A Wild Light

by Marjorie Liu

  He crouched before Zee, dragging his long fingers against the stone. “You understand. Perhaps you are not the Vessel any longer, but you and your brothers are still Kings. Our Kings.”

  “Different life,” Zee rasped. “Different dream.”

  I crouched, too, dragging my own fingers against the stone, my silver, armored fingers, which glimmered in the red light as though soaked in metallic blood.

  “There are other lives at stake,” I told him. “Lives I’m responsible for.”

  Responsible for people who do not know, or care, that you exist. Billions of humans who cannot conceive of the power you wield, or what you sacrifice. But the Mahati care.

  I ignored the voice. Ha’an stared at me. “Humans are worthless except as slaves and food.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “Wrong or not, we are starving. Look at them. All but the very young are missing limbs, and flesh. We have been forced to desecrate the dead.”

  “Like you said,” I told him, “it’s not just flesh you want, but pain. You want the hunt, not the meal. And until that changes, I can’t help you.”

  Ha’an’s jaw tightened, and he looked down at Zee. “You agree with this?”

  I held my breath when Zee hesitated, but the little demon finally said, “Yes.”

  “We have reached an impasse, then,” he said, with disappointment and weariness. “I cannot kill you. And while you could kill me, kill us all, I suspect you would have done that by now if that were your true desire.”

  I had been raised on violence, witnessed violence—all my life—but I had no stomach for it. I glanced at Jack—his burning light—and felt another light inside me, shining beneath the coils of the darkness.

  But more than that, I felt me, my own self, running even deeper than the darkness and the light. I felt my own roots inside my soul, roots I had been born with, roots my mother had grown—and when I thought about killing all of the Mahati, when I thought about letting them kill, every fiber of my being said, NO.

  So lead them, breathed the darkness. That is the only way. No one else can be trusted. You could do such good.

  My vision wavered. I reached for Zee, needing his shoulder to stay upright. I felt as though I were being pulled into the void, but it was just my mind, my sight swept sideways with dizzy speed. Images shimmered in front of me, inside me, spreading over the coiled scales of the darkness like some movie screen.

  I smelled smoke. Fires flickered. I found myself in a different place, even though part of me was firmly aware that my body still crouched on stone, inside the prison veil.

  But in my mind, I peered through the leaning trunks of palm trees and wild undergrowth. I heard human women screaming. Human men laughing, swaggering into sight, armed with rifles and machetes—dragging those women over the ground, most of them already naked. I couldn’t move to help them. Not with all my will.

  This is now, said the voice.

  The scene faded, replaced by other, more terrible, visions. Glimpses of terror, suffering, every profound humiliation—and the voice said, This is now, somewhere now, and on it went, with me unable to look away, even for a moment, until it felt as though I were being ripped apart from the roots of my soul to my skin. I wanted to scream. I wanted to tear myself apart for all those men, women, and children who right now at this moment were being raped and murdered and forgotten. Everywhere, around me, below me, outside the veil.

  See what you are responsible for. You, Hunter. You could change this. You could fix this, with a word. You already decide who lives or dies. You, killer. You, who have murdered demon and human. This is no different. Lead the hunt.

  Do not give up an army that could change the world.

  Do not give up an army that needs you. The same atrocities will happen to the Mahati if you walk away. Now or later, they will be ravaged. Can you live with that?

  “No,” I whispered, breaking on the inside—breaking. A scream boiled in my chest—rising higher and higher—burning through me, killing me. What I wanted I couldn’t have. Not both. Not both, without sacrificing something terrible. All that power, gone wrong. Power always went wrong. That was the price of having it.

  A woman screamed inside my mind, but the voice was familiar. I was in moonlight again, watching my ancestor sob over her dead mother. Lost in those sobs.

  So lost. I felt the boys pull on me, grabbing my arms, but their touch only made the sensation worse, like I was going to rip out of my skin. I was going to. I could feel it. I wanted it. Just to stop. Everything. To stop.

  No, said a little voice inside my head. Not the darkness. Something even deeper.

