“That being said,” Yabisi continued. “I ask that you continue living beyond the borders of the villages and safeholds. You remain dangerous and, until we can be absolutely sure you’re in complete control of the Jurakán, that truth will always remain. But, to everyone else, I will reveal that they have sworn an oath to the Guardian herself: Colibrí, Narune, and Kisari agreed to again be the first of the Halfborn, or again the last. Let it be so. Until then, you are to be a spear wielded with all caution.”
The Guardian’s appearance had been another absolute surprise and yet something else Yabisi owed Colibrí for. Yabisi had spoken with their eldest ally in private for some time, but had walked away empty-handed. The Guardian was at a loss too, and it weighed her just as heavily. The Islandborn had been her hope.
“We will do our best to become as faithful a weapon as we already are your warriors,” Colibrí said, and her son echoed her.
Faithful weapons… Yabisi had always been fascinated by how warriors adored their weapons. Oh, the warriors knew they were things of wood and bone—that wasn’t what was important to them. It was the blood, sweat, and tears that doused each weapon, the screams that soaked it, the many root-roads it crossed, the countless halja it had slain, the many lives it had saved or failed—all of the endless memories hammered into it forever—that mattered to them.
Yabisi had once believed that putting Colibrí away like a beloved and trusted spear would be the hardest thing she would ever have to do.
Now she knew it would be breaking that spear against their enemies again and again without stopping, no matter how much the wood groaned and bent, no matter how cracked the spearhead became.
She shivered and closed her eyes. “Let it be so.”
* * *
The Guardian lay slumbering in the great forest, dreaming pointless dreams, until she was nudged aware by a familiar presence. She opened one eye as the Carrion Flow bathed over her, deadly, but without intent to do harm.
It was very nostalgic.
She flapped her wings, scattering detritus, and let out a long hiss-sigh. Greetings, brother.
Our time draws to an end! Maboya said into her mind. His tone was as dramatic and solemn as it always was. Blood and battle for the last time. I can taste the sour finality.
You are thrilled, I am sure.
I am, I am, I am! That is what I am; thrilled and blood and battle.
Calm, brother. I know.
Are you still dead? Or did you grow tired of that?
Amusement colored the Guardian’s mind. One does not simply grow bored with death and leave its embrace. I persist, for now… but perhaps you are right. We have existed for too long. I forget how long.
As long as the land has been screaming.
Yes, likely that long, but you would know more than I.
What should we do? The pain infuriates me, it drives me awake! I struggle to remember why this is so, yet the gleaming memories burst apart whenever I reach for them. Ah, but I do remember the moment when you fell; why did you not call on me?
Because I did not believe it time to do as our cousins and their human allies were forced to do in Vanadyl. The gamble proved wise, for here we are, and without need to enact our final vows. Leave it be.
As you wish, but I am embarrassed to admit that I do not remember any vows.
Do not be embarrassed, sweet brother of mine. You are addled by sleep, as it should be; the dreams calm you in a way nothing else can. I am meant to endure and protect. When I fail, you must come and destroy. As we have always done, and will always do until we are once again sea and soil.
What was I supposed to destroy, dear sister?
‘Everything’ would be my answer. Maybe even all the world, with the aid of our cousins; the Stillness is poised to spread beyond our control and even the clever humans are being foiled. But you must decide for yourself.
I will think on your words, then. I only want the screaming to stop.
So do I, brother. So do I.
* * *
Ixchel hugged her knees on the beach and stared out across the sea. The moon was full and plump above her, the sea breezes strong enough to play with strands of her unbraided hair. She frowned over at a stinging crab as it encircled her, its claws raised in warning. Too stupid to understand she meant it no harm.
Ixchel wanted to cry. She wanted to feel sorry for herself, wanted to feed her anger and regrets. But that would be indulgent and unfair because she had brought herself to this point. More importantly, it would be useless.
Ixchel raised her trembling arm for the thousandth time that day. Along the inside, just near her right armpit, was a tiny, little streak of discoloring that hadn’t gone away. It looked innocent, like a bit of ash smudged on her skin, but deep inside it was but one of many spearheads of the assault on her spirit, mind, and flesh. Ixchel could feel the battles being waged.
The Stillness was killing her, and it began by swallowing her Celestial Flow.
