by Lexy Wolfe
As the earthquake began to subside after what seemed an eternity, the fissures grinding closed, no more creatures emerged. The warriors made quick work of the remaining monstrosities, then turned their attentions to tending the injuries incurred.
The siblings focused on the mortally wounded Alanis Su’alin, disentangling the beast from him and easing him down. Star met Skyfire’s gaze, tears filling hers as he shook his head with grimness. “Father,” she began.
“You were both right,” Roshisan rasped. “I had…been a fool. Cruel and misguided.” He closed his eyes, clasping Star’s hand, Skyfire covering both of them with his. “I let anger rule me. And grief. I lost my way but I wouldn’t…listen.” He looked up at them. “I will not ask forgiveness because I deserve none for this life. I failed all of you. I ask…I ask only…you protect the tribe. The Path.”
“I will, Father,” Star said, her voice catching. “I promise.” Skyfire remained silent, his expression hard and unreadable.
The pillar of stone squealed as though under pressure, then abruptly exploded; thousands of tiny pieces of rock flew in all directions. A slight young woman staggered forward two steps. She looked toward the sky, black hair streaked with bronze falling around her shoulders. A smile curled her lips, a tear coursing down her cheek. “I’m free. At last!” Her azure blue eyes rolled back.
“Nyla!” Star released her father’s hand, both she and Tyrsan reaching the A’tyrna Ulan before she collapsed to the ground.
“Radisen.” The Githalin Swordanzen looked down at the dying man in his arms. “Thank you…for being my son.” He turned, reaching out with tears in his eyes. “My love…” With a soft sigh, his hand dropped as he died.
Skyfire bowed his head, hugging his father tight for several heartbeats before focusing on aging his body until it became dust, the desert wind carrying it away. He looked up when a pair of feet stopped by him. “Before Lyra. And Aelia. I never understood how much he must have been hurting when Mother died.”
“It does not make his turning his pain onto you right or acceptable,” Tyrsan stated, offering his tlisan his hand, helping him up.
“No. But I understand now. I thought it was my fault. I believed it was my fault. But now.” He sighed. “Now I know what happened to Mother and afterwards was not my failure. It was his for not accepting her death, for holding too tightly her memory. The na’Citali are supposed to understand death better than anyone, and he was the Alanis of the sacred Path of the Spirit. But I understand why he had been that way. Perhaps if I had understood him sooner—”
Tyrsan shook his head. “It may not have changed anything at all. You cannot aid someone who refuses it. All the understanding in the world will not change their denial that they need help, and that is no one’s fault. Not even the denier.”
“You are saying, even if I had understood what troubled my father, he could have chosen to turn away from my help?” Tyrsan nodded. Skyfire frowned. “But if one refuses aid, are they not at fault for not taking advantage of it being available?”
“Everyone has the right to choose what they want for themselves, how they want to face their own demons. Even life or death, no matter how it may affect others. Forcing someone to choose what we consider best for them may end up having results that are worse.”
“But we have been making Storm accept healing. How is that different?”
The larger man shrugged. “It is not different. However, I think it’s been less forcing her to accept healing than to reconsider the traditions she is sworn to uphold. After all, you said that the Raging One Himself had not intended for warriors to never accept healing. Only that they do not dwell on the lack of magic within them.”
“Bah.” Skyfire waved a hand. “What is the Forentan word? Semantics. It is the same thing.”
“Not quite. Storm obeyed what she believed were edicts without question. Now, she chooses whether to accept healing or not.” Tyrsan quirked a wan smile. “There are always consequences to our choices, both good and ill. You need only look to Zhekali and Avarian for an example that spans millennia.”
The man frowned in thought as he turned to watch Star tending to the ancient pair’s daughter as the remaining na’Citali and Swordanzen gathered around them to stare in awe.
What a convoluted land,” Bella commented in droll tones. “How would a maze like this occur without magic or other influence?”
“Perhaps Storm could answer that.” Mureln watched the mage as he spoke. “Once her bond to Thandar is mended. She could ask him.”
