by Lucas Thorn
“No. But he was there when my pa was murdered.” The knife stopped shivering in her fist. Light caught on its killing edge, burning with fire. “I want to kill him myself. I didn’t get to kill Pope. But I’ll kill Alfur. And Jaime. And Maks, too. I don’t care how big they are. I’ll kill them. All of them.”
The hatred in her voice was a sting in the elf’s spine.
A sting which hummed to the tune of her husband’s name. Talek.
Nine other names rolled through her head. Each the name of a dead man. A man she’d hunted. She could still feel the weight of her own brother’s head in her hands. Dead weight.
Weight she’d carried through the Deadlands to dump on the Talek’s grave.
She’d met a lot of people who’d told her over the years that revenge was a pointless quest. It couldn’t bring the dead back, so could never satisfy.
She’d learnt while sawing Raste’s head from his neck that they were right about one thing.
Revenge couldn’t bring back the dead.
But it did satisfy.
It satisfied a lot.
With a grunt, she turned her head slightly, not quite looking at the young girl. “Reckon I owe you, kid,” she said. Felt the burden like a goblin on her back. “Killed a feller who weren’t mine to kill.”
“When you killed him, I just couldn’t believe it was Pope. My pa spoke to him a lot of times. Down on the docks. They weren’t friends, but there was no reason for it. Why would he do that? His eyes, they were different. Angry. Like he hated my pa. I couldn’t understand why. I thought it couldn’t be him. It just couldn’t. Then you killed him. And there was so much blood.” Mija lifted her chin. Pulled every ounce of pride she could find into her voice. “Later, in the cell, that’s all I could think of. How fast you acted. How hard you killed him. How much he hurt. And I realised that should’ve been me up there. I should’ve been the one to act. Not stand there like a child. I know I’m young, but I’m Crossbone-born. My pa had been on four raids when he was my age. My brother went two summers ago. He didn’t come back, but Captain Sorgoth said he fought hard. Died hard. I never wanted to fight. I always wanted to be a trader instead. Maybe go to Doom’s Gate one day. But that doesn’t mean raider blood doesn’t run in my veins.”
The elf found nothing to say. Instead looked away as Nearne clung tighter to the other girl.
She hoped the kid found her revenge.
Or at least got enough of a taste of it that her thirst was slaked.
Everyone deserved that, she thought. Deserved to soak their fists in the blood of their enemy.
Which made her think about who she was hunting.
Who was her enemy?
The Madman? He’d sent draug to kill her. Maybe not her specifically, but he’d been responsible for sinking the Blue Ox and stranding her on this island. Yet, she couldn’t finger him for an enemy. More a force of nature. Like the ocean itself.
Saja? She couldn’t understand why she felt the pull of obligation for Saja. Sure, the woman had helped save her life. But it was Ainu who’d dived into the sea to save her from drowning. And the elf considered she’d saved both girls in return. She owed nothing to anyone on this island.
Not even Lux, who she was sure had somehow been partly responsible for Maks’ escape. Maybe he’d not wanted Halvir or Saja. Maybe the ruthless old deathpriest had seen them as a burden he didn’t want to carry.
What about Maks, then? He’d killed Saja. Killed Halvir. And the strange old hermit called Stern.
But what did she owe them? Nothing. She owed their ghosts even less.
She pressed the back of her numb fist to her cheek. Maks had beat her, though. That wounded her pride. But it wasn’t him who’d ruined her hand. That was Jaime. Scrawny little fuck.
Sure, she thought. She owed Jaime something. Death? Yeah. Nothing less.
A painful one.
But Mija wanted him, too. And perhaps the young girl had more cause.
Then what about Nath? He’d ordered it done. He had to die.
Had to.
She moved her hand closer to her mouth and clenched her teeth around the knotted rag. Pulled it tighter, feeling it press the squirming black shadowy worms in her skin. They worked harder, pushing through the wreckage of her hand.
She ignored them.
Tasted blood.
And realised her confusion was pointless. Enemies were all around. Everywhere. Crouched in the shadows or screaming in the distance. They were always there. Waiting for a moment of weakness.
