He trembled, looking at his sister again. Brahanu’s face had lost all coloring, her dress blood-sodden and ripped. She appeared more a corpse than his sister, with only her constant shrieks and writhing alerting them to the contrary.
“Zeta has set water to boil, Gali. What else do you need?” Danimore asked, rushing back to her side.
“I need you and Julaybeim to get her out of here. I need Brahanu on the ground near the fire,” she said, tossing him some furs. “Lay these on the ground and take this basket. Everything I’ll need is inside. Make haste, the babe’s crowning.”
Both Pentanimir’s hair and breastplate were blood-stained as he fought to advance nearer to Itai and Hacom’s position. Nazilian guards attempted to surround the two, with Itai heaving his axe while taking up a defensive posture. Hacom stood aslant, his shield drooping in one hand, and his sword working feverishly with the other. Whether fatigued or injured, they needed his help, and Pentanimir increased his efforts to level the attacking guard.
Hearing a loud, resonate whistle, Pentanimir’s heart stopped. He made short work of the remaining guard, turning in time to see the barrage of arrows streaking toward Hacom and Itai. With a grunt, Hacom brought his shield around, blocking most of the deadly projectiles. But a thunderous yell from Itai, signaled the accuracy of at least one of the arrows from the onslaught. After scanning their surroundings, Hacom steadied Itai’s stance, while swiping out his sword. When the guards gave ground, Hacom snapped off the fledged end of the arrow, pulling it through Itai’s thigh. Itai dropped on one knee, groaning as the poisonous venom radiated throughout his entire body.
Pentanimir kept fighting his way forward, trying to keep focus on the men. As he neared Itai and Hacom, more Nazilian guards were in pursuit. Itai staggered, shaking his head, fighting against the effects of the serpent’s venom . With languid movement, he swung his axe at one guard and then the next, before nearly toppling to the ground. When Pentanimir noticed a guard raising his Xtabyren, he leapt from the stone platform, landing in a forward roll, and coming up to his feet, delivering a high kick that sent the Xtabyren tumbling from the guard’s hand.
“Traitor!” the guard tried to yell, but his words were cut short by another staggering kick beneath his chin. Pentanimir followed through with a powerful thrust, impaling the guard through the chest.
“You must get up, Itai,” Pentanimir shouted, taking up a defensive posture beside him. “More guards will come. Help him, Hacom,” he yelled, engaging two more Nazilian guards, defending Brahanu’s husband and father.
“I—I can’t,” Itai breathed, still swinging his axe on shaky knees, and fighting against the burning venom assailing every part of him.
“You must, Itai! Please!” Pentanimir commanded, arm locked with another guard.
Itai struggled, trying to stand on legs that would no longer support him. Sweat poured from his brow as his knees shook uncontrollably, causing him to nearly drop to the ground. Try as he might, his limbs would no longer respond to the commands of his mind.
Pentanimir fought against three guards, moving them further away from Itai and Hacom. As he finished off the third, his uncle appeared from the wood, astride his massive warhorse. Oxilon’s sword swipes were swift and powerful as he galloped full speed, beheading all in his path.
Pentanimir’s gaze fell on Hacom as Oxilon came up speedily behind. The Xtabyren glistened in the sun’s light as Oxilon raised it high, bringing it down fluidly, slicing through Hacom’s neck. Pentanimir’s breaths stopped, watching in shocked silence as Hacom’s head tumbled to the ground. Hacom’s body twitched, still standing, unaware that the head had been severed from it.
“No!” Pentanimir shouted, running back toward the men. Oxilon jumped down from his horse, turning on Itai. He struggled to find his feet, grappling for his axe. With great force, Oxilon slashed downward across his chest. Itai howled as the blood from the blow spurted in every direction. When he didn’t fall, Oxilon plunged the blade through his neck. Pentanimir roared. All the rage he had toward him came boiling to the surface as he watched the life drain from Itai. Visions of his father took the place of the huge man as Itai’s body slowly drifted to the ground.
