"The city of Geshin," Tash said. She fingered the jewel in her navel. "This jewel came from there. As did many of the gifts the seraphim gave me—pearls, incense, hintan, and even little sweets. Do you see the ships out in the sea? They travel all along the eastern coast of Terra and to the islands beyond, bringing back treasures from distant lands."
Vale grunted. "I don't care about what lies beyond the eastern sea. All I care about is the sea in the north—beyond whose waters Requiem awaits us."
"Well, Sir Sour-boots, we need to find the beached ship on this coast, and the Chest of Plenty in its belly, if we're to ever reach the northern sea." Tash unfurled her scroll. "And according to this map, the ship's wreck lies two days' journey north along the beach. So come on. Let's get walking—and not stray too close to that city."
The sun dipped lower in the sky behind them, casting their long shadows across the tussocks of grass. Vale nodded. "We'll walk in darkness, and we'll keep a wide berth away from that city." He stared up at the sky where the first stars were emerging. "Kloriana shines in the east. We'll navigate by it."
"He can be taught!" Tash patted his chest, making his chain mail—the rusty armor found in the centipedes' cave—clink. "Just be careful not to stumble into the water in the darkness. Oh, and try to walk hunched over. You're too tall and the moon's full."
He grumbled and hefted his axe. "Try hiding that jewel in your belly button. Damn thing reflects more light than a knight's shield."
She stuck her tongue out at him, grabbed a scoop of mud, and slapped it onto her belly. She thought for a moment, smiled slyly, then scooped more mud and tossed it at Vale. He rolled his eyes, wiped off the mud, and began to walk through the growing darkness.
Tash darted after him, hopping around. "Go on, toss mud back at me!" She tugged his arm. "Grab me and wrestle me and get pretend angry. Why are you always so serious?"
He ignored her and kept walking, stepping through grass that rose past his knees. Why did the damn girl keep annoying him? She never seemed to shut her mouth. She was always teasing him, singing some song, even mumbling in her sleep. When awake, she bounced, hopped, swung her arms, and skipped, and when sleeping she kicked and tossed and turned. When she wasn't stripping naked to jump into the river, she still haunted his thoughts with those mocking lips, knowing eyes, and teasing hands that loved to brush against him.
"Answer me!" she said. They walked through a grove of acacia and date palms. "You never sing. You never laugh, not even at my wondrously funny jokes. You never tell jokes of your own. You're always like . . . like you're at a funeral."
He knelt to lift a bunch of fallen dates. "This fruit is still good." He kept walking. "We should move faster. We can eat while we walk."
Tash groaned, crossed her arms, and thumped down onto her backside. "No." She shook her head. "I'm not going anywhere until you answer me."
"Very well." He kept walking.
Tash let out a groan so loud finches fled from the trees. "Vale!"
He reeled toward her. "Hush! You're too loud."
"And you're too quiet!" She stood up and placed her fists on her hips. "Why don't you ever talk to me? Why are you so . . . so stiff? And not in a good way." She reached for his crotch, and he swatted her hand away.
"You're insufferable." Vale's hands curled into fists. "I'm not one of your seraphim to seduce."
"Oh, I can tell. You're not nearly as much fun as they are."
"Fun?" His rage exploded inside him. "You think that the people who destroyed our homeland, who enslaved us, who murdered countless are fun?"
She nodded. "I do! More fun than you'll ever be. You don't know what it's like to have fun, do you?"
He stepped close to her, bringing himself so close that their bodies almost touched. He towered above her—the top of her head just reached his shoulders—and glared down at her. She stared right back at him, chin raised, chest thrust out.
"No, Tash," he hissed. "When I was being whipped in the fields, I never learned much about fun. When I watched my sister brutalized, I did not learn about fun. When Ishtafel murdered my mother, when he murdered a hundred thousand souls before my eyes—a hundred thousand whose screams I still hear in the night—I did not learn about fun."
Her eyes softened. She dropped her hands to her sides, then hesitantly raised them and placed them against his chest, her touch gentle. "Those days are behind you, Vale. Ishtafel isn't here. But I am. A person who cares for you. Who wants to see you happy. Who . . . who loves you."
And right there, in that instant, all his anger against Tash melted, all his earlier rage—about her hopping, her singing, her flirting—it all vanished, seeming ridiculous to him now. His fists uncurled.
"When you suffered too much, perhaps you can never laugh," he said. "When you spent too many years in pain, perhaps you can never feel joy."
Tash shook her head wildly, hair swaying. "No. I refuse to believe that. Maybe your pain will never go away, Vale. Maybe old wounds never heal. But you can still find joy. You can still find a life with a little laughter, a little peace." She caressed his cheek. "Let me help you find that."