  No, it said again.

  No, it whispered. No, baby. There’s always a way.

  Always.

  The scream building inside me broke into a sob, and an immense hand wrapped around the back of my neck—a spider’s touch, each finger long as my forearm. My eyes flew open, just as Ha’an kissed me hard on the mouth. I was too shocked to move—and it was that shock that brought me crashing down. I could think again. I remembered myself.

  Ha’an tasted like blood, and his mouth was huge. Darkness rose up through my throat and touched his lips. The Mahati Lord shuddered, and broke away.

  I wiped my mouth, trembling. “Why did you do that?”

  He gave me a haunted look. “To understand something. Now I do.”

  Zee stabbed his claws into the stone. “You see the other side, Ha’an. In her mind. Humans, us, together. Hearts, bleeding, together.”

  I leaned hard on my elbow, rubbing my face—still unsure about what had just happened. I stared past Ha’an at Jack’s wavering light, imagining for a moment that I could see an imprint of his face, there and gone, in an instant.

  “War is coming,” I said, still staring at my grandfather. “With the Aetar. It’s only a matter of time.”

  Ha’an followed my gaze. “But he is not your enemy.”

  “No,” I said.

  He made a small, thoughtful sound. “Fighting the Aetar was a simple thing compared to the war we left behind.”

  I wanted to know more, but now was not the time to ask. “I can’t afford a war. Too many innocent people will get hurt.”

  “And you are alone.”

  “No.” I touched my chest, suffering a strange twist in my heart, that I could say that out loud and mean it. “I’m not alone. Just outnumbered.”

  “As are the Mahati.” Ha’an leaned back, surveying the surrounding demons. “We are not your kind, but you are part of us. You feel it. Not just because of the thing inside you.”

  I feel it, I want it, I thought, as though I had slid on a glove worn some hundred years past, only to find the fit was still just right. Forgotten, but familiar.

  Give in, said the darkness. Choose. Let us hunt.

  I tasted blood in my mouth. No.

  Yours, said the darkness. Your army, your people, your responsibility.

  No, I said again, struggling with the need heating my veins. But another part of me, shivering, said: Yes. I want this.

  This. Not just power. But the Mahati themselves. Their lives.

  They need you. They could do such good if led.

  Lead them, Hunter. Bind them. Be the heart that guides them.

  I looked at Ha’an and found him studying me with those cold green eyes. Alien, but not. My threshold for the strange was becoming ever more tolerant. Dek purred against my ear. Raw and Aaz prowled, while Zee watched me: solemn, thoughtful.

  “Here, now, we must make a decision,” Ha’an said. “Especially as you plan to close the veil.”

  I flinched. Ha’an touched his mouth with those impossibly long fingers. “I saw many things inside your mind.”

  “Too much,” I said.

  “Enough,” he replied. “I see now that each of us is bound by different needs, but one is the same. To protect. To save.”

  “Always, that,” Zee muttered to himself, looking at Raw and Aaz.

  “Yes,” Ha’an
said gravely. “It was why you brought the clans together.”

  I closed my eyes, unable to imagine that life, that history. My boys, as they must have been.

  Magnificent, said the darkness, and I glimpsed five hulking shadows bearing down on a stone city, shadows large as the city, each step, each coiled slither, shaking the ground with lethal violence.

  Then, nothing. I sagged forward, covering my eyes. The armor throbbed against my hand.

  “I’m going to need an army,” I said, before I could stop myself. The words sparked a cold, heavy dread inside me. I had held that thought for a long time, I realized. Ever since my encounter with the Erl-King, and the knowledge that the Avatars—the Aetar—would be coming. I just hadn’t wanted to admit it.

  “And we will need to be led,” Ha’an said. “Perhaps not now, but soon. I do not trust the other High Lords. I am not certain I trust you. But them”—he pointed at Zee and the boys—“them I would follow, back into the inferno.”

