by Mara Duryea
Zhin had ever made certain he fought as a man, as a wanderer and as a Sivarin. Always he’d feared to let his orilas side emerge. With his My so close, the cry of the orilas awakened in his breast. He could not now fight as anything less than one.
As Sizhirin rolled him on his back, Zhin roared like an animal and busted Sizhirin in the face. The force knocked the Renzhie flat. What strange dream was this, that one of his many victims should defy him? Where had the strength issued? The Berivor hardly possessed blood enough to keep him conscious. Sizhirin struggled to a half-sitting position as Zhin rose up on all fours. Scarlet Iskerkin fire blazed within his half-moon eyes. The snow melted beneath his hands and feet. The air burned. He lunged at the Renzhie.
Fear cut through Sizhirin’s breast. He sucked in the sweltering air, scorching his lungs. Zhin possessed no claws, but it mattered not. He barreled into the stitched man, pounding him to a pulp. The woodchip skin ripped at Zhin’s knuckles and elbows. It almost felt good.
The cracking bones shattered anew. Decayed flesh burst like termite-ridden wood. Seizing the Renzhie’s arm, Zhin ripped it off and cudgeled Sizhirin’s head with it. The Renzhie attempted to fight back, but he was no longer superior. What was this mad creature? Deep down, he felt he’d unleashed it. Who could rein it back in?
The red-eyed monster whacked him across the face, causing Sizhirin to stagger in a circle and expose his back. Zhin kicked him onto his stomach, stabbed his knee into the small of Sizhirin’s spine, and wrenched him backward. Crack! The bones snapped. Sizhirin lost the feeling in his legs. Zhin seized Sizhirin’s neck and bludgeoned his head against the tree once, twice, thrice!
Sizhirin would die. No more would the spit sucker slither into his life with his whining Cubon while he destroyed everything in the name of some twisted family set up like the brass-embossed chambers of the Grid. Zhin’s picture would not be added to that sick collage hidden behind the funereal curtains.
Spinning the stunned Hatrin around, Zhin gouged his clawless fingers through Sizhirin’s throat, and propelled him over his shoulder. The Renzhie slammed into a thick branch and tumbled into the snow. Bits of his stitched frame chipped off.
Zhin sank on one knee as his head reeled. “I will tell you why Karijin said nothing to you of me. He was tired of your meddling. He meant to kill me without you whining about it, because he knew one day I would kill both of you.”
The ruined Hatrin seized his head as he rose on mangled legs. “My child has become something unrecognizable!”
Zhin laughed under his breath. “I was never your child. You’ve been nothing but a plague to me.”
Sizhirin ripped at his skull until the bone showed through. “Who has turned my son on me?”
“Look in the mirror, you complete idiot.”
“Who has taken you from me?”
A voice hissed behind Sizhirin’s back. “Me.”
Sizhirin jerked about and came face to face with a cold steel mask. In one swift movement, he cracked Sizhirin’s jaw with a gauntleted fist, grasped the hammer at his side with two hands, and busted a gaping hole in Sizhirin’s stomach.
Two other masked warriors speared his chest and carried him to the ground. Sizhirin screamed in helpless rage as the three attackers stabbed his carcass into an unrecognizable heap of gooey flesh. The stitches that held him together scattered like brittle leaves. The warriors pinned what was left of him down with their spears.
“What have I done to deserve this?” Sizhirin shrieked. Sludge flecked from his decimated lips and wormed down his chin and neck.
Gentle light illuminated the icy waste, and the first attacker removed his helmet. He was a Berivor, with the fierce expression of a retsinist.
Sizhirin stared at him in shock. “I…I know you…”
“Yes, you do,” said the Berivor.
“His voice! Where have I heard it? The skin, the amber eyes, the brown hair. It is wet and still seems shaggy. The slender Rykori features rendered the Berivor frame wiry like him whose likeness exists in the red book I read to my son so many years ago. Are you him come to chastise me, or are you…?”
The light faded and a cool aura washed over him like the gentle kisses of a spring breeze. Sizhirin’s corrugated muscles seized up. He turned his head to a form he thought long dead. She was shrouded in armor like her companions. Her helmet was tucked under her arm. She clutched her spear in the other hand. It was slenderer and lighter to fit her smaller members.