“She could, yes,” Ash replied, his voice devoid of any inflection. Sensing the concern from the bard, the mage stated, “There is something here. Something that has corrupted the Blighted Lands further.”
Jaison frowned, scanning the rocky terrain they crossed, walls of the channel they traversed rising above them. “More than the poison that lingers in the rocks?”
Ash nodded once. “Whatever it is, it is both alive and not. A taint that is far from natural.” He exhaled, closing his eyes. “Aelia…Storm knew of it. She has been the only person to enter the Blighted Lands. I suspect Thandar knew as well, given their bond.” He raised his gaze toward the sky, lips pressed together for several moments. “Neither told Lord Desantiva.”
“But why? Wasn’t it her duty as a Swordanzen to tell Him about something like an unnatural infestation within His territory?” Bella shook her head. “I can’t imagine Storm’s pride would have,” she began.
“Not pride. Grief. And shame.” Ash exhaled gustily. “This is the na’Zhekali ancestral homeland. Right or wrong, she and Thandar both feel they failed the tribe. I suspect cleansing it would also destroy the history that it still clings to. She clung to the memories of her family’s massacre so they would not be forgotten. Is it a stretch to imagine she’d want to hold onto the land as it is, regardless of whatever corrupts it?”
Bella sighed. “No. I suppose not.”
As the group climbed toward a high point on the walls, a solitary pillar of rock came into sight. Izkynder bounced where he rode on his father’s back, pointing. “There! There he is. I can see him!”
“Hush,” Mureln chided in amusement. “We see.” He paused to let his squirming son get down. The boy ran to Ash, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the column with youthful exuberance.
“Etienne!” he called, his voice echoing off the crags that made up the maze of channels and corridors at the heart of the na’Zhekali’s ancestral territory. “Etienne, wake up!” At first, there was no response. Then the wind picked up, a sense of presence noticeable to even Bella and Mureln who were not holding Izkynder’s hand.
Who are you? How did you get here without—? The ghostly form emerged from his pillar with a frown much like those often seen on Ash’s face. His shock when he met the Illaini Magus’s gaze could be felt in a quiver in the wind swirling around them. You are…No. It is not possible. You are Forentan. You cannot be here. None from the outlands have been permitted within the ancestral territory since the disaster. He closed his eyes, pained. So long. It has been so long since—
“Yes, I am your father. Or was, at least. Things have changed, Etienne. Much has happened,” Ash stated, holding Izkynder’s hand tightly. “The curse that had kept Zhekali and Avarian caught in an endless loop of suffering has been ended. However, it disrupted her soul and the remaining tribal bonds she had as the last living na’Zhekali.” He held his hand out. “We are here to return you to the tribe’s bayuli-volsha.”
The A’tyrna Ulan’s eyes narrowing in suspicion as he backed away. Who are you? What are you?
“Who? Illaini Dusvet Ash Avarian. As to what, I am your father reborn,” he explained with calm patience.
Impossible. If you were reborn, you would not know who you had been in a previous life. Etienne crossed his arms. Speak the truth.
“I can’t see or hear him, but he’s being obstinate, isn’t he? They all were obstinate. But this one is making sure even we know he’s not trus
ting us.” Bella rolled her eyes and muttered, “And I thought the other four were overly hostile and cautious.” Jaison elbowed her hard.
Mureln gave the two a sidelong look of exasperation before he took his son’s other hand. “A’tyrna Ulan Etienne, consider this. We are Outlanders. Given the isolation that Desantiva has endured, how would anyone even know that your parents were Avarian and Zhekali?”
Guardians of Time keep many secrets. Etienne waved a dismissive hand toward them. You bear the marks of the betrayers. If not for the trinity’s failures, my mother and father would never have suffered the indignities of being beholden to any of them.
Ash and Mureln traded bewildered looks. “Indignity? What do you mean? The Timeless One saved Avarian’s soul,” the bard began.
