by S L Matthews
She bounced with each step, her small frame tethered to several packs and rolled-up tents. With one hand wrapped around Midnight’s reins, her fingers clutched tight to her hood, drawing it against her face. Like millions of pinpricks, the ash blew across the dunes, pelting her forehead, the only skin left exposed to the elements.
Marina turned to survey the rest of the caravan, her family of the past several months, and likely several more to come. Or would it be years? She wondered. While her gaze darted from rider to rider, a familiar pair of eyes met her own. Though the mouth and head were covered, Marina made out the smile in her mother’s eyes.
Marina returned the smile the way they had discussed before leaving the port city of Sal’Kirathi. She extended a single finger, applying a playful bending motion. The joyful squint of her mother’s eyes and bounce of her shoulders made it clear she remembered their plan. On cue, Celien raised a small digit, reflecting the motion to her daughter.
A chuckle erupted from Marina, though it was drowned out by the relentless pounding of ash and debris against their cloaks. She looked to the back of the caravan and the weaving line in the sand, quickly filling in behind them, colored in varying shades of black and gray. Marina glanced from horses to the dunes, then to the rocky horizon, shrouded in mist.
This world has lost its color.
She continued her search, looking to the sky, then back to the forest. No color remained in the Forest of Valshyr, merely black, white, and every shade in between.
Dread crept into Marina’s heart as she turned back to her mother, who was still smiling through the cover of her hood. I want to go home, she thought. The smile slowly faded from her mother’s eyes while nostalgic thoughts welled within Marina. She turned away, only to feel the warmth of a hand press against her arm.
Marina jumped.
Another rider had slowed, coming up alongside her. A beard poked through his scarf, leaving only soft, brown eyes nestled within a pair of thin, round frames. They were calm, reassuring: the eyes of her father. She knew he sensed her fear. Somehow, he always knew. Her father gave an encouraging nod, and Marina’s troubled thoughts disappeared; at least, that’s what she let him believe.
Marina moved to grab his arm, to give it a gentle squeeze of acknowledgment, when her hood caught a gust of wind. Her face stung with windblown ash as the hood flew off her head, no longer restrained by her grasp. Her ears rang out, yet the wind continued its relentless assault. She fought to gain control, but her hood had pulled tight behind her.
She let go of Midnight. Her arms flailed overhead, desperately grabbing for her robes. The layers of cloth unraveled and billowed under the merciless wind. Marina screamed while her weight lifted from her horse. Packs and rolled tents slid along Midnight’s back, their fates tethered to a billowing sail, and the small girl bound to both. Her father reached for her. He clutched Marina’s wrists and pulled, but it was too late.
The pair slid from their horses, tumbling toward the salt and pepper ground below. Marina braced as the dunes raced to meet her. She grimaced in anticipation and was met with—softness. Like a pillow, a forgiving blanket of dust and ash cushioned her fall.
Her father landed nearby, grasping for Marina’s arm. Frozen pellets showered Marina’s face. She inhaled the ash, choking and coughing. Salt? She thought.
Marina covered her face, the urge to laugh suppressed only by her hood, still pulling her along with the ceaseless wind. After several unsuccessful attempts to stand, she gave in, collapsing into the pillow of ash. Despite the piercing wind and her father’s apparent frustration, Marina’s laughter finally broke through.
She shrugged her shoulders in playful innocence and extended a hand for him to take. With the other, she braced against the mound of dust and debris, feeling something—irregular.
As her father reached, Marina recoiled, her attention drawn by the uneven ground beneath her. She swept away loose particles of ash, allowing the wind to carry the rest. Her insatiable curiosity revealed scraggly, matted patches of striped fur.
“What the,” she said, her whispers lost in the howling wind.
Marina brushed faster, ignoring the pins of pain across the side of her face. She burrowed with both hands while a giant, marbled coat came into view. Tracing the edges, Marina leaned to each side as the creature’s enormous size was fully exposed. Her fingers traversed its head, uncovering fangs longer than she was tall and sharper than any blade she had ever seen.
