But Sora was back.
Sora was alive.
XXXVII
The Redeemer
The inside of Rand’s mouth bled. As he listened to this Sir Lucas Danvels try and explain everything that had happened, he couldn’t help but chew at his gums and lips. All the lies and deception. He’d trusted Torsten more than anyone, and he’d lied straight to his face. Said his sister was dead. He’d lied, like Valin Tehr lied. Now, he had this young whelp of a Shieldsman lying, too.
It seemed that in the exile his life had become, only the witch, Oleander, had been truthful. At least she’d been honest about what she was.
“Sir Langley, are you listening to me?” Lucas asked.
Rand bit deeper, the taste of iron fresh on his tongue. “I’m tired of listening.”
“I was there. I saw her, or what Torsten said was her. I’m still not sure if he heard clearly. There was so much chaos when the upyr attacked. But her hair was white as snow. Her eyes were black. She looked Breklian, if anything.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Rand said. “Torsten lied.”
“Not to him. If that really was her. If she’s an upyr now… then you must know, that to the Vigilant Eye, she is dead.”
“She’s not dead if she’s walking!” Rand snapped.
“Not alive either. I didn’t know your sister, but the woman I watched that day was a ruthless, savage killer. She took blood to her lips. I thought the stories told by soldiers around campfires were just that... stories. They’re not.”
“I don’t care what either of you thinks she is. If she’s alive, then I must find her. I’ll get through to her.”
Lucas slid closer to the bars. “Sir Langley, I studied all the texts on the upyr and Dom Nohzi in the Glass Castle, and even beyond. They place those tomes beside entries from ancient priests on demonic possessions, next to writings on the Culling and necromancy. Every single one of them says that once a person is kept from the afterlife and transformed into an upyr, they lose who they once were. Bloodlust overwhelms them.”
“How?”
“How what?”
“How are they transformed?” Rand demanded.
“Nobody knows.”
“Then how do you know that’s what she was?” With every ragged breath, Rand’s lungs stung. He wondered if that pain from his crucifixion would ever leave him. Hoped it wouldn't. It felt like a fine reminder of all those who'd met similar fates. First Tessa at his own hand, now Sigrid by lack of it. “Maybe she escaped Valin and disguised herself as a Breklian.”
Lucas shook his head. “Valin called a blood pact. It took a great deal of studying to find out exactly what that was, but it appears that, long ago, the Dom Nohzi organization found use for the upyr lust. A blood pact targets their hunger when accepted.”
“Get to the point.”
“The point is,” Lucas said with a bit more authority than he'd shown thus far, “Valin’s follower asked them to kill Queen Oleander. The Dom Nohzi accepted, and your sister, along with another upyr Torsten recalled encountering in Winde Port, arrived to carry out the sentence.”
“You think my sister is with them because she went after Oleander? Did you ever think to ask yourself if, maybe, she went after that shog of a queen because of all the awful things she did?”
“Like I told you, I saw her. Is it possible that she was merely accompanying the male upyr on behalf of the Dom Nohzi after having her skin and hair died white?Maybe. But that seems far-fetched.”
“And her being a murderous, bloodsucking monster from myth and legend doesn’t!" Rand shouted.
Lucas sat quietly for a moment. “Rand, the way she moved, and talked, it was… unnatural. Faster than anyone I’d ever seen, and powerful enough to bend metal with a fist. Furthermore, they attacked at night. It lines up with all of the respected texts.”
“I don’t care what the books say.” Now Rand was kneeling at the bars, hands gripping them tight. “I need to see her.”
Lucas backed away. He stood, straightened his breastplate. “I can’t let you out. I’m sorry you had to find out this way, but I have orders.”
Rand scoffed. “Orders. I’ve had those too. By Iam, do I wish I broke them.”
“I promise you, Sir Unger only has your best interests at heart. Don’t ask me why he cares so much about a deserter, but he does.”
“Torsten only cares about the kingdom,” Rand spat. “Haven’t you realized that? I thought there was more to him, but that’s Iam’s ugly truth. The only reason he wants me locked up in here isn’t because of Sigrid. It’s because he doesn’t want anybody to see the truth of what I am. Because the truth doesn’t fit the pretty little story of ‘Rand the Redeemer.’”