Idiot. Etienne’s pale eyes flashed angrily. It was the Roylat who betrayed the Totani and Trisari. The beloved minions of the ancient trinity. Do you really think the gods or their precious servants possessed any affection for my mother? It was only a matter of time before they betrayed her again and tried to destroy everything she loved. Guardians are mortal servants who echo the divine ones. They did nothing to aid us when Desantiva continued to collapse after the attack by the mages. Nothing!
He hit his chest with his thumb imperiously. I saved the land from being slain by leading my siblings to become the anchors to preserve life. I watched over my tribe after my parents were killed by betrayal, then our youngest brother disappeared and died alone somewhere. We had given up everything and you expect me to believe someone who serves the very line that made a mockery of all we exist for?
Ash raised his hand for silence before Mureln responded to the stinging retort. He regarded Etienne in silent contemplation before he spoke, his tone matter-of-fact yet comforting. “You also watched your mother reborn and die long before she should have. So many times, it seemed cruel. You witnessed the death of your tribe and the ancestral territory become poisoned. And you have suffered in isolation when the bayuli-volsha shattered.” Etienne’s eyes narrowed.
Ash offered his hand. “Regardless what you believe of me, we are na’Zhekali. Since the attack, you and your siblings had suffered solitude for far too long. You need not be alone any longer.” With infinite patience, he kept his hand out.
Many minutes passed. Just as Etienne began to reach out, echoes of unearthly battle cries from the maze-like channels that comprised the heart of the Blighted Lands interrupted them.
“What was that?” Bella asked as she brought her crossbow around, cocking it with one hand and locking in several bolts. “It didn’t sound human or bestial.”
They are lost souls, Etienne stated. Those cast out from their tribes who allied with predators from beyond the mortal realm. They have called this territory their own since the tribe was destroyed.
Jaison scowled as he removed his quarterstaff from across his back, spitting to the side, incensed. “They allow darklings to possess them?”
Possession? Etienne looked at him in puzzlement. There is no possession. They aid them. Serve them. Raid beyond the poisoned lands to sustain themselves and terrorize those they feel have wronged them for casting them out for their crimes. In return, they are altered. Changed so the poison becomes a part of them so it does not kill them. They have simmered in anger at the loss of their leader Sumalen, but have not yet raised a replacement.
“Regardless, this land does not belong to them,” Ash stated, staring down the trail they had climbed, a dark look in his eyes. “Enough has been taken from the na’Zhekali. I will allow no more.”
You cannot withstand them. They are too many, even for servants of the Timeless One. And they cannot be killed by normal means. He gestured away. Flee. Protect yourselves. I have endured their attacks before.
Ash looked sharply at Etienne. “They attack you?”
It is not a matter for you to concern yourself with, Outlander. I have been dealing with this since the tribe fell. He gestured at another trail. Go. I will keep them occupied. Save your own.
The mage frowned, then turned toward the lower path. “Bella, Mureln. Take Izkynder and get to safety. Jaison, you’re with me.” The boy held tightly, unwilling to release the man.
“Yes, Alanis,” the Desanti man stated at once. He freed his quarterstaff from across his back.
“I can hear there are dozens heading this way. Are you sure you don’t want one of us to stay?” Mureln asked.
The grimness of Ash’s expression lifted ever so slightly at his friend. “I am certain if Jaison and I can’t hold them off long enough for you to reach safety, you’ll need both of you to protect Izkynder. Now go! They may not even know you were here.” Mureln nodded and picked up his son who still refused to release Ash’s hand.
“No!” he begged as Ash firmly pulled out of the child’s grasp.
The mage ignored Etienne as the A’tyrna Ulan suddenly understood. Wait. This one bears na’Zhekali blood and…You are truly Alanis of the tribe? Then that means— But the moment contact with Izkynder was broken, he could no longer see or hear him.
Grit-filled wind buffeted the two when they took a step toward the lower path. Jaison held one arm up to protect his face, looking sideways at his Alanis. “Etienne does not want to let us go.”
