Along the Razor's Edge (The War Eternal Book 1)

by Rob J. Hayes

  "How?" Yorin asked.

  I shook my head. "Not here," I said. "I have a small group. We're getting out. Soon. It doesn't happen without Isen."

  "How do I know this is real?" he asked.

  The answer seemed obvious to me. "You don't. But you have nothing to lose and everything to gain. I'm giving you a chance at getting out of here, and all you have to do is not fucking kill someone. How hard is that? I'm not asking you to lose, just don't kill him. Please."

  Yorin leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. For a while we just stared at each other. Maybe he was trying to decide if I was telling the truth, or just playing for time. Maybe he was flipping a coin in his head about whether to kill me there and then. I had nothing else to offer, no other cards to play. All I had was the hope that he would see the truth; that it cost him nothing yet gained him everything he wanted. "Five days. Five fights," he said. He leaned forward and the look in his eyes convinced me of the truth behind his next words. "If I'm not out of here in five days. I'll kill your boy, and then I'll kill you."

  There seemed little else to say after that. I might have bartered for more time, but I had the feeling it would just have weakened my argument. Whether I liked it or not, I had just put us on a timer.

  I stayed to watch the fight even though it hurt me. It sounds strange to say it hurt me. I'll wager it hurt Isen much more. As fast and strong as he was, he didn't stand a chance against Yorin.

  Hardt didn't show up, so I watched alone, silent amidst the hoard of screaming scabs and foremen.

  By the time it was over, Isen was a bloody mess, still struggling to stand despite the beating. He didn't land a single solid blow. The crowd shouted, roared. They knew what was coming next. A lot of scabs shunned the arena, those who didn't like watching people die for sport, but those who turned up to watch wanted to see the death. I robbed them of that pleasure that night.

  As far as I am aware, Isen was the only person ever to fight Yorin and live. I suppose that might have been a grand accolade to some, but he still marked it as a loss. Even worse, he knew the only reason he was alive was because I had convinced Yorin not to kill him. Everyone knew that was the only reason Isen survived his fight. For all the damage it might have done to our friendship, it did so much more for my reputation down in the Pit.

  Chapter 21

  I was just four years old when the Orran-Terrelan war broke out. I've read around the subject and I now know the truth, as told by both sides. The Orrans started the war, but it was already coming long before the first troops crossed the border.

  The Orran lands were craggy, full or rocks and forests and the indomitable Kinei range of mountains. Where the land started to turn flat and arable was where the Terrelans staked their borders. Our little continent of Isha has always been lush, rich in valuable minerals and farmland. They had the land, we had the mines. But that wasn't why the war started.

  For almost a century before I was born, both Orran and Terrelan had been gobbling up smaller kingdoms until only the two remained on Isha. They drew up lines in the dirt and our soldiers stared at theirs, who stared right back. The history books call that time peace, but I'd wager it was anything but peaceful. Sanctioned raids on border towns saw families on both sides caught up in the conflict before it even officially began. Josef was one of those. He was an orphan even before the war started, yet he still blamed Orran for making the first official declaration.

  At the time, I didn't even know what a war was, let alone that I was part of the Orran Empire and they were fighting one. My little forest village was far from the front. I think the closest Keshin ever came to the war was when the recruiters took me from my parents.

  Years later, after a decade of training in the academy, Josef and I were sent to the front lines. By then, the Orran Empire was losing. So many Sourcerers were dead already. Not to mention the soldiers tasked with waging the front lines of the battles. So many lives lost over lines on a map.

  Our tutors argued we weren't ready. Those in charge argued that readiness no longer mattered. The Terrelans were just a few day's march from the capital and if they reached it, the war was all but lost. Looking over reports and maps of the time, I could have told them the war was already lost, and two young Sourcerers couldn't have made a difference. All we managed to do was slow down the advancing tide of flesh and metal and magic. But, like the tide, the Terrelan advance was unstoppable.

