Ninthborn (The Ninthborn Chronicle Book 1)

by J. E. Holmes

  “Your father planned this war,” the general said. “The new King is carrying out that plan.”

  A war. It wasn’t just a hunt for her, for the bloodsword. Tithelk was invading Saiyoe. If it was being carried out like this—slaughters in small villages in the mountain jungles—then they might get very far before Saiyoe was even alerted to the invasion. She could run for a city, get word to the right people, so that maybe Saiyoe could defend itself.

  Of course, then Saiyoe would want the bloodsword. Damn it. Right now, she needed to kill the man who’d taught her how to hold a weapon when she was six.

  She wouldn’t win by harrying him and trying to get to the blood he protected. He was too big, his reach too wide. He would find his opportunity, even though he hadn’t made a single attack, and she would die in an instant. She needed an advantage. He was mighty, but she was clever.

  Her satchel lay just a lunge away. Even at this distance, she could feel the pull of the emblems she’d gathered during her days traveling through the jungle. Not enough of a pull to burn them, but enough to remind her they were there.

  Straad saw her looking. She dashed. He extended his full reach and swung out. His axe blade slashed a line across her back. The burning pain drove her to the ground after a few steps. Too slow. Blood wet her back. She heard his feet. She pictured the axe being raised.

  This was his opening. One heartbeat, maybe two, and she would be cleft in half. The pain nearly paralyzed her, burning through her back and down her legs. One hand held the bloodsword at her side. The other she’d gotten below her to brace her fall.

  And it rested on her satchel.

  She burned the windsurge moss, bringing a swirling gust of wind around her. Straad’s axe blade swung downward in a mighty cleave—and sunk into the ground just to her right, just below the arm wielding the sword. Ignoring the pain, she rolled onto her back, bringing the weightless sword with her.

  Straad loomed over her. His eyes met hers. He wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t angry.

  No, he was proud. Of her. Of this.

  Driven by fury, she thrust the sword up through his chest. It split the lamellar armor like water. Blood poured down her arm, onto her chest and neck. She squirmed and fought away, pulling her satchel with her. He collapsed on top of her, and she could barely move. Vomit came up into her mouth, but she swallowed it bitterly back down.

  Footsteps came from behind her.

  Only, instead of being stabbed through the chest, she was lifted by her arms. When she looked up, she saw a placid face, eyes vacant. She heard mumbling, and it wasn’t Tithelken. Kuo had finally caught up. He pulled her away from Straad and to her feet.

  “Ediline—”

  “No time.” She coughed and spat. Not all the vomit had gone back down. It stung her mouth and all she tasted was bile. At least it wasn’t blood.

  With Straad dead, something awoke in the soldiers. They roared, and they began to charge. She could use the blood to kill them. It would be easy. It horrified her how easy it would have been, how readily the power waited at her fingertips. But seeing Straad’s body, feeling his blood between her fingers and making her shirt cling to her chest, seeing the massacred villagers of Tailiet—she just couldn’t.

  Instead she felt for the tug of the clove of obscurant from the satchel she gripped in one hand. She burned the whole thing, directing its power toward the roaring soldiers. The clove burned fast, and the tug she felt between her and it was gone. She shoved the satchel into Kuo’s hands.

  “They can’t see us. Go.”

  “But—”

  “I don’t know how long it will last.”

  “Ediline, the village—”

  “GO!”

  She pushed him stumbling into the jungle. Her front was still covered in Straad’s blood. Her back, wet with her own, burned worse with every movement that pulled on her wound. After a dozen lengths of running, Kuo had to pull her along. After a dozen more, she was on the verge of collapsing. After a dozen more, after a dozen more, after a dozen more, she could not believe what she had done.

  — Chapter 19 —

  “Greatness is bitter. Only the wicked swallow it eagerly.”

  —Unknown

  The stream was cold. Ediline soaked in its waters, on her hands and knees. Her face was just inches above its surface. She dunked under again. Somehow the dull rush of the water around her head sounded like the roar of the soldiers just before she killed them. She saw the wounds open, untouched by her blade, and her throat burned.

