The Mark of Gold

by A. S. Etaski

  I can’t speak.

  Fingers quivered, spiders nervously hopped about my shoulders, my throat couldn’t open to breathe. Everything ached.

  “What is your goal, Red Sister?”

  *…if you find any, bring them to Us.*

  “Perhaps I might help you achieve it.”

  A soft wail escaped my lips as I grabbed my pack.

  “Sirana?” Gavin asked. “Where are you going?”

  I had no answer as I fled from the riverbank. Neither male called out or pursued me while I took long leaps from stone to stone, heedless of twisting my ankle among the black cracks. I ran past the dead mare standing in the dark and kept going.

  The sound I’d made echoed in my ears, too much like Gaelan when she had run from me. So did the Valsharess’s command, for the hundredth time.

  *Listen to rumors of half-bloods. If you find any, bring them to Us.*

  If my compulsion had urged me any other direction but to the crouching hybrid behind me, I’d have left them as Gaelan had left me. I’d have run away until dawn. Until my feet blistered and bled.

  Instead, I stopped two hills later, collapsing outside the sealed den of the Dragonblood. Huffing for breath, I attempted one enormous and futile effort, shoving the boulder to see if it would move. When it didn’t, his ward convinced me I wanted only to sit, and I landed with my back against it, shaking.

  Even thinking to move a few ticks later, I couldn’t lift my pack. I wasn’t sure I could stand without using it as a crutch. My muscles were mush.

  Fucking cock piles.

  In dimness and solitude, my thoughts sought an anchor following my panicked bolt, to slow my heart, to somehow coax my tired body to be comfortable. It was harder to achieve than I hoped.

  Muddled and drifting, he said.

  Not so. The path was not direct, but it was clear. I only couldn’t speak my true goals to them, and I didn’t know enough to do more than I did.

  If I had been traveling this far over many weeks, following the century-old scent of a Sathoet among the Ma’ab, then those signs had been obliterated by the firm flesh and beating heart of a former slave who’d reached the Surface several centuries before the Priestess and her Son had been captured near the Ley Tower.

  Bring him to Us!

  I shook my head, though knew, in the end, I’d be unable to deny Her.

  Gavin had said he knew what he must do next but not how. I was in the same state. I hadn’t the first vision how I might coax Mourn underground, to bring him to my Valsharess. I certainly had no tools to force him such a great distance, except one.

  Mourn had told me on our way to the river that he could be persuaded to help kill Sarilis and let Gavin take over the Ley Tower. That was a two-for-one to satisfy the geas: kill the old man, lure the half-blood back West, closer to the entrance to the Deepearth.

  And then what? Fuck me. I shook my head. You’re looking too far, Sister. Focus in front of you. On Manalar.

  War was coming, and Jael was directly in its path.

  She won’t survive alone.

  Pure night sounds surrounded me, continuing unabated while I chased my fast-breeding problems, overlapping yet pulling me in opposite directions. I reached for my spiders, cradled them in my hands, and envied their simplicity. The To’vah-krav’s words returned, from when he’d denied me a bargain to search for Gaelan.

  There is a conflict within you which concerns me.

  I huffed a dry, self-deprecating laugh.

  Little do you know, half-blood!

  But he might figure it out. The geas was too strong, too apparent. How could he not ask further questions after this and trigger yet more pain? How would I react next time, with greater insanity than I had thus far? Would I hurt myself or my baby without self-control?

  What can I do to save myself when I can’t speak for myself?

  Perhaps I could ask Mourn for something first. I could set a clear goal, for the mercenary preferred those. He had offered to help us meet connections in Augran, those he knew who had “investments” in the conflict.

  Who might they be?

  Others not joined in the two sides, like Brom and Mourn, who did not simply want Manalar to lose. The innkeeper had quite a snarl on that topic. I closed my eyes, drawing the memory of his passionate reply.

  “I want the Temple heart freed of the Bishops. The same as Sarilis. The same as the Ascended. The same as the Guild, and others aware of the change in the Ley Lines since they took over Mount Sonai.”