  Zee touched my hand, his sharp black claws a stark contrast to my frail human skin. Raw and Aaz laid their claws on top of his, and Dek coiled even more tightly around my throat. All of us, family. Jack, with his light. Grant. Byron. I had been raised to believe that was something I could never have. But I had made the choice to do something different. Led by my heart, not my head.

  Be relentless in the things you do, my mother had once said. Make a choice, don’t look back.

  “Okay,” I whispered to myself. “Okay.”

  I looked up and stared into Ha’an’s eyes. “The parasites, Blood Mama’s children, have been slipping through cracks in the veil for thousands of years. Use them to get a message to me if there’s trouble here.”

  “It will be the Shurik,” he said, leaning forward. “The wall between us is thin.”

  I didn’t know who the Shurik were, or what they were capable of, and it didn’t matter. “If there’s trouble, I will find a way to return here. I’ll stand with you.”

  “You will bind their High Lord?”

  “Yes,” I said, with no clue what I was promising—just that I had to. “I promise.”

  Ha’an stilled. And then, with an odd gleam in his eyes, said something unexpected.

  “I heard your name, inside your head,” he told me. “Maxine.”

  I frowned, unsure where this was going or what it had to do with anything I had just promised. “Yes.”

  He regarded me with that terrible thoughtfulness. “The Reapers went by another name, before the war. They are the last five of their breed. The rest of them, murdered. An entire world, exterminated.” He glanced down at Zee, who shifted uncomfortably. “What was your race called, my King?”

  “Kiss,” Zee said, so softly I could barely hear him. “Born from, bled from.”

  “Maxine Kiss. Hunter Kiss.” The Mahati Lord smiled faintly, while I sat, stunned. “That will do, young Queen of the Kiss. I find your promise acceptable. We will wait to hunt until you lead us. In return, you will protect us.” His smile twisted into something wry. “We will try not to be a burden.”

  I swallowed hard, but my voice was still hoarse. “Thank you.”

  He inclined his head, then leaned in, close. “My people are still starving, and they will riot if they know the veil is closing against them. They will feel it. It has already taken all my power to keep them from breaking free and hunting, wild. So I must fight you. I must hunt you, I must try to kill you, or else my people will not respect me. I must try to break through the veil, or I will not live to see another hour. I must do this, with all my power, and throw the lives of my people on your sword, so that when it is time for you to be what we need, I will still be here as your ally and not some memory of a fool who risked his race on the mystery of a strange and powerful Queen.”

  “I think I like you,” I said.

  The corner of his mouth softened. “Then do not kill me when I hit you.”

  I blinked. And then found myself slammed backward, Raw and Aaz taking me to the ground as Ha’an leveled a blow at my face that most certainly would have left his fingers buried in my eyes. Zee snarled at him.

  “Fuck,” I said, scrambling to my feet. Ha’an threw back his head, a rattling roar tearing from his throat. All the Mahati leapt to their feet. I turned and ran like hell toward the stone pillar, and Jack. The darkness burned beneath my skin.

  You are strong against us, it said. Will you stay strong?

  You don’t own me, I told it, heart thundering. You never will.

  We are in your blood, Hunter. I could taste its smile. We own each other.

  Hair cracked through the air like bright whips. My right hand glowed white- hot, and seconds later my fingers gripped the hilt of a sword. I swung it hard, vision blurred, unable to look at the faces of the Mahati I struck. My skin was vulnerable, but Dek protected my neck and head, and Raw carved a path of guts and bone between Jack and me. Thick layers of gore covered the little demon’s body, his grinning mouth frothing red. He and Aaz held spikes in their clawed hands, and they tore through the Mahati, ripping flesh like butter.

  I reached the pillar. Zee was already there. I glanced over my shoulder, but there were too many Mahati to see more than bared teeth, silver skin, and the flash of those delicate chains. I saw Ha’an, behind his people, watching me. Regret in his eyes.

  I didn’t know how to free Jack, but I felt the stone vibrating with a hum that sank into my bones. Zee reached the top, and jammed his claws against the spike that rose up into Jack’s light. He snapped it.

  Jack exploded upward—a fireball, wings, a glimpse of sunlight—and then shot down with the same speed to shimmer over my shoulders like a cape of pure warm light.