“I don’t believe that. He took a risk to help me protect my family.”
“Well, aren’t you special?” Rand pulled himself to his feet using the bars. “I saved him twice. Saved everyone from the savages. And this is how he repays me!” He rattled the bars, shouting. His raspy voice echoed across the cold, empty dungeon. “Let. Me. Out!”
“I’m sorry, Sir Langley,” Lucas said. “I can’t.”
He actually looked like he meant it. Pathetic.
“She’s all that I have,” Rand said. “She’s my world, and I left her with rotten men. Please. I have to tell her I’m sorry. I don’t care what she is to you, she’s my sister. And she needs me.”
“I watched her slice through Shieldsmen like hot wax,” Lucas said. “She doesn’t need anybody anymore.”
“You can’t know that!” Rand slapped the rough stone and sliced his palm. He sucked in a breath and swore before a sob escaped. Raising his hand to his mouth, smearing blood in his beard, he let the sound die there. Lucas was busy saying something, but it was all white noise to him.
Pulling his hand down, Rand stared at the red covering it. “How exactly does a blood pact work?” he said.
Lucas stopped whatever he was talking about and asked, “What?”
“A blood pact. How does it work?”
“Rand, if you keep dwelling on all of this, you’ll drive yourself mad. Isn’t it enough to know that somehow, by some miracle, you have a second chance at life? To do some good for this world. Isn’t that what being a Shieldsman is all about?”
Rand couldn’t help but picture the sallow corpses Oleander had him hang from the castle walls. How they swayed in the wind to be picked at by gallers, the woman he loved amongst them. Betrayed by their kingdom.
“Not for me,” he said unequivocally. “You’re all claiming that my sister is an undead killer now. I need to know what that means.” He turned back and stared straight into Lucas’ eyes. “Please... you said you read all the texts.”
Lucas exhaled through his teeth. “Information varies. But, think of it as a writ of assassination granted by the Dom Nohzi leadership. Some say they’re Breklian Dukes, others that they’re mystics of the necromancy arts—a sect that went dark long ago. I've read that they call themselves the Sanguine Lords. All that’s clear is that when they’re beseeched, if they reject the target, he who offers it is then killed instead. History is vague. They’re listed as responsible for deaths of merchants, warlords, even farmers—and now Queens—all random. I can’t say why one would be accepted or rejected, I only know that they came for Oleander, and they showed no mercy.”
“She didn’t deserve any,” Rand said, the creaking of the ropes still filling his head.
“Trust me, she didn’t deserve what they did. Rand, your sister didn’t just taste her blood. She tore into her neck like a feral wolf.” He lay his hand against the bar and peered in farther, deep remorse painting his features. “I really am sorry. About everything.”
“Then let me out. Let me leave. Nothing that you, or Torsten, or a High Priest, or anybody can do will change anything. Thieves, knights, kings and queens… they’re all rotten. Only my sister wasn’t.” Tears welled in the corners of his eyes. His throat felt jammed. “I’m so sick of this world and everyone in it
. I don’t want this anymore.”
“Iam’s Ligh—"
“No!” Rand screamed. "Iam can eat His own shog. I’m ready to move on. I’d split my head apart on those bars right now, but I can’t do anything until I see Sigrid again. I won’t let you, or Torsten, or the entire Glass army stand in my way.”
“A Shesaitju army is at our doorstep, and Sir Unger has me here trying to ease your concerns,” Lucas said. “That should tell you enough about how he views you. Please, just try and relax until this negotiation is finished. Then I’m sure Sir Unger will do the right thing. He always does.”
Rand bit his lower lip again, let out a low, simmering growl. “Have it your way.” He looked down at his bloody hand. “Sigrid. Sister. If you’re out there, then please answer. I don’t know how to do this, but I offer my blood and my life.” He spread his fingers wider, opening the gash.
“Rand, what are you doing?” Lucas questioned. His hand fell to the grip of his longsword.
