Lies of Descent

by Troy Carrol Bucher

  Any progress is better than none in this mess.

  Ni’ola’s trance and the absence of Sollus were not the only things slowing them down. Frequent pools of putrid marsh water blocked their way. It forced them into a winding course that more than doubled their travel time. The stale pools smelled of rotten eggs and rotting vegetation, and the soggy ground coated their feet with mud and slime, but it meant the lake was near. As long as Ky’lem kept the worst of the wetlands to his left, they would not get lost, and once they were through the marsh, the rocky shore would make for faster travel.

  Ky’lem ducked under a web strung between two moss-covered trees. Ni’ola did not. Calm and impassive, she walked into the sticky threads. The web wrapped around her face, and a black-and-red spider, easily bigger than Ky’lem’s thumb, scrambled down the side of her neck and disappeared under her shirt.

  Seeing it made Ky’lem’s skin go cold. His heart pounded while he lifted her shirt gently until he spotted movement beside one of her small breasts. He gently swept the spider away with the back of his hand. It fell to the ground and scrambled toward her feet.

  Ky’lem jerked her out of the spider’s path. Once the thing disappeared in the darkness, he yanked Ni’ola’s shirt this way and that, checking her skin for bites. Finding nothing, he wrapped his arms around Ni’ola protectively and lifted her into the air in an embrace. “I am sorry, asha,” he mumbled into her ear.

  Stupid. He’d been careless for only an instant and nearly lost her to one of the smallest dangers in the forest—one easily avoided. If the spider had bitten her, she would be dead before sunrise.

  What am I doing? He put Ni’ola down so quickly she nearly fell.

  He was Ky’lem, a great warrior of the people, and she a foreigner. She might become his okulu’tan, and maybe even his wife someday, but she was . . . she was. . . . He’d been about to use the word “nothing,” that she was merely a tool—a means for him to unite the tribes—but that was no longer true. Curse the old spirit-walker’s magic. I will protect her, but I will never truly care for her. Never.

  He snatched her wrist and hauled her forward. Their awkward dance through the marsh continued.

  * * *

  —

  Sometime between midnight and dawn, while stumbling along the rocky shore of the Najalii, Ky’lem heard the deep roar of a mergol behind them. A second answered, far too close for his liking. There was something different about these two. He could feel it in his bones. He’d heard them off and on as they moved through wetlands, but he’d never before heard two at once without them bellowing challenges at one another. The beasts were territorial and far more likely to attack their own kind if one ventured into another’s hunting grounds.

  Ky’lem moved closer to the shore. By the light of the stars, the water sat black and impenetrable, with the barest of waves lapping at the rocks. If it were any other lake, he would take Ni’ola into the water and continue their journey in the shallows along the water’s edge. If one of the mergol had their scent and decided they were prey, it would be hunting them already and moving far faster than he could travel with Ni’ola in tow. The beasts were smart, but they couldn’t follow a trail that wasn’t there—especially with the breeze carrying their scent out over the lake. The Najalii was sacred, though, and it was against the laws of Eisha for all but the okulu’tan to break its surface.

  A mergol roared, closer this time, and even with his deep-seated obedience to the edicts, he still considered stepping into the water. The okulu’tan might forgive the asha if they accepted her, but a pachna they never would. They would execute him for the transgression without hesitation, and there would be no hiding it from them. He picked up a rock and stopped himself short of throwing it into the lake. Instead, he turned and threw it into the forest.

  Sollus take me. Does everything have to be so cursed difficult this night? He had to save her . . . had to. Otherwise, his life and the life of the old okulu’tan had been for nothing. He caught Ni’ola’s blank stare in the corner of his eye. Her life as well. She might very well be more important than either of us. It was hard to admit that.