“My love! Oh, it is my love returned to me! Gilanra, my child darling. You have come. How I have prayed for you! How I have hoped to be reunited to you! The aura, the dear aura. I thought it gone forever, but it has come back to me. My own, my…why her silence? Is she a demon? My love, why do you not speak? Do your wounds reach so far into the past that they cannot heal? My wife, my love, recollect our love, our life.”
Gilanra pulled her helmet back on, lifted her spear, and skewered Sizhirin through the stomach. Backing up, she grasped the Berivor’s hand.
“I am not yours,” she said.
Sizhirin howled. “Who is it who has taken my love from me?” He stared at the Berivor. “I have seen you in my darkest nightmares. You lifted a burning brand in your hand and touched my snowbound city, and a great fire devoured it. What have I done to you? Who are you?”
“I’m Rezh, Sizhirin.”
Sizhirin’s voice stuck in his throat. The blizzard wailed about the phantoms of his past. Snowflakes pierced his frigid visage and clumped in the gaps of his rancid flesh. His son had returned from the orilas’s haunt. The small, frightened boy was the terror who wielded the burning brand in his nightmares. And the fire that destroyed the city…
An aura like a raging fire blazing on a winter’s night scorched the air. Scarlet eyes hovered overhead. A cold pit formed in Sizhirin’s stomach as he recalled the light that had illuminated the storm. Gilanra had healed the Berivor and restored his Iskerkin blood.
Sizhirin struggled to rise, but Zhin formed a blood spear and plunged it through Sizhirin’s chest. The Renzhie squealed and writhed, but he was too mangled to remove it.
“Close it, Zhin,” one of the masked men snarled. The Berivor jogged into the snow
“Rezh,” Sizhirin pleaded. “Rezh…Rezh, my son.” Tears welled to his eyes. “Do not let the Iskerkin kill me. Do you not know how I loved you? When the orilas took you, I was in the deepest despair. With you, I could feel my fire re-ignite. You could have saved me, child. You can still save me. Stop Zhin from closing the gate and let me show you my repentance and reform. I shall be your father again. I believe your mother lied to me about your blood. I can see you are mine, for the features of the first Iskerkin are revealed in you!”
“What happened to my mother?” said Rezh.
“I know not. She was gone after the creature whose hand you hold seduced me.”
“Azhanya seduced you, Sizhirin,” said Rezh. “You told me yourself, while you had me tied down in the room full of the pictures of your victims.”
“But I only wished you to be a part of me forever, Rezh. The orilas was what took you away and broke your precious trust. Why did she release you, Rezh? Why did she? Was there compassion in her orilas heart for me?”
Rezh’s gaze darted to the spears to make sure Sizhirin couldn’t grab him, and then he knelt. “She gave me a son, and he claimed me as his My, and I named him Zhin. It was because of this that he escaped you when he was a child.”
There was a swiping sound, and the figure who’d spoken to Zhin lighted a fire stick. The orange light revealed the other two attackers. They’d removed their helmets without Sizhirin noticing. Both were Miricors, and possessed the same black hair and brilliant green eyes. The older Miricor’s skin was dark. He was the one in charge. They gazed at Sizhirin with a mixture of disgust and curiosity.
The fire stick acted as a signal, and two Metirins emerged from a patch of roots. The Sirilith kept near the N’hai, who seemed a little dizzy. Stopping near Sizhirin, they eyed
him as if he were a science experiment gone awry.
“That’s him?” said the N’hai.
“Yeah,” said Rezh.
Gilanra lifted the N’hai into her arms as the dark Miricor swung the Sirilith on his back.
“Let’s go,” said the Miricor.
They followed after Zhin. From whence the Miricors and Metirins appeared, Sizhirin did not know, nor did he realize that the older Miricor was now Rezh’s father. The Sirilith turned his head and watched Sizhirin until he was out of sight. It seemed the Sirilith knew him, but from where?
The Renzhie stared at the stone ceiling as the snow hurtled into his face. What could have been, had he not given in to Azhanya? This was her fault, was it not? Sizhirin was free from blame. He was ever trying to do right. The gate should not suck him in.
The gate… Sizhirin shrieked. His heart wailed. The despair he’d inflicted on countless children and their loved ones crashed on his soulless heart in merciless waves.
