Joran looked up, feeling his energy being restored, and gave her a nod.
“Good idea. Think it’ll work for a physical link instead of a magical one?”
“Worth a try,” Ky’ara replied.
He reached out and touched Lauryn on the shoulder, passing some of the spell on to her even as he fended off another creature with his sword. Ky’ara did the same for Taren, who in turn passed some to Sukylar. It probably wouldn’t last long, but hopefully it would buy them some time until she could think of a solution. She cut down two more Remnants…their ranks were definitely thinning. Maybe she had a chance after all.
The black tendrils that flickered in and out of her Sight suddenly began to float away, coalescing just beyond the creatures that attacked them. The feeling of wrongness that always accompanied creatures of Death increased tenfold and Ky’ara gasped with the suddenness of it, nearly dropping her sword. Taren steadied her and deflected the blow one of the creatures had aimed at her.
Ky’ara looked up, across the clearing, and the wisps of shadow seemed to collapse in on themselves for a moment. Then they were gone and she found herself staring into a familiar set of cold black eyes.
He comes. The eerie warning of the dryads and the sylph echoed through her memory and Ky’ara felt her momentary hope vanish completely.
The fire gave one last dying sigh and went out.
* * * * *
Geri surveyed the damage grimly. He’d been sent ahead to get a bead on the public opinion in Kaltor and to warn Jenie and Hal that the rebellion would be taking the town in a few days…apparently they were a few days too late. The house was in ruins, the messenger birds dead, and Jenie and Hal’s family was missing.
The birds were a critical loss—without them the rebels would have a much harder time communicating over the course of the invasion—and there was no time to train new ones. The Shaari would be able to help somewhat with coordinating their efforts, of course, since their dragons could carry messages even better than the birds could. The trouble was getting them to help…the clan-leader had laughed in his face last time he’d suggested tying a message to a dragon. Apparently they were too noble for such petty errands. Or something like that.
Worse though, was the disappearance of the family. Calistra was going to be heartbroken. Not that she would let it show, but he knew her well enough to understand that this would hurt her far more than the strategic difficulty the birds’ deaths created. Jenie and Hal had been ferrying messages for the rebellion for a long time, at great personal sacrifice. Everyone who came to Doraicolé passed through their home—they were like family to nearly everyone in the organization. Their loss was troubling, and unexpected. What had done this?
The house looked as though it had been torn apart by a maelstrom. Yet, it sat close to the middle of town and none of the other houses looked as though they had been affected. True, it was situated relatively far from the neighboring homes, but not far enough for them to have escaped damage if a whirlwind had caused this, whether it had originated naturally or not. There were also no scorch marks on any of the wood fragments, which ruled out an explosion.
At least there were no bodies. He’d tethered his horse a little ways outside the town, so as not to draw attention, and picked through the wreckage of Hal’s home on foot. Nothing even resembling human remains lay anywhere near the ruined structure. He’d also found a pot of stew, curiously half-empty and sitting atop the ashes of a small fire. Either someone else had decided to have dinner on the site, or at least part of the family had survived.
When it became clear there was nothing more to discover from the debris, Geri brushed off his cloak and went to make some inquiries about town. Jenie and Hal weren’t the only rebel sympathizers in Kaltor. Perhaps one of the others could shed some light on the situation.
* * * * *
Ky’ara and the others were scattered across the clearing, fighting for their lives. Without the fire to hold the creatures back, Lauryn and Sukylar had been forced to break ranks in order to avoid serious injury. After that, the others had steadily been separated as well. At first Ky’ara tried to help each of them in turn, but it was too difficult to fight her way through so many creatures only to change direction and go to someone else’s aid. Her best bet, then, was to stop the shadows at the source: the necromancer.
Ky’ara pushed down a wave of fear. Ekzhad had very nearly killed her last year, after toying with her for most of their encounter. She had only managed to survive because she had caught him off-guard with her ability to cast a spell without a verbal command. How was she supposed to win now, without using magic at all?
As though drawn by her fear, the necromancer materialized beside Ky’ara just as she turned to slash at a shade. He deflected her blade with a flick of his own and reached towards her with his free hand. She threw herself backwards and then rolled to the side, coming up behind him as she swung upwards with her sword. But he was gone. Ky’ara cursed, letting her momentum carry her around to slice through one of the Remnants nearby, then regained her balance and looked around. Ekzhad smirked at her from across the clearing and whistled a low note that drew the attention of every shadow creature. He locked eyes with one and nodded. The Remnants formed a line across the center of the clearing, while the shadows, shades, and other things Ky’ara didn’t have a name for advanced on Taren and the others. Too late, Ky’ara realized she was being separated from them.
“Now we can talk without being distracted,” A low, soft voice murmured in her ear. Ky’ara jerked away, fighting back a wave of nausea, and struck out—but the necromancer was already gone.
