by Casey Eanes
“What do you think, Seam? Are you amazed at my handiwork?” The voice sent a barrage of chills down Seam’s spine as he turned in a complete circle, trying to find its source within his sterile prison. “I have not only restored you, Seam. I have enhanced you...”
“Dyrn!” Seam balled his fists and squinted into the bright lights emanating from the far wall. “Where are you?!” Rage filled his voice as his survival instincts roared through him.
“Gratitude was never a distinguishing quality of yours. Sit down!” Dyrn’s voice snapped through the room and echoed off its blank walls. As he spoke the words, Seam, his mind alight with fear, sat. His body acted on Dyrn’s command, separate from his own will. His arms crossed his chest and he sat, just as he was commanded.
“What is this?” Seam tried to keep his voice steady to mask the panic sweeping over him. He tried to lift his arms or move his legs, but they would not respond. “What have you done to me?”
A door slid open and Dyrn’s slim figure glided into the room, his mask missing from his head. He stepped forward and leaned down, his crimson eyes examining Seam’s entire countenance.
“Think, Seam. You know exactly what is happening. You have experienced this before...just not this way.”
Seam fought to connect with his body, his mind racing as he tried to remember how to stand or lift his arms. Nothing worked. Every failed effort to move brought a new wave of hysteria, and then a memory snapped to the forefront of Seam’s mind.
Hosp. Seam remembered attempting an ambush on his old enemy using the Keys of Candor. In a moment that felt like a lifetime ago, Seam had controlled Hosp’s body and gained access to all of his horrible memories, but he had nearly perished trying to reenter his own body. Seam had fought this same feeling of paralysis...this separation. This was a similar feeling, but it was different.
Dyrn’s face curled into a sneer and he tilted his head toward Seam. “We are connected now, Seam Panderean.”
As the words dripped from Dyrn’s lips, Seam rose to his feet and stepped to the middle of the room where a floodlight snapped on overhead. Dyrn circled Seam like a predator circling its wounded prey.
“I am quite proud of my work, Seam, but it is not free. I have toiled for days over your wretched carcass and now I see my efforts were not in vain. You have much work to accomplish for me and are well equipped for what I have in mind.”
Seam tried to gather his faculties but remained only a conscious viewer in his own body, watching as Dyrn controlled his every move.
“Walk with me, Seam,” Dyrn said as he placed his mask back on his head and strolled out the open door into a dim hallway. “I am tired of these four walls.”
Seam followed without choice, walking just two feet behind Dyrn, moving in lock-step with his captor. He could not even turn his own head to try and examine the narrow hallway tunnels, but he tried to remember as much as he could as the two ascended a narrow metal staircase. A double door greeted the men at the top of the staircase and an arid wind swept over Seam as they ventured out into the sandy dunes of Riht’s barren landscape. A massive obsidian obelisk stood, darkening the desert with its tall shadow.
Dyrn snapped at him, “Stop struggling against the mental bonds. It is pointless. Only I secure your freedom now.” Dyrn waved one of his hands. “You can move again freely now.” Seam gasped as the blocks lifted, and he felt his control restored to his body.
The desert witch took a few steps into the hot air before turning back to face Seam. “Do you have any idea what I want from you?”
Seam tried to slow his heartbeat as he regained control of his own body. He examined his arms and hands again before looking up to Dyrn, squinting against the bright, burning sun that reflected off the white, hot dunes.
“I imagine you want to torture me some more...for disrupting your balance,” Seam snarled.
Dyrn chuckled and Seam buckled to one knee, bowing before the ancient demigod. Dyrn stood silently over Seam for a moment before sharing his horrific smile. He turned and looked out at the desert, pointing his long finger toward the horizon, tracing the line where the sky met the sand.
“No, Seam. You are now my hunter.”
