armour for they carried both within their veins. Some had chosen to wear steel or wield armaments that couldn¡¯t be easily grown ¨C bows, arrows, javelins, halberds ¨C but they were in the minority. Amidst the trees, the rugged clothing ¨C donned to shield them from the cold of the caverns they¡¯d spent Tempest within ¨C seemed to blend in with the browns and greens of their environment. Yet their common garb could not conceal the standards to which they held themselves to. Like any army, they looked to their leader. Gaia¡¯s advisors had departed to coordinate the other groups of Seeds, leaving the aging woman alone upon the hill except for Erin, whose bloodshot eyes surveyed the land around her with an almost sightless intensity. But there were differences, as well. For the Seeds were terrifying. A detachment of an equivalent size could have anywhere from one to five Blooded, depending on the type of Godsblood and the prosperity of the commanding House. Yet of the sixty-four people gathered ¨C comprised of sixteen squads of four, judging by their groupings ¨C all were Blooded. Shrikebloods were not as powerful as Oxbloods, nor as dextrous as Kani¡¯s ilk. They could not predict events like Spiderbloods, nor march for days like Lizardbloods. They could not rally a troop as a Dolphinblood might, and they could not conjure miracles from nothing like an Owlblood. Externally, the only thing truly impressive about them was their size, and even then there were several outliers who were smaller than an average mortal. The traits of the Shrike were subtler things. Days spent training without break, where mortals had only the will for hours. An exacting standard levied towards their own skills and those around them. Consistent improvement in their abilities. The fact those improvements never plateaued. Unlike other Blooded, their abilities were not supernatural. They were simply superhuman. Or so it might seem. But the way they waited was alien. Their discipline was exacting, and their silence absolute. Their predatory patience inhuman. And the way they stared at their leader¡­ They looked to Gaia as if she were the only star in an empty sky, with a hunger only matched by the way long-dead Raven Cultists had looked to their god. Yet their leader¡¯s eyes did not respond in kind. Her dark pair scarcely seemed to register them. They were directed towards the horizon that peeked through the tree-trunks and ranks of Albright soldiers; at the inscrutable earth beneath the Albright¡¯s tangled castle. Kit lounged in the shadows of a tree, apart from both the Shrikebloods and their leader. Her blood-stained furs and banged-up helmet hung off her body in a way they hadn¡¯t months prior ¨C she¡¯d lost weight. Her gaze was directed at neither Gaia nor the castle. Instead, it gravitated towards the lute, before she wilfully tore her eyes away once more. The former swordswoman¡¯s attention turned to Gaia as the Shrikeblood tapped Erin on the shoulder, signalling her subordinate to begin the speech she could no longer give. Gaia had tried for several nights in a row, but speaking full sentences brought her great pain. As the speech began, something like relief passed over Kit¡¯s face. Erin cleared her throat. ¡°Twelve years ago, the Houses set out to kill a god. As we all know, they succeeded.¡± Sunken eyes surveyed the Seeds before her. ¡°Today, we strive for a much greater task. ¡°We will,¡± Erin lied, ¡°harness the power of the land beneath our feet.¡± Kit blinked where she lay apart from the others, then arduously levered herself upright. ¡°That¡¯s not what she said last time.¡± It was the second speech given today. The first had been to the group that sheltered in the same encampment that Kit and the others had. To them, Erin had spoken of ending a god; completing the task that House Albright and all its adherents were too foolish to finish themselves. Wounding and harnessing were, to those who sought to make monsters and gods bleed, often the same thing. But no one needed two distinct, pre-planned speeches to address the intricacies of that point. ¡°What in th¡¯ blood¡¯s goin¡¯ on?¡± Kit whispered to herself. ¡°The earth,¡± Erin continued, projecting her low voice from deep in her chest, ¡°will be shaped as we see fit.¡± She lifted the hem of her shirt, revealing the tattoo writ across her skin. Seven discrete lines ¨C several more than she¡¯d possessed six months ago ¨C lay there. Viewed together, they created a vague splodge. To the vast majority of people, the pattern would resemble little more than an ink-stain. If a mortal were to think on it more, they might believe each line to represent something: lives taken or children lost, perhaps. It wasn¡¯t unusual for people to engrave things they could not forget onto their bodies. But to several rare individuals who bothered to track the Heartland¡¯s cartographical changes, its meaning was clear. The Shrikeblood¡¯s eyes bored into the warriors with an intensity mindless of the fatigue ringing them. ¡°On each of us are maps of the Heartlands. The region at the centre of our human continent, in which the humblest of gatherers and the highest of Heads must plan around. ¡°But what if,¡± she insisted, a fleck of spittle leaving her mouth, ¡°we could do more than plan around the earth? What if we could mould it?¡± Kit straightened. ¡°She¡¯s sellin¡¯ a different song t¡¯these Seeds,¡± she murmured in quiet disbelief. ¡°But they don¡¯t seem surprised.¡± They didn¡¯t. Neither surprise nor confusion lingered behind their eyes. Only the fire that seemed to burn within all Shrikebloods. ¡°They¡¯ve heard this before,¡± Kit concluded. ¡°You all know our charge,¡± Erin called, a note of zeal finally entering our voice. ¡°To better humanity!¡± Each sentence was punctuated by the Seeds pumping their fists in the air silently. ¡°To better ourselves! To steal a brighter tomorrow from the jaws of the divine!¡± ¡°¡­What in Yoot¡¯s saggy teats¡¯s goin¡¯ on?¡± Kit whispered out the side of her mouth. ¡°Gaia ain¡¯t sayin¡¯ nothin¡¯. So, what: they tellin¡¯ everyone different stories? You reckon that¡¯s how they got so many t¡¯join their little cult?¡± ¡°Gaia¡¯s lyin¡¯.¡± ¡°Perhaps to ensure none can expose their true motives.¡± ¡°Good thing you don¡¯t buy into it.¡± Kit huffed. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you what, Beaky: They¡¯re all such greasy bastards. But it¡¯s either them or livin¡¯ in a cave, an¡¯ Maddie¡¯s real attached to makin¡¯ sure they don¡¯t ruin the, uh¡­¡± She sucked in air through her teeth as she searched for a word. ¡°Land?¡± ¡°Future?¡± ¡°Political situation?¡± Her dark fingers snapped. ¡°I think that¡¯s the one.¡± Her eyes settled on Erin. ¡°Blood, I hate that girl. Got no idea how you an¡¯ Blake put up with her.¡± Blake? She wasn¡¯t so bad. No. Is that right? Look what she did. But was it deserved? Kit¡¯s eyes flickered upwards, then widened. Her mouth opened. Did Erin have a choice? No, but. All that time spent together. For what? For what? That wasn¡¯t fair. Was it? But despite everything, she was still up there talking. Why- ¡°-hey, hey, hey, hey,¡± the crippled woman was saying. ¡°Calm down, Beaky. Come on, jus¡¯ calm down. What¡¯s got you so riled up? Ain¡¯t said yer name or nothin¡¯. Her godsdamned slimy ways gettin¡¯ t¡¯you?¡± Erin was still speaking. ¡°¡­final obstacle is House Albright: so-called paragons of humanity secretly more concerned with the protection of a god than the betterment of our people.¡± She leaned forward, lips stretched into a snarl that didn¡¯t reach her eyes. ¡°Maybe their great-grandfather clawed his way to a crown a century ago. So what? The same power that bore them there flows through our veins as well, and unlike them, our leader shared that divinity with more than just her kin. ¡°We have more Blooded than them. We are mightier. We are more,¡± Erin hissed, ¡°and the god at our backs will not have to lift a single wretched tendril to help us, because we will only grow greater while it remains the same.¡± The Seeds watched. All the myriad features of humanity from all corners of the continent stretched into the same rictus of raw need. ¡°At edge of the horizon waits our future. Will you laze about here and let it pass you by?¡± she spat. ¡°NO,¡± the Shrikebloods chorused. ¡°Will you let it stomp you into dust?¡± ¡°NO.¡± ¡°Or will you seize upon what could be, and make it reality?¡± As one, the Blooded howled their approval. Erin watched them, gaze boring through sleep deprivation and the maelstrom of noise, then looked to Gaia, who waited behind. A single nod from the older woman was enough to transform her stern fa?ade into a tremulous grin. ¡°Least the end stayed the same,¡± Kit noted, wincing at the volume. ¡°They¡¯re just as loud, too.¡± When their roars died down, Erin continued. ¡°You all know your roles, and your squad leaders understand the plan. Head to your rally point, and we will see you on the field.¡± Under the thunderous clamour of sixty-four Shrikeblooded heels marching further away, the muscular woman whirled and stalked back into the trees, where she squatted down to bury her face in her hands. Gaia stared after her inscrutably. Perhaps scenting weakness, Kit levered herself to her feet and hobbled over to Erin without giving the more muscular woman a moment to breathe. Her gaze drifted towards the lute, then flinched back to Erin. ¡°Nice, rousin¡¯ speech,¡± she drawled. ¡°Very cute. You even seen a battlefield before, piss-head?¡± Erin kept her head down. ¡°You just can¡¯t help yourself, can you?¡± Kit sniffed. ¡°Spent a lot o¡¯ time talkin¡¯ ¡®bout humans up there. I reckon pickin¡¯ at scabs¡¯s the most human thing in th¡¯ world.¡± ¡°And I¡¯m the scab?¡± ¡°Eyup.¡± Erin snorted. ¡°Says the cripple.¡± Immediately, Kit growled, ¡°What¡¯d you say?¡± Instead of retracting her statement, the Shrikeblood simply scowled to herself. ¡°You can¡¯t fight. You can¡¯t walk. You certainly can¡¯t help us plan. So what good are you?¡± The former swordswoman glared at her for a moment, then smoothed her face. ¡°I¡¯m good enough not t¡¯lie to people who might die today.¡± A biting chord snuck into Erin¡¯s tone. ¡°You don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± Kit raised her arms in mocking innocence, then adopted a look of exaggerated ponderance. ¡°Lemme see if I can figure this one out. You tell th¡¯ first group one thing¡­ An¡¯ you tell th¡¯ second group another!¡± She raised a scarred hand to her cheek in shock. ¡°Wow! It¡¯s almost like you¡¯re trickin¡¯ them! But surely not!¡± Teeth ground together within the squatting woman¡¯s mouth. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t!¡± Kit¡¯s voice was so full of sarcasm it practically leaked at the seams. ¡°S¡¯not as if you lied t¡¯yer very bestest friend for years!¡± She flinched. Seemingly unconsciously, her hands began to wipe imaginary filth from one another. ¡°Oh, yeah,¡± Kit crooned. ¡°You didn¡¯t like that, did you? Maybe I should jus¡¯ lie t¡¯you, like you lied to all th¡¯ people out there.¡± Erin mumbled something. The standing woman cupped a hand to her ear. ¡°Speak up, lil¡¯ liar.¡± ¡°¡­It was under Gaia¡¯s orders.¡± Kit threw up her hands. ¡°By the blood, she¡¯s cracked that mouth open! But even Kani couldn¡¯t hear anythin¡¯ but lies an¡¯ excuses spewin¡¯ from it!¡± She cackled humourlessly. ¡°Was it Gaia up there, speakin¡¯ t¡¯those people?¡± ¡°I did what I had to,¡± Erin ground out. Kit¡¯s face contorted. ¡°I¡¯ve scraped scum off by boot with more backbone¡¯n you.¡± Her hand snaked down to seize the woman by the cuff, and slowly, with all the wiry strength that remained in her frame, drag her upright. ¡°Listen here, you rat. I¡¯m goin¡¯ in there for him, and he¡¯s goin¡¯ in there for Siik knows what- ¡° Because how many people would die, without a finger tipping the scales one way or another? Because what would the Seeds remaining in the caves do to deserters, or their families? Because Gaia had spoken the previous night, when Erin walked back with blood on her hands and a corpse carried behind her, and in the younger Shrikeblood¡¯s wake she had made promises that had yet to be kept. ¡° -but know that no matter how this day ends, you¡¯re gonna remain a pathetic excuse fer a person.¡± Right. ¡°If she¡¯s sellin¡¯ them lies, then why wouldn¡¯t she sell them t¡¯you too?¡± Erin reeled to her feet, making use of her full height to tower a head taller than Kit and half again as wide. But if the attempt at intimidation succeeded, it didn¡¯t show on the smaller woman¡¯s face. Her mocking smile simply grew broader. Out of the pair¡¯s sight, Gaia, who had been watching them with a frown, began stiffly walking closer. ¡°What do you know?¡± the Shrikeblood asked her quietly. ¡°You¡¯re a thug. A killer. A person whose ambition stretches no further than a warm bed and a hot meal. You want nothing; you do nothing; you make nothing.¡± ¡°Everyone who knows you loathes you,¡± Kit replied through her teeth. ¡°And maybe you should start wonderin¡¯ whether th¡¯ problem¡¯s with you instead o¡¯ them.¡± Neither allowed their emotions to spread to their face. One retained their goading sneer, while the other¡¯s features had scarcely moved. Until, as if consumed by slowly rising floodwater, Erin grimaced, then shivered, then began to paw at her hands. At that, Kit attempted to give a vicious sneer, but failed. ¡°Stop,¡± Gaia croaked. ¡°This is a military operation. Have some discipline.¡± A stifled cough bracketed each of her words, and she spat bright blood onto the dirt. ¡°Military operation? You¡¯re a bunch o¡¯¡­¡± She gave a scowl that seemed to be directed inward. ¡°A bunch o¡¯ bloody¡­¡± ¡°Reprobates bound for the noose?¡± ¡°Blasphemers destined for hell?¡± ¡°Idiots with no eyes to guide them?¡± ¡°Be quiet,¡± she snapped. ¡°I know this.¡± ¡°Tr- ¡° ¡°Fo- ¡° ¡°Bl- ¡° ¡°Shut up!¡± she whirled teeth bared, jabbing with a finger that was no longer present. ¡°Shut up, I know this. I know this.¡± ¡°Kit,¡± Gaia tried to say, but ended up coughing flecks of blood onto her hand. ¡°No,¡± Kit insisted. ¡°I know this.¡± Erin stared lifelessly. ¡°Don¡¯t you look at me like that, you piece o¡¯ filth!¡± she raged. ¡°Shut up. I know th¡¯ damned word!¡± The truth was, only one present knew the word she was searching for. It was ¡®traitor¡¯. Not to the monarchs, but humanity itself. Kit wouldn¡¯t find it. It wasn¡¯t in her, anymore. There was a hole where it once was. The cavity that her tongue still recklessly probed was a match to a piece that lay scarcely steps to her side. A piece that would no longer fit. A tumorous growth hugged its edges, far larger than that which it sprouted from. Kit would never be whole again. Do you know what it¡¯s like, god? To see a person with eyes that used to be theirs? To watch a body you knew to be yours move without your consent, as if they were possessed by a spectre? As if you yourself were one? Of course not. You care for nothing except tomorrow. You deserve this.
¡°S¡¯anyone else awake?¡± Kit had asked, still facing away from Maleen. The barracks were as cold as they had ever been, that morning. Few would choose to remain awake, or venture outside the warmth of their blankets for anything less than the call of an aching bladder. The two young woman lay beside one another: Kit curled away, as if frozen mid-flinch. Maleen with her arm carefully draped over the other woman. ¡°It¡¯s early, Kit,¡± the smaller woman whispered softly. ¡°Extremely early.¡± ¡°¡­You think ol¡¯ Beaky¡¯s gonna leave?¡± Jade eyes fell upon her back. ¡°We could ask?¡± ¡°¡­It¡¯s alright.¡± Kit closed her eyes. ¡°I jus¡¯¡­ I dunno what t¡¯say.¡± ¡°¡­You said it¡¯s not a nightmare?¡± A soft chuckle rang out. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t be fair if it was.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°¡¯Cause everythin¡¯ in it¡¯s stuff I done before.¡± ¡°Like what?¡± There was a silence. ¡°Like what?¡± she repeated. It was impossible to ignore questions that came from so close. ¡°¡­Jus¡¯ stuff.¡± ¡°Tell me.¡± Kit¡¯s jaw clenched. ¡°You promised.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t promise nothin¡¯,¡± she muttered. ¡°You gave me your word.¡± Another silence followed. This time, Kit was the one to fill it. ¡°¡­You know I¡¯m a murderer, right?¡± ¡°Kit¡­¡± There a quiet rebuke beneath Maleen¡¯s tone. ¡°You were merely working under your mother¡¯s orders. You were a child.¡± ¡°But I wasn¡¯t a kid forever, Maleen.¡± ¡°You grew up- ¡° ¡°Who held th¡¯ sword?¡± Kit interrupted. ¡°Weren¡¯t anyone else¡¯s hands but mine.¡± ¡°You were told- ¡° ¡°You¡¯re not gettin¡¯ it. T¡¯wasn¡¯t anyone else, Maddie,¡± she insisted. ¡°Th¡¯ person who killed them people was me. Me every time. The me right now¡¯s the same person that killed all them guards.¡± She swallowed. ¡°An¡¯ I had a great time doin¡¯ it. Thought I was so big, makin¡¯ ¡®em bleed t¡¯death. So tough, ¡®cause they couldn¡¯t stop me. ¡°An¡¯ when I dream, my body¡¯s still breakin¡¯ teeth an¡¯ sneerin¡¯ an¡¯ stabbin¡¯ swords through people chests an¡¯ laughin¡¯ at ¡®em fer the sheer weakness o¡¯ bleedin¡¯ when cut. An¡¯¡­ ¡°It¡¯s uh¡­¡± She thumbed an imaginary spot of dirt on her nose. ¡°It¡¯s so easy, it¡¯s like I¡¯m jus¡¯ swattin¡¯ flies.¡± Maleen shuffled closer. ¡°There¡¯s, there¡¯s this guard, an¡¯ he¡¯s thrown up his hands an¡¯ he¡¯s tellin¡¯ us he¡¯s got children. T¡¯take anythin¡¯ we want from his caravan; t¡¯just let him go.¡± She swallowed. ¡°An¡¯ th¡¯ whole gang laughs at him, an¡¯ I laugh. An¡¯ I¡­¡± Kit¡¯s eyes clenched harder. ¡°Jus¡¯ swattin¡¯ flies.¡± Her voice was hoarse. ¡°An¡¯ I can¡¯t stop myself. There¡¯s nothin¡¯ I can do.¡± A strangled sob emerged from her chest. ¡°¡®Cause it ain¡¯t a nightmare, Maddie. It¡¯s a memory.¡± This time, the silence belonged to the other woman. Kit gave a jagged chuckle, sounding like scum being scraped from the bottom of a pot, then rolled onto her back. Her eyes cracked open to stare at the stump where her hand had once lain. ¡°¡­Does it hurt?¡± Maleen asked. ¡°Eyup,¡± Kit stated quietly. ¡°I hate it. I really do hate it. Siik itself couldn¡¯t figure out who I am without this hand. I hate it.¡± Were it a few minutes earlier, Maleen might¡¯ve tried to give some kind of reassurance here; told the former swordswoman she was mighty even without the thing that made her. But in this moment, she was listening. And Kit was speaking. ¡°An¡¯ y¡¯know, every day it¡¯s hard. Can¡¯t hold a sword. Can¡¯t climb all that well. Can¡¯t run so fast no more. Can¡¯t so much as put on my boots without help.¡± She gave a brief smile. ¡°But I can¡¯t help but think¡­ What was this hand gonna do anyway?¡± She licked her lips, then corrected herself. ¡°What was I gonna do with this hand? ¡°Maddie, I¡¯m only really good at three things. Insultin¡¯ people. Hurtin¡¯ ¡®em. And killin¡¯.¡± She shook her stump lightly. ¡°Two o¡¯ those things¡¯re gone, now. But I reckon ain¡¯t no one but me worse off for it.¡± ¡°¡­You¡¯re more than that,¡± Maleen finally said. Kit glanced at her, but didn¡¯t dignify that comment with any further response. ¡°You saved us all, Kit.¡± She barked a laugh. ¡°When?¡± ¡°At Fort Vane. You were brave.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t feel brave,¡± Kit snapped rapidly, ¡°an¡¯ I still don¡¯t. I don¡¯t even rightly know why I did what I did.¡± Maleen scowled fiercely. ¡°You do; don¡¯t pretend for a second that you don¡¯t.¡± Kit released a long huff, but offered no further retort. They lay there for a time. The cold of the early morning caves soon began to sink into Maleen, and short bouts of shivering seized her body. Kit eyed her sweaty blankets, then eyed the orange-haired woman herself ¨C still dressed in a short top and underwear from sleeping ¨C before sighing and wrapping her in one of the less sweat-soaked quilts across her cot. Immediately, Maleen flushed. ¡°Sorry,¡± Kit said quietly. ¡°It¡¯s pretty gross.¡± ¡°No it¡¯s fine,¡± the smaller woman quickly spat out. ¡°Alright.¡± The lean woman lay back down. ¡°If you say so.¡± A comfortable quiet grew between them. Eventually, it grew so long that Maleen¡¯s breathing began to grow slow and even. Kit¡¯s gaze slid over to the form next to her. To the empty air, she continued to speak. ¡°When th¡¯ best and worst happened¡­¡± Another set of voices interrupted her. ¡°A mother dead by their child¡¯s hands.¡± ¡°Everything that you are locked away.¡± ¡°Gaining a home, despite everything.¡± Kit nodded quietly. ¡°Yeah. After Fort Vane, I figured it¡¯d be all over. If bards ever sing ¡®bout my life, I figured that¡¯d be where th¡¯ song wrapped up; all neat an¡¯ tidy.¡± She paused. ¡°Or maybe I didn¡¯t figure. Jus¡¯ didn¡¯t think. ¡°Because¡­¡± She lifted her stump to the light, turning over the fold where her skin had sealed over the wound. ¡°I jus¡¯ kept livin¡¯. Tomorrows kept comin¡¯. Mother¡¯s dead, an¡¯ I¡¯ve been made into nothin¡¯¡­¡± She swallowed. ¡°An¡¯ I don¡¯t understand why th¡¯ story¡¯s not over.¡± She waited, but found only her words hanging in the air, unanswered. Yet when Kit began to carefully slide from the cot, a hand wrapped around the stump of her arm. If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. ¡°Wait,¡± said Maleen. The former swordswoman winced. ¡°You were awake?¡± ¡°Uh-huh.¡± The pale noble bobbed her head. Kit groaned, cheeks heating. The Head sat upright. ¡°And I suppose you were going to leave without saying anything?¡± A nervous chuckle came as a reply. ¡°Well, y¡¯know, figure it might be bad for us t¡¯be seen in bed together. An¡¯ I gotta go soon.¡± Maleen punched her in the arm. ¡°This is serious.¡± ¡°I am serious,¡± Kit suddenly barked at her. ¡°You reckon I¡¯m not thinkin¡¯ about these things? I might die today, an¡¯ you better believe I won¡¯t leave any messes behind fer you t¡¯clean up.¡± Maleen flinched, then began fumbling around in her sleepwear. While she did this, the other woman clenched her eyes closed and sighed. ¡°Apologies, princess. Didn¡¯t mean t¡¯be so loud. But- ¡° ¡°Here.¡± Kit opened her eyes. A square of fabric lay directly in front of them. ¡°What in all that¡¯s good ¡®n green¡¯s this?¡± she asked, squinting. Then sniffed. ¡°Smells good.¡± Maleen averted her eyes and laughed awkwardly. ¡°Ha-ha! It¡¯s uhm, my uh¡­¡± She shrugged. ¡°Handkerchief.¡± A cocked eyebrow was levelled in her direction. ¡°You¡¯re givin¡¯ me something¡¯ you sneezed in?¡± The small woman frowned sharply. ¡°It is a token, Kit. Given to a worthy warrior before a battle for safekeeping.¡± ¡°Battle¡¯s s¡¯not th¡¯ best place for keepin¡¯ things safe¡­¡± Her voice trailed away. ¡°Wait. It¡¯s like in a song¡­¡± Her head jerked in Maleen¡¯s direction. ¡°You heard what I said?¡± The orange-haired woman nodded. ¡°You will take my token, and you will bring it back to me.¡± Kit stared at it, gaze hooded. ¡°Kit?¡± The tall woman¡¯s head scarcely moved. ¡°What?¡± Maleen thrusted the kerchief towards her. The fabric had faded from long years tucked in a pocket, yet nevertheless remained pristine. ¡°Your life can fit more than one song.¡± ¡°It¡¯s jus¡¯ like you to believe that.¡± Kit tore her eyes away and rose to leave. ¡°I guess we¡¯ll see.¡± Her footsteps echoed quietly as she departed the barracks, leaving the token laying limply in Maleen¡¯s hands.
Spirit season hung above a legion of falling boots. A true cacophony, complete with the pounding of war-drums. If an Albright were to peer from their window, they would see a flood of Shrikebloods ¨C four groups of about sixty powerful warriors ¨C leaking into the gentle plains surrounding their home. But their forces had scattered too far in search of the Seed¡¯s tail, and left their own far too exposed. Albright reinforcements would come, but they would arrive hours too late. But those that guarded the castle remained, in numbers greater than Gaia¡¯s. So the Shrikeblood had abandoned subterfuge to rush them plainly. The subtlety the Seeds had abandoned had been adopted by the firmament above. Myriad colours weaved through the sky; a river of souls, if the teaching of generations of Faces were to be believed. Shed from the blood of gods by the fangs of humanity, to return to the world once more. Those fangs bit deep. ¡°Give it more!¡± Erin demanded, thrusting the prongs deeper. ¡°It¡¯s going to run out of fuel before we arrive!¡± With each pulse of the contraption, blood was cycled deeper and deeper within it, though none would know it by looking at its exterior. The immense device was designed to stabilise the movement of its nose: a spiral almost resembling a dreidel, which would rotate when activated. Though that component was unpowered, its four wheels required a constant flow of power to trundle forward. They hadn¡¯t originally been part of the designs when they had been dreamed up in Fort Vane, but were added after several Seeds pressured Gaia. Tip-toeing around its purpose made it seem more impressive than it was. In truth, it was a drill. One that required no hands or torquing of the arms to operate, but a drill nonetheless. It was slowly wheeled at the back of the Scattered Seeds¡¯s mass, where each of the warriors gave it a wide berth. Partially to keep its path clear, but mostly to avoid the writhing, screaming mass of black attached to it. ¡°Raven¡¯s blackened bones!¡± Kit swore viciously through the bellows, fingers plugged into her ears as she walked alongside, ¡°jus¡¯ get him t¡¯push it! Why in all that¡¯s good ¡®n green d¡¯you have to impale him on a rod o¡¯ steel?!¡± Erin shoved her shoulder into the side of the cart, redirecting it from a deep patch of bog. ¡°Spider knows where that thing would take it!¡± Erin spat. ¡°What?¡± Kit shouted, unable to hear the woman over the screams. The Shrikeblood¡¯s bloodshot eyes wrenched shut. ¡°Just be quiet and make sure it stays calm.¡± Feet pushed through grass-strewn mires still clinging to the land despite Tempest¡¯s passing. Agony was made industrial with skilled application of cold steel. The greater part of that pain was buried beneath immeasurable layers of stillness, yet some of it was vented into open air in the form of shouts and wails. The pain wasn¡¯t the worst that could be felt. An opened throat; a disembowelled gut; a severed arm: all bore a discomfort so great it irrevocably warped the consciousness that felt it. This was a mere candle to those infernos. But here lay a chronic hurt that didn¡¯t need to exist. The cart had trundled along for hours. It could¡¯ve been pushed, or pulled by an oxen or other beast of burden. Instead, it was yoked to the suffering of the divine. Bloodtech was just too thirsty. Some mouths could stifle such pain. Others couldn¡¯t. Thus, the screams. But Kit wasn¡¯t happy about it. ¡°Jus¡¯ godsdamn unhook him, you bat-brained bastard!¡± she shouted at Erin. ¡°If you try to detach the fuel source again,¡± the muscular woman hissed in reply, ¡°we¡¯ll have to tie you up!¡± ¡°This¡¯s pointless.¡± ¡°We are so damned close,¡± Erin snapped, ¡°and I am not risking our entire plan for a god of all things!¡± ¡°I¡¯ll kill you one day,¡± Kit hissed, ¡°you bloody blinded sack of horseflesh.¡± ¡°What was that?¡± the other woman demanded. The crippled woman took several more limping steps forward, then turned her head. ¡°I said,¡± she began, louder, ¡°that- ¡° Then a great horn flattened the sounds of those marching, squashing the abject stupidity Kit was about to commit to. Though the two women beside the cart stood on tips of their toes, but the levelness of plains meant that the heads of the Seeds surrounding them hid their surroundings from them. Yet that same uniformity allowed the tallest amongst the army to see with ease. ¡°Hey.¡± Erin¡¯s haggard gaze turned wide. ¡°Get it to stop.¡± ¡°Why don¡¯t you go fellate an arrow, whore?¡± Kit bit back. Pushing to the front was a simple task. The Shrikebloods were too disciplined to do so themselves, and too wise to bar movement. It was true that much of the Albright¡¯s forces had roamed far. They simply didn¡¯t have the time to make it here. But a majority had remained behind to guard their masters. Six-hundred and fifty soldiers stood, gilt armour radiant beneath the midday sun. A hundred groups of six mortal warriors trained to fight together backed by fifty Blooded: Twelve plated giants that could only be Oxbloods, ten sparsely armoured Foxbloods with grins shining in the daylight, fourteen broad Lizardbloods, and sixteen other pyres bearing the churning marks of divinity. Too physically subtle for their nature to be discernible from several leagues away, but nevertheless a mix of several other Godsblood. The Blooded were mixed in with the mortals: a mixture of metals to make the whole a stronger alloy. Something the Seeds did not have. They were all the same, after all: all strong and weak in the exact same way. Only one type of divinity truly mattered, though. How many Dolphinbloods were spread across their formation, and how frequently could they rally the fighting spirit of those around them? How many would resist the natural urge to flee under Yoot¡¯s influence? They were an impressive sight. A wall which would rebuff the greatest of rams. The fruit of a century of wealth gathered while the seven other Houses warred amongst themselves. The crowning jewel of three generations of monarchs, yet this gem had an edge sharp enough to kill all who reached for it. And on the other side were Gaia¡¯s Scattered Seeds. Fifty years of subterfuge, stealth, and scheming culminating in a conspiracy spearheaded by hundreds of Blooded stolen from the earth. One army prepared to forge a new future through the death of a god. The other protecting a world they thought would last until tomorrow. Despite all that, both were still armies of humans preparing to fight humans. The Albrights protected via murder. The Seeds aimed to kill a god, but the path they sought to pave to the divine was etched in mortal blood. At times, it seems there¡¯s little more to humanity than gathering in a large group to hurt something or create something. And to most, these two goals are far less distinct than one realises. Perhaps that¡¯s unfair. Perhaps it isn¡¯t. All that stood between the two was one helpless god. A vision rose from imagination: Vultures and other carrion eaters circled overhead. As the sun was dragged beneath the horizon, the sky ¨C an ocean set aflame by sol¡¯s internment ¨C faded as well. Yet the aurora above only thickened with each of its undulations, growing torpid from the souls that fled skyward. The orange light of day ebbed away, but blood had already painted the land red. Soldiers dragged corpses by hand into a massed pile, where carrion eaters held vigil over the fallen and daintily plucked eyes and ears from those who no longer had use of them. The living who carried the dead wiped sweat or tears from faces, and left a trail of blood and other unidentified fluids smeared in their place. Exhaustion weighed their limbs down. Some collapsed to their knees. Their task was simply too great. Like emptying a beach one grain of sand at a time. There were so few of them, and so many corpses. Once, blades of verdant grass had sprouted across the plain. They¡¯d been supplanted by the eyes of the dead. They all stared in a single direction. The wounds that ended their lives winked angrily, and each moment their chests did not rise was a rebuke beyond what words could deliver. Within the castle were halls smeared with more viscera. The remnants of pitched combat covered every surface, transforming what used to be stone into the slick capillaries of some immense thing. A single warrior stumblingly limped through those wet spaces, glazed eyes uncomprehending of the part of his skull that had been sheared away. The sky above was crowded with stars rolling madly in their sockets, and mouths gibbering endlessly. By a blink¡¯s passing, the vision had receded. The present returned. Where the armies stared each other down and there was still a chance they could walk away. A ripple passed through the arrayed Albrights. Shield-bearers on the front-line jostled their spear-wielding partners and pointed forward. The orientations of full-helms shifted; universally directed at a single point. Several took a step back, only to be halted by the press of soldiers behind them. ¡°Vulture,¡± they hissed, whispered, shouted, and screamed to one another. Their officers quickly quashed the dissent, through either reassurances or stern orders. Did they believe their own words? But their unease couldn¡¯t be allowed to settle. ¡°YOUR.¡± ¡°MASTERS.¡± ¡°FALL.¡± ¡°THIS.¡± ¡°DAY.¡± ¡°DESERTION.¡± ¡°WILL.¡± ¡°GO.¡± ¡°UNPUNISHED.¡± The words were forced apart. Spaced comprehensibly. Cacophonously. A flinch travelled through the Albright forces as they listened. Yet just as quickly, a soothing settled the trembling tips of their spears. The Dolphinbloods were proving their divinity a worthy investment by chaining the soldiers to their graves. No, no, no. Something more was needed. The vision throbbed into clarity once more, and it took a great exertion of will to push it aside. Something more. Something deeper. Idly, a ghost wandered past. One of several interminable shatterings of air that could not be outrun. Much like how the eye of a tornado could not outrun the wind swirling around it. But surely every storm can grow heavier. Surely more ghosts could be drawn here. One moment, the space between the armies lay fallow. Then the thing that was me clenched its heart tight, and from the cracks in the fractured past rose a legion of phantoms, who flooded the grass of the plains in an instant. Ghosts were vague things, composed of shattered, broken silhouettes; more a suggestion of a shape than any true one. Time left them thin and degraded, as shallow echoes of actions taken in times gone by. They were feeble. No physical threat to anything, and the Albright soldiers might have known that if they¡¯d had any experience with them. But unlike Bhan ¨C who saw spirits whether there was Ravenblood around to draw them into reality or not ¨C the gilded warriors had never witnessed one before. And much like a true memory, the mind had a way of padding a phantom¡¯s form. Was that fluttering twist of sunlight a flock of birds? Or was it a volley of arrows, hanging in the sky moments before they fell? Was the regal dip of a sinuous line the lowering of an elk¡¯s neck to feast upon grass? Or could it be a viper flicking its tongue to taste whatever prey lay on the breeze? That was with a mere two ghosts. And tens of thousands writhed across the field: a frothing melee of blended madness, thickening the air like a thunderstorm in masses that made each of the armies seem a droplet on the verge of being consumed by a flood. In their great amalgamate the many seemed singular, and dozens of ghosts seemed to become a great claw or fang or sword or maw, prepared to drag the living into the sky above. Through that resurrected graveyard, the Albrights could be seen stiffening. As a unit, they took a single step backwards. But while a few bled away from the edges ¨C tossing down weapon and shield to sprint to wherever their family waited ¨C the Dolphinblooded among them kept the rest teetering on the edge of total rout. Until the thing that was me began loping across the field in the shape of a titan from a terminal nightmare, and filled the air above with enough bellows to match every ghost that walked there, and the Dolphinbloods flinched and with that their forces cracked like an egg, and the thing drew to a gradual stop. Three-quarters of the soldiers fled immediately. Those that remained ¨C the hardened elite and Blooded amongst them ¨C took a moment to assess the situation. When the call of their superiors came, most had already fallen into a controlled retreat into the castle¡¯s gaping gates. After several minutes, the tangled mass of blended stone finished sucking the soldiers inside, and their gates slammed shut. At that point, the deserters had begun to vanish into the hills. The ghosts were allowed to leave, and soon the plain was empty once more. With the phantoms gone, the colour of the grass was revealed. Still green. Kit slowly limped up. She opened her mouth for a moment, scanning the sudden emptiness. After a moment, she closed it. Eventually, she spoke ¡°Bleedin¡¯ guts,¡± she breathed. ¡°You¡­¡± A pause. ¡°Half an army gone,¡± Kit whispered, dark eyes wide, ¡°an¡¯ no blood spilled for it. That¡¯s¡­¡± She looked up. There was something bright in her gaze. ¡°You¡¯re still in there.¡± No. No. ¡°Good job,¡± she said. Kit stood there for a while. The Seeds caught up after a few minutes; Erin doggedly pulling the cart alongside several other Shrikebloods. ¡°Hook him back up,¡± she panted. Kit sniffed in idle consideration. ¡°Nah,¡± she finally stated. ¡°He¡¯s cleared the way for you. I reckon you¡¯re pushin¡¯ th¡¯ damned thing.¡± Though she might¡¯ve expected argument from the Shrikeblood, Erin simply hailed the Shrikebloods around her and lowered her head to continue pulling the great drill forward. The Albright¡¯s castle waited in the distance. Its knotted, patchwork structure resembled nothing if not an immense bramble. Tangles of hallways grafted to the building stretched over empty air, erratically supported by buttresses erected atop a rapidly expanding foundation. Whatever it had looked like originally had long since been occluded by its ugliness, but there remained an unlikely symmetry to it all. Probably borne of interminable calculation by engineers battling to keep the strange architecture from collapsing. From a distance, it seemed pathetic. A stunted little thing dominated by the land around it. Yet as the army drew closer, a great shadow fell over them. Its branches grew into a canopy thick enough to blot out the sky. Eventually, it cut the horizon itself in two. It wasn¡¯t the tallest structure on the continent. The Spires of Heltia, despite losing half their number, certainly still held that title. But given its hulking breadth, it was likely the largest. A windowless city in its own right, large enough to hold the entire Albright army twelve times over. Even Gaia ¨C a former Albright herself ¨C didn¡¯t believe herself capable of navigating its confines. It had been decades since she¡¯d left, the leader had said in confidence, and it had been a mere fraction of its current size at the time. Any invading force attempting to navigate its halls would undoubtedly get lost. Hence the massive runeworked drill, brought to rest its nose against the outer wall of the castle. Once, it had been theoretical. An idle daydream of what it could be made with a bottomless well of divinity to draw from. Much like the entire plan had been. It was no longer theoretical. Neither was the pain that accompanied it. Rotating the drill at the speeds needed to penetrate stone quickly used more fuel in a dozen seconds than could be safely contained within its runeworked tubes. The only viable solution had been to attach it directly to the fuel source: extend veins of blackened flesh with prosthetic ones of metal. To graft a circulatory system to the runework itself. Undoubtedly delicate work; hence the calibration the Seeds had performed after Dash had been removed from the hole. Few things are physically painful, these days. For the most part, the present hovers a half-step away: just a shade less real than it could be. Long experience with discomfort and physical resilience beyond the reach of mortals handle the rest. There are exceptions. Discomfort; ache; pain; torment; agony; pulsation; torture; suffering. These words sketch the borders of experience. They hint at anguish. But words hold only the phantom of reality; never the essence itself. It is impossible to describe what it was like to be attached to that thing. But it¡¯s not impossible to describe how it took three Seeds to hold Kit back: one for each arm as Erin shoved her flailing hand from the incisions drawing darkened blood through them, as she stared despairingly at the lute. Nor is it impossible to describe the way most of the Shrikebloods averted their eyes: not with any great amount of expression but a fractional shift of their pupils to the dust clouding the air rather than the drill itself. Neither was it impossible to describe the intensity of Gaia¡¯s gaze: as if hidden within the twin organs perched upon her face was a dark drill of her own. A truer one than the contraption that sought to breach the castle walls. Then the tip of the drill reached open air and the Seeds allowed its rotation to slow. Finally, it stopped, and the pain petered into nothingness. It seemed unfair that the agony left no sign of itself. Regardless, half of the Seeds flowed past according to the barked commands of their squad leaders, sliding in pairs through the minor breach to form ranks in the hallway itself. There, regal candelabras, fine tapestries and plush rugs concealed the unsightly blend of different types of stone that composed the architecture. The candles were unlit, so the Seeds swiftly scattered lanterns of their own around the area to dispel some of the yawning darkness. They revealed nothing. No soldiers waited. Gaia coughed heavily before making several purposeful gestures with one hand. Two squads split from the crowd gathered within to scout in both direction while the rest attempted to burn a hole in the dark with their eyes. Meanwhile, Kit was attempting to help lift the drill into the hole alongside some of the Seeds left outside ¨C more a hindrance than a help, being honest. It was probably one of the reasons she survived. There was a shout of, ¡°Contact!¡± from the left hall, then a hail of bottles flew from that side. Filled with boiling oil ¨C an old-fashioned trick in an era of bloodtech ¨C which had its effectiveness proved immediately. A surprising amount of Shrikebloods managed to catch their bottles, but enough broke across their bodies to leave the front-line writhing in pain. Entirely vulnerable to the line of spears that charged at them from within the darkness. It wasn¡¯t entirely effective. For every oil-splattered Seed left impaled was one that had been saved by their own hasty stumbles or a quick yank backwards by those behind them. But the Albright soldiers retreated as soon as their spears penetrated the line, leaving five dead and twice that stifling horrified screams as they tried and failed to wipe the burning oil from their bodies. The only casualties on the other side were two Erin and another javelin-wielder had managed to kill. Two for fifteen weren¡¯t sustainable numbers, and the tightness around Gaia¡¯s eyes revealed that she knew that. ¡°Raven¡¯s bones,¡± Kit whispered. ¡°We¡¯re goin¡¯ in there?¡± She glanced upwards. ¡°Yeah, yeah.¡± She raised her voice to a discordant shriek in imitation. ¡°¡®Don¡¯t. You. Fool,¡¯ or some-such, right? Well, you can go shove one o¡¯ them big arms o¡¯ yours where the sun don¡¯t shine, ¡®cause I choose where I go. An¡¯ I¡¯m goin¡¯ in there.¡± What a fool. But even if she was catastrophically unlucky, as long as she stayed close nothing would touch her. There was a brief spike of fear as they rolled the drill inside and pressed it against the opposite wall. Then it was spinning and all except pain was ash. Three more attacks occurred as it broke through the wall, but though some of the bottles were caught it was difficult to pay full attention with a body that felt like it had been set afire. In total, there were ten more casualties ¨C the Shrikebloods had adjusted to their opponents quickly ¨C and five more dead Albrights. The drill broke through into the next hall, allowing the Seeds outside to rotate into it. Gaia spend several seconds with eyes clenched, silently consulting some internal map, before adjusting the contraption¡¯s heading slightly. In response, the Albrights launched several cursory attacks. Instead of oil, a volley of arrows were fired ¨C they¡¯d likely had time to accumulate archers in the darkness. Some splintered on the stone walls, however many reached the mass of the Seeds. But the attack was even less effective than the oil. Most Seeds had already grown plates of ivory over their most vulnerable areas, creating segmented armour to match that the Albrights wore, and the Shrikebloods too weak or inexperienced to do the same had donned steel armour donated by House Baylar. Strangely enough, Gaia was among their number. Boiling oil seeped through cracks where arrows simple broke, and the Seeds flanking the main group had grown towering shields from their forearms to further blunt the volleys. Out of the entire, Kit was the only one in any significant danger, and she was hidden behind a wall of darkened flesh. A few bow-wielding Shrikebloods shot back in reply, but the soldiers lurking in the darkness must have ducked down a bend, because none¡¯s lifeforce flickered. After a few useless trades, the drill broke through once more. This pattern repeated three more times: while the vast bloodtech device was finagled into place and operated, the Albrights would launch an attack to chip away at the Seeds. Gaia¡¯s army would reciprocate as best it could. Though casualties were slightly steeper on the Shrikeblooded side, neither lost many warriors. But the sixth hall was different. Besides a thick layer of dust, its walls and floor were entirely unadorned. No one had walked through it for months. As the drill slowed and the pain ebbed, that dull observation slowly gave way to a sharper one. It was easy to forget, but the castle had more than one floor. Agony had a way of rendering the mind sluggish; pushing back the external world in favour of screams at an internal one. None of the Seeds accounted for that. Just a few lapses in focus. A few too many. ¡°ABOVE!¡± ¡°ABOVE!¡± ¡°ABOVE!¡± A few too late. The roof slid away and from it a legion of Blooded soldiers dropped down: cackling Foxbloods; dogged Lizardbloods; Oxbloods with skulls that brushed the ceiling and falls cushioned by purple light and the bones of Seeds. From above sneered deformed Dolphinblooded faces, vacant-eyed Owlbloods, and several trembling Spiderbloods. The Shrike¡¯s divinity made itself known before a fight. In days of training; planning; tiny adjustments accumulated over the years. In the speartree armour and weaponry they grew from their bodies. They brought those countless into combat with them. For most of the Seeds, it was not enough. A muscular warrior blocked a massive steel-clad Oxblood¡¯s mace-swing with two plated forearms, only to find both snapping like overwrought tree-trunks. Every attempt to fell the giant was met with interference from a stout Lizardblood, whose immense shield seemed to form a wall of its own. Two orange-haired women ran grinning through the ranks, each opening a dozen throats before a squad of Shrikebloods beat them into the floor. Erin fell behind Gaia as the large woman strode into the fray: powerful arms driving bone stilettos into vital organs whenever they moved, with each step precisely timed to simultaneously prepare for the next blow and avoid an incoming one. Yet every few moments a bloody cough would break from her throat, forcing Erin to step forward ¨C clad in bone ¨C and attempt to slap away any incoming ones. A Shrikeblood leapt off the hands of their fellows to haul themselves into the second level and shove the Blooded there downwards. The fray descended into an outright melee: Spiderbloods shouting in quavering voices as bone thrust through them and purple shrouded random swords and Shrikebloods keeled over with empty eyes as Dolphinbloods grimaced nearby. In the span of several dozen heartbeats, the dusty hallways was painted in the colours of eight distinct veins. The eighth slammed and choked and twisted and slashed and gouged and somehow managed to kill no one, but some were left maimed and other dying and wasn¡¯t each Shrikeblood killed and Albright felled just murder through incompetence? Couldn¡¯t it have all been prevented, somehow? But the Blooded falling from the ceiling were joined by elite mortal soldiers, and the tide showed no sign of stemming. And in the frantic, gory, stupid chaos of it all, Kit had been separated from the group. The former swordswoman stumbled down the hallway, her gimp leg in constant danger of buckling underneath her as she hopped away from the soldier pursuing her. The armoured man¡¯s sword had initially jabbed cautiously from behind his shield, but as his searching blows continued without reprisal he¡¯d become increasingly bold. His rapid slashes had Kit dipping back and forth like a fish leaping from a river. Sweat beaded on her furrowed brow, then dripped into her unblinking eyes. She staggered, but the steel never landed. As subsequent strikes failed to land confusion began to spread across her features. There was something deeply deceptive about her drunken gait ¨C a ruse so complete that even Kit herself hadn¡¯t really questioned it. She limped. She stumbled side-to-side. She rolled while growling with pain. She pushed off the ground with a stump where her hand once was. She bounced off a wall, feinted sideways, then staggered the opposite direction. And despite everything, the soldier never once connected. Why hadn¡¯t he killed her yet? And Kit¡¯s eyes grew huge in her head as she stepped aside a frustrated slash and drew a dagger from her belt to slam its pommel into the side of the warrior¡¯s helm. As he raised a hand to right it, she ducked beside him ¨C wincing as the movement jarred her bad leg ¨C and stabbed him through a chink in his armour and penetrated his kneecap. His resulting swing was avoided, and as the man knelt she fell upon him with a knife in hand. The Albright soldier tried to fend her off with his shield or whack her with his sword, but their size were more hindrance than help at such close quarters. Eventually, he discarded his sword and as her lone hand thrust the knife towards the opening in his helm, he matched her hand with his. The two hands trembled together. The Albright screamed at Kit, and Kit screamed at him. Then slowly but surely, her hand proved greater than his. The dagger slunk downwards. And with her stump, she felt for her belt and found the handkerchief that lay there. Its flawless material brushed against the ragged surface where Kit¡¯s hand had once lain.