  He looked at her more closely, as if her appearance alone would answer the question of her importance. She had continued to age through the night, growing taller and more filled out. Her once baggy breeches and shirt were now too tight for the body that wore them. No longer an asha, she’d grown into an asha’han, a young woman. He could still see the child in her eyes and cheekbones, and her breasts were not as large as they could be, but she was not unappealing. Her dark skin gave her an exotic look, and the scar on her forehead had thinned to a barely visible line. If they were back home in his village, many a young warrior would seek to add her to his longhut. He’d never allow it, of course. While he doubted he would ever see anything other than the asha in her face, no matter how much she aged—even if she was made old and gray—he’d never let another have her.

  He didn’t understand this magic, and he didn’t like things he didn’t understand. Where were her thoughts? Does she know what is happening to her, or will she wake in shock at the changes, an asha’han with the mind of a child? He prayed to Sollus this was part of the old spirit-walker’s plan and that his dreams were not lost like her youth.

  The mergol behind them let out another roar. Ky’lem looked to the water longingly, but he couldn’t bring himself to break the edict. They must take their chances along the shore and with the beasts.

  They traveled faster, but it was not long before Ky’lem knew both of the mergols pursued them. The one to their rear was not moving fast, but it was getting closer by the sound of its frequent roars. The two were calling to each other, like a ga’ginga pack, boxing them in against the lake. Ky’lem had never heard of the beasts working together. Only one explanation made sense. An okulu’tan is controlling them. Whoever had attacked them in the pass worked to prevent them from reaching the village. What better time than now, while I am weak and Ni’ola is helpless . . . and Pai’le gone? That struck him as odd. No attempts had come while Pai’le traveled with them. It had to be a coincidence. Perhaps his unseen enemy had been unable to find them on the river.

  Another roar sounded and was echoed by the second beast. Ky’lem quickened their pace as much as he dared, even though he knew it would do little good. It took all his will not to hurl Ni’ola and himself into the water. It might be all that could save them.

  And then it was too late. To his right, not fifty paces away, one of the mergol broke from the forest and let out a triumphant roar. It ran in an apelike, loping gait toward them. It stood half again taller than a man, with hair of mottled brown and yellow and long arms that ended in talons as sharp as knives. Its face was hideous—a snout that was flat, exposing open nostrils, and flanked by dagger-length tusks that protruded to either side. Its eyes and ears were manlike, but its neck sat hidden behind a thick, coarse mane that made it difficult to strike at the beast’s throat. Ky’lem had fought only one in his lifetime, as part of a full warband armed with spears. They’d lost three men to the beast.

  Ky’lem shoved Ni’ola to the ground and drew both his weapons to meet the attack. It would do little good. He had no chance alone against a mergol at his best. Now he faced two, and he was in little better shape than the asha’han he guarded. Pai’le was right. I should have waited until morning.

  The mergol closed the distance. He would not be able to dodge the beast’s charge as he had the Draegoran’s horse on the other side of the mountains. At least this death would be an honorable one. That he was chae’lon did not matter. He would die in battle as a true warrior of the Esharii. No one would know here in this world, but he would take the honor with him to the great beyond.

  He crouched, weapons ready. A calm came over him. He had no fear. He only wished that he’d had a chance to kill the spirit-taker who controlled the beast. The man was unworthy of the people and deserved a coward’s death.
Ky’lem had a sudden vision of the old spirit-taker sitting in his tent on the plains with the golden bowl in front of him. “. . . the trap failed. The Church of Man’s agent stirred the creatures up . . . making them difficult to control.”

  Ky’lem straightened from his crouch and lowered his sword and knife.

  “You have returned again, spirit-taker,” he called. “Why do you fear me so much that you desire my death?” His mind screamed at him to run or fight, but he held himself upright and calm as the beast barreled toward him. If he were wrong about the okulu’tan, he would die without striking a single blow against the beast. It risked his honor. The tribe is more important than the truth . . . or my honor. He hoped he was right.

  The mergol slid to a stop less than a rod away, its massive claw raised with talons ready to tear Ky’lem in half with a single swing. Saliva dripped from its mouth. Its bloodshot eyes darted from Ky’lem to its own trembling arm, but it did not strike. It sniffed at the air in confusion.