She fought it, of course; all the time, day and night. Her dreams were of this personal war now, her alone against a storm of gray silence.
It scared her so much. She wanted to tell someone, anyone, but she knew what would come of that. She had fumbled her Channeling too badly during the fight for Kayuya, and then, instead of stopping, she had kept going, letting the Stillness root deeper and deeper. Now, it was too deep to rinse or cut out with any Flow. The menders would only tell her how long she could fight, then let her wait to die.
At best, she would worry the others. At worst, they would take away her Blade and her oaths and then drown her in soothing mixtures that would numb both the pain and her mind. That would be a mercy, but it didn’t leave her any less afraid of dying without purpose.
Ixchel wasn't ready to give up just yet. Narune… oh, Narune. He had shown everyone that the Halfborn couldn’t be judged by the story within their blood, and now they were the war’s greatest hope. Narune had even forgiven her, along with Kisari.
And he had also come back from the grasp of the Stillness.
She had always been better than him at everything. Well, except at being a good friend, it seemed. But she would catch up there, too.
That sole hope gave her strength. Narune hadn’t given up, not once. Not on her, their people, or himself.
Ixchel would never betray his trust ever again. Whatever it took, she wouldn't. There were too many things that still left her feeling so unsure, but this wouldn’t be one of them. She whispered that oath to herself then and there, beneath the moon and above the gentle waves.
The crab was her only witness. It was not impressed.
Before you go…
Sign up for the Warband Newsletter to receive updates on Stormbringers, the next book in the series, as well as giveaways and other news!
Please also consider leaving a review! Short or long, reviews are incredibly helpful for independent authors like myself; sometimes even more so than buying the book. Yes, really! Again, thank you so much.
The Flows of Creation
Formal Name - Color - Common Name - Sample Aspects
The Radiant Flow - Red - Redflow - Light, heat, fire
The Celestial Flow - Amber - Amberflow - Sky, wind, lightning
The Unseen Flow - Purple - Violetflow - Illusion, deception, information, manipulation
The Unbound Flow - Blue - Blueflow - Water, blood, ice, cold
The Verdant Flow - Green - Greenflow - Plants, growth, birth, natural healing/regeneration
The Deep Flow - Umber - Umberflow - Gravity, magnets, stone, soil, hardness
The Carrion Flow - Black - Blackflow - Death, decay, repurposing
Channeling: The process of moving Flow through one’s body and spirit by acting as a living conduit. Limited to the Flow caster is bound to at birth, but grants unfaltering access to it.
Drawing: The process of drawing in and concentrating Flow around one’s physical location; dependent on Flow in the immediate vicinity, but caster can use any of t
he Flows at will.
Acknowledgments
This marks the moment in which a lifetime dream of mine finally comes to fruition. I’m terrified, excited, and… just a bit tired. My life so far has been more of a journey than I would have ever expected, with so many abrupt ups and downs that I’m still feeling nauseated. Yet, here I am, and I have a ridiculous number of people to thank for being able to say that. Listing you all would take an eternity, but you already know who you are. Thank you for being a part of my life.
The wonderful people I’ve worked with to make this as polished and beautiful a book as possible also deserve a ton of gratitude. So, a hundred million thanks to:
Daniel Kamarudin, my cover illustrator, who took frankly terrible roughs and hammered out a fantastic piece of art from them.
Shawn T. King, who then took that artwork and carefully refined it into the fantastic cover that stands proudly at the front of the book you’ve just finished reading. Both Daniel and Shawn really helped create something I’m proud to stare at all day.
Sarah Chorn, who helped me polish the words you’ve just finished reading. She believed in my book, pushed me to twist deeper during some of the more emotional scenes, and helped clear snags in quite a few others. She also threw in little reactions and comments throughout the book, all which brought a smile to my face. My novel was made better because of her, without a doubt.
Lastly, I’d like to thank all of you, my readers—and wow, does it feel weird to be able to say that. I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Cradle of Sea and Soil
© 2020 Bernie Anés Paz
All rights reserved.
www.StoryShrine.com
Edited by: Sarah Chorn
Cover Illustration by: Daniel Kamarudin
Cover Design by: Shawn T. King
Cradle of Sea and Soil Page 39