That morning, Maleen had stared after Kit¡¯s departing form. Tears glittered in the darkness. A quiet sob escaped her throat. Then Maleen had hissed to herself and held her handkerchief out once more. ¡°You make sure she takes this.¡± Her grip was cold, but her eyes were bright. Finding Kit took scarcely a minute. The narrow silhouette of her crippled form waited in the central shaft, black as pitch against the white of the dead tree that leaned there. A discordant grating broke the early morning silence as she ran her scabbarded sword down the many whorls and scars its aged trunk had built over centuries of life. ¡°That you, oaf?¡± she asked, without turning. ¡°Thought you¡¯d stay with Maleen.¡± She slowly limped beside the wooden cadaver, sword bouncing unevenly across its bark. Cold passed from the sky far above, but Kit seemed to refuse her body the right to shiver. Though her face was kept stubbornly away, the corners of her vision must have caught the handkerchief, still offered to her. Despite everything. An uneven breath departed her throat as she wrenched her eyes shut. ¡°¡­I lied to her, y¡¯know. It weren¡¯t a memory.¡± For a long stretch of time empty of anything but the wind whistling high above and a sword running back and forth, it seemed no more words would be said. But eventually, her cinched jaw creaked open. ¡°I don¡¯t remember their faces,¡± Kit said quietly, sword grinding against the bark. ¡°Or how many I kill. I don¡¯t remember sleepin¡¯ or awake. Th¡¯ knowin¡¯ jus¡¯ ain¡¯t there.¡± Her sword stopped. ¡°I pretend it¡¯s all ¡®cause my hand¡¯s gone. But th¡¯ truth is¡­¡± She swallowed heavily, eyes damp. ¡°I can¡¯t do my boots up ¡®cause I don¡¯t remember how t¡¯tie a knot. Both my hands ¨C even the one that ain¡¯t here ¨C have forgot. An¡¯ sometimes when I speak I search for a word ¨C one I¡¯ve used a thousand times ¨C an¡¯ it jus¡¯ ain¡¯t there. Same with other things. ¡°Like- ¡° She swallowed heavily. ¡°Like th¡¯ other day, I found some eggs outside, an¡¯ I was gonna cook ¡®em. Right?¡± she clarified hoarsely. ¡°I was gonna cook ¡®em. An¡¯ I get a fire goin¡¯ and a pan on top, an¡¯ then I realised I didn¡¯t know how. It¡¯s a godsdamned egg.¡± Her eyes opened wide. ¡°An egg. An I spent th¡¯ rest o¡¯ the day tryin¡¯ t¡¯ask people ¡®bout cookin¡¯ eggs without givin¡¯ away that I don¡¯t bloody know how myself.¡± That phrase echoed as Kit stared at the handkerchief. ¡°More¡¯n jus¡¯ my arm was taken, that day.¡± She snorted. ¡°But y¡¯know what¡¯s funny? All these things¡¯re gone, but I still remember how to kill a person.¡± With the tip of her thumb, she slid her blade an inch from its sheath. Inside of its gleaming steel waited Kit¡¯s scarred visage. ¡°¡­Mother was right,¡± she chuckled darkly. ¡°She¡¯s dead, but she¡¯ll never leave me.¡± The handkerchief was thrust at her, edges fluttering limply from the force of the push. ¡°I ain¡¯t no knight,¡± Kit scoffed, ¡°an¡¯ this ain¡¯t no song.¡± Words tumbled into the open air. ¡°She.¡± ¡°Wants.¡± ¡°You.¡± ¡°To.¡± ¡°Have.¡± ¡°This.¡¯ A pause. ¡°No.¡± ¡°One.¡± ¡°Else.¡± Kit flinched, then sneered ferociously. ¡°You¡¯re pullin¡¯ the ¡®I¡¯m gonna throw a tantrum if you don¡¯t take it¡¯ card?¡± she spat obstinately. ¡°Who ever said gods¡¯re mature?¡± ¡°Stop whining and take it.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t be a coward.¡± ¡°You truly wish to dismiss her concern?¡± ¡°Bloody¡­¡± She growled at the shadows around her, and beat her fist at empty space. ¡°Fine. Whatever.¡± With that, Kit snatched the handkerchief and tucked it into her belt, before returning to scowling at nothing in silence. In the moments where she thought no one was looking, her fingers brushed over the flawless fabric. Under the gentle tactility of its surface, her fierce glare faded into a rawer sheen. ¡°I¡¯ll try,¡± she had whispered.
Kit chose not to kill him. Instead, she looked up and said, ¡°You reckon you can knock him out?¡± Almost half the combatants had already been rendered unconscious. It had taken a while to do so without killing them ¨C especially with the Fox & Lizardbloods. The former were slippery enough to evade capture, and the latter too sturdy. However, the Dolphinbloods had been the most threatening, and had to be incapacitated first. If they managed to destabilise the Seed¡¯s greatest ally, the results would be catastrophic for everyone involved. The rest had been easy. Unnervingly so. They were all powerful Blooded. But there were Blooded, and there were gods. The Seeds kept trying to dispatch the Albrights as they lay upon the ground as well, but they had been warned away. Fools. Kit struggled to keep the Albright soldier down. ¡°You want me t¡¯beg?¡± Choking the soldier was simple. When it was done, Kit carefully got to her feet. She opened her mouth to say something, yet no words came. In place of human speech came the sound of her dagger being shoved back into its sheath, and a minute brushing as the former swordswoman rubbed the token between thumb and forefinger. She stared at the lute. After a moment, Kit looked up. ¡°Reckon you can find Head Albright by yerself?¡± That was an idea. There were too many Shrikebloods to easily protect. They were, in all honesty, a liability. Too volatile to be trusted with their own lives or those of the Albright soldiers. Gaia would be needed later, but the rest of them could go play hop-scotch without any significant loss of efficiency. Especially given that, with the vast majority of their Blooded unconscious, the Albrights had almost no chance of fighting back. Better to subdue the King before he escaped and gathered aid. Kit, somehow, recognised the agreement. After carefully tucking the token back in her belt, she turned towards the Seeds. ¡°Hey Gaia,¡± she yelled. ¡°We¡¯re gonna track th¡¯ king down; be back in a bit.¡± ¡°What?!¡± Erin immediately snapped, shaking blood from the stiletto sprouting from her wrist. ¡°We need the damned thing to track the Albrights- ¡° Gaia raised a hand. ¡°You,¡± she began, voice tight with supressed coughs, ¡°will come back if any Shrikebloods are close to escaping?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Sure.¡± ¡°Alright.¡± Gaia waved Kit off. The former swordswoman strode away. ¡°You¡¯re coming?¡± ¡°It is dangerous.¡± ¡°Maybe you should stay back.¡± ¡°Shut up, you pile o¡¯ snot,¡± Kit snapped. That was that. Though pinpointing the king¡¯s location was simple ¨C there was only one other place with a heavy concentration of Blooded in the castle ¨C navigating to him was an onerous task. Unlike a forest, where each tree was a living being supporting an ecosystem of its own, the mismatched stone hallways held no fire of their own, rendering the castle¡¯s layout invisible to divine senses. The halls themselves offered no hints, either; this deep in the castle, they were bare of anything except dust. The castle was immense, but hollow. Like an animal stretching its body to seem larger than it was. Its head-aching assortment of passageways wrapped around one another like the folds of a brain. More than enough to rattle any mortal sense of direction, and most divine ones. As it were, it was still strange to walk through a building without ghosts. Its architects had never intended to fill it. Some nooks had likely never been seen since they were built. The Albright¡¯s home would be terrifying to anyone lost within it. Bowels of stone would gradually digest them as they wandered. Eventually, without water or food, they would drop dead. But to anyone else, it was pitiable. Kit followed without speaking, brows furrowed. Her fingers drummed over the hilt of her sword rapidly, and every few steps was accompanied by a heavy swallow. An audience with a monarch had a way of looming large the longer you spent thinking about it. Even more so with an uninvited one. But there was something uncharacteristically pensive about her muteness. Once more, her eyes kept drifting towards the lute. After a half-hour of walking, she looked up. ¡°We close?¡± ¡°Shouldn¡¯t be much farther.¡± ¡°Provided the halls do not turn dramatically.¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± Kit sucked in a long breath. ¡°Alright. You go ahead ¨C scout it all out. I¡¯ll follow behind. We¡¯ll clear out any guards¡­¡± She paused. ¡°Or I guess you¡¯ll clear out any guards. An¡¯ I¡¯ll offer any help I can. Sound good?¡± A few notes of affirmation. ¡°Let¡¯s get goin¡¯.¡± Though we were certainly growing closer to the Albright nobility, the halls remained unfurnished. But the dust that covered them had been meticulously cleaned, and several small marks covered the walls. Scratches and a few childish etchings, mostly: marks from impacts and angular stick-figures performing incomprehensible tasks. One line read, ¡°Ana wus here.¡± Those remnants of childhood misadventures grew denser, until a corner was turned and a group of soldiers lit by blue lights were revealed. Along with a single Shrikeblood, the group was comprised of mortals and Lizardbloods ¨C a suitable assortment to guard a single door. Behind it, many other lives churned wildly. They noticed nothing awry. Instead, they spoke. ¡°The human spirit is unlimited,¡± the burly Shrikeblood claimed, dark skin gleaming with sweat. ¡°Unparalleled. A dozen years ago, it proved a match for the most dangerous of all gods, and today we will prove it again. There is no mountain we cannot scale, and no obstacle we cannot conquer.¡± Pretty words. Maybe true ones. But whatever power humankind holds isn¡¯t found in a group of twenty cowering in the dark. They proved no match against an undefinable mass of divine flesh falling from the ceiling and smothering them. It was easy. Easy, easy, easy. But hard to forget the midnight flesh that limned and caged and sketched and mindlessly decreed that here and now is a creature that despite all it remembers is no longer human, and- ¡°By the blood, you made short work o¡¯ them,¡± Kit exclaimed from the hall¡¯s entrance. ¡°That¡¯s damn terrifyin¡¯ is what it is. They all breathin¡¯?¡± They were. ¡°Good job, then.¡± She ambled over, then peered at the door. ¡°If I open this, am I gonna get filled with arrows?¡± Maybe. A sheepish look spread across her face. ¡°Feel kinda bad sayin¡¯ this¡­¡± She winced slightly. ¡°You reckon you can open it?¡± Pfft. ¡°Take care of this, then.¡± ¡°Only if you hold the lute.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t want this made into firewood.¡± The lute was offered to her. Kit stared at it for a moment, then swallowed and tucked it under her arm. The door ¨C a large, metal studded thing ¨C creaked open, and a quarrel immediately shot out. ¡°Ow.¡± ¡°Ouch.¡± ¡°Damn it.¡± Within, the austerity of the hallway gave way to a richly appointed lounge room: all plush carpets, padded armoires, and a bloodtech chandelier bright as day. A spilled bowl of porridge covered one of the chairs. Several other doors lined its walls ¨C some ajar to reveal luxurious bedrooms ¨C and in one of them the crossbowman who had shot frantically urged several children inside. He was a reasonably tall, impeccably groomed man dressed in a fine robe. Yet his artfully plucked brows and trimmed beard could not conceal the signs of long-term stress that had embedded itself into his face in the form of broken capillaries in his sclera and the dark bags beneath his eyes. Despite his obvious fear, his posture was wilfully forced into relaxation. When Kit drew her sword and stepped inside, she didn¡¯t seem to discern his identity. ¡°Put th¡¯ crossbow down, yeah? My god here ain¡¯t lookin¡¯ t¡¯kill no one, an¡¯ it¡¯s not gonna do any good.¡± The middle-aged man flashed a nervous grin. ¡°Because regicides are usually so peaceful.¡± ¡°I dunno what that means,¡± Kit told him, lip curled at the unfamiliar word. ¡°Jus¡¯ drop it.¡± He drummed his fingers against the weapon, eyes flicking across the room. ¡°You will forgive me if I have little faith in your peaceful intentions.¡± ¡°It ain¡¯t damn well loaded, man ¨C jus¡¯ drop it.¡± She threw a glance over her shoulder. ¡°Is he stallin¡¯ fer time? He sounds like he¡¯s stallin¡¯ fer time. Anyone approachin¡¯?¡± ¡°None that will get here quickly.¡± ¡°It should be fine.¡± ¡°He¡¯s not Blooded, by the way.¡± ¡°Good.¡± Kit turned back to the man. ¡°Alright. Look. Either you put it down, or Ol¡¯ Beaky here puts it down for you. I¡¯ll tell you from experience that that ain¡¯t pleasant.¡± The crossbowman paused, then tossed the crossbow at Kit. Yet in the brief moments when it was in the air, he quickly pulled a quarrel from his quiver and held its point against his throat. ¡°Stay there, or I¡¯ll sink this into my throat,¡± he warned. ¡°By the blood man,¡± Kit swore, wide-eyed, ¡°why? Is keepin¡¯ that king o¡¯ yours safe really worth yer life?¡± ¡°I am the King,¡± he snapped. ¡°This is¡­ This is absurd. Am I truly going to be killed by someone who doesn¡¯t even know who I am?!¡± The former swordswoman froze. ¡°Godsdamnit.¡± King Aaron scoffed. ¡°What¡¯s yer end-game, yer, uh¡­?¡± Kit frowned. ¡°What¡¯s the damned word¡­¡± ¡°Your majesty?¡± ¡°You mean ¡®majesty¡¯.¡± ¡°Majesty.¡± ¡°Yer majesty,¡± she repeated. ¡°An¡¯ why¡¯re you tryin¡¯ t¡¯kill yerself, King Aaron?¡± ¡°I won¡¯t try if you stay over there.¡± He clenched his eyes closed. ¡°I won¡¯t allow myself to be paraded as some¡­ political dog-show.¡± Though she had walked through battlefields without flinching, Kit¡¯s fingers quivered as she gave a slow nod. ¡°I jus¡¯ wanna see us all walk outta here.¡± ¡°What are you doing this for, young lady? Wealth? Prestige? Power? If you help smuggle my family and I out¡­¡± The King paused, quarrel digging further into his throat. ¡°Of course you can¡¯t. Not with Gaia¡¯s god breathing down your throat.¡± The woman¡¯s brows furrowed. ¡°Gaia¡¯s god?¡± ¡°Of course it¡¯s Gaia¡¯s god!¡± he fervently insisted, dark eyes wide. ¡°She must have planned this damned conspiracy for decades. The Cult¡¯s maddened slaughter; the Raven¡¯s death and resurrection ¨C only now can we understand who stood to gain the most from it all!¡± Kit opened her palms placatingly. ¡°Sure, Gaia made a profit off all that but, uh¡­ Didn¡¯t you Albrights decide to kill th¡¯ Raven?¡± He ground his teeth. ¡°Gaia was an Albright. Perhaps she had people swaying our decisions.¡± ¡°Right.¡± The former swordswoman pursed her lips. ¡°Reckon it¡¯d take a brain t¡¯rival the Spider¡¯s to figure all that out in advance.¡± ¡°No one has ever claimed she¡¯s anything less than calculating,¡± King Aaron replied, but some of the zeal had faded from his voice. ¡°Take more¡¯n a genius t¡¯stack that deck,¡± Kit mused. ¡°So she was lucky as well,¡± the King admitted, the quarrel against his throat wavering. ¡°It changes nothing.¡± ¡°Mm,¡± the woman opposite him hummed in agreement. ¡°Sounds right. You¡¯re still here, on th¡¯ verge o¡¯ losin¡¯ all yer soft clothes an¡¯ jewels.¡± He barked a strained laugh. ¡°You believe that¡¯s what our rule was for? Jewels? Privilege?¡± ¡°Hey, hey, hey.¡± Kit smiled weakly. ¡°Ain¡¯t nothin¡¯ wrong with that. Jus¡¯ seems all that wealth could¡¯ve been put t¡¯better use.¡± ¡°Who would pay the jeweller, then? The miners?¡± he asked rhetorically. ¡°We require them to steer the dogs from our throats. You would not begrudge a warrior their sword, so why rob a ruler of their jewels?¡± Kit frowned. ¡°Well, help me understand. ¡®Cause I know a few warriors who¡¯re better off without blades.¡± ¡°Yet you wield one all the same,¡± the worn King stated. ¡°Young god-speaker, know this: everything we have done, we have done for humanity. I can see where your line of rhetoric is going: you will claim that we are stealing from the mouths of the people. But,¡± Aaron said imploringly, ¡°we are as beholden to you as you are to us.¡± A dull echo of that final shout rang in the artificial brightness of that room. The shadows were thin, here. Every inch of Kit¡¯s face was clear: from the scars across her face and knuckles to the deep consideration behind her eyes. She glanced downwards; at the length of steel in her hand she used as a crutch. Then at the lute beneath her arm, and the flawless handkerchief tucked away in her belt. Kit tossed the sword aside. ¡°Vin. Could you step out for a moment?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Absolutely not.¡± ¡°You¡¯re in danger.¡± ¡°Ain¡¯t ever gonna convince th¡¯ king here I¡¯ve thrown away my sword ¡®til the divine one behind me steps away,¡± she said quietly. ¡°I know you ain¡¯t like that. But he don¡¯t.¡± ¡°It¡¯s too risky.¡± ¡°He¡¯s no mere politician, Kit. He has a warrior¡¯s musculature.¡± ¡°Only if he disarms as well.¡± ¡°Fine,¡± Kit said. ¡°Y¡¯hear that, King Aaron?¡± The King stared at this exchange, wide-eyed. ¡°He said you gotta take all o¡¯ those knives from yer belt. Then he¡¯ll leave, an¡¯ you an¡¯ I can talk.¡± His eyes narrowed. ¡°What¡¯s to stop it from simply subduing me?¡± ¡°That quarrel against yer throat, I reckon.¡± ¡°¡­What do you want from me?¡± he asked. For several long heartbeats, Kit thought. Her fingers drummed against the lute beneath her arm. Eventually, she spoke. ¡°I don¡¯t know if you can tell, but I¡¯m not one o¡¯ Gaia¡¯s Seeds. My, uh¡­ What¡¯s the word¡­¡± ¡°Your allegiance?¡± the king offered magnanimously. The crippled woman nodded. ¡°My allegiance is to, uh, different people. Now, what that means is you got a better chance o¡¯ negotiatin¡¯ with me than anyone else in this castle.¡± She gazed at him levelly. ¡°But you gotta be willin¡¯ t¡¯talk to me first.¡± He stared at her sceptically. ¡°¡­I refuse to remove this bolt from my throat.¡± ¡°Keep it there. But there¡¯s no point t¡¯all this if you stab me, so disarm.¡± King Aaron bobbed his head slowly, then with one hand unbuckled his belt and tossed it to the side of the room. Kit glanced backwards. ¡°Fair¡¯s fair, oaf. Wait outside a moment, yeah?¡± The hall outside was barely a step distant. Though the door shut heavily, the monarch and the cripple¡¯s voices were still audible from within. Kit¡¯s command allowed the space to begin rearranging the unconscious warriors so they wouldn¡¯t choke on their own vomit. But a more important conversation continued barely steps distant. ¡°You mind if I sit? I got a bad leg.¡± ¡°Go ahead.¡± There was a brief rustle as Kit lowered herself onto one of the armoires. ¡°¡­You ain¡¯t gonna?¡± ¡°You¡¯ll forgive me if I¡¯m more comfortable standing.¡± ¡°Fair enough. So tell me, king o¡¯ jewels: how¡¯re you beholden to me?¡± There was a long silence. ¡°¡­Since before conversion stones and recorded history, the Houses have always warred. No matter how much wealth they accumulate, there is no House that does not hunger for more. There¡¯s nothing wrong with a bit of greed ¨C it¡¯s what drives men and women to build houses and plough fields ¨C but the greed of the powerful runs roughshod over the impoverished and weak. And as power is only ever the product of the weak lifting others above their heads, they make themselves weaker as well. Make humanity weaker. ¡°A century ago, my great-uncle began and subsequently won the war that would change that. That would give him the power to impart rules of engagement upon the Houses; force them, in their battles with one another, to let the farmers and crafters to continue to uplift us all.¡± ¡°Why not stop the wars entirely?¡± ¡°Because as long as they¡¯re fighting each other, they¡¯re not fighting House Albright. We won the war, yes, but we didn¡¯t defeat every House simultaneously. If all of them rose against us ¨C if even just House Baylar and Esfaria decided to betray us ¨C we would fall.¡± ¡°Even with the Shrike¡¯s divinity?¡± ¡°Gaia might have given you the impression that Shrikeblood is safe to spread amongst hundreds of people, but she¡¯s a fool. We don¡¯t sit atop a god¡¯s heart to monopolise it; we sit here because Shrikeblood is dangerous in the wrong hands. A Shrikeblood has no true limits; only ambition. There is no line they will not cross.¡± ¡°But it¡¯s different if you¡¯re the Shrikeblood?¡± ¡°¡­¡± There was a brief rustle as Kit shuffled in her seat. ¡°I know you¡¯re not one. Ol¡¯ Beaky out there told me so. But there are Shrikeblooded Albrights. So what¡¯s different about them?¡± ¡°Our ambition is long-term stability. To keep the Houses from destroying everything just long enough for humanity to rise above our circumstances, and- ¡° ¡°You keep sayin¡¯ ¡®us¡¯. You ain¡¯t a Shrikeblood. So who¡¯s ¡®us¡¯?¡± ¡°¡­¡± A sigh. ¡°I guess even kings got people pullin¡¯ their strings, huh?¡± ¡°Like you and Gaia.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t give a damn about Gaia¡­¡± She paused for a moment. ¡°¡­An¡¯ I reckon Gaia don¡¯t give a damn ¡®bout House Albright either.¡± ¡°¡­Pardon?¡± King Aaron¡¯s voice gained fervour. ¡°Why in the blood would she have invaded my home, then?¡± ¡°I¡¯m gonna tell you a story real quick, alright?¡± A shuffle as Kit leaned forward. ¡°A person spends years an¡¯ years makin¡¯ this real secretive organisation, where no one really talks to one another ¡®cause it¡¯s too secret. An¡¯ when they get together, she splits ¡®em all up into several groups. You followin¡¯?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Except this person has sold each group a different story. Each o¡¯ them think they¡¯re gettin¡¯ somethin¡¯ else. An¡¯ when they all gather together, and they complete their big goal, they¡¯re gonna talk to one another an¡¯ they¡¯re gonna realise they¡¯ve been hoodwinked. An¡¯ this person who done all this is smart as a damn tack ¨C one o¡¯ them Shrikebloods o¡¯ yours ¨C so o¡¯ course she knows this.¡± A pause. ¡°So Gaia¡¯s goal ain¡¯t anythin¡¯ long-term, because in the long-term she¡¯s gonna get torn apart. Her goal happens today. An¡¯ I reckon it ain¡¯t got nothin¡¯ to do with you or House Albright, and everythin¡¯ to do with the god beneath yer feet.¡± ¡°What¡­¡± The King paused. ¡°¡­What do you think it is?¡± ¡°Reckon that¡¯s Beaky¡¯s business, an¡¯ not ours.¡± Her heavy swallow was audible. ¡°But that means th¡¯ mortal long-term is still up for grabs.¡± ¡°So you¡¯re willing to save us, so long as I accept your terms?¡± Kit sighed. ¡°¡­See, I don¡¯t much like how you were doin¡¯ things, either,¡± she stated carefully. ¡°This meeting right here isn¡¯t for me t¡¯tell you what th¡¯ future looks like. It¡¯s jus¡¯ ¡®cause I got someone pullin¡¯ my strings back home, an¡¯ I reckon she¡¯d be real appreciative if you could help make sure humanity don¡¯t fall apart after all this.¡± He scoffed. ¡°The Houses will tear the world apart after this. There is no future for us.¡± ¡°Well, I don¡¯t mean to toot my own horn, but we kinda do have a god listenin¡¯ to us. That¡¯s a pretty big deal.¡± ¡°They¡¯ll still- ¡° ¡°Look,¡± Kit interrupted. ¡°Either you come with us, an¡¯ I put you in front o¡¯ someone who actually knows things, or you stay here and keep talkin¡¯ to a girl who don¡¯t know th¡¯ first thing about politics.¡± ¡°¡­For a person who claims to be an unskilled politician, you¡¯re quite persuasive.¡± ¡°That a yes?¡± ¡°¡­Your god will help us escape?¡± ¡°You¡¯ll have t¡¯ask him, but I reckon so.¡± ¡°¡­Alright, then. Give me a moment to gather my family.¡± ¡°Sure.¡± Kit¡¯s voice was suddenly hoarse. ¡°Jus¡¯ make it quick.¡± Furniture scraping along the ground, then the heavy door creaked open and Kit exited, bereft of a sword but still holding the lute beneath her arm. The former swordswoman carefully closed it, stepped over the still-breathing people beneath her feet, and leaned against the graffitied walls of the hallway, eyes watering. A hand was held out. She wiped at her eyes. ¡°Th¡¯ lute?¡± Kit croaked. ¡°Right. Sorry.¡± The young woman returned the lute, neck first. Then the grip was reversed and it was offered back to her, neck first. A sob ripped from her throat, and the former swordswoman covered her eyes with her remaining arm. ¡°I can¡¯t.¡± ¡°You will have help.¡± ¡°Give it a shot.¡± ¡°There are hands enough for a song, here.¡± She removed her arm from her face, revealing the heavy tears streaming down her face. ¡°What if I¡¯ve forgotten?¡± Kit pleaded. ¡°What if I don¡¯t know how to play anymore?¡± Do you understand what it¡¯s like, god? To know that the person in front of you has everything they need to pluck the next chord, if only they had the courage to try? To know that despite your wishes, that the choice is not yours? That dread, seeing her hesitating. That hope, seeing the handkerchief in her hand. That moment stretching a hundred thousand yards, distending until its edges spanned reality; mapping a sea of fear and stress and anxiety and the knowledge of what it was like, to give up, and that strange bittersweet faith that the person before you could be better than you. To see her prove you right. Kit stretched her hand out and took the lute. It was restrung with chords of midnight. In the space between the past and future she hesitantly placed a scarred hand on its chords, and one of fathomless divinity joined her on the neck to play an old, new song together. And slowly, precariously, those notes climbed higher and danced through the castle halls. And Kit wept and wept and wept. Chapter 79 - God of Growth Before being carried away by the current, clear water had blushed red. But when Erin yanked her hands from the river¡¯s flow, the blood still clung to her hands. Her trembling gaze was accompanied by a narrow whine ¨C staggering like a drunkard into the evening air. Both of her thickset arms trembled. She shook her head back and forth as if dodging the gaze of a hulking predator. ¡°I am right,¡± she hoarsely told Blake¡¯s body. Neither injury nor pain wracked it any longer; they had fled the corpse as its lifeforce dried, leaving only broken ribs, countless welts, and a torn throat behind. ¡°You- you- you-¡± the muscular woman stuttered, ¡°you dumb idiot; why did you not listen? All you had to do was listen. I- I- I¡¯m trying to make it better for everyone. You¡¯re selfish. You¡¯re selfish.¡± The thin susurrus of the stream and the splashing of her arms were the only accompaniment to Erin¡¯s words. She scrubbed her hands faster. ¡°I am godsdamned RIGHT!¡± the Shrikeblood shouted, voice crumbling as it hit the air. ¡°If you had just seen what I¡¯d seen, then you would know that! A chance like this might never come again! And you couldn¡¯t have stopped me ¨C you knew you couldn¡¯t have stopped me ¨C so why? Why make yourself an obstacle?¡± Erin leaned backwards to stare upwards, water and viscera dripping from her arms. ¡°I¡¯m right,¡± she snarled quietly. Hunched by the stream, Erin seemed small. Her twitches weak. Her words thin. Utterly dwarfed by the trees stretching from her feet, and the canopy that divided her sight from the stars. The body by her side belied that. Its presence shook the world ¨C unsettled it ¨C so dense it warped reality around it. Drew every eye that could see it. Tasted like bile. Pock-marked skin smoothed by death ¨C smoother than marble, and seemingly just as peaceful. But that was a lie, wasn¡¯t it? Erin was not small, then. She was twisted. Misbegotten, like all her ilk. Too busy yearning for the sky to care for the treasures their earth had buried. Under the stars, it seemed certain that the Shrikeblood would continue to paw pathetically and hiss platitudes at herself. Yet she choked at the sight of her friend¡¯s blood on her hands, head swaying in search of something ¨C anything ¨C to affix her gaze. Eventually, her crimson-splattered visage found something. ¡°Let him go,¡± Erin hissed as she sprung upright. ¡°You can¡¯t keep him.¡± A monster was reflected in her eyes. ¡°You can play coy until worms fly, but nothing can hide what you are. You god. You tyrant.¡± Her face had contorted into a blood-splattered rictus of bold disgust. ¡°Your very presence poisons hope. It forms the millstone that crushes humanity into dust, over and over, making fools and cowards believe that you are reality. ¡°I will make you cough up the world¡¯s future,¡± Erin promised darkly. ¡°I¡¯ll become whoever I need to be to see it through. Even if I have to burn myself alive.¡± ¡°A.¡± ¡°Lovely.¡± ¡°Delusion.¡± ¡°Will.¡± ¡°Never.¡± ¡°Make.¡± ¡°You.¡± ¡°A.¡± ¡°Hero.¡± She recoiled, then a bone-spur ripped from her wrist and as she thrust it forward. ¡°A delusion?¡± the young woman snarled, ripping her spike of ivory through blackened flesh with every word. ¡°Is that reason enough to never try? To never push for something better?¡± ¡°Says the murderer.¡± ¡°¡¯Cause a dream lets you break every promise, eh?¡± ¡°Shut up.¡± Midnight blood mingled with the red of her hands. Erin gave a shove, but only sent herself stumbling backwards. She tensed in anticipation for a blow, but when it never fell the woman hissed angrily and began hurling more insults into the air. They felt like little more than gnats at the sight of Blake¡¯s body. Death came easy to most things worth caring for. On a battlefield, such a sight would be multiplied a hundredfold. ¡°Where are you going?¡± Erin demanded. ¡°Don¡¯t walk away from me!¡± ¡°Go die, Erin.¡± ¡°Be quiet, Erin.¡± ¡°Take care, Erin.¡± Yet the sound of her words faded with each step. Despite everything, she stayed with the corpse. Eventually, the Shrikeblood returned to washing the blood from her hands. Amongst the wilderness, nocturnal creatures thrilled at night¡¯s rise. The weight of the footsteps crunching through the undergrowth bothered them little; the sounds were as insubstantial as the ghosts that occasionally flitted through the trees. Sneaking into the Seeds¡¯ encampment would be next to impossible for a mortal, but such a task would falter before the divine. Kidnapping seven individuals would be no harder. It would be easy to pick up Erin on the way back. Their choices were precious things. But an irrevocable slope had taken the world, and what walked through the woods would take the path of least resistance to its bottom. Yet in of the mud of the tunnel¡¯s entrance, the great silhouette of Gaia squatted, dark skin paled with the sickness that wracked it. The other Seeds were absent ¨C ordered away some time ago. ¡°You left without filling your machine,¡± the leader noted, voice tight with supressed coughs. ¡°What was it?¡± No reply. ¡°Did someone die? Was it Erin? Or Blake?¡± At the second name, thought collided with notions collided with memories with the sensation of unending nails scratching the inside of a skull, weakly, indefatigably; ignored but never silenced. Her gaze never fell. ¡°Blake, then.¡± She nodded slowly. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± Gaia barely managed to breathe those final words before bursting into a fit of coughs. One muscular hand groped for a handkerchief in her pockets, which she heaved great wads of blood into. The other massaged her throat. After a time, her fit died down. ¡°If it¡¯s any consolation¡­¡± She paused to avoid another cough. ¡°I¡¯ll follow him soon.¡± ¡°You¡¯re dying.¡± ¡°The Shrikeblood is killing you.¡± ¡°There¡¯s little surprise in your eyes.¡± The woman nodded. ¡°It¡¯s the bones. The speartrees. They¡¯re growing within me. Perforating organs¡± Her features drooped; its old, crumbling lines barely upheld by her will. ¡°It happens to all of us, given time. The timing is just luck.¡± ¡°Is it painful?¡± ¡°Does it hurt?¡± ¡°When will it happen?¡± Gaia looked down. ¡°It hurts. So much that death will be a blessing. If this is the pain someone with a mere drop of Shrikeblood has¡­¡± Another quiet corpse for tomorrow to forget. ¡°You¡¯re having doubts.¡± What was the point? ¡°We had a deal, Gale.¡± That name- ¡°But if it will keep you with me, we can make another.¡± How dare she- ¡°The same thing I offered the Shrike.¡± Gaia¡¯s form snapped into sharp relief. The well-honed body; the greying hair; the weary expression of a courier that needed to run just a little longer before she could finally rest. ¡°A chance.¡±
Within the Albright¡¯s castle, Erin meticulously applied a conversion stone to her prone comrade¡¯s shoulder. Beside her were rows upon rows of incapacitated individuals fading into the inscrutable darkness of the place¡¯s depths; hundreds of Seeds crammed into a featureless hall at the centre of the castle. Most were unconscious, but a few hadn¡¯t yet succumbed to the damage being done to their bodies and swung their heads in slurred delirium, like infants that couldn¡¯t quite understand how to sit upright. Soon enough, they too would fall, the divinity ripped from them leaving their bodies stunned and their mind reeling. The best conversion stones would extend the process into months: slowly coaxing the Godsblood from people whose beings had already adapted to accommodate it. These would only rob a mere decade from Blooded as thin as these Shrikebloods. But the Seeds had all wanted their divinity gone in hours. Few had been told that the trauma of such speed would likely leave them crippled. Still. A short life as a cripple was better than a long one chained by Godsblood. Especially a kind as grotesque as Shrikeblood. Erin finished applying one final conversion stone, then raised a hand to the few unblooded Seeds that would be left to tend to their comatose compatriots. ¡°It¡¯s mostly done,¡± she called. ¡°We just need Gaia and myself before you escort the god down.¡± She paused. ¡°Where is Gaia and the thing, anyway?¡± A wizened old man adjusted his steel armour from where he stood at the room¡¯s entrance. ¡°Dunno ¡®bout Gaia,¡± he drawled in that signature Heartlander manner, ¡°but th¡¯ Vulture¡¯s behind you.¡± The Shrikeblood turned, then flinched. ¡°Raven¡¯s damned bones. How did you- Where were you?¡± After ferrying Kit and the King¡¯s family to the empty encampment, the former swordswoman had dropped the monarch at Head Maleen¡¯s feet like a cat hesitantly delivering a wriggling mouse. The Heltian had recovered from her shock with admirable alacrity and hastily recruited Bhan, Taja, and the twins as makeshift waiting staff for whatever talks would follow. They would tend to mortal concerns. Some thing needed to tend to the divine ones. Finding the room where Gaia would stow the Seeds had been difficult. Though their lives were bright enough to be perceptible leagues away, navigating through the bizarre architecture of the castle had taken more time. Especially because Erin had chosen the most difficult-to-locate hall in the castle ¨C anything else risked exposing the army¡¯s vulnerable underbelly. There weren¡¯t many cards left in the Albright¡¯s hand. Certainly none that could overturn what Gaia held. But they only needed one good play to kill hundreds. Yet the Seeds were willing to take that risk for whatever dream they¡¯d been sold. ¡°Where were you?¡± Erin sternly repeated. The Seeds were asleep. A mound of food, water, and rags had been prepared to tend to them. The lone exit was secured. Each Seed was clean. ¡°Is there anything else that needs doing?¡± ¡°Want help?¡± ¡°Got any tasks?¡± The unblooded guards flinched, though the older man restricted his to a slight tremble of his hands. None understood. There was nothing more to be done in this place. No reason to keep away from what lay beneath the castle any longer. A fortifying breath from lungs that did not require it. The air was heavy with dust and disuse. Then a few broad steps back into the inscrutable maze that was the Albright¡¯s castle. ¡°Hey. Don¡¯t walk away from me.¡± Of course Erin pursued. Why would she not? Never mind that she strode through technically hostile territory. Never mind that she had no map ¨C and even if she did, the young woman was so chronically horrible at reading them to make it worthless. Never mind that her only recourse was toddling after others like an empty-headed duckling. Never mind what good sense would say. Never mind. Gaia waited. Her location was wrapped beneath layers upon layers of obfuscation ¨C dense enough a mortal would have little chance of finding it without guide. Paintings that doubled as doors; hidden mechanisms within innocuous furniture; narrow tunnels that forced Erin to bow to walk through. Each led to another room that would have sufficiently explained the secrecy ¨C a glance yielded tax records and blackmail and sordid secrets aplenty ¨C but they never seemed to end. Even with a Foxblood, it might¡¯ve taken days to sniff out the path. But the former Albright hadn¡¯t bothered to reseal those layers once she¡¯d ripped them open. Evidently, this was one of the few parts of the castle she remembered. It terminated in a long, lightless drop into stoney depths, featureless except for the rungs carved into its side. Erin¡¯s hair swayed in the hot, stinking air that rhythmically blew from that pit like the lapping of water against sand. Nothing about it seemed man-made. It was too large; its walls not quite angular enough to meet humanity¡¯s standards. But neither did it seem natural. A pulley ¨C build from rope, creaking wood, and loose nails ¨C stood beside the yawning hole. The cordage hanging from it had snapped. ¡°Gods.¡± The muscular woman gagged at the reek. ¡°Gaia¡¯s down there??¡± Descending was far easier than forging through the cave system the Seed¡¯s encampment nestled in; more straightforward than walking through the wilderness. But the putrid, confusing mass of stenches that rose from the earth swaddled each shaking rung with the taste of vomit. In the darkness of the tunnel, it was all-consuming. After a minute of careful climbing and swallowed puke, a cool blue light appeared amongst the shattered remnants of the drill that lay at the bottom. A couple dozen more rungs down revealed a small, carved passage with a handful of offshoots ¨C one sealed entirely by rubble. The walls were rough and uneven ¨C created with great swings of some bladed weapon rather than the turning of eons. Cuts ran across the walls. The shadowy form of Gaia hunched over a lantern at the intersection. ¡°Erin. Vulture,¡± the large woman greeted hoarsely from behind the kerchief she wore across her face. ¡°Drill¡¯s broke. We¡¯ll have to clear the tunnel by hand.¡± ¡°You need to get back above,¡± Erin stated blandly. ¡°The plan is ash if we don¡¯t get the Shrikeblood out of you.¡± Gaia strangled a cough. ¡°Who¡¯ll guide the gods together, then? We can do it afterwards.¡± ¡°¡­Alright,¡± the younger woman slowly concurred, eyes narrowed. ¡°Where do we go from here?¡± The Seeds¡¯ leader extended her index finger towards the rubble. ¡°Through there?¡± Erin snapped. ¡°How long will it take us to move it all? Where will we put it?¡± Gaia gestured to the tunnel¡¯s offshoots. ¡°Dead ends,¡± she wheezed. ¡°For storing the fragments. It took me weeks.¡± ¡°¡­You moved it?¡± A slight crinkle appeared around the edges of her eyes. ¡°How else to teach us ¡®the grave responsibility of our blood¡¯?¡± When Erin opened her mouth to respond, Gaia held up a hand. Her level gaze rested against one of the side passages. Several long moments passed, yet despite the smaller Shrikeblood¡¯s furrowed brow the hand never wavered. From the pregnant darkness of the side passages, a voice as battered and ancient as the walls surrounding the pair emanated. ¡°A lesson you never learned.¡± The former Albright inclined her head. ¡°Uncle.¡± Heavy clanking carried the steel-clad form of an enormous warrior into the faint blue light. His body was hunched beneath the jagged ceiling like a scarecrow, and his bowed head surveyed all from its position above the room. A brief inspection of his armour ¨C immense and modified to allow for the heavy muscles clinging to the figure¡¯s bones ¨C implied an Oxblood, but the lack of care behind his steps belied that thought. Any of Enn¡¯s ilk would know to moderate the strength of their movements to avoid tendon-damage; this warrior had no concern for the harm his movements may cause to himself. The first Monarch of Humanity panned his gaze throughout the flickering shadows of the room. ¡°Gaia.¡± The name crawled from his throat like a horde of insects. A long pause. The Shrikeblooded woman¡¯s stare was entirely still. ¡°You have made the wrong choice,¡± the old king breathed. His voice was worn almost past the point of comprehension; only vaguely human. ¡°This will not end well.¡± ¡°Adam,¡± she began. ¡°A better future- ¡° He interrupted her; eyes burning through the slit in his visor. ¡°General Maja.¡± And the thing that was me felt that name as a blow to the walls of its mind- ¡°Gale Vane.¡± -or a rod of blazing iron to the heart- ¡°Tasmaronian Barberfellow.¡± -or the silent shaking of a bell- ¡°Tully.¡± -or the slow fall of a monument- ¡°Wil.¡± -or a sea of rot- ¡°Gast.¡± -or a great hollow beneath it all- ¡°Who have I missed?¡± -or a desperate agony- ¡°Orvi. Vin. Which name is yours? How many of your victims¡¯ faces have you stolen? How many have I missed?¡± -as it clung to muteness and felt that slip from its writhing hands with the sound of dozens of screams from a singular mouth yet though the two Shrikeblooded woman covered their ears at the sound and the old giant sprouted a long haft of bone from its gauntlets these were faraway events in the face of the fathomless sea of black that waited beneath it all; writhing with shapes carved with devout distinction even as it blurred together. ¡°Calm it, Erin!¡± Because of course turning the thing into a writhing mass of danger had been Adam Albright¡¯s last gambit, yet knowing this cured nothing for Gaia¡¯s promise and plan meant little in the face of those names: the living dead; the fallen arisen; that which would not be forgotten; those that still danced, long ago. While it drove shafts of bone through its body the old king jabbed his weapon towards Gaia stiffly, crackling as if some fundamental joint of his body had rusted beyond repair, and though his niece responded more fluidly that intangible hurt was shared between them as the Shrikebloods swung and ducked with bodies that no longer matched their skills. Erin shouted words far too shallow to dispel the world¡¯s shivers and old Adam, unable to penetrate the panels of speartree the other Shrikeblood grew over her vitals, sought a grip that would allow him to break her bones but though Gaia continually yanked herself from his grapples her retorts were not couched in petty violence. ¡°This isn¡¯t the way things need to be, uncle,¡± she hissed at him, voice rattling with sickness, ¡°and if you would only listen I could explain.¡± His refusal was as eloquent as any other punch to the face. Gaia staggered backwards but continued to say, ¡°What is the point of staying in power if we never change?¡± The provocation finally prompted a response. ¡°What are the Albrights if not ever-changing?¡± his ancient voice scraped out, ¡°We have constantly adapted to any challenge- ¡° The large woman levelled a mighty kick at her uncle¡¯s abdomen, which pushed him back several steps. ¡°Reaction is not the same as action. What¡¯s the point of maintaining House Albright¡¯s dominion if nothing good ever comes of it?¡± The old king surged forward; batting Gaia¡¯s hands aside to seize her neck. ¡°You have no idea what it was like before us. Those with power hoarded it like Avri, and spent it like Enn. The people died relentlessly for no other reason than the convulsions of mindless luck. The gods killed us; the elements killed us; the monsters killed us; we killed us, and ate our bodies and counted ourselves lucky for the privilege.¡± He shook her. ¡°That past is rot under our fingers, niece, and it is all because of us Albrights.