  “You are a fool, Ti’yak, but a brave fool,” the mergol said in a guttural tongue over a mouth full of tusk and teeth never meant for human speech. “If you were not bonded to the asha, I would reward you by taking you as one of my pachna.”

  “I would not serve a spirit-taker who attacks behind the eyes of others while safe from harm.”

  The beast growled low in its throat, and its body shook in restrained eagerness. “I have faced dangers far greater than you could imagine. Not all dangers wear a sword or burnish claws. But I am not without honor. Step aside. She will feel nothing while trapped within the ways, and your death will be much less painful if the bond takes you instead of the mergol.”

  Ky’lem’s eyes widened. Ni’ola travels the paths of the future? How? Few spirit-takers had the power to become spirit-walkers, and she’d done it as soon as she’d come in contact with the crystals. In the trees Ky’lem heard the second beast approaching. He must stall a bit longer. He needed both beasts here for what he had in mind.

  “You say you have honor, yet you use the dead and a mergol to kill a helpless asha. If it is not me you fear, then you must be frightened of her. What makes you fear an asha so?”

  The beast let out a roar that nearly knocked Ky’lem from his feet. For an instant, the mergol broke free of the okulu’tan’s control. It swung one of its deadly claws toward Ky’lem.

  Ky’lem didn’t move, and the claw passed over his head, close enough to feel the wind.

  The mergol wrestled with itself, twisting and shaking. Slowly, it calmed.

  “I fear nothing, pachna,” the okulu’tan said.

  “Then why the attacks? Why the need to kill her?”

  “It is a waste of time to tell secrets to a dead man. You cannot stop this, so why fight? Why feel these claws ripping your body apart? Your death will have no meaning. It is only the bond that compels you to save her.”

  The second mergol appeared while the okulu’tan spoke through the beast. It ran along the shoreline and roared its challenge. In front of him, the mergol fought to turn and face the newcomer, but the okulu’tan held it fast.

  “I do not protect her because of the bond,” Ky’lem said. “I protect her because she will help me unite our people.”

  The second mergol reached them and slid to a stop, roaring in frustration. Fury boiled behind its eyes. Whether directed at him or the other mergol, Ky’lem could not tell. It swung its claws at the empty air and stomped in a circle.

  “Ri’jarra was a fool. He traveled the ways one too many times and paid for it with his sanity. He wasted his life sending you back with this foreign asha. I am simply cleaning up the abomination his arrogance created.”

  “I think you are scared, okulu’tan. Scared the old spirit-walker was right. Scared because she is already more powerful than you.” Both beasts roared at this, and their muscles rippled under the mottled hair. Ky’lem took a step back but did not let up. “I think you are not worthy of being called okulu’tan. Tomu stirs and it is time for change, time for the people to unite and destroy the gray demons. You will not be a part of that change. If the asha lives, she will know your true heart and cast you aside for your weakness.” He put conviction into his words, and with a start, realized he believed what he was saying. They were not simple taunts. “You have the honor of a Draegoran whore and are unworthy to be called Esharii. I will see you stripped of everything you desire before you die.”

  Ky’lem flicked his hand up, hurling his knife toward the beast’s face. The mergol brought its claws up to protect its eyes, but that wasn’t Ky’lem’s target. The knife buried itself in the beast’s snout. A deafening roar of rage and pain split the air. The beast backed away, clawing at its face.

  Ky’lem launched himself into the air at the second mergol. He slashed at the beast’s head and ignored the talons that tore down his side and leg. He needed one good strike. The mergol ducked away from the swing, but Ky’lem’s sword caught the side of the beast’s head and slid downward, shaving an ear from the scalp.

  The mergol roared in fury and batted Ky’lem away with one swing of its arm. The beast’s claw tore across the skin and muscles of his back, and Ky’lem’s sword flew from his hands. He landed in a heap on the rocks of the shore.

  Fire burned across Ky’lem’s back, down his side, and through his leg. He tried to stand but couldn’t. He looked at his thigh and saw bone beneath the torn skin and muscle.