  My dear, he said, inside my mind. My lovely girl.

  The Mahati closed in, snarling. I called out for the boys, thought of Grant—

  We winked out, slammed into the void, and in that moment of stillness I felt my heart beat and my blood roar, and sensed a great weight bear down upon my soul, as though I were the door holding back a heavy storm that railed against me, howling in my ear.

  And then the void spat us out into the forest.

  It was raining. Winds strong and cold. Jack spilled away from my shoulders. I collapsed on my knees. Hands slid around me. Grant.

  I shuddered, gripping his arm, noticing as though from a great distance that my hand was covered in blood. “Close the veil. Now.”

  “They are coming,” said the Messenger.

  I looked up. Bodies poured free of the veil, falling toward us. More than I had expected.

  “Zee,” I said, hoarse. “Can Ha’an be trusted?”

  “Yes,” he said, but with concern. I looked for Grant, and found him behind me, on the ground, eyes closed, mouth set in a determined line. Rain dripped from his hair, down his face. He was soaked.

  When I began to stand, he grabbed my wrist.

  “I need you with me,” he said.

  “I will fight,” said the Messenger, flexing her hands. Claws pushed through her fingertips, and her skin seemed to glow. “Attend to the veil.”

  I barely heard her. Grant had begun to sing.

  His voice rolled from his throat with the same power as a thousand monks chanting, ten thousand, countless thousands of voices rolled into his one. Overwhelming, inhuman, a primeval om that could have been the hum of a star burning, or blood in the veins—the sound of the spark that was the difference between the living and the dead.

  Mahati slammed into the ground around us. Zee and the boys pressed against our sides. I glimpsed the Messenger, her head thrown back, mouth opening in a scream I could not hear, but that made one Mahati warrior stagger into stillness, staring at her with horror. And then, with that same horror, he turned and began attacking his own kind. I looked for Jack, but did not see him. The scar beneath my ear tingled. More bodies poured from the veil.

  I closed my eyes. I couldn’t watch. I had to trust we would be safe. It was all I could do to stay upright as Grant’s voic
e sank into my bones, gaining strength. Golden light strained beneath my eyelids, threads of light, and I imagined that light burning brighter and brighter inside my chest, even as the darkness grew larger, spreading through my body until I thought I would burst at the seams and flood the world with shadow.

  The darkness fed the light, and the light fed the darkness. I could see it, feel it, working inside me with every heartbeat, every breath, music and blood flowing together in terrible harmony.

  I felt myself begin to change. It was not a subtle thing. My joints ached, and my muscles stretched, and the world seemed to grow infinitesimally small—my flesh fire. I burned with power. A killing, wild power that made death and life seem insignificant against the abyss yawning beneath my glowing, golden heart.

  My eyes flew open, and the world was red, my skin shimmering with moving shadows that twisted like snakes. I turned my head to Grant, slowly, with effort. Rain sizzled against him, steaming, and his eyes were black—black, all the way through—obsidian veins pulsing against his throat and through his temple.

  Awful, monstrous, beautiful. I couldn’t hear his voice anymore, but the air around him vibrated in waves of heat. The ground shook, sending some Mahati to their knees. Others lunged at us, driving sharp fingers toward our hearts. I expected Dek and Mal to stop them, but the little demons didn’t move—and the Mahati turned to ash before they touched us. Grant threw back his head, shuddering. His skin split, bleeding—and so did mine, all along my hands.

  Stop, I said, inside my mind.

  You wanted this, replied that voice. This, which is nothing to what I can give you.

  Voices filled my head, a screaming howl. I shut my eyes, focusing on my bond with Grant, wrapping my soul around it, and him. Trying to protect him from the darkness inside me.

  Don’t change, I told him, hoping he could hear me. Don’t lose yourself to this.

  Not like me.

  My right hand burned. Against the backdrop of darkness and light, I suddenly found myself within the memory of the seed ring—the tower, the books, the scent of roses. An oasis. Grant stood with me, shivering.