CHAPTER SIX
Milliseconds is all it would take. It would be over faster than Willyn’s mind could comprehend the reality of her drastic actions. Her mind slowed time to a crawl as she anticipated what would happen next. Luken lay on the desert floor, useless, covered in her blood. The nightmare, Abtren, still held Willyn up in the air, surprised at the grenade pin being pulled within their shared grasp. Willyn saw Abtren’s eyes go from crimson to a pale white, mirroring the light that exploded between them. The blast would send their corpses reeling through the desert night sky, and Willyn knew that she would die for her brash move. What difference does it make? I’m dead anyway.
Darkness followed, and Willyn understood that she was at the end. She opened her eyes and found her field of vision again, but she was still in the desert. Her first sensation was a high-pitched roar that ricocheted repeatedly in her skull, replacing any other sound she might have heard. She eased herself up from the desert sand as her brain struggled to orient itself. Slowly it caught up to what she was seeing. She tasted blood, and the reek of war filled her nostrils; burnt flesh and explosives. She glanced down to the hand that held the grenade and saw that the bottom part of her right arm was gone, leaving only a charred, raw stump. Undeterred, she forced herself to stand and questioned her own sanity. How am I still alive?
Her body would not cooperate and she fell to the desert floor as if gravity was too great for her. Dull, muffled sounds trickled into her mind amid the residual roar of the grenade. She forced her head up, trying to focus on the sound. She heard Luken. He was screaming. Like an animal. Adrenaline kicked in, and she was up on her feet, commanding her legs to churn through the thick, uneven sand toward the sounds she heard coming from her friend. In the distance she saw them: Abtren, Bastion, and Luken circling each other in conflict. Willyn was so far away, but she forced herself to sprint toward them.
White hot light sprung from Luken’s fists, like lightning whips. He swung them unmercifully around Bastion, who fell to the desert floor, his body covered in Luken’s hot white arcs. Abtren made for a hasty retreat, but Luken ran after her like a roaring lion. An explosion of invisible energy hit Abtren’s back like a thunderclap, and she buckled, hitting the dirt. Luken pounced on her and unleashed an avalanche of punches over his fallen sister. Willyn could hear Abtren scream in horror as the sound of breaking bones rung in the night.
Willyn slowed her pace, hesitating. Something is not right. Her intuition told her to stay away. Carefully, she lowered herself to the desert floor as Luken landed his final crushing blow onto Abtren. Without hesitation, Luken’s dark figure circled back to Bastion, who was still bound with the flickering lightning ropes. Willyn gasped as Luken ripped the hot white cords up in his hands. Luken then began to swing his wayward brother in a circle. Bastion screamed out for mercy as Luken swung him faster and faster like a shot putter concentrating on a winning throw. Luken let him go, and Bastion careened toward the horizon, his body barreling through the air with an unnatural speed.
The chaos that had filled the desert air surrendered once again to silence. The darkness of the night began to give way to the coming dawn, the dark rim of the horizon fading toward a bright blue. Willyn stood back from Luken, as one would keep a wide berth from a wild beast. Though the scene had become quiet, Willyn could still feel a raging, pulsating energy electrifying the air. She dared not speak.
Luken turned, his eyes ablaze in light. Red, crimson light. Willyn’s heart seized at the sight of him, and she felt herself wanting to turn away, wanting to run. She did not. She took a step forward. Boldly her voice called over the desert plain, “Luken!” The sound of her voice rasped, causing her to shudder at its sound. Strained, damaged, each move of her lips sent a searing pain down her face. My face. The blast that had blown away her right
hand and forearm had done more damage than she had supposed. Gingerly, she traced her left hand across the bubbled contours of the burn, horrified at what her face must now look like.
Aleph. The invoking of the god’s name was tinged with defeat. She could feel her shoulders fall under the heavy weight of all she had failed to accomplish. Her failures called to her, singing their siren’s song, ringing in the deep recesses of her mind. You could not save Hagan. You could not kill Hosp. Your revenge on Seam only brought Isphet. You’ve failed. She stood there, barely withstanding the silent pain of her exhausted mind and tired body. Luken stood before her, elevated to some new horrible form that she could not comprehend. His change in countenance was awful to witness. She was terrified and void of any real strength, yet she continued on, one step forward to her friend.