Pentanimir’s eyes bulged, as the noise around him seemed to shift. All he heard were distorted echoes of distant cries as he peered into Oxilon’s face. When he gazed at the decapitated body at his uncle’s feet, the rapid pulse of his heart replaced the distorted voices. He saw his father, Manifir, murdered and dying there, not Hacom. Anger—insane, blinding irrational fury—wrapped its fierce, burning wings around Pentanimir’s being as he leapt toward Oxilon, his Xtabyren gripped tightly in his hand, his knuckles white with the force of his grasp. The rage inside of him came spewing forth.
Pentanimir reversed his grip on his Xtabyren, increasing his pace. Oxilon was just turning toward him—a move that was too slow, too late—only to see Pentanimir’s sword glinting in the sun, just before its blade went cleanly through his gut. Oxilon would’ve screamed, yet his mouth only fell open. His now puny hands attempted to choke the throat of his nephew. The First Chosen pushed hard, forcing his uncle against a wall. Pentanimir’s eyes never left his as he retracted the blade and thrust again.
“For all the evils that you’ve committed, you should die slowly,” Pentanimir sneered, retracting the blade. “My father’s death,”—a stab, retract— “abusing my brother”—another stab—“and raping Zeta”—a final, deeper stab, burying his Xtabyren into Oxilon’s chest.
Oxilon continued to fight against him with weakened strength. He clasped Pentanimir’s wrist, pulling him down to him.
“My father did have other children, Uncle, half-human children,” he whispered. “One of my brothers was in Nazil and you never knew. Their mother was in Nazil, too. Temian and Hushar were in Nazil for years, and yet, you couldn’t see.” Oxilon’s eyes bulged, his face darkening as he gasped for air.
“You have no honor!” Pentanimir raised his Xtabyren high, bringing it down across Oxilon’s neck.
“Zeta, more oil. Hurry! His head must come out.”
When Zeta handed Gali the bladder of oil, she pulled out the stopper, pouring it over Brahanu’s opening.
“Push!”
Brahanu screamed, rearing back against Danimore as she pushed again.
“Good, good, Brahanu, the head is out,” Gali said. “I know that you’re tired, but I need you to endure a while longer. The pain will end once the babe is free. Take a deep breath, now, push.”
Brahanu’s screams seemed unending as her body convulsed, and the babe finally slid free.
Ear-piercing screams wrenched his attention from Oxilon’s bloodied body, twitching at his feet. Pentanimir’s mouth gaped, seeing Ameya and Amani being dragged from the citadel. The guards ripped Amani’s skirts, slamming her to the ground. “No,” he nearly whimpered, turning toward them. Feeling a tug on his leg, he spun around, bringing his Xtabyren to the ready. Itai weakly gripped his boot, struggling to form his words. His lips trembled, the steel embedded in his neck creating gurgles and rushes of air escaping from the wound. Pentanimir forced back his emotion, kneeling beside him.
“Brahanu. Eytan. Protect—” was all that Itai could manage before a final, weak exhalation.
Pentanimir rested a hand on his shoulder, feeling heated tears lining his eyes. “No one will keep me from it. I promise to protect them both.” He clutched the hilt of his Xtabyren, his body shaking with surging rage.
Pentanimir turned back toward the citadel. All around him, flames and smoke billowed through the air accompanied by the cries of wounded and dying villagers playing a violent tune, assaulting his very being. A scream from Amani wrenched him from that agony. The guards surrounded her, spurring the two who were using her on. The horrid scene seemed to move in slow motion.
No , he thought. “No!”
He leapt on Oxilon’s horse, galloping toward the crowd of soldiers raping Amani. When he drew near, he saw Ameya cowering on the ground beh
ind the stone wall. Amani’s eyes bulged, her face darkening from the lack of air, and body bloodied and seizing as two men took her at once. He drew his sword, plunging it through her back, killing her quickly. In another swift move, he grabbed Ameya from the ground, snatching her up on the horse.
“Take the prisoners back to Nazil!” he yelled over his shoulder. “I’m securing the Caretaker’s daughter in Spero.”
With the final push, Brahanu collapsed on Danimore, her breathing staggered and wheezing.
“Is she all right?” Julaybeim’s voice quivered, dabbing at his sister’s face.
“She will be,” Zeta said.
As Gali cut the babe from his mother, the word “Tardison” sounded as a whisper on the wind.
Julaybeim leapt to his feet, drawing his sword. “Did you hear that?”