“You think?” Ash returned in bland tones. In a sharp, commanding voice, the mage yelled, “Enough! This will only endanger us more.” He held his hand out, eyes shut. With the touch and pressure of a feather, he felt it taken and concentrated on the tribal bond. He sensed the tendrils of awareness snake out and weave together with Etienne’s. The other’s tangle of shock, gratitude, dismay, and fear for him washed over them. “I have no intention of leaving Aelia, Etienne. Have faith.”
“Lend her strength while we face this blight on the na’Zhekali lands,” Jaison added. Eventually, they sensed the other concede and the wind returned to normal.
As the two distanced themselves from the pillar, he murmured with deep worry, “She is fading fast, Ash.”
“I know.” His gaze remained fixed forward. “If I were just an ordinary man, I would sacrifice my soul to go to her. But we are Alanis.” He closed his eyes a moment. “Duty must come before everything else.”
“Of course.” A wan smile touched Jaison’s lips. “My father was Githalin Swordanzen, after all. He taught me the virtue of duty before all. And I have been a Guardian longer than you’ve been alive. At least in this lifetime.” His expression hardened as he took a ready grip on his weapon. “I will hold them off as long as I can, Ash. Whatever you’re planning—”
“I will complete it as quickly as possible.” He put his hand on the other’s shoulder. “No matter what happens, Jaison, thank you. I am honored to call you tlisan.” The Desanti man nodded once before he turned toward the warped humanoids running at them.
With a bellow, the warrior swept the quarterstaff in a head-height arc. Skulls crushed under the staff’s metal-capped end. He allowed his momentum to carry him in a full circle, smashing into knees of those who came behind the first falling. As the pile of bodies mounted, the numbers advancing slowed as they realized they faced a capable warrior.
As exhaustion began to drag on the man, he glanced up the path. “Hurry, Ash,” he half begged, half demanded. “I can’t keep this up much longer. They won’t stay down.”
In answer to his plea, the ground started trembling, then abruptly went soft under his feet. Jaison scrambled backwards in instinctive panic. He watched with wide eyes as the rock on the open-side curled like an ocean wave approaching the shore. The misshapen attackers’ shrieks turned terrified as the curl loomed over them and crashed down on the fallen and those nearest him, flattening over their bodies without mercy.
“Dear gods,” the man breathed as he got to his feet, watching the rolling wave of rock as it rippled down the path. Swearing, Jaison turned and ran up the path as he felt the mage’s distress. “Ash!”
He found the mage on his knees, slumped over and dazed. Even before he helped
him to sit up, he could see the effects of the temporal energies he had woven into his spell in his gray-streaked hair. Deep lines marred his formerly youthful appearance. He grimaced, focusing on the need to escape. “Come on. We need to get out of here.”
The aged man stumbled as he got to his feet with Jaison’s aid. He shook his head, trying to push away from the warrior. “Leave me. Get to Mureln.”
“Are you insane? Do you know what Storm would do to me if she knew I abandoned you?” He frowned at the reluctance in the Forentan’s steps. “Ash.”
“I’m losing her. Can’t you feel it?” Jaison pressed his lips together after a moment focusing on the tribal bond. The mage’s exhaustion made his despair near tangible. “She is so weak. I can do nothing to help her.”
“Storm needs you to have faith she will survive. The tribe needs you to—” He grunted when Ash became dead weight so abruptly both fell to the ground. Wind caused by something missing its attempt to strike them blew over the pair. The two rolled away from each other onto their backs, looking up to see a massive, misshapen form glaring down at them.
Only the vaguest physical details hinted at its former humanity, but little could be determined of its original gender. An oversized upper body and arms forced it to walk on its hands, fingers turned into gnarled claws. Patchy, matted hair sprouted from a scalp as twisted from scars of what had been putrefied open sores.
Blackened lips peeled back from sharp teeth speckled with rot, drool dripping from its maw as it spoke. “Where is she?” it demanded. Both men gagged in reflex as its hot breath blew in their faces. “Tell Mahg! First One wants totani’nasi.” As Jaison grabbed his staff, pushing himself up as he swung the weapon at the monster, it backhanded him with casual ease.