  From Tailiet, she and Kuo had run until she couldn’t run anymore. He had used half his small bag of medical supplies soaking up her blood and stitching closed the nine-inch gash in her back. He’d told her not to move, but she had anyway. She’d clawed and crawled and dragged her bloody, weak body. Wash off the blood. There’d been so much of it, and all it did was remind her. The sword could have been able to heal her wounds, or send her across the continent in a flash, or take her backward in time, and she wouldn’t have used this blood for it.

  She had vomited until her stomach just spat up acid and her mouth and throat stung, until her tongue could taste nothing else, until her teeth ached. Kuo had knelt beside her and said nothing.

  They had gotten away. The soldiers fell to a disorganized, frantic search without their commanding officer. Ediline had heard shouts behind her through the jungle, but she didn’t know what they’d said.

  She dunked her head into the stream, and felt the cool water rush over the heat of her face. When she pulled her head up, she whipped her hair back and ran her hands over it. Little rivulets of water coursed down her neck, down her shoulders. Her back was in agony.

  “Do not get your bandages wet,” Kuo scolded. He hadn’t said much since the massacre. It was probably a relief to treat her, to lecture her. A diversion.

  Ediline wished she had one of those. Instead, she could only let go of the damn sword for a few minutes at a time. Every time she touched it, she could feel the brutality of what she had unleashed. In its weightlessness she felt its unending power. She saw Straad over her, proud of the vicious warrior he had nurtured. She felt his blood pour onto her. Her hand would grip the sword tighter, and the memories only surged back stronger.

  “Don’t get them wet,” Kuo repeated. “I have one more, and you will use this one up.”

  Ediline turned her body to divert the water from going all the way down her back. Her shirt soaked up some of it. If she could take it off after she left the stream, to allow it to dry while not on her back, she would have, but she couldn’t do it alone, not with this wound. And she was not about to ask Kuo to help undress her. If she really needed it, he would do it for her anyway. That embarrassment, that line too uncomfortable to cross, must have meant she was still human. Good. She’d been worried.

  “O Lords, how many more people that I knew are going to try to kill me?” she whispered to the water. “How many more?”

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” she said.

  “Ediline—did you . . . ? This was because of you.”

  She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. No one in Tailiet would have died if she hadn’t taken the bloodsword. But was that really true? Her father had been planning this war, this massacre of Saiyoe. The current King was merely following plans. Poor peaceful Tailiet would have been a casualty of Tithelk’s violent greed no matter what she had done. She understood that, but only in a deep part of her, overshadowed by sorrow and guilt. At least this way, she’d killed Staad, and the King of Tithelk didn’t have this horrible weapon.

  But Kuo might not understand that. “I know,” she said.

  “What is this black . . . word for thing that hurts people.”

  “Weapon,” she said weakly.

  “What is it?”

  She sighed. She’d left it at the edge of the stream. She knew it was there, but when he asked about it, she turned around to check. The black sliver remained. “A curse,” she said.

&nbs
p; “I have no choice but to be with you,” he said abruptly. He didn’t want to hear about her curse, but he also didn’t want to pile blame onto her. He was sensible. Some aspect of the tragedy wasn’t her fault, couldn’t have been avoided. He knew that. There was some relief in knowing he felt that.

  “Why?”

  “You are wounded,” he said, “and I cannot survive.”

  “You don’t know how to survive in the jungle?”

  “Not well. Not to avoid soldiers.”

  “Fine,” she said.

  “Do you know how to dress a wound on your own back?”

  “I do not.”

  “You need me, too,” he said. He was remarkably calm about all of this. Either he was deep in shock or he was of Resolve. Possibly both. Resolve made for a fine doctor.

  “Yes,” she said. She rubbed her cheeks with her cold hands. Her eyes were sore, her neck was sore, her head throbbed, and her back was ablaze with agony. Kuo probably had something for her pain, but she didn’t want it. With the pain, she could be here, remember where she was, that she was still human. If she were numbed to it, her mind would slip back to the massacre.