“To you, or the Sanguine Lords or whoever in the Dom Nohzi might hear, I summon a blood pact upon Sir Lucas Danvels of Yarrington,” Rand continued. “Whatever it takes, I will do. Whatever sacrifice. Just get me out of here.” He was fuming by the end, chest heaving with each heavy breath.
“Rand, are you insane?” Lucas said. “That’s not how it works.”
“But nobody knows how it works, do they?” He squeezed his palms as tight as he could, causing a steady trickle of blood. He spit blood from his mouth, each splatter against the stone sounding like an explosion.
“Exactly.”
Rand grinned wickedly, closed his eyes. “Dom Nohzi, hear me. I call for this blood pact!”
“Rand, stop…” his words trailed off as he fumbled for his keys. They slipped through his fingers and hit the stone.
When Rand opened his eyes, he saw Lucas gawking into the cell. All the color had left his cheeks like he was petrified. Rand soon saw why. In the corner stood a woman, her hair wild and pure white. A crossbow was slung over her shoulder, and she wielded two daggers like she was ready to fight. Her chin slowly lifted, and she studied the room, a look of confusion upon her pale face. Her eyes were black, but color didn’t matter. Rand would recognize them anywhere—and her freckled cheeks, the subtle cleft of her chin.
“Sigrid?” he whispered, reaching out for her cheek.
At the same time, Lucas abandoned the keys. “No,” he repeated over and over while scrambling for the exit. He tripped on something, a rock, a bump, his own fear. It didn't matter because, in a flash, Sigrid zipped through the bars, bending two apart as if they were paper, and she was on him.
Her dagger drove deep into his calf, sending him sprawling to the floor. He yelped, and a guard by the stairs ran down. She flung one of her daggers backhanded, straight through the newcomer’s neck. She admired her arm as it remained extended.
“I like this new body,” she said.
Lucas tried to draw his sword, but her boot hit his side and flipped him short ways across the corridor. Then, she tore his sheath from his belt, snapped it and the blade in two with a single hand.
Rand had never seen such raw strength. Such power. His sister was fit from years of serving tables, holding trays, but her muscles were lean and thin. Her body lithe and desirable—at least, that’s the way the grubby men she’d served treated her. But what Rand was witnessing was the strength of a giant.
“P… please… I don’t…” Lucas stammered. He turned his face and closed his eyes.
Rand slowly stepped through the bent cell bars, mesmerized. His sister hunched over Lucas, then ran one of her long nails across his cheek, drawing a thin line of blood.
“I’m supposed to kill you, aren’t I?” she said. She looked from side to side. “I can hear the ancient voices whispering. Begging me to do it. And you, girl.” She raised her blood-covered finger toward her mouth, it started to shake. “How badly do you want to taste this? Yes. I can feel your hunger, your rage. All the awful things men like this have done to you. You’re afraid. Don’t be. I will make you stronger than you can imagine… if you don’t resist.”
Her finger slowly stopped shaking, lowered away.
“Good, that’s right,” Sigrid said. “We’re more than the base needs these people give us. You won’t resist like the last one, will you? You want this. Nobody to hurt you anymore. No man to boss you around.”
As she spoke, Lucas reached for his sword. His fingertips brushed the hilt.
“Sigrid!” Rand warned.
She stomped down on Lucas’ chest and lowered the dagger to his throat. “I could squash you like an insect, Shieldsman,” she said. “Pathetic servant of a lying god.” Then she looked up. “But that would just make her old Lords happy. You sad, pathetic, broken mystics. You brought me here to kill him, yes… I feel the draw. Elsewhere, begging. But you can’t do anything to me.” She punched Lucas in the face, knocking him unconscious. Then she slowly rose.
“But you didn’t summon me on your own, no,” she said. “It doesn’t work like that, does it. Blood was offered, for blood given. Balance.” She snickered. “Perhaps, I’ll kill the other just to show you how little that means.”
Rand was behind her now. Close enough to touch her. But she whipped around, and her arm lashed out to his throat. In an impossibly fast motion, she had him lifted against the wall back on the other end of the dungeon. In her other hand, a dagger was raised, the needle-sharp point hovering right in front of his eye. It quaked like her bloody finger had.
“Why did you bring me here?” she growled. “I had them cornered!”
