by K. F. Breene
Shanti hung her head as the Graygual began to walk in their direction, readying for battle. “No, Rohnan. I know this was the way we always agreed we’d handle this situation. We’d kill our own people, we’d kill ourselves, and we’d kill any human weapons before Xandre could use them for his own devices. It seems logical, I guess. And so far I’ve followed the wishes of our people. I killed our friends and family when they were captured. I attempted to kill Cayan…”
She swallowed through the lump in her throat and watched the collection of black uniforms draw closer. The path she had to follow seemed so obvious. It was also the opposite of her instinct this far on the journey.
“Chosen or no, at some point I have to think for myself,” she said, coming to a decision. “At some point, I have to trust the Elders. I have to believe that I am on the right path. This is that moment, Rohnan. You found this man. I found you. And we will all go and join with Cayan. That feels right. So I will trust in it.”
She barely heard Rohnan’s sigh.
A somber voice said, “You are in a prison of your own devising. Only when you allow yourself freedom of thought can you obtain freedom of mind. The path is before you, you just have to push through your fears to traverse it.”
“And I’m positive he can understand us,” Shanti said, tucking her map deep into her binding to make sure it stayed. If she failed, she’d betray the only other uprising she knew of. She couldn’t fail.
The weight of the gold was light in her hand as she pulled away the satchel and tossed it to the old man. “Hold this for me, please. I’ll collect it later if I’m still alive.” She swung her foot over her horse’s back and jumped down.
“You are harder to kill on horseback,” Rohnan said as he twirled his staff.
“Think before you speak, Rohnan.”
He smirked. “True. All they’d have to do is blow in your direction and you’d fall off, land on your head, and be killed by a rock. I’ll take the riders, you take everyone else.”
“Sounds fair,” Shanti said in a dry tone.
The sword glinted with a dangerous light as she freed it from the scabbard. Her knives hugged her thigh in comfort. The sun continued its slow rise, shining down on their battlefield as if Death wasn’t present in every moment. Shanti closed her eyes and felt the trees swaying in the light breeze, infusing her with strength. The grasses gently tapped her legs, grounding her. The minds of animals moved deep in the dense foliage way ahead of them. Shanti and her party would be joining them. She felt it. The Elders were guiding her feet this day. They would not let her fail.
She brushed Rohnan’s mind and was immediately merged with family. Shanti glanced at the old man, who was squinting at the Graygual. She waited until he caught her stare with intense, calculating eyes before she said, “You don’t want to be captured—both for your benefit and ours. You might’ve been treated reasonably well so far, but that won’t last. If we start to lose, you had best run. Freedom is more than a state of mind.”
He nodded, almost imperceptibly. Then, in her and Rohnan’s language, said, “You are a rare creature, and the loyalty you inspire is legendary. I am seeing but tiny glimpses of the fruits of your labor, but it is enough to nod to the Divine Leader—or the Elders, in your case. They’ve chosen correctly. But you are a long way from your journey’s end, and you have yet to balance with the Left Hand. An exciting prospect—I am eager to meet the prophecy.” He put his hand to his chest. “I have been selected to guide you, Wanderer. I have waited long for my path to intersect with yours, and now that it has, we have much planning to do. So please, continue. I will ensure we move forward.”
Shanti couldn’t help the gaping stare.
“Here they come, Chosen,” Rohnan said as he kicked his horse to a trot.
Shanti ripped her gaze away from the old man. There were questions that needed answers, but first there was a battle to win.
“Told you he wasn’t mad,” Rohnan yelled over his shoulder as his horse carried him away. “I’m right, admit it. I know everything.”
Shanti started to run. “You still got captured with no hope of escape. Being right doesn’t mean you’re not stupid.”
She heard Rohnan’s snort, but felt his mirth drip away. The Graygual on the ground started to run, too, their feet thundering on the dirt as they increased their pace. The horses trotted behind them, but Rohnan was closing the distance. They’d go faster soon.