Her heart pounded. It’s not possible.
Marina gasped, and her body slumped while she absorbed the sight of the majestic creature. A pair of boots appeared beside her, yet her focus remained fixed. Her father’s hand fell to her shoulder, and Marina sensed the excitement in his grasp.
A plume of dust kicked into the air as her father’s knees joined her own. Marina turned to him, his childlike amazement locked onto the creature before them. In time, he returned her gaze; disbelief stretched across his bearded face. His appearance of shock turned into pure joy.
“Is it?” he screamed, his voice barely audible through the wind. Marina smiled, knowing the joy he must be feeling. It wasn’t every day one of the foremost archaeologists in Cyrea laid their eyes on a creature that hadn’t been seen in centuries. Eramus Caro spent his life dedicated to researching the Kurodai, and passed his passion for learning onto his inquisitive younger daughter.
“A Sabre,” Marina yelled back, accompanied by a knowing smile.
Eramus continued to stare, though his boyish smile slowly faded, replaced with uncertainty. His gaze fell away from the great cat, back to Marina.
“But…how?”
How, indeed? Marina wondered.
The beast laid perfectly preserved in a sea of ashen waste. Its eye was slick, fixed upon the mist-covered sky, yet its body was cold to the touch, rigid. His question plagued her thoughts…how? Marina, like her father, was a girl of science. Every question had an answer; every chaos had an order. She knelt beside him in silence, studying the creature, but yielded nothing more than a simple shrug of her shoulders.
A low growl shot from behind the dunes, like a lion on the prowl. The entire caravan whipped their heads. Horses bucked their riders, crates tumbled to the ash, and panic rifled through the expedition. Screams shot from the riders and guards raced to the front of the pack, weapons drawn.
Marina’s eyes scanned the horizon. The relentless wind slowed to a halt as shadows danced through the mist, floating between barbed remnants of an ancient forest. The growl grew louder, and dread flooded her thoughts. She gasped, her eyes falling back to the giant cat at her feet.
While men scrambled for position, Marina extended a finger and outlined the tip of the sabre’s fang. Her fingertip drew along the bridge of its nose and across its cheek. She traced under its eye and toward its torn, pointed ear. She stared into the darkness of its eye, searching for answers. As she stared into the abyss…
It blinked.
Marina shot to her feet, backpedaling into her father. Her heart pounded as she crawled over him and flopped into the ash. She crawled away as fast as her hands and feet could travel, stumbling every inch of the way.
She gasped for air and reached for a horse, any horse. She screamed. Tears rolled from her panic-stricken eyes while her hands clawed at the reins.
“Oh, God! No!”
A pair of arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her from the horse. She kicked, desperate to wriggle free of their grasp.
“Run!” she screamed, unwilling to release the reins.
“Marina!” called a stern, patient voice. “Marina, stop!”
She heard the call, and her frenzy subsided. Marina stopped kicking and stopped fighting. She placed her feet on the soft, ash-covered ground and took a steady breath.
She slowly turned, her eyes even with those of a young Cyrean soldier, bent low to meet her gaze. The soldier tucked her curly, blonde hair behind her ears and smiled through a crimson sash, stretched across her mouth. A red
cape flapped beneath her cloak as the sun reflected the chain in her armor.
“Remember me?” the soldier questioned, her voice playful, yet serene. “You know, it’s my job to protect you. And to pull you off horses when you lose your mind.”
Marina remembered the soft eyes, for they had been with her since leaving her home in Port Corcyra so long ago. Her heartbeat slowed, and her breath calmed as she stared into Cass’s eyes.
“There now,” Cass added. “That’s my little professor.” With a final smirk from the soldier, Marina felt better, or at least—safer.
With hesitation, she leaned, her eyes glancing over Cass’s shoulder. The sabre lay motionless in the ash. Blackened particles filled in its outline, slowly cloaking the carcass in a blanket of decay.