  “Where do we go?” he said.

  “Where are we?”

  “Western Saiyoe, in the valley between the mountains Ai and Io.”

  “I’m not good at geography. How close to anything is that?”

  He sighed a groan of frustration. She heard him stomp closer to her then stop. He wouldn’t step into the stream, and she was fully in it. The blood had long ago washed away, but she could still feel it sticking to her, sticking in her clothes, little bits between the fibers. Until she could burn the clothes, Straad’s death would always be with her, right on her skin.

  “If we go southwest, we come to Morelek in four days, six or seven if you listen to me.”

  The Church would kill her for the sword. She couldn’t go there.

  “Saiyoe is east,” he continued, “but dense jungles for several days. Dangerous, too. Cities are near the coast.”

  Where would she go? She could run and hide forever, and there would always be people coming after her, wanting to kill her and take this accursed sword. If she could somehow rid herself of it, leave it behind, it would be found.

  She couldn’t abandon it, and she could only run for so long. That left her two options: wield it, or destroy it. She couldn’t wield it again. In order to destroy it, she needed to know more about it.

  “What about west?” she said.

  “West is the ruins.”

  Her heart thumped in her ears. “Yes.”

  “Ediline.”

  “Yes. West. How far?”

  A hand took gentle hold of her shirt and tugged. She let herself go heavy for a moment, but then she allowed herself to be helped up. Water ran off her body as she stood, but she made sure none went down her back. She didn’t want more scolding.

  “I saw dead soldiers,” he said. “Was that you?”

  She wouldn’t look at him. Even as she turned toward him, her gaze was drawn to the bloodsword. The memories surged when she saw the sword. Her arms felt sticky, and she rubbed at them.

  “Ediline.”

  “Yes,” she said. She shouldered past him, wincing at the tugging on her stitches. With her foot, she hooked the hilt of the bloodsword and kicked it into the air. She caught it and bit down and swallowed. Finally, her stomach stayed calm. The memories were weaker. Some piece of her mind was eased by holding the sword again.

  To be rid of it, she would need to break the pact. She felt cold all over. How powerful was this mystical agreement? Would it actually kill her, if she destroyed it? It was a paralyzing thought. Could she still do it?

  “This did it,” she said.

  “That,” Kuo said, all the breath leaving him.

  “It’s a terrible, awful, rotten thing, and I want it destroyed.”

  His hand hooked her elbow and spun her. He took her by the shoulders and made her look him in the eye. He was shorter than her, but not by much. His face showed short stubble; his eyes were sunken, dark, and weary; his mouth was a warped shape, like twisted driftwood.

  “You would destroy something like this?”

  “If I can,” she said.

  “Those people—they want this.”

  “Yes.”

  “You ran from them, with this,” he said.

  “I also ran because they hate me. They have hated me my whole life, just because—let’s just say it’s a stupid reason,” she said. She had no idea how religious Kuo was. She hadn’t seen him worship, hadn’t seen a temple of any kind in Tailiet. He did seem hesitant of the ruins, though. “I ran because other people were going to use this to kill.”

  “They kill anyway.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Will more die?”

  She swallowed a painful lump. It would be a poor, awful decision to lie to him now. Would more people die, if she did nothing? If she ran? If she fought? If she tried to destroy it? “Yes.”

  “You must use this,” he said.

  She recoiled and hissed curses at the pain. “No,” she said. “I won’t. I can’t and I refuse.”

  “Make them stop. This weapon—I know what it is now. Ashwin. You took this from him.”

  “I took it from his son. Ashwin is dead.”

  Kuo did not miss a beat. “Someone must make them stop.”

  “Why in the desolation is it everyone’s damn impulse to go about murdering each other? Why is it that we need someone with terrible power just to keep everyone else from killing? Can’t you see how ridiculous that is?”