Her violet gaze slipped across the gleaming stone with the same caution as her feet.
She used the back of her wrapped fist to rub the scar on her cheek. Felt her mind moving out of the fog and into the crisp fresh embrace of clarity. A clarity she’d missed. The clarity of knowing you were alone and all you could depend on was yourself. That anything more than that was a distraction.
That, in a world where ruthlessness hid behind every smile, only the quickest could hope to survive.
And, when she wasn’t victim of her own impatience, she was quick. She had to be. Lostlight had no time for forgiveness.
No heart for regret.
No soul for compassion.
With each passing breath, she scanned the darkness. Searched grotesque and twisted archways which looked made from the carved entrails of a stone god. Peered into windows which exposed an inner sanctum which oozed malignant intent.
Allowed her mind and body to sink into a more primal state of being as the predator scooped the fear from her belly and set it aside. Sunk its teeth into the rolling ice of anger and hate which always seemed frozen in her guts.
Clawed at her confusion.
Her doubt.
Stripped her of anything other than a need to hunt.
To kill.
Violet eyes steady, she turned her gaze ahead.
Found the narrow shoulders of the blind deathpriest poking his way forward. And let her next thought hammer the stone of her mind.
Maybe, she thought, some enemies were closer than she thought.
Which was when she heard a sound which sent chills through her marrow. A sound of something heavy slithering across the stones. The sound scraped silence from the impenetrable darkness of a line of windows about five feet above their heads.
Like the dragging of a dry tongue.
The small group froze, each listening to the heavy drag as it continued for almost an entire minute before fading into the twisting corridor’s bowels.
The blind deathpriest had the side of his head aimed to the windows. His ear sucking the sound into his brain, though what he was making of it looked like a secret he would take to his grave. Especially when all he did was grunt when Nearne finally broke the quivering silence with; “What was that? What was it?”
“It sounded horrible,” Mija said. The Ugly glinted in her hand, long blade shimmering as she clenched and unclenched her fist around its handle. “Like a slug. Or a snake.”
Lux rolled his shoulders and continued shuffling through the maze of corridors. How he knew which way to turn, she couldn’t tell. Maybe he’d memorised a map. Maybe he’d cast a spell, though she couldn’t smell the familiar acrid taste of one.
She glanced at the two girls.
Shrugged at their expressions, and then followed in his wake.
Padded more carefully, the soft soles of her boots working to muffle her steps. Though, with the deathpriest tapping his staff against the stone, she wasn’t sure why she tried.
Habit, maybe.
That and the awful dragging sound had made her start to wonder what else haunted the temple’s veins. What creatures had the Madman loosed upon the world?
Were they worse than draug?
Could anything really be worse than draug?
She spotted a couple of bats hanging on a ledge high up. A few spiders kept their patience in webs of dusty silk.
Nothing more than that.
But still, the further they ventured, th
e more she was sure there was something. Something watching. Something ancient. Something which reached, slowly, from the dark heart of the twisted architecture.
Skipping to catch up, the two girls were no longer whispering to each other. Hands clasped. Free hands carrying a knife. Hope and hatred.
For herself, all she had was hate, which she nursed with broken fists.
Her lip curled. A bitter grin which tasted every bloody moment in her past.
A shadow flicked, a blur on the edge of her vision.
But stirred emotions had left her on edge. Left her taut and ready to release like a bowstring pulled to its limit. As the shadows shot toward her, she shot back.
A Flaw in the Glass glowed bright as its wickedly-curved edge carved into the reaching tentacle. Cut through rubbery flesh with venomous delight, sending sprays of dark red blood splashing to the ground. The tentacle whipped in pain, knocking her sideways, coiled trunk slamming into her ribs.
It was as thick as her thigh with mouthlike suckers dancing up its length. Each sucker was open with fanged teeth splayed. They snarled and snapped as it curled through the air to try snatching her again. This time it was Queen of Hearts which dived into meat. The black enchantment tore through as the muscular flesh was jelly, severing the alien limb completely.