Danimore nodded, lowering Brahanu on the furs, and then unsheathed his sword. The wood seemed eerily quiet: even the birds and insects had fallen silent. Danimore gasped, ducking as a shadow passed overhead. When he looked again, there was nothing. His breathing quickened, extending his sword out in front of him.
When the babe let out a powerful cry, Brahanu’s eyes blinked open, attempting to see through the haze covering them.
“He needs your breast to quiet him, Brahanu. Do you have the strength for it?” Gali asked, cradling the babe in her arms.
Brahanu reached a hand out for her son, but swayed back down on the furs.
“Zeta, will he take your breast?” Danimore asked, sheathing his sword and lifting Raithym from her arms. He glanced around warily, praying the babe’s cries hadn’t alerted anyone to their position.
Zeta nodded, loosening the ties of her dress. As soon as Gali nestled the babe in her arms, she turned him toward her nipple, and he latched on immediately.
“Oh, he sucks harder than even Raithym does,” Zeta winced.
“Thank you, Zeta,” Gali said, moving back between Brahanu’s legs. “She’s still losing a lot of blood, and I fear if I can’t stop the bleeding, she’ll…gods!” Gali gasped, her eyes widening. “There’s another one.”
“Another?” Julaybeim said, rushing back to her side. “Another what? Babe?”
“Wake her up, Julaybeim, wake her now.”
Julaybeim shook Brahanu’s shoulder, repeatedly calling out her name. Nothing.
“Keep trying, Julaybeim. Dani, I need more oil. I have to pull it from inside of her.”
He grabbed the warm bladder, kneeling at her side.
“Pour it over my hands, quickly.”
Danimore licked the sudden dryness from his lips, forcing back his trepidation. Slowly, he began pouring oil over Gali’s hands, watching her every movement. She slid them into the sides of Brahanu’s opening, cradling the babe. Maneuvering them carefully, she drew the babe forward, until his head slid free. Reaching for more oil, she supported the head with one hand, while sliding the other beneath the still babe, pulling it completely free.
“Another son,” Gali said, clearing his mouth and cutting him from Brahanu.
As she wiped the film from his face, she noticed that he wasn’t breathing. Gali roughly rubbed his chest and back, desperately trying to stimulate the small infant. When he didn’t respond, she prayed, placing her mouth over his, and forcing her breath into his lungs. His chest moved, and then stopped, in response to her efforts. She kept at it—at times frantically, muttering a prayer—then finally the babe let out a puling cry. Gali raised him to her breast, kissing the crown of his head. Thank the gods , she thought, nestling him close. After his breathing appeared steady, she regarded Zeta.
“Do you think that you can manage both of them?”
“I’ll try,” Zeta said, exposing her other breast.
Danimore lifted his nephew from Gali’s arms and nuzzled him into Zeta’s. After getting the babe acclimated to her breast, he gradually began to suckle.
“Gali, can you check on my sister,” Julaybeim pleaded, rocking Brahanu in his arms.
Gali took a sobering breath, trying to focus her thoughts. After glancing at the babes again, she rose up, retrieving the pail of hot water from the fire. She poured some in a bowl, mixing in some herbs and roots. As the tincture steeped, she grabbed a thick root, breaking it in half. She waved the pungent aroma away, handing one half to Julaybeim and plunging the other half in the pail.
“Pass this beneath her nose,” Gali said. “It’ll take some time, but she’ll awaken. This birth was worse than any other that I’ve witnessed, and it’s drained all the strength from her.”
They watched as Gali skillfully tended Brahanu’s wounds, removing the remainder of birth, and ensuring her womb was clear. After pouring the warm water between her legs, Gali sewed the massive tear and applied some ointment and dry cloth.
“Julaybeim, can you bring the cot? We need to move her from these wet furs, and there’s clean cloth and covers beneath.”
Gali kept a close eye on Brahanu, while they retrieved what she needed. Her mind couldn’t calm as she played with Raithym, keeping him from under foot.
“How are the babes?” Danimore asked, when they returned with the cot and supplies.
“Hungry.” Zeta grimaced, looking at Brahanu’s first son. “My breast aches from the strength of his pull.”
Gali handed Raithym back to Danimore as she gathered the soiled cloth, tossing it into the flames. “I’ll need to get more water to wash.”
