The Mark of Gold

by A. S. Etaski

  He would find none in an elder survivor willing to stand exactly where he stood now.

  “Fer Brenna,” Rithal said, pulling off a glove. “Gone this last century an’ ten but still loved at night. Fer li’l Hancet an’ Pitrel, ne’er seein’ their craft come tah their hands. Fer Nabrin an’ Shoana, Deacon, an’ Quir. Bridges burned an’ sheep slaughtered, stone walls an’ garrisons built on yer graves. M’sorry I couldn’t do more, or sooner.” The redbead wiped his weeping eyes with his thick hand, collecting his tears as his voice broke. “M’sorry for bein’ worse an’ them a time ‘r two, but if the Grey Maiden’s lad can see the leash-holders broken, so be it.”

  Rithal reached out toward the gossamer light clinging so tenuously to the body. “Take ‘em all, Tirgeu-hreik, those bitter tears I got left, an’ let God’s Warriors get what they’ve earned.”

  The Dwarf waved his wetted hand in the space between the body and Gavin’s grasp. His tears ate away at the very spirit of the man, the first threads snapping like spider’s silk. Jacob’s struggling body went slack as the last of them were cut, the face frozen in a terrified death mask, and at last, Gavin held Jacob’s soul wholly in his grasp.

  The colors turned chaotic as the essence writhed anchorless, twisting like an animal to escape the jaws of a predator. I could well imagine Jacob’s threats as a rising black sheen seemed to grow from the middle, washing out all color until Jacob’s soul was pure black, darker than the space between stars. It seemed to me that it fought and refused the inevitable, railing against its fate, blurring and roiling as Gavin’s glowing, blue eyes stared unafraid into that darkness.

  “For you, my Lady,” he said in the death tongue, “through this righteous soul, you shall be heard again.”

  The movements of the dark essence had become sharp and punctuated, restrained, as if it were throwing itself against an invisible wall. One time, it had darted out directly toward me but again stopped abruptly, its space seeming to shrink, to fold in on itself, as every attempt left it less and less slack to try again. The colorless black bubbled and swirled in a way I could see; soon, the boundaries of the Witch Hunter’s soul were defined.

  Gavin held a black, glossy stone in his palm, a flint shard as long as his hand was wide. It was sharp on both ends, and the Deathwalker used one end to slice deeply into the flesh just below Jacob’s sternum, reaching with his other hand inside the man’s body cavity.

  There was nothing ethereal about his hand going in this time. It was quite visceral, familiar as Gavin jerked, twisted, and finally removed Jacob’s heart through the gash. He brought the organ to his mouth, as unhesitant to bite into it as he’d been on his last mortal night alive.

  In the time it took for the black flint to form, the small room had become frigid. Rithal’s breath escaped in huge puffs, and frost formed on the tips of Mathias’s damp hair as he wrapped his cloak tighter around himself, looking toward the door. Meanwhile, Gavin ate about half the heart, quickly, and the moment he finished, the ritual ended as the chill rapidly left the room.

  In the empty silence, we heard the first villagers shouting for Brom outside the inn, and Gavin hurried, kneeling by the bucket to clean off the black shard and his hands, face, and torso before dressing and collecting his tools. He rolled the shard into a scrap of leather and slipped it into a pocket in his robe.

  “Cut Jacob free,” he said. “Let his corpse stand with us.”

  It struck me then, as he picked up his spade to face the mob, that I had just been attacked and raped in the kitchen.

  I’m outside with Osgrid. Right now.

  In my desperation, I’d drawn Soul Drinker. In my anger and humiliation, I’d punished Kurn, though without succumbing to the relic’s hunger. I’d sheathed it, showing Osgrid that I could. She had found and returned my guardians spiders to me.

  I lifted my empty hands, baffled. Where am I?

  “The better question, life flower,” whispered the shrouded woman in the far corner, “is when.”

  I jumped in surprise. ~W-when?~

  “Indeed. When shall we become what we are?”