A metre and a half of flopping tentacle writhed on the ground at her feet like a cut snake.
Heart dashing, she spun in a tight circle, knives held high.
Saw the two girls slashing at a tentacle arcing between them. Mija had a few cuts from where suckers had raked her arm. Nearne dug desperately at the tentacle with her knife, dislodging chunks of meat and spraying herself with blood and gore.
She choked a gasp and kept cutting.
Lux stood still, leaning on his staff. His fingers danced lightly up the length of it and his lips murmured.
An acrid stink made the elf step back and she consciously gave her wrist a shake so the bell rang clearly in the narrow corridor.
She thought he smiled at that.
Two tentacles wormed around his waist, slithering in like giant pythons and gripping tight. She hesitated, unsure whether to dive in and start cutting him free.
Magic burned her nostrils and her eyes watered. It was so much stronger than when Chukshene had cast. Or even Hemlock.
It was like electricity and burnt metal scorching the air. The fumes made her stagger back and it was in that moment of hesitation that the tentacle slapped around her chest, pinning her right arm to her side as it wrapped around with a wet crunch. She let out a pained grunt as suckers latched onto a few bared patches of her skin. They couldn’t bite through the wyrmskin leather, but she felt the teeth gnawing as they tried to burrow into her flesh.
Squeezing, the coiled tentacle began to push air from her lungs and she launched herself in an opposite direction to its tugging pull. Lashed with Queen of Hearts which ripped at the dark flesh. But this arm was ridged with a hard scaled carapace and the enchanted blade licked it in frustration, unable to find an angle to bite through.
It would take time to saw into it.
Time to cut deep enough to make a difference.
Time she didn’t think she had. Each awkward swipe was more desperate, but less powerful.
It was crushing her. Tightening its grip. Trying to wring the life from her. bones Her ribs creaked. Began to bend. Spots of colour exploded behind her eyes.
She arched in agony, let loose a throaty roar.
And then Lux exhaled.
She heard breath slide from his mouth on the wings of a word of power.
And something, somewhere far away, crackled into life as a beam of solid green light shot down out of the sky to slice through the tentacle wrapped around his waist. Severed flesh slapped to his feet, but the light didn’t stop there. It hummed as it zigzagged around the corridor, cutting tentacle after tentacle as though it was a knife cutting through strings with dazzling accuracy.
Nothing stopped it.
It spun in an increasing whirl of light and sound, dicing the tentacles to pieces as they tried to retreat back into the high windows which had lost their sense of malice and looked now wide open in fear and panic.
A thin whining sound rose to a high screaming pitch before the spell let out a choked fizzle in a final explosive blast of sparks and bitter smoke.
When it was done, the elf lay crumpled on the ground, looking up at the blind deathpriest. Her breaths came in gasps. She rolled her shoulder, trying to push blood back into her veins as the dark worms also fought to recover from being crushed against her bones.
She coughed. Sucked for air.
Pushed pieces of bloody flesh from her jacket and watched it slop down to the ground with the rest.
Behind her, Nearne was trying to stop the flow of Mija’s blood from her many cuts.
The deathpriest half-turned, empty eye sockets dark and unfathomable. “Now you see why I asked you to wear the bell,” he said. “It’s so easy to mistake you for something else. One wrong word. One wrong direction. And you’d be a thousand pieces on the floor right now.”
She ignored his observation. Instead, asked; “Is it dead?”
“I doubt it. But it’s wounded. And it won’t try to fight us again, I think.” He listened to the air, craning his neck as he sifted the sounds. All she could hear was the thunder of waves beating against the temple’s mouth. “We’re close. But we don’t have much time. Your Grey Jackets have Ihan surrounded. If they get what they’ve come for, then it won’t matter how much I cast, or how many you kill. He’ll wake to his full. And we’ll die here.”
“Why are you afraid of him waking?” She lifted Queen of Hearts. “I can kill him, can’t I? With this? It kills Vampire Lords.”