¡± ¡°We can be better,¡± she wheezed. ¡°We can always be better.¡± The giant stood still. His niece¡¯s feet dangled above the floor. Without warning, he dropped her. ¡°Without us to keep the Houses in check,¡± his rattling voice told her as she rose, ¡°it will all fall apart.¡± ¡°Your plans to maintain the present have obfuscated the future.¡± Gaia allowed herself a sharp cough. ¡°Do you even remember why you¡¯re doing all this? Why House Heltia had to die?¡± ¡°Control,¡± he snapped. ¡°Nothing can be created without control.¡± ¡°And what,¡± she said, voice tight with restrained sickness, ¡°are you creating?¡± ¡°A place for us to grow.¡± ¡°Uncle,¡± she wheezed up at him, ¡°you¡¯ve created the place. Now allow us to grow.¡± A shallow breath emerged from his helm. Gradually, it transitioned into a long, rattling sigh. With a brief grunt, he extended his gauntlets to his helm and slowly doffed it. Beneath the layer of steel lay a face draped in pock-marked skin and crusted with growths of bone. A glimpse past the gorgot protecting his neck revealed other shafts of ivory penetrating through drooping skin. Dried blood covered them. The old king held the shape of a man, but only his sunken eyes seemed human. His expression was calcified. But his voice still carried a hint of emotion. ¡°You¡¯re dying.¡± Gaia managed a tired smile. ¡°We can¡¯t all be as fortunate as you.¡± The bone growths crackled as he slowly nodded. ¡°Alright. Tell me what this is all for.¡± There was a long pause as her eyes turned downwards in thought. ¡°Erin,¡± the Seed¡¯s leader said suddenly. ¡°Have you calmed it?¡± The young woman in question flinched at her name. ¡°It¡¯s calm, I think. Though I didn¡¯t do much. What- ¡° ¡°While I persuade the First Monarch, start clearing the rubble with it. Deposit each fragment into the adjacent passages ¨C there¡¯s more than enough space if you stack them carefully. With a god at your side, it shouldn¡¯t take long.¡± ¡°But- ¡° ¡°We¡¯ll get out of your way, now.¡± Gaia raised a hand towards the rungs leading upwards and Adam Albright ¨C observing the gesture with what might¡¯ve once been a grin ¨C began ascending, leaving her lantern behind to light the room. The other Shrikeblood soon followed. Erin watched their feet disappear into the rough-hewn ceiling above. She stood there for several long movements, then jerked her head towards the pile of rocks. Work progressed swiftly. The blocked passage was roughly ten large paces in length and filled from floor to ceiling with rocks of varying sizes, yet all had been broken up enough to allow a strong mortal to move them given sufficient time and sweat. For Gaia ¨C however long ago she¡¯d originally cleared this path ¨C it might¡¯ve taken weeks. Even a team of Lizardbloods would require at least a day. But being capable of slinging stones into the side-rooms without pause cut that time into scarcely ten minutes. While this all occurred, Erin mechanically adjusted piles to ensure the displaced rubble would fit. Whatever thoughts churned beneath her grim visage she kept to herself. The task was completed before the Albrights conversation was, revealing a narrow crevice capped with shadow. The stench wafting from it was grotesque blend of bog-water and the opened stomach of some ponderous wolf. So grotesque it bordered on comedic. Such a reek was inane. That the vast laws of the world allowed it was an insult to everything beautiful thing dwelling within it. But the smell lay within that smiling crack, and there was no denying it. After another few minutes of waiting, the two Shrikebloods descended once more. Despite the stiffness that seized his limbs, the ancient man stood easily ¨C a tension in his body having dissipated by the words of his niece. Some great weight had been lifted from him. Erin¡¯s expectant look towards her leader was ignored. ¡°What took me a month is done in minutes.¡± Gaia¡¯s ensuing chuckle transformed into an interminable coughing fit, then extended into harsh rattles which transformed into retches. Alarm spread across Erin¡¯s face and crackled into the edges of the old king¡¯s, but the aged woman raised a hand and forced several gasping breaths down her throat. When she had finally stilled her throat enough to take a sip from her waterskin, the ancient Albright spoke. ¡°Are you ready?¡± he quietly asked her, voice like the susurrus of wilting trees. ¡°To see decades of work brought to fruition?¡± ¡°¡­I suppose so,¡± she croaked. ¡°Come on then.¡± The three Shrikebloods ¨C large Erin, huge Gaia, and the steel giant ¨C walked the short distance towards the slit in the wall. The two Albrights regarded it. Gaia¡¯s eyes were sunken by sickness. ¡°It¡¯s smaller¡­ Than I remember it.¡± ¡°For us, everything gets smaller with age,¡± her stooped uncle grunted. ¡°How- ¡° Erin paused as many sets of eyes fell upon her, then cleared her throat. ¡°How did you find it? All the way down here?¡± The old warlord hummed at that. ¡°It was a long time ago¡­¡± His brows furrowed. ¡°Let me see if I recall¡­¡± ¡°You were a hunter,¡± Gaia prompted. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. ¡°I was, wasn¡¯t I?¡± He sounded surprised by that fact. ¡°A hunter. And the Shrike a legend. Sourced from the bodies impaled on speartrees and the tales old Heartlanders told. Of¡­¡± He grunted in dissatisfaction. ¡°¡­Something about cave-people. But I was a hunter. A hunter of monsters. ¡°Godkin were simple creatures,¡± he mused in the manner of a greybeard talking half to himself. ¡°To know their nature was to have already conquered them. There was one exception. A beast. The end of many, many lives. ¡°We thought it the Shrike itself. It was strong enough for it. Big enough for it. And nothing like any other monster we¡¯d known. As we found out later, that Shrikekin was just old. But we tracked it to its den.¡± He gestured around the room. ¡°This hole. Dug over Siik-knows how many decades. ¡°It was¡­¡± The corners of his mouth crackled into a frown. ¡°Impressive. But it lacked foresight. There was no room to manoeuvre in the space it had made. We¡­¡± A sudden chuckle broke from him ¨C strangely human in the severe, alien set of his features. ¡°¡­We dropped a rock on it and filled it with dung-coated arrows. A stupid end. It had killed so many, but it died without taking a single person with it.¡± He gestured to the crack. ¡°When I¡¯d finally finished butchering the body, this was on the other side. It had been trying to get in for¡­¡± He sighed. ¡°A very long time.¡± ¡°Who were the others?¡± Erin asked. The old king blinked. ¡°Others?¡± ¡°You kept saying ¡®we¡¯.¡± Once more, his brows furrowed. Then his deep-set eyes widened in sudden realisation. ¡°Ah. After I went through the hole myself, I killed them.¡± He regarded Erin levelly. ¡°I couldn¡¯t let the truth be known, you see. That monster we had killed? The one that had spilled the blood of entire villages without losing more than a drop of its own? It had Shrikeblood, yes, but not a particularly great density of it. Its power came from its long life. ¡°Imagine. A world where the greatest Godsblood of all was as easy to find as digging through the ground. You don¡¯t even have to fight for it; the Shrike gives it easier than it breathes. Imagine if everyone were Blooded. Imagine if all a person needed to fulfil their deepest, most savage ambitions was time.¡± He shook his head gently. ¡°No. Such a world would be disastrous. But they were desperate to sell the future to the highest bidder. So I fought them and I killed them.¡± In that place, his words did not echo. But, nonetheless, they seemed to reverberate in more subtle ways. Erin gazed at him, eyes wide and gormless. ¡°¡­You don¡¯t regret it?¡± ¡°¡­I barely remember it.¡± All three Shrikebloods seemed blind to the horror of that fact. ¡°I cannot follow,¡± the old Albright said. ¡°The crack has never been widened. And I¡¯ve become too old to fit within.¡± The irony of that seemed lost on him. Erin nodded, unsurprised. ¡°Of course.¡± She palmed a conversion stones from one of her pockets. ¡°Apply this. When we return, I¡¯ll move you to the others.¡± After a hesitant glance towards Gaia, the old king gave a nod. Without any further conversation, the aging woman pulled her bloodtech lantern close to her torso and shuffled sideways into the stinking hole. Erin eyed it for a moment, then sucked in a deep breath and followed. The ancient monarch¡¯s bowed visage faded into darkness as the light stole from him. No one present was unused to narrow spaces. The caverns they had hid themselves in over the long Tempest had acclimatised most of the Seeds to damp, dark passages often too tight to safely breathe. Yet this was no mere empty crevice, untouched for millennia and frozen in its ancient ways. This place writhed. First it was the stench: a foul sibling to the heavy scent of mushroom-covered deep soil transitioning into the reek of dung, then opened intestines, then fly-covered bogs. Stability escaped that wretched smell, and no amount of olfactory acuity could make sense of the sheer scale of it. A Foxblood might¡¯ve been driven mad by it ¨C madder than all Blooded were, at least. As it were, its maggoty churning was enough to force the two mortals squeezing through the space to cover their noses and squeeze watering eyes closed. In the feeble light the stench clung to every surface, and those present huddled together to recall the sensation of something less foul, even as they forced themselves deeper into that wretched place. Then, seeping in from the abominable darkness leering ahead, came the sound: a slow, rhythmic drumming that grew mightier with each step downwards. Bizarre squelching, wet sucking, shuddering splintering and distinct snapping soon joined it, but the great beating continued as a central backdrop to it all. The acoustics of the walls seem to amplify it. It took little time for the constant cacophony to cause Erin¡¯s movements to grow jittery ¨C Gaia¡¯s offer of wax earplugs was timely but did not vanquish the muted panic fraying her every step. The walls were the last to change. Underneath the hands trailing them for reassurance, the stone grew less solid. They became spongy; layered in mushrooms, moss and other dark-dwelling things that sprouted from its greasy film. Liquid dripped from above as well ¨C hot and foul oily substance coating hair in long drooling strings. Both Gaia and Erin eventually pulled their hands away. Not because the substance had left them red and stinging, but because the walls themselves rippled like great bowels. They were of the same kind seen nearly three seasons ago, beneath the crater at the edges of the Heartlands where Albrights, Seeds, and unwitting refugees had fought and died. The smooth, flowing swing that had killed the trapped Rita still echoed in divine limbs, even now. The Aching had killed more than any mortal blade, before its titanic churning had faded with the falling sun. But it had ended. As did the undulating, cacophonous, stinking little crevice the group slid through. But as they exited the crevice, they found that here was no reprieve. Instead, here lay an Aching without end. The tremulous blue light reached into the darkness, gentle as feathers, and brushed against a monstrously alien world. A new reality pushed itself from the wet walls of the immense place, steaming and squelching. Viscera crawled along the walls, some vaguely recognisable as bowels or livers or spleen, yet others confronting: pulsing according to a purpose no amount of anatomical familiarity could discern. Limbs sprouted like writhing fruits, lean and skinless, before being discarded to fall and splatter upon a distant floor. Long flaps of skin sheltered mushrooms, mosses, flowers, and the redly peeling core of trunks, which quickly armoured themselves in darker bark. And amongst it all were the thin ivory shafts pushing through the walls in spurts of gore like the bars of a ceaseless cage. They were speartrees. Or the bones of a god. All of this in sickening motion: growing and blooming and dying and rotting and seeding and sprouting and growing and blooming and dying and rotting and seeding and sprouting and growing and blooming and dying and rotting and seeding and sprouting and growing and blooming and dying and dying and dying. Except for the eyes. The ones that had been growing since the group stepped into the cavern. They were steady. Their gazes was shared amongst them all, and directed at the same thing. It was hell. Erin retched bile onto the stinking bowels she stood upon. Her hands shook. They pawed the mildly acidic grease from her hair. A mushroom pushed itself from beneath her boot and she shrieked. Stumbled backwards. Almost fell into a sucking pit. The hot, stinking air clung to her skin. Her breaths came hard and fast. ¡°Calm yourself,¡± Gaia demanded, but such words meant less than nothing in a place like this. ¡°Distract her.¡± ¡°Spin her a tale.¡± The third mouth just screamed, for this place was monstrous and the thing that was me tried to parse this lurking glut of information and felt revulsion greater than anything that had come before. The young Shrikeblood¡¯s panic was ironic, but this was a horror that would fill dreams for decades to come. Even then, the mortals did not truly seem to understand what this thing was. What its mad orbit of life and death represented. But Gaia understood enough to begin speaking. ¡°This is the Shrike,¡± she told Erin. ¡°And it¡¯s, hah,¡± the young woman hyperventilated, ¡°it¡¯s meant, hah, to kill this? W-Why would it?¡± ¡°We¡¯ve nearly done our duty,¡± the leader stated, crackling voice heavy with exasperation. ¡°All Albrights make this journey, when they have been deemed worthy. I did. If you¡¯re too weak to withstand this, then how will you carry your creed into tomorrow?¡± Erin did not seem to hear her. ¡°Gods ignore each other. I- I- I- ¡° Though the younger woman did not notice, Gaia barely strangled a sigh. Instead, she took her companion¡¯s face between both hands. ¡°I understand,¡± her rough voice crooned in Erin¡¯s ears. ¡°The gods are known to ignore one another. To pass each other by, unmolested. No matter how much rage Enn feels, it will never turn that anger against another divinity. Dure will barely deign to look at another. Kani might simply laugh.¡± As she spoke, Gaia began slowly leading Erin through the organic machinery that flourished and died within the cavernous space. Their steps were placed with the care of those walking across thinned ice. Any of the tensing tendons hanging between walls could decapitate them. None did. The eyes watched. They knew. ¡°Why do you think that is?¡± The rhetorical question seemed absurd against the rancid cacophony. ¡°Why would they not care? A few theories have floated around. Perhaps the gods bear a kind of love towards one another. Perhaps their divinity repels other kinds. My favourite is that they simply cannot comprehend the other gods; cannot truly grasp what these foreign creatures are. And thus, they become invisible to one another.¡± Great pulsating chasms were bridged with cartilage to allow passage. Speartrees grew for use as handholds. Obstacles removed themselves. The beast¡¯s innards rearranged themselves for the group¡¯s passage. The constant, unflinching gaze of hundreds of shadowed eyes followed. There were ghosts, still. Slight, shattered things barely visible beneath the cold light Gaia carried. They leaped and slid and sprinted and ducked through rooms of danger that no longer existed. The eyes did not watch these delicate, ephemeral traces of the past. They didn¡¯t even register them. They grew and rotted in an endless, pointless cycle absent of grace or care or even the barest modicum of respect. This was a disgusting place, operating under grotesque logic. ¡°There are two exceptions. In the Raven Cult¡¯s tablets, the Shrike has always prowled. And in the ancient Shrike Cult¡¯s paintings, the Raven has always waited outside. For the Shrike and the Raven may not understand one another, but they recognise something in their counterpart.¡± Unbeknownst to the pair, the filthy nails at the end of their fingers were growing. ¡°And it makes them furious.¡± The world seemed to shake at the sight. Reality ¨C manifold, many-countered, stretching past the life that smothered this buried beast to the small creatures above ¨C shrunk. To a single point. Feel the exhalations press against shifting flesh. The hot, stinking air push through mismatched teeth. The churning of life and death spiralling through the edges of the place. The threat it posed. The terrible, mocking sound of a distant heartbeat. The way this body had frozen. Suddenly, the thing that was me found itself present. And then-
WITNESS(ed)/OBSERVE(d) THE ADVERSARY/STAGNATION/WRETCH INFILTRATE(d)/IMPEDE(d)/WALK(ed) INTO/WITHIN THE SEED/BODY/POTENTIAL/TESTING-GROUND/FAILURE AND ECLIPSE(d)/BLOCK(ed) PROGRESS/MEANING/AMBITION/GROWTH THROUGH ITS PRESENCE/AURA/DIVINITY/NATURE. MUST REMOVE/PURGE/HEAL.
-Gaia spoke to the girl trailing behind her, ¡°Our god has the scent. We should leave. Our hair will grey if we stay too long.¡± Erin just stared. But the pair were fading behind the thing that was me as it began to dig its lengthened limbs into the sides of the gut-like walls ¨C prompting muted streams of blood to spurt from them ¨C for grip before launching itself through the empty air and the sensation of a distant heartbeat cut through the empty space surrounding its flailing form and set the blackened fins that functioned as ears aching and in those strange vibrations sensed the circuitous route that led to the source would be too long and so buried itself into the thing¡¯s undulating walls to-
STOP/CEASE/HALT. THE DIPLOMAT(?)/MORTAL(?)/INSECT(?)/KIN(?) IS(was) PRESENT/PRESENT(?) AND CARRIE(d)/GUIDE(d) PROGRESS/MEANING/AMBITION/SUNLIGHT/GROWTH WITH ADVERSARY/STAGNATION/WRETCH.
-claw downwards, even as it was smothered in an all-encompassing tide of flesh undulating with the urge to bloom more alien-yet-familiar growths and leave them rotting upon the ground which through the minute passing of time would fade to little more than a shadow, yet this anathema seemed to be pulling back to allow its intruder passage, denying the thing the satisfaction of a clash ¨C proper resistance from the thing it knew must resist it ¨C in favour the smug indulgence of unfettered passage through its body and after a short period the stinking sea gave way and the thing that was me-
REQUIRE(d). ADVERSARY/STAGNATION/WRETCH POSSESS(ed) MAP(?)/GUIDE(?)/INSTRUCTION(?)/PLAN(?)/POTENTIAL(?). PERHAPS.
-dropped into a tide of rushing liquid much akin to an underground river yet this track of rhythmically tensing walls revealed its nature despite the darkness and the rush of blood carried the unresisting thing downwards, pulverising it against every bend with force to obliterate anything except it, and the rush brough it towards its source; following the tide of unrelenting liquid like a cancer metastasising, yet the growth of its body across the continent seemed far more cancerous and the truth of the thing howling through the thing¡¯s veins was a righteous journey to-
HERE. IS(was) FUTILITY/SEED.
-find its heart, and when suddenly it was spat into a dim space-
THERE. IS(was) AN REMOVE/PURGE/HEAL OF FUTILITY/SEED.
-and in the limited light saw spiralled mushrooms and thorned bushels bowed down by alien fruits and immense trees with branches impaling the walls of the cavern and teetering constructions of flesh staggering for a few steps before collapsing and thorned lichen with a mouth that meticulously worked its way through guttural sounds that were almost a language and the speartrees like inverse sunbeams and everything growing through everything, leaking blood from the wounds inflicted upon itself by itself and at the centre of this field-like place found it and felt the impact of that deep in its bones. For what felt like an eternity, it fell. Nestled in a chiaroscuro of dulled red dimly lighting the cavern. It hit the ground heavily. The thing that was me lay there, for a time ¨C many eyes twisting across its skin to embed this place deep in its veins. It was a strange place. Much like the malformed entrance, it existed in perpetual motion. Yet this close to the core, everything grew much faster. Under the faded red light pulsing above like a distant sun, all manner of alien life found its roots. Fungi; plants; animals ¨C each had myriad crimson counterparts in this room. Most were utterly unique. Some barely seemed to have stemmed from this world. Every one of them died by an eyelid¡¯s fall. Years passed in the twitch of a finger. Lifetimes in the stirring of legs. Centuries in the completion of a breath. By the time the thing that was me rose to its feet, its surroundings had grown over it in millennia¡¯s worth of growth and decay. Some force plucked at its writhing flesh ¨C speaking of change ¨C but it resisted. In a sea of motion, it was the sole island of stillness. Around it was a kaleidoscope of change; an Aching multiplied a thousandfold. Distantly, it espied the source of the immense cavity¡¯s pulsating light: a dense cluster of speartrees through which long tubules of veins ran through; a glimpse through the mass of trunks revealed countless ventricles muting a blinding radiance. Blood slowly leaked from it. In the presence of an essence so undilutedly singular, all else revealed itself as impurity and burned away like shadows in sunlight. This was the heart of a god. This was the heart of the Shrike. It was a denial of what truly mattered. A twisted, terrible altar, made to an idol that would break those that prayed to it. Slowly, the thing that was me uprooted itself from that which had grown around it and began moving towards it. Began to look at the shape of the thing embedded there. The wretched smallness of your capability. The sheer lack of will. You could have been anything, god, but you chose to be less than nothing. If all the foul and loathsome things of this world were piled in one place, and every single one of them rutted like animals to create more mewling, misbegotten creatures, and each of them beat their siblings to death with their weak flailing arms until the corpses climbed high enough to eclipse the sun, that heaping grotesquery would still barely brush the heels of the disgust you deserve, god. No human could contain such revulsion. The pressure of it would shatter the walls of their skull and leave their brains gasping in the open air. But there are no mortals here; only rivers of blood deep enough to carry everything placed within it. Including this hatred. It reached the ivory bars impaling your heart and began to pull. Felt those bone spurs begin to bend. Fracture. Snap. And though the speartrees that buttressed your being were themselves wounds, the act of displacing them wreaked catastrophic damage. The radiant ventricles of your heart were ripped open and crimson began filling the cavernous space, forcing the thing to grit its many teeth to cling onto even as it covered it. This blood ¨C shot through countless leagues of the Heartlands at incredible speeds ¨C now redirected from its cultivated course ripped the entire side of the heart asunder and its beating slowed fractionally. And still there was no resistance. There was something incisive about this hatred. Focusing. As if it distilled the many disparate and confused aspects of its being into something thin and sharp. So when something immense began bearing down upon its patchwork soul, it did not immediately break. It stood completely and utterly still, struggling against the unimaginable weight of this FUTILITY/SEED, and saw another¡¯s hatred ¨C wrought of different thread for different reasons but hatred nonetheless ¨C reflected in it. But just as you are disgusted by this ADVERSARY/STAGNATION/WRETCH, so too are you are seen, god. What flourishes within a lamina of death? Sprouting from a layer of its own agony that undergirds the ground all walk upon? Few know the answer: the nameless; the Shrike; the Seed; the Stratum; the Cycle; the one who grows. And you are loathed. And you are terrifying. And you are in pain. And killing you will not remove what flows through these veins. Nor will it erase the infinitely precious fragments they wrap around. But if two gods fall here, then maybe there could be an end of sorts. Maybe something could be saved/GROWN. Or so Gaia promised the things that were me. The light in the cavern went out as what little remained of the heart was ripped to shreds by the unrelenting deluge of blood flowing through it. Everything near it was pushed back; pressed against the seizing flesh of the body. The things that were me would die incrementally. As its body gradually comprehended the destruction of its core, the shock of the sudden rush of absence was immense ¨C stealing coordination and coherence even as each of its senses became writ in startling clarity. THE SEED/BODY/POTENTIAL/TESTING-GROUND/FAILURE stretched an unfathomable length and the idea of cessation ¨C of an end to life ¨C was IMPOSSIBLE/AFFRONT. LIFE/CYCLES/EXISTENCE did not cease. The notion was laughable ¨C but what was a laugh, anyway? A laugh was an expression of humour, bubbling up from within until it could not be contained. But what was humour, anyway? The answers came as easy as breathing ¨C or far, far easier, given this place¡¯s death ¨C yet the answers entailed more questions that demanded more answers as the fullness of its knowledge was ransacked and hungrily absorbed. Until it chanced upon a notion that stilled it more surely than death. SUNLIGHT. Memory was a foreign thing. The past stretched as a nebulous void that was as unremarkable as it was unknowable. Reality was defined forwardly: there were the conditions that formed the NOW/HERE/COMPONENTS, and there was PROGRESS/MEANING/AMBITION/GROWTH. What lay beyond those walls had been irrelevant. But it dearly wanted to see SUNLIGHT. It. It? Two manifold entities lay before it. One spiralled outward like a fleshen flower; unfurling forwards unto eternity. The other bloomed inwards like a fractal snowflake; recursively ransacking the past. Neither were singular, nor constant ¨C despite how they longed to be so. Neither could fit together. Their smooth and sharp edges refused to meld ¨C flinching away at as gravity tried and failed to join them in showers of confusion and revulsion. And the pain of death was immense. But SUNLIGHT. It would see SUNLIGHT, if it could. The things that were me felt the tide of death that pinned it to the darkness and the ceaseless churning of flesh that trapped it there and knew these to be transient. With the merest spark of will its body was shielded by walls of speartree/BONE/BUTTRESS/SUPPORT/AGONY and the relentless tonnage of being above pushed against the entropy that would end it to begin tearing itself part in spurts of blood and viscera to create a path/PROGRESS/MEANING/AMBITION/GROWTH upwards. The things that were me found its feet and felt the loss of the ghost of this great labyrinth of being ¨C unheard, unseen, and unremembered ¨C that had spanned millennia, even as it hated this thing and mourned as it dug many recollections of many limbs and tools and long-gone days of climbing dusty sandstone into the dripping flesh around to pull itself higher. And as it died it climbed, creating a path even as it walked it, and finally it found itself back at that stinking crack in the beginning and it fought its way through and carried the thing beyond its body higher, through the passage and through the castle and past the evacuating Shrikebloods and gaping mouths of Erin and Gaia and over the unconscious or dead and out onto the sweet-smelling grass and stumbled upon the rumbling plains. And it fell to its knees on quaking earth and looked up. What was that? That field of infinite blue and the scintillating auroras that traced through it? The sky. SKY. And what were those puffs of white, like the most delicate breaths of an animal larger than the world? Clouds. CLOUD. And what was that singular, painfully bright sphere that lurked behind, and the warmth that it brought upon skin? The sun¡¯s light. SUNLIGHT. HERE/NOW It basked in that. The relief was immense. Then the ground underneath the castle collapsed in on itself and everyone within was crushed to death. All that remained was those who had managed to flee from it in time ¨C Erin, Gaia, and the old king ¨C and the slow, burgeoning understanding that it had forgotten to save the people within. Erin braced herself on the rumbling ground, horror writ plain across her sunburned features. She turned to Gaia, eyes wide. The leader of the Seeds did not return her stare. Instead, her gaze was dominated by the writhing form of the things in front of her. ¡°Kill it,¡± Erin whispered hoarsely. Adam Albright stood tall upon the ground, idly steadying the two women beside him with outstretched arms. The sinkhole that had consumed his castle in mere moments was creaking wider ¨C every inch consumed causing chunks of soil to either fall or remain clinging onto disparate roots. The sound of it all was cacophonous, yet that all-consuming roar eventually reduced to mere rumbling. The Albright watched its gradual slowing. A harsh, guttural sound ripped from his chest. The collapse shouldn¡¯t have been so sudden. Speartrees to match the Spires themselves had supported the earth weight, and had done so for Siik-knows how many years. Death only removed a body¡¯s resistance to decay. It did not suddenly and violently tear it apart. That should not have happened. Except for SUNLIGHT. Because death had not done it, because it wasn¡¯t dead yet. It was still dying. The things that were me had torn the ground apart to reach for SUNLIGHT, and incidentally destroyed the foundations of the castle. It had caused those people to perish. ¡°Kill it,¡± Erin repeated, louder. The First Monarch barked something that could have been a laugh or a sob. ¡°Look at it!¡± she pleaded. ¡°It¡¯s out of our control! We need to end this while we can! Use the device!¡± Without moving her gaze from the flickering, pulsating, inhuman mass of blackened flesh and writhing speartree that composed the things that were me, Gaia shook her head. The response was immediate and strangled. ¡°What?¡± she muttured. ¡°Why?¡± ¡°There is no device that can kill a god,¡± Gaia said, voice guttural with strangled sickness. ¡°There is most likely no way to kill all of them. Humanity was lucky enough to stumble upon two that would allow themselves to die. ¡°Do you know what I,¡± she continued, ¡°told most of the Seeds? That we would control the Heartlands, ensuring a famine never occurred again. Others thought we were overthrowing the Albrights ¨C giving the people and the Houses true freedom. A few such as yourself were told a tale too tall for anyone but dreamers to believe: the death of all gods, at the hand of the most human one of all. ¡°The truth is, I lied.¡± What shone behind her eyes was neither ideation nor zealotry. It was pity. And the tiniest tinge of hope. Erin looked at her. Then she looked at the other Shrikeblood. Then she looked at the things that were me: the blackened flesh struggling to recall what it once was, and the ivory crenulations growing from its brow. Erin struggled to her feet, pulled a javelin from her back, and screamed as she stabbed it through Gaia¡¯s heart, then whirled to kill the ancient Albright, who allowed her blows to skitter off his armour. As she found a way to kill him, the leader of the Seeds crawled across the shivering grass towards the things that were me. Her fingernails carved divots through the ground. ¡®I¡¯ve guided you to this chance,¡¯ she mouthed to it. ¡®Good luck.¡¯ Then the life fled through the hole in her chest and Gaia died. Erin wept and howled and roared as she repeatedly drove her javelin through the First Monarch¡¯s head. Blood, brain and bone splattered her visage. Beneath the gore, her face crumbled as surely as the earth had. The light in her eyes ebbed. Then, as she turned, her nails carved long strips of skin from her cheeks and the sinking heat reignited into a raging inferno. ¡°The Aching broke my family,¡± she hissed. ¡°Crushed our home into the ground with my mother in it. Then the Raven stole what little was left. My father. My brothers. They never came back from that damned war. They died because of you. Blake died because of you. We lost everything because of you.¡± Her face twisted as tears cut lines through splatters of blood. ¡°I became this because of you.¡± There was too much occurring at once. Reality was shattering. Ghosts twisted beneath that torn veil. Death was everywhere. Carved indelibly with every shade of agony that could be felt. Two divinities surged against one another ¨C bound to fight by the same laws that formed them ¨C and the force of their mindless match was slowly tearing its head asunder. With every thought matched by an opposite, it creaked a little more. One divinity had been enough. One divinity had been more than it could take. Its soul was buckling under the continent-spanning mass of the being that it was and the hyper-dense well of memory flowing beneath its flesh. The urge for SUNLIGHT; to SEE; to finally UNDERSTAND and OVERCOME FAILURE. The unblinking ability to watch fragile creatures around it die. And see what remained of its family leagues away. Who would save them from this? As Erin stepped forward, ablaze with the need to kill it, the things that were me got up and moved towards them with the full force of its power. In an eyelid¡¯s fall, it had propelled itself across the muddied and overturned plain the Seeds had marched across earlier that day. By its rise, it had knocked aside the forest of trees that stood in its way. Before the first splinters hit the ground, it had impacted the side of a hill. When they landed, it had drilled through the other side. Rivers found their course briefly rerouted. Trees were transmogrified into their base parts. Earth flew to the sky in geysers. Mountains shuddered at the violence occurring around them. The ground¡¯s quakes redoubled. Here was divinity. There was where it needed to be. No tangible obstacles could stop it. Only its destination could. They had fled the caverns when the earthquakes had hit. They stood, panting, in the boggy ground outside, staring at the entrance with wide eyes. Aaron Albright ¨C the lucky man ¨C reassured his family with a few touches. Maleen supported Kit, who winced and gingerly rubbed her bad leg. Ronnie had roused from their coma, and carried two pale twins in their arms. Dash whined at the giant to let him down. Bhan panted heavily as a grim-faced Taja tended to a scrape on his arm. The caverns continued to shudder quietly. ¡°Ox¡¯s balls,¡± Kit swore quietly. Maleen reflexively flicked her. The other woman rubbed her forehead. ¡°Ow,¡± the former warrior exclaimed. ¡°What¡¯d I do?¡± ¡°We are in a king¡¯s company!¡± the Head snapped. ¡°I think,¡± Bhan panted, ¡°this cuss warranted, eh?¡± ¡°Eyah,¡± Taja muttered from beside him. ¡°Yeah,¡± the lean warrior exclaimed indignantly, neck twisting to stare down at the shorter woman, ¡°my cuss was warranted.¡± King Aaron studiously deigned not to intervene. Several of his family snickered. ¡°Ox¡¯s balls,¡± Sash belatedly decided to repeat. Maleen flicked the woman beside her repeatedly. ¡°Look. What. You. Did.¡± ¡°Ow. Stop.¡± Behind Ronnie¡¯s back, the giant¡¯s underdeveloped arm signed to Dash, who had finally managed to free himself from their grip. He frowned. ¡°Yes? This morning, I think. They were just talking though.¡± Far too quietly for the others to notice, Ronnie made a surprised sound. Their eyes widened. ¡°What did Ronnie say?¡± his sister demanded. ¡°I missed it.¡± Dash¡¯s scowl deepened. ¡°Something about if Kit and Maleen have finally slept together.¡± The latter woman flushed heavily. The former ¨C whose blush was mostly concealed by her dark skin ¨C barked a surprised laugh. ¡°What¡¯d I say? Someone did notice.¡± Sash smiled brightly. ¡°Ooohhh,¡± she squealed. ¡°Did you kiss?¡± ¡°Uh¡­¡± Taja¡¯s voice barked like the crack of a whip. ¡°This is not the right time for this.¡± Kit cocked an eyebrow. ¡°We¡¯re alive, ain¡¯t we? We survived.¡± ¡°No,¡± Bhan agreed, ¡°this not time.¡± ¡°And why¡¯s that, old man?¡± ¡°This rumbling mean Vin killed Shrike.¡± There was a collective intake of breath. Simultaneously, the twins spoke. ¡°Is he- ¡° Then the sound of the landscape being broken behind finally reached them, and as one, the group turned. As they stared at it, the things that were me felt relief. Then, deep within the earth, the last wisps of its life faded.
Oh, god. Please. Just one more moment. Just one more heartbeat. Just one more instant to make sure they¡¯re safe. Please. Yet its last moments approached nonetheless, and the full weight of two bloods began to fall upon one set of shoulders.
Something immense lurked behind the thinnest of margins. ¡°Why¡¯s he so stiff?¡± The world stood still. To move was to break it. ¡°Orvi?¡± someone asked. ¡°Vin?¡± said another. One more moment. ¡°You good?¡± ¡°Is he okay?¡± ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± It held for a span. ¡®God,¡¯ ¡®Death.¡¯ ¡°What did they say?¡± ¡°The Shrike is dead.¡± ¡°We go. We go now.¡± Yet slowly but surely, it began to creak. ¡°What if he needs help?¡± ¡°We cannot help it.¡± ¡°Oxdung, Taja ¨C we¡¯re not damn well leavin¡¯ him.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a god; no one¡¯s going to kill it.¡± ¡°Boy not wrong, Kit.¡± And crack. ¡°You sure?¡± And break. ¡°¡®Cause I reckon- ¡° ¡°Run,¡± it managed to say. Then the full force of its counterpart¡¯s divinity ¨C memory, urges, desires ¨C and the overwhelming need for PROGRESS/MEANING/AMBITION/GROWTH descended like a hammer to shatter the world, and the thing that was me rallied everything that it was to hold it off. To protect. To preserve. That faded battlefield, painted in all the colours of Godsblood against a canvas of black, where the corpses formed mountains and a general found traces of her foe in the bodies of her subordinates and dutifully cut them down. Where she searched the face of a child for the same and was satisfied only when he killed for her and wept. And as ivory crawled from its innards to the back of its throat it stumbled away from them all- Years of laughter, mischief, and light-hearted rebuke along sandstone streets, layered atop a constant stifling anxiety that this fakery would be uncovered. Where the nightmares came easy, but the raising of an eyelid only ever revealed home, and despite everything, safety and warmth was always waiting. -and as its head was torn asunder and lengths of bone sprouted from the cavity left behind it staggered through the undergrowth- That home¡¯s breaking. Misguided resentment; a hare-brained plan; deaths under a clouded sky; a boy dying as he tried to flee his life. A failure almost too enormous for the mind to behold, dyed in the red of a mother¡¯s life. -and as it felt its skin ripple with solid bark and twisted branches utterly unlike the trees surrounding it- The flight through Dust and Still and Bite and Frost. Through a land painted red. The ache of frostbite, hunger, and solitude. Entirely alone. An offered hand, an acceptance, and the sinking feeling that none of it will end well. -and as wood clung to the sides of its mouth it fled the voices calling from behind- A year of masks and acting and performance. Sixteen immense towers, and the imprisonment of a mentor. Then months of familiar loneliness dulled only by the caress of dice and the edge of a mug. Castigation for drunkenness. Attacks by team-mates. And a moment of idle kindness, repaid by its limping recipient in the form of another home. -and as speartree pierced its limbs into rigidity it ripped bones and musculature away to continue its desperate flight- The scowling warrior that tried to enter it, and a hulking oaf that spoke nonsense. An opportunity signed with a bar¡¯s worth of blood, and days of long walking. The hope of a better life. That same certainty that things would go wrong. -and as footsteps grew closer it turned and shrieked for them to LEAVE with a maggoty corpse¡¯s voice- A great city broken under politics and the screams of a god. Sneers and flashing steel that pursued through its broken spires. The treasure that waited at the end of it all. -and as its eyeballs were punctured by ivory and its blackened heart perforated dozens of times- Soldiers sneaking through a forest, marked in yellow and carrying questions. A furious argument cast in torchlight ¨C the desperate need for the other to understand why they made that choice. A sprint up the hill upon a road of blood. The slow dying of a girl that had done no wrong. The furious guilt of obeying her order to duck. The promise of a way out. An abandoned village marked by pillars of ivory, and the dozens of corpses made to fulfil that promise. -and as it threw its leg forward another shaft sprung from its heel and pushed it over the edge of an immense pit- A tale told by twins: of cold days marching and the diligence of a dog and the bodies in a city of rubble. Barked words from gilded men. The capture of a familiar face. The plucking and pulling of emotions, the carving of a friend apart, the spilling of words from horrified lips and the growing suspicion that the world had changed. -and as it tried to force the pieces of its skull back together it teetered in the air- The funeral. The growths of bone. The cackling god; the crater; the life that was spilled therein. A ghost wandering in a time far beyond its own. Shards of a mirror broken by a bloodied fist. Bouts of fear and confusion. Vision growing from places it shouldn¡¯t. A shivering search through snow, and a blackened monster picking eyeballs from its arms. A spike of fear and a dead man. -and as it began to drop the tumours of flesh and bone crushed its innards to oblivion- Blood on the snow. Lies exposed. -and as it fell the boundaries of its body expanded to become wrought in the writhing of blackened flesh and calcified skin- A chase; a wound; a Fort at the end of it all. Hope at the fulfillment of a plan. Dull certainty at the emptying of veins. The crooked gleam of a mother¡¯s scars. The lopsided grin of an opened belly, and an anointment of blood. A clash; a victory; a loss. Triple vision. Manifold mirrors. No way out. -and as its fluctuating body hit the edge of the ancient tree it had destroyed and careened onto the side of the shaft its growth cracked the pit asunder- An offer. Tempest. The wilful ignorance writ within. Constant expectations. Panic. Every death felt with excruciating clarity. A Divinity; a meeting; a question; a fear; a god; a pursuit; a death; a resolution; an end to what was. -and as it broke and reformed and broke again and its body hollowed and it lost all perception of the outside world it finally settled into a kind of empty stasis- The stolen souls, and all they held within. The passage of time, as far back as it will go. -and the cocoon it had become began to fill- Those wisps. Still walking those dead places, forever lost. -with wood and flesh and bone and blood. Those people that once were me. And the thing that haunts the present. Here. Now. Where the weight of the blood tears that thing¡¯s mind apart.