  Rithal and Mathias not only didn’t hear her but also vanished from the shed like smoke. The cawing of crows and the threats of the villagers outside ceased as well. Only Gavin remained, puzzled for a mere instant before he focused and—

  Saw me.

  He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Sirana.”

  I glanced toward the whispering woman, but she was gone.

  Gavin took a step toward me, his face resentful. “I asked you not to play in my dreams.”

  The punch in the gut was worse than when Cris-ri-phon had accused me of the same.

  “I am sorry,” I said. “I-It was safe here.”

  One dark eyebrow raised. “Be that as it may. I asked you. You’ve seen enough.”

  I backed away, pinched myself hard as I could.

  ~Wake up!~

  CHAPTER 6

  Moving at any speed was a mistake, but when I opened my eyes, I was breathing in Gavin’s face.

  And about to puke.

  Roll away!

  Flat on my stomach, a moan slipped out of me before I was overtaken in a fit of brutal dry heaves. My back burned and my belly ached in the effort; my hands shook where I dug fingers into solid, mundane dirt. My vision repeatedly skidded to one side regardless of how I tried to focus dead center.

  Beside me, Gavin sat up with far less noise and theatrics, maybe only a joint or two popped. “Hm. Horrifying enough to induce vomiting on sight. Noted.”

  “Ugh…” I wheezed. “’S’not you…”

  My body seized again, expelling only bile. Hork-hork!

  “Well. You are clearly not well.”

  Gasping, I shook my head. The misery and illness felt marrow deep.

  “Can you stand?”

  I doubted it. Still, I tried pushing against the earth. My arms quivered while cold sweat and nausea muted all sensation. I could not rise; I utterly lacked strength.

  “N-not yet…” I admitted grudgingly.

  “Hm. Rest, then. We seem safe enough.”

  Are we?

  My last memories were a barrage of strange colors and constant motion, yet I noticed the gradual, predictable shift of pink and orange light across a blue and purple sky.

  It is… dawn.

  The night had come and gone. How long had we been here? What happened? How did we survive? I lay still, noticing my hands were empty. Cautiously and despite the stubborn threat of the world tilting, I peered around.

  Soul Drinker?

  My middle grew cold as I became certain it had been stolen from me. Then, a cautious relief as I spotted the dark, naked blade not far away. It lay quietly in the center of a ring drawn in the dirt. The circle was filled with white crystals, decorated with four silver coins placed equidistant from each other.

  What in the Abyss?

  “Gavin?” I asked, staring at the relic.

  “I see it,” he answered.

  But he hadn’t done it, I could tell.

  The forest was too quiet. No insects, no birds.

  Nothing but us.

  Again, I tried to push myself up. With dizzying effort, I got as far as an elbow, enough leverage to fumble at the relic’s empty scabbard and then, nearby, my spider pouch. Holding my breath, I tugged the knot on the latter and opened it.

  Slowly, my guardians crept out, and I exhaled. Though I’d trained myself never to land upon my right side or roll that way without releasing them, I didn’t recall how we’d landed before, or what had thrown us.

  Then the answer appeared from out of the tilting trees.

  The muscular half-blood with Elven ears and metallic gold eyes walked into my view. He had just finished a patrol, perhaps, as he had his bow and quiver out and constantly scanned the landscape.

  The memories of the warp battle returned in a rush. Worse, the previous day’s insanity upon the Surface blended
with those deepest roots in my mind; my bonds and chains to Sivaraus held fast as all else rampaged over me like a maelstrom.

  I studied the portrait of the placid, gold-eyed bua, standing in a hall of the Sanctuary. I wondered who had painted it. The young male sat so straight, holding still and beautiful through centuries, until the frame began to splinter and wear away.

  He moved then, his filthy face and shining eyes taken over with desperation and despair, the scabbed knuckles on his hands visible as he gripped the iron bars in the Desert canyon. Begging to be let out.

  My chest ached to soothe us both, and I kneeled to touch him through the bars in Solitary, leaned to kiss him through the iron barrier. Promising I would return for him. That I would find him again.

  When I leaned back, however, there was only the accusing, tawny eyes of the Valsharess. Her voice in my head. Her hand laid possessively over my womb.