She stood on her tiptoes, wrapped her arms around him, and kissed him. Her lips were soft, full. Vale had never kissed a woman before, but he had dreamed—shameful, secret dreams—of kissing Tash many times. For a long moment, he stood, arms wrapped around her, kissing her.
Finally she playfully bit his bottom lip, pulled back an inch, and grinned. "Now that was fun, wasn't it?"
He nodded.
Her grin widened. "See? I told you." She hopped up and down, then grew somber and held his hands. "I'm sorry that I annoy you so much. I'm sorry that I'm like a bird, fluttering all around, never quiet. But I meant what I said. I love you. You are a Vir Requis, one of my people, worth more than all the seraphim I loved. Wherever your path leads, Vale Aeternum, no matter how dark the shadows on the way, I will walk that path with you. You came on this quest to fight for me, to protect me. Let me fight for you."
The sun was gone now, and the stars shone brilliantly above. They walked onward, and again Tash sang, her voice soft and fair. She sang Old Requiem Woods—one of the songs they sang in Tofet—and for the first time, Vale joined her.
The way was treacherous. Every mile, a rivulet crossed the land, forcing them to swim in the darkness. Mostly the moonlight lit their way, but every hour, chariots of fire flew above, casting down their light. When this happened, Vale and Tash leaped for cover, hiding between reeds, in the tall grass, or under the water. The fire streamed above, moving toward the city, casting light upon the distant walls. Even here, so many miles from Shayeen, the seraphim sought them.
As they traveled, Vale could judge the passage of time by the location of Kloriana's star. In the sunset, it always shone to the east, but it climbed the sky through the night, heading toward the zenith before dawn.
"Travelers would tell stories of Kloriana's star in the ziggurat," Tash said, wading through the dark water beside Vale. "Men said that most stars are like the sun, great balls of fire in the distance. But they said that Kloriana's star was not made of fire, but that it was solid, a great round world full of life. They said that half the world always lay in daylight, and half always in night, that some of its people dwelled in eternal sunshine, others in never-ending shadow. If you lived there, which would you prefer, Vale? To live in day or night?"
"Night," he said. "It's safer and the sunlight burns."
"Not me." Tash sighed wistfully. "I'd live in endless daylight. I'd never be in the dark again."
Vale thought about how, while he had labored in the searing sunlight of Tofet, she had languished in the shadows beneath the ziggurat. He said nothing more.
When Kloriana's star approached the zenith, the port city of Geshin vanished behind the southern horizon. The first hints of dawn began to rise, smudges of orange and pink that reflected in the rivulets of the delta and the sea. The flora was lush here, and mangroves grew from the water, their roots s
preading everywhere in a great wooden city.
"We should hide between these roots," Vale said. "Eat the dates and fish we collected, then sleep until night falls again." He scanned the sky. "Chariots likely to return soon."
Tash stretched out her limbs, and her mouth opened wide with a yawn, emitting a roar that shook the landscape.
Vale blinked. "Tash, did you just . . . roar?"
She slapped a hand across her mouth. "I don't think so!" she whispered between her fingers.
The roar sounded again.
Tash's eyes widened. "Definitely not me."
Vale cursed and hefted his axe. "Put on your helmet and grab your shield. Now."
He spun around, staring at the landscape, seeing nothing. No enemies. No beasts. Yet the birds were fleeing, and even the crocodiles sank into the water and vanished. The roar died, and silence fell across the land. Even the rivulets of water seemed to still. It was so silent Vale could hear every chink of his chain mail, of his joints.
And slowly the landscape began to creak too.
A few roots of mangroves twitched, raining chips of wood. Branches shuddered. A deep, wooden clicking rose across the delta, and the curtains of lichen swayed.
"Bloody stars," Tash whispered. "Look at them."
At first, it seemed to Vale that chunks of the mangroves detached, shuffling forward.
Living trees! he thought.
But no. These were not trees but men and women, cursed and twisted. Their limbs were bent, covered with warts and scabs that looked like wood. Their hands and feet were swollen to obscene size, each twice the size of a human head, coarse and twisting, sprouting many roots and twigs. Wooden bumps and knots covered their faces and twisted torsos, and moss grew upon them. Their scraggly hair and beards hung low, greenish gray as lichen. Insects bustled across them, living within the burrows of their plantlike bodies. Only their eyes distinguished them from trees; those eyes shone, small and cruel and amber.
"Zamzummim!" Tash said, eyes wide. "Ancient demons."
The creatures emerged from all around, surrounding them, ten or more, each taller than Vale. Their mouths opened, revealing burrows bustling with insects, and they let out horrible buzzing sounds, shrill and so loud Vale cried out. Screeching with countless voices, they charged.
Vale swung his axe.
