by Amanda Twigg
One word, shouted and insistent, broke through her misery.
“Mud bog!”
Too late. In her distress, she’d forgotten to take the safe route along the rock ridge. She plunged into the gurgling slime, and it wrapped around her legs. Mud filled her boots and the mire claimed her as its own, sucking her down into its revolting depths. She stopped sinking with the mud at her thighs.
“Hold still,” Jex said. “Struggling attracts slugs.”
Of course it does. And just like that, it gets worse. She calmed her breathing, settled her flailing body, and tried to hold still. Cold mud encased her feet and chill seeped into her bones, making her shiver.
There was no missing a faint yellow aura mass that brightened the distant mud. It heaved with the life force of a myriad of specks, rather than with the unity of a single creature. Slugs. Had to be. This end would be worse than suicide. Worse than… everything. Bereft of strength, magic, and ideas, she did nothing as the writhing mass arrowed her way. Her locked gaze followed the movement, and she saw the slugs breach the slime’s surface, not ten strides away.
Indignance flared in Landra’s Soul. She’d flirted with death and accepted its inevitability, but she’d never imagined it ending like this. Her glare dared the slugs to charge. Didn’t they know better than to eat the chief elect? Hah, the title might be long gone, but the role’s responsibilities still filled her thoughts. Didn’t the slugs understand? She had a war to stop and a world to save. Arrogant. Stupid. Pathetic. A lost cause. The mass of slugs darted forward, twisting, wriggling, and aiming straight for her legs. No one would hear her sorry tale once her bones were stripped bare.
She roared out her fury, gyrating the aura before her eyes. In the face of the inevitable end, her traitorous thoughts centered on the small details of a life she’d once had. Had Father moved back into Hux Hall? Who was Baylem sharing gossip with now? Ah no—dead. Did her brother graduate Warrior Hall? Was Bexter…? She couldn’t go there either. The sweet promise of what might have been didn’t belong in this grotesque scene.
At the end, would her Soul retain a semblance of consciousness to join with Gramps? Best that it didn’t because he was bound to roast her. Hadn’t he ordered her to save her people? Hadn’t she failed? No matter how much resilience flared in her Soul or how much puzzling went into her problem, she saw no escape. The mud roiled around her legs and licked at her skin.
“No,” she bellowed.
As if by command, the grubs stilled.
Stilled? Breath wouldn’t free from her lungs. Jex’s large hand clasped hers, and his other fist clamped her collar. He pulled her free with a slurping pop, tumbled her sideways, and dropped her onto a protruding rock. She sprawled there, curled in a ball and feeling limper than a newborn pup, but there was no rest. He yanked her up again, dragged her along the rock ridge, and finally settled her on a warm rock.
She couldn’t decide which discomfort to address first, but she retained enough wits to take stock. Her body hurt, both from injury and through contact with the corrosive mud. Her magic had fled, along with her strength, and she had few choices left. A growling stomach seemed the least of her problems, but it refused to be ignored. Then, there was Jex. He hunkered down on the far side of the pool, hugging his knees to his chest and glowering at the underlevel.
Landra had faced beatings, injustice, and imminent death, but acknowledging her friend felt harder than confronting those truths. She’d lied to him and abandoned him more times than she could recall. How could she blame him for the sense of betrayal that broke hard lines through his aura?
What do I say? Sorry I lied about my name? I can explain? Nothing seemed enough, but words surfaced from the depths of her Soul. “Thank you.”
“What for?” he asked, sulky, miserable.
“For saving my life.”
“I didn’t. Mud slugs don’t eat meat covered in shelk. You got lucky.”
Lucky? I’m not fit for a slug meal. “Well, thank you, anyway, for hauling me out.”
“Would have done it for anyone,” Jex said. “I don’t let anyone die if I can do something. I don’t kill people.”
Ouch. She flinched from the accusation in his tone. He knew more of her now, and coldness occupied the space where their friendship had been. An awkward silence ensued, so she settled down for an uncomfortable night. The rock beneath her body might be warm, but melted ice from the roof dripped water on her head. At least she could lick moisture from her lips, but there would be little rest tonight. She would have time to think and time to face the demon choice tormenting her Soul. It never let her be.