“Luken,” the gruff voice scratched out of a scorched throat. “It’s me. Willyn. Are you okay?”
Luken stood, his jaw clenched, his crimson eyes boring into her. At the mention of her name, he blinked as something within him clicked with recognition. “Willyn? Willyn?”
Luken shook his face and blinked again. His eyes were changing back to the gray color she had noticed when she first met him in Elum. Back when the world was less terrifying and she knew she was invincible.
“Willyn, what happened to you?” Luken sprinted toward her and tried to force her to lay on the ground. She could read from his expression and his voice that her body was in a grave condition. “You’ve got to lay down, Willyn.” His voice was laced with worry as he gently set her down to the cold desert sand.
He ran his hands through her singed hair, carefully inspecting her injuries. “Where in Candor are we?”
“Fourteen percent...or was it six? The rook ran out of fuel before they came for us.” She threw a sidelong glance at where the other Serubs had been. “Abtren and Bastion…” There was no recollection in Luken’s face. “You were out for most of the trip. I got you out of Zenith...but they came after us. I would have been dead if it wasn’t for you.”
Luken nodded and laid a soft hand on Willyn’s shoulder. He smiled, trying to hide the concern clouding his eyes. “Lay still, Willyn. You got me this far, we aren’t giving up now.”
Willyn nodded and pointed into the hollow outcropping of rock where she had first seen a Bagger encampment before the Serubs attacked. She wanted to speak, but every movement became harder than the one before, and her body grew colder with each passing second. Willyn could feel her body shuddering as she lost blood from her ravaged arm.
Luken ripped the sleeve from his shirt and tied it around her arm near the shoulder, squeezing tight to restrict the artery. Willyn screamed, her tattered voice echoing over the desert landscape. She tried to swat at Luken as he pulled tighter on the tourniquet, but she fell back, exhausted. She felt herself being lifted into the air as Luken scooped her into his arms. He turned in the direction Willyn had pointed and quickly took off at a sprint.
Willyn fought to keep her eyes open and peered over the rushing dunes as Luken moved with effortless ease over the sand, gliding like a gazelle at full speed. The two came into the small Bagger camp only to find the horrid destruction left behind by Bastion and Abtren after they feasted on the unsuspecting innocents.
“Rail line...” Luken muttered to himself as he scanned the horizon. “Can’t be far... Baggers...” Luken scanned the hills for a few more moments before launching back into another sprint. Luken ran for nearly ten minutes, his gaze locked on the landscape in front of him, only breaking to take quick looks at Willyn to ensure she was still with him.
“Not far now, Willyn. Hang in there.” Willyn’s eyelids were heavy, pulling against her as she tried to keep her senses by focusing in on him, examining his face. Despite her crippled state and her difficulty focusing, she could see something in Luken she had never seen before: panic. Was he panicked for her, or was it because of the change she had seen in him just minutes earlier? Willyn held on to the question, pondering it. Trying to use the simple question to keep her mind engaged, but each step Luken took felt like one step closer to death’s threshold.
Luken’s voice boomed out as he increased his speed. “Sir! Sir! Please! She needs help.”
Willyn could hear a set of voices gasp, but as she tried to turn and set eyes on her potential saviors her vision went black and the ringing in her ears ceased.
“Thank you, Warkarwa. I will take the watch now.” Luken’s voice was soft, but firm, waking Willyn from her sleep. She blinked as she tried to orient herself, but everything was dark. Despite opening her eyes, everything was still black. Willyn jolted forward as she scrambled to find her surroundings using her arms. She swung clumsily with her right arm and began to tumble over before Luken reached over and caught her.
“You’re okay, Willyn. You’re okay. It’s me. Easy.”
“I...I can’t see.” Willyn stammered as she tried to steady herself in her cot. “Am I blind!?”
“Here, let me help that.” Luken reached up and pulled at a rough gauze wrapped around Willyn’s face. The dull light of a small fire flickered across Willyn’s vision, offering a glimpse at the small room. The walls were lined with animal skins, and the floor was a dry terracotta clay, littered with shimmering gemstones and polished glass pebbles. The small fire burned in a rough adobe oven with a bent metal chimney running up through the ceiling, which was held up by roughhewn timbers.