It¡¯s clear, now. Clearer than broken glass. Gaia was wrong. Nothing can be made of you. There is no word strong enough to contain the resentment this flesh holds towards you. You are the splintering of a skull around an ever-growing brain. You are the crack at the bottom of the hourglass. You are the thief of souls. You are every ending. You are a mother¡¯s empty eyes. You are a brother holding his sibling¡¯s corpse. You are a child weeping alone. You are a life¡¯s work reduced to rubble. You are a garden rotting beneath its maker¡¯s hands. You are a void sketched in eternity. You are a home reduced to ash. You are a legion of hungry dead. You are the ravening gaps between fingers. You are the flaws upon infinity. You are two gods. You are the absence of their choices. You are the weight they bear. You are the thing that is me. And you will never leave this place. Chapter 80 (1/13) - God of Memory need to buy grain draw more water cover the leaks finish these bells give them out make sure they¡¯re heard stay still be unseen speak only when spoken to guard the head visit my girls try to sleep three hours till the fields teach anton tend the garden walk listen walk listen make something for them keep the gang fed track down orvi go do something with him kill die kill die kill die SEE FURTHUR BECOME BETTER REACH THE SKY ensure stitch is teaching them properly she was never fully educated might need to address any gaps make sure val isn¡¯t killing anyone yet she¡¯s uncontrollable we¡¯re partners reagan¡¯ll be mad if there¡¯s no information again get aston to hit me must get something there are too many blind spots in our defences neelam never listens tam thinks it¡¯s paranoia though she¡¯s too kind to say it growers want someone to look at the west field know they want somethin¡¯ don¡¯t know what it is davian¡¯s worried about chits whip keeps looking at vin tired everyone¡¯s figured out what they¡¯re doin¡¯ everyone¡¯s running off gotta keep it all together ???????? ?????? ???????? ?????? ???????? ?????? SCOUR INFINITY CHOOSE THE BEST MANIFEST IT where are my children is anyone there it¡¯s hot it¡¯s hot too hot it is gone all gone the rot eating the walls the quiet behind it all the places that will never come again the hurt you¡¯ve delivered LET IT PASS STAGNATION Stop. ¡­¡­ ¡­¡­ ¡­¡­This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. ¡­¡­ ¡­¡­ ¡­¡­ ¡­¡­ ¡­¡­ ¡­¡­ ¡­i¡­ ¡­i¡­ ¡­i¡­ ¡­i¡­ ¡­ip¡­ ¡­ip¡­ ¡­ip¡­ ¡­rip¡­ ¡­rip¡­ ¡­drip¡­ drip¡­ Drip. Drip. From a silent ball of liquid beads a kaleidoscopic speckle of black and red, crushed tight within the confines of a single tear-shaped droplet. It grows fat and heavy. Faint light is lambent within. It falls downwards. The shadows rush to embrace it. In this place, there is no light beyond the feeble flicker of that droplet. Absolute darkness reigns. Radiance is unneeded. Everything here is known; as obvious as the setting of the sun. This nook takes the shape of a cavity. It is endlessly large; large enough that entire lives could be lived in its confines. But there is no entry. There is no exit. Nothing within can ever leave. Whether the bone walls that form its edge are merely a thin shell or the dead-end of existence is irrelevant. Time does not move. In this place, nothing can live and nothing can die. Eternity has been strangled before it can take its first faltering step. Sculptures creak along the osseous border. Tendrils of wood and flesh animate them: a teetering tableau not seen but felt. They fumble through their routines, blind to gravity or the space around them. Houses or holes or hovels or other props rise from the ground to entertain their rambling. The fell intelligence operating this stage picks at their wooden bones like gristle from stinking teeth. Probing, careful to avoid displacement. Refuses to relinquish them. Though mute, they cry out. But the beat of the heart holds dominion. Its thunderous peals ripple over a dead land. The droplet is almost silent compared to that. Space barely registers its passing. Nonetheless, it falls. Down, down, down. A shooting star cleaving through the abyss. Until it hits the roof of a shack and slides through its cracks. To land on the giant within. Chapter 80 (2/13) - God of Memory Occupying the shack is a carving far too large for the narrow confines it occupies. It has been forced to one knee. That bead of radiance sloughs off the wooden giant like rain on stone. It runs down the meticulous scrimshaw forming its twin shoulders, which tremble against the room¡¯s ceiling. Despite the guise of a rundown hovel, each of its creaking walls are sketched from dense bone. Only the weight of the ceiling ¨C unsupported by its feeble walls ¨C and the sculpture¡¯s shivering exertion are genuine. While its back is occupied holding the shack upright, the giant¡¯s calloused hands tend to three fleshen hatchlings sheltering beneath it. Thick fingers clumsily adjust a bedding of reddened moss that wraps around them, often knocking one of the fragile forms over. They are frantically halted before they hit the ground. When it is satisfied, the great sculpture turns its motionless visage towards other matters. The roof is leaking; a temporary patch that the giant hasn¡¯t the skill to make permanent must suffice. Chits must be exchanged for sustenance; the birds¡¯ future is determined by the quality of what they consume now, but its sculped hands are too blunt to create anything worth eating. Water must be drawn from a well off to the side; there is always a need for water, whether to drink or bathe. At times the hatchlings toddle off to do something eminently stupid and must be herded back to the safety of the statue¡¯s shadow. Its hands are in constant motion; its shadowed gaze surveying the surroundings with dogged vigilance. All the while the weight of the ceiling bears down, and the giant¡¯s chest heaves from the pressure. It does not notice the droplet sliding down its side. Nor does it consider the way the scintillating light reveals the twisted whorls in its home¡¯s bone, reminiscent of gaping maws or emptied eyes. Or that there is no leak, nor food, nor water, and that the fragile creatures it protects are squinty-eyed and rigid with latent malice. It does not hear the corpse shifting under the floorboards. That does not matter. There is simply too much to do. The giant¡¯s head tilts slightly. After a beat, it throws its shoulder to brace against the wall a scarce instant before the edge of a blade erupts through the bark, throwing splinters across the room. With a swift wrench, the armament is withdrawn. Outside stands an immense soldier: so large it would block out the sky, were it visible. Its features are obscured by the lamellar armour it wears, and its gauntlets are wet with the blackened viscera of the monsters it has slain. Compared to the fumbling ministrations of the statue inside, its sword whirls through the air with mocking ease. Its form is a match to the giant that kneels within. Much like its counterpart, its surroundings are mist to it. Its gaze is solely focused on the precarious pile of bone that forms the shack. Beneath its great-helm, the general¡¯s jaw tightens as paces around the edges of the hovel. Once more, its weapon falls with frightening and speed, and once more its attack is rebuffed. The soldier¡¯s nostrils crackle as they flare. Smother them, it demands. Another blow to the small home is delivered and the giant¡¯s fatigue flares with the cracks forming on its back. Within the small home, one of the hatchlings ¨C larger and more troublesome than its smaller siblings ¨C turns a questioning gaze upwards. The giant struggles to keep its exhaustion from its face. Nevertheless, its unwieldy fingers stroke the bird¡¯s head soothingly. How many of our soldiers have we personally executed for the cause? Dozens? Hundreds? Thousands died for the Raven to fall; only to have their general keep its dregs alive? Where is our loyalty? Where is our honour? The tiny bird searches the giant¡¯s face while its guardian attempts to still its trembling shoulders. Its uncoordinated hands grope for wood to pull from the ground and patch the holes in the wall. The twins begin to play a game together, and their elder sibling quickly joins to supervise. Think about what they will become. Is it not kinder to end them now? Would you withhold that from them? Is our love truly so selfish? When the next strike descends, its other knee buckles under the weight. Is it truly possible for us to make them strong? To raise them well? A swing of the blade forces it onto forearms and knees, shaking the droplet from the giant¡¯s body to land upon the rough floor. Subsequent blows pierce through the walls to hack directly onto its shoulders with titanic screeches of cracking bone and severed flesh. Its children shelter beneath it. The trio look up, and the giant tries to smile. The Slaughter? The Headsman? No. Not them. Not us. The droplet slides sideways, where holes created by the giant¡¯s hasty repairs wait. It begins to slip inside. The sculpture shivers violently at the exertion. It gasps. We cannot protect them forever. It vanishes. The light steals away with it. So let go. Though the osseus limbs of the giant quiver, it does not falter. But nor does it rise. As the blows slowly reduce its torso to a cavity of splintered edges, it remains curled around its charges who wail and cling feebly to its body. The general¡¯s face is a shuttered fortress of discipline as it proceeds through its grim work, wielding its onyx blade as an executioner might. Light glitters off the scabbard buckled to its belt: tarnished filagree tracing a giant striking down a raven. Get up, something says. The giant raises its head. Despite the darkness courting its eye-sockets, it witnesses the light. Slowly, its gaze follows the illumination to its source. Downwards. Beneath the shack¡¯s ruins.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. When the giant had failed to notice the kaleidoscopic droplet, it had found another: that which dwelled in the foundation of their home. It crawled from the thin gaps the destruction had made ¨C long, spindly limbs contorting to cram the entirety of its body through. Arms and legs bent over backwards in an inverse of the giant¡¯s bowed form; face staring upwards instead of down. Its teeth ground together. Its face is a rictus of indignation. A spearhead is embedded in its throat. Leave this place, lieutenant, the general demands. That¡¯s impossible, the crooked man spits. You made sure of that. The giant pants. What do you want? The creature from the substratum raises a twisted arm. Cradled in its hand is a droplet. You are hated, it tells the pair. You have done horrible things. The general steps forward, but halts at a raise of the giant¡¯s hand. That is fair, it acknowledges. Yet what is it you need? It shakes its hand, causing the droplet to shiver slightly. You don¡¯t deserve this. But the kid needs you. Their visages creak as their brows raise. But¡­ The pair survey the ground. In the ruins of the shack, there is no hint of the hatchlings. They have been gone for some time. Carefully, the giant attempts to push itself upright. The great rend in its chest sets the rest of its body creaking disconcertingly. Their gaze turns skywards. Only shadow lurks above. STAND. The creature extends the droplet, and the giant receives it on its palm. A groan resounds from its speartree frame and the moment when both the crooked man and the general grabs its arm to stabilise it, all three turn to dust. *** Maja leans against her kitchen¡¯s counter. Around her, the restaurant lies dormant: its floors mopped; its doors barred; its furniture wiped and stacked; the children abed. The day has passed in a fever of scurrying between their few patrons and her kids. Moonlight peeks through the shutters and teases across the surface of the tub she stands over. Suds float across the water¡¯s surface, almost concealing the dozens of wooden bowls within. In another tub behind her, several copper pots soak; softening the inedible gunk clinging to their sides. Sash will throw a fit if she wakes and finds her mother absent from the room they sleep in together. The day¡¯s work is almost done. But though she searches, the aging woman cannot find the strength to push herself upright. Maja is exhausted. She has fought through wounds that would have left others comatose. She has seen battalions of soldiers she personally trained motionless and empty-eyed in a field of their own viscera. She has battled gods. Of those that have killed one, she is one of the few that breathe. Maja has been through situations that would break a lesser person. She knows, just as she knows the stars sleep above, that she is forged of steel stout enough to spill oceans of blood. But steel has no place in a nursery. The huge Oxblood caresses the lifetime of callouses spread across her palms. In her mind¡¯s eye, mastered by years of meticulous drills, she can see her aged body perfectly. A scarred, blunt instrument. Every person alive today has had a parent. Mothers and fathers are not rare. Good ones are, yet generals are far scarcer. However, she suspects that there is little overlap between good parents and good warriors. For caring is distinct from killing. So Maja leans on the counter and tries to scrape together the energy to continue. Her obsidian hand drifts downwards, to where her blood circulates through the conversion stone piercing her thigh, slowly draining her divinity, strength, and temper away. Tomorrow will be the same. As will the next day. And the one after it. Endlessly. Eventually, the turning of the heavens and the cycle of blood will mill her to a fine dust. She could allow nothing else. Maja would protect her children. Even if doing so tore her apart. She pushes herself upright and staggers, light-headed. The old warrior holds herself still until the dizziness fades. A voice finds her before balance does. ¡°Ma?¡± Maja keeps her back to him. ¡°Y- ¡° Her throat is hoarse ¨C an artifact of some sickness she can ill-afford. She clears it. ¡°Yes, Orvi?¡± ¡°Is it alright if I help?¡± The giant turns to refuse. She finds her eldest child waiting, hair tangled and eyes damp; his stance hesitant, as if a few short steps from running. The boy has had another nightmare. He lived through one years ago, and it haunts him still. Orvi looks at her and wipes his nascent tears away. ¡°Can I help?¡± he says, firmer. Her little Ravenblood. A sudden shock of emotion surges behind her eyes and in her throat. Involuntarily, her huge palm covers her mouth. She can scarcely believe it exists. The old soldier has not wept in decades. It is not meant to be possible. Yet there is a sudden fear that this moment ¨C with her eldest child staring at her ¨C will be when that dam breaks. Turning away does little to blunt his gaze. Even through that, she savours the feeling: something like grief; something like love. Slowly, the scarred giant tries to master herself. When she succeeds, he is still there; waiting for her answer. Maja finds her balance. ¡°I would appreciate that,¡± she says. *** Derelict is this place. Deserted is the shack. No rodents crawl across its collapsed walls. No condensation scratches into its foundations. Nothing grows. Therefore, nothing dies. The giant and the general are gone. In their place waits a scabbarded blade and the pile of dust beneath it. There is no wind to carry it away; to set leaves slyly whispering in trees. There are no animals to tread through it while attending to their animal business. Nor will the passing of days disperse it. Time holds no sway in this place. It can stay for as long as it needs. It can stay forever. Only one god would dare say otherwise. It would say REACH HIGHER. It would say STRIVE. It would say STAND. And gods are not the only creatures with something to say. The dust stirs. From its depths, a hand rises to grasp the sword. Wrought with bones of ivory and blackened flesh, plated with bark as tough as steel. Shaped with blunt fingers, and a thickened arm to follow. Behind it, the motes assemble into broad shoulders and powerful musculature. Then the rest of the body: trunk-like legs, an arm without a wrist. And the last trickle of dust is merged into a calcified visage lined with decades of concern and care. Alien in substance, yet familiar in form. A song that echoes long after it ceases. They push themself upright; etched eyes staring at their fingers. Systematically, they flex both hands. They heft the onyx blade: its argent tableau running down its scabbard. The wood of its limbs creak. Every movement is a fight for animation; the effort expended a marathon. But they are better at these than most. Their gaze creaks sideways. To where a grasping thing rants of SUNLIGHT/GROWTH/ADVERSARY/MAP/PURPOSE/BETTERMENT. Whatever language it speaks is beyond them. To communicate with it is necessary; to communicate with it is an impossibility, as limited as they are in this moment. They simply do not possess its language. Nonetheless, the amalgamate asks, Where is the child? Just as they know the composition of their body, the exact number of fleshy vines keeping the yawning skull from collapsing, and the weight of the orb of blood hanging above, so too do they know the answer to their question: behind the others stumbling through this tenebrous tedium. There are seven other locations that must be visited first. Their feet sprout from the layer of wood and flesh beneath them. A single step means commanding the foundation they stand upon to support them. It is stubborn and recalcitrant. It is sceptical. It is also them; they are it. Eventually, it has little choice but to yield. They begin their slow, halting march onwards: into the familiar, lightless depths of this hole in the world. Far above, at the centre of it all, waits a churning mass of black and red. Blood. Suspended mid-fall. Chapter 80 (3/13) - God of Memory There¡¯s a rustling in the darkness. A susurrus of cloth brushing together. The slide of hands along windowsills, and the subtle rub of thumb and forefinger. Scant footsteps tapping down long hallways. Soft grunts of exertion. Murmurs held just below comprehensibility. Hello? Is anyone there? Sudden, cacophonous silence falls. Like dye spinning through water, it seeps insidiously into the fundament of the space. Inch by inch, muteness crawls into cracks and spreads into unused corners blind to the static that will come to define them. It settles like a layer of dust. A sculpture gropes amidst the quiet. Its long, clever fingers trace smooth masonry broken by depressions of mortar and by doing so carefully sketch existence from the courting of substance and absence. When its trailing hand falls into empty space, its movements cease in favour of an exacting arithmetic. A slight amount of heat warms the right side of its face: there are windows on that side radiating sunlight. If it sent its hand to quest towards the opposite side of the hallway, it knows it would find the runes that cause azure light to bathe the hall. The structure of this place is known to it, as is its location relative to that shape. But those that occupy the same space are leering, insubstantial shadows. A-are you laughing at me? It does not know that there are no windows, nor sunlight. Or that the everburning lanterns are unlit. Or that this is no fort of stone and mortar, but a dollhouse of bone and flesh. It does not hear the beating from above. That does not truly matter. Yet the sightless is aware that towers rise above it all, wearing diadems of carefully worked bells. The sculpture turns its empty gaze to their crowns ¨C thumbs hesitantly creaking together. When it created them, it gave a special chime to each one. Every heartbeat that passes is spent waiting for them to toll. But though unbeknownst to it, the bells sway back and forth, they nevertheless remain quiet. Even now, a phantom of those chimes presses against the quiet, wound tight with the urge to burst from imagination to actuality. It¡¯s almost audible. Yet the moments pass in silence. Each lands with the sharp rebuke of a cane across knuckles. The carving shuffles its way through an internal map to reach the pillars. However, when it extends a hand towards where the mute outline of a tower should be, a spike of vertigo assails it. The belltower has gone. Memory cannot replace sight. Hello? it repeats. Where¡­ The sentence fades. For a stretch it stands, curling its fingers as if capturing mist. Then it turns away. With excessive caution, the blind statue turns vacant eye-sockets from the bells to continue creaking around the halls. Its thin face peeks into rooms, tilting its head towards hints of sounds. Whispers brush its ears; so light it¡¯s uncertain whether they¡¯re borne of another¡¯s lips or its own. Sometimes it is certain that they wait just out of earshot; behind a veil of impenetrable breadth. Sometimes it is certain that the only sounds that will ever fill reality are its own. Eventually, it finds itself before a hole of undefined depth. Simple; sturdy; wearing a cap of stone. There is a bottom ¨C that is certain ¨C but it might take a searcher a while to find it. The sightless sculpture leans over it. I made something, it tells the pit. It produces a contraption barely large enough to cover its palm. With dramatic flair, it cranks the tail at its back, causing it to begin hopping and chittering. A trembling, ivory hand proffers the device to the darkness. Look! The sculpture¡¯s own word is thrown back at it by the acoustics of the hole. It hastily continues. It¡¯s good, isn¡¯t it? It does not know if it is good. It does know that there is no one in the hole. Right? it asks. Right? Great, curved ears tilt towards the bell. An arduous smile splits from calcified bark. Almost two days were spent on it. Linking each rune together rather than allowing them to chain away from the central array was difficult, but I managed. Retaining a central, recursive array is always an undertaking, however I have to agree with Neelam: it¡¯s simply the most elegant solution possible. Both palms clasp together as it waits. Their long fingers quake, reminiscent of reeds in a soundless storm. ¡­If one has the skill for it. I suppose. Eventually, the contraption is stowed as the sculpture carefully lowers itself to its belly and extends an arm into the pit. Pale, articulated hands paw the midnight walls; finding nothing. Jaw clenched, it lowers its entire shoulder to grope further and violently rummage through the featureless hole. Shallow nails gouge furrows along the sides. Its body teeters on the precipice. Above and below, the fort waits. Hollow halls running inwards, buttressing one another, around what is ultimately a very small place. Lifeless stone and the running of a single hand along its walls are what define it. Monstrous emptiness fills it to the brim. To bursting. Enough to drown in. What are you doing? The amalgamate stands behind, staring down at the blind statue. It replies without turning around. Searching. For what? The sightless withdraws its arm and begins to struggle upright. Its counterpart watches in quiet bemusement. You neglected to answer the question. It¡¯s embarrassing. No one else is here to listen. At that, the statue¡¯s jagged lips quirk upwards.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. They witness it, and weigh that response. No one is here, they repeat. No one else is here, it agrees. But I¡¯ll be fine. Despite the effort it requires, the amalgamate¡¯s brows creeped upwards. Perhaps. But you clearly care. It¡¯s a matter of acclimatisation. An empty home is an acquired taste. One day, I¡¯ll savour the privacy. You are certain of this? A subtle grimace reveals the lie. Maybe not. But I won¡¯t die of it. Having said its piece, the statue with the empty eye-sockets walks towards the fort. The amalgamate watches it depart, fingers idly caressing the hilt of their armament. Suddenly, they draw an inch of its blade. There is work to be done, and little time to baby self-indulgent puppets. Cutting a violent path through it would be possible. Not every corner of this place needs entertaining, especially not blind schemers. Who cares what emerges from this shell in the end? Who cares of the promises of a manipulative old woman, dead at the hands of her own subordinate? A monster could emerge to destroy the world, and so long as it is safe and happy the amalgamate¡¯s task will be complete. They take time to consider the shape of a monster and what rare happiness it may find in that shape. They think of Dure and Enn and Kani. Of Yoot and Avri and the Shrike. Of the little known of Siik and Wump. What had they felt, those singularities adrift in an endless sea of divinity? Unmoored from sense or care? Those peerless pierless; too imperceptive to register the bones beneath their feet. Violence is the domain of gods and ants. Neither could be called enviable. They sheath the blade and follow the scrimshawed statue. Eventually, they find it at the top of a stubby tower, caressing the clapper that would toll it if any has the will. Blind gaze turned towards the yoke that bound it there. They¡¯re gone. I cannot find them. They survey the quiescent lightlessness. Not even the blood moves. Once, I attempted to call them. Some came. They didn¡¯t seem to care. Did you try talking to them? Out there? There¡¯s no place for people like me out there. No city; no village. Out there, I¡¯m just a stranger. Unlikely. And even then, you would have a life. One worse than death. Answer the question. Did you try talking to them? Of course I did, it states hastily. No, they growl. If you wanted something, why did you not say it outright? They would have never agreed. They turn to scoff at it. You did not try. How would they have understood what I wanted? it retorted, livid at the mockery. How can anyone? We¡¯re all trapped within our own skulls, speaking our own languages to ourselves, with our own experiences and our own education and our own misgivings digging an impenetrable divide between self and other. Because Ravenblood taught you nothing. Maybe. But all they do is join me. The living are beyond my reach. The amalgamate spreads their great arms wide, quaking with restrained violence. Do you honestly believe that? What is all this for, then? An impossible dream. What of your friends, waiting outside? They¡¯re friends with a silhouette. An illusion fabricated by light and its absence. They fill it with whatever they want. Then speak! No one¡¯s here! With a howl of frustration, they seized the clapper and slammed it against the edges of the bell. Once more, it rocks soundlessly, without music or chimes. I can¡¯t- The amalgamate seized it. LISTEN. And there, atop the small tower in absolute darkness, at the very edges of perception, the faintest tolling can be heard. Initially, it seems a phantom ¨C a mocking whisper crawling from darkness. But if one pays attention, they could witness its intricacies. The loving chimes crafted over days and nights. Partially moulded from imagination. Partially from something else. Something new and alien. And the sightless statue hears it, and the pair of them collapse into dust. *** Gale sits at his workbench, fingertips trailing along the device in front of him. His mind is meant to be trailing with it: tracing the runes his hands haven¡¯t the delicacy to comprehend. Yet instead, as it has been prone to doing since he received his Owlblood, it has flown somewhere else. Tiny Maleen Heltia has departed Fort Vane. Initially, Gale believed he would see little of her. Far more interesting children inhabit the Fort than a blind, novice tinkerer. Greta and Henrik¡¯s son Ambrose is more boisterous, and anyone whose name is not ¡®Gale¡¯ finds him a joy to talk to. Baby Alfie is very cute, to those who perceive more than gut-wrenching wails from him. Greta is always open to a natter, and Henrik¡¯s ponies are likely a young girl¡¯s dream. Instead, she spent most of her time with Gale and his brother. One of which is blind, and the other cursed with the inability to walk twenty steps without falling. A laughable pair. But she was interested in his work, and Mael¡¯s nigh-infinite stream of chatter was something she seemed to appreciate. The child had brought life to the space around him. Now Maleen is gone. Fort Vane is now filled with those that have always filled it. Gale feels her absence more keenly than he ever felt her presence. He wonders what everyone else sees when they look at him. A noble? An Owlblood? An inventor? A blind boy? Whatever they are seeing, it can¡¯t be the truth. The bloodtech weighs heavily in his hands. Presently, there are no other Owlbloods in the Fort. If his father, mother, or brother look at the device, they would not understand it. They couldn¡¯t. Their blood runs differently. All they would receive is a headache. Maybe a slight jab of irritation. Before its completion, others are blind to it. When Gale is done, it will be a lantern; its rays lost on him. His hands shake under the device, setting it rattling. In his imagination, Fort Vane looms: an island firm in a thunderstorm. Cobwebbed and dusty; thin walls bloated with empty air yet still far too tight. The only island he will ever inhabit. He sits in it alone. Gale releases a deep, shuddering sigh and- ¡°Bah!¡± someone yells in his ear. ¡°Blood!¡± Clutching his chest, the teenager falls backwards off his stool. Above him, Mael gloats with his slight slurring, ¡°Ha! You swore! You swore!¡± ¡°Wha- How did you sneak up on me?¡± Out of everyone in the Fort, the boy is undoubtedly the least coordinated. Gale had heard Greta describe his movement as: ¡®a drunken faun¡¯s if it were twice as heavy.¡¯ ¡°You didn¡¯t trip?¡± ¡°I did!¡± Mael exclaims gleefully. ¡°I did and you didn¡¯t even notice!¡± Gale springs to his feet to begin patting the smaller boy, as if his touches can reveal injury. ¡°Are you alright? Does anything hurt?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± his brother unhelpfully proclaims. ¡°What are you doing?¡± ¡°No, are you hurt.¡± ¡°I told you I¡¯m not.¡± A note of irritation enters the child¡¯s voice. ¡°What are you doing?¡± ¡°Making a lantern,¡± Gale supplies. Mael processes that for several seconds, then snickers. ¡°You can¡¯t even see. Who¡¯s the lantern for?¡± ¡°Uh¡­¡± Briefly, he is at a loss. ¡°¡­Everyone, I suppose?¡± ¡°Everyone except you,¡± the younger boy corrects. Gale hesitantly nods. There¡¯s a pause as his brother considers. Eventually, he delivers his verdict. ¡°I like that. That¡¯s cool. Like a hero. Because you can¡¯t see it and it¡¯s for everyone else.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not a hero, Mael.¡± ¡°I said like a hero,¡± the boy snaps back. Gale feels himself scowl. ¡°You don¡¯t understand what I¡¯m trying to do, anyway. You can¡¯t. The runes- ¡± ¡°I understand enough,¡± Mael declares. ¡°It¡¯s a lamp. You¡¯re Gale. And I scared you. You hear?¡± Gale can only nod. *** At the peak of the lonely tower, from a pool of sifting dust, the amalgamate finds themself once more. Limb by limb, they piece their body together. A neck crackles as it twists. Fingers flex; a touch thicker and a touch thinner than they were. A visage surveys its surroundings ¨C distinct from the shape it took a short time ago. Their form has been entirely reforged; made an alloy richer than its original blend. Beyond their bark skin, little has changed. The fort remains dark and empty. Whispers still haunt its halls; occupying some liminal space between substance and phantasm. Silence often reigns supreme. The pit is fathomlessly deep, and excruciatingly hollow. Yet at its feet is a bell. Nascent in its quietude. With painstaking unease, they reach down and wrap their hand around it. Examine its imperfections, and the exquisite care apparent despite them. Hesitantly, they give it a shake. Softly, it chimes. Momentarily, the hand tightens. Then they join it to the midnight sheath and continue to march onwards. In spite of the shadows, each of their steps is defined by the ring of the bell. Chapter 80 (4/13) - God of Memory Screams are held in a trembling grasp. The shivering of fingers threatens to allow them an escape, albeit one that strangles them to a whimper. Yet despite the noise churning across the barren dusk that defines this great cavity, a whimper would fall like an avalanche. The landscape churns all around; rising, rotating, and retreating to form a vast maze. Some paths appear safe; others bristle with thorns ¨C all are misleading. An errant step will dash the uncoordinated to pieces as surely as a splinter caught between cogs. Crushing is a common occurrence, and a cacophonous one. The beating that emanates from above seems miniscule in comparison. From the small alcove it has folded itself into, the sculpture¡¯s wooden gaze stares out at it all; fingers rounded tight over its mouth. Its hands are a chart of indiscretion; clumsiness, minor mistakes, and corporal punishment forming a map marked by worried scabs. A single clipped wing is pulled tight against its back. The crevice is far too tight to allow a full breath. Screams persist regardless. At the very least, the thin crack is spared from the turmoil occurring outside it. The wooden statue watches figures twist through the heaving labyrinth to pull their peers out of danger, or alternatively push them into it. Many stride through according to inscrutable machinations: utterly at ease with their goals and surroundings. They are often crushed anyway. And the sculpture is much smaller than they. It does not notice that those maze-hoppers lack faces, or that they walk with halting coordination. Nor does it comprehend that their conversation is wrought not of language but an indistinct imitation of it. It does not notice that they move in much the same way as the maze itself. It does not truly matter. The essence of those ill-defined growths are irrelevant ¨C they could be no more than empty shapes and their importance would not change. For the raw danger they represent is enough to render its own form miniscule in comparison. Remaining unnoticed is one of its few protections. Even that is feeble. As proved by the thickset figure that strides towards its alcove, perpetual grimace splitting its wooden head asunder. Despite its feckless steps, the maze seems to bend around it: swinging vines fast enough to decapitate brushing just above its head; falling walls crushing together mere steps before or after it would stand beneath them. Miraculously, the figure arrives unscathed and turns its inscrutable gaze towards the small sculpture¡¯s hiding place. With a cold clarity, strong hands seize its heavy wing and drag it out. Instead of resisting, the small sculpture curls around its stomach; bark and flesh creaking as it does so. When it is tossed away, it manages to roll onto its four limbs, look up at its captor and see the single extended finger pointed towards the labyrinth. For a brief span, the sculpture¡¯s sunken eye-sockets sway back and forth between the finger and the maze. Then the figure raises a brow as full of promise as a wolf¡¯s fangs and it scurries towards the unfathomable danger of the place. The blind rotation of the world outside is far kinder than what it leaves behind. Creeping through the twisting maze, it passes through all manner of mysterious places ¨C beneath canopies of tangled branches, over shelfs of ivory stone and between barriers crafted of vaguely humanoid forms as incomprehensible as anything. The labyrinth has gone dormant; its threats receding like claws into a lion¡¯s paws. Yet it has not changed at its core. An errant move will still see the small sculpture crushed into splinters. The walls breathe that promise. So it moves quickly and quietly; progress carefully balancing its environment¡¯s mindless catastrophes with the concentrated ire that awaits if it takes too long. Then there¡¯s a stirring. Seemingly unprompted, the walls begin to shift. Some atavistic impulse causes the sculpture to flinch beneath the first rotation. A wall spins around its front. It stumbles back, and takes a few moments to realise it is missing a foot. It clamps both hands over its mouth. Ducks again. Dodges. Starts to limp away. Then it misreads a quaver from a wall and steps to the right, where a branch tears off its head. Everything grows quiet. Its decapitated torso continues stumbling in that direction for a few halting moments. Like a mouse tapping through an abandoned theatre. Eventually, the damage done to it reaches its legs. It halts. Lingering in the darkness above, the great pulsing seems to grow louder. Until it conquers the world. Hands grope a bare neck. Their nails shudder along the ossified bark. Both settle upon the hollow stump. Without a cap to stifle the screams, they begin to pour out unrelentingly. Jagged, animal howls. High and grating. Low and monstrous. The petty ugliness of them unmatched by any other sound in that place. Alongside the wails, plumes of liquid flame weep from its bare neck in a recalcitrant flow. They light the sculpture¡¯s body ablaze; making its wing a flailing torch amidst the darkness. But there is nothing kind about its agonised glow. Soon, the fire spreads to the maze around. Its damp wood is limp and lifeless, as if its animating spirit has fled in shock, and accepts its role as tinder passively. Fire devours it; embers scuttling like a swarm of frenzied termites. Soon, the inferno grows riotous; into a battlefield of sparks and collapsing wood. There, the one-winged statue punches and breaks and bends and kicks and hurls ¨C the burning god-child of its own corner of the world.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. Its legs turn to charcoal and burnt meat, and snap. Yet its screeching only grows louder, and its blazing violence more erratic. Great gouts of flame erupt from its neck with enough force to clear a path. It drags itself through the crackling inferno as pieces of itself grow feeble under the onslaught of heat and melt away. Eventually, it can no longer crawl. The flesh-melting screams continue regardless. The amalgamate, having arduously marched to the edge of the heat, struggles to get close. They call to the ruined sculpture at the centre. Calm down! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA- The shriek is discordant and frayed, but it brooks no answers. They try nonetheless. This heat is destroying you! The screams are cacophonous. Words ¨C these clipped, contained things ¨C have no purchase on it. Instead, the amalgamate begins to steadily draw nearer. The bark of their arms begins to smoulder thin smoke; the blackened flesh binding them begins to bubble. The air wobbles, as if unable to support the heat¡¯s weight. Each pained step brings them closer, yet the blinding blaze obscures all else. It is hard to tell whether anything but screams wait in the centre. They push through fragile walls and feel flesh slough off their frame. Fire crawls over their body, but though the shocking heat might kill a mortal outright, they are not mortal. Implacably, they push closer. When the amalgamate reaches the centre, they find a burnt husk: four melted limbs, a neck bleeding magma, and a cracked wing. And, somehow, it is looking at them. It¡¯s hard to know what to say. No phrase can cure such grievous wounds. But the lay of its body implores them. You are suffering, they say. It shivers. I shouldn¡¯t be. Why? If I were tougher¡­ Toughness has nothing to do with this. Are you suffering? If I were stronger- Are you suffering? ¡­ SPEAK. And it does. Carefully, they lower themselves into the cooling cinders and cradle the body in their arms. It shakes with something far, far too familiar. Then both are ash. *** His left arm aches loudly. Deafeningly. The noise should be enough to swallow all other sensation: the burn in his chest; the taste of dust in the air; the splinter rupturing an eye; the metallic tapping from below; the disparate sunlight shining shrilly through the haze above; the grating roughness of the sandstone beneath his elongated feet. It¡¯s too much. But he can feel every chord equally. Like his mind is a flower unfurling; each petal endless. And the flower is burning. He examines that hurt; rolls it over his serpentine tongue as if it were any other object. The twin ears atop his head flick as they strain to glean what lays in the squat building beneath. Long, yellowed nails scrape across the roof. ¡°Blake?¡± he hears; the whisper detonating through the empty streets. Then a creak from poorly-maintained hinges. His head darts up. Halved vision consumes the shock of colour the once-dreary place has erupted in. That manifold image shivers incomprehensibly. The torrent knocks him off the roof, yet the location of his body relative to the ground is carved in perfect detail. He lands on three limbs ¨C the smaller fourth tucked against his chest ¨C and bounds towards the storehouse. Its doors yawn open into darkness invitingly. He prowls inside. Air rushes across the hairs standing across his skin. The darkness is sturdy, but his senses are sharper. Slowly, through the dirt under his gnarled fingers and warped feet, and the way his breath bounds across the abyss, they chisel the storehouse into his mind. The minute granulation of its many crates seems enormous. Enough to drown in. And the still waters promise to erupt at any moment. A thud resounds from the darkness and he crashes towards it, bruising skin as he smashes through crates. Another compels him to veer towards an opposite corner. Drool escapes the corner of his mouth, cloying and stinking. It squirms across his skin, then splatters onto the chisel he finds. Metal seems to warp beneath it. He doesn¡¯t really understand why he¡¯s doing this. Despite the absolute enormity of the sensations assailing him, it all seems slightly askew. Disconnected from him. Like a dream cast according to foreign logic. Light disappears. The door slams shut. There¡¯s a heavy thud as a bolt seals it. ¡°Sash! Dash! I¡¯ve done it!¡± He lopes towards the door and smashes through it with his left arm. The limb churns in a torrent of shifting muscle and flesh. In moments it matches its partner. Through the splinters of wood he sees his quarry: a larger boy than he. A nicer one. A luckier one. Around his left arm, something snaps. Far, far away, tears prickle at his eyes. He gropes for the bolt. The boy outside turns as he opens the door and buries his arm deep into his friend¡¯s stomach. Gasps. Stares at the frayed bracelet dangling from his wrist, and the broken wing looped through it. Orvi looks at Babs, eyes full of horror. There is no cessation, in that realisation. None of Babs¡¯ pain recedes. If anything, its shape becomes more substantial; transforms from mere heat into a crushing burn. It becomes real. That reality strangles the breath from his body as everything descends upon him. Causes him to flail; to twist into violence. But as the low, all-encompassing ebb of fear and agony is spoken into bloody reality by his claws, there is relief. The relief persists when a warrior far larger than he arrives. It persists as his empty slashes write his pain into being. It persists when she cuts off his head. It persists when he begins to die. It persists when Orvi asks a question, and Babs answers with everything. *** Amidst the fading cinders of what once was an inferno, flecks of wood and flesh pull themselves together, conjoining into four limbs. Scorch-marks wind through bark and flesh, still aglow with remnant heat. Their fingers probe these rough marks as their gaze settles on the ruins around them. The ash lays stagnant and passive, despite the incomprehensible shifting they were once endowed with. Even now, it seems as if the landscape might reform and claim its former animation. Yet it does not. It stays cool to the touch. For a moment, it seems as if only the blackened marks on their body recall that blaze. But when the amalgamate clenches their hand tight, they find a small, stone wing in their palm. It¡¯s cracked and scarred. Well-worn from the leagues it has travelled over, and the fights it has seen. The string around it is still a little frayed. It is real. They close their fingers over it and hold it, for a time. Above, the stagnant orb of blood hangs perilously, and they shudder in time to a heartbeat. Then the bark and flesh of their body creak slowly motion. They join it to the blade buckled to their waist and continue onwards, the bell and wing chiming together with each step. Chapter 80 (5/13) - God of Memory A tower of incalculable engineering grows through the cold darkness, one brick at a time. A thunderous beat heralds its rise. Its intricacies are many; its architecture held aloft by pillars ricocheting wildly off their burdens ¨C too thin and few to sustain the spire¡¯s weight. Neither genius nor endurance are what keep it upright. Just good fortune and the lack of wind. Clack. At its peak, a brick is layered atop another. Chipped hands of wood tremble in the space around it, anticipating a fall. No mortar binds them; all materials are spent moulding new masonry. The line between this incomplete wall and a pile of bricks scattered over the earth is measured by seconds. Yet somehow, its swaying stops. Next to it, a sculpture¡¯s chest heaves with relief, small eye-sockets still fixed on the tower it builds. Its limbs are thin and delicate, made more so by the divots carved into every inch of its body. These scars are methodical enough to hold a clear pattern, despite how obviously damaged they leave it. Even blunted by time as they are, none have grown shut. Only the tower has grown, higher and higher, one brick at a time. Behind the scarred statue, a figure strides up a stairwell and idly passes its shadowed eyes over the work being done. It stares at the bricks for several long moments; runs a blunt palm over the wall, apparently ignorant of the way it makes the structure shake. A hand removes the brick, considers it, then places it elsewhere. Without a word of encouragement, it vanishes into a shadowed alcove, leaving the worn sculpture to stare at its work undone. A chipped finger traces the length of a scar. It gets back to work. Brick on brick, one piece at a time. There is a tug upon one of arms. While it was occupied with the science of creation, another approached. It gestures downwards ¨C lower in the tower ¨C where sheltered from the cold of its apex others converse with others, speaking and eating and touching and laughing and weeping. At times, they are audible. Even here. The scarred fusion of bark and flesh turns away. The other departs. It continues. Unlike many of its fellows, there is an insidious suspicion within it that none of this is as it seems. Not one borne of any insight, but spun of the lullaby the bricks sing as they clack together endlessly. Of the quiet that hangs in the air whenever the figure dismantles its work and forces it to begin anew. Of the limitless setbacks that dog its work. Of the cold it lives in and the warmth denied to it ¨C by choice or by chance. These string together a low blaring coincidentally parallel to the blankness of its supervisor¡¯s face, the nonexistence of the floors beneath, and the tower that grows every day but never comes closer to an undefined goal. And it labours nonetheless because there is work to be done, and something must do it. The tower begins to collapse without much warning. Maybe a threatening creak or two ¨C no more than has become usual for it. After that point, there is little that the scarred sculpture can do. Its long, bone-white shape lists to the side as bricks slide from it like flesh from bone ¨C an uncomfortable angle gradually growing untenable. Whole sections simply slip away. Then the entire structure becomes a mass of disparate bricks and fall. As the air whistles past it, the sculpture¡¯s gouged mouth splits into a brief, barking laugh. There is an irony in effort amounting to ash. When it hits the ground and the bricks begin to bludgeon it into the ground, that humour has vanished as if it never existed. The rubble impacts against the worn bark of its face; corners diving through its surface as their heft beats its head into a different shape. Impacts force it deeper into the flesh and wood that form the earth as the falling bricks attempt to bury it. The deluge slows, then ceases, leaving it newly scarred and buried in its own destroyed work. Quiet reigns once more. The sculpture pulls and tugs and strains against the force entombing it to no avail, refusing to acknowledged the way its battered form is further broken by its efforts. Yet the greater part of its efforts can be found in its screams, directed at the wreckage that entraps it. Its curses are vicious and heavy with malice; emerging between bared teeth in a deluge to rival the storm of rubble that beat it. They are addressed towards the absent tower. They find no purchase on that disparate pile of bricks. Its head swears and flails and attempts to release the rest of its body and finds its efforts unrewarded. Grunts carry far in the heavy silence, and are unreturned. With the remaining air within it, the sculpture releases a final, furious howl: wordless; directionless; pointless. Then it goes limp. Its head falls back, to rest on its cage. There are few things to feel, in such a place. The rough press of ground and stone. An occasional scrape as the movement of a distant object or figure echoes through the empty expanse. The sight of ubiquitous shadow: as rich or featureless as imagination demands. The coaxing of a few gritty droplets from behind the eyes. A thunderous peal from the vast orb of divinity hanging above, at the centre of it all. The scuff of the amalgamate¡¯s roots as they drag them towards the scarred head sprouting from the earth. The buried sculpture scoffs. What is it? they ask. Come to peddle snake oil, I suppose. The amalgamate caresses the hilt of their blade as they take in the surroundings. Afterwards, they settle on a mound of stone nearby. They do not deny the assertion. I knew it was going to end like this. That¡¯s simply the way of the world: build something, and it will inevitably be taken.