Astor’s arms tighten around herself as the words escape Ellia. Her angelic features turn sour with a perplexity in her gaze.
“And you’re already armed,” Ellia adds. “Do I have to spell it out for you?”
I shrug my shoulders. “I guess so.”
The expression on Ellia’s face turns from an angered beast to that of a disappointed mother. She traipses closer, shaking her head. I shudder, not knowing what to anticipate. Does she have an expectation of me? Why? I’m just an average Dihkai she picked up, no, kidnapped off the street. Why would she expect this of me?
“You’re a Dihkai. A Gloomer. Think about it.”
I shake my head and ease away from her.
Ellia moves closer yet and places a hand on my shoulder. “Are you so dim you can’t see a blinding hint?” She raises a hand. I flinch again. But she merely rubs at her forehead. “You’ve used your degenerative talents in the past—I know. I’ve witnessed it.” She pauses, waiting for me to respond. I stare blankly. “At the Redwood Chamber, four seasons past? You, Stone, Goose, Elder…and that damned regal beast of yours—can’t believe he’s alive after that duel. He was a handful. You thwarted that ironwood blockade with ease. Does that not ring a bell?”
“The…Woman-in-Red? You were there?” I utter, unable to suppress my thoughts. But I don’t care. Ellia is the Woman-in-Red. She was there with the Taoiseach the day we escaped the Redwood Chamber. The one that killed… “You killed Elder! You were there. You nearly killed Helios too! And you killed Elder!”
I rush her, not knowing what to do, but the rage, the hate, the fury inside me forces me to charge. Unarmed, I hit her stomach with my shoulder and wrap my hands around her, hoping to take her to the ground and degenerate her the way I did with that door.
She doesn’t fall to the ground as intended. Instead, she turns, slips my grip, grabs me by the wrist, and twists. My body spins with my arm and forces me to my knees. Ellia then unsheathes her claymore. In one swift motion, as if it had the weight of a reed, it falls across my wrist.
I hear a shriek, but I’m not sure of its source, as it sounds distant. Astor’s gentle touch keeps me from collapsing. She lowers me to the ground. Everything is numb. Fatigue finds me. I close my eyes.
“It’s handy to have a Sleeper sidekick,” a voice says.
My eyes flutter open as I attempt to gain clarity.
“Sidekick? You drive out the worst in me. There is nothing but hate in your heart. Sidekicks complement. And I don’t complement you at all. For Susy’s sake, I can’t even give you a compliment. And you are no heroine either.”
“Eh, true. I can’t stand having you around, but your talents are indeed helpful. I shall replace you with a new Hiberneyt in due time, I think.” Ellia stands over me, looking out over the ravine. “We’re wasting time. Why’d you put her down? You could’ve just kept her from screaming. Numbed her vocals or something.”
“I had to. You amputated her hand! She was going into shock. I had to do something.” Astor faces Ellia, standing over me as well, but not paying me any mind.
“Let her feel the pain. She had a fit of rage. She needs to learn. How is she going to learn if you immediately numb her of her senses? The more sacrifices we make, the more clarity we have on life. But we need to have our senses to find that clarity.”
“Sacrifice? There was nothing sacrificial about this.”
“There certainly was. She attacked me knowing there would be a consequence. She willingly made that choice. She just didn’t know her sacrifice would be an entire hand. I should have amputated your head as well. You were too hasty.”
“She’s awake!” Astor kneels over me and helps prop me into an upright position. “How do you feel?”
“Alive,” I grumble. Astor looks taken aback.
“See! She likes it. I did her well,” Ellia adds.
Trying to comprehend what happened, I raise my left arm. And that is all, just an arm. No digits, no fingernails, no hand. Just an arm. I attempt to close my fist. My head understands. My body reacts, and my muscles strain down to my fingertips, but there is nothing there. Just a bloody nub with an immaculate cut. I poke at it. The blood is petrified. The bone, the bone marrow, the sinew, and the vessels are wrapped in a blanket of flesh. I glide my fingers across the adjacent flesh, and it is rock hard. Frozen, just like the innards.