Marina’s mother and father raced to her, dropping to their knees, worry and fear etched into the fine lines of their faces.
“Marina?” they both whispered, placing a warm hand against her cheek.
A wave of embarrassment washed through her. In an instant, Marina became aware of the eyes upon her, their attention no longer wrestling with the distant roar.
“I’m…I’m so sorry,” she said, a potent cocktail of anger and embarrassment. “It…the sabre…it…”
“It what?” echoed a cold voice from the head of the caravan. A lean form descended from her horse, striding through the expedition. Her gaze was firm, locked onto the sabre’s corpse.
“Three days from Sal'Kirathi, and now she speaks?” Cass whispered, winking toward Marina. They continued to stare while the mysterious warrior stepped closer, oblivious to their subtle whispers.
When her athletic frame neared Marina, she finally turned, meeting her gaze with silver eyes, the color of moonlight. The sentinel was chiseled from head to toe. She wore a stern, unyielding expression, hidden behind years of fighting. Brilliant red and yellow feathers hung from her hair, woven through tiny braids. Intricate tattoos stretched across her forehead, down the length of her cheek, including three small dots that bisected her eyes. Each dot was smaller than the last and rested above a crescent moon, nestled on the bridge of her nose. Marina had seen the symbol before, a sketch in her father’s notes.
“What did it do, young one?” the sentinel asked, her foreign accent impatient, yet curious.
Marina paused, unsure of how to voice what she had seen. What did I see? Her mouth quivered, afraid of how it would sound.
“Well. It-its eye. It…blinked,” she said, pointing to the creature’s outline.
A low murmur rumbled throughout the caravan, and many of its members slowly stepped away from the sabre’s corpse.
“But,” Marina interjected, seeing the eyes descend upon the beast. She sensed their judgment and embarrassment flooded her thoughts once again.
“It was probably nothing,” she said, shrugging her shoulders in indifference. “I mean. No one’s going to believe an extinct sabre just blinked, right?” Marina asked with nervous tension, hoping others would join in her self-detriment, or at the very least—stop staring at her.
The sentinel’s expression remained unmoved, however. She turned toward the great cat’s body and took a few, graceful steps. Intricately woven armor of bone moved with her, revealing her toned skin beneath.
Marina gasped as the stranger glided effortlessly toward the sabre. While other members of the expedition were nearly knee-deep in ash, the sentinel walked atop the soft ground, barely ankle-deep in the discarded waste of the forest.
She elbowed Cass, her head bending toward the subtle footsteps that faded from view with each step. Marina studied the stranger’s movements, noting how every action was fluid, part of a beautiful dance. The sentinel knelt before the sabre. Her hands came to her knees, and her head bowed. Her body grew rigid, a statuesque form before the great beast.
She placed the palms of her hands against the sabre’s nose and cheek as a low chant rose from the ash. Marina backed into Cass, cold, chain armor pressing against her back. The sentinel’s lips moved, yet the words echoed within the surrounding dunes.
Gasps rang out, and expedition members backpedaled. As tensions reached a fevered pitch, the chant subsided. The sentinel slowly rose to her feet, bowing before the magnificent creature one last time.
“I do,” the sentinel said, meeting Marina’s astonished gaze.
With little change in her expression, the warrior turned to the front of the caravan. She glided through the expedition, scholars and soldiers parting as she made her way to the head of the pack.
“Keep moving,” she yelled, her words blending with the howl of the wind. “We must make it through the valley before nightfall.”
With reservation, the caravan members resumed their place atop their horses and pressed forward. Cass knelt before Marina and withdrew a dagger from her belt. She turned it sideways, offering it to Marina.
“This was a gift from my father.” Cass chuckled, shrugging her shoulders. “Well, maybe it wasn’t a gift, but it was definitely my father’s,” she corrected. “Its name is Fang. Do you know why, little professor?”