  They sent us out with the best scouts the Orran army had left. I remember a woman by the name of Aranet; she was tall and lithe and had face like old leather, all tough and wrinkled. Aranet didn't care that we were Sourcerers. She didn't care that we held the effective rank of a captain and therefore outranked her. Aranet kept us alive as we moved through the besieged Orran lands, harrying the advancing Terrelan army. Without her, I have no doubt we'd have been captured or killed long before the final battle.

  Under the watchful eyes of the scouts we snuck into the Terrelan camps. Josef used Biomancy to spoil food supplies, speeding decay and planting illness. I used Impomancy to summon monsters from the Other World to savage the horses. We caused as much chaos as we could and vanished before the soldiers thought to look for us. It was like a game to us. I thought myself untouchable in those days.

  We never saw the carnage we caused. Aranet was quick to pull us away once the job was done. We never saw the illness or starvation Josef caused. Never saw the mutilated corpses of so many horses. It's quite surprising how much damage a small pack of khark hounds can do in a short time, and they were a favourite summon of mine. Nearly mindless and easy to control, I could happily summon five or six of the beasts and barely break a sweat. It turns out, the stronger willed the creature summoned, the harder it is to control. They don't want to be commanded. The lesser monsters fight it because it goes against the freedom they're so used to. The greater horrors fight it because it is slavery. Ssserakis eventually taught me that. It had a rage that almost rivalled my own.

  We slept irregularly and for only a few hours at a time. Grabbing some shuteye is somewhat different for a Sourcerer than it is a soldier. The scouts had the luxury of leaning back, closing their eyes, and drifting off. I admit, it may not have been quite that easy given all the things they had seen, but some of them seemed able to find sleep within moments. For Josef and I, things were a little more difficult. We each kept five Sources in our stomachs, a heavy load no matter how small the Sources might be. Josef couldn't sleep with an Empamancy Source inside and I couldn't with an Impomancy Source, lest our magic go out of control and lay waste to those around us. Each time we tried to steal even a little sleep we would have to suck on Spiceweed and vomit up everything in our stomachs. Life for a Sourcerer can be quite wretched at times. Even so, I wouldn't trade my magic for all the meals and sleep in the world. I love the power far too much.

  The Terrelans caught up to us in a barn outside the village of Cartswold. I think they were scouts, tracking us as we harried the main force. They were inside the building, killing us before I had chance to wipe the sleep from my eyes. Josef was faster to grasp the situation than I, he was already swallowing down Sources while I was still trying to stretch out a yawn.

  It is not easy to swallow down a Source. A sad fact of Sourcery is the larger the Source, the more powerful it is. Some are the size of a marble and can be forced down with a little effort and little more pain. Some are the size of a grape. Some are the size of a small orange and take considerable force to ingest, they are even worse on the way up, coated in bile. Some are even larger still. I have seen Sources as large as a fist and I have seen Sourcerers able to somehow swallow them. I will admit I have always wondered how such a thing is even possible. The largest Source I have ever seen was the size of a melon. I've always been fascinated by what sort of power a Source so large might grant, but alas, even a garn couldn't swallow such a thing, and those monstrous slugs have no Sourcerers so no reason to try. It is probably the most powerful Source in the world, and the last tim
e I saw it, it was being used as a doorstop.

  We were on the balcony in the barn and the fighting was taking place below us. I could hear metal clashing against metal, the screams of the injured, and sickening thuds I didn't understand at the time. Now I know all too well the sound of a sword or axe sinking into flesh. It is no less sickening, nor is the sucking squelch flesh makes as metal is pulled free.

  I shoved my Pyromancy Source into my mouth and tensed as I forced it down. It was a larger Source than I was used to and had a sharp edge. I bled a lot back then. It was not uncommon for me to vomit up blood each night. Despite that, I hated every moment I wasn't carrying at least one Source in my stomach. For as long as I can remember, I have felt incomplete without magic inside of me.