  The Guild. Yes. I would lay a stiff wager in favor of this Guild hiring Mourn for his contracts. Would he know others who could help me locate Jael? Maybe they had spies and informants, like in Sivaraus. Maybe someone would know what happened to her.

  Unlike Gaelan, who vanished in the wild unseen.

  I must try to explain, although hiking to the river might be a challenge my body would reject this instant. Should I stay here? Mourn could track me without trouble, but would either of them care to come looking before I needed food?

  All that good meat left at the river. To be dried tomorrow under the Sun.

  Damnit.

  Hooves sounded in the distance, tromping down the hill behind me, and I straightened against the boulder, listening. There were no other feet, so either Gavin rode the horse or he had simply sent her to me. Mourn wasn’t with him.

  I waited in silence as the horse came closer. No burring, wickers, or snorting nostrils; no breath at all. She stumbled once from the Deathwalker’s weaker night sight, and champed her teeth out of old memory of muscle.

  “Gavin?” I asked, my voice slurred from the ward’s effect.

  “Yes.”

  He reached the ridge, guided her through the foliage until he was in view, and stopped. His eyes vanished into void-like eye sockets at this distance, his pale face gaunt and skeletal. The robed man of death sat atop a too-still horse. Waiting for me. Had I been given time to drift off, I might have thought I was trapped in a dream.

  He said, “Mourn sent a message if you would hear it.”

  I arched my brow in surprise. “Um. Alright.”

  “He apologizes for causing obvious distress. He says he will give you privacy if you wish to travel to Augran.”

  My brow furrowed. “Oh? He sent you to say that?”

  “No, he made the request as I prepared to leave.”

  My lip curved cynically. “To bring me back?”

  “To return the black dagger to you if you cannot go to Augran.”

  Cannot. Something pricked in my chest to imagine he somehow understood my struggle, perhaps better than most non-Davrin.

  Then I grasped what else he might mean. “You wish to go to Augran with Mourn?”

  “I do. An opportunity I must take.”

  The image of sitting alone with Soul Drinker while the Deathwalker left to go his own way was…terrifying. My tongue was heavy as I made it work.

  “I must go with you both. I still seek my sister as well.”

  There. Pure truth, if not whole.

  My scholar accepted this and did not demand more. “Do you wish to rest here? Have time alone?”

  I smiled with chagrin. “It does not matter what I wish, my belly will overrule me soon. I did not take any food.”

  “As you please.”

  Heh.

  I used the rock to stand despite the gentle ward urging me to stay. It was an odd choice for the protection of a den, I decided, and would ask the half-blood about it. Stamping feeling into my feet, I asked, “Are Mourn’s words truthful? He will let me be?”

  “I think they are.” Gavin dismounted and motioned to her swayed back. “Here, better if you guide Nightmare with your eyes. I will walk.”

  I paused at Gavin’s unusual lack of precision. “You mean the night mare?”

  He sounded puzzled. “I thought you chose a name. It is suitable.”

  I blinked. “I did? When?”


  “Before you arrived to wash. Mourn mentioned that you woke from a nightmare and called the horse this as well.”

  “Yes, the night mare. She will run without Sunlight flooding her path, as you explained to me in the barn.”

  Astonishment mixed with a trickle of discomfort filled me when Gavin peeled back his lips in a deathly grin, grotesquely amused. “I see. Well, I never named her as a living man, knowing she would die without traveling beyond. I am surprised you didn’t ask.”

  I shrugged. “We do not name our mounts below, either. Similar reason.”

  “Ah. Well, then. Perhaps you should know that the Dragonchild is of the firm opinion that formal names are worthwhile for anything of value to you.”

  Odd. “Why so firm?”

  “I asked the same. He said a name draws different essence to it when it is spoken or thought. This can alter the pathways within an aura or a mind.” Gavin paused to consider. “An intriguing idea, possibly with some merit, for I have noticed…hm.”

  I tapped my foot. “Noticed what?”