As Rand saw her up close, there was no more doubt in his mind, it was her. Every freckle was in the right place. Only, her voice wasn’t hers. It sounded like her on the surface, but the Sigrid he knew, spoke with a heavy, docksider twang. Now, her speech was refined, noble, like his had become after years training in the Glass Castle.
“To get to you…” he replied, throat compressing.
“Why would you…” A smile spread across her face. “Brother. This is him, isn’t it?”
“Who are you talking to?” Rand asked.
“The one who left you behind to be murdered,” Sigrid said. “To be left, bleeding on the street.”
“That's not true!” Rand said, but it mostly came out as a gurgle.
The blade lowered closer to Rand’s eye, but only started to shake more. Sigrid’s own glare softened, only momentarily, but Rand couldn’t miss it. He noticed the sorrow; that same glint his sister would wear when she caught him drinking.
“Why do you resist?” Sigrid said. “He deserves to die for leaving you.”
“I wasn’t…” Rand protested.
“Quiet!” She pressed her forearm tighter, closing off his air so he couldn’t speak. “He allowed you to be turned into a lifeless, blood-craving monster! He forgot about you. He abandoned you!”
Sigrid’s head flinched to the side. Her face scrunched, pain filling black, lifeless eyes. Then she let off of Rand and allowed him to drop to the stone, coughing and gasping for air.
“I suppose you’re right,” she said, still looking away, talking to herself. “He left, but he didn’t forget. I suppose he’ll say all of this was for you? They lie, my dear. My brother did, so will yours. They lie, and they cheat and then smother you in darkness.” She raised her dagger, ran her tongue up the flat of the blade. “Let me break this bond for you. Let me set you free!”
She swung down again. Rand didn’t flinch, not even as the blade stopped a finger-length away from his heart, then shook again. He welcomed it. Thanks to him, this is what had become of his sister. He could have left Torsten locked up, let the Drav Cra take over, and at least she’d still be the woman he'd once known, loved.
“It’s true, isn’t it?” Rand said. “You’re what they say.” He leaned up, allowed the tip of the blade to poke into his flesh. He brushed his fingertips across Sigrid’s face. His touch seemed to disgust her as much as it did him. She was ice-c
old, like Tessa’s corpse.
“Is that pity?” Sigrid asked, speaking through her teeth. Her muscles were tensed all over. Her hand, turned somehow paler around the grip of her dagger, shivering uncontrollably. “This is the brother you wish to spare? He’s even less deserving of mercy than mine. I promise you, the relief will be like nothing you can imagine.”
The blade pushed a hair closer, then Sigrid’s hand flew out to the side. The dagger clattered across the floor.
Sigrid clicked her tongue, appearing repulsed. Standing tall, she said, “So be it. I spent too long arguing with my last host. He can live but open your soul to me, and together, this whole world will finally know true balance. My balance.” She closed her eyes, breathed in through her nose, and clutched her hand into a fist.
“Oh, Sigrid,” Rand sniveled. “What did I let happen to you?”
She regarded him, sneered. “So much like a man, to take credit even for this… Gideon Trapp, Valin Tehr, The Sanguine Lords, God of Sand and Sea, not even Iam can touch us now. This union is exactly what was fated. Not the forgotten daughter of a dead king and mystic, but she who truly lost everything. A daughter of nobody, from nowhere—to make Pantego tremble.”
Rand’s heart skipped a beat. He had no idea what she was talking about, only that this was not the sister he knew. And yet, it was her. For all the difference in appearance and behavior, there she was, right in front of him. She’d found a way to become strong after he’d left her with the monsters. She always was the stronger of them.
He rose and threw his arms around her, squeezing with all his might. “Sigrid, I’ll do whatever you need. I’ll never leave your side again. I just don’t understand…”
The strength in just her hands as she sent him hard into the wall, stone crumbling off onto his head and shoulders, was enough to kill a man. Air fled his lungs, and he felt bone crack.
“You will.” She cackled. “They all will.”
Spinning on her heels, she strode toward the exit. There was something playful in each step, even as she knelt to tear one of her daggers out of the soldier's throat. She licked the blood off, and her back rolled in response like she was being pleasured.
War of Men Page 50