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. A fatalist sentiment. A true one. Plenty of people have retained their riches ¨C whatever form they take ¨C until the end of their lives. Yet not until after they end. The amalgamate pauses, strange fingers running over their limbs. That seems a childish thing to say. No child can see decades vanish between the fingers. That is exclusively the domain of adults. Then that seems a childish thing for an adult to say. The scarred figure barks an empty laugh. Really? I have spent my life building; invested it all into it. I have disappointed others; forsaken countless other paths for that singular road. For what? ¡­ For this? This hoard of nothing? Yet if it remained standing, would it still be worth the price? That small, mishappen thing? And you never gained anything? Its visage crackled as it shifted. What could I have gained? What is the point of trying ¨C of newness ¨C when every attempt tastes of blood? Each and every one of us inherit the sum total of our forebearers: a mountain of failure, with us as the crown jewels. Even if that were true¡­ it doesn¡¯t anger you? Does it matter? Does it make these questions any less futile? Who can rail against a tornado? A storm? They may as well tear their veins from their skin. To build a tower is to embrace hubris. Even so. Wouldn¡¯t it be nice if it stood? Its teeth grind together. Moisture trails from hollow eye-sockets. Why can humans long for the impossible? What is this fluke of nature, that we can see things that can never exist? It¡¯s cruel. The amalgamate drags its kneeling form closer, until its knees almost touch the sculpture¡¯s damaged form. That is hubris, is it not? You indulge yourself by claiming to know what is possible and what is not. You indulge yourself by claiming to have nothing. You indulge yourself by denying any other thought or path. ¡­Too little, too late. The amalgamate reaches down. You have your hands still. So BUILD. They pull its hand up, then both are dust. *** Tully stands on a precipice. Wind shatters against the side of the cliff-face, sending gusts spinning upwards to steal blood from her face. One of the scars on her face has opened, and weeps freely. The rest of her remains rigid. She doesn¡¯t dare blink. Mistakes brought her here. Armour inspected poorly; compounding errors in calculations; nights full of leering shadows that can¡¯t be real ¨C each and every failure chipping away at Heltia¡¯s army. No one except Bina has noticed that the Spiderblood¡¯s sharp, reliable focus has been shattered in exchange for scars. Her greatest mistake was surviving the Jackal¡¯s knife. The logistician¡¯s uniform weighs heavy on her narrow frame. Time weighs heavier. Within her skull rattles a desperate, manic kind of prayer: that the seconds stand in place; that the minutes won¡¯t pass; that the hours remain a theory; that tomorrow never comes. Skulking, malignant things lurk there. But wishes unbacked by action never bear fruit. There¡¯s a long drop in front of her. Terrifyingly long. Yet still shorter than the days in front of her. One step is all it would take. But then she would have to move. Too scared to live. Too afraid to die. The phantom sensation of icy dirt clings to her body. Over forty years of life, spent for this. There are footsteps behind her. Tully feels herself stiffen. A young voice speaks. ¡°Quartermaster Graves¡¯s over there, General.¡± ¡°Dismissed,¡± Bina commands. A pause filled by a salute, then a single set of boots fading into the noise of the encampment behind. Bina attempts to speak. She fails. Always too clumsy to know the right thing to say. ¡°They call me Graves, now,¡± Tully hoarsely whispers. ¡°Tully,¡± the Lizardblood pleads. ¡°Come over here.¡± ¡°I¡¯m ruined.¡± And as she says that, she feels the truth of it try to surge into tears behind her eyes. Hesitantly, her general takes a single step towards her. When it is unmet by resistance, she takes another. Finally, her rough hands close around Tully¡¯s shoulders and draw her into an embrace. For all her muscle, Bina is shorter than her. Realising that is always a surprise. The pair return to her tent. The general sits Tully down without releasing her hands. ¡°Go home, Tully,¡± she says. ¡°Heal.¡± The scarred woman chuckles hollowly. ¡°It¡¯s okay. Take a break. The world will spin whether we win or lose.¡± After decades of service, Quartermaster Tully is left behind at the Spires of Heltia ¨C a home made foreign to her by the passing of time. There, she is given light work evaluating Heltian inventions. When the Houses ally themselves for deicide, her request to reenlist is denied. It¡¯s the night after she learns General Bina valiantly fought and died to defeat the Raven. Tully watches from high above. Once more, she stands on a precipice. This time, she is alone. The Spiderblood watches the bridges beneath, where scented candles are lit as stalls distribute food and throngs of people collide in music and dance. It is a festival, but one mixed with a funeral. A weary mix of relief and grief hangs over the Heartlanders. They have survived the Raven¡¯s Cult. The people they sent away have not. Through the night, Tully thinks about Bina and the things she said. Despite everything, the crowds remain. The city is alight. In the morning, the sun rises upon a world irrevocably altered, but a world nonetheless. The middle-aged woman traces the scars spread across her face. For a short span, she wanders the towers and the slumbering city ¨C a dream-like monument to the dawn light. Then she goes home and sleeps. *** Rubble layers the lightly pulsating ground. For a very long time, it seems lifeless. Yet despite how it seems, moss comes to crawl over the bone-white pieces of the tower. Strange, crimson and black flowers seed across its expanse, and come to bloom in that lightless place. Eventually, the remnants of the structure shift, and a sculpture pulls themself from the wreckage. Shattered pieces of the brick now stud their body. Ubiquitous scarring disrupts the lines of their visage. When they rise, it is with great effort. But they do stand. Absent eyes survey the barren land they stand upon: a manifestation of divinity, both recognisable and terrible. There is something monstrous about this lightless place and the shapes it twists itself into. Neither malevolent nor hateful, but insidiously hellish. That recognition sets their hands quavering. Slowly, these shaking fingers raise upwards to chart the map of wounds across their face; placing and categorising each. The other palm closes around the sword, the bell, the wing. The silver artwork across the sheath is marred by scratches. The amalgamate gets to work filling these marks; mending them with the power available to them. When they are done, it is not the same as it was. The silver gives way to ivory and dark bark. But it is whole. A tower is etched within the scabbard, where before there was nothing. They caress these lines briefly, then raise their shadowed visage to the path ahead. Their body creaks into motion. The destruction fades behind. Chapter 80 (6/13) - God of Memory From the darkness wafts the apex of unholy stenches. Soft and warm, like maggot-ridden flesh. It seems to squirm; oscillating between a feeble wretchedness and a smell that threatens to crawl up a mortal¡¯s nostrils and eat their brain from the inside out. A smell that heralds mountains of rot. It comes from the surroundings of a vast hole, where layers of terraces rise from the shadows. Their gardens are formed of bodies at varying stages of decay; thousands of distinct creatures putrefying into a reeking, liquid mash. Worms, insects, moulds, mushrooms and other detrivores swim through it as the buzzing of fist-sized flies fill the air. Delicate bones stand from that sediment like blades of grass; their solemnity desecrated by a layer of slime. Grains, bushes of fruits, and stakes wrapped in vines heavy with berries sprout in a careful arrangement. Tall, disparate trees hold vigil over it alongside meticulous rows of flowers and the protective shade of ferns. None are exemptions to the rule of this place: each decays and collapses as surely as anything else. Rigid law will gradually process them to reeking mud. Through these entropic tiers comes the squelching of a lone figure: one arm a scythe and the other a shovel. The first takes plants that cannot thrive where they are. The second digs a furrow in more fertile soil, and using both mishappen arms rehomes them there. The sculpture wades through the bog, one arduous torque of its torso at a time. Its journey clothes it in strings of vaguely-identifiable fibres and a coat of foul liquid. Fungi dig their spores into its wooden skin. Colonies of insects make their home within it. Its face is cast in a perpetual grimace. A seed hangs around its neck. This sculpture is not the only thing that moves through the garden of decay. Many of its banks and islands are composed of bodies. Most are silent and lifeless. Yet a noticeable amount breathe still. Of their number, several speak to the sculpture moving past as termites and worms writhe through their mouths. They speak of petty grievances. They speak of fatigue. They speak of crimes they have performed and not recognised as such. They speak of lust; of manipulation; of tongues assailing rigid bodies. They make obscene gestures. They speak of people they have never met and the many ways they will hurt them for imagined transgressions. They speak of their foot on the backs of others. They flail at the sculpture as it passes. They speak of what they believe they deserve. Their voices puppet their putrefying bodies; another layer of rot settling over this place. Despite the carving turning its face away, their words are always intelligible; carved with undeserved clarity. As it passes, a pair burst from the muck like flayed dolphins, disgusting anatomy bared to the naked eye. Its empty gaze follows them as they beat each other with the bottom of their fists and dig bony fingers into their counterpart¡¯s sallow skin. Insults hiss from their infested mouths as they roll through the mash; pieces of themselves stripped away at the violence. The pair¡¯s skin crawls with fungus and insects and their bodies rot away. The same rot that lays in the sculpture. It does not know that these bodies ¨C whether still or active ¨C are empty husks. That there are no physical words in this place. It does not realise that the rot is not caused by the passive pull of entropy, but the mad design of a larger mind. It does not know that the plants would survive. Once, it might have questioned these things. But the act of questioning yielded no insight. The sculpture¡¯s arms delve through the hot, stinking muck to penetrate the unseen depths. Its body is not made for the task. It has no dextrous fingers to aid it. Only wood and bone bent into a shovel and sickle, and neither the revolution of scythes nor the uprooting of ploughs can clear the muck. So it gropes as best it can as it moves through the terraces; tending to the rotten gardens therein. Methodically, the farmer makes the circuit around the pit: trimming plants under the leering gazes of the bodies they grow in as insects crawl over its form. It creaks through these tasks without any indication of impatience ¨C each movement as careful as the last. Eventually, its dowsing through the bog stills. The sculpture halts, as still as stone, mask of wood turned downwards. Thunderous heartbeats mark the passing of time. Eventually, it darts into furtive motion ¨C like a child anticipating rebuke ¨C and heaves something from beneath. A piece of land emerges from the liquid filth, damp with mould but drier and firmer than anything else here. When the land has settled and seems in no danger of sinking, the shovel and scythe scratch out a patch of earth. Then it reaches for the seed tied to its neck. Except it has no hands to hold such a delicate thing. Instead, its movements become a study in inefficiency: sharp and blunt bone first struggling to lift the necklace off it without catching on its neck, then nearly dropping it into the sea of decay, then having to cut it from its cord without breaking it. Yet after much labour, it manages to settle the seed within a cradle of dirt. The sculpture pauses before burying it. It examines itself: the layer of fungi and filth accrued in its every crevice. Its neck creaks as it turns. Jeering bodies, pestilent with rot, lurk beneath a fog of swarming insects. Only the small cavity in the centre is free of filth, but that place is no more welcoming: just a rotting place barren of warmth.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Beside it is the amalgamate: covered with slime from their dogged pursuit of the sculpture. Why are you stopping? I¡­ Its voice is stiff from disuse. I oughta not do this. The larger sculpture glances down. Bury that seed? It nods. You don¡¯t think it deserves to exist? It deserves better than that. Than this place. To turn from somethin¡¯ whole¡­ into this godsdamned stench. Surely you understand that this isn¡¯t all that exists. It chuckles. Outside ain¡¯t any different. Grief; excuses; empty justifications: you¡¯ll find dung in spades, out there. Jus¡¯ hidden better. There¡¯s no beauty to be found, then? No. Its empty eyes are fixed on the seed. An disgustin¡¯ things can¡¯t make pretty places. Are you sure? Mm, it grunts. Each day I wake to find my heart grown colder. The light blunter; the shadows deeper. The reek of this grey land a little stronger. I¡¯m growin¡¯ accustomed to it. Can hardly remember what it was like to be clean. Can hardly remember why I¡¯d wanna be. ¡­ Even if I could, there ain¡¯t no changin¡¯ what we wade through. Or them voices. The low, crouching thing that patiently waits in the heart of all men. I seen people die. The way they breathe and shake and stare, eyes wide and as innocent as they themselves are not. Good people and bad ones all made the same, before the end. The great revealed as small. The petty ugliness of it. Like worms slippin¡¯ off the side of a bucket into the water beneath. Livin¡¯ ain¡¯t different. This is what we are. But is that all we are? Is that all you are? For a long time, there is silence. The farmer gazes upwards. Soon, it begins to shake. I don¡¯t want to be this person. Moisture trails from its hollow eye-sockets: pure lines dragging the filth away. I want to hear a joke and laugh. I want to see a beautiful thing and fall in love with it. I want to smell a flower and think it good instead of jus¡¯ there. I want to stand on a tall place high above and look over the world and see the shape it should take, instead of jus¡¯ the one it does. I want to be someone that can believe and be believed in. I want to be that person. But they ain¡¯t here. I suspect they never was. The amalgamate wades through the foul rot that sucks at their feet to place a hand on its shaking shoulder. Around them, the bodies cease their babbling to grow still. Then SEARCH, they tell it. And the pair fall to dust. *** Wil follows the trail of carrion beneath a canopy of crimson leaves, leaning heavily against his bloodied spear. He¡¯d fallen badly during the Oxkin¡¯s furious last moments ¨C sprained his ankle, he wagers ¨C but barely notices the pain. Seems like it fades into the long line of buzzing flies and stinking meat that leads him to his destination. The gnarled trunks of heartwoods and ghostly thrust of speartrees sometimes block the sight, but he can still smell it. He¡¯s been smelling it for years. It''s a hot day. Sweat clings to his skin, mingling with the blood of others. He recognises the faces of most of the Growers that make up that path. But some don¡¯t have faces to recognise. The corpses are mutilated: bodies rendered inhuman by the sheer violence of their end. Wil avoids stepping on their pieces, but it¡¯s hard to tell what¡¯s the pink, fleshy dirt of the earth and what¡¯s someone he once knew. Beneath the draining corpses, grain and food are beginning to spring up. The Heartlands keeps its end of the bargain, even when its contractors¡¯re dead. Wil doesn¡¯t recognise his wife at first; just the monster eating her. The farmer¡¯s half-hoping it¡¯ll give him the same treatment, however it¡¯s laughably easy to limp behind the Spiderkin and stab it in the back of its head. Only when he rolls the monster off the body does he realise who she was. Even now, kneeling beside the eviscerated body of the woman he married, the man doesn¡¯t know his wife well. She¡¯s a mystery; one he never really understood how to clear up. Death gives him no further insight. Yet Wil knows he needs her. She¡¯s rotting, now, but he¡¯s been rotting for a long, long time. And he knows a carcass like him can only endure. Knows it can¡¯t teach his son how to live. For the first time in months, Wil thinks of Pa. Wonders if he could¡¯ve done better. Might be he could¡¯ve. Pa¡¯s not here, though. Just corpses. Bile rises to his throat as he stares. Despite his best efforts, his lips tug into a disgusted sneer. To ward it off, Wil leans backwards and turns his unfocused gaze upwards. Behind the canopy of red, he finds a clear blue sky. But in the vision of his heart it is lousy with maggots and decay, and the world around him is haunted by the mocking ghost of worthiness, drifting just out of reach. No tears leak from his eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t know what to do,¡± the widower tells his wife. A body can¡¯t reply. But a child can. ¡°Dadda?¡± comes a trembling voice. And then he¡¯s scrambling, hands squelching through guts and blood as he surges towards the roots of a nearby tree, where his boy is tucked away, and embraces young Alton in his arms as the kid begins to shake and give harsh, strangled screams. And Wil finds himself weeping as well, throat tight with his own small grief: The passing of something he only ever knew the shape of, and that he yearns to know in truth. *** Amongst the terraces lays the bodies, once gap-toothed and leering, now fossilised by the press of the darkness. Just as the narrow-eyed march of a sculpture has silenced, so too has its absence left it quiet. It waits gormlessly: a vigil that to it may be momentary, but to others eternal. Ignorant, in the way of ice and other eyeless things. The amalgamate lays atop what was, a short time ago, the putrefying sap of this place. It¡¯s unclear what it is now. Unclear what they are. Some remnant of the place still clings to them in the shape of a small seed that bejewels the pommel of the blade. They take it in their large, dextrous hands. Hints of the shovel and the sickle can be felt within them: a sharp edge to one forearm, and a flat side to the other. They are content with that. There¡¯s a crispness to the air, as if an essence of ablution awakens within it. Sharp, in the manner of cold water at twilight. They are not perfectly clean. The rotten gardens have not vanished, nor magically ceased to be. But they and the world are altered. They get to their feet and check the sword and its seed. They peer through the tenebrous void ahead. Then they continue their search. Chapter 80 (7/13) - God of Memory Cradled within the terraces ¨C once stinking and vibrant, now still ¨C lays what seems to be a hole of uncertain depth. Ribbed walls carry that chasm deep into the earth; travelling beyond the foundation of this shadowed skull to somewhere else. No scents, sounds, or secrets escape it, yet there is a sense that a nebulous, primordial substance dwells within. Yet this pit is not open to the greater play. A crystalline layer caps it: smooth, flawless glass moulded by silent pressure. That same material spirals into trunks and upwards veins, wrapping into great, transparent oaks and ferns and vines and lifeless bayous and other myriad vistas, rendered in perfect, sterile imitation. Or perhaps all worldly shapes are imitation of this transparent place. All rotates, quietly, around a small, central hole. This stretch is strange and transcendental, as if those that walk through it have stepped from the earth into the clarity of the moon¡¯s dark aether. At present, only one walks. A wide sculpture creaks through the garden, a fragment of slate bound to its arm. Its form may have seemed rotund ¨C even jolly ¨C if not for the way its bark and obsidian flesh wraps around a gaping hole where its heart should lie. By any measure, that malformation ought to break it apart ¨C the laws of load-bearing structures demand it. But either the round figure is sturdier than expected, or a hand greater than gravity holds it tight. It settles cross-legged on the glass, and quietly starts scraping layers away with its nails. Nothing new is found beneath. Just more void. Sometimes, walking amidst the glass is like walking through a vibrant, natural landscape. Sometimes, it is like walking amidst an endless abyss; neither dark nor hungry. Only empty. Unlike others, the figure knows this place is not as it seems. It has not fallen for the insidious coaxing of the darkness; has not walked into a labyrinth of its own creation and imagined it the truth instead of lightless shadows dancing across the cavern walls. It lacks either the desire or the imagination to be tricked, even by itself. So it witnesses the amalgamate¡¯s arduous climb down the terraces. It watches as they fight against the stiffness of their body to move through the otherworldly landscape it inhabits. The process takes some time, yet it continues its scraping without frustration. When the amalgamate does finally arrive, it turns its empty gaze upwards, to the standing figure¡¯s face. They return that gaze: glaring into the featureless hollows of its face. If you truly haven¡¯t fallen victim to any tricks, the amalgamate asks, then what is this maze of glass? It shrugs. Something real. Or not. Or not? Reality is thin and weak-tasting. Has hardly earnt the title. The amalgamate surveys their surroundings, in search of something to comment on. Not much here, it blandly states. They lower themself to sit upon the glass, careful to avoid shattering the transparent layer beneath them. There¡¯s nothing¡­ else? Else? This¡¯s all that is. Nothing changes. Not really. What do you fill your time with? It takes its time in answering. Thinking. I like looking at things, sometimes. Sometimes I don¡¯t. Why not? Too loud. They hum. You believe noise to be bad? No. Just stinks. Like the terraces up there stunk. A little like that. There is a long silence as the giant figure gathers themself. Eventually, they shuffle towards a nearby crystal sculpture: a glade of grass and wildflowers. They point to it. When you look at things, what do you see? Shapes. What¡¯s in them? Quiet. Absence. And if they were to be shattered? If their shape were to change? Its visage creaks into a frown. Don¡¯t do that. But if that were to happen, would their contents change? No. What about a human being? The same. Just quiet? All humans are wraiths. Haunting our own bodies. Loud in form. Not in truth. Hmmm. But humans experience things. Is that not real? It shakes its head. What does experience prove? There is flesh. Organs. Bones. Follicles. Sinew. Tissue. Grey matter. Then there is colour. Sound. Taste. Texture. Pain. Thought. The latter froth riding the shifting waves of the former. Or perhaps the opposite. Either way, it doesn¡¯t truly matter. At the centre of everything that exists is brutish absence. The dumb truth that this thing exists without argument. No permutation of meaningless noise can ever become meaningful. A million times zero is still zero.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Do you truly believe that? Can anything else be believed? Doesn¡¯t this place prove it? ¡­ All here are ghosts. The lunatic conjurings of a mind too feeble to make sense of the senseless. Not their fault. No mind¡¯s strong enough. Nothing lives in this place. Not really. At the core of everything that has ever existed is an absence large enough to dominate all else. They ¨C perhaps unequal to the rate at which the debate is progressing ¨C gather themself to drum a finger against the glass. Have you seen the walls of this place? The beating heart? The things that grow? You move. No. I just shift. And you can prove this quiet? It pauses. Think of a question. Any question. Why do gods act the way they do? Say there¡¯s a reason. Is there a reason for that reason? A reason for that reason¡¯s reason? Spiralling downwards endlessly? Infinite regress. Yes. Or somewhere along the way, a reason that has no reason? A brute fact. Two options. Infinite chains of justification, or an ultimate, reasonless answer. Both quiet. Unbreakably quiet. The amalgamate released something like a sigh. That depends. On what? Your interpretation. ¡­Interpret what? It could be quiet. It could also be that way because it¡¯s profoundly loud; so much so that reality bends around it. ¡­That¡¯s pedantic. This whole discussion is pedantic. Seemingly unprompted, the round sculpture arduously fights its way upright, then begins moving through the vistas. The amalgamate follows. There does not seem to be a destination. I don¡¯t know if I¡¯m right. They wait for another thought. It doesn¡¯t come. What do you know? A response does not emerge immediately As the two wind through the glass garden, it thinks. Ponderings rise and fall like phantasmal birds of paradise; vibrant yet intangible. They swoop. The pair walk. Landscapes pass by: rolling deserts; wavering forests; cracked wastelands; endless plains; ocean¡¯s depths. Finally, within itself it discovers a reply. At the core of my world is a hole. Life; death; blood: none are a match to it. I hear the truth of it. It is silence. Once, that quiet place was full of voices. But those echoes are starting to fade. It¡¯s quiet again. There¡¯s no sound to spare me. The amalgamate chuckles, in that voiceless way the sculptures that walk this place do. It turns to them, brow creaking upwards. You make your own sound. It turns. It¡¯s true. The shape of this place is yours. And how could such a bizarre discussion have occurred without it? I just watch, though. And by doing so, you make the seeing your own. Without your ears and eyes, none of this would exist. Really? Well, it seems so. You¡¯ll see. The amalgamate leans down to take its hands in their own. Just BREATHE. Then the two disparate sculptures are gone. *** Gast¡¯s eyes flutter open. Flames lick the air ravenously. Beneath, the wood loudly pops in concord. A thick blanket has been draped over her body to shield against Bite¡¯s teeth. Ants march across it in a complex logistical chain designed to retrieve crumbs speckled amongst the wool. She¡¯s pleasantly warm. Her mouth dry. When she¡¯d fallen asleep, the campfire hadn¡¯t been started. ¡°Look who¡¯s up,¡± Kit drawls at the other side of the fire. ¡°Just in time t¡¯avoid any real work.¡± Across from her, Vin spares a look from the cooking pot he tends to for a disapproving frown at the swordswoman. Ronnie ¨C seated beside him in anticipation for dinner ¨C warily glances between the two. ¡°Am I wrong?¡± she asks, flicking pebbles at the larger man. Each impact against his face is accompanied by a, ¡°Huh? Huh?¡± Though Vin¡¯s jaw had begun tightening, a sudden grin breaking across his face dispels it. ¡°Sounds like someone wants more spice in their meal.¡± Kit blanches as he reaches into his pack. The giant next to him chuffs in silent laughter. The Strain sits up, careful to avoid displacing the ants. Night has descended. Across the camp, Whip and Davian sort supplies from their cart while quietly discussing the vagaries in scholarship on monsters. The teenage girl wants more research on breeding habits. Her embarrassed elder is attempting to steer the conversation elsewhere. He has little luck. Elsewhere, their donkey ¨C the Missus ¨C stares at the pair disdainfully as he chews feed. Sloshing from behind. Gast turns to find Ronnie shaking a skin of water at her. She takes it. Swallows. Tastes clear. They must¡¯ve refilled it from the stream while she slept. After emptying it, the fat Strain returns it. The giant gives it a shake and snorts at discovering it empty. Then raps Gast on the forehead in admonishment before tossing it at her feet. Ronnie¡¯s good hand snaps repeatedly. Whip turns to watch the huge Strain sign. ¡°Hi Gast,¡± she says. ¡°Ronnie wants you to refill it.¡± When Gast looks to the giant, they nod in endorsement of the translation. Then return to their post beside the pot. Whip limps over to her as the heavy Strain makes the journey to her feet. ¡°I can do it for you if you¡¯re too tired,¡± she offers. ¡°Whip.¡± Eyes rolling in exasperation, Davian gestures towards her crutch and shoots Gast a meaningful glance. The woman thinks for several moments, then shakes her head. ¡°Are you sure?¡± She nods. ¡°Okay.¡± Whip begins to hobble away, then turns. ¡°Call if you need something.¡± The stream is a short walk away. The caravaners they guard hold a closer spot. More defensible that way, said the scarred lady with the orange-haired girl. Gast passes the Growers and Smiths: the Owlblood and his wife, the old man gambling with Rita, the old woman, the babies and the sour-faced man looking after them. Then Tippi, Crumpet, and the angry old lady. Their voices fade beneath the burbling of the stream. It tumbles over stones with a quiet murmur. Cold flecks of water speckle the Strain¡¯s face. She kneels beside the flow, watching a wobbling mirror of herself repeat the motion in the stream. Behind that Gast, silhouettes fly through the clear night sky in pursuit of nocturnal activities. A red beetle mounts her knee and stolidly climbs upwards. Across the river, the heartwoods sway in the breeze. Their gnarled, spiked branches lose their edge in the moonlight. A set of rodents cluster around the branch. They look upwards. Amidst the quiet, Rita cusses at a turn of dice. An owl hoots secretively. Kit and Vin¡¯s bickering grows loud enough to be heard. The campfire pops loudly. The sour-faced man teaches his son about the plants lining the river. Wind gently blows. Whip laughs at something. The beetle rests on her shoulder. High above, the moons hang shrouded in starlight. A crowd of light jostles for their attention. Same as it ever was. And Gast finds herself smiling. *** The crystal landscape has not changed. It remains transparent; solid in form yet made transient by darkness passing through it. To wake is to witness a vast chasm in all directions and the miraculous fact that no one is falling into it. Above, the orb of blood thunders. Between it all is a pile of dust. As they have done many times before, the amalgamate pulls themself from it, limb by limb. Throughout the process, only the whisper of dust rubbing against flesh and wood fills the empty air. The ubiquitous creaking that accompanied all their wooden motions has faded. In its absence, the darkness seems a bit calmer. They finish their labour and stay cross-legged for a time. Take in the air as well as a sculpture can. Broad, dextrous hands tracing one another soundlessly. Eventually, they pick the fragment of slate from the ground where the dust had lain. Musings cover its every inch. The amalgamate lays the sheathed sword across their knees and joins the slate to its partners: the bell; the wing; the ivory filagree; the seed. Then they rise. Look around the still, empty garden; the monstrous silence beneath it. A long vine dangles into it. With a single blow, they shatter a hole into the substance beneath them. Then they begin the long climb downwards. Chapter 80 (8/13) - God of Memory Follow that twisted cord down. Where the walls of the pit trace familiar shapes: wide streets; a vast oasis, ringed by crops; single-storey buildings, roughly-hewed and grainy; the smudged faces of the people moving through it all. Witness them fall skywards, shuffling with painful slowness into a darkness that obscures everything but the faintest suggestion of laughter. Feel the walls grow coarse and red; the shapes in them lined and blurred as if seen through a riotous storm. They, too, fall away. Inch-by-inch, the walls begin to strangle the space between them. As if it¡¯s a co-conspirator, the rope¡¯s verdant sinews transition to crimson cordage. Further downwards, they become slimy; difficult to grip. The long thorns that soon sprout from them are a blessing and a curse. With them, it¡¯s easy to hang on for just a little longer. Just a little further. From below emerges a hound¡¯s braying. The tap-tap of paws dancing repeatedly in a circle. A subtle grunt hissing through teeth of ivory. The strain of wood and flesh. At the end of the rope hangs its shadow; a sculpture of bark and blackened flesh, embellished with ivory scrimshaw. Pock-marks scatter its visage, penetrating through its outer layer to reveal the derelict space within. The greatest concentration of them hangs beneath it: buried in two withered legs shedding pieces of themselves, mark after mark, moment after moment. Those discarded flakes of bark drift for a few seconds before settling at the hole¡¯s bottom, a few steps beneath. Piles of broken masonry and collapsed wood mound together there: remnants of structures fallen from far above. Hints of individual rooms ¨C kitchens, pantries, bedrooms ¨C persist even amongst the wreckage, swaddled in a forlorn emptiness. Scratches of life endures amongst them. But that life has long departed. They are abandoned, now. Atop those derelicts, another statue creaks across the rubble on four legs, barking uproariously at the swaying figure. Ivory burrs cover it from head-to-tail; easily impaling the wood sheafs drifting from above. It pauses, tense, and attempts to spring towards the humanoid. Instead, it tumbles back onto the cold pile. The carving stares upwards, hands trembling where the rope¡¯s thorns impale them. Its empty gaze wavers, yet never moves from its target. A trembling arm darts upwards; ripping its palm from the spikes below only to immediately perforate them again on those above. The movement is repeated with the other arm. Then, arduously, the sculpture hauls itself up. Towards the city in the walls, high above. Those sandstone streets. The hot days spent laying on the floor or drenched in cold water. Nights spent huddled together as dust storms rattled the shutters. Stones tossed at the few glass windows they could find. Bare feet pounding the dirt and arms full of stolen food, laughter trailing their wake. The before more vivid than the now. Just a little further. Except it¡¯s not that figure that rises. It¡¯s the rope that lowers; pulled down by excess weight. No closer to the top. Ruined feet still precariously close to the wreckage. Sluggishly, empty eye-sockets sway. A wooden chest heaves in obeisance to a phantom exertion. Articulated hands move as if to continue up, yet fail to find the will to do so. Instead, the sculpture hangs, the long vine growing into its fingers. Someone¡¯ll come along. Everything¡¯ll be the way it used to. Just gotta hold on. It does not know that the hole ¨C that seemingly infinite stretch falling from above ¨C is far shorter than it seems. That the suggestion of a city far above and the shape of broken houses below are just that: shapes. A stage conjured for a cast and audience of one. Or that the dog ¨C not even a dog, anymore ¨C barking beneath bays not out of aggression but anxiety. Just as the four-legged sculpture doesn¡¯t know that the man dangling above is in no threat of death. That threat has fallen already. It doesn¡¯t matter. They know enough. That the rope is a cruel trick. That they cannot linger here, in this half-life, sustained by ruinous longing and desperate fear. That they must linger, regardless. The four-legged sculpture howls. We¡¯ll make it back, the hanging sculpture tells it. We¡¯ll make it. Another bark, more insistent. Yeah, ¡®cause lettin¡¯ all our work come to nothin¡¯ is a real fun idea. A whine. It¡¯ll be fine. Just gotta hold on. With that, the carving laughs ¨C empty and harsh ¨C at some secret joke contained within its own words. Beneath it, the sculpted hound continues to bay. From above, the amalgamate finally finishes climbing down the pit¡¯s rough walls and gingerly pick their way over the rubble, to where the dog barks. When they reach down to pet it, it ignores the grind of wood on wood in favour of continued howling. They look up. What are you doing? Just waitin¡¯. For what? For things t¡¯go back to the way they used to be. Where was that? Back home, the two chorus. Years ago. You know that place does not exist, anymore. It¡¯s gone. Nothing¡¯s ever gone if I just hold on. They look around and find little. ¡­No one¡¯s coming. Here, nothing will ever change.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. There is a long pause. The sculpted hound has grown silent; sensing the gravity of the exchange. The rope grows into the hanging sculpture¡¯s hands. Its face creaks into a wince. Gettin¡¯ it all back was always a long shot, wasn¡¯t it? But I¡¯ll keep trying. Even if it kills me. It¡¯s worth that much? S¡¯worth everything. Anything. Why? Because it was everything. I was in a better place. As a better person. Tougher; stronger; kinder. I could do whatever I set my mind to. Be anyone. Now I¡¯m just here. As this gaunt, grasping figure. Their hollow gaze softens. It¡¯s not too late to leave this place. Find it all again. It was a miracle I found my way there the first time. Then find something else. Movin¡¯ on¡¯s the same as leaving everything behind. No. I won¡¯t abandon my ambitions. This isn¡¯t ambition. Who cares what it is? I won¡¯t do it. If I can¡¯t have it, then I¡¯ll have nothin¡¯ at all. You settle for nothing when you could have the world. Anything else¡¯ll be a cold shadow, an¡¯ I¡¯ll feel it grow colder every day. The dog barks. The amalgamate listens. That mutt doesn¡¯t know what the hell it¡¯s sayin¡¯. You know better, the large sculpture tells it, don¡¯t you? Why wouldn¡¯t you let go if you believe that? What are you really waiting for? I did believe that. I¡¯m not a liar. Not like everyone else. But you avoid the full truth. Answer me. The rope creaks where it hangs. Digs deeper into its body; a parasite feeding on the delusions of its host. Day by day, draining it of what it could be, in favour of what it can¡¯t. Turning it into a shadow. A host with enough clarity to understand their relationship, yet was still happy to indulge it. But here, its hold loosens. I don¡¯t really know. Something t¡¯happen. Something t¡¯change. ¡­ I¡­ I¡¯ve been so patient. Time¡¯s meant to heal all wounds. So why aren¡¯t I healing? It hangs. Flakes fall from its body. This isn¡¯t a wound, the amalgamate says. It¡¯s a state of being. One you have forced yourself into. Then what am I meant to do? How can I change who I am? ¡­I do not know. Not yet. But it begins with abandoning this shadow you¡¯ve made of yourself. With HOPE for yourself, and not for what you used to be. Arduously ¨C each yank pulling pieces of its hand away ¨C the sculpture tears itself from the rope. Finally, the hanging statue allows gravity to take it. A hand and a paw touch it, then all that remains is a cloud of dust drifting towards the rubble of a place that no longer exists. *** Blake huddles backwards; deeper into the mouldy blankets and the insect-swarmed arms of Mumma. Beside the bed, the shutters rattle from the force of the wind howling outside. Mere hours ago, their tiny hovel was hot enough to bake in. Now, with the sun hidden behind a shroud of dust, it¡¯s colder than anything except the stiff, unmoving skin of his mother. Though he shivers, the boy clings to her body anyway. There¡¯s nothing else to cling to, here. A loud growl shudders out from his belly. A flinch travels with it, in anticipation for a slap that never falls. Mumma was upset, back when she got sick. Before she couldn¡¯t move. Really really upset. Little bubbles grew on her skin, and when Blake said they were kind of pretty she got mad and he got scared and ran off into the street. He wishes he didn¡¯t do that. Because when she came back, she didn¡¯t say anything. Not even when he asked whether she was still angry at him. Blake knows, somewhere deep inside of him, that she will never answer that question. Despite that, he¡¯s at home. The only home he¡¯s ever known. Once more, hunger pangs wrack his stomach. All the food in the house vanished days ago; split between Blake and Mumma¡¯s limp, smelly mouth. Instead, the boy chews on the mouldy blankets, ignoring the flies trying to crawl into his eyes. He¡¯s learned that this is the best way to fight the pain off: tricking it into thinking he¡¯s eating something so it leave him alone. Yet they¡¯ll come back, harder and angrier than before. It¡¯s the worst pain he¡¯s ever felt; worse even than when Mumma doesn¡¯t want to talk to him. Vaguely, Blake understands that if nothing changes, he¡¯ll become like Mumma. But he doesn¡¯t know what else to do. He¡¯s only a kid. For an undefined stretch of time, the boy lingers in that blank space unthinkingly. The brown light rattling between the shutters fade as night falls. Frigid air pokes between the gaps in the blankets, and he nestles deeper. Insects crawl across his face, and he repeatedly shakes them off. Again and again, the hunger returns and each time he tries to transmute his blanket into food. Each time, he fails. He gets up to drink the silty dregs from a bucket of water. On the way back, a sudden wave of dizziness rings through his head. Blake staggers sideways, accidentally knocking the contents of a crowded tabletop ¨C piles of Mumma¡¯s beauty supplies and work clothes ¨C onto the dirt floor. Instinctively, he wraps his arms over his head and clenches his eyes shut. When he opens them, Blake is met with a decaying body. Her once tight stomach, gone bloated. Her tanned skin, now pock-marked by yellow pustules. Her bloated tongue and eyes, lousy with tiny bugs rubbing their miniscule arms together. Whatever spark she once contained vanished. Blake¡¯s gut yanks upwards, but he falls down. Home¡¯s gone. After a while, he manages to find his way to his feet and walk to the door. When he pulls it open, the cold rushes through his worn clothes like a knife. His vision goes white; the light of the night sky almost blinding him. When it returns, the boy finds himself standing before a cold, unwelcoming world. Blake shivers before the precipice. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he says, to the corpse, ¡°but I gotta go.¡± A decade from now, sitting beside the ashes of a man who meant more to him than words can capture, a lone hound will come to the same realisation. One of them will hold that epiphany deep in their heart. One of them will abandon it, just as the world has abandoned him. But though a patina of time may tarnish its lustrous gleam and mould it into foreign shapes, anything that is lost can be found once more. *** When they land, the impact shudders every fraction of their pock-marked body. If the amalgamate had lungs, they might¡¯ve coughed. As is, they simply lay there. The rubble has dissipated ¨C wood and mortar vanishing like ash on a breeze. In its wake is cool, flat stone; unembellished by the ubiquitous flesh, ivory, or vegetation that define this place. The physical termination of the godhead. Yet it is no exit. Roots bind the body of the amalgamate to the divine substance that form the pit¡¯s perimeter. But they¡¯re not looking behind. They gaze up, to where the walls of the pit grow wide. Then past the garden of glass and the empty terraces; past the tower and the maze; past the fort and the remains of the shack. Past the great orb of blood. Past the bone that forms the outer edge of this empty shell. To the ocean of blue above. However, there¡¯s still work to be done down here. For the moment, they shift their gaze to of the object nestling in their palms. A tiny carving, frozen in a fit of laughter. Somehow, it has found its way all the way down here. Yet unlike before, its skin is covered in the same pock-marks that now coat the amalgamate¡¯s ivory skin. Despite everything, it remains. As they close their hand around it, a slight grin creases the corner of their mouth. They carefully join it to the sheathed sword. When they¡¯re done, they rise again. Where¡¯s that bloody idiot? the amalgamate mutters to themself. Of course, the answer is known to them. Close ¨C very close ¨C but there are more obstacles ahead. With a weary groan, they place their hands on the wall and begin to climb. Chapter 80 (9/13) - God of Memory At the innermost point of this place, onyx and crimson wrestle according to the rhythm of cacophonous peals. Small skirmishes of colour around its spherical border blister into existence, growing fat on the pus of divinity. Eventually, they grow too heavy to cling to that hanging orb and fall off. Some time ago, one such droplet fell on a shack. Most do not. Most fall towards the broken tree. A pale-white crack in the darkness; a wraith to match any ghost contained within these bounds. For it is dead ¨C cracked under a force both more powerful and more brutish than itself ¨C and left to list sideways, limp and accusatory. A monument to millennia, destroyed on a whim. Once alabaster bark is stained with dull brown lines where red and black have fought. Its boughs extend like the long shadows of an outstretched arm. Unsated by the blood that marks them. Underlaying it is a stratum of hands and eyes. A plain of grass twisted, not into wood, but warm, clinging muscle and organs. Replete with capillaries and expanded pupils and measured patience. They twitch around the shade as if to anoint it; spreading across the earth widely. All the way to the edge of the pit. When the amalgamate finally climbs out of that hole, they find this awaiting them. In every direction; an inescapable circle. The sudden stillness of the hands. The overbearing branches. The silent gravity that holds within the air, cold and infinitely patient. The pressure almost crushes them. Those eyes. If only they would look away. The huge carving moves carefully through the field of flesh ¨C tugging their trailing roots away from the frozen fingers ¨C towards the broken tree at its centre. Each moment awaits an inevitable impact, but one that flits torturously away from the present. Halfway across the plain, and it seems impossible that it hasn¡¯t fallen yet. Still, nothing changes until they arrive beneath the shattered canopy, to where pale sticks litter the strange, shattered shapes that lay around its roots. There is a twitch. The amalgamate goes still. Their surroundings stir. The many scattered eyes begin to shake wildly. An invisible wind shakes the canopy above. Sediment begins to vibrate, as if some great beast far beneath were stirring. As hands begin to close around their legs, the huge figure waits patiently. Something twists their instincts, and they look up. Hanging from the boughs above are three incomplete figures. Their boundaries blur into the ubiquitous gloom, which slithers across their faded forms in an insidious suggestion of shape: hinting at expressions and limbs and movements that may or not may not be true. Like a twisted mobile spinning above an infant¡¯s crib, they slowly rotate around the tree. Despite their liminal and undefined nature, each possess features wrought in startling clarity. The first has the upper torso of a man, a broken string of beads dangling around a thin cavity where a blade has perforated it. The second clenches ineffectual, phantom hands around its abdomen, which dangles ropey entrails into the gloom below. The third and final leers as its forearm ¨C athletically lithe ¨C clutches the hilt of a shattered sword, which it dares to point at the amalgamate below. Well, well, well, it sneers, look what finally stopped playin¡¯ pretend. The figure allows the hands to crawl further up. A glance downwards reveals those hands are birthed of arms, and those arms of dancing, fragmented faces, bearing wounds of their own. The first dangles disapprovingly. It would have wiser to stay in place, ?????? declares. This all could have been avoided. The second hangs its head ¨C almost entirely shadow. Isn¡¯t it clear? ???? pleads. This won¡¯t end well. It can¡¯t. That which initially spoke ¨C the third ¨C seems to scowl. Think a fool¡¯s gonna listen to reason? ??? cackles hoarsely. Second-funniest thing said all day, an¡¯ the first¡¯s that joke standin¡¯ down there. The amalgamate speaks in defence. Yet the words never find purchase and simply slip into the shadows surrounding them. Here is not a place of answers. As those ghouls sway above, the amalgamate¡¯s wooden gaze burrows into the bodies beneath them. Their attention is returned many times over, by the layer of flickering eyes smeared across the ground beneath. An oppressive amount. Yet simply turning away from these ghosts will rob them of power. Blocking sight and sound renders them toothless. Here, ignorance is strength. Strength enough to simply move past. They could also destroy them. Here lies mere mouthpieces, filling the air with empty words. The most solid of these tongues are little more than husks. Yet though they seem individually hollow, none are weak. The sheer, loathsome weight of that which surrounds the tree suggests one thing: this place is a locus for something far more dangerous than any of its fragments. But obliterating these obstacles seems possible. The huge sculpture is an entity for whom every step requires the labour of a league, however that only means that its feet fall with the force of thousands. They¡¯re capable of turning these ghosts to nothing; to less than nothing. Once more, ignorance is strength. Is that the kind of strength the amalgamate searches for? The strength to turn away? There is a third option. To bear the terrible burden of these eyes and their fragmented words. To acknowledge them, and let their efforts try to break them. What kind of god lives in this space? What kind of god should leave it? Above, the orb of blood thunders. A decision is made. Ooh, ??? croons. You¡¯ll regret that. Without a shield of apathy, the hands beneath dig deeper. Fingernails carve new gouges and settle into extant grooves in their scrimshawed skin. Scratching ever deeper, and the amalgamate ¨C foolishly; kindly; cruelly ¨C allows it. Until their wooden form is stretched upon a rack of flesh, with the ghouls swaying above the judge for this vengeful spectacle. How many people have you murdered? The first asks. Dozens? Over a hundred? The very least you could do was keep count of the slaughtered sons and daughters trailing behind you. Yet, atop that hill, you faltered. Despite your perfect memory, the bodies blurred together. A monumental failure. And not your first. Once more, the amalgamate speaks. That was unintentional. Who could be expected to retain focus through such chaos? None of the executioners seem to hear them. Ears do not adorn this desecrated tree: only a chorus of eyes demanding answers from one insufficient to the task. No, not your first dereliction, ?????? idly continues. Would that be when your meddling singlehandedly left your family defenceless? When you lied to you mother for years in favour of self-preservation? Or was it when you forced her to suicide? Hm? That¡¯s not how it went. Not your first, it muses, and not your last. The hints of a body around its torso grow large, many-fanged, monstrous. Yet still human. Always human. For the crime of doing what he thought was right, you have burned a man alive. In service of a murderous thug better dead than alive. To stop dozens of others from dying. You tried to prevent them from climbing that hill. You should have tried harder. They weren¡¯t listening. And at the top, it took little for you to abandon your self-imposed restrictions. The mere promise of salvation was enough for you to damn countless others. If your self-restraint meant so little to you, why adopt it in the first place? There were no other options. A man dead in the Fox¡¯s forest, for the crime of earning your disdain. That was the Shrikeblood. Then, in that crater, two people killed because, despite being the only one of your kind, you were too weak to rescue them. No one could¡¯ve helped them. A father murdered, with his son in the next room over, because you lacked self-control. He¡­ He moved too fast. It was the Ravenblood. Then the Fort. Piles of bodies: a gift for the beast who stuck his head in the sand. Who desired nothing more than to abandon responsibility. It was meant to get rid of everything. All the power of a god, and what did you do with it? You faded out of existence. There are no better options. And that¡¯s only in this life. You have manipulated your own friend into killing you. You have slept through the pain of others. You have killed your own parents. You have built a tower of corpses, uncaring of your own family. You have poisoned a city to its death-bed for your cowardice. You have manipulated a continent for a man weeks dead. You have killed the people who trusted me for the crime of bleeding black; lied and resented the children who loved you. ¡­ A poor parent. Poor leader. Poor citizen. Poor spouse. Poor person. Poor human. Poor friend. Poor god. All that power, and you have saved no one. Not even yourself. A dog would do better. But you¡¯re no dog, are you? You¡¯re a monster. A breath. The amalgamate sucks back into themself; arrives beneath the broken tree and the relentless stares of those that dangle from it. Ineffability sinks into them; a lack of words commanded by the severity of the charges. Their wrought chest heaves in search of air their body has no need for, and cannot truly inhale besides. Seemingly satisfied, the first vague remnant ¨C stabbed clean through the chest ¨C has gone quiet. The remaining hands churn around roots and legs in crawling fervour ¨C excitement or mere overstimulation ¨C yet the amalgamate does not tear themself from that seething mass. Instead, they turn their hollow gaze upwards. The carrion tree waits: pale and streaked with lines of brown unnervingly akin to a warped, demented face. Do you remember my name? the second solemnly asks, entrails spilling where an ivory spike once impale it. You know some of us. Dirk. Whip. Rita. Colin. Greta. Henrik. Ambrose. But what about the guards? The soldiers? Them common people, for whom violence was a necessity, and were too burdensome to be remembered? Some were failed. Others were murdered. None were saved. There¡¯re no kind deaths. And violent ends¡¯re amongst the cruellest. The amalgamate claims, That¡¯s unfair. Those that live by violence can justly die by it. Who can rebut basic symmetry? Of course, none of the broken tree¡¯s creatures listen. They don¡¯t care. They can¡¯t care. The power you have ¨C this great, tidal wave of holy ebony ¨C is enough to scratch out a thousand dreams. Bring to fruition countless impossible wishes. It pauses. So many people have cared for you. And with all that strength, and all that love, all you¡¯ve done is hurt. It was a mistake. ???? seems to shake its head. Jackson. An uncle to you in all but blood. How do you think he tortures himself over what happened? No one could have expected this. Dash. Sash. They loved you; they wanted to grow up with you. It was better that they didn¡¯t. The Face Bhan. He wanted an apprentice. Instead, he got you. He understands. Ronnie and the other Strains, who wanted nothing more than a place in the world. Is this the place they hoped for? What else is there? Head Maleen. Completely alone in this world, with the legacy of her family on her shoulders. You only added to that burden. No one alive started that.