Death above or below?
Chapter 49
Flashes of dreams came. They weren’t of terror and fighting, but of magic and shared Souls. Landra saw temple tutors performing spells, color-changing auras roaming the world, and elba forests of light. In the moments before full consciousness returned, she sensed a presence. It wasn’t evil, ghostly, or controlling, but it was desperate and it called. She jolted awake.
The dreamy images stayed with her, impossible to comprehend and bearing little relevance to her current dilemma. She squirmed with discomfort, her skin feeling tight over her bones. Controlled breathing offered no relief, and she knew that she was trapped.
The sensation intensified, twisting through her aura in quivering patterns, and it held more meaning than words could convey. The message was clear—free, release, escape.
What the shelk? Landra sat up and pulled the skins free from her chest. She’d have stripped naked if there’d been more warmth because her need for release was intense and urgent. Had she finally gone mad? Desperate for relief, she tracked the imperative to its source and found the origin deep within her aura. A ball of red magic pulsed around the elba, radiating fingers of power through her blue shades, like an infection taking hold. Free me, it urged.
She hunkered over to examine the plant. It had grown two extra leaves, and the red veins throbbed with need. Just wait, can’t you? Shelk, the damnable plant’s insistence was annoying. Didn’t it know there was little freedom to be had? Best to be rid of the thing so she could relax. Best to hoist it into the mud and watch the leaves shrivel.
Gritting her teeth, she scrabbled with the string that held the pot to her belt. Moisture had swollen the knot, making it impossible to tease loose. As another demand surged through her Soul, she pinched the plant’s stem in frustration, fully intent on yanking it free from the soil. “Will you stop?”
Landra vaguely knew that her shout had aroused Jex. He was staring now, but he should go away too. There was no time to appease him or explain her dilemma. This was more uncomfortable than when she’d squirmed through the mud pool.
Snap. A trapdoor sounded above. Snap, snap, snap. One after the other, the midlevel gateways flipped open, brightening the underlevel space from its usual gloom and sending a constant siren note reverberating around the expanse. She heard the noise and wanted to respond, but she’d have to be done with this shelking elba first. Why wouldn’t it come loose?
The plant’s call to her magic was hard to resist, but the light streaming in from the traps beckoned her too. The dilemma had never been clearer. Two destinies. Two paths. Two ways to die.
But Landra knew who she was—a soldier and the chief elect. It didn’t matter what anyone else said. She tipped the pot over, rapped the bottom, and yanked again on the shoot. More jiggling and twisting later, the plant suddenly eased free. A thick, solitary root appeared, winding in a large enough coil to fill the container to bursting. Barely any soil dropped into the mud. As the root met the air, it swelled and expanded as if it had needed this extra space all along. Stretching and bulging, it grew into two firm coils, wide enough for Landra’s hand to slip through.
“Oh,” Jex said.
She’d been holding her breath, but it burst free now as if her lungs released along with her staff. The confined sensation she’d experienced fled. As Landra held the elba she’d intended to discard,
her heart filled with love. The plant was wonderful, beautiful, Soulful—deformed. She held it out to Jex, unable to keep the fierce grin from her face. He regarded the misshapen, grey growth, envy glinting in the depths of his hollow eyes.
Red veins ran through every leaf of her young plant, throbbing with power. My power. The staff belonged to her—was part of her. How must it have hurt Jex to leave his behind? She recalled his ecstasy at the liberation his own staff and finally understood what it had meant to him. The elba ringing her wrist formed a depository for part of her being, and he’d been made to leave his behind. “Oh, Jex. I’m so sorry.”
He looked pathetic, but Landra couldn’t be swayed now. It was time to commit, and her decision could only fall one way. “I have to do the Warrior’s Run,” she said. Skepticism and longing drew lines on Jex’s face, but his doubts only surged her anger. “I’m a fighter with a Warrior heart. Do what you must, Leeman Jextan, but my destiny is to reclaim my soldier path.”