The Sarshers stayed where they were, no doubt waiting until she was good and close before unleashing their nasty tricks. She didn’t wait. With a sharp blast of power, she aimed for the Sarsher in the white shirt. Her mind slammed against a tight block, sending the man a step back into one of his comrades.
Didn’t expect that much power, huh?
The first Graygual fighter met her, then. She slashed down with her sword. He raised his weapon for a block. Her arm vibrated from the clash. Without losing speed, she stepped to the side and stabbed with her other hand. The blade of her knife jammed in his eye. She pushed him back with her forearm and yanked her blade free. Tossing it up, she caught the tip and threw it at a Graygual with a face ruined by a wicked scar. His throat blossomed around the hilt and blood poured down his neck.
She threw another sharp mental jab at the Master Executioner. Her power smashed into his mental block, again. She sent another pulse, battering at him. Trying to break down his shield. Weakening his defenses.
A sword whipped by her head. A quick feint and rapid feet had her at the Graygual’s back, deftly stepping over the dead bodies from moments before. She stabbed through the center of him and whirled to three oncoming figures. She slammed down her mental shields, knowing this was the perfect time for the Sarshers to attack.
She blocked a sword strike from a thin man while dancing left. She kicked high, catching one of the three in the face. His jaw cracked. She snatched a knife as she spun. The blade sliced across a vulnerable throat. The follow-through had her arm even with the thin man’s neck. She stabbed, only to catch air. He’d ducked.
She took two fast steps and struck, her sword slashing through the stomach of the fighter with a broken jaw. The thin man’s sword came down, barely missing her head.
He was getting irritating.
She turned to him, only to find herself squaring off against two more. Metal rang somewhere behind them. Hurry Rohnan, I’m about to be overrun!
Knife in one hand, sword in the other, she feinted one way then the other and waited for someone to bite. A sword came, as expected. She danced out of reach then stepped back, cleaving a huge man through the gut. He staggered, cutting off an advance from the thin man.
“Hurry Rohnan!” she shouted.
She swung and thrust, dodging one swing and blocking another. Another man joined the foray as the thin man darted behind her. She spun toward the little bastard.
“Bloody die!” she yelled in frustration, striking. His sword swung as a grin lit up his face. Another man was closing in to her side. Things were getting dicey.
Then she realized that the mental attack had not come.
In a rush, she peeled back the block from her Gift, wondering if they were waiting for another attack from her before engaging. Instead, she met nothingness. It was as if no one in the clearing had mental powers.
She blocked the quick man’s sword and jerked forward with her knife. The blade cut through fabric but only entered a shallow amount of skin. Taking a lesson from Sanders, Cayan’s army Commander, she kicked upwards as hard as she could. Her foot connected with the apex of the quick man’s legs. She heard the second crack of the battle, but this one elicited a higher pitched scream.
She mentally stabbed again, intending to blast through the block and snatch up anything that came at her. Her thrust met soft, squishy tissue. Like a hot knife directly into an exposed brain, her power sliced right through, killing the Master Executioner in an instant.
A sword appeared above her. The sun glinted off its clean blade as the death
blow raced toward her. In a moment of panic, she stepped to the side and slashed with her Gift. The man howled in agony. He contorted backward. One hand clutched his head, the other dropped the sword and tried to reach behind him to claw at his back.
Without a moment to lose, Shanti turned with sword, ready to meet the next attacker as she prepared a killing sweep of the Sarshers. A staff with a wicked, curved blade swung down. Rohnan had finally arrived.
She let loose a blanket of mental pain, aiming for the Sarshers. They were staring at the dead Master Executioner or looking confused and wild-eyed. But why weren’t they using their powers?
Not about to question the help of the Elders, she raked through their exposed and fragile minds, completely vulnerable without blocks or attacks. They each clutched at their heads and screamed as she stepped forward and slashed through the body of a Graygual.
Seeing Rohnan advancing on the remaining Graygual with a killing strike at the ready, Shanti threw the blade. The knife struck the middle of the red circle on the Graygual’s breast. Deep crimson stained his front as his shaking hands groped for the hilt. Rohnan pulled back his staff as the horse ran by. He glanced off toward the Sarshers, who had all sunk to their knees and fallen where they knelt.