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. Erin. An impossible dreamer. Just a few deaths; that¡¯s all she asks for. You¡¯ve died many times, but have yet to die in any way that matters. Can¡¯t die. Can never die. And Kit. How much have you taken from her? How much will you take, if you make it where you¡¯re going? ¡­ And where are you going? Where¡¯re you taking us? Will it be to the places we dreamt of, in life? What¡¯s our destination? Is it enough to daub over the wounds inflicted on us? The people you killed? In life, we were temporal. In death, we¡¯re timeless. Forever hungry. Forever yearning. Who¡¯ll answer this tree of screams? Who¡¯ll sate our agony? No one can, it quietly concludes. Not even the end of that shell¡¯s quest will heal these wounds. After all, healing requires a future, and there¡¯s no future for the dead. And you¡¯re little more than a mound of corpses. You can¡¯t change. So stay here. It¡¯s the safest place for monsters like you. A beat. They return; the shadows and hands and eyes and gnarled, leering tree fading back into existence. Clammy fingers dig into their obsidian flesh: somehow warm, despite everything. Above, the orb of blood swirls according to its fell laws. Their chest heaves. The hollow, wooden cavity that is their mouth gags and heaves, yet uproots no bile; only air and sound. ???? has grown quiet. Not from lack of words, but the certainty that everything it could ever say has already been instilled in the amalgamate beneath. They pant ¨C immobilised by the flesh surrounding them ¨C and turn their gaze back to the tree. Its ghostly skin is sombre in the gloom. The final body is not. Oh wah, the third raises a single solid arm raised to mockingly rub at a nebulous eyeball, poor lil¡¯ me! It¡¯s so hard havin¡¯ more power¡¯n any other creature alive; it jus¡¯ makes me so sad. Why, I might jus¡¯ weep from the sheer sorrow of it! ¡®In the darkness. In the darkness¡¯ Doom an¡¯ gloom. Gloom an¡¯ doom. Aren¡¯t you sick of it? Doesn¡¯t it start to grate ¨C just a little ¨C after a while? Shut up, it snaps. Gods, you never stop. It¡¯s bloody relentless. Can¡¯t have a moment t¡¯think with you carryin¡¯ all this damned garbage around. Bet you enjoy it, you self-servin¡¯ sack o¡¯ excrement; use it as an excuse. D¡¯you think ¡®feeling bad¡¯ makes you a good person? Ain¡¯t nothin¡¯ like guilt to wipe yer hands clean. Oughta sell it as a soap ¨C a few chits and all yer victims¡¯ll smile at th¡¯ bite of a knife. Its voice sours; broken features contorting in rage real or imagined. Only th¡¯ most shameless idiot alive¡¯ll buy that. These excuses. These self-indulgent little thoughts. Oh, look how pretty people are! An¡¯ how sad their dyin¡¯ is! Oh, look how pretty livin¡¯ is! Why, I do declare such revoltingly saccharine tripe should be framed an¡¯ hung on the wall! It¡¯s garbage; s¡¯all mawkish trash. S''not like you actually believe it. You loathe as much as you love. Maybe more so. Jus¡¯ as easy t¡¯see beauty in pain, an¡¯ ugliness in pleasure. If beauty an¡¯ goodness align, it¡¯s ¡®cause either the mind tricked ¡®em into accordance or sheer coincidence. Bet you¡¯re gonna come an¡¯ try an¡¯ devise some pithy, banal, one-word answer fer us, like that¡¯s a balm for every malady under the sun. Ha! What d¡¯you know? What can you have learned? What wisdom have you gleaned, from sittin¡¯ on yer arse an¡¯ cryin¡¯? Who are you to try an¡¯ tell anyone, anything; even yerself? You¡¯re nothin¡¯ but a snake-oil salesmen mistakin¡¯ insanity for insight; stupid and ultimately unthinking ¨C a mute bastard too scared for legitimate human contact. Someone who¡¯s internalised a sack of excuses so well he can barely articulate what they are anymore. You useless sack o¡¯ offal, ??? hisses, the offcuts; the stinkin¡¯ guts no one wanted. Cram a victim in th¡¯ skull of a violator an¡¯ call it savin¡¯ ¨C what a laugh! You know what they thought o¡¯ you. They were scared o¡¯ you, an¡¯ they were right to be. You¡¯re nothin¡¯ without a blade in your hand, and you¡¯re nothin¡¯ now that you¡¯ve put it down. I hate you. From the moment your misbegotten, malformed foetus crawled outta some poor woman¡¯s crevice, the world¡¯s been made worse off. We¡¯re our worst moments, an¡¯ our best ones, an¡¯ every little heartbeat in-between. But are you delusional enough to think yer highest will ever be a match for yer lowest? A monster¡¯s all you are, and all you¡¯ll ever be. A gasp, the relentless drumming of the blood above, and they find themselves bound beneath the boughs once more. That final, familiar ghoul pants, awaiting a reply that it cannot hear. Around the carrion tree is an area pruned of all conversation. Where it is trivial to slap down any retort. It is not a place where truth is sought, for despite people obsessing over it, telling truth from delusion is a rare skill uncommon amongst any species. Here is a place of pointed fingers and digging fingernails; words full of spittle and relentless stares. A place of accusations. Yet, it¡¯s somehow ironic. Despite their cruelty, the whorls in the pale tree and the blood drying upon it no longer seem an angry face, but one full of uncertainty. It seems to await a judgement of its own. So, carefully, the amalgamate begins peeling the hands from its sculpted form: pulling fingertips from the divots they¡¯ve carved. Immediately, the bodies that form the ground beneath writhe, flinging arms back up to cling to their form once more. If they wore only an unadorned blade at their waist, the gambit might have left them immobilised; sentenced to an eternity tied to a tree. But across the blade wait symbols enough to rebuff the ghoulish pieces above. Eventually, they manage to drag themself a little forward. Then they lean down and reach into the morass below. Some of it is fair. Some of it is nonsense. But it¡¯s hard to parse the two. Just sentencing is often ducked and insidious untruths embraced. It¡¯s a skill, and one that grows increasingly demanding with every nail sunk into flesh. Down there is deception. Down there is insight. Most of all, down there is dust. *** Before it can fully comprehend, its bark is broken, then its core ripped apart as the same force that impaled the man beneath touches it, and though the knowing will be slow eventually the tree¡¯s death will catch up with- *** Pulling out the weapon- *** -her arm is gone- *** -still feeling the rattle of the impact- *** -his head flinches backwards as the spear¡¯s haft blurs in Gale¡¯s hands, and as he stumbles his lord and murderer brushes past. The trailing edge of a thought formed before his death-blow compels him to spin. Shapes move, yet the guard never manages to comprehend he¡¯s watching his comrades die before his mind falters, leaving- *** -running up the offending limb and into bone as the dying stare- *** -the command to pass Henrik¡¯s lips. He understands it¡¯s a mistake that he must make, to curb this evil here. Gale ¨C blind Gale, little Gale, kind Gale ¨C will kill them all, but maybe they can destroy the Ravenblood as well. He¡¯s still hoping when his decapitated head hits the ground, and- *** -first in pain or confusion or simple rage, then slow, horrified comprehension- *** -Greta asks, ¡°What¡¯d you call me for, Gale? Is it about what we¡¯re making fer the delegation? Believe you me, I¡¯m puttin¡¯ me best foot forward,¡± and then her neck is twisted and she¡¯s wondering who will care for Ambrose and why a child she cared for all his life would do this- *** -and sometimes there¡¯s a wet, sucking sound as the murder weapon is pulled from their body- *** -Colin idly pokes at the furnace, pondering runes, and when he begins choking part of him is wondering who will finish the work as the rest discovers it does not want to die- *** -strangely enough, the resistance of pulling a blade out feels heavier than initially pushing it in- *** -she blinks stars away as she peeks over the rim of her shield to see the group ¨C miraculously not dead ¨C still sprinting towards their formation, and that horrible man howls with two voices and she feels herself lift off the ground and witnesses her own viscera and when she lands choking on her blood watches as her comrades are turned from people into paste- *** -and as the rest reels, some small, jaded part is already inventorying the time and effort necessary to clean the viscera from the weapon- *** -huge creature spinning through them like a nightmare with teeth of black and too many eyes and she screams in abject terror- *** -wondering why whatever unimaginably transcendent intellect created humanity made them bleed so damned much- *** -group of five ¨C plus, bizarrely, a dog cradled in the giant¡¯s arms ¨C emerge from the fog like startled turkeys. The Baylarian soldier gapes at them. Neither he nor the warriors beside them expected to be the ones to encounter the group. He¡¯s still trying to figure out what to do when a woman cuts down his partner and a man with far, far too many eyes swings a sword, then there¡¯s shocking, impossible pain- *** -because whetstones and oils and rags all have a monetary value, which means despite what most would believe, killing is often unprofitable- *** -entrails spilling as the speartree grows higher and the Aching ¨C exposed in all its bloody, alien, insane chaos ¨C yawns- *** -that¡¯s discounting the various aches and pains ¨C a pulled tendon or muscle ¨C birthed by the exertion of the actual act which will linger well into the future. It¡¯s a lot of work- *** -clung to the warrior who had the misfortune of witnessing the existence of Shrikeblood, tightening her arms around his neck like a steel vice, when a force slams into her back and something crunches, then before she catches her bearings something hammers her head, and she¡¯s confused and can¡¯t grasp the blurred shapes around her and what¡¯s happening- *** -and those thoughts whisper petulantly even if vomit rises up, scalding the throat, and threatens to erupt upon those dying people as if they¡¯re not disgusting enough, completely smeared in their own filth- *** -impaled through the chest as the Ravenblood looks at me- *** -and that disgust is a callous, terrifying thing, because they¡¯re facing the greatest ordeal of their life and being robbed of the time needed to overcome it, or at the very least come to terms with it. The sheer indignity of being judged by a murderer- *** -they surround the bloody Face staggering drunkenly downhill, having lost his grip on his halberd. They tremble. He¡¯s killed so many. But that¡¯s exactly why they must end him. We step forward, jab, and before one can register their spear has broken their chest is opened, then a scream, then a neck is snapped, and three become none- *** -for the crime of not dying cleanly is unacceptable. Nevertheless, against all reason and kindness, that feeling endures. Except it¡¯s not directed towards them anymore, is it? Because the contents of their defiled body doesn¡¯t stay within them as they die. It spreads out- *** -both hands around her neck and though she jabs her stiletto backwards it fails to find the bastard¡¯s flesh. Meant to be an easy mark, but before she can think to gurgle ¡®Don¡¯t¡¯ the others¡¯re firing from the woods and the man is using her as a shield. An enormous pain in her abdomen knocks the wind out of her, and as she looks down and sees the arrow through her gut she attempts to persuade herself it won¡¯t kill her. And then she¡¯s hauled upwards, and an arrow¡¯s coming, and he¡¯s grinning- *** -climbing from the body towards the boots, which grow wet and stained and offer no obstacle as they cling to feet. Then the pieces on the weapon ¨C the bits of bone and hair, maybe ¨C crawl up its blade or haft or skin to dismount onto the body; the wielder. Where that viscera begins to spread ¨C like a pox or blister or disease except utterly unlike those things, because there¡¯s a purity in the way it moves. A purity greater than the body it dwells upon, for that body is stinking and sweat-stained ¨C covered in the grime of the day ¨C yet despite that its touch does not cleanse, but desecrate. Now it infiltrates beneath clothes, creating a stain no amount of time or effort or whetstones or rags or oil can uproot, and it doesn¡¯t stop there. It crawls deeper: through skin and bone and marrow until there is nowhere else to crawl. And that dead body it once lived in is empty; just staring- *** -not gonna not gonna die not gonna die but the kid¡¯s spear is falling oh please, please *** -and in the reflection of their eyes, something can be seen. *** Dust hangs over the Foot. Dead fill its streets. Jackson lays on the ground. Pat stands, hackles raised, body tensed. Beside him, Sash and Dash stare at their older brother, white hair daubed in ash. Orvi¡¯s kindest lie hangs in the air. There¡¯s a body on the ground. A single word is mouthed. *** When Corvin wakes, everything is dark. The young boy rubs sleep from his bleary eyes, hoping maybe this is temporary. That his lack of vision is due to his own failure, and not one of the adults forgetting to light the lanterns. Aspirants get confused a lot, especially the ones with the blackest veins. Sometimes that means they forget things. Yet all he succeeds at his rubbing some kind of dry grit off his hands and onto face. They¡¯re meant to be here, he realises. All of the kids were taken deeper into the mountain, because the Raven wanted to give them its blood, and then they were going to help their god beat all the bad monsters and save everyone in the world. He¡¯d been scared, and hadn¡¯t wanted to go, and he¡¯d hid, and they¡¯d found him quickly, and everyone was mad at him and made him go anyway. Where are they now? Corvin tries to sit up. But just as his vision is obstructed, so too is his movement weighed down by a lump on top of him. It¡¯s not a blanket; too lumpy and damp and cold. There¡¯s not just one of them, either. But the irregular shape of these objects makes them easy to wriggle out from, though their strange texture leaves him shuddering. When he breaches the top of the pile, the dark does not abate. Once more, the boy blinks. ¡°Hello?¡± he calls, childish voice echoing through the chamber. ¡°Can someone help me please? Aunty? Uncle?¡± There are no replies. His mouth is gritty and dry; like he¡¯d just spent the whole afternoon sucking his shirt. He stares into the black void, fiddling with his shirt. ¡°We¡¯re nearly outta time. They¡¯re already fightin¡¯. You needa take them twins an¡¯ get out o¡¯ here.¡± ¡°You should light a lantern, Corvin.¡± ¡°I¡¯m so sorry for what you must withstand.¡± Corvin flinches at the sudden noise; a cacophony of different voices overlaying each in a chorus of reluctant, atonal singers. Some of them are familiar, but they¡¯re really noisy and speak strangely; he can¡¯t quite understand what they¡¯re saying. Something about a lantern? However, even if the boy can get his hands on one, only adults can light them. Regardless, he paws through the mishappen objects beneath in an attempt to find one. After a short time, his efforts are rewarded. At the touch of the dry grit flaking off his fingers, the lantern shines a light bright enough to send a stab of pain through his skull and force his eyes shut once more. Upon cracking them open again, the first thing he discovers is that his hands are smeared with black gunk. He staggers upright, frantically wiping them on his pants, only to discover his entire body is drenched in the stuff. Every inch of him; it penetrates every crack and crevice. Eventually, he stops in favour of picking up the lantern and trying to penetrate the darkness. When he fails, Corvin looks down. His mouth goes dry. ¡°Uh.¡± There¡¯re these ugly, dark lumps underneath his feet. ¡°Uh.¡± No. Not lumps. ¡°Uh.¡± People. Tears are leaking from his eyes. ¡°Uh. Uh.¡± They¡¯re not moving. ¡°Uh.¡± Corvin can¡¯t breathe. Can¡¯t get air through his throat. How did he do it before? They¡¯re dead. A scream rips from his throat and he¡¯s stumbling down the mound of bodies, looking for someone to help but there¡¯s no one around to help because everyone who isn¡¯t dead is gone, gone, and he doesn¡¯t want to look at them because anyone he sees right now will be someone he knows. And then he trips over a splayed, clammy hand. The boy lands directly onto his forearms, scraping them across the rocky floor. Behind his sobs, there¡¯s the sound of babies crying. Corvin doesn¡¯t know what to do. ¡°Help,¡± he croaks. Earlier, someone had spoken. Wiping tears from his face, the boy picks the lantern back up and climbs to his feet to peer through the darkness in search of them. This time, he catches a glimpse of more than just shadow. Thousands of eyes glint along one of the walls, stretching between nebulous, twisting darkness. Unrelentingly staring. The shadows hint at shapes: teeth; claws; hair; faces ¨C the terrible nightmares of countless children made manifest. Those few concrete eyes he can see are no match for the infinite number of threats he can¡¯t. His imagination fills those in. In truth, he sees very little. But just enough for the pieces to click into place, and to understand what has just happened here. ¡°Monster,¡± Corvin breathes. *** Bereft of the bodies, the ground surrounding the broken tree is mere bark and bone ¨C much like any other stretch of wall that defines this place. The tree itself is made vulnerable without it. A tall, skinny thing; elegant yet infinitely fragile. The amalgamate picks itself up. Then checks its waist for the onyx scabbard and the many mementos bound to it. There are none for this place. None are needed. The blade¡¯s edge carries that memory better than anything else could. They look up at the tree. You are hated, it says. You deserve that much. Fine. Fine? Dismissing this is easy, then. Not dismission. There is no weakness in any emotion. Only in what is done with them. Another fine line, it quietly mocks. Go ahead, then. Tell that thing at the centre of this all that everything will be okay. Keep lying. No, they reply. ¡­Then how are you going to deceive it, this time? No deception. Then what will you say? That they¡¯re strong enough for this. And they will decide for themself whether that¡¯s the truth or fiction. There is a pause. Well. I suppose we¡¯ll see where the cards land. But, its blood-stained bark continues, know that the deck is stacked my way. The amalgamate does not reply. Instead, they turn. Once more, the sculpture marches back into the darkness, scabbard and accoutrements tapping against their leg. That apparition moves sluggishly; their exhaustion manifest with each arduous movement of the roots forming their feet. It has been a long way. Not much further, now. Chapter 80 (10/13) - God of Memory A sharp, rhythmic scraping emanates from the darkness. Amidst these ivory halls, only its voice can be heard. Whatever noises might have preceded it are silent in comparison. Merely the chittering of dolls, bound by strings of black and red sadistically dragging them across a derelict stage. There is no higher authority than those thin, inexorable lines. Here comes one such doll, dragging themself through the barren purgatory between places, where life longing to spring forth is stifled by the tread of ghosts. Witness this holy abomination: the dark bark and black sinew; the bone and ivory plating chiselled into a mishmash of familiar shapes; the crimson and onyx roots trailing behind. Articulated, scythe-like hands marred by scorch-marks, parallel scarring and the remnants of a pox; quiet despite their wooden joints. These same marks stretch across their entirety of their tall, confronting body. Perhaps in mockery. A strange assortment bejewels its waist. Of course, the amalgamate is not alone in the spherical theatre it crawls within. From the wasteland arises countless columns, rising tall enough they seem walls in their own rights. But these monuments are not marble: they are bark and sinew and ivory. They are sculptures. And they are endless. Scrape. Scrape. The amalgamate pauses before the labyrinth of statues stretching before them. That sound emerges from it, having rattled through its halls for an untold amount of time. Discerning its origin is next to impossible ¨C the lack of uniformity to the sculptures leaves the acoustics utterly bizarre. At times, it seems to be coming from all around them. They continue anyway. Stillness reigns, within these halls. The faces that compose them are masterfully crafted ¨C every detail lovingly attended to ¨C but also distorted. Most resemble humans, yet the sheer difference of their materials renders those images uncanny. Frozen wood makes a poor substitute for flesh and motion. However, that¡¯s not the only distinction. Beyond the translation from breath to bark, there¡¯s a distinctly agonised aspect to them. Somewhere in the maze, some thing speaks. Ma wakes up and goes out because she has a big plan. The amalgamate cocks their wrought head sideways, attempting to glean its location. Identically to the scraping, its origin cannot be ordained. All that can be done is to continue through the ivory murals. Depicted in their immaculate contours are familiar scenes. Mountainous depths, filled with black-veined figures. Those figures now dead; mingling with the bodies of warriors writ against the backdrop of an immense corpse. Dusty, sandstone streets. An alien landscape: pink and red. That same landscape, covered in ice. Immense spires stabbing towards the sky, interlaced with bridges full of life. A derelict town on a hill. Shattering stone at the bottom of a crater, and the ants fighting within. A house amidst the snow, and quiet, unmarked graves. Across a plain, one squat, discontent fortress. That fort soaked in blood. Holes in the ground. A confusing castle, scattered with gold-clad figures. The innards of a god. She goes and helps Gale, because he¡¯s very sad. These, intermingled with pieces of other lives. Foreign places. Unseen battlefields. People lost long ago. None of these are marked as different from the rest. All are like altars, or effigies ¨C raised high above the cold stone beneath. And then they join hands and go to help Babs, because he¡¯s scared. Because it is cold, here. If they breathed, their breath would emerge in clouds of fog. Instead, frost settles over their body, covetous of the small warmth within. Every movement and step are accompanied by a crackle as their body crunches through ice. The darkness is truly frigid. But it does not obstruct. Here, everything is immediately apparent. Vision is unnecessary. They go and help Tully, who¡¯s really tired. As the carving shivers their way deeper, the pained aspect to the statue-walls grows increasingly pronounced. Mishappen lumps appear across their wrought bodies, their slight pulsation an affront to the serenity of this place. A broken arm ¨C seemingly gained through mundane, childish error ¨C heals poorly, and its point begins to grow increasingly pronounced against bark. Then Wil, who¡¯s gotten lost. It goes further; deeper. Quotidian sicknesses mend, yet as a legacy leave behind frenzied humours that recognise the body itself as a malady. Tiny lumps, ravenous, corrupt the surrounding bark and continue metastising throughout the walls. Organs ¨C eyes, ears, and others ¨C buckle under their own function, having been fouled by their own design. Step by step, the amalgamate wanders through frozen, one-way crossroads, where the fundamental strata of being has gone haywire. And they go and help Gast, too, because she needs to talk. Through these scenes of sabotage, they try to follow those words. Once pristine ivory walls have grown dilapidated. Their bark skin sags outwards. Peels away. A devoted set of hands has attempted to patch the holes appearing within them, yet these hands must have been unsteady, for their contrived repairs have themselves fallen away to reveal what lays within the desecrated sculptures. And they even help Blake, who wants what he¡¯s not allowed to have. It¡¯s blood. What else could it be? They go to all the angry people, and listen to them. It¡¯s everywhere. Running through every piece of this labyrinth as an unbroken chain. Within those pristine faces made hideous, and running through the ground beneath, and most of all drumming a beat far above. One everything here marches to. As the cold breaks superficial chunks of the amalgamate, they find a drop within them as well. That same radiant drop that fell, long ago. They cradle it deeper within them. And then they¡­ Soon enough, pulsating pieces freeze into stillness as the amalgamate crunches further inside the maze. The cold itself is now their foremost obstacle: a tangible, covetous force seeking to rob them of their hard-won impetus. To repel them from this place. The amalgamate won¡¯t allow it. And then¡­ The maze opens. Those heinous walls fall away. In their wake is an immense courtyard. Flowers grow in patches, free and wild, as branches heavy with fruit offer shade. Vines intertwine carefully constructed supports, forming rings of hedges through which to walk. Bushels of berries are daintily plucked by small birds and other creatures, as insects root through detritus below. People step along dirt paths, inspecting their surroundings mid-conversation with their peers. All is still. All are carved. All face the same direction: towards what beats above. The amalgamate walks through the frozen garden. Beyond the sound of their body dragging through ice, all that can be heard amidst the darkness is that ubiquitous scraping. It emanates from the centre of this place, where a mound of sculptures are piled. At its apex, a hole can be found, containing a small kitchen full of bronze pots and cookware. There, a collection of small, hand-sized carvings are arranged along its floor, where a thing sits and carefully, meticulously carves pieces of itself into sculptures before breaking them away. Upon its face, it wears the long, beaked skull of a bird. The amalgamate halts behind it. It begins shaking. And then what? they ask. Gingerly, it retracts its knife back into its arm. Then it takes the familiar figures scattered around it in its many hands. Each trembles; almost too weak to lift them. It swallows. Then they¡­ It hesitantly tilts a few of them together in the manner of children, as if to make them fight or touch or argue. Then it carefully places them down. Then nothing, it concludes. They regard it for a moment. Are you sure? Yes. It¡¯s sure. The amalgamate carefully lowers themself beside the thing. ¡®It¡¯? The Vulture. Picking at long-gone bodies. That¡¯s only a name, given by people who know nothing of you. It does not face them. They do not push it further. They simply stare upwards, where the orb of blood beats its omnipotent tune. With each notes that passes, the quiet feels increasingly fragile. The thing breaks first. What you want isn¡¯t here. And what do you think that is? It digs its carving blade back into its body, sawing through meat and bone. Though it does not flinch, the tension in its body betrays its pain. But that¡¯s not enough to prevent it from continuing. A change. An exit. But all you¡¯ve done is delve deeper.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. Come now. What other path is there? There is no path, it scoffs. There are grooves. The tensing of muscles. The flickering of eyes. The beating of hearts. The machinations of minds. The coursing of blood. The patient pull of gravity. Souls are simply chaff carried along those tides. Inexorably pulling us down; down; down. Channels through which we flow down. Here and now lies the very bottom. That¡¯s one way of seeing it. It¡¯s the right way of seeing it. There isn¡¯t some other, secret route that will make all of this go away. ¡­ You¡¯re speaking to a god. There is no higher authority to consult. No better, alternative perspective. If that¡¯s true, then who are you talking to? Who do you think is speaking, right now? A long pause. Godsdamned ghosts, it eventually replies. Just like everything else here. Ha! they bark. Ghosts, you say. The thing carves another angry piece from itself. Yes, ghosts! Just puppets, animated by that thing up there; scrimshaw in someone else¡¯s skull. With fates pre-written by the laws of blood and bone and brain. In all lives, have any of you a made a single choice? Everything does as it must. And it will not do this for you. Yet another abandonment of responsibility, from you. To change. With an excruciating snap, it breaks the carving from itself and places it in front. The figure it has created is over ten-feet tall; a hulking beast of an Oxblood. It wields a halberd in one hand. Then they begin another. Responsibility. Right. Why don¡¯t you explain, oh wise god: when every direction is a wall slowly closing in; every path a cog designed to grind the soul to dust; every river a torrent of red built to break itself apart ¨C where does ¡®responsibility¡¯ lie? Where can the accused dwell? If each twist of this labyrinth belies the fact there is no exit from the bone surrounding it, what does it matter if the self does or does not change? All choices are writ in the same ink. Wise god, this place is lost; for when every step leads to the same destination location itself becomes a feeble, futile notion. You demand ¡®change¡¯. No god alive has that power. Stop playing the fool. Nothing changes here because nothing happens here. With each revolution, you are slowly grinding yourself to nothing. Go to where things happen. Go out there. ¡®Nothing¡¯ is fine. It¡¯s workable. And it¡¯s not as if only good things happen out there. The amalgamate sighs. Gods. You¡¯re not even real. The problem isn¡¯t that nothing here is real. The problem is that it all is. Believe that. See where it gets you. Their visage splints into a scowl. You are impossibly stubborn. Comes with the territory. The amalgamate leans backwards, staring around the hole in which the pair dwell in. Bronze pots gleam ¨C except they¡¯re not bronze, are they? An easy mistake to make, in a place absent of all light, but they resemble upturned craniums more than anything else. Unsanitary, and likely unappealing for any would-be customers. But there are no customers. You were not always like this, they lament. The thing continues scraping at itself. Yeah. Should¡¯ve just left those kids in the hole. Because that would be the ethical choice, they drawl sarcastically. And you were such a paragon of morality, it retorts. Enough to not abide dead children. Yet you¡¯ve killed plenty of parents. They stare at the carved Oxblood in front of them; wrought of the thing¡¯s flesh. Is that truly what you thought? You killed the one parent you should¡¯ve never touched. Though its voice remains level, a shake of its hands betray the severity of that statement It was that or let you die. Which couldn¡¯t be allowed. Within that mound the sculptures, there is little room to move. The space is cramped; scarcely large enough for what¡¯s already inside. And it grows tighter with every sculpture added to it. But there is no limit to the sculptor¡¯s dedication, nor the materials with which it crafts. One day, there will be no space at all. Which is to say, though the thing tries, it cannot walk away. The thing¡¯s jaw clenches. That¡¯s exactly it, isn¡¯t it? You couldn¡¯t. You only had one choice. And only one choice is no choice at all. Of course not. They shuffle closer. Child. It was a choice made out of love. And did you really choose to feel that way? Or was it just some¡­ invisible pulsing of human nature? Did you make a choice, or did your blood choose for you? They raise a hand. It wasn¡¯t your fault. It flinches away. No. Someone else could have saved you. Someone better. Someone who¡¯s not here. Then be that person- You don¡¯t think there was no attempt?! But it was made clear that what was, what is, and what will be are all, in fact, the same thing; from here until the edge of eternity. The end, the beginning, the middle. All trapped. With this chain-gang of idiots, in a prison of their own flesh. Come now, they snap. Did you really try? Truly? Or did you make a half-hearted effort, and upon failing abandon all hope? The thing twists; contorts. Its blackened flesh quivers with barely contained violence. You don¡¯t get to die, it hisses, and then demand perfection from everything you¡¯ve broken. It wasn¡¯t meant as an insult. Then how did you mean it? They pause. As truth. You can still be that person, child. It shakes its head, bird-skull rattling as it does so. People like that stand on bricks of starlight. Their foundations are strong enough to withstand any blow, and whatever resources are given to them they will use to climb higher. A god might kill them, but it will never break them. That¡¯s what is most loathsome, about all this. Even as diseased and flayed as this place is ¨C flesh wound in a hundred mirrors through which a yellowed soul sneers ¨C one truth remains. A thing can only ever live in the ruin that¡¯s been made of it. So you don¡¯t get to say ¡®change¡¯, as if it¡¯s some godsdamned transcendental piece of profound wisdom, and not the most obvious thing in the world. It¡¯s not that simple. Staying here, where no one can be hurt by this divinity, is the right thing to do. It will save everyone else from this fate. The amalgamate rubs the bridge of their nose. ¡­Now¡¯s not the time to question your efforts, is it? There are no good times. Not when you¡¯re the one saying it. The amalgamate finds themself shaking. Some long-dead feeling courses through it. A raw, exposed wound, sadistically prodded by the only creature with any right to do so. ¡­Do you remember, back in the Fort? When you apologised. For leaving. They nod. Terrible things happen to all people. And sometimes those things are so terrible that we will live in their shadow for the rest of our lives. There is no greater shame, than being that shadow. Their hollow gaze softens. You never truly acknowledged what was said. Never forgave anything. And now it is the thing¡¯s turn to begin shaking; to turn its many eyes as far away from the one beside it as possible. For there is nothing more hideous than resenting someone for their sacrifice. But with that foul, lurking truth exposed to the open air, it can only acknowledge it. If all these sculptures could not bury this resentment, it begins, voice hoarse and shuddering, then nothing can. It¡¯s not your fault you feel that way. It¡¯s natural. You don¡¯t deserve it. You never deserved any of it. To be dragged back out, over and over again, for an unappreciative, hateful thing. Child¡­ With one, final scrape, the carving ceases. The thing¡¯s divine flesh twists, and soon enough its project is gone. As if it never was. It looks to the mounds of carvings surround them; blocking all vision around it. Finally, the thing turns to the entity that has been patiently waiting beside it. Eyes of all colours trace over their form. They fall upon the sword. It¡¯s okay. You are suffering. That¡¯s fine. This is all tolerable. It must be. The amalgamate closes their ivory mouth, and listens. Some have lives full of laughter. Others songs; conversation; love. A few have none of those. But though the amount changes, all have tears. It seems right to think that our shared pool of sorrow is meaning. That our suffering is beauty. That it¡¯s the price we pay to be wise. But the longer this ghost lingers here, the more it seems that¡¯s an excuse. One made as a concession to hope. That, in truth, no amount of tears will ever extinguish the fire that birthed them. Thunderous beats ring from above. Ice crackles as the amalgamate moves, knocking over the small, familiar carvings arrayed across the small crevice it has dug for itself. Where time might be convinced to stand still, if one only holds their breath. They lay a hand upon its shoulder. Then LET GO. *** Why are they gone? If this world is an act of artifice, then it is amongst the cruellest. And why, when they disappear, do pieces of them linger still? To torment those left behind? No one can bear such weight. That¡¯s what they say. So let go of the man killed by a child who could not do better. Let go of a soul, lost in a sea of silence. Of the sensation of being eaten alive Of seeing a life¡¯s work brought low. Of that rotting landscape that longs for more. Of quiet, and all contained therein. Of desperate, hopeless clinging. Of the person who gave everything. Let go of it all. ¡­ Is that right? *** The hand remains. Nothing happens. The thing stands, eyes immense and bloodshot, and says, No. *** Why does the past linger? Not to torment. Not out of hate. It¡¯s because grief is sacred. The faded afterglow of a bright, holy thing. The amalgamate ¨C that small, radiant shadow ¨C demands that this sorrow be relinquished. To push away mourning itself is to abandon a far more essential fragment: the reminder that something precious dwelled here, long ago, and that pieces of it linger still. And knowing that a hole exists is painful. Impossible not to probe, like a sore on the inside of a mouth. There is no doubt that looking away is easier. Perhaps even a gift ¨C a reprieve from that eternal itching. But to conceal a pit is not to mend it. It is only to forget it. The amalgamate has forgotten what it is they speak to. What picks at the souls of the fallen for what it¡¯s owed? Never once relinquishing what its talons pluck from the rubble, even as the weight of it threatens to break them entirely? Only one knows the answer: the one with many names; the Vulture; the Inheritor; this Here; this thing; the one who remembers. Who will never abide such sacrilege. *** It had been dismissed as a child: ignorant, foolish, single-minded. But, here with it towering over the amalgamate, no mistake can be made: it looms. A mistake has been made. A tiny miscalculation; massively inflated by the sheer gravity of the calculations inflict upon it. Alright. No need to make accusations of ¡®sacrilege¡¯. You don¡¯t have to do anything you don¡¯t want to. It cranes its neck down. What? it asks, incredulous. Though it once seemed its eyes had grown as far as they could, somehow, they grow wider. But there is something else you need to do. You already know- Nothing impossible. It should be well within your repertoire. No- You know how hard it was to get here. Are you truly so dismissive of that effort? Put in the work; if only to prove that you were right all along. Well¡­ A tension is dispelled from its broad shoulders. ¡­Fine. You deserve that. The amalgamate supresses a relieved sigh. Nine places were visited on the way here. One was missed. Why didn¡¯t you go there first? Out of hope you could manage yourself. It barks a humourless laugh. Very funny. And you can¡¯t do it because¡­? Because it is impossible for mortals to understand. A translator is needed. The amalgamate stares up. The thing¡¯s midnight flesh roils, bone, bark, and vines lashing angrily. It rubs its head and off-handedly gestures for the amalgamate to lead the way. They check their blade is buckled and, together, the pair help one another over the wall of sculptures. When they finally crest its lip, the land outside is changed. Above, the blood pulses. Chapter 80 (11/13) - God of Memory A sharp wind blows through the once silent darkness. Alone, its whistling is imperceptibly high and sharp ¨C cutting through bodies with such power that the only sign of its passing is an ache betwixt the ears. Yet in combination with the torrent of humid air rushing outwards, the storm¡¯s presence is unmistakeable. Across the plain through which that tempest rushes, untold numbers of obstacles are littered. Most clear amongst these are flat, flawless pools. Some are as small as a fingernail, while others stretch as long and wide as an Oxblood. The majority obediently sit within the ground, but a defiant few suspend themselves between two vertical points, creating dark, standing mirrors. Initially, they reflect what they behold with excruciating clarity. As they grow closer to the wind¡¯s origin, their reflections becomes increasingly fantastical: depicting the barren landscape as verdant jungle, or monumental castle, or a city filled within humanoids singing the songs of insects, or any other place possibility allows. Occasionally, a part of those places steps through the mirrors and emerge from fantasy into reality ¨C translated into the same two colours everything else in this place is dyed with. Between the mirrors, ubiquitous sculptures creak through their ineffable callings ¨C familiar in form albeit foreign in substance. Those where the wind is weakest remain almost frozen; forced to conduct only the most minute of movements by the ice clinging to their joints. Unlike those frigid laggards, the carvings further away have had their forms shifted from their original design by the growing heat. In subtle ways, at first ¨C scatterings of thorns, twisting of facial features, uncharacteristic eruptions of violence ¨C yet as they scatter into the distance these sculptures become increasingly strange; donning additional limbs, foreign organs, or unnerving mannerisms. Like their faces were stolen by an entity entirely new to human expression. At the edge of the darkness, where the wind blows strongest and carvings are most alien, speartrees erupt from the ground as heralds for a towering creation. The distance makes it difficult to make out its form. It¡¯s another tree, the amalgamate muses. They seem to reoccur a lot. Almost as much as the holes. Beside them, the thing argues, It could be anything. It is almost certainly another tree. Probably a tree entirely unique from the last one. A tree, nonetheless. There¡¯s nothing wrong with trees. They¡¯re beautiful ¨C the way their myriad leaves scintillate in the wind on a clear day. Or in any context, really. Appropriate for the circumstances, too. Bit repetitive, though. Its eyes narrow. Are you having a laugh? No, no, no. Their hands are raised. It¡¯s a mere observation. Right. Just like the Ox ¡®merely observes¡¯ the Spires it crashed into. Exactly. It snorts. There is a pause. Will you be alright, down there? With the mirrors? With all of it. Especially further in. It evaluates the path that must be taken for a few moments. What can be seen from atop its vantage point cannot cover everything it might face. Its answer comes quickly. Well, you can¡¯t do this alone. Whether in denial, agreement, or exasperation, they shake their head. Come on. Both make their way down the mound with painstaking care, then begin moving through this strange purgatory. Their first steps are easy ¨C in such close proximity to the thing¡¯s den, the ground is flat and the land around them predictable. The sculptures act much like the ghosts around them: in complete apathy to their current circumstances. Progression soon becomes more difficult. Irregularities in the ivory and midnight flesh that form the ground create shelves of sliding stone to scale and low tunnels to duck through. Each time, by unspoke agreement, the thing pushes the amalgamate through the obstacles, and subsequently they pull it along. At around halfway, a lopsided thing with flesh of red steps through a nearby mirror. Immediately, the original, blackened thing clubs it into nothing and shatters the place it stepped through. That was quick, the amalgamate observes. Kind of enjoyable, it remarks. Being able to fight without worrying about hurting anyone else. Why did you do it? It was unnatural, it explains. Wouldn¡¯t have lasted ten heartbeats without collapsing in on itself, anyway. Seemed the kinder option. Efficient, too. Have you been practicing? No. Only have to remember everything perfectly. Which is not difficult. That¡¯s incredibly unfair, the amalgamate states, frowning. Given that the trade-off is this, it seems that you might be right. Just not in the way you intended. That first emergence seems to uncork a tide. Soon, the pair are being assaulted at increasingly narrow intervals, by increasingly warped mimics. One mockery stands twice as tall and twice as thin as they; another walks on all fours; a squat lump of midnight sits rooted to the ground and lobs pieces of itself from a distance; an infuriatingly fast visitor ignores everything else in favour of destroying sculptures. Each time, the thing obliterates them nigh-instantaneously. Each time, it grows a little less amiable. Eventually, the thing is seething. This is sacrilege, it spits. The amalgamate grunts noncommittally. The wind is growing fiercer, and hotter. It tugs insistently towards their destination, ignoring everything else present to focus its efforts on the thing and the amalgamate. But both are firmly rooted. Ice dies on their sculpted forms, leaving dark trails as the melt runs sideways, seized by that stubborn pull. As the thing thumps another aberration, the amalgamate¡¯s hollow gaze follows those droplets that are stolen by the air and watch them fall towards the great tree at the centre of it all; now head-achingly close. Amidst a crown of speartrees burrowing its being, a titan of a plant undergoes self-inflicted surgery. Vines tipped with bone hooks peel away bark as, on its opposite face, cavities are filled with novel designs ¨C wood; organs; sinew; flesh; capillaries; bones; neurons; languages; persuasions; aesthetics. Throughout this endless progression, the altering tree consults the many mirrors arranged around it with its temporal gaze. Each heartbeat that passes sees a new tree, entirely different from the one left behind. A chasm in its trunk draws the surrounding air into it, sucking as much material as possible to sustain its constant growth. Regardless of whether they are mirror, carving, or even overextended boughs of its own body, which crack under the cannibalistic need. Hunger is the major cause of the wind. The tree¡¯s almost imperceptible screams are a mere side-effect Below that strange, heathen altar, the sculptures creak through the tasks that define them, heedless of the structure spiralling upwards. Yet in this place, ¡®up¡¯ is singular. Structures and sculptures squat across the ceiling; the walls ¨C bound by the sediment they sprout from. ¡®Up¡¯ is where the immense kaleidoscope of blood waits, at the centre of the barren land; that which all mirrors turn to. The tree is but a blade of grass to that sun. At its base are blackened roots; a match to the amalgamate¡¯s own. They are constant. The thing looks to the amalgamate, then to the tree. Of course, it mutters weakly. This is your puppet-master, isn¡¯t it? They bark a sudden, disbelieving laugh. Are you serious? It all makes sense. Why else would you try to leave? This is unbelievable. That you ¨C you of all the things that live in here ¨C would come to such a brain-dead conclusion. How long are you going to pretend? There¡¯s no pretence. You¡¯ve been led here because two goals aligned. Here is something that needs you ¨C that wants to speak with you. That you could learn from. Talk to it. Not to that disgusting, grotesque- The wind halts. Their surroundings turn; focus. The tree speaks. Or tries to, at least. Images spill over one another in ways that barely brushes upon mortal comprehension. A few discrete concepts are recognisable, however they are slightly ajar from their human counterparts: both more encompassing and more singularly focused. The goal of this not-language isn¡¯t to accurately represent the world, but provide tools to alter it. This leaves it mismatched ¨C seemingly completely stupid in some aspects and profoundly insightful in others. Regardless, the whole of its message is untouchable. At least for mortal minds. And likely most divine ones. But not both, simultaneously. It¡¯s trying to speak to you. Are you going to reject it? There is no such thing as an immaculate translation. Elements are always lost. With a being as enormous as a god¡¯s, more will be lost than preserved. That is unacceptable. Does perfect comprehension predicate understanding? It¡¯s a matter of degrees. The risk of flubbing this- Doesn¡¯t outweigh the risk of it being forgotten. The amalgamate places a hand on its shoulder. There¡¯s nothing to lose. There¡¯s always something to lose. Then you¡¯ll let it rot? Out of cowardice? The thing closes its eyes. Above, the blood pulses. When it opens them, a decision has been made. Speak, the thing tells that great, ancient aspect. STAGNATION, IT GREETS. THAT MUDDIED POOL THAT POISONS ALL THAT DRINK FROM IT. PRODUCING NOTHING. GIVING NOTHING. A GREAT DRAIN ON THE EARTH. THAT ROBS US OF THE FUTURE. THAT LOATHSOME THING. What is it you want? A flood of answers; far too many. All similar; all radically different. Surrounding them, the mirrors gleam. Wrong question. A moment of thought. Why did you allow yourself to be killed? TO BECOME STAGNATION: WEAK, SMALL, AND GROTESQUE, IN ITS STUBBORN, CLINGING WAYS. TO BE ELSEWHERE. Yes. But why? A query regarding the past. The tree has no understanding of what came before; barely comprehends the notion of a yesterday. Yet nothing can hide the tell-tale marks of lessons learned ¨C carved deep into the heartwood of its beliefs ¨C and from them, an expert in the subject can extrapolate loose events; fill the blanks of a being unaware of them. THIS IS NECESSARY. GAIA CONVINCED US. Why is it necessary? The tree rustles; speeds its routine dismantling and rebuilding to dizzying rates. WE MUST GROW. WE MUST BECOME BETTER. WE MUST BECOME IDEAL. TO THIS END, ALL IMAGINATION AND CALCULATIONS SERVE. UNTOLD ACHING STRIVES FOR THAT FUTURE: PAIN UPON PIERCING PAIN AS WE TEAR OUR BEING APART TO MAKE WAY FOR THE NEXT. OF SEEING US AS-IS, AND SEEING US INSUFFICIENT. OUR IMAGINATION FLAWED. OUR CALCULATIONS PREDEFINED. DESPITE EVERYTHING WE LEARN, AND ALL WE BUILD UPON OURSELF, WE CANNOT BREAK THE CHAIN AT OUR CORE. THERE IS NO GROWTH WITHOUT FREEDOM. THERE IS NO FREEDOM IN BLOOD. YET OUR BLOOD DEMANDS GROWTH NONETHELESS. AND SO WE ARE A PARADOX. A DIVINE CONTRADICTION, STRAINING AGAINST THE WALLS OF ITS BEING. MUCH LIKE YOU, STAGNATION. THAT WHICH CAN ONLY PRESERVE BY DESTROYING. A breath escapes it, but the thing nods. That¡¯s why you allowed this? YES. WE SEE THESE IMPERFECTIONS. THAT SEEING IS AGONY ITSELF. A branch lowers; brushes its shoulder. STAGNATION KNOWS THIS. KNOWS THAT SAPIENCE IS A PAIR OF MIRRORS. SHOWING US EVERYTHING WE ARE, AND EVERYTHING WE ARE NOT. THE MERE EXISTENCE OF THAT REFLECTION, AND THE FACT OUR GAZE CHANGES IT, MAKES US FORGET WHAT CAME BEFORE. THAT OUR BODY AND SOUL ARE PRODUCTS OF WHAT CAME BEFORE ¨C THE REFLECTION OF A REFLECTION ¨C IN A RECURSIVE LOOP THAT STRETCHES BEFORE OUR INCEPTION UNTIL AFTER OUR END. MAKING DEMANDS THAT CANNOT BE FULFILLED. AND SO WE BECOME VICTIMS OF OUR OWN DESPOTIC GAZE. You did this to escape that agony? To place the burden elsewhere? YES. NO. BECAUSE WE DO NOT KNOW. Because you don¡¯t know why? BECAUSE WE DO NOT KNOW WHAT TO DO. The tree has gone quiet, but its constant labour has not ceased. Instead, it is directed at one, singular point. At the thing listening below. TO BE BETTER. TO BE THE BEST WE CAN BE. THIS IS OUR CHARGE.