“Wait, Gali,” Julaybeim said. “I’ll come with you. It’s still not safe and the babes’ cries could’ve caught someone’s notice.”
When they left, Danimore sat next to Zeta, admiring his nephews. The larger of the two fluttered his lids, opening his puffy eyes.
“The eyes of Nazil.” Danimore smiled. “My brother’s sons.”
“Don’t cry, little one,” Pentanimir said in the most soothing tone that he could manage. “We’re going to find your brother and sister.”
“Where—where are we going?” Ameya cried.
“It’s far from here, little one.”
“Please, don’t kill me. Please. My father is the Caretaker of Cazaal. I want my mother, please take me back to my mother.”
Pentanimir’s heart ached. She’d never see her parents again in this life. He shook those painful thoughts away, focusing on the road ahead. They were nearing Spero, but couldn’t stop until they reached the pass. He prayed to all the gods that the horse would endure.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “I’m a friend, and fought beside your father, not against him. Don’t you remember me?”
“You…you helped Brahanu.” He heard Ameya say as she clung to him tighter.
“Yes, little one. I helped your sister return to Cazaal, and I’m going to help you, too.”
Dessalonian Mountains
The cold was numbing as Wosen continued to run, slipping on the ice: each desperate footstep sending waves of agony through his body. The bitter wind rattled his lungs, stinging with every gasping breath. He’d never ventured this far north, and soon, the cloak and boots would scarcely protect him. Each step became more difficult as he watched the heat leave his body, hanging heavily in the air. He couldn’t stop. Though his body ached with exhaustion, and his lungs burned, if he stopped, he feared that he’d never rise again.
For the first time, Wosen quickly glimpsed behind. He hadn’t heard his pursuers in some time, but that was little consolation.
“I must continue,” he panted, focusing on the remnants of sunlight glimmering through a narrow cavern slit. “I can make it.”
Bringing his arms into his chest, Wosen leaned, attempting to keep the heavy manacles from scraping the flesh from his throbbing wrists.
When the glimmering hope in the distance drew closer, his prayers became more fervent. They began with the One god, and as he felt his resolve waning, he called out to the Guardians as well.
“Please,” Wosen begged, stumbling to his knees. “If you truly have watch over these lands, please help me! Y
ou’re the Guardians of us all!”
He cried out, bracing his hands against the frozen ground, trying to push up to his feet. When he righted himself, a low, feral growl sounded amongst the howling wind.
Wosen froze, his eyes darting around the rocky pass and crevices. The howl sounded again, shifting with the winds. Is that a wolf? They’re never seen alone , he thought, clearing the wind-blown snow from his eyes. “Please, Guardians, save me from this death.”
Wosen backed up, the howls drawing nearer. He could feel his heart quicken, frantically searching the growing darkness. He spun around, screaming, coming face to face with an enormous, snarling beast. Falling back in paralyzing terror, he couldn’t take his eyes off the creature. Its teeth, longer than his forearm, were razor sharp, and slaver dripped from them hungrily as it stalked toward him.
“Gods!” he yelled, not caring which would answer. “That’s NO wolf!” He continued pushing away, staring at the three eyes of the massive, horned beast.
“Get away! Stay back,” Wosen shouted, swinging the irons hanging from his wrist. He prayed for a bow, a sword, even a dagger. Anything to keep the hellish creature from sinking its teeth into his skin. “Get away,” he yelled again, his arms weakening from his exertion. The more he fought, the closer it advanced, not intimidated by his shouts or the ersatz weapon he wielded. Standing thrice the height of a horse, Wosen posed no threat to the daunting creature. Within moments, it had leaned down toward him again, its nose scrunching as it sniffed.
Wosen closed his eyes tight, turning away from its gaping maw. The heat of the beast’s breath stung his face while escalating his fear.
“Guardians, see me safely, please see me safely!” he whimpered in desperation.
“Ar’raat!” [1] The disembodied voice was thunderous, resonating off the towering peaks.
“Meh’tol haet!” [2] The voice boomed again. Wosen pressed himself against the cavern wall, throwing his hands up as the beast growled but digits from his face. After many long moments, he peeked out of one eye, glimpsing only darkness.
The Rise of Nazil- Complete Epic Fantasy Trilogy Page 59