Ellia walks to the ledge and places her hand on a tree. “It’s a tall evergreen. A fir with a robust trunk,” Ellia proclaims. “It’ll make a fine bridge. One hand or two, it’ll be an easy one for you.”
Astor and I both look at her, dumbfounded.
“Come now. We’ve wasted too much time. This tree right here.” She pats the trunk. “Place your hands on it, palms wide—palm wide—you’re singular now, I suppose. Like you’re grasping a watermelon, or in the dragon queen’s case,” she gestures to Astor, “a pair of perky tits.”
A restrained laugh escapes me. I should be furious. Absolutely livid. Ellia took my left hand from me. Maybe the shock hasn’t worn off yet. Regardless, I find it amusing Ellia partakes in the lesbian jabs. I don’t believe she fancies women, nor would I care, but with how often she caresses my naked body, it is hard to resist the taunts.
Astor ignores Ellia’s nasty comment but instead shakes her head at me. We’re supposed to be a team. We’re both captives. But I like Ellia. She’s strong. She’s independent. A somberness weighs over me as Astor lowers her head. She doesn’t have to say anything. I know she’s right. I ought not make Astor the odd man out in this unusual trio of captives and captor. Only Susy knows what fate lies ahead of us. And, well, maybe Ellia. I lower my head and stare at my newly acquired nub. Ellia has taken my hand from me. Why would I laugh at a time like this?
I make eye contact with Astor and silently apologize. I don’t know if she grasps the gesture, but I dare not apologize out loud, for fear Ellia might react. I stand and obediently walk to Ellia’s tree.
She grabs my arm and inspects the damage she’s done. She gives a nod of approval. “You’ll survive. Now feel the tree. Not just physically, but mentally. Force your mind into it. Concentrate. Focus on the outer bark first. Feel how rough it is. Know the corrosive power of your touch can eat away at the bark.”
This is nothing new to me. I desperately want to comment on her condescending advice. I refrain and instead grip the base of the trunk—no, my left fails to grip it. I have no left. I’ll never have a left again. I scowl and tighten my left into a fist and imagine swinging at Ellia.
“You’ll get over it.”
I scowl at her.
“Continue. Put your hand on the tree.”
I obey. Nothing happens. “Just an average girl with no knowledge of her talent.”
“Tigershit! Do it. Or lose your other hand too.”
My breath gets caught in my throat. She would do it. I have no doubt. I examine the trunk briefly before proceeding. I close my eyes and begin. I can feel my energy drain into the trunk. I can feel the wood deteriorating cell by cell. The trunk rots.
“Hold!” Ellia shouts. The right side of the tree is covered in black rot. A loud creak barks as it gets ready to collapse. Ellia, standing on my left, grips my nub and shoves it against the trunk.
“What are you—”
“Just focus.”
I assume Ellia stands by my side for physical support, readying herself to push the tree in the correct direction. But she’s somehow utilizing my talent to accomplish the task. A shadow creeps from Ellia’s fingertips—not my nub—slowly oozing into the tree.
“I knew it!” Astor calls out. “I felt it when you slapped me the last time. You’re not just a Sprhowt. You’re an Imp!”
An Imp? One of the Graft races. They’re real? Ellia has the Dihkai’s talents? Was that the same cool touch I felt when she slapped me? A fleeting taste of rot on my cheek.
Ellia turns around with the swiftness of a hummingbird, sword in hand, swinging it straight for Astor’s neck. Somehow Astor duc
ks in time and stumbles out of the way. Unfortunately for her, she’s heeled to the edge of the ravine. Ellia quickly adjusts and starts toward her.
Astor is trapped. She leaps behind the tree we’re trying to fell. Ellia, instead of chasing her, knocks me to the ground and swings at the trunk. Plagued with rot, it gives way. Astor reacts too slow. She staggers backward as the tree falls in the same direction.
She slips. Her hands scramble, but there’s nothing to grab onto. As if an external force tugs at her ankles, she disappears into the ravine as the tree cracks down right where her feet were just planted. She’s gone.
I clamber onto the fallen tree, hoping to see her holding on below. Ellia mutters something, but I fail to listen. There she is! She grips one of the branches. And it appears she’s looking for a way to climb down. Smart. Knowing Ellia will finish her off if she sees her, I refrain from getting her attention and pull away. I shake my head with disgust. It fools nobody.