  She did her best to keep her voice down, and she began to walk along the stream. Kuo followed her. The stream ran west. If she led them west, she would lead them to the ruins of Attenia. The ruins were massive, as large as all of Tithelk, a hundred thousand buildings or more. She knew how desperate this search would be. But it was all she had.

  “I see,” Kuo said after a while. “I know it is ridiculous. But not everyone sees the same.”

  “They’re terrible. We don’t need a . . . .” She paused and swallowed. “We don’t need a tyrant keeping everyone in petrified submission—we need considerate, educated, peaceful people willing to agree with each other, willing to make sacrifices.”

  He took a long time to respond. She was worried he hadn’t understood all her words. She was worried that, despite not understanding all her words, he would somehow manage to talk her into using the sword. After what had happened, she didn’t even want to touch it, but the cloak that had been wrapped around it had been left in Tailiet.

  “You are idealistic,” he said.

  “I suppose I am,” she snapped.

  Another long moment passed. The jungle was quiet, as if in mourning. The light of day was fading fast, soon bringing Ediline and Kuo to their first night together as renegades.

  “It is not bad,” he said finally.

  Sleeping was awful. It was especially terrible because once she had enjoyed it so much. At her house in Sladt, on her plush bed, she had spent many hours resting, perhaps attempting to accumulate it for later, when she wouldn’t be able to get as much. Like now. It did not help.

  If it wasn’t the pain in her back, which flared at any small movement, it was fear. Fear of the dark coming, of the shadow-creature. Of Tithelken soldiers shoving a spear through her stomach in her sleep. And if it wasn’t fear and it wasn’t her back, it was the memories of running Straad through with the bloodsword. Memories of soldiers being torn apart by twisting ribbons of shadow, ready to appear the moment she closed her eyes.

  Kuo was taking watch while she slept. He commanded her to sleep close to him, so that they could conserve body heat. So their bodies touched as much as they could, and she just felt embarrassed. But she couldn’t sleep. She wriggled and turned, but that hurt too much, so she just groaned.

  Finally, it caught up to her. Lying on her side, unable to sleep, unable to do anything to stop the onward march of slaughter g
oing into Saiyoe, Ediline wept. It was a quiet, sorrowful weeping. Her shoulders did not shake. She did not wail or moan. Tears streamed down the sides of her face, and she sniffed and tried to stifle the sobs.

  “Ediline,” Kuo said. “You’re crying.”

  “You’re a genius,” she snapped.

  He paused a long while, and she couldn’t stop the tears.

  “Tell me why,” he said.

  “I miss Marv,” she said. “I miss my stupid house, I miss my brother. I miss Javras. I’m afraid. I don’t want this, but now that I have it, I can’t be rid of it. I want to be rid of everything.”

  Kuo was quiet for a long moment as she cried. “I miss my mother,” he said softly.

  She sniffed. “Did you have family in Tailiet?”

  “All of Tailiet was my family,” he growled. It wasn’t anger toward her. If he’d been a fighter and not a doctor, maybe he would have confronted those soldiers and died fighting them. “Not family, but family.”

  “How did you come to be there?”

  “I was born in a village south of here,” he said. “It was destroyed by Morelek Imperials when I was small. My mother and father took me to Tailiet, where we hid. When I was older, we went to Taibenai. They still live there. I became a doctor and came back to Tailiet to heal their sick. I was going to return soon.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  He grunted.

  “I don’t want your parents to be killed,” she said. “I don’t want anyone to be killed. My . . . I told you I’m a princess. It breaks my heart that my brother is ordering this slaughter.”

  “You can make him stop?”

  “I . . . .” Ancil was of Focus and Presence, an intense debater and ingenuous political mind. He’d become his father’s advisor at the age of eleven. All her life, Ediline had tried to win an argument against him, to convince him of something, but she’d never been able to succeed. Sometimes she could win minor victories, but this? If he was really behind this invasion, she doubted there was much she could do to persuade him out of it. “I don’t know,” she said.