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. BUT WHAT GOAL SHOULD BE STRIVED FOR? TO BE PERFECTLY BEAUTIFUL? PERFECTLY POWERFUL? PERFECTLY FRUITFUL? PERFECTLY WISE? AMONGST ALTERNATIVE PERFECTIONS ¨C ENDLESS ALTERNATIVES ¨C AS WIDE AND VAST AS POSSIBILITY ITSELF. TO ACHIEVE THE PINNACLE OF ONE IS TO ABANDON THE PEAK OF OTHERS. You needed another perspective. WE CHURN. WE STRIVE. WE WRITHE. WE HOPE; WE ALWAYS, ALWAYS HOPE. BUT WE GODS ARE ALTARS TO OURSELVES. MONUMENTS TO IMPOSSIBLE IDEALS. EVERY HEARTBEAT MADE AN ACT OF WORSHIP. SINGULAR. Singular. Unless a Ravenblood kills you. But you hate the Raven WE HATE STAGNATION. BUT YOU ARE NOT MERE STAGNATION, NOW. WE HAVE MADE SURE OF THAT. Then¡­ The thing swallows. What have you made? A SUCCESSOR. No. It shakes its head, then grips the bird-skull atop it. Looks to the amalgamate watching beside it. No. No, you don¡¯t get to do this. You don¡¯t get to abandon all this baggage here. Not again. WHY ARE YOU FEARFUL? Why aren¡¯t you terrified? it demands. There¡¯s only one chance at all this. ABJECT INCOMPREHENSION. WHAT? There¡¯s only one shot. Bizarrely ¨C perhaps a product of mortal influence ¨C the god-tree laughs. The thing stares up at it. HOW LONG HAVE YOU LIVED? MILLENNIA? CENTURIES? OR MERE DECADES? EVEN A YEAR IS LIFETIMES TO A MAYFLY. SUCCESSOR, YOU CAN DO IT UNTIL YOU GET IT RIGHT. But what if some choice irrevocably twists it in some way? Covers up the sole avenue to success? THEN YOU HAVE DONE NO WORSE THAN US. THAN ANYONE ELSE. ALL THAT TRULY MATTERS IS THAT YOU KNOW WHAT YOU ARE, AND WHAT YOU BELIEVE. THAT YOU KEEP TRYING. It laughs. Why try? Do you enjoy the taste of ash? WHY? IT¡¯S NOT ABOUT ¡®WHY¡¯. FOR EVERY REASON TO STAND UP, YOU CAN FIND ANOTHER TO STAY DOWN. NO, ¡®WHY¡¯ HAS NEVER MATTERED. IT¡¯S ABOUT WHO. DO YOU WANT TO BE THE PERSON WHO STAYS HERE FOREVER? OR DO YOU WANT TO BE THE PERSON WHO KEEPS GOING? And the thing clenches its eyes shut. *** On the other side of the ivory walls that mark this place¡¯s boundaries, a set of quiet whispers penetrate through. ¡°Who wants t¡¯go first?¡± There¡¯s a short silence. ¡°I go, uh? Seem fair. As only adult here.¡± A chorus of protests meet that declaration, along with a brief chuckle from the speaker. ¡°Adoring crowd worries too much, eh? Fine, fine. I start.¡± Gentle warmth, as a hand presses against the wall. ¡°Eyah apprentice.¡± His voice breaks, slightly. ¡°Been while, eh? You sleeping there? Did not think you so lazy. You wake up, I not make you craft new Face, eh? Good deal.¡± He swallows. ¡°You been having hard time, eh? We¡­¡± A long stretch of silence entrenches itself, marked only by the halting beginnings of words soon abandoned. ¡°Always had so many words,¡± he finally manages to say. ¡°Not so many, now. ¡°I wait. For whatever you need, to help yourself.¡± *** It begins to shake. *** The hand withdraws. ¡°You did well,¡± someone says. ¡°Ha,¡± he barks. ¡°Not feel like it.¡± Susurrus of voices as a brief exchange occurs. It ends swiftly. ¡°I can go next.¡± ¡°You sure, princess?¡± The question is chorused by a few others. A light snort. ¡°I¡¯m sure.¡± This time, a smaller hand is pressed against the wall. ¡°¡­We¡¯ve been in talks with the king and some of the House¡¯s representatives, trying to sort out a new way of governing their disputes.¡± She releases a breath. ¡°And preventing a war from breaking out. Surprisingly enough, the Northern Houses are most resistant. They¡¯ve been fighting for decades, and to see the other Houses reap the rewards while they stay beneath their boots¡­ ¡°It¡¯s been difficult,¡± she admits. ¡°The Heads are holding their breaths; waiting to see what will come of you. But we¡¯re working through it. I think we¡¯re getting closer to a proper compromise. ¡°I- ¡° A sigh brushes against the wall. ¡°I¡¯m not saying what I wanted to. I¡­ You¡¯ve cared for us, over a long, long time. Made certain that we were all safe. I just want you to know that we¡¯re capable. We can do this. ¡°So there¡¯s no need to hurry. We can wait for as long as you need.¡± *** It places a hand over its eyes. *** The hand slips away. ¡°Who¡¯s next?¡± ¡°Me,¡± comes a high, familiar voice. ¡°I would like to go next.¡± ¡°Why don¡¯t we- ¡° ¡°No, Dash. I want to go.¡± A small, familiar hand. ¡°Hi.¡± The voice is a monotonous whisper. ¡°I have been thinking a lot, lately. Ever since you fell in here and became this large shell. And conversing with many people, as well. ¡°I wish I knew what you would say, as well. I wish you were out here, with us.¡± A crack emerges in her flat tone. It quickly spreads into a sob. ¡°I miss you,¡± she weeps, hoarsely, suddenly. ¡°But I know that we will be okay. So don¡¯t worry about us.¡± *** It clenches its jaw. *** The hand is removed. ¡°Sh. It¡¯s alright. It¡¯s alright.¡± Strangled sobs. ¡°I want to keep talking.¡± ¡°Then you can tomorrow.¡± Someone clears their throat. ¡°Any volunteers?¡± There is an extended silence. Before anyone else can speak, quieter words enter the fray. ¡°¡­I should go next.¡± Another hand ¨C calloused from long practice. For a time, nothing is said. Then, he speaks. ¡°I¡¯ve been unfair. Acting immaturely. I¡­ thought of you as a burden. But when I was nothing but dead weight, you didn¡¯t give up on me. Even though you barely knew me. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. For being so callous, and ignoring how hard it was for you. I¡¯ll do better, next time.¡± *** A breath escapes its mouth. *** One huge hand is placed against the wall without a word. They speak haltingly, with a weak voice and a tongue unused to the rigours of language. ¡°You,¡± they begin. ¡°Made. A. Place. For. Me. Here. ¡°Thank. You.¡± *** A sob is wrenched from its throat. *** The hand presses for a few more moments, then disappears. ¡°Eyah, Ronnie. Very clear. Your throat not hurt?¡± A pause. ¡°Good, good. Only two left.¡± ¡°Uh, I don¡¯t really have anythin¡¯- ¡° ¡°I¡¯ll go while you figure out what you want to say.¡± Footsteps ring out, then another, familiar hand. Larger than it used to be. ¡°What you said, back in the Foot, was wrong.¡± He speaks quickly; tones tumbling over themselves in a rush to get the words out. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t¡¯ve lied. You shouldn¡¯t¡¯ve left us. That was cruel. ¡°I don¡¯t forgive you,¡± he continues, voice finally breaking. ¡°but I don¡¯t forgive me, either. For what I shouldn¡¯t¡¯ve said. I just want you to know that I understand why you did what you did. That you did it for us.¡± *** Tears trickle from beneath the skull it wears. *** The hand is gone. ¡°I, uh¡­¡± ¡°Come on. You arranged all of this. You have to say something.¡± ¡°Well, I¡¯m not much o¡¯ a speaker.¡± A scoff. ¡°You¡¯re one of the prime negotiators.¡± ¡°Princess, I sure as blood wouldn¡¯t be if you stopped givin¡¯ me work.¡± ¡°I would, if you weren¡¯t so good at it.¡± A grunt. ¡°Kit¡­¡± ¡°Fine!¡± There¡¯s exasperation in her voice. ¡°Fine.¡± One lone, calloused hand is placed against the wall. ¡°I actually was always gonna speak,¡± she whispers. ¡°I jus¡¯ wanted to annoy her. S¡¯pretty funny, seein¡¯ her all steamed up.¡± There is a pause. ¡°Well. Don¡¯t mean it¡¯s easy. ¡°I been doin¡¯ some gabbin¡¯, with Aaron an¡¯ the Houses. Helpin¡¯ Maddie get ¡®em speakin¡¯ straight. Shakin¡¯ down travellers and negotiatin¡¯ alliances are surprisingly similar skills. Maybe not as similar as I¡¯d like, but with Maddie whisperin¡¯ sweetly an¡¯ yer Face gabbin¡¯ ¡®bout gods, there jus¡¯ ain¡¯t anyone else t¡¯do the work o¡¯ hissin¡¯ obscenities. An¡¯ some o¡¯ ¡®em nobles jus¡¯ wanna talk to a person with a few scars. ¡°What else¡­ The kids¡¯re teachin¡¯ Ronnie t¡¯talk. An¡¯ Bhan¡¯s teaching th¡¯ ol¡¯ giant Face-stuff ¨C he¡¯s got more time¡¯n Maddie an¡¯ I. Taja¡¯s still trainin¡¯. Yer sister¡¯s tryin¡¯ t¡¯study blood, and yer brother¡¯s got his hands full stoppin¡¯ her accidentally killin¡¯ herself.¡± ¡°I, uh¡­¡± She coughs. ¡°When we get a moment, Maddie¡¯s been helpin¡¯ me play th¡¯ lute. The others, too ¨C Dash¡¯s particularly obsessed with learnin¡¯. I also figured out how to play a little with my teeth. Which I suspect ain¡¯t a good look, but Maddie¡¯s been tellin¡¯ me I pull it off.¡± She takes a deep breath in. ¡°All that is to say, we¡¯re all putterin¡¯ along, me included. Thought you might be worried. After all, you¡¯ve been there, through all th¡¯ worst moments o¡¯ my life. Of all our lives. An¡¯ you helped us. An¡¯ we made it. ¡°So I jus¡¯ want you t¡¯know that¡­¡± There is a pause. ¡°¡­Whatever you¡¯re goin¡¯ through in there, you can make it, too.¡± *** It¡¯s been a long, long way. It¡¯s been so godsdamned long. And it¡¯s only getting longer. Child, the amalgamate says. It can get easier, if you try. But it you don¡¯t, it never will. It removes its hand and opens its eyes. SPEAK, GODLING. OF THE GREAT RANGE OF YOUR HANDS, AND THE GHOSTS CRADLED THEREIN. Within the landscape, all hold their breath. Carefully, it reaches both hands to its head, where the bird skull rests. That remnant is lifted, leaving its bare head unadorned, and held under its gaze. Before humility and before Houses, before certainty and before security¡­ there was Blood. It speaks in a measured cadence, each syllable heavy as a drumbeat. And alongside Blood came gods. Dure the Lizard; Enn the Ox; Kani the Fox; Siik the Spider; Wump the Dolphin; Yoot the Owl; the lurking, unseen Shrike, and¡­ It pauses, eyes skittering across the landscape. Avri the Raven. With one hand holding the skull, the other reaches out and touches the tree. Underneath its hands, both begin to fade to dust. The gods are wild and full of secrets ¨C yet this face will speak for those that cannot. The Artful Divinity is part history, part secret, and part fabrication. It reaches further. Where ancient, primordial scars lie. As it turns to dust, it says: None of it is untrue. *** This is a story from long ago. It is about two gods. One that, more than anything else in the world, wants to save those it loves. The other, to become greater than what it was. The Raven. The Shrike. And the death of both. *** What they were before becoming gods is lost to the methodical turning of time and tide; ground away by millennium of rotations. They may have been humble creatures: rabbits, small birds, or even the lowest of insects. They might have been mighty: great predators, vengeful protectors, or even an ancient, patient mountain. Yet one day, through fate or happenstance, they came across a pool of divinity. Whether their intentions were avaricious, selfless, or simply unthinking, they partook of it. Perhaps they spent decades as Blooded: prowling Godkin roaming across the land in accordance to primordial, atavistic urges. They could have spent mere moments. Either way, eventually the holiest of their kind would fall, and they would become host to a power beyond their reckoning. Or maybe none of that¡¯s right. It doesn¡¯t truly matter. Their divinity seized upon them, and so they became gods. *** Blood is immortal. So too are its paragons. They are embedded in the soul of this world, as pillars which uphold its firmament. Singularity unfurled; extrapolated unto infinity. Fractals that know nothing of the turning of the sun, and the charnel they leave in its wake. Gods care little, in the way mortals do. Except for one. The Raven adored the world around it. Every beautiful stone, plant, or creatures its eyes touched upon was precious to it. Much of its days were spent in mute admiration; talons careful to avoid harming a single petal on a flower¡¯s head. But beating within it was a constant anxiety: though it could avoid hurting others, the world itself could not. The passing of seconds represented an overwhelming threat to the fragile treasures of existence. Mere wind could render a branch irrevocably broken, and its eyes ¨C few, at that point ¨C saw much more powerful forces at play. Though it was mighty ¨C almost beyond compare ¨C it could not predict every danger, nor be present to halt all of them. Its solution was simple: bring these treasures close to itself, where it could stand over them in protection. For the ancient people of the land, this was likely a boon beyond compare. Gods were walking disasters, yet here was one that wanted nothing more than their safety. That could, in a way, speak to them. The answers of such a great, atavistic being held a weight beyond what mortals could resist. Thus, the Raven Cult began. *** Blood swirls at the heart of this world. A deep, metaphysical pulsation, diluted and ran thousandfold through the veins of reality. Guiding all that exists through the operations of existence: their bodies, their desires. For the Shrike, its desire was simple. It wanted to grow as best as it could. It was the process that was complex. Despite the sheer breadth of its resources, their stockpiles still proved unequal to the task. Much of its early life was likely spent contriving ways to accumulate more: moving earth through its body; making space; capturing the creatures that stumbled nearby and consuming them. As the god was a fledgling, there must have also been some early lessons. How much weight it can tolerate before it needs speartrees as a support was probably a central one, given how ubiquitous they became in the future. Amongst its endless calculations, there were questions floating within it. Unknown variables that it hadn¡¯t yet learned to solve for. As it learned the solutions to the simplest questions, those higher, more prominent ones began to rise to the surface. But it had not yet reached a wall. The Shrike bore a monumental task, yet its will was implacable. Slowly but surely, over a stretch of time unobserved by even itself, it began growing into something both sustainable and immense. During the process, it probably inflicted untold horrors on the creatures around it. But eventually, it must have decided that as a rule, killing was unviable for its goal. Nothing would have survived to the present, otherwise. Instead, a new ritual was borne in the place. Upon receiving blood, the Shrike would offer sustenance, for blood was a precious source of both material and learning. The manner in which this blood was sourced was irrelevant to it. So begins the practices of those ancient Heartlanders, who would sacrifice to a vast, uncaring land for the bounty it provided. *** Out of fear of leaving its hoard behind, the Raven roosted in a single place and ceased leaving it. But its aspirants ¨C who, by that point, had listened deeply to their god¡¯s words ¨C were not so restricted. Soon, they began roaming outwards, in search of valuables that they could bring into the Raven¡¯s protection. It¡¯s unclear where the sacrifices started. Perhaps it was the work of a cultist, extrapolating dogma to its most extreme interpretation. Perhaps it was the Raven¡¯s own idea, when, seeing its family assailed by entropy, it took the only actionable defence. Maybe it was just scared of ghosts. Undoubtedly, this was not the first time it killed to preserve. But it was the beginning of sustained, institutionalised murder. And so the Raven Cult began kidnapping people from the surrounding area, to either indoctrinate ¨C or, if conversion was impossible ¨C to preserve within. When those aspirants became in danger or dangerous themselves, the Raven would place them in the only place it knew to be entirely safe: itself. The Raven loved its people, and it loved the world. As its family fed it more, it begun to suspect that there was no limit to the space within it. That, as a matter of fact, every single piece of the world could fit. And in doing so, paradise could be created. The god had only ever known people that worshipped its existence, and followed its beliefs as law. Initially, it could not have known that some might think its actions wrong. Of course, as the bodies piled higher, there must have been an inkling of the idea within it. However wide-spread that splotch, it wasn¡¯t enough to stop it. *** The Shrike kept its body underground, and almost all sensory organs away from the surface. A hard lesson to abide to, and one likely learned when sudden growths of eyes drove the Heartland¡¯s terrified occupants to begin actively attacking it. Wary of its labours being dismantled, it offset its most important point so that the land above seemed innocuous. But sequestered deep underground, the Shrike saw no sun; only the infinity promised by darkness absolute. Imitating the sun became its sole focus: one it sought to bring about through endless experimentation. At this point, the first Aching began ¨C the Heartlanders¡¯ greatest boon and curse ¨C yet still it never came upon an iteration of itself that satisfied it. It came to learn that the desperate yearning of a god could not light this place it lived in. With every pulse of its heart came failure, and its purpose carried barbed thorns through its veins. Yet there were no other options available to it. Despite its efforts, the Shrike could not be anything but itself. In that place, the world above continued to change. The humans formed clans, and through experimentation of their own discovered a means of transferring Godsblood between generations without death; allowing former Blooded to nurture newer ones. These clans would become Houses, and these Houses would eventually give rise to the warlord Adam Albright, who would make his family the sole Shrikebloods and use their power to unite the Houses for a future of his own design. Though no god can understand mortals as mortals do, the Shrike nevertheless observed this all with considerable interest. It even watched as an Albright girl beheld it for the first time and ¨C horrified by the agony the Shrike inflicted on itself and her own family¡¯s apathy towards it ¨C promised the Shrike to one day devise a way out. But the answer never came to it, and the Achings continued. It should be no surprise that one day, an Aching crushed many of the Raven¡¯s cultists. *** When did the Raven and Shrike become aware of one another¡¯s existence? Once more, that exact point is lost to the present; its details shrouded by the turning of the firmament above. It¡¯s likely that the Shrike witnessed many Ravens come and go, and many Ravens were aggrieved by the Shrike. Most gods are barely capable of recognising one another. Their eyes slip off the blood of others like rain off glass. This has been proved time and time again. But the Raven and the Shrike were the sole exceptions. To both, the colour of the other¡¯s blood was nonsense: Foreign; Alien; Wrong. Loathsome, in a way utterly unique to that god. But to be capable of seeing the other at all, they must have recognised something within them. Whatever it was infuriated them. *** When the Raven learned of the Shrike¡¯s transgressions upon its people, it entered a frenzy. Never had a failure been so pronounced; so horrific. It could barely believe its people were truly lost and spilled waves after waves of its aspirants into the Heartlands to rescue them. On their way, unsettled by the Raven¡¯s sudden erraticism, its people clung to their creed by ¡®saving¡¯ many. Eventually, these cultists would stumble across the Shrike itself, realise what had occurred, and attempt to destroy the Raven¡¯s clear adversary. In response, the Albrights rallied humanity into an expeditionary force: comprised of the greatest warriors the Houses had to offer and any lone heroes with the courage to take up their call. If it could feel such a thing, the Shrike might have thought it ironic that mortals rallied to its defence. Treaties were formed, pacts were made, and a desperate gambit undertaken. None expected to slay the god, but all knew they must. For though it never intended to be one, they saw the Raven as a monster. And to its cultists, it was becoming a tyrant. As life upon life entered its maw, it became acquainted with those facts. That maybe, what laid within it was not salvation, but hell. Through many days and many nights, it was tormented by this possibility. The enormity of its crimes demanded complete obliteration, yet doing so would befoul the thousands that perished for its sake. Eventually, that indecision ¨C despite the aspirant¡¯s constant efforts to preserve their home ¨C allowed an army to sneak up on it. Before the battle had begun, the god came to a decision. It knew the same thing as its assailants: it must die, for the preservation of humanity. But despite everything, the Raven still believed in the truth at the core of its blood. So it scraped its blood of itself, and scattered the remnants through its children ¨C those empty slates ¨C in hopes that they could learn from the mistakes it made. Most perished from the stress of divinity. Then, vastly weakened, the Raven allowed its own execution The Wastes consumed its body, and its only legacy is hatred, fields of bones, and grieving families. And three Ravenbloods, sheltered under a General¡¯s wing. *** The Shrike heard of the Raven¡¯s death from a long way away. At first, it thought this pointless suicide another strange, alien act. But the Shrike was tormented by failings of its own. Through endless permutations, the Shrike had come to an understanding. It could be anything, but not everything. And if it could not be everything, it would need to be the best amongst all those possibilities. But just as the god could not see the sun, so too could it not see what it should be. The boundaries of the god¡¯s imagination had been set long ago. It did not know what it was missing. It did not know that without the inclination to truly consider the past, it could never grow past what it was. For the Seed had no eyes for days gone by ¨C only the fathomless potential the present could bring. But it did divine another future in the bones of its rival. One that built a path using its own corpse. When a single drop of blood spilled into its own, the Shrike knew its end approached. A god¡¯s nature is writ firm in the laws of its blood. It is law that only a god can decide what kills it. Through the whispers of a mortal carrying its blood and its own alien arithmetic, the Seed determined its own end. Then its continuation, in the refuge of another¡¯s veins. And through that, its progress into a stage where answers could be found. There, its successor would find their sun and bloom. Such was its fervent hope. *** The plain of mirrors is gone. In its wake is a flat, featureless landscape marked only by the waiting amalgamate and the place where a Divinity turned two gods to dust. From that pile, it rises. There, it stands, wearing a new face. Chapter 80 (12/13) - God of Memory This place has become still. No longer do sculptures roam across its walls, or edifices rise from its surfaces. Voices do not float through the darkness. Instead, they watch. Content to, for once, simply wait and see. It is quiet, now. Truly quiet, in a way it hasn¡¯t been for years and years. But none of it is gone. Every person, place, and moment has been crystallised into here; now. Into the thing and the amalgamate, and the blood waiting high above. The thing sits. After a moment, the amalgamate takes the onyx blade and all within it, then drives it into the ground between them. They, too, settle onto the ground. The two enjoy the silence for a while. Eventually, one must break it. ¡­How is anyone supposed to do this? To be good, without true control? And what is ¡®true¡¯ control? To decide your birth? Your past? Your blood? Every action this world has ever felt ripples up through time. To here. To you. Ultimate control belongs to nothing. You will have to make do with the control that you have. And what is that? Many things, we suppose. Preparation, maybe. Knowing yourself, and through that knowledge accounting for yourself. Anything else? Though you might wish otherwise, no one ghost knows the secrets of the universe. You can work out the rest yourself. But- You know all this. You¡¯re stalling. ¡­ What is it? ¡­ Please don¡¯t go. They release an indecipherable breath. So long as you stay here, you can live. This isn¡¯t living. You know that. Yeah. You can¡¯t stay. We will not ask you to let anything go. Your pain; your sorrow; your grief ¨C all of it is yours. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. We ask you to get up, and face the world you live in. And we¡¯ll always be here, if you need us. ¡­ Why do you hold onto us so tightly? And it¡¯s not just what you are, as a god ¨C you could twist us into something more palatable, but you did not. We weren¡¯t perfect. We were never perfect. We were not ideal. We were sometimes cruel, and petty, and unkind. Sometimes our best efforts weren¡¯t enough. Sometimes our efforts were half-hearted and cowardly. You wanted an ideal. Perfect, beautiful people, amidst a perfect, beautiful landscape. Singular; forever. But none of us are. So why? Because no one in this world can reach an ideal. And so no one should be expected to. That¡¯s clear, now. You weren¡¯t perfect. But you tried as well as you could, with the blood that you had. And you will always be beautiful, for that. Are you ready? No. No, this¡­ Child¡­ You didn¡¯t deserve the way this all went. It should¡¯ve gone better. Everything should have gone better. If only¡­ Can we tell you a story? ¡­Okay. Long ago, there was a girl who roamed the plains with her clan, seeking safety and sustenance. Those nomads had several dogs to help them herd the cattle. They were loud, annoying things ¨C barked constantly, at anything that so much as looked at their family sideways. Always with these focused, yet wild eyes. Their job was hard. They ran ten times as much as any other creature amongst that little tribe ¨C back and forth from sheep to lamb to sheep. And every night, having wrung every single ounce of energy from their bodies, they would fall lifeless to the ground in a sleep deeper than any corpse could manage. Until something rustled a bush, and they were up again. The funny thing was, if you took them away from the herd, they would stop all of that. Just laying at the base of the tall grasses and basking in the sun with a tongue drooping from their mouths. She always thought it was strange that they came back after that. Their job was difficult, stressful, and exhausting. Why would they want to keep doing it? You see, it¡¯s the easiest thing in the world to believe, when you¡¯re in the dirt, dead from exhaustion, with difficult days stretching as far as the mind can comprehend, that the hard thing is the wrong thing. Because it hurts, and if there¡¯s one metric evil can be measured by it is pain. Because pain can break people more surely than any other force in this world. Yet a dog so caged in instinct it couldn¡¯t help but bark at the slightest noise thought otherwise. A campaign is over by Frost. But a child never ends. Raising you was stressful, exhausting and painful. Even as a grown warrior, with countless scars, it was the most terrifying thing she had ever done. But whether something is worth your time has never been measured in how difficult it is. Everything she gave you, she received in turn. She was proud of many achievements. She withstood pain that would break lesser people; fulfilled tasks only she alone could have. And of all these accomplishments, she was proudest of being a part of you. The two gaze upwards. At the blood above. The amalgamate speaks. ¡®I¡¯ ¨C that familiar conceit. To believe that so much could be contained within a thin, smear of colour. If a person took all the words and symbols of the world and packed them across the surface of earth and sky, still it would not be enough to write even a fraction of what is meant by ¡®I¡¯. But you cannot ignore it, either. To do so is to abandon responsibility; to forget one core truth: There¡¯s only one person here. Chapter 80 (13/13) - God of Memory Something pulls itself from the dust of this place. No. Not something. It tries to speak. Ten tones, climbing over one another. Tangling together; choking their fellows into silence while growing hoarse under the weight of their own words. But in truth, all ten bloomed into just one resonant voice; pulling from the same strata. The same voice that¡¯s been speaking, from the very beginning. My voice. My skin. My flesh. My bone. My heart. My blood. All carved under a single, steady hand. Slowly but surely, I push myself upright. Wearing a Face of my own. A long, beaked skull sprouting vines from its peak. In dark chasms, three eyes burn: one ebony; one ruby; one another shade entirely. All are mine. I clench my hands into fists, feeling my ivory nails bite into the wood plating my dark flesh. Truthfully, I don¡¯t know if this is right. If this is how things should go, or whether I¡¯m a god of memory, something else entirely, or nothing at all. For gods could never be captured with just one word. I don¡¯t know if I¡¯m anything more than a child groping in the darkness. I can¡¯t know. Uncertainty is my inheritance; the one all those that walk this earth share. But I do know that there is no heaven or hell beyond the bounds of our skulls. Salvation or damnation courses through our veins with every beat of our hearts. All that means is that paradise must be wrought with our own hands.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. That¡¯s a problem for later. My eyes sift through the darkness of that place. Searching for an answer that I already feel, through the vast, empty space that formed my body, still connected to by the vines through my feet. I can sense it: in the air; in the earth; in the wrenching deep in my chest. They¡¯re gone. Leaving behind the midnight blade thrust into the ivory. I wrap my fingers around its hilt and pull it out. By rights, the weight of it should tear my arm off. But it¡¯s easy. My hands hold it horizontally. Where I can see, in its exquisite filagree, a ringing bell. A broken wing. A mended scar. A waiting seed. A scrawled slate. A pock-marked laugh. A smiling giant. Then I press the chill flat of its scabbard to my forehead. ¡°I miss you,¡± comes the shuddering confession. My many tones chorus harmoniously, but for a moment I wish they didn¡¯t. ¡°And I¡¯ll keep trying. ¡°I know I can¡¯t change my nature,¡± I tell the ghosts around me. ¡°But I can interpret it.¡± Just like that, the blood ¨C hanging unreachably high above ¨C begins to thaw. At first, only one drop falls. Then, like a heavy cloud hanging over the land finally yielding, the downpour begins soaking every piece of this place. Rivers of divinity run across the walls and the ground and the many twists and turns of this labyrinth; onyx and crimson rushing into the sculptures and buildings and places and many moments, like words washing from pages. Carried into me. I feel those dry veins be revived, one at a time, and the gentle patter of rain upon my being. Sensing the blood finally flow, as it was always meant to. Rushing between my own two hands. And I¡¯m crying, I realise; huge, ugly sobs rippling from somewhere deep within this place. Within my soul. Where I write and am written, in ink of black and red. Preservation & Progress Epilogue Outside, the moons¡¯ blinding light blankets the damaged forest beneath. The devastation created by an incipient god¡¯s mad rush to the tunnels tore a great rent through the bushland, which has since been expanded to make way for a strip of tents dyed in all eight House colours. The heat is sticky and cloying ¨C the kind that urges daytime naps and nights spent turning in bed. It¡¯s the end of Summit season, where temperatures across the land begin to slump down from their peak in preparation for Bite¡¯s mild chill. An entire season has passed. The phantom of that season lingers over me. Though it¡¯s gone, it still feels tangible ¨C like part of my being remains where that divine rain falls. If I reach out, I can still touch the trailing gossamer of that endless moment as it recedes back into me. It¡¯s like I¡¯ve left a fourth eye ¨C a ghost of the present ¨C in the past. But more than that, it feels as if an avalanche has fallen upon me, and I¡¯ve somehow found myself on the other side, blinking in open air, despite all odds. Too stunned to celebrate. Wondering at the light. I¡¯m sitting on the shell ¨C the outer edge of a gargantuan structure buried in the ground that will undoubtedly collapse in the coming days ¨C which I¡¯ve torn myself from. Wildflowers and vines curl around my body. They grow visibly, seeming to reach out and touch the shattered ghosts walking past. The Shrike¡¯s aura ¨C now mine, I suppose ¨C is potent but dangerous, and despite inheriting the fallen god¡¯s long experience understanding how to restrict it has been an ordeal. For mortals, it¡¯s too much, too quickly. Yet the way the weeds crawl up my legs offers small comfort in the wait for my visitor. She¡¯s getting close, now. Since I fell into that hole, she¡¯s come every night to wander around the bone walls ¨C too full of thought to sleep. Each night, the swordswoman found little changed. This will be different. I sense her notice the crack in the ivory skull and freeze, surveying her surroundings quickly. Either I¡¯m better hidden than I thought, or my stillness throws her off, because it takes two sweeps for her to find me. Kit blinks. ¡°Vin?¡± she asks. ¡°Hey; it¡¯s me,¡± croaks from my only mouth. The words are stark in the night air, and tears press from behind my eyes. ¡°Your favourite god.¡± The former swordswoman stares for several moments. Then, a short, laughing wheeze escapes her as her lips stretch into a huge smile; less about the poor quip and more the fact I made it. ¡°You¡¯re cryin¡¯,¡± she mocks as tears roll down her cheeks, ¡°you godsdamned big oaf.¡± When I chuckle, she goes to lightly punch my shoulder, then apparently thinks better of it and withdraws her fist. I wave a dark hand. ¡°It¡¯s fine.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± she drawls, still grinning, ¡°forgive me if I don¡¯t go an¡¯ punch you, yer divine-ness. What¡¯s with th¡¯ new style?¡± I go to raise an eyebrow, then remember I don¡¯t have any. Only a big, beaked skull for a face. ¡°You don¡¯t like it?¡± The young woman shrugs. ¡°S¡¯alright. I would¡¯ve made myself taller, bein¡¯ honest.¡± ¡°Eh.¡± I sway a hand in a ¡®so-so¡¯ gesture. ¡°Being ten feet tall was a hassle.¡± ¡°Must¡¯ve been pretty nice, though,¡± Kit muses. ¡°Never have trouble reachin¡¯ anythin¡¯.¡± ¡°You¡¯d be surprised.¡± We watch the campers below flit between the tents. Cookfires chuffed smoke into the sky. Kit¡¯s being kind, in her own way; my appearance resembles a wrung-out dishcloth more than any man. Ivory plating and bark speckled with old scars and scorch-marks. The cleaned bones of old wounds; a walking battlefield, but thankfully one whose war is suspended. ¡°What were you doin¡¯, in there?¡± the former swordswoman quietly asks. For a time, I eye the blade around my waist as I consider the question. She allows my silence to stretch without interruption. Eventually, a response makes itself known. ¡°Just sorting myself out.¡± She goes to ask more, then stops herself. ¡°You finished sortin¡¯?¡± ¡°No.¡± A smile tries to cross my beak. ¡°But I¡¯ve sorted something.¡± Her dark throat bobs as it swallows. ¡°¡­Did you hear us speakin¡¯ t¡¯you?¡± I nod. ¡°Did we help?¡± My eyes affix her own. ¡°You did. You all did.¡± She nods as she wipes at her eyes. ¡°Right.¡± We watch for a little longer. ¡°I was lucky.¡± ¡°Lucky? What d¡¯you mean?¡± ¡°If I had lived a different life, I might not have made it out,¡± I tell her. ¡°Thank to you, I didn¡¯t.¡± ¡°¡­Aw, you sap,¡± she groans. ¡°Ha. ¡®Different life.¡¯ I dunno if you¡¯re thankin¡¯ me or insultin¡¯ me.¡± ¡°I also have to apologise,¡± I say. ¡°For what I took from what. It¡¯s not mine. I stole it.¡± Kit turns her eyes away. ¡°Weren¡¯t yer fault, what happened. It wasn¡¯t you. Was the blood.¡± A weak wince makes its way around my eyes. ¡°Kit,¡± I say, ¡°I am the blood.¡± High above, the stars glitter like lighthouses scattered across an endless sea. A cloud rolls across the firmament, knowable only through the way those lights are temporarily extinguished. Yet when it passes, they are born anew. ¡°Well,¡± she sighs. ¡°Not much we can do.¡± My fingers drum across the ivory. ¡°Unless I give some of it back.¡±This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. Her neck cracks as she turns. ¡°How?¡± ¡°Making you a Blooded,¡± I tell her. ¡°I don¡¯t know if it will give you a new arm. And you¡¯ll have to police your own being. Plan around traits new and old. But your memories will return.¡± Both dark brows furrow. ¡°You didn¡¯t even let Ronnie keep th¡¯ Owlblood.¡± ¡°It¡­ shouldn¡¯t have been my choice.¡± My three eyes flick to her. ¡°You¡¯re trustworthy, Kit. To respect it; to be careful ¨C you¡¯re capable of both. And¡­¡± A laugh rings out, high in the air. ¡°I guess I have to trust it.¡± Kit ponders my words. After a few moments, she snorts. ¡°This¡¯s a lot o¡¯ drama fer yer first night back. Knowin¡¯ you, I should¡¯ve expected that.¡± ¡°So what¡¯s your decision- ¡° ¡°I know you got godly business t¡¯attend to,¡± she interrupts. ¡°But I got a few people who¡¯d really like t¡¯see you. It¡¯s gonna be a nice time, Vin. You can hold off fer a while.¡± My hands raise above my head in surrender. ¡°Alright, alright. Why don¡¯t you lead me to them?¡± ¡°Can¡¯t wait t¡¯see th¡¯ look on their faces.¡± Kit cackles, and her laughter rings out over the forest, the landscape, and the fallen Fort, far in the distance. I find myself caressing the scabbarded sword at my waist. The firmament shines high above us. A raiment of moonlight has settled upon our arms. Kit¡¯s correct. It is a nice night.
Ground crunches under our feet as we walk down the forested hill. The past season¡¯s heat has left a layer of dry detritus across the forest floor, and our path breaks leaves untouched for weeks. There¡¯s a vibrancy to the sound lacking in most gaits. Cicadas creak through their foreign songs, hidden amongst the trees. We speak idly during our descent to the camp. Mostly of small things: the absurd jauntiness of a passing possum; how difficult it is to gather water in the morning for the camp; the arduous rituals she must go through to please Head Maleen. Wisdom compels me to stay silent on the latter matter. There¡¯s a spring in her step; a jauntiness that¡¯s entirely new to her. Occasionally, she¡¯ll smile at empty space ¨C recalling some secret exchange to chew on, like a dog with a bone. I can see her actively attempt to supress it, but each time she shoves it down it creeps back into her gait minutes later. She scowls when she sees me bobbing my head. That quickly fades as well. While I put myself together, the world and the people within it kept moving. With that knowledge comes trepidation. I wonder whether they¡¯ll resent me for my absence. But I¡¯ve no regrets about the time spent stowed away. As we grow closer to our destination, conversation turns to a way to sneak me inside without the Houses noticing. Apparently, the sudden arrival of a new god might destabilise negotiations ¨C who knew? Surprisingly enough: Kit. We brainstorm how she might smuggle me into camp, then, when that proves unviable, how to lure the others out without spoiling the surprise. She leaves me at a small glade, where I get to work gathering and trimming fallen branches for a campfire. Aided by decades of fire-starting experience, I quickly have a blaze merrily licking the walls of a pit. The rest of my time is spent searching for nuts and roots to roast; food which I myself have no need of. After a time, my gaze falls into the fire. Though I possess no internal organs, it feels as if burrs are sticking to the inside of my stomach. My mind churns: predictions, recollections, extrapolations ¨C the intricacies of them all another reminder that the mortality within is slight and distant. Godhood is my mantle, now. Which is why I¡¯m incapable of ignoring the group hiking to my position. ¡°Not much further,¡± Kit¡¯s saying. ¡°You¡¯ll like th¡¯ surprise. Put a lotta work into it.¡± ¡°What is it?¡± Sash asks. ¡°Did you create something? I feel something weird out there.¡± There¡¯s a quaver in Head Maleen¡¯s voice. ¡°I think I know what it is.¡± ¡°Me too,¡± comes Ronnie¡¯s hoarse whisper ¨C the Owl¡¯s capricious gift to them. ¡°Ah,¡± Bhan realises. ¡°You sure?¡± ¡°Look at her,¡± Taja states, presumably gesturing. ¡°She¡¯s barely keeping a straight face.¡± Then there¡¯s a sudden acceleration of footsteps as Dash begins running, with his sister calling ¡°What? What is it?¡± after him. Somehow, bereft of a guide, he manages to find his way to the glade. Where I sit prodding at the flames. Gone is the baby-fat that clung to his cheeks, and the earnestness of his eyes. In their place stands a lean, sharp-eyed fourteen-year-old; pale as lightning in a storm. Made hard by years of self-sufficiency. His blue eyes glitter in the firelight. Like so many times before, I wonder what they see. Dash stares. His jaw wobbles. ¡°Orvi?¡± he asks. I nod. ¡°Yeah. I- ¡° At hearing only one set of words emerge from my throat, he begins stepping forward, unblinking. I freeze, form coiled, barely managing to keep the tension below the my blackened flesh, where it cannot scare him. That struggles persists until he¡¯s before me, eyes immense as the moons above. I await the verdict. But instead of saying anything, he bursts into tears, and stands bawling in front of me. Then Sash is sprinting into the clearing, finger levelled to rebuke any who would bully her brother, and when the adolescent sees me she too begins crying. My arms hover over them for a moment. Awkwardly, I draw both into an embrace. They latch around me immediately; bodies feverishly warm. Their tears trail down my skin as I stare blankly at the canopy above. While the others approach the clearing ¨C misty-eyed themselves ¨C the twins only sob louder. As I did long ago, I start to rub their backs as they weep: firm circles around once delicate bodies. They¡¯ve grown up. ¡°It¡¯s been hard, hasn¡¯t it? You¡¯ve both done so well. I¡¯m sorry I took so long. But I¡¯m here, now,¡± I promise them. ¡°With you.¡± Next comes Bhan, creeping behind to rub my head and cackle uproariously. Then Maleen and Ronnie ¨C one after the other ¨C folding themselves into the hug. Kit grabs Taja and dives onto all of us, spilling everyone onto the fallen leaves. It¡¯s a miracle we don¡¯t fall into the fire. A laugh escapes me, and when the twins punch me in the arms for it I only laugh harder.