“Ugh! That damn bitch. Just let go!” Ellia shouts down to her. “It’ll be easier than what you have waiting for you up here.” Just then, Ellia looks up at me and smiles. “It’s your turn. Since I had to help you with this engineering miracle we’re standing on, you get to finish her off. I need to see what your capable of. If you can’t do it, it’ll prove the Taoiseach was wrong about you. And it’ll give me the freedom to put you right by her side at the bottom of this ravine.”
I kneel and straddle the trunk. If I send Astor to her death, I save myself. It's simple, right? One life for another. I hesitate. Astor looks up to me. Not with anger, or fear. But with compassion. She understands what I must do, and she has already accepted her own death over mine. To be so full of empathy. What it must be like. The branch grows black beneath my hand and softens into rotten mulch. Astor falls freely, a serene expression on her face. I look away, unable to watch. Ellia, with a satisfied grin, relishes in seeing Astor fall to her watery grave.
I continue on, crossing the bridge in silence. I don’t look back to see if Ellia or Persia are following. I don’t care. Astor, although mostly annoying with her always caring attitude, was becoming a friend. She didn’t need to die. Just like her two mates back in Greenport. They didn’t need to die. How can one person be so caring and loving and another be so careless and heartless? With the two opposites on a long journey together, one was bound to triumph. It would have been a miracle if both survived to the Crimson Capital. And only the strong survive, right? Are loving and caring for the weak?
Ellia, mounted on Persia now, grabs me under the arm and hoists me onto Persia’s back. One-handed. Where does her strength come from? She has a toned and healthy frame, but no excessive bulging muscles. Does her physique even matter? Or does her strength come from within?
Persia dashes northward through the forest at a heavier pace now. No more pedestrians to slow our travels.
“When I was an infant, I was abandoned,” Ellia proclaims. “It wasn’t a simple abandonment, such as my father leaving me on the doorstep of a House of Seasons or my mother pawning me off onto a welcoming family because she was an irresponsible whore who had birthed too many bastard children in her lifetime. It’s true, but there was more to it. The House of Seasons rejected me, as did a couple that was unfertile and so desperate for a child of their own. I was a wretched infant in the eyes of society, a cursed soul according to the local Advocate, a newborn infant without love.”
I remain silent, uncertain of her confessions.
“My father—I know not who he was—wished to keep my existence a secret. Not because I was cursed, but because he had a family of his own and didn’t want a bastard child tainting his name. And my mother truly was a whore. She had no right to raise a child. She wasn’t capable, nor did she want to be.
“I don’t know how I remember it, but I do. It’s an enigma. It was a day filled with emotional duress, and somehow, the memory rooted into my soul. It’s a hazy memory. I don’t recall the details, such as the physical characteristics of my mother and father or our location. What I do remember has impacted me to this day.
“Weeks after I was born, a couple months at most—I’m not quite sure—my mother and father were conversing with me perched by their side. I recall staring up at fluttering leaves with a blue back drop. There was a steady rush of sound invading my infant ears. The conversation heated quickly with raised voices, and the tension of the situation conquered my mother. Her long, leathered fingers reached for the bassinet. Her eyes, lifeless. She made her decision right then. She cradled me in her arms and the steady rushing grew louder. I remember feeling a blast of motion like she was rocking me but more violent. Suddenly, my father was standing right by her side and ripped me from her grasp. I fell to the ground and landed on a damp, dirty surface. Water was flowing. Lots of it.
“My father, outraged by her actions, proceeded to flail his arms at her. They continued to raise and slam down upon her for the longest time. She eventually stopped fighting, stopped moving. I watched my father murder my mother because he could not control his rage. It’s a memory I’ll live with forever.
“His heavy breathing calmed, and he looked down upon me, mortified. His cursed child was alert and still sitting on the riverbank. He placed me back in the bassinet, rubbed a giant thumb across my cheek, and smiled. The sky shifted as I was being raised into the air. Then, placed back down on something soft and wavy. His face slowly wandered away, and the world around me was steadily drifting by. He gave me a fighting chance. Slim, but it was more than my mother was willing to give me. After that, all I remember is darkness. Until one day my bassinet was lifted from the flowing waters. That day was brighter than any day I will ever remember.”