9
Midnight Gate
In the tree’s base gaped a black hole. Blood-red pinpricks peered from within and then vanished in the next instant. Eerie laughter and strange weeping issued out of it. Setting his jaw, Zhin marched into it. His Iskerkin body caught fire. The entrance burst into a wall of impassable flame. The bloodhearts inside the gate fled in terror. Their high-pitched shrieking hurt his ears for several seconds, and then utter silence fell.
The Iskerkin stood in a colossal nursery. Endless rows of cribs stood in straight lines. Broken toys and filthy blankets were scattered throughout the chamber. The filthy walls were covered in torn wallpaper. The images were child scribbles of bleeding, crying children. Maybe they were sick self-portraits. There were many soulless to kill in this place, but none mattered save the gatekeeper. Once it was dead, the gate would close.
Its presence pulled at Zhin like a sickening tug. The Berivor couldn’t feel his dad in this place. Like always, its absence made Zhin feel lost. No matter where he traveled in the world, Rezh’s tug anchored him home. This place was nowhere. He knew that better than any Iskerkin before and after him.
Racing through cribs and toys, he kicked anything out of his way. The toys caught fire on impact and screamed like tortured richids. He entered the next nursery room. More cribs stretched into the whimpering gloom, where glinting pinpricks stared in fear.
Passing through a doorway, Zhin jogged down a corridor piled with dirty clothes. They grew deeper the further Zhin ran, but his feet burned a canyon through them. Bypassing dozens of doors, Zhin stopped at one identical to all the rest. He pushed it open into a master bedroom.
It was empty save two objects. The large portrait of a newborn child hung over a cold fireplace. A pale bloodheart standing in a crib stared at the picture, as if in awed worship. Zhin’s fire illuminated and warmed the dank chamber.
Spinning around, the bloodheart screamed and sprang to the floor. It darted for the door. Zhin thrust his hand out, and a dome of fire enveloped it. The dome shrank around the bloodheart and burned it to ashes. The fire didn’t go out, but blossomed like a flower.
It began sucking everything into it. The door ripped off its hinges and hurtled into the blaze. The strange realm of Renzhie doors melted into a black wind and blasted into the blazing dome. With that, every Renzhie door Sizhirin had made opened around the room. No matter if it was day or night, the light from the living world refused to enter. The bloodhearts tumbled inside and burned.
Black clouds hovering over the Child Cities shot through the doors like cold, wet ribbons. One of the clouds issued from a door leading onto a beach. No other Child City had a beach. It was the Child City where he had met Rilkin. It was night there, but Zhin couldn’t tell which moon was out. Children who’d nearly become bloodhearts were healing. To Zhin’s right shined the sunny ruins.
From this opening, a bulbous mass barreled inside. It clawed at the floor with all four arms, screaming for Sizhirin. A festering hole in its single red eye burst into flame and streamed into Zhin’s hand. The fire of the ever-growing sphere licked the monster’s clawed feet, but didn’t suck it in like everything else. Howling in pain, it thrashed and kicked like a hooked worm.
“Help me, help me!”
Zhin’s eyes widened. Azhanya?
The doorway from which Zhin had entered widened, revealing Sizhirin’s city. The Renzhie himself tumbled inside amidst the fabricated snow and bluish mist. He clutched the doorframe, but lost his grip and slid towards the fire. He dug his claws into the floor. The force of the fire dragged him back, shredding his claws from his fingers one by one. The blood spear stuck in his chest inflamed and shot into Zhin’s hand. None of his Iskerkin blood would stay here.
Sizhirin’s eyes bulged from their sockets. “Zhin, Zhin, why? I only wanted to be your father! Why do you hate me, why?”
“Please, please,” Azhanya screeched. “I’m so sorry! I’m so, so sorry! Don’t let me stay here in the dark. Don’t let me stay here in the dark!”
They both reached for him, but jerked back as their fingers scalded. The Berivor said nothing. What was there to say to a pair of baby killers? Azhanya had abused her Perilith powers to seduce Sizhirin. He didn’t have love enough for his family, or strength enough to resist her. Their loyalties belonged to their appetites alone. Together they had slain their Perilith child. Now they were doomed to spend eternity here in this nowhere they’d opened with their own hands. They had no comfort in one another, either. Was there a worse hell?