  The two mergols circled and roared their challenges at each other. They moved in fits and jerks as the okulu’tan fought for control, but pain and the smell of blood pushed them beyond the spirit-taker’s abilities. With a final roar, the two beasts closed on each other. It made a fearsome sight. Talon and tusk slashed at inhuman speed as the beasts collided and tore gaping wounds one upon the other.

  Ky’lem tried to crawl to Ni’ola’s side, but his arms and legs would not work. Too many muscles and tendons had been severed, and each attempt to move felt like his skin was being torn from his body all over again. Return, Ni’ola! Wake and flee into the water. Do not let my death be for nothing! Ky’lem screamed the words through the bond.

  He put his head down on the blood-drenched rocks. His vision faded. He no longer saw the mergols, but he heard the snarls and roars of their conflict. Wake for me, Ni’ola. Wake for me . . .

  Chapter 28

  Blood pooled and seeped into the dark-stained sand. Nola’s opponent lay before her, writhing on the ground. He arched his back one final time, heels digging in, and then collapsed. The boy still breathed, but gurgling and wheezing sounds accompanied the rise and fall of his chest. The boy was strong, but he’d relied too much on techniques designed to fight others who equaled him in strength—fire forms at first in the offense, then earth forms to defend when he’d realized she would not meet him blow for blow. Nola had spent most of her time training in the more precise forms of wind and water. Her attacks had flowed around his defenses with no more difficulty than a river flows around a rock. She had no remorse for killing the other boy. He would have killed her to gain his freedom, and fighting an opponent as they were, instead of how you expected them to be, was as good a lesson as any for him to take into death.

  She knelt beside the boy, careful to stay away from his clenched hands—although she doubted he had any fight left—and used one of his baggy pant legs to wipe her blade free of blood. When it was clean to her satisfaction, she took a step back and sat down cross-legged in the sand to wait. She’d pierced a lung with her last thrust, effectively ending the match, but it would not be over until he died. She couldn’t help him along on the journey now that he no longer fought. “An opponent must be allowed to experience their own death, just as they have their life,” were the words of her kyden. It wasn’t a quick death, but it wasn’t a long one either. Half a sandglass later, the boy’s breathing ceased.

  Her shoulders sagged the barest fraction when the doors to the arena cr
eaked opened. She would not be allowed to join with the crystal in her blade today. It was only mild disappointment, however. Most recruits were not given the honor of linking with their blades after their first match, and she would still receive her second glyph. She was proud of that—few of her fellow recruits had received their second glyph—especially since she’d started her training a year behind the others because of her time with the Esharii. It’d taken half a year to return from the lake of life after escaping, and then another half year of frustration while she waited on the council to decide her fate.

  Today, she’d proven their decision correct. She kept her face a blank mask, head up and back locked straight, devoid of any telling body language that would display her pride. The kydens in the seats around her did not approve of vanity in any form. She grabbed a handful of sand, rose to her feet, and held it over her opponent.

  “Dalor salorea lon braeda!” She opened her hand, letting the dark grains pour through her fingers. The death of one advances another.

  Nola moved toward the doorway. Instead of the hallway beyond, the doorway glowed with a surreal light that tugged at her mind. She stopped in front of it and tilted her head, studying it. The glow brought a tickle of familiarity, like she once knew its purpose but had forgotten. Her kyden had not mentioned this part of the match. Am I supposed to go through or wait? She glanced back over her shoulder at the kydens. None seemed to notice the glow, or if they did, they acted as if it was as natural as the air around them.

  Taking a deep breath, she stepped through the light . . .

  * * *

  —

  . . . and returned to her longhut after checking on Hop’san. The woman was bedridden with fever dreams and none of Ni’ola’s medicines made a difference. She would try adding deathroot to the palic tomorrow. It wouldn’t help with the sickness, but a few drops might give the woman a night of true sleep. If she didn’t get better soon, Ni’ola would be forced to try more dangerous herbs.