I cock my head and look over my shoulder, unsure of what to say.
“It was the Taoiseach. My father gave me a fighting chance and so did the Taoiseach. You would probably think I hated my father, but I thank him for what he did. He saved me. He gave me options by letting me drift off in that river. And the same goes for the Taoiseach. I’ve experienced a life of choices and consequences because of them. And he also gave me this.” She pats a hand on the colossal sword mounted to Persia. “Bright Shadow.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Does she expect me to feel compassion after forcing me to murder an innocent woman? I murdered an innocent woman. What have I done? Did I have any other choice? Was the choice even mine?
“I was born from rage. It is who I am. It is my passion, and it keeps me going. That is how I kill without remorse. But I have learned to control it.
“I don’t know where this opportunity will take you…”
Opportunity?
“…but following a shadow to its origin will only lead to light. And darker shadows lead to brighter lights. The Taoiseach may cast a very dark shadow over our realm, but the light on the other side will be unimaginable.”
“You’re a bit messed up. But that doesn’t give you the right to murder people. What was wrong with you? The curse you mentioned.”
My head remains cocked over my shoulder. Ellia stares at me, hesitant about something. She lifts the band concealing her left eye. It’s dark. Dark as night. A striking contrast to her green one. The tell-tale sign of a Graft. An indication you don’t belong with the rest of us. She was born into a taboo life without a choice. And she’s had to keep it concealed her entire life. But I never thought it to be a real sign of a Graft. Just a superstition. A fear among the masses. Like Susy being the Hybreed with the talent of all races. I never believed it to be real. Regardless, society abandoned her, and the Taoiseach brought her in. The Taoiseach gave her a life when she had none.
“So it’s true…you’re…an Imp!”
It is time to counter the weight dragging us deeper and deeper into non-existence. The Hybreed is only a man. That is not enough. I must show them something unbelievable, something undeniable, something fierce. A courageous leap of faith into a new world.
19 Goose
I ride perilously through t
he Garnet Plains, heading west toward the rising sun. Marauder has been solid as I forego rest and risk pushing the painted stallion to his limits. I haven’t slowed much, if any, and wouldn’t even be able to describe the first portion of my journey west if needed. The Advocate did me well with the horse he provided. And it only dropped my purse by a few copper ribs. Stone was gracious enough to split the remainder of his fortune with me when we said our goodbyes. Not that that matters much as I haven’t had a purse in four seasons, but it may come in handy when I reach Greybark.
The vast, supple hills surrounding me now are rather distracting. They go on and on without end, and their grandeur causes me to let up a bit. They’re sown with wheat that has not yet grown to a harvestable crop. The refreshing wind slashes through the vivacious, green farmland, with each gust pulsating a bolt of red veins throughout the wheat as if the fields were the life of Azure. It reveals the heads of several Greenthumbs speckled throughout as they kneel between the rows to fertilize the land. It’s a laborious task, no doubt, and honorable. The Sprhowts nurturing those fields help to feed all of Azure.
I push the sappy thought from my mind as I recall the cause of the red-hued farmlands—one of the many useless facts I learned during my limited studies at the Academy. The vegetation north, closer to the Scarlet River, is affected more so. The red waters saturate the soils, causing the crops to grow red, hence the name Garnet Plains. But the red pigment only works into the base of the crop, making for green foliage at the surface and the red hues below. By the end of summer, all these fields will be a golden-rose color and ready to harvest.
Helios, not quite as limber as Marauder, trails behind us. I glance over my shoulder occasionally to ensure he hasn’t keeled over. The orange fur is easily spotted against the contrasting green fields, allowing a gap to grow between us as I push him to his limits as well. The poor beast is outliving his time, it seems, but his strong heart won’t let him wander. Stone was unable to take the cat with him on the fishing vessel the Advocate secured for him, so I offered to take charge of the beast. And he would murder me if I allowed anything to happen to the cat, so I dare not get too far ahead.
Season of Sacrifice (Blood of Azure Book 1) Page 21