“You were doing so well, Nysta,” he sighed. “And now you’ve reverted back to witless thuggery. I said it was possible you could kill him with it. Possible! But it’s also possible the moon will fall out of the sky and land on his head. Anything is possible. Whatever he was before, he’s no Vampire Lord now. Now he’s a creature twisted by his own magic. While the blade clearly responds to you, there’s more to using it than simply burying it in what you’re trying to kill. Why do you think the Dark Lord left it in Urak’s body? For you to find? Are you that arrogant?”
She frowned at the thought.
The deathpriest’s hint that it was more powerful than she thought only made the question more urgent. What was she carrying in her hand?
What did it do?
What was it for?
“Why did he leave it there?”
“Some secrets shouldn’t be uttered here,” he said softly, dropping his voice. “But don’t lose it. No matter what you do, don’t lose it. Ever. Keep it safe. Protect it.”
“I’m getting tired of keeping secrets,” she said. “Reckon I’ve got one too many. And it’s making me think I ain’t had much choice in gathering them. Maybe Grim didn’t leave it there for me. Maybe Talek didn’t have the Cage just so it could come to me. Maybe it was just coincidence Gaket was in the Deadland. There’s a lot of fucking maybes in my life, Lux. How’s this for one more? Maybe I find out why. And maybe if there’s someone putting all those strings on me, maybe I find him. Maybe I kill him.”
He didn’t move. Just stood there, head tilted slightly as he absorbed her words. The dry meat of his brain working to decide his next words.
Finally, he nodded. Rasped; “Maybe you should.”
Then he turned and swept away, cloak rippling out behind as he loped into the darkness smuggled between walls. Staff ringing against the stone as he stepped through the ruined debris of tentacles which had reached for them and now lay still.
“Nysta?” Nearne’s voice was quiet. “Please? I think she’s really hurt.”
The elf looked back and saw Mija leaning against the wall. Her face was pale. Sweat gleamed against her forehead. Eyes held the fear of one who knew she couldn’t be helped, but her jaw was set in grim determination. She clut
ched her arm, which was slick with blood. The suckers had torn most of the skin to ribbons and though Nearne had tried to bind the cuts, she was still bleeding freely.
“I’m fine,” she said. “I can still find them. I’m a raider. A fighter. Not a weak fucking city worm. While I breathe, I can fight. And I can kill them.”
The elf recognised the need in her. Recognised there was nothing they could do to stop her from continuing into the depths of the temple. She looked down at her own hands, feeling the weight of her own wounds.
And sighed.
What wreckage was she carrying into a fight with a creature of vast and terrible power?
What hope was there when there was also an army of trained fighters to fight first?
She lifted her head and returned the other girl’s determination with some of her own. “Pick your target. And don’t let them see you first.”
Mija grit her teeth, though Nearne looked shocked. “I will kill them.”
“Don’t try to keep up. The fight won’t be quick. There’s too many of them. Save your strength. You’ll need it later. Not right now.”
“I understand.”
“Nearne? Stay with her. Help her get there.”
“But-”
“You love her?”
The girl flushed. “Yes, I-”
“Then you help her get there. You help her do what she needs to do. Some things, they ain’t easy to watch. Ain’t easy to endure. Or live with afterwards. But when you love someone, you take them for what they are.” Talek’s face filled her memory and she bit back hot tears of her own as she saw the look in his eyes when he’d first seen her. Seen her with a shiv in her fist and blood coating her face and chest as she knelt in an alley. “You don’t take them for what you want them to be. Most of the time that ain’t a problem. Most of the time it’s an easy thing. But sometimes, they’ve got something they gotta do. Something they can’t live with if they know they didn’t try. And you look in her eyes right now and you tell me this is something you could get her to walk away from. Something you think she’ll forgive you for if you make her walk.”
“I don’t want her to get killed,” Nearne said. Voice breaking. “I don’t want to see that.”
“Then, you look away.” She could feel Talek in her hands. His body ruined. “And you think about what they died for. And you don’t judge them for what it meant to you. You judge them for what it meant to them. They died doing what they had to do. Needed to do. Ain’t a thing in the world more important than that.”