  “Clearer direction. When I am still.”

  I grimaced, failing to follow that. Osgrid had called him a “mystic,” a flavor of mage who caught glimpses of chaos in his magic. This became apparent just being near him. My Elder D’Shea, by comparison, was anything but a mystic.

  Gavin looked at me, noting my expression. “Ever since you expressed a strong preference for calling me Deathwalker at Brom’s inn, Sirana, my insights and discoveries possess a precise nuance in this direction which surprises me. In hindsight, I am glad you took to the name, for I may have discarded the deathless one’s haunted memory otherwise.”

  I blinked at him. “Oh.”

  Yes, I remembered that. Perhaps I’d taken a liking to it only because of the Sorcerer-General’s dreams. I knew I’d wanted there to be some connection between those ancient dreams and this day which wasn’t a threat to me.

  At least this study appeals to the apprentice.

  I scratched an itch, became aware of the familiar hollow space opening in my middle, demanding more roast pork, while my presently nameless spiders awaited my next move.

  A name is worthwhile for anything of value to you. Hm. Strange habit, Dragonblood.

  With a sigh, I searched for the knucklebone talisman on my belt. “You prefer Nightmare, then?”

  Gavin contemplated his mount, who seemed in better shape than the night she had died. I hadn’t yet asked how he accomplished this.

  “A disturbing dream that does not shy from speeding through the dark. Heh.” His bony chin dipped down. “Yes, I think I do.”

  Reluctantly, I smiled as I attached my pack and mounted up. “Me, too.” I patted her withers knowing she couldn’t feel it. “Come, Nightmare. To the bank.”

  And to the bargains which awaited us from the Dragonchild, who insisted I call him by his own tongue-tangling name or by a different sound entirely.

  CHAPTER 10

  Mourn had excused himself shortly after Gavin and I returned to watch over his catch and the campfire. He stayed long enough to confirm we both meant to accompany him to Augran.

  “I will forage food to add to the boar.”

  I did not argue or try to delay him, though I did not relish being alone with my thoughts while Gavin kept himself occupied. I hadn’t the energy to needle the Deathwalker to make conversation, nor did I want to abrade his mood when he’d made much effort on my behalf.

  Instead, I selected some noiseless endurance exercises using the many rocks, rested, and worked. Gavin glanced at me on occasion but left me to my activity.

  If I was to infiltrate a large Human city with the help of a resourceful and stealthy mercenary, then I must strengthen my reflexes and agility, and lengthen my endurance to the Sunlight again. Better done sooner rather than later, and if more food was on the way, in addition to whatever I found, then I could afford it after that galling, utter collapse following the warp rot.

  How could Gaelan have been expected to accomplish that mission alone?

  The answer was as clear as the burn in my arms while pushing up my body weight. She wasn’t. She either needed to find help or die in the attempt. Or both. Jael’s mission was of the same nature; the Valsharess had told me I was the only one expected to return. Jael wouldn’t seek help, but nothing prevented me from bringing that help to her.

  I had lost weight during my recovery. I could prod my gut with my fingers and feel the heat and hardness of my womb close to the surface despite it not distending outward yet. Given how often I thought about food and ate more in one sitting these days than I ever had, I wondered when my leathers or my armor might not fit so well. What would I do then? I had been trained how to mend my clothing, but I was not a seamster to alter whole designs to account for an imminent, new shape.

  Maybe the city has something.

  Though the problem remained of what I would trade for it. I had so little, I might have to become like a sneak of Low Gate and steal what I needed.

  Except no stealing from the half-blood. As agreed.

  Panting sooner than I wanted, my brow damp, I cooled down wandering the lush forest and gathering pre-dawn mushrooms, digging up grubs and roots, and harvesting some of the flavorful herbs I recognized from watching Gavin. I didn’t know when we were leaving.

  Perhaps he can make a stew. He is good with those.

  “Hm, impressive,” the Deathwalker said of my stash as the sky lightened in the East.

  I smiled. “I will try to scoop out a fish or two. Perhaps I can double what the half-blood collects.”