He slowed his horse to a walk as his incredulous gaze came to rest on hers. “How—”
“I don’t know,” she said, checking to make sure everyone was dead.
“We should search them.” Disgust lanced Rohnan’s voice.
Shanti nodded as her gut twisted. Swallowing back bile at the most loathsome part of killing on the run, she bent to the first dead and bloodied body and searched his clothing, pulling out money and weapons, but leaving personal artifacts.
“I hate this part, too, but it’s necessary.” Rohnan slid off the horse and followed her example.
“We haven’t much time before someone comes to check in,” Shanti murmured, patting down the next man. She glanced again at the downed Sarshers. “They never engaged. It was like they suddenly lost their mental power.”
She moved to the next Graygual as two horses trotted up. The old man led Shanti’s horse by the lead. He said, “We all have different gifts. It is how we use those gifts in unison that will determine the eventual outcome.”
Shanti wiped her hands on a clean part of an enemy tunic before she straightened up. She used her palm to block the rays of the sun as she looked up at the old man. His mind was as unreadable as ever. “You can block mental power. Is that what you mean? That is your Gift?”
“We have much to discuss, but not now. Let us look at that map and get out of harm’s way.”
“There is no getting out of harm’s way,” Shanti responded, pulling out the map. “The Hunter will find our trail and track us. The best we can hope for is to outrun him.”
Finding the trail on the map, Shanti pointed in the right direction before mounting up and heading out. As they moved, she couldn’t help but think about what the old man had said before. “What did you call me earlier?”
“The Wanderer.” The man grinned. In a somber and flat voice, he started speaking like he was reciting something from a book. “Women who have suffered, no matter how afraid, hold out their hands in aid to help others. To create a loyalty like no other--as strong as an oak, as enduring as a mountain, and as brutal as Time—look no further than a female who has risen from the ashes. The Wanderer must be rightfully welcomed into a network of mothers and warriors both. With one hand she will nurture, and with the other she will strike out against evil. The Wanderer will be a woman from great suffering. She will unite the lost, the forlorn, and the survivors, and she will form the bond of the ages. Aid her!”
Shanti shook her head as the weight settled in her stomach again. She didn’t understand what he was talking about, and understood her journey even less. She was lost, drifting. She hoped Cayan had some ideas.
“Do me a favor,” she said to the old man as they neared the path. “When you speak madness, do it in the other language. It’s less confusing that way.”
Rohnan huffed out a laugh as they entered the trees.
Chapter Four
Marc hunched over the pale man lying on the ground who had his eyes squeezed shut with his breath coming in fast pants. One arm lay at his side, clutching at leaves and dirt. The other was delicately held over his stomach for Marc’s inspection.
Wiping sweat from his eyes, Marc looked over his shoulder to see the crazy eyes of Commander Sanders. The commander didn’t say anything, but the set of his jaw and his flexed muscles screamed impatience.
Marc turned back like a man who didn’t want to acknowledge a ghost at his back and stared at the sentry in obvious pain. Taking a big breath to steady himself, he reached out with trembling hands to gingerly touch the hurt man’s forearm. His action was met with a slight moan immediately cut off in an act of sheer will.
He cleared his throat and said, “It’s, ah… it’s broken, sir. I think.”
“You think?” Commander Sanders moved around until he could look down at Marc’s face. “The man can’t move the thing without complaining, it’s hot to the touch, and you think it’s broken? Try again.”
He summoned all his courage, trying to pretend it was the patient and understanding S’am looking down on him. Shanti, he reminded himself. Calling her S’am meant she had a leadership role, and leaders just didn’t wander away in the middle of the night when their men needed them.
Marc hunched, trying to hide the redness he knew colored his face. Then he bowed even more, feeling the gaze of the toughest, meanest, most impatient man in the entire army boring into the top of his head.