  As soon as the Source was sitting inside, I dragged on its power and ignited my right hand with a burst of green flame. Josef stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. I could see he was struggling to swallow down a second Source. I remember seeing him shake his head and after a few moments he simply told me not to use fire. He was right, of course. We were in a barn, surrounded by straw and dried wood. I could have turned the entire building into a pyre in mere moments, but it would have been for our funeral.

  As Josef leapt off the balcony and floated down to the ground floor, using Kinemancy to slow his decent, I shoved my Portamancy Source down my throat. It was easier to swallow but still uncomfortable on the way down. Below, I could see Josef was using psychokinesis to throw dropped weapons at the soldiers pouring in through the open doorway. I opened a portal to the ground floor, stepped through, and snapped it shut behind me.

  It was my first taste of real battle. The first time I had ever seen death and carnage up close. There were already bodies on the floor, both Orran and Terrelan. I hesitated to join the fight. I knew I had used my magic to kill before, but it was different when I could see the people I was trying to murder. Aranet paid the price for my hesitation.

  The weathered scout turned and shouted at Josef and I to run. I remember seeing a soldier rise up behind her. I could have stopped it, but fear of killing the man paralysed me just for a moment, and that moment was all it took for him to bury his sword in Aranet's head. Josef blasted the soldier away with a kinetic burst, but it was too late. I will always remember the sight of Aranet's face half separated on the left side with a length of steel embedded in her skull. Shattered bone, pulverised flesh, and pulsing blood. I will always remember the look in her eyes. It wasn't fear. It wasn't even pain. Surprise and confusion were the last things Aranet ever felt. It was sickening. I had known Aranet. Maybe I would never have called her a friend, but I respected her. She dropped to the ground a ruin of what she had once been. I would probably have vomited but for my body's stubborn refusal to relinquish the Sources I had inside of me.

  We were losing, outnumbered and most of the scouts were dead already. Josef and I might have been able to fight them off, but neither of us had time to swallow the rest of our Sources and neither of us was prepared for a close quarters fight.

  I opened a portal behind us, one emptying out just a few hundred paces away. With just two scouts left to protect us, one severely injured, the fight was lost. I helped the injured scout to her feet and pushed her through the portal. She cried out in pain, her right arm almost severed at the elbow. The last scout was holding three soldiers at bay and I could see more forcing their way through the door in front. I grabbed hold of Joseph and threw us both through the portal, snapping it shut behind us. For a long time, I wondered if I might have been able to save that final scout. Probably. One more skull on the road behind me.

  Josef was the first to his feet and he pointed back towards the barn. I didn't need him to tell me. I drew on my Pyromancy Source and created a flaming ball in each hand. They grew as I launched them towards the barn and impacted against the wood, engulfing it. Within moments the entire structure was ablaze. The ground rumbled beneath us as Josef used Geomancy to crack the earth and sink the barn in a crash of noise, splintered timbers, and burning embers. I remember the screams of the people trapped inside, burning to death. The blaze of that barn lit up the darkness.

  I watched and listened for a long time, bearing witness to the carnage. Josef forced his Biomancy Source down and set to saving the last remaining scout's life. Her name was Lilth and, though Josef couldn't save the arm, I know for a fact that she survived long after that battle and long after the war ended. My road might be paved with skulls, but Josef's, I think, was paved with lives he saved.

  I have always considered Aranet's death to be my fault. The first of the skulls I could name littering my wake. If only I hadn't hesitated. If only I had been stronger, faster, better I might have saved her. The morning after Isen and Yorin's fight I woke from a nightmare of the scout's rent face. I didn't realise it at the time, but it was Ssserakis toying with my sleeping mind, drawing out fear to feed upon.

  I found myself coated in a cold sweat, crouched above Josef. I saw my friend's eyes flick open and felt my heart break a little at the terror I saw there. Josef scrambled backwards, scooting along the ground until he was pressed up against the wall. I froze and for the first time I realised my right arm was raised and I was clutching something. It was a small rock, no larger than my own fist.