“Not sure your staff agrees,” Jex said.
“Well, it’s wrong.”
As soon as the words flew from her mouth, Landra regretted the utterance. It wasn’t that she recognized herself anything but a soldier, but an imperative to connect with the elba coursed through her aura like an addictive drug. The staff was part of her, as much as the Hux hair on her head. It’s my staff. Not a tall, bone-white, flowering staff, but a malformed, stunted, miscolored growth—like me.
She pushed the root bracelet up her wrist and stood, her gaze turning to the nearest shaft. Wordlessly, she strode out toward her Warrior’s death. Maybe following Mother’s path had always been fated. Who would have guessed that her elba would go too?
Not me.
Chapter 50
Landra gripped a ladder rung and tipped her face up to the midlevel glow. The shaft lights blazed at full strength today, and a faint warmth escaped down the open space. She cuddled her belly, a mixture of dread and anticipation gripping her empty stomach. This had to be the right thing to do, but her fear was undeniable.
She felt Jex arrive more than she saw him. Why did he have to tag along? Wouldn’t enough people witness her fall? And how much looking after would he need?
“What will happen on the Run?” he asked.
She’d wondered that both in her sleep and when awake. Every version of death had varied. Sometimes, Thisk had hacked her to pieces. Other times, a soldier had executed her before the start. Once, she’d dreamt of doing the Run with Mother. In all the versions, her father had watched.
Oh gods. You’ll be there, honoring the fallen. The last time she’d seen him was when she’d murdered Preston. His face had said enough. She was a criminal, a disappointment, and an embarrassment. There was no getting past that, but she clung to a final hope for redemption.
Death might be certain, but if I can report first, Father will know I performed my duty. She held the small comfort tight in her heart. Jex’s question still hung in the air unanswered, but there was nothing good she could say. “Time to go.”
The engineer had kept his robe, but its quivering fabric made him look readier to run than fight. His aura had paled to match its white fabric, but she wasn’t going to order him to the temple again. He knew his options as well anyone. He straightened his spine, tied his robe hem around his waist, and pushed past her to climb first.
This far out, the entry point was exclusively theirs. Fellow swampers clambered in the distance, albeit at a slower pace. They were probably unhealthy, but it mattered little. At the end of the day, everyone would all be equally dead. Any longer down here, and she’d have fared no better. Had it only been a day since she’d lived in the temple, warm and fed? Groaning innards tried to convince her it had been longer.
The ascent felt slow, and memories of Thisk and Preston haunted her thoughts. As she set her boots on the shaft floor, turbulent emotions exploded. Tears welled, a breath away from releasing. Shelk, no. Gods of the mist, please help me be strong. She breathed deeply, managed to stand, and forced herself to attention.
The shaft room was brighter than she remembered, allowing her to take in details of the scene. Familiar clothes racks occupied the area to the rear of the wide tree trunk, but the weapons shelves were stripped bare. Guards didn’t greet them, but the midlevel door flapped open and Jex waited on one side of the door. A dreamlike expression blanked his face, as if he ran on instinct now. Landra glanced up. The overlevel trap was there, familiar and welcoming, but midlevel warmth hadn’t melted the sheen of ice that coated its planks.
A final shot at freedom?
She thought of ice blocks, and the ranger hut buried in snow.
Death of a different flavor. With that realization, she submitted. I’d rather fight.
Putting her hand on the tree, she worked her way around to the door. The bark retained its winter chill, and it was completely full of a Soul.
Chapter 51
Every time Landra chose a soldier path, magic intruded. The tree bark formed a connection with her aura that was difficult to break. This wasn’t the battle she’d prepared for or one she wanted. She sensed a presence inside the tree as a single aura, not a drop of someone left in passing or donated as a gift. A Jethran had poured their dying aura into the tree, whole. She didn’t know who it was, but it wanted to drag her inside.