Not again, she thought hopelessly. Ekzhad seemed to enjoying taunting his victims. Of course, that was probably the only reason he didn’t just kill her and the others and be done with it. Maybe she should be grateful he gave her extra time to think of some way to defeat him. It was terrifying, though, to feel so helpless while he appeared and disappeared at will…but wait. Last time he had used a set of pipes—five pan flutes made of bone—to disappear, and to call the creature she had fought. This time, he whistled. It might have been her imagination, but she thought it took a little longer for him to dissolve into shadow and reappear. She remembered the image she had seen in the water…his pipes were broken, cracked and burned by the light she had used (she thought) to destroy him last time. That meant his control was less perfect than it had been, or so it seemed.
He appeared behind her again. Ky’ara whirled around, slashing at him with her sword. Just before it made contact, he stepped backwards out of the way.
“Do you really think you’re going to beat me with that?” he asked scornfully.
“Maybe,” Ky’ara responded. She wouldn’t let him get in her head this time. He could taunt her all he liked, but no matter how hopeless she felt, she was not going to let it show. Maybe it would distract him longer and he would get sloppy.
“You think because you beat me last time that you can do it again,” Ekzhad sneered. “But look at me—you thought I was gone and yet, here I am. I should be thanking you, really. The extended time I spent in death helped me gather my little army you see here…and now that I am free to enter and leave again at will...well, let’s just say you’ll be very, very sorry you did that.”
He swung at her with his sword, barely nicking her shoulder as she deflected his blade and drove it down toward the ground. She ignored the flash of pain and grinned at him scathingly. Or at least she tried to. It was probably more of a grimace.
“You must miss your pipes though…apparently I managed to do something about those.”
Ekzhad’s eyes flashed angrily, but his smirk never changed. “I’ll be replacing them soon enough,” he replied, “I hear Ysinkai bones make them particularly potent.”
If she’d had any illusions that he might simply capture her or try to enslave her, they vanished. How twisted did someone’s soul have to be, to talk about something like that with such relish?
He disap
peared again and Ky’ara used the opportunity to try and break through the Remnants that divided her from the others. She couldn’t see them through the necromancer’s horde, and everything but the sound of fighting was covered up by the pounding of her own heart. It was no use. As soon as she struck down one Remnant, she had to turn and deal with Ekzhad again. As long as she wasn’t trying to get through them, the necromantic raisings seemed content to let their master deal with her. Even so, she tried to draw the fight further away from the creatures—no need to risk any more contact with the shadow-stuff.
“Thought you’d try to help your little friends, did you?” Ekzhad taunted her, brushing aside her blade and grabbing her arm to pull her in closer. His hand was like ice. “You can’t help them now—you’re mine, and I’m growing tired of this petty physical squabble.”
She stomped on his foot and threw herself backwards, but he just laughed and flung her away. She stumbled, trying to catch herself, and sprawled on the ground.
“You can’t hurt me that way, I’m afraid,” he said, sheathing his sword and advancing towards where she lay on the ground, his hands palms up. “Dying does have its benefits you know; you ought to try it.”
Ky’ara tried to stand and found that she couldn’t. She struggled to her knees, but was forced down again by an enormous amount of pressure. The weight seemed to grow the closer Ekzhad got. He stopped a couple feet away. All she could see was his black leather boots, somehow impeccably clean despite the mud that surrounded them.
“Of course, Death can be inconvenient at times…It really isn’t easy to come back after being flung so deeply into it…why, it took a willing sacrifice of the utmost magnitude to bring me back this time. You’ll pay for that shortly, you and your friends…”
She struggled to focus on what he was saying. It felt like her very bones might break under the force of his spell. Shadows surrounded her, pressing in closer and closer.
“…it’s a shame you weren’t there to help your other friends,” he drawled. She could just imagine the smug expression he probably wore…wait, what other friends?
“I don’t know what you were doing there, but your little foray into the Dreamworld was a waste of your efforts…It led me right to that sweet little family…shame they couldn’t have been harvested,” he clicked his tongue and sighed theatrically, “but I was too busy coming for you.”
“What—what are you talking about?” Ky’ara asked, struggling to speak as her head inched closer to the ground. She had a sinking feeling she already knew.
Ekzhad swiped his foot across the mud in front of her and a picture flickered to life behind it: Jenie’s house being inundated with shadows until it shattered. There was no way anyone inside had survived.
“It really is a pity…” he murmured, his voice farther away now. He must’ve moved back to let the creatures surround her fully. “…those innocent little children…their souls would have been so easy to break…but once the innocent pass on they are impossible to bind…”
Jenie, Hal, the kids...No! She felt as though everything was collapsing in on her at once. It was her fault. This evil thing was loose on the world and she had inadvertently led him right to that poor precious family.
A tendril of wind brushed her cheek and the words of the sylph returned to her once more. ‘Only you can fight this.’
Ky'ara looked up with a fiery determination in her eyes.
He was not going to get away with this. Not while there was life left in her body. She shoved back the tears that had welled up unbidden and took a deep breath before pushing herself to a standing position. The oppressive weight that had been bearing down on her did not lift nor lighten, yet suddenly in the face of what she was feeling the awful load had no power to keep her down. She was strong enough to fight it—to struggle on despite the pain, the weariness, the awful choking sadness that so often threatened to engulf her. No longer would this evil creature be allowed to take the lives of innocent children. No longer would he be allowed to poison the land with his shadowy power and suck the life from the denizens of the Dreamworld. No longer would Death be his haven.