  "Why?" Josef asked, his voice quiet, quivering slightly.

  You are the weapon.

  It wasn't until I opened my mouth to speak that I realised I had no answer. The rock was in my hand and I was still poised to strike. Yet I couldn't understand how I had gotten there. An odd strength flooded through me. The fear coming off Josef was an ecstasy I couldn't compare at the time. These days I've tasted more than a few ecstasies, and I think I would still put that fear fairly high up on the list. I might have realised it was Ssserakis there and then, but every time I caused such fear the horror receded into whatever part of me it hid in, sated for a time.

  The rock dropped from my hand and I fell backwards onto my arse. I sat there for a while, staring down at my hands and trying to reason out my actions. I had none. I thought myself a monster. A fucking monster! Mere moments away from murdering my best friend. The hatred I feel for myself has never been stronger.

  "What is wrong with you, Eska?" Josef asked, still huddled against the wall. I saw Hardt stir from the corner of my eye, but no one else had seen my attempt to kill Josef. It took a long time for me to admit the truth of that night to Hardt. "First you push me away, and now you try to kill me?"

  "I didn't..." My words stumbled to a halt. "It wasn't me. Or I didn't mean to..." Shame burned in me.

  "To what?" Josef looked hurt, truly hurt. "Kill me? Why, Eska? Why?"

  I floundered for an answer and couldn't fucking find one. I was crying again. I think I ran out of tears down in the Pit. At least for a time. There will always be more tears, and more reasons to shed them.

  "I get it," Josef said, lurching to his feet, his eyes flicking briefly towards Isen. The other scabs in our cavern were all awake now. All watching. True privacy was hard down in the Pit. "Easier to move on if I'm dead. Maybe I just remind you of what you were."

  Josef was breathing hard and there were tears in his eyes as well, yet still I couldn't find my voice. I think maybe this was the moment our friendship ended. I look back at it, and I wonder what I could have said to change things. Hardt likes to tell me there was nothing I could have done. He's wrong. So damned wrong. I could have fixed things. I just didn't know how. I never know how.

  With a shake of his head Josef started to walk away. He kicked a little stone and it hit my knee. I barely felt it, yet I hissed in pain and for just a moment Josef stopped, the hard expression he wore crumbling away to concern. Then he shook his head and stormed out of the cavern.

  I should have gone after him. Maybe... I like to blame Ssserakis some days for putting the fear in me, for telling me chasing after Josef wouldn't have helped. Another lie I tell myself. I just didn't know what to say. I had no way to fix what was broken between us. W
hat I had broken.

  Josef never returned to our cavern and I never looked for him. I left him there. I left my best friend, someone closer to me than my own blood had ever been, the other half of me, to live and die in a miserable existence deep underground. Even worse, I knew Prig and Deko would torture him to find where I had gone.

  Chapter 22

  It's easy to look back at my years at the academy and remember only the most harrowing bits, but that's not the whole truth. There were plenty of good times as well. Josef and I grew up thick as thieves living privileged lives. We were fed and clothed and treated to the finest education the Orran Empire could throw at us. Josef took to the lessons with a passion, but I took to books like no other.

  We were in our second year of classes when the tutors started teaching us letters and words. As with most people my age I can barely remember the time I spent learning to read, and I'm sure I've forgotten half the books I've read, but I do remember the joy of being able to read. The academy library was quite extensive, and I had almost full access, barring some of the texts the tutors considered to be too dangerous for young students. Unlike some of the others in my class I did not restrict myself to factual texts regarding magic and history, but spent almost as much time reading bards' tales and depictions of folklore.

  I remember one story about a warrior of great renown who travelled the world fighting monsters. Most of the creatures he encountered were crude depictions, giant beasts with multiple heads or fire breathers. In truth, they were rather tame, given that I was already learning the basics of Impomancy. What really fascinated me about those stories were the hero's travels through exotic lands where few terrans ever set foot. I think that was when I realised how small my world was.