  “He has not sparked a new gift in centuries. He has been spiteful.”

  Auranka cornered him inside the Forming Pit, forcing him away from me, keeping herself between us. I dodged to the side, remained blocked. I protested.

  “Shyntre!”

  “He cannot hear you. Lissten! Listen to storiess of Elven origin…”

  Suddenly, I couldn’t move.

  “Listen to rumors of half-bloods.”

  My compulsion.

  “And if you find any, bring them to Us.”

  “Sirana? What do you see?”

  The world upended. I tumbled into darkness, numb to my weakened body as it slumped onto the ground.

  The pulse in my throat battered itself against a firm touch like a rabid bat beneath a dome. My skull threatened to crack open like an egg, and I whimpered as I wished my eyes were blind in truth, never to be bothered by the cursed Sun again.

  Someone jostled me, sat my useless body up where my tender head flopped against too much leather and metal. That someone pressed cool, soggy cloth upon my bottom lip. Reflexively, I swallowed.

  Water.

  My lips clamped on to it and sucked hard. Too soon, the liquid ran out. I bit down in frustration when someone tried to pull it away.

  “Whoa.”

  With another firm tug, he took the cloth away, adjusting his arm around me. “Alright, here.”

  A waterskin’s spout.

  I craned my neck, drank what flushed my mouth, moaning after it flowed soothing down my throat. Too soon, he tilted the spout away. My teeth snapped, but I missed this time.

  “Slower. Not too fast.”

  Fuck you.

  If I could have raised my arms, I’d have snatched the skin and served myself, but panic plunged deep into my gut to realize I could not.

  I was paralyzed.

  “Easy. You are safe.”

  I’d heard that before. I didn’t believe him. Why was he doing this?

  I gasped erratically, overtaken with panic but still couldn’t move.

  ~Oh, Goddess, my babies, where are you?!~

  Three little chimes answered, and I knew instantly where they were: one on my chest resting near the ruby, one on my crown and tickling my scalp, and another crawling along the large muscle of a violet-black arm wrapped around me. I couldn’t believe it. They were free and crawling around, and they hadn’t bitten him?

  What have you done to them, merc?

  I could move my head well enough, and I could flex my fingers. I wasn’t paralyzed, just… weak. I dared not look into the eyes of the arm’s owner; I couldn’t, regardless, as the sky grew too bright. But when he offered more water, and I gulped it, my throat ready to work again.

  I couldn’t wait any longer. I coughed, “G-Gavin?”

  “I am here.”

  I turned my stiff neck to my left. The death mage’s hood had been pulled up against the early morning light, and I was envious. He observed me as calmly as my spiders did, sitting cross-legged on the ground with Kurn’s sword and scuffed scabbard together and laid across his lap.

  “And he is correct,” Gavin added. “You are safe for now.”

  For now. No wonder I hesitated to relax. “Soul Drinker?”

  Gavin’s eyes slid to focus behind the merc who cradled me. “Still within the circle of salt and silver.”

  I made a face. “Why?”

  The half-blood spoke. “Keeps it quiet.”

  I had felt the vibrations passing from his chest to my arm when he spoke. Squinting, I finally tried to look him in the eyes. He had the advantage, looking down with a hood also protecting his face from the light. My head continued to pound, and I closed my eyes, squeezing them against the light. I gave up for the moment.

  The hybrid hummed in thought. “Will you answer a question honestly, Baenar?”

  I sighed. “What?”

  “Are you with child? Do you carry right now?”

  I didn’t know how to answer that question, and the collision of terror and irritation hit me like a stone. I flung pure accusation at Gavin as he watched me without remorse. “Damn you, Gavin!” I snarled.

  “It is relevant,” the mage said. “You can’t regain your feet, Sirana.”

  “I was asleep!”

  “You fainted.”

  “The relic has been starving you,” the mercenary interjected, his tail shifting behind him. “Now that you no longer hold it, what you lack catches you all at once. You are ill, young fighter.”

  “It’s only been a day,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “Two,” Gavin corrected.