Jex yanked her arm, making her stagger into his embrace. “What’s wrong, Lan? You look…” He couldn’t describe what he saw. Before he could press, a guard ducked inside the door.
“You lovebirds coming, or shall I leave you to shack up in the shaft?”
Landra pushed free. She didn’t want to connect with Jex or the tree. What was the point? The sentry’s Run-issue uniform fell into familiar pleats, but his jumpy aura pulsed with a brightness that evidenced her burgeoning sensitivity to magic. She’d avoided Harp’s lessons, but that hadn’t prevented her from falling under the Soul power’s spell. Entering the temple had never felt more like a mistake.
“Well, this is just delightful,” the sentry said. “Much as I’d like to give you two a final roll of passion, we’re on a timescale here, swampers. Get yourselves out into the corridor.” His disgusted grunt placed him as the sentry from the day before, the one Landra had asked to send a message to Thisk.
She moved into the corridor and stood next to Jex, strangely comforted by the sentry’s disdain. If anyone offered her sympathy today, she thought she might break.
“Shelking shit balls.” The sentry spat on the floor. “Wasn’t sure it was you ‘til I whiffed that perfume. It is you from yesterday, isn’t it? You stink like a glider’s arse.”
Landra ignored him and covered her eyes against the midlevel brightness. Varnished walls, the sound of marching boots, and a consistent glare made the place reek of her lost life. The corridor felt like a well-measured uniform that used to fit in all the right places. She remembered being Landra Hux—the girl who hadn’t suffered, killed, or betrayed her Warrior nature. Now, her corrupted Soul barely controlled magic. She balled her fists and stopped thinking of the midlevel as home. This was where she’d murdered the Third and where she would run to her death.
This time tomorrow, it will be over.
“I thought it would look different,” Jex whispered in her ear.
It does to me. She forced her thoughts to the present. Three junior soldiers stood behind the sentry, rod-straight and pinch-featured. Facial spasms displayed a combination of fascination and disgust that she’d endured before.
The grumpy sentry waved his sword point at them. “If you ladies are ready, I’ve got details to check. I’m Duty Guard Sapsford, your worst nightmare.” An evil chuckle shook his chest. “Maybe not your worst. That will come later. It’s my job to transport runners who come up this shaft to the starting line. You should know I take this posting for a quiet time. Who wants to see all that blood and cowards pissing themselves in public? Now, I’ve not had takers for a few years, and I’m not well pleased you came to my door. Get my meaning?”
Landra did. She knew his type—lazy, a bully, someone out for an easy life. In another time, she’d have reported him to Father. She kept her head down, conscious of Jex’s trembling body at her side. Most engineers only completed basic academy training, so he wasn’t likely to have been in a fight for years. Where she anticipated going out in a glorious battle, he looked like he only felt terror.
“We have to march through the city to the Run’s starting line,” Sapsford said. “A sideways word or a twitching finger, and you won’t make it that far. Understand?”
At their nodding, Sapsford grinned the straight-toothed smile of a soldier who’d fought nothing beyond a training battle. He settled his sword point on Jex’s chest. “Full name, rank, and last city address?”
Jex licked his lips. “Two-bar engineer, Leeman Jextan, Engineering Barracks, Ring Thirty-nine, Fourth City.”
“Not a Templer?”
“I—”
“You’re wearing the robes, so I’m thinking Templer. Is there some reason you want to hide that?”
“No, sir.”
“So, you never had a temple address?”
“I suppose I did,” Jex said. “I spent some time there as a swamper candidate and then as an apprentice.”
“Course you did. Should’ve told me that before.” He jotted the details on a board. “Cloak off. You can leave it for burning. I need to check you’re not hiding a staff. There’s no magic shelk allowed on the Run.”
Jex stripped off his robe, revealing the white skins of a temple apprentice, which were decorated with orange mud splatters. Sapsford checked him up and down, sighing. “Holy mist and shelking puss balls. What did I do to deserve a deserter Templer and a…” He turned to Landra, rearranging his sword tip on her chest. “Not worked you out yet. Your turn.”