“We—well, sir,” Marc stammered, trying to get the ordeal over with. His brain churned, but all he could think of was that intense stare and the grisly scar down the left side of Sanders’ face. Or maybe it was the fact that Sanders got that scar while killing four Mugdock with nothing but a small knife and a bad attitude.
He cleared his throat, seeing that the lines of the arm were true and there weren’t any obvious signs of bones out of place. The man had fallen out of the tree—his post for sentry duty—and landed badly. Kids did it all the time. Plus, Sanders knew it was broken, so what was Marc needed for? Take the man to get a brace, tell him to be more careful, and be done with it.
Although…
Marc looked up at the branches and then to the body sprawled out on the ground with his head facing the trunk. A trickle of blood seeped from a spot of matted crimson hair. It was not a deep gash, but the sentry had definitely hit his head.
He leaned forward and delicately touched the skull. The sentry winced. Marc gently opened the sentry’s right eye and noticed the dilated pupil. The sentry had probably hit his head when he hit the ground. His body broke most of the fall, but his head definitely bounced. The trauma hadn’t killed him, but he had a concussion. He’d need treatment for the arm, and the head wound would have to be monitored.
“He doesn’t do well when you smother him while he works.” Xavier marched up, a note held out for Sanders. He was a large kid for fifteen, with broad shoulders, a wide chest, and already stacked muscle. He wasn’t quite as big as the Captain, but Xavier wasn’t done growing, either. Too bad all the ambition had gone out of him when Shanti hadn’t returned. Almost all of the Honor Guard—the faction of five that were set to spy on, then get trained by, the strange foreign woman they’d found in the dead lands—had the same problem. Her practices had been fun, if also terrifying. Standing around in the practice yard while someone yelled at them just didn’t compare.
Sanders glared at Xavier as he took the note. He read it before looking back at Marc. “Your dense friend thinks I’m smothering you somehow. Is this correct?”
Marc’s eyes rounded before he stared at the ground. “No, sir.”
“What is his ailment?” Sanders pushed.
“He probably has a concussion. He needs to go to the hospital to have his arm set and get watched for his head,” Marc
rattled out.
He sighed in relief when Sanders said, “Stenson, get yourself to the hospital and do as the boy says.”
“Yes, sir.” The sentry painfully rose to his feet.
“You might, uh, go with him, sir,” Marc muttered with his hands in his pockets. “Just so he doesn’t get dizzy or lost. Head wounds can do strange things.”
After a tense beat, Sanders said, “C’mon, Stenson. I’m going that way, anyway. These boys need all the time they can get in the practice yard.”
“Yes, sir,” Stenson wheezed while clutching his arm.
“Get gone,” Sanders barked at Xavier and Marc.
The two boys took off as fast as possible without actually running. It wasn’t a great idea to hang around when Sanders was in a mood like this. A guy might find himself getting thrown through a tree that way.
After they’d put some distance between themselves and the prickly Commander, Xavier said, “Took a long time on that diagnosis, huh? Was it Sanders breathing down your neck, or did you really not know what was wrong with Stenson?”
“Sanders jumbles all my thoughts,” Marc admitted. “But… I don’t really think I’m living up to Shanti’s expectations…”
Xavier kicked at a rock. “Yeah, well, she had impossible expectations in the first place. Then she left. So…”
“I just feel like things are unfinished, you know? There’s still a ton of danger out there—I saw what the Inkna did to that city. And they have a bunch of mind-thrower people. We can’t stand up to that.”
“We have the Captain. He’s as strong as Shanti.”
“Except he doesn’t know what he’s doing. And who’s he going to train with? He could just as easily kill with that mind thing as do nothing with it. And Shanti was the best—”
“So she said,” Xavier interrupted with spite.
“Okay, well, she was way better than any of those Inkna, and she’s better than the Captain. If she’s not the best, then we’re all in trouble. She wasn’t afraid of the Inkna, and didn’t mind running straight into battle, but the Graygual made her go pale. If they come calling, we’re screwed.”