  I growled back, snapping, “I have a healing potion!”

  The mercenary interjected. “You do?”

  “Yes!” I fumbled for my belt but heard a wary rumble in his throat as I indicated the vial.

  “Can you also check its integrity?” asked the half-blood. “In my experience, objects imbued with magic can be neutralized or destabilized by massive surges such as we saw. Potions and powders are most vulnerable.”

  Fucking web guts…

  That meant I couldn’t be certain about Shyntre’s pellets, either.

  “I’m not a mage,” I said plainly. “No, I cannot.”

  He nodded once. “Regardless, you’ve not had enough water, made worse that you carry and have not eaten. A healing potion cannot feed you. You must eat if you would live, and you need time to recover your strength. The damage done cannot be reversed with a sip.”

  I swallowed twice, taking a long, slow breath in, desperate to keep the water in my belly.

  You are ill… The damage done cannot be reversed…

  It felt that way, too much to recognize an appetite. Starving such that it was difficult to lift my arms. Was it too late for my baby?

  Should I… Should I let it go?

  How? I no longer had the vial to make it safe and quick. Avoiding their eyes, I tested the crotch of my leathers with trembling fingers. Dry.

  “I smell no blood,” the merc added. “You may still have time.”

  He spoke in a careful, neutral tone.

  “All the food was on Gavin’s mare,” I murmured, “several valleys away.” I paused. “Assuming Rithal did not take it with him.”

  “There is no food here,” said the merc with complete certainty. “The corruption is only just cleared. It will take multiple seasons to revive the land with life patterns again.”

  I let that sink in. The corruption was cleared. We did it, then. Gaelan’s mission by the Valsharess was done. My gaze lingered as one of my damned spiders crawled back and forth on the half-blood’s pebbly skin. At least she wasn’t swatted for her trouble.

  I wiggled a lethargic finger at his arm. “Do you feel that?”

  “Yes.”

  He knew exactly what I meant.

  “What have you done to her?”

  “Nothing. I acknowledged her guardianship so I could give you water.”

  I didn’t respond at first. He could have trapped them like he had Soul Drinker, or as Cris
-ri-phon had in his sphere to make sure they didn’t bite. I glanced at Gavin, and he nodded simple confirmation like a witness.

  Maybe the half-blood was immune to the venom and knew it. Either way, he wasn’t afraid of them.

  “So.” My eyes closed again; I turned my head away from the rising sun as my pulse throbbed in my temple. “What next?”

  Gavin watched us expectantly, and the half-blood’s big chest expanded in a deep, crowding breath before he let it out. Turning his hooded eyes North, he said, “We must get clear of the barren area and hunt for food.”

  Hunt. More difficult than foraging. I pursed my mouth. “But I cannot stand. You think to carry me the whole way?”

  “I can carry you to the mare, if you prefer to ride.”

  “If you can stay on her back,” Gavin added.

  My nostril curled up. “Thanks, scholar. And the dagger?”

  “It must come with us,” the mercenary said. “I will help to sheath it, but you must not draw it again. Starvation is one of the easiest ways it can break its bearer’s will.”

  I growled, “Why not take it yourself then, if I can’t control it?”

  He paused. “A discussion for another time. I’ll not steal from you, Baenar, nor harm your guardians. I ask the same from you. Let us start there.”

  I didn’t reply at first. Slumped sullen and pouting, I grew ever aware of my aching, empty middle.

  It was too quiet.

  “What?” I asked.

  The big male exhaled. “Do not steal from me. I will not steal from you.”

  Oh.

  “I will not take anything if you don’t,” I agreed.

  “I would add for you to consider,” Gavin spoke, “that the relic does not seem to want competition for your attention. Not one once dead, nor one born, nor one unborn.”

  I stared at him in genuine shock, yet the insidious possibility gradually soaked in. It was starving me on purpose? Starving us…

  “The Deathwalker recommends you, Baenar,” the merc said. “He stated that you are normally a reasonable and curious Elf. You prefer to speak or negotiate, and are far less reckless when not listening to demons.”