Zhin noticed his family gazing through the door he’d entered the room from. Sizhirin’s dead city stood frozen behind them. They hadn’t had to pass through the endless nurseries and strange hallways, since those had already been sucked inside. Their faces were contorted in fear and awe. A Midnight Gate wasn’t something any normal person wished to see. At the same time, Zhin was a pillar of incomparable fire.
For N’Nar, the flames were Zhin’s soul emerged from his body. The warmth he’d always felt inside physically enveloped him. Nothing else existed in the gate. If he focused only on Zhin, he wasn’t afraid.
Sibare recognized it. It was the same form that had rescued him and Vijeren from the bloodhearts in Visseria. It had breathed the poison from their lungs. It had been the first time he’d felt safe.
At sight of him, Zhin could have burst into tears of joy. “Come in here. We’re getting out this way.” He pointed to the door leading into the ruins.
Rindar ushered everyone ahead of him. They had recovered their spears when Sizhirin had been dragged into the gate. Rezh carried both his and Gilanra’s spears. As they sprinted past, Zhin took Sibare from Gilanra and squeezed him. The boy hugged him around the neck. The flames didn’t hurt him. They would never burn him. They felt like warm, fluttering feathers, or the subtle beat of a thousand hearts.
“I found you,” Sibare whispered.
Zhin kissed his head, hardly able to speak. “Sibare, you’re okay. I love you, I love you.” This gate, Sizhirin and Azhanya’s screams, none of it mattered. His little one was safe, and he wouldn’t need to endure a repeat of a child’s death.
“Is all of us, Zhin,” said Rindar, as he set N’Nar safely down in the bright ruins. “Nobody else come in with us.”
Sizhirin’s focus landed on Gilanra, and he ripped the last of his flesh from his head. “Gilanra, no, no, no! Please! Why do you not even look at me, the one who loves you most?”
A chill rushed up Gilanra’s spine and she darted to the side of the door, out of his sight. Sizhirin stared at the last spot where he would ever see her, as if realizing for the first time that he was repulsive. He still denied he was a monster. His eerie gaze landed on Rezh. He still believed the Berivor could stop his imminent punishment.
“Rezh! I’m so sorry! Forgive me, forgive me! I have wronged you! You can save me! You almost did before, do not you remember? Look to me, my son, please!” But Rezh had won, and Sizhirin had lost. The blow struck him to the heart.
Rindar frowned at
Sizhirin and ushered Rezh out of his sight. He herded the other Miricor and the Sirilith after him. He wasn’t just the sakreen; he was more. They obeyed him with the submissiveness of little ones. Rezh was the Miricor’s son. Sizhirin clenched his clawless fists at the realization. Who was this stranger? Was he a stranger? Who could forget those eyes? Somewhere, a long time ago, he’d seen them. A small voice had shouted out, “Grampa!”
Sizhirin’s loss was complete. Jealous rage cut through his frame and he thrashed like a madman. He gnashed his teeth on his own lips and tongue.
In the next moment, the Renzhie realized Zhin was running into the light. His was the last soul in this accursed hell. Once he left, the Renzhie doors would close forever and the gate would be shut.
“Don’t leave us, Zhin,” Sizhirin screamed.
The Iskerkin darted into the ruins. The dome of fire expanded, devouring the openings. Every place a door closed sank into blinding darkness.
The Renzhies, arrogant and controlling, murdering as they pleased in their empire built on the suffering of countless children, reached out for the one they’d plagued for decades in desperate supplication. Only the horror they’d inflicted returned to keep them company.
The door to the ruins burned shut. Sizhirin and Azhanya’s shrieks echoed on the air, and then vanished into nowhere. Their victims had at last been avenged.
10
Embers
The fire receded into Zhin’s body and he collapsed, still holding Sibare. Many strong arms caught him and eased him to the ground. They held him in a half-sitting position. Peering blearily up, Zhin beheld Rezh’s face. The tug pulsed in tandem with his dad’s heart. The lost feeling faded away. Rezh squeezed Zhin’s shoulders as he pressed his head to his.
“It’s over now, Zhin,” he said. “It’s over.”
Light shined, and Gilanra took Zhin’s hands in her own. His veins began to tickle. Little by little, his strength returned and the paleness in his cheeks receded. Gilanra kissed his wrists, and light slipped inside them. Zhin tried to sit up, but his family crushed him in their arms.