“Where am I?” Willyn asked as she scanned the room. “And who was...” Willyn’s questions died as she saw her right arm. A tear rolled down her cheek as she truly examined it for the first time. Her lungs felt as if they might collapse under this new reality, the sight of her injury stealing the breath from her chest. Several inches below her elbow a tight wrapping covered what nub was left of her forearm. “So…it was real,” Willyn whispered to herself.
“Yes.” Luken’s answer was soft, apologetic. “I... I can’t remember anything.”
Willyn shook her head and punched at the cot under her. She fought to stand, but her knees buckled beneath her and she collapsed back.
“I’m sorry, Willyn.” Luken’s eyes were saddled with guilt as he sat next to her. “I don’t know what happened…I—”
Willyn drew in a deep breath and exhaled, slowly shaking her head, cutting him off. “I do.”
Luken turned and tilted his head down to meet Willyn’s gaze. “Did…did I do this to you? Was it me, Willyn?”
Luken’s expression was one of a tortured man as he waited for the answer. Willyn laid her remaining hand on Luken’s arm and tried to smile.
“No…no. Not at all…It was me...I barely kept Bastion away from us, but Abtren was too quick. She would have killed me if I hadn’t pulled the grenade pin.” She paused and looked at Luken. “Do you remember what you did?”
“Not a thing.” Luken smiled sheepishly, his face for an instance reminding her of a young boy. “What happened?”
A pinprick of fear pierced Willyn’s mind, and she weighed whether to share with him what she had seen. “You...changed, Luken. You changed. You were like one of them. But you must have saved me from the grenade’s explosion.”
Luken’s face went ashen pale. “How did I change? Specifically?”
“Blood-red eyes, lightning pouring from your hands. You were incredibly powerful. If you hadn’t transformed, I’m sure we’d both be dead.”
Luken’s eyes went wide, his voice barely above a whisper, “Did something happen to me when I was out?”
Abtren’s cruel words ricocheted off the walls of Willyn’s mind. Foolish girl. He could never love you. The only use we have for your kind is this.
“Abtren held me over you and fed you my blood.” She stared at him, desperate to read his face. “Is that what made you change?”
Luken stood up, releasing himself from her hand, turning away. She could read from his body language a potent mixture of rage, frustration, and sorrow. A long time passed and the two said nothing. Finally, Luken turned
back to face her.
“That explains…a lot... So be it.” Willyn’s scarred face begged him for answers. He continued, “I will become like them, Willyn. My fate is sealed now. I’ve been tainted, and soon enough Candor will have a new enemy on its hands.” Silence filled the room, and Luken looked out a small window cut in the side of the adobe hut. “It will only be a matter of time before the blood-lust overpowers me again.”
Willyn forced herself to sit up in the cot, burying the sudden wave of nausea that washed over her. “I don’t believe that. I called to you...even in that form you came back to me in only a matter of moments. You can control this, Luken.” Willyn straightened herself in her cot as an unexpected confidence rushed through her.
“That remains to be seen. But we have more immediate things to worry about…”
“Excuse me?” A large Rihtian woman entered the room, not waiting for an answer. Her eyes shot from her face, the color of an early dawn, yellow with streaks of amber. She wore the dress of the Rihtians, different but like some of the garb that Willyn had seen from the Baggers. Her tunic was made of white linen, and she was gilded with fine pieces of ancient looking silver. A purple amethyst, smoothed over into a tear-drop shape hung low from her neck. She carried a tray of herbs and bandages, as well as a mortar and pestle.
“I am glad to see you up, my lady. You bring my humble house great honor by being here, mighty Sar.” Willyn was shocked to be recognized in her disheveled form.
Willyn spoke, her voice still like gravel. “Thank you for your kindness, but where am I?” A dull ache crept over Willyn’s scalp, forcing her to lie back down.
“Tirna Re’, my Sar.”