  A grunt and a nod as the Deathwalker reached to hand me a stained, rough-woven sack. “If you discover any carrion, would you bring it to me in this?”

  Carrion? I wrinkled my nose but took the bag. “Why? More study?”

  “To feed Nightmare, so she is not taking fresh meat from you.”

  “What?”

  His gaunt face barely changed. “I have been introducing a new diet, of sorts. She cannot heal but I’ve given her enough of my blood, she has a non-dependent aura which can rebuild and strengthen her form by consuming flesh.” Gavin looked at where she stood farther from the fire. “She may soon pass for a living horse if one does not inspect her teeth.”

  I made a face. “Her teeth?”

  “They are suitable for tearing flesh and crushing bone instead of chewing grass or grain.”

  Well, now I wanted to inspect her teeth. “So, she is a scavenger, now.”

  “As useful a role as a grazer or predator.”

  “That was not an insult, Gavin,” I said, smiling at his defensive tone. “Most of us are scavengers underground, whether we recognize it or not. We do not have the green abundance to have grazers at all. I will help find carrion if she needs it.”

  The Deathwalker considered this and accepted. “Perhaps I can revive or rebuild enough of her senses where she may be able to smell the decay and feed herself, but that will take further time and study.”

  If the death scholar wanted to make it sound as though he had nothing but the time in which to study, he’d succeeded.

  “Are you ‘deathless’ as well?” I asked curiously.

  He made a face. “I have experienced death.”

  “You do not expect to age and die again.”

  “Not as one born would recognize. I may expect further transitions.”

  “But you eat. Do you sleep?”

  Gavin nodded. I could not tell if he was pleased about that or not. “I remind you that the Deathless also eats and sleeps.”

  “But you aren’t the same creatures.”

  “No. Our transitions are vastly different.”

  “Oh? What was his like? You seemed to have learned about him in the Greylands.”

  “He is known there, from many lives and transitions. That is the best I can describe it.” The Deathwalker stirred and fed the fire to keep it alive.

  I glanced at
the river and back, not wanting to miss the window of active fish but pulled to this topic all the same. “Is he Cris-ri-phon?”

  “Yes, but not only. Brom Troshin was as real, though you may have ‘killed’ him in the kitchen. Cris-ri-phon came first, it seems, although I learned that from your experience, not mine. As you say, you ‘woke’ this ancient one, somehow.”

  Reluctantly, I remembered Toushek in my last nightmare. Even if the Davrin trader was not what he appeared, he still had interest in the Davrin fate. And there remained a Dark Queen having half-Human children.

  “So, it is the Davrin who made him. Interfering with a Human’s mortality.”

  Gavin contemplated and shook his head. “Many factions have become involved with the Deathless, and he did not become that way against his will. His own search and desires opened the way, much as mine did for me.”

  Worried, I glanced South. “Do you think he will pursue us?”

  Ice blue pupils settled on me. “I may not be of much worth to chase, though he would attempt to destroy me given the chance. You, however, and in possession of the relic…”

  I knew that answer. For certain, yes, he must come after me.

  “The Dragonchild’s aura is significant,” Gavin informed me. “Although we have not seen the Sorcerer-General’s full effort, we only needed Mourn to alter the outcome with the warp rot. He may be a match or better.”

  I made a face. “You suggest I bargain for his protection?”

  “He defends another Elf by his own word. His mother was of your race, and you are pregnant. By his actions alone, I estimate that this matters more than he says to you. He possesses enough magic and martial ability to challenge any Human enslavement attempt on you, certainly against Witch Hunters, and against stronger Ma’ab agents.”

  They get stronger. Of course, they do. Folding my arms, I sighed. I need to herd him West, anyway.

  “He might accept the ruby as payment,” Gavin continued. “He is still interested in it.”

  I made a face. And Mourn could use it. To give it to him now, so far from Sarilis’s tower, there would be nothing to stop the half-blood from stabbing me in the back then, unlike me stabbing him.