Marina studied the long blade, pale white and curved. One edge was serrated, the other sharp as glass. Its hilt, wrapped in leather bands, bore a small, polished pearl, nestled within a handle of bone. Marina turned back to the great sabre, its exposed fang matching the curve of the dagger, though, considerably larger.
She gasped. “Is it…really?”
Cass nodded, a smile stretching across her face. “Yep, his most prized possession.” The soldier ruffled Marina’s hair before pulling her hood back over her head. She pulled it tight and motioned for Marina to grab both ends. “It’s protected me all these years. Now it will protect you.”
Guilt flooded Marina’s thoughts, even as her excitement burst at the seams. “But won’t he miss it? Your father?”
Cass laughed, lifting Marina back onto her horse. “Oh, he’ll miss it. He’s missed it ever since I borrowed it.” She motioned back to the sabre’s remains, now nearly covered in ash. “But you deserve it for being so brave.”
Marina found herself amidst a traveling expedition, destined for the heart of the forest. She turned to her mother. Joyful eyes and a playful finger bend greeted her once again. Marina smiled, and her fears subsided—mostly.
She looked beyond her parents, at the expeditionary group. Each member had been carefully chosen by her father: merchants, archaeologists, herbalists, naturalists…the list went on and on. They came from all parts of Cyrea, to learn the secrets of the mist, to decipher its code, and to stop its rampage across Kel Doran.
Three dozen riders, all bent to the will of a single purpose, chiseled a line through the ash-covered horizon.
All but one.
Marina turned to the front of the pack, through the mist and clouded ash. A single outline stood among all others: the sentinel. Into the swirling wind, one treacherous step at a time, the expedition pressed forward.
| Chapter II
Darkest Hearts
Ava cowered against the windowsill, debris cascading from the wall and ceiling. Shingles raced overhead, sliding from the roof, crashing into the chaotic market below. The chamber continued to split, revealing wooden beams and shattered rafters of the old inn. The tremors persisted, as did the deafening screams of Wyvern’s Rest. Ava cupped her hands over her ears to quiet the voices, yet soon realized, the screams were not those of the market, nor were they from the tavern below. Covering her ears would do no good, for the screams were born somewhere deep inside.
As the tremors increased, so too did the screams, both in pitch and intensity. Tears poured from Ava’s brilliant blue eyes, carving a line through caked layers of dust and dried blood on her cheeks. She carefully loosened her fingers and extended her hand. Worn, onyx gems tumbled from her grip. A pulsing, obsidian amulet dangled before her. She studied each stone and rusted facet. It was hideous. A pair of dragons chased one another into eternity, flanking a large, center stone. Within this center ston
e, voices pulsed, echoing the words in Ava’s mind.
The floor shifted, and the walls rattled. Ava gasped, bracing herself against the floorboards, only to pull back wet, tacky fingertips. She raised her hand in shock, horrified. Red, sticky ooze dripped from her palm.
Blood and wine.
How much of each, Ava couldn’t be sure, but she knew whose wine, and she knew whose blood. Anger swelled within, even as the tremors intensified. Her teeth clenched, and she drew a tight fist. Ava’s gaze shot to a frozen lump near the foot of the bed.
Viktor.
His still, lifeless form desecrated the floor. The smell of urine failed to conceal the other scent in the room, a musky, honeyed scent, known only to Ava’s darkest memories and the man who would haunt them. Even in death, his sickly sweet odor violated her, and the hair on her neck bristled. Her heart raced just as her mind went numb. It was her only defense, her only salvation against the unholiest of men.
Rusted, loose coins lay near his body. Several more protruded from his blue, puckered lips. The value of Ava’s life was, in the end, the seal of his fate. Fitting, she thought. She found herself staring, however. The sight brought relief, yet was somehow—unsatisfying.
His death was too quick, his suffering too short. She wished she could undo the act, only to inflict it upon him over and over. She wanted to get it right, to watch him die, day after day, for eight long years. Only then would he understand. Only then would he be truly dead. Only then would he embrace the emptiness of life: her emptiness.
What does that make me? She wondered. Only a monster thinks such…