The shadowy creatures fell back at her sudden onslaught and she thought she saw a flicker of surprise cross Ekzhad’s face before his typical smirk of superiority returned. Just before she reached him, the necromancer flickered and slipped into Death. She turned as he reappeared behind her and blocked his down-sweeping blade with her own, risking a spell and hitting him with a blast of power. He jerked backwards and narrowed his eyes in anger. She struck towards him again and he once again disappeared— but this time she was ready for it. Her time in the Dreamworld had given her an instinct for slipping between realms and so this time—when he went into Death—she followed.
* * * * *
Taren looked up just in time to see Ky'ara flicker with shadow and disappear. He stared at the spot, waiting for her to come out from behind one of the shadow creatures or reappear from somewhere else. She did not. He felt an icy fear grip his heart. She was gone.
The Remnants that had kept him occupied renewed their attack when they sensed his hesitation, and he was forced to tear his eyes away from the spot where she had just been standing. He prayed silently that she knew what she was doing, and then turned his attention towards the creatures that sought to destroy him. For every one he knocked back it seemed that two more took its place. He frowned grimly and slowly forced his way back towards Joran.
When he finally reached the boy, he nodded purposefully and the two of them stood back to back, fending off the creatures as best they could while Taren murmured under his breath. The necromantic residue made magic difficult, but he hoped that by delineating each and every possible characteristic of the spell he could keep it under control. Joran fell to one knee under the weight of an attack just as Taren triumphantly shouted the last word. A wall of fire sprung up around them, its heat and light radiating outwards, forcing the creatures away.
“Can you feel Ky'ara?” Taren asked breathlessly, wasting no time.
Joran carefully stood and turned to face him, the answer already showing plainly on his face.
“I thought so,” Taren sighed, closing his eyes briefly and pushing away the panic that threatened to appear.
“She isn't—?” Joran asked desperately. Taren put a hand on the boy's shoulder and looked him in the eyes, “I don't think so. But you tell me. Can you feel her at all?”
Joran started to shake his head, then stopped, and cocked it to one side, concentrating.
“I think...she feels very distant. Here, but not here. Like there is a wall between us somehow. I can barely sense the Link...”
Taren sighed. “I thought so. I'm afraid Ky'ara has crossed into the Dreamworld... or Death. All that we can do now is wait and pray she comes back.”
“And if she doesn't?” Joran asked.
“I don't know,” Taren murmured.
The fire around them pulsed sickly and began to unravel. Taren turned and braced himself for the moment it failed, hoping that Ky'ara would somehow accomplish the impossible and come back to him.
* * * * *
Shadows swirled around her interminably and the voices that whispered dully in the meadow where she always met Myrnai were now a dull roar that built into a cacophony if she paid them the least bit of attention. Time here felt...fluid. Each moment could be days, for all she knew, and yet based on her experience with the necromancer slipping in and out, she was fairly sure that time spent here could also be only a few moments in life. As though to illustrate the point, these thoughts passed through her mind in less than an instant.
The necromancer was right in front of her, turning to face her, a bewildered expression starting to cross his features. She smiled grimly, her sword meeting his long before he had time to react. The dark blade flew out of his hand as the sharp rasp of steel on steel rang out, the echoes somehow muted and amplified at the same time. Ky'ara whipped her sword up to his neck before he could move even an inch, n
icking him slightly—or so she thought. No blood escaped the wound. Still, he stayed still, eyeing her warily.
“Call them back,” she ordered, her voice ringing out clearly in a way the weapons had not.
Ekzhad sneered. “It won't matter. Now that you're here it'll take a death to bring you back...and if you never return, my work is finished.”
“I don't think so,” Ky'ara said, “In case you hadn't noticed, I tend to break the rules when it comes to magic—how else could I be here in the first place? Now call off your slaves. Creatures of Death have no place in Life.”
In truth she was somewhat perturbed by the thought of not being able to go back, but she wasn't going to let him know that. Her bluff paid off. His face darkened with anger, but she saw the flicker of fear in his eyes.
“I don't care how you managed to follow me—you won't be getting out. Not without taking a life—not without blackening your soul. Do that, sweet filylumis, and the Light will be your ally no longer. Then let's see you try to defeat the Darkness. Either way, we win.”
He had been edging sideways as he spoke and now he lunged forward, his hands reaching for her throat. Ky'ara twisted sideways, avoiding his attack, and let his momentum carry him past her.
“Not you,” she said grimly, driving her sword through his unguarded back, directly through his heart.
He died silently—the absence of a scream more disturbing than any noise he could have made. His body arched forward and spasmed, sliding off her sword and falling to the ground. Her blade pulsed faintly as shadows poured from his body in place of blood. An eerie whistle filled the air, like steam escaping a teakettle...and the murmuring stopped.
The Keeper's Heritage Page 25