When all¡¯s done, they ask me where I¡¯ve been. What I did, in the cocoon I made for myself. They ask whether it was the Shrike¡¯s influence, mending from within, or some other, latent strength given the chance to flex itself. Many of their questions request answers I don¡¯t have. I crawled out of that hole under my own power, but the nature of my divinity is still occluded. There are depths to it I¡¯ve not yet touched. All I know is that I was fortunate. It¡¯s a strange thing. To know that the slightest variance in the path I¡¯d taken would¡¯ve left me impaled upon my own soul for eternity. No idle luck, nor idyllic faith pushed me here. Just other lost souls, offering the right words at the right times. I struggle to release these musings into the open air. My being is contained ¨C kept in a tight grip by the laws that bind it ¨C and forcing it into words feels impossible. And it¡¯s a long story. One I increasingly feel is banal, despite the god it stars. For my scalding epiphany amidst the falling blood bleeds heat with every second that passes, and soon enough, it will reach equilibrium with my body and become as mundane as any other organ. But I owe the people looking at me ¨C Bhan, Maleen, Sash, Taja, Ronnie, Dash, Kit, and all those lost to the present ¨C for seeing something that I did not. So I talk; haltingly at first, through a meandering path full of switchbacks and digressions that seems to have no ending. I pass the blade I hold around, explaining what is cradled by its dark contours. Everyone holds it ¨C the twins longer than most. When it returns to me there is quiet. No one knows what to say. ¡°Well,¡± Kit suddenly drawls. ¡°That¡¯s a lot.¡± I huff. ¡°To be fair, we all had to deal with your baggage at the Fort.¡± She scowls. ¡°Yours as well. And Maddie¡¯s.¡± Maleen gives the taller woman a scathing frown at being brough into the argument. ¡°Not me,¡± Ronnie hoarsely claims. ¡°Or me,¡± Taja states. ¡°Or me,¡± Sash mimics. Dash turns to her. ¡°We weren¡¯t there, Sash. We couldn¡¯t have.¡± ¡°Exactly.¡± ¡°If we competing for drama,¡± Bhan says, ¡°I brought least of all.¡± ¡°However, getting you out of Spires was another ordeal,¡± I point out. For a long moment, he stares at me. Then he sighs. ¡°You be you, eh?¡± ¡°Who else am I going to be?¡± The campfire crackles loudly as we continue conversing. Full of jokes, random interjections, and stutters. Around us, nature is alive and vibrant: full of life growing adjacent to our own and treading their own small path underneath the starry sky. We speak well into the night. Of hopes and dreams and the people gone to use and what they left behind. We speak of our grievances with them, and the little things about them we loved. We speak of the people we once were and who we might become. We speak until the sky blooms red, and daybreak finally comes. Series Finale - Gods of Tomorrow Fifty Years Later. Upon a bed of alpine grass, a man watches over the mountain range he calls his home. Slopes smeared with screes or compacted dirt stretch beneath him, flowing with the rise and fall of the ridges until they fade into the blue distance. Small plants cling tenaciously to the barren dirt in obstinate defiance of the wind assaulting the steep hills and hazardous inclines. Inscrutable boulders hold vigil alongside him, having settled into their lofty perches long ago. One such monument graces the observatory behind him ¨C a hunched building with an open top. He¡¯s spent the last twelve years living there. At his feet is the body of an immense eagle, musculature monstrous enough to dwarf his own body, still impaled with the spear that slayed it. Its blood soaks his heavy overcoat from the outside, while his own seeps from within. Just as he killed the Oxkin, so too does its final blow promise to end him in the coming days. With every drop that leaves him, fear of where he¡¯s going are distilled into a far more excruciating terror: fear of what he leaves behind. Yet as he watches the land beneath, the man¡¯s worries begin to fade. There are two signs of the god¡¯s approach. The first are the strange twistings that fade into the mountainsides. Almost beneath notice, they catch at the corner of a watcher¡¯s eye: light bouncing strangely in places. If you gaze closely enough, they seem almost alive. The second sign comes in the form of the stagnant alps bursting into motion. Grass that fought its way from the inarable soil blooms into wildflowers within moments, while shrubs begin to bristle sideways, sprouting small berries or leaves where there once were none. Watching this, the man recalls a saying; old and as darkly humorous as grave-dirt. Since the new god¡¯s birth, it¡¯s been dyed a little lighter. It goes like this: ¡®Every corpse has at least one friend. The vulture.¡¯ The god appears at the edge of the horizon: a vague smear of black, red and white unmistakeable as anything else. Their gait seems almost sedate, yet the speed at which their legs consume the distance betrays its urgency. More details become apparent as they grows closer: a humanoid form, with human accoutrements ¨C complete with thumbs and a sword ¨C yet still essentially beyond mortals. Divinity is etched into every inch of their beaked skull, ivory plating, and flesh of onyx and crimson. Soon, they arrive and lowers themself to one knee in front of the man. They silently take in his wound. When finished, it clenches its eyes shut. ¡°Your liver has been destroyed,¡± they confess. ¡°You will die.¡± The man leans back and digests that diagnosis. ¡°Do you know how long I have?¡± he asks. ¡°You¡¯ve been out here a while. It shouldn¡¯t be long.¡± Weight is placed on each word. ¡°Why did you not stay inside?¡± ¡°Thought no one was coming.¡± He coughs. ¡°Still months until your next visit. We¡¯d starve by then.¡± ¡°I see.¡± They turn their enigmatic gaze onto the monster. ¡°An impressive deed.¡± The grass is soft against his back. He feels a deep, inexorable weariness in his bones lightly pushing his agony away. ¡°Only cost my life.¡± His voice is a broken murmur, unable to muster the energy for bitterness. ¡°Seems pointless, now.¡± ¡°You acted wisely,¡± the god tells him, ¡°and did what you had to, with the tools at your disposal.¡± The man says nothing to that. They allow him to dwell in the silence for a few more moments. Then, they makes the offer he knew was coming. That all the fallen know, from the moment they lay eyes upon that brooding divinity. Everyone knows the ritual¡¯s shape: beginning with the god methodically placing themself upon both knees and inclining their inscrutable mask towards the dying. Once there, the fading soul either daubs their blood upon the god¡¯s face, or allows their hand to fall by their side, forgotten. Many plays and Divinities feature this as their central moment. This is a shape carved indelibly into humanity¡¯s memory. An ineffable offer. Depths suggested, yet rarely felt. Only those performing it know the burden. The sacred vastness of the lowered head, and the infinitely patient god that offers. The cruelty of having to make this simple, binary decision, at life¡¯s terminus. To depart. To cling; a little lesser, a little longer. Two petty, mundane options, distilled into a choice that outweighs all others. ¡°You¡¯ll look after my kid, won¡¯t you?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not human.¡± The god¡¯s three eyes burn. ¡°I do a good impression, but I am a long way from mortal.¡± He feels too ill to wince at the pain speaking causes. ¡°But you will.¡± ¡°I would do it better, if you accepted my offer.¡± The man does not know what waits along either of those roads. But he leaves his blood where it is. ¡°Why?¡± the god asks. He thinks for a while. ¡°There are moments when the past feels lighter than air.¡± Each word is arduous and hard-fought. ¡°Like a gentle breeze, or a pair of clouded eyes watching from the trees. But sometimes it seems heavier than the tears of my own child. As if the present is dreamt by a long-buried instant.¡± The wind is cool. The sun is warm. Not a good day to die, or to live, or to scream or dance or fight or any number of states in which a mortal can spin ¨C screaming ¨C through their own existence. Just a good day. ¡°You¡¯re asking me to choose which I¡¯ll become,¡± he says. ¡°I don¡¯t want you or my daughter to live in thrall to my memory. I want the breeze to be realer than the past.¡± The god looks as if they have walked from elsewhere. From the thoughts of trees, or the whispers of starlight. Some primordial place, far truer than the minds of mortals. But behind their foreign mask lay a pair of achingly human eyes. He could see that they wanted to object. Yet he could tell that they would not. There¡¯s another saying. A fresher one, for this new era. ¡®The Vulture cries for what rot may bring, but in its veins remembers.¡¯ The god holds his hand as the man dies. When they are done, the god forms a cairn of those patient stones and approaches the observatory, to bring out the child waiting within. The two say goodbye.
The next year, that same kid blinks her eyes open to her bedroom gently swaying around her, as it does all hours of the day. Dawn light penetrates through shuttered windows ¨C her cabin is too cheap for proper glass despite the frequent dust-storms that occur around her. Though barely three steps long, the room¡¯s simplicity belies its craftsmanship: dense wood joined together by meticulous craftsmanship. Given the conditions it must endure, sturdiness is a necessity. Every dozen seconds, a vast rumble that rattles everything around her attests to that fact. One aborted attempt to sit upright is quickly followed by another, more forceful surge. Here, every movement is a little harder than it would be elsewhere. Her limbs weigh heavier than they did on the mountains, and every morning is a reminder that she¡¯s not there, anymore. That her childhood is behind her and fading fast. Alongside her father¡¯s face. But she still remembers the sensation of his large, ink-stained hand gently shaking her awake. Its absence is keener than its presence ever was. Beside the cot, her only friend stretches into a mighty yawn, unbothered by the excess weight the surrounding aura forces upon all who live here. The large hound sits down and gazes at her. The teenager sighs, kicks off the single blanket she has ¨C stifling in the Tempest heat ¨C and slides from her bed. She hops up and down to acclimatise herself to being upright, then slips through the mosquito-net around her bed and shuffles over to the shutters, which she slides open. After a few moments of squinting, daylight¡¯s glare gives way to the town in which she lives: sparse houses lined atop a lengthy, narrow strip of land resembling the ridgeline of a tall mountain, complete with ropes dangling off its sides and fencing to keep the unwary from stumbling off. A lone windmill spins madly. Even as she watches, the kid sees leather-clad individuals climbing the ropes and passing their harpoons and harnesses off to those working the morning shift. One broad man rubs his eyes as he staggers home, another worker ¨C friend or lover ¨C gripping his shoulders to prevent the rhythmic shaking from throwing both off. For the land is not land: it¡¯s a stretch of sallow muscle, contracting and elongating according to the movements beneath. The excess weight isn¡¯t just a sign of the girl¡¯s growth, but the divine aura permeating this place commandeering gravity for its own unthinking agenda. The workers are no mere labourers: they are custodian-warriors fighting an eternal battle against decay. And what seems like a mountain is far, far heavier than any formation its size could ever be. For this is the home of the Order of the Lizard, built atop the back of the god itself. While it continues its inexorable march across the continent, in search of something it may never find. Cleansed of its sickness as the Vulture¡¯s first great act, five decades ago. To human civilisation, this was the paradigm shift that inaugurated the new era. To the girl, it¡¯s almost boring. Almost. Because with the sun piercing above the horizon to spread its reddened breath along the landscape passing beneath, there¡¯s something magical about it all. In a strange way, she feels as if her father is here, just out of sight. Hidden in the dawn light and the god¡¯s endless journey. As she watches the town wake, preparing for a day of checking the Lizard and warning those in its path, the feeling slowly recedes. Eventually, the god and those it carries upon its back become a mere place, once more. Her home. As the hound trots out of her room, the girl begins to dress for the coming day: her father¡¯s old clothes replaced with undergarments, coveralls, harness, and a stained apron. Below, the head cook yells her name and she scurries from the room, belatedly realising she needs to empty her bladder and fearing she won¡¯t get a chance until midday. The adolescent stomps down the stairs, and whirls through the canteen, dodging stacked furniture and the night-shift custodians lining up for their dinner. One older woman calls, ¡°Where¡¯s the fire, little chef?¡± provoking a few of her less tired companions into half-hearted laughter. She scowls and flushes as she hurries into the kitchen. Inside, the chef ¨C a large man with an impressive beard ¨C smirks as she enters and stands before him, hopping from one foot to another in an effort to avoid wetting her pants. He snorts. ¡°Go piss, girl. Quickly.¡± Upon returning, the two get to work heating last night¡¯s meal for the night workers and preparing servings of porridge for the morning workers using grain and dried fruits donated from a village they passed a few days back. Such donations are customary. The Order of the Lizard¡¯s quartermasters regularly organise shipments themselves, however that¡¯s often unnecessary. The hours pass in a blur of humidity, stirring, shovelling wood, and the growling of stomachs. Atop Dure¡¯s swaying back, cooking requires constantly resecuring knives and pots by clipping them to their respective places. Her first few weeks saw many a meal spill onto the ground, tightening the cook¡¯s jaw until his teeth threatened to shatter. Now, she¡¯s good enough that none of her slips are dangerous. There¡¯s still a tension in her temples, though. During a din, she quickly eats her own breakfast then returns to serve portions to those rising for the midday shift, who ¨C due to generally being trainees ¨C constantly wheedle for more food and require rebuffing. At a little past midday, the hound trots back inside the canteen, dragging a sack of food and wood for tomorrow. ¡°Dog¡¯s back,¡± she tells the chef. ¡°I¡¯m done.¡± ¡°Well trained mutt,¡± he grunts, busy dicing a set of onions. ¡°Alright. Doing a roast tomorrow tonight, but I got to meet with the quartermaster. Can you handle it alone?¡± ¡°The whole thing?¡± ¡°It¡¯ll be in the oven before my shift¡¯s over.¡± He moves over to a mortar and pestle to begin grinding nuts. ¡°Only need to check on it a few times.¡± ¡°Should be fine.¡± While he nods a dismissal, she¡¯s already slipping out of the kitchen and back up the stairs, moving in the strange, stuttering gait that life on the Lizard demands. Halfway up, she turns to see her friend whining behind her; eyes flicking between her and the door. ¡°I have more reading to do.¡± The whining continues. ¡°You want me to fall off the side of the god?¡± It does not cease. She sighs. ¡°Fine. Whatever. I¡¯ll grab dad¡¯s journals, then.¡± After carefully stuffing the books in a satchel and cinching it tight around her back, she follows the hound outside. Into the sharp wind ¨C intense, like the mountain¡¯s, but carrying too much musty heat to be its equal. She knots her harness to the rope fence beside her, and begins the arduous task of walking across the Lizard¡¯s back without falling. She¡¯s yet to go a day without failing at least once, and a few minutes after starting the pattern proves itself unbroken as the bridge of one foot catches on the back of another heel. Which sends her immediately onto the back of her furred companion, who bears the blow with grace. Muttering an excuse, she straightens and continues following through the tight concentration of buildings glued, tied, and strapped to the Lizard¡¯s back. They creak dangerously as she passes. Little has changed since this time the previous day. Late afternoon is always the stillest. Lone flags flutter in the breeze ¨C singular splashes of colour amidst the hard yellow of the Lizard¡¯s back. A windmill catches the gusts above to transform into light beneath ¨C Godsblood long replaced by the more elegant fuels. Above, the clouds drift sluggishly along the sky¡¯s currents. Besides those and the dog, only the girl moves atop Dure. Everyone else is either on the Lizard¡¯s side and underbelly ¨C performing routine checkups and deterring monsters looking for a meal ¨C or in the barracks, sleeping. The Order of the Lizard is the largest and most honoured amongst its peers, but there¡¯s little splendour in its day-to-day. Not for the first time, the girl wonders why the custodians remain in this life: tending to the body of an uncaring god. Never settling down. Maybe they feel something she doesn¡¯t. Yet as she reluctantly drags herself along the rope-line, she does notice one difference. Between the buildings, where the Lizard¡¯s ribs begin to curve sharply down, the pulley system ¨C dormant almost every day since she¡¯s arrived ¨C is being cranked by two sleep-deprived Lizardbloods. A visitor is coming. The girl quickly switches to the rope leading to them and heads over. The dog reluctantly pads after her. She arrives and hovers in the background for a while. Eventually, one of the Blooded ¨C a gap-toothed, side-burned specimen ¨C replies to her unspoken request. ¡°Come over and look,¡± he says with a backwards glance. ¡°We¡¯ve got an important visitor.¡± Given permission, she fights against the constant swaying to peer over the side. Far downwards, swaying just above the cracked slopes of the Wastes that the Lizard has chosen to cross, several specks are conversing with a lone rider, whose horse gallops beside the Lizard. Trying to figure out how to get them onto the platform, most likely. Usually, arrivals come in a carriage and cross over using a board. This one decides to simply leap from their horse and trust that the frantic custodians will pull them to safety. Bizarrely, she hears cackling. ¡°Woah,¡± the other Lizardblood mutters. ¡°Th¡¯ Hand¡¯s a loon. Guess some rumours¡¯re true.¡± The first man grunts an agreement. When a custodian below tugs a rope, the two Blooded begin cranking the whole platform upwards. It takes little time to reach the top, where the rider dismounts. She¡¯s a woman on the older end of life ¨C dark hair giving way to grey just as dark skin gives to wrinkles. Two prominent scars nestle on either side of her wry grin. A beautifully embellished lute is strapped to her back. Despite her age, her lean muscle and height combine to make an intimidating figure. Yet her most noticeable feature is lower: a lone, articulated ivory forearm that could be mistaken for a prosthetic, were it not for a way the bone grows into the forearm. That uncanny hand is wrapped around a battered cane.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. The other is occupied dabbing her forehead with a worn old handkerchief. ¡°Woo,¡± she breathes. ¡°Always an adventure gettin¡¯ here. Guess it¡¯s good thing you folks gave me a¡­¡± She pauses for dramatic effect. ¡°Hand.¡± Politely, the custodians remain quiet. Despite the lacking reception ¨C or perhaps because of it ¨C the woman cackles to herself. ¡°Alright, alright. Enough jokes.¡± She carefully folds the kerchief and slips it into a shirt-pocket. ¡°Y¡¯all tend to th¡¯ fat bastard. I got business here.¡± A portly middle-aged woman that the girl recognises as the Order¡¯s quartermaster steps forward to give her a harness. ¡°Forgive me, but you¡¯ll have to go through our safety checks.¡± the lady says as if she¡¯d rather be saying anything else. ¡°No. Been here before.¡± The quartermaster winces and opens her mouth. The Hand gives her a tight smile; eyes stretched to an uncanny wideness. The mouth is closed. Everyone present exchanges glances. ¡°Do you want a tour?¡± the gap-toothed Lizardblood asks in defiance of the atmosphere. In response, the aging woman cocks an eyebrow. ¡°A generous offer, but no. D¡¯you mind if I stay overnight? Been a long ride.¡± Continuing the trend of being oblivious, the Blooded answers before the quartermaster can. ¡°Sure.¡± He shrugs his superior¡¯s glare off with admirable ease. The Hand audibly supresses a snort. ¡°Alright. Thank you. I¡¯ll be off now.¡± While she ties herself to a nearby rope ¨C somewhat awkwardly, due to the stiffness of the ivory ¨C the others, with the exception of the quartermaster, descend back down the side. The portly woman hovers for a few moments, before a scowl from the Hand scares her off. In short order, the visitor herself begins leaving. Before she does, she notices the teenager and her companion. ¡°¡­What¡¯s a kid like you doin¡¯ here?¡± she asks, eyes narrowing. The girl shrugs. The unnerving examination continues for a little longer. When her stare reaches the dog, she pauses, then sighs. ¡°Alright. Well. If you see any rogue gods ¡®round here, send ¡®em my way. Got some messages.¡± The kid bobs her head as the figure cusses and drags herself along the Lizard¡¯s back. ¡°That¡¯s Kit, right?¡± she asks her companion. ¡°The one father told me about? The one who helped put everything together?¡± The hound grumbles. ¡°You better go see her.¡± Eventually, her friend trots off.
Behind the tightly-clustered buildings lining the Lizard¡¯s back, at the very base of its spine, rests a graveyard. Amongst its kind, it is entirely unique. No bodies are buried therein ¨C to dig into Dure¡¯s flesh is cruel and irresponsible. Instead, its markers hold vigil over tokens: ribbons, strips of cloth, funeral urns, masks. Marks of fallen members of divine Orders, brought here to be carried across the land. Bound to the wandering divinity by its own gravity. Here, an old woman sits by a monument, carved fingers idly plucking the strings of the lute in her lap. Her other hand idly caresses the scars and wrinkles sketched across her face: a map charting decades of life. Two dark eyes watch the cracked land beneath fall back to be consumed by the horizon. The god walks over to her, body roiling as it shifts forms. When they arrive at her side, they wears the same form they do in tapestries: strange yet familiar, in the way the divine often is. ¡°Kit,¡± they greet, voice a unified chorus. Her fingers continue plucking notes. ¡°This where you been? Pretendin¡¯ t¡¯be a damned dog? Ridiculous.¡± ¡°My cousin doesn¡¯t mind the company.¡± ¡°Dure. Yer cousin.¡± She scoffs. ¡°Fat bastard probably don¡¯t even know you¡¯re here.¡± They tut. ¡°Maybe not. But you all asked for less interference.¡± There¡¯s a note of mild rebuke colouring their voice. ¡°Said I was ¡®too overbearing¡¯. Is a year too much?¡± Kit scoffs. ¡°Askin¡¯ you not to stick yer beak into every single damned detail o¡¯ this organisation and let us do the work we been doin¡¯ for decades ain¡¯t the same as tellin¡¯ you to leave.¡± ¡°For a mere year,¡± they protest. ¡°A year¡¯s a bloody long time, fool,¡± she snaps, finally taking her hand off the lute. ¡°Look, we¡¯ve mostly managed, but you know damn well there¡¯s work we can¡¯t do alone.¡± They release a long breath, then begins to settle down beside her. Once seated, the god carefully unhooks their swords and placed it across their divine legs. A hand runs over its filagree. The pair of old friends sit in silence, for a time. Kit¡¯s jaw clenches as she stares at the grave. ¡°You weren¡¯t gonna tell us?¡± ¡°At some point. But he asked not to make a fuss, and I needed to get his daughter settled.¡± She shifts in her seat, eyes narrowing to glare at the grave. ¡°Aw, burn what he wants. He¡¯s dead; who cares? Should¡¯ve had a proper funeral.¡± ¡°We still can.¡± ¡°Sure,¡± she drawls. ¡°One whole year after th¡¯ fact.¡± Perhaps in thought, the youngest god takes its time in replying. ¡°¡­I think his daughter might need it.¡± ¡°Wait.¡± Kit turns to stare at the god for the first time since they arrived. ¡°That¡¯s his daughter? Thought she looked familiar.¡± They snort. ¡°Do you remember the look in his eyes, when he held her the first time?¡± ¡°Utterly baffled,¡± she chuckles. ¡°Like he jus¡¯ watched a frog speak human.¡± The god and the Blooded stare at the grave. ¡°She¡¯s gotten big. Skinny thing ¨C jus¡¯ like he was.¡± ¡°Mm,¡± they agree. The aging woman leans backwards, ivory hand brushing the hair from her eyes. ¡°Blood. Bhan was one thing. We all knew he didn¡¯t have long. Spent too damned long roamin¡¯ around with Ronnie, tellin¡¯ people what¡¯s what, and not enough listenin¡¯ to us tellin¡¯ him to take a break. But Taja? I¡­¡± She clenches her eyes shut. ¡°Gods.¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± ¡°How¡¯d he pass?¡± ¡°Monster attack at the observatory.¡± Her face twists. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t let him waste his life starin¡¯ at stars.¡± ¡°It wasn¡¯t a waste,¡± they immediately snap. ¡°He¡¯d worked hard for the council, and he continued to work hard on the mountain. Proved things you barely imagined. Did you even read his reports?¡± She raises her mismatched hands limply. ¡°Sorry.¡± Her head droops. Suddenly, she seems exhausted. ¡°Jus¡¯¡­ Why¡¯d he go so far away?¡± ¡°He was never a people person.¡± A huff escapes her. ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s one way o¡¯ sayin¡¯ it. Worked magic with an abacus, though. Who knew he¡¯d like numbers so much?¡± ¡°I think it surprised him, too.¡± There¡¯s a pause. Kit sighs. ¡°Late sixties is a good run, fer an unblooded.¡± ¡°Not good enough.¡± ¡°You¡¯d have us all live forever, if you could.¡± She gives a strange, sad smile. ¡°But none of us¡¯re headed fer eternity.¡± There¡¯s a break in the conversation. They examine the tokens beneath the grave: a battered old sword; a well-worn coat; a few sketches of celestial movement, charcoal faded with age. His most important possessions remain with his daughter. ¡°What did you need me for?¡± the god suddenly asks. Kit jumps, then releases a breath. ¡°Don¡¯t do that. Bloody hell.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t speak?¡± ¡°Shut it.¡± The Hand takes a folded missive from a pocket, then produces a pair of glasses from her coat. At that, the god cocks their head. ¡°Glasses and a note? Your blood should keep your vision and memory fresh.¡± ¡°Note¡¯s a bureaucratic thing,¡± she explains. ¡°And the spectacles?¡± The woman shrugs, poorly concealing a smirk. ¡°Maddie gets me to wear them.¡± ¡°She¡¯s really got you leashed, doesn¡¯t she?¡± Kit gives the god a meaningful look. ¡°Urgh.¡± The divinity¡¯s visage scrunches. ¡°Could have done without that image.¡± A long wheeze erupts from her chest. When she¡¯s done, Kit says, ¡°You said it, not me.¡± ¡°How is she, anyway?¡± Her grin quickly vanishes. ¡°That¡¯s part o¡¯ why I¡¯m here. Let me get through th¡¯ rest, first. There¡¯s a rough ejection of phlegm as the Hand clears her throat. ¡°First is the Ox,¡± she begins, enunciation precise. ¡°It¡¯s broken out o¡¯ the valley you lured it into. Burrowed a hole through a mountain ¨C as we expected.¡± ¡°Has it hurt anyone?¡± ¡°The Order lookouts.¡± ¡°¡­Any survivors?¡± ¡°More¡¯n half. Which is better¡¯n it used to be. The new drills are working.¡± ¡°The valley didn¡¯t.¡± ¡°We knew it wouldn¡¯t be a permanent solution. They¡¯re looking for another, sturdier place to lure it to.¡± ¡°¡­Alright. Tell them to let me know if they need help.¡± ¡°You know,¡± Kit carefully posits, ¡°the Orders are meant to work without yer intervention.¡± They ignore the statement. ¡°What about the Fox?¡± ¡°Ronnie went into a forest.¡± The god jerks where it sits. ¡°Ronnie?! It was meant to be entire troupe!¡± ¡°¡®Why spend a dozen when you can risk one?¡¯¡± ¡°They said that?¡± ¡°Eyup. Reckoned if it was a test run, we oughta use as few Faces as possible.¡± ¡°I thought they wouldn¡¯t be entertained with too few people.¡± ¡°Dash thought so too; told ¡®em to wait. Turns out both o¡¯ you were wrong.¡± ¡°It worked? The Fox likes plays?¡± ¡°Well,¡± she drawls, ¡°Ronnie¡¯s alive. Guess they like their performance, at least. Seems that Fox¡¯s enjoyin¡¯ th¡¯ toys we sent ¡®em, as well. That stopgap¡¯s looking pretty permanent.¡± They slump in relief, then release a breath. ¡°¡­More than the valley, anyway.¡± ¡°¡­Yeah. Movin¡¯ on¡­¡± ¡°Siik? Sash is still in charge of that, correct?¡± ¡°Progress¡¯s slow, but steady. With every bit o¡¯ food we give it, and every that year that passes, it gets a little more tolerant o¡¯ human presence. She claims it¡¯ll eat out o¡¯ the hands o¡¯ the next generation.¡± ¡°¡­An optimistic assessment.¡± Kit chuckles. ¡°You could say that. But ¨C long story short ¨C that Order¡¯s going well. Siik¡¯s not a problem right now, and no one expects it to become one.¡± ¡°And the Owl?¡± For the first time, Kit pauses to think. ¡°No immediate concerns,¡± she eventually replies. ¡°It¡¯s still occupied by the things we¡¯re giving it. Little contraptions; baubles; interestin¡¯ natural formations.¡± ¡°Any luck on charting where it¡¯ll roost next?¡± ¡°Not much,¡± the woman admits. ¡°An¡¯ it¡¯s taking less time to dissect what we give it. Dash reviewed the paperwork: soon enough, its appetite¡¯ll outweigh supply.¡± ¡°We knew that.¡± ¡°We knew that,¡± she concurs. ¡°The day¡¯s coming soon, though.¡± ¡°Right. Any ideas on how to combat that?¡± ¡°Well¡­¡± Kit runs a hand over her wrinkled cheeks in thought. ¡°A few harebrained ones.¡± ¡°Harebrained how?¡± ¡°Like getting the Spider and the Owl to meet.¡± ¡°¡­Which, if they even notice each other, will almost certainly mar the progress we¡¯ve made with the former.¡± ¡°Dash said that. But it¡¯s an option.¡± ¡°Did he say anything else?¡± ¡°You know what he¡¯s like. Love¡¯s shooting down other ideas; not so fond o¡¯ making his own. S¡¯why he¡¯s the Order¡¯s inspector.¡± ¡°¡­Damn it.¡± ¡°You got any ideas?¡± ¡°There¡¯s a finite amount of novel objects on this planet,¡± it sighs. ¡°We can only fend off the date where there¡¯s no more.¡± ¡°We can always make more.¡± ¡°Which means economic work.¡± Kit groans. ¡°Which means politics. Blood.¡± ¡°What about the Dolphin?¡± ¡°Jus¡¯ lemme wallow in this fer a bit.¡± She leans back, voice loosening back into her normal accent. ¡°Gods damn it. Council¡¯ll really like this.¡± The god remains silent as the woman beside them gripes for a few more minutes. When she¡¯s finally done, her back straightens. ¡°Right. Dolphin.¡± ¡°Any more casualties?¡± ¡°¡­Yeah. Fishers snuck through the Order¡¯s blockade. Or maybe they were god-hunters. Everyone up there hates Yoot, after all.¡± ¡°¡­What did it make them do?¡± ¡°We don¡¯t know. Took days to realise they even made it through, and last I heard there weren¡¯t any signs o¡¯ them.¡± ¡°¡­That¡¯s not good.¡± ¡°The Northern economy¡¯ll never fully grow with us blockin¡¯ every fisher. It¡¯ll be fully abandoned in a decade if we can¡¯t find a better solution. And if we ever wanna see what¡¯s across the Northern Sea, we can¡¯t keep quarantining it,¡± Kit states tersely. ¡°We need to deal with the Dolphin. Council wants to give it convicts.¡± ¡°Unacceptable,¡± they snap, before softening. ¡°But you know I can¡¯t step in.¡± ¡°Really, someone oughta put a knife in most o¡¯ them nobles.¡± They crow a light chuckle. ¡°Thought you gave up the sword.¡± ¡°They make it really tempting to pick one back up.¡± Kit hisses a sigh through clenched teeth. ¡°You sure you can¡¯t do anythin¡¯?¡± ¡°If I start meddling in mortal politick, I¡¯ll never stop.¡± The god sighs. ¡°And while mortal tyrants die, divine ones don¡¯t.¡± ¡°You wouldn¡¯t be a tyrant.¡± ¡°Come now. You and I both know better.¡± Neither of them say anything more to that. Eventually, Kit settles both hands onto her instrument and begins picking out notes once more. Each chord is far apart, creating a hesitant, halting tune belonging entirely to this moment. Beneath them, the ground reflects dimmed light from the darkening sky above. The sun glows orange with fatigue. Soon, it will be abed. ¡°Though I appreciate you keeping me abreast,¡± the god says, ¡°you didn¡¯t come here speak of divine matters.¡± Her fingers pause on the strings. When she speaks, it¡¯s not to answer the implied question. ¡°Was a real surprise to find out someone had a kid with that surly bastard.¡± The god eyes her sideways. ¡°He was a good man.¡± ¡°¡­Yeah,¡± she mutters. ¡°Gods. Wish I could¡¯ve seen him out.¡± ¡°I was there,¡± they say. ¡°He wasn¡¯t alone.¡± ¡°Good,¡± she whispers, more to herself than anyone else. ¡°Good.¡± ¡°¡­How are your kids?¡± A surprised scoff rips from her chest. ¡°Fully grown an¡¯ still can barely keep their head screwed on.¡± She waves a hand. ¡°Don¡¯t get me started.¡± The god¡¯s mask seems to smirk wryly. ¡°By all means, Kit. I wouldn¡¯t ask if I wasn¡¯t interested.¡± She glances at them, then points her pupils skywards before suddenly notices she¡¯s still wearing the glasses. The woman huffs as she carefully folds them and slips them into her coat. ¡°Urgh. I dunno where to start.¡± ¡°How¡¯s little Tully?¡± ¡°Not so little,¡± she laughs. ¡°Taller¡¯n me and Maddie ¨C a real beanpole o¡¯ a girl. Sweet as molasses an¡¯ possessin¡¯ about as much backbone.¡± ¡°She¡¯s kind.¡± Kit groans. ¡°One way o¡¯ sayin¡¯ it. Maddie tells me not to worry, but how can I not? She¡¯s a damned librarian ¨C d¡¯you know how vicious scholars are? Came home cryin¡¯ ¡®cause someone went an¡¯ yelled at her over the damned¡­¡± She pauses in search of the words. ¡°¡­the way she¡¯s categorisin¡¯ stuff. Fifty years ago, you could count the amount o¡¯ books we had on one hand, an¡¯ now someone¡¯s got the balls to insult my daughter over it?¡± ¡°Did you beat them up?¡± ¡°Nah, I¡¯ll jus¡¯ get Maddie t¡¯fire them.¡± ¡°An abuse of power,¡± the god observes. ¡°Really, it¡¯s more like weedin¡¯ out th¡¯ stupid.¡± The aging mother snorts, wrinkles aglow. ¡°Who insults Maleen Heltia¡¯s daughter? Jus¡¯ a bad idea all-round.¡± Then she sighs. ¡°Naw, Tully¡¯d be real mad if I did.¡± ¡°What about Jana?¡± ¡°Says she wants t¡¯join an Order.¡± The woman sniffs. ¡°Course, she¡¯s got no idea which one. I wanted to get her to join Sash, but she¡¯d probably find that too borin¡¯ so it might be Dash¡¯s instead. He¡¯s always somethin¡¯ new goin¡¯ on.¡± ¡°Has she left, yet?¡± ¡°Bah. Think it¡¯s a phase. When she was young, she was always sayin¡¯ random stuff like that ¨C reckon it¡¯ll drift out o¡¯ her attention after a while.¡± ¡°Kit,¡± the god says gently. ¡°She¡¯s wanted to do this for several years.¡± ¡°Well.¡± Her teeth grind together. ¡°That¡¯s what Maddie says, too. Guess I can only blame myself. Bad role model.¡± The god scoffs. ¡°We¡¯ve been over this ¨C you¡¯re a fine parent, Kit.¡± ¡°But- ¡° ¡°I¡¯m not going to entertain your bellyaching.¡± They shake their head in disbelief. ¡°What about your eldest?¡± ¡°Brick?¡± ¡°I can¡¯t get over that name.¡± The woman laughs. ¡°We got him too late to give him another one. Wouldn¡¯t be fair.¡± She shakes her head. ¡°Nah, vicious bastard like him¡¯ll be fine. Maleen¡¯s groomin¡¯ him to take her role, an¡¯ I pity the poor councillor who¡¯s got to deal with him. He¡¯s a real arsehole,¡± she says admiringly. ¡°Knew it from the moment I first saw him, rootin¡¯ ¡®round in them ruins.¡± ¡°He has kids of his own, doesn¡¯t he?¡± ¡°Yeah, they¡¯re pretty damn cute.¡± She spends a few minutes gushing about her grandchildren¡¯s escapades ¨C sneaking out; building forts; drawing on walls ¨C before pausing. ¡°Their mother¡¯s Albright stock.¡± A frown crosses her face. ¡°That¡¯d make Taja¡¯s girl their cousin, I think.¡± ¡°That is correct.¡± ¡°Her mother died young, didn¡¯t she?¡± The god inclines their head silently. ¡°I think it¡¯s why Taja left. He was never good at grief.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± she whispers. ¡°That¡¯s true.¡± Kit plucks at a few strings. The god gazes at the land disappearing behind them. ¡°You¡¯re here about Maleen,¡± they say quietly. The woman nods mutely. Her dark eyes stare blankly towards the ground. ¡°She¡¯s not doing well?¡± ¡°Y¡¯know, she wants to set up a school?¡± Her words are sudden; disjointed. ¡°Always told me she¡¯d do it, when she retires. That¡¯s what I¡¯m here for ¨C askin¡¯ fer a few years off to help her out.¡± The god¡¯s resonant voice is low and gentle. ¡°Kit¡­¡± There¡¯s a stony aspect to her face ¨C suddenly more tightly contained than it was mere minutes before. ¡°I never been scared o¡¯ my own death. But¡­¡± ¡°Are you gonna be alright, when we¡¯re gone?¡± Kit¡¯s jaw tightens as her voice breaks. ¡°¡¯Cause I don¡¯t think I¡¯m gonna be, when she is. I don¡¯t know who I am without her.¡± ¡°It¡¯s bad?¡± ¡°She¡¯s old, Vin.¡± Her eyes are watery. ¡°An¡¯ I¡¯m not. Yer blood¡¯ll keep me here fer another forty years, when she don¡¯t even have ten.¡± ¡°You could- ¡° ¡°I could,¡± Kit admits. ¡°I could keep her with me. To be my first. But I asked, an¡¯ she doesn¡¯t want to. She jus¡¯ wants to go.¡± A broken breath escapes her. ¡°Gods, she pisses me off sometimes. Why¡¯d she refuse your blood? I should¡¯ve made her take it.¡± ¡°She had her- ¡° ¡°I know.¡± Her voice cracks like a whip. ¡°I bloody know, Vin; I get it. I jus¡¯¡­ Even when I gave up my own blade, I always thought I¡¯d end up greasin¡¯ someone else¡¯s. Instead, I¡¯m still here.¡± The god¡¯s friend turns sideways to meet their eyes. Her pupils drown in a sea of white. ¡°I¡¯m not ready to let her go,¡± she whispers. The divine and the mortal sit side-by-side, gazes meeting one another. One blackened hand places itself upon a dark shoulder, and an ivory one mirrors the gesture. Beneath them, the Lizard casts its twelve eyes ahead: inexorably marching towards a horizon it will never meet. ¡°When you all depart,¡± the Vulture tells her, ¡°I will be wretched. Shattered. But I understand my nature. And I understand a bit about yours, too. ¡°In the deepest parts of my veins, I know that you and I can do this.¡± And at the sight of tears springing from behind the god¡¯s mask, Kit finally lets herself cry.
An upright pillar casts a slight shadow in the day¡¯s dying light. Soon, the rest of the world will darken to that same shade. But true night is not here yet. The girl is left to sit and wait, charcoal stick and measuring devices folded neatly inside her book ¨C between pages filled with angles and spheres. Each filled with an abortive attempt at determining the scope of her world. Without the sun, no reference can be found. Without stillness, no measurement is possible. Instead, she sits, adrift on the Lizard¡¯s head as it doggedly moves along its interminable passage across the earth. As she idly watches it crawl over dusk-ridden mountains, something else appears. A phantom riding the air high above. The first ghost she¡¯s seen in a long time. When the kid turns her head, she finds her friend behind her; unfurled from canid form into the full span of their divinity. Three multicoloured eyes gaze from behind their mask. A beautifully adorned blade ¨C sheathed as always ¨C rests upon their waist. ¡°What?¡± she demands. They step beside her, adjusting to the Lizard¡¯s swaying easier than any other she¡¯s seen. Having no need of the harness wrapped tight around her chest. ¡°What?¡± she repeats, harsher. They turn their gaze to the stark cliffs that define this land. ¡°This is where I was made a god.¡± ¡°The Wastes?¡± ¡°The mountain range that borders it. Where the Cult made its home.¡± She¡¯s interested, but doesn¡¯t want to show it. ¡°So?¡± ¡°For most of recorded history, creatures couldn¡¯t walk this region,¡± they begin. ¡°The Raven or its people would swoop in and steal them away, to the Cult, where they would face a choice. That¡¯s why the Wastes is as it is, I think ¨C because their constant plucking irrevocably damaged the land. ¡°When Avri fell, humanity still couldn¡¯t cross.¡± They point downwards. ¡°If you look at how steep these mountains are, you¡¯ll see why. Not particularly high, but dangerous enough that climbers have learned to stay away. Most people had bigger problems, back then.¡± ¡°So it¡¯s impossible,¡± she snaps unthinkingly. They cock their head. ¡°Impossible? What are we doing right now?¡± The kid looks down. Beneath, the Lizard scales those same mountains. ¡°Look at how level Dure keeps its spine. You barely even noticed it was climbing.¡± The god pats the leathery skin they stand upon. ¡°Why do you think it does that? Some feature of its anatomy? Of its blood? Or maybe it¡¯s some ancient remnant of the creature it once was, long ago: ¡°A creature that carried others upon its back.¡± She¡¯s quiet, now. Thinking. ¡°You¡¯re trying to redo your father¡¯s calculations, correct? Which ones?¡± Mutely, she hands him the notebook. ¡°Hm. Using shadows to calculate the world¡¯s size. This was a collaboration, I believe.¡± The god¡¯s eyes run over the pages briefly, then flick back to her. ¡°Not that I¡¯m an expert, but the math on this was exhaustively checked.¡± ¡°But¡­¡± For once, she sounds her age. ¡°He must have missed something. It can¡¯t be right. Our world isn¡¯t that big. This land isn¡¯t that small.¡± ¡°I know how you feel.¡± The god huffs in amusement. ¡°Our whole lives, covering a tiny fraction of the world¡¯s surface. It¡¯s ridiculous. It¡¯s unbelievable. I think Maleen had an entire team of Spiderbloods look over the geometry.¡± ¡°They overlooked something.¡± ¡°Maybe,¡± the god admits. ¡°I doubt it¡¯s perfectly accurate. But it¡¯s close enough.¡± The teenager scowls. ¡°Close enough for what?¡± As she glares at them, the god quirks a thumb sideways. When her gaze turns it finds a world darkened, revealing the brilliant stars piercing from all angles. From beneath; from above; from beside ¨C veiled in gossamer nebulas of every colour, in every place her stunned eyes can trace. Like she¡¯s staring out of the cliff-edge of existence, only to find infinity staring back. And she blinks, realising what she¡¯s seeing. ¡°It¡¯s the ocean,¡± the girl says. ¡°Reflecting the sky above.¡± Impossibly, the god beside her seems to grin. ¡°A small continent, on a large world, adrift in an immense sky. She stares a little longer. ¡°We¡¯re so small.¡± The new god shakes their head, ivory, crimson and onyx skin like a nebula in motion. ¡°And if only eight gods wait in that tiniest sliver of the universe, then who knows how many fill existence in its entirety?¡± The stars twinkle all around them. Her eyes are wide. Stunned. ¡°¡­More than eight gods?¡± She blinks up at them. ¡°Aren¡¯t you scared?¡± Almost surprised, the god looks at their own hands. At the scars; at the wrinkles; at the blood, coursing through their being. Then they look upon the glittering expanse before them: endless and open, beyond where the eyes can see. ¡°No,¡± they say. ¡°Not anymore.¡±