A zamzum leaped toward him, jaws opened, eyes blazing, hair fluttering, a demonic creature of rotted wood and mold. Its massive palms lashed out, large as shields, sprouting jagged branches.
Vale's axe slammed into one of those twisted hands, shaving off slivers of wood. The second hand slammed into him, knocking him down.
The zamzum leaped down toward him. More charged from either side. Vale swung his blade wildly, scattering chips of wood. A warty, heavy foot—large as an anvil—slammed into his chest, snapping rings in his armor. Vale cried out and lashed his axe, chipping the leg, cutting the wood. He managed to shove off the creature, leap to his feet, and spin around, blade lashing.
Tash was fighting several feet away. She had leaped into a mangrove and fought from the branches, holding her dagger and shield before her. Three zamzummim stood below, reaching toward her, swatting at her shield. Tash's dagger barely seemed to harm them. Blood dripped down her leg, and she cried out.
The sight of Tash hurt shot rage through Vale. He roared and swung the axe with more fervor. The creatures surrounded him, lashing at him, snapping their wooden teeth, and green saliva flew from their mouths. But what was wood? Vale had spent his life swinging his pickaxe into limestone. These creatures were nothing compared to that unyielding wall of stone. Their rootlike fingers cut him, but what was that pain? Nothing compared to the lashes his overseers had given him.
I can no longer feel pain, he thought. But Tash can. And I won't let it happen. I won't let her be hurt like I was hurt.
His axe swung, chips of wood flew, and the zamzummim fell before him.
As he fought, he was there again—in the streets of Shayeen—fighting not delta demons but the seraphim, running from them, seeing so many die, and his fury blinded him. All he could see was that old blood, and he could not stop attacking, could not stop cutting into them, howling, weeping.
You killed her. You killed my mother. You killed thousands.
"You killed them!" Vale cried, driving his axe down, again and again.
"Vale!" cried a high voice. "Vale, stop!"
But he could not stop. How could he? Ishtafel still lived. His people still were dying. He could not lower his blade, not until this ended, until he cut them all down.
"Vale!" Hands grabbed him. "Vale, they're all dead. They're gone."
Tash.
He could not see her. He saw nothing but Shayeen again.
But it was her voice. Tash. The young woman with the long brown hair, the infuriating songs, the flirty eyes, the woman he found insufferable . . . the woman who had kissed him. Who loved him. Whom he loved.
The veil lifted, and he looked around him. Dead zamzummim lay around him like fallen logs, his axe marks in them. Tash stood before him, gripping his arm. Concern filled her eyes, and blood trickled down her leg.
Vale fell to his knees before her.
"I can't do this, Tash." He lowered his head. "I can't forget it. I can't stop fighting it. I can't stop being there, even here."
She pulled him close, wrapping her arms around him, holding his head to her belly.
"I know," she whispered. "I know, Vale. I can't fix this. I don't know how. But . . . I can be here with you." She brushed moss back from his brow. "I can hold you when you remember."
She knelt before him, and he held her tightly, eyes closed. Her damp hair pressed against his face, and her body was warm, and slowly his anxiety faded, and those memories left him, and he was here again, in the present, holding her. The whips, the searing sun, the quarries, the death—it was all gone, and only Tash remained.
"We walk the shadowy paths together," he whispered to her. "Always."
They left the corpses behind, walked until they found a burrow between the jutting roots of trees, and lay down in the dry, shadowy den upon a bed of leaves. Vale lay on his back, and Tash curled up against him, her head on his chest. He spent a long time stroking her hair, again and again as she slept, and finally he sank into slumber too, Tash in his arms. For the first time in many days, he did not dream.
ELORY
"You must have been so lonely." Elory reached out and touched Lucem's arm. "Out here, hiding, all alone."
He walked beside her across the hills. The halved spear Meliora had taken from Tofet hung across his back. Though Lucem still wore only tattered rags, his beard and hair were now trimmed down to stubble, his body cleaned of dirt. He was thin, but not as thin as Elory; life in the wilderness, though perhaps lonely, had given him more vigor than the struggles in Tofet. Even in the moonlight, Elory thought him handsome, and his strong hands, bright blue eyes, and square jaw made her feel tingly—a strange sort of feeling, not unlike when Tash had kissed her in the pleasure pit.
"I wasn't always alone." Lucem skipped over a boulder and kept climbing the hillside. "I traveled often, sometimes even entered the villages and farmlands of seraphim, disguised in a cloak and hood. And there were animals who came and went. But . . . yes, it's nice to talk to another Vir Requis."
They had left the river far behind, traveling in the darkness across the hills, heading toward the distant Khalish Mountain, which still lay over the horizon. The Keymaker was said to live upon that crest, but many miles of wilderness still lay between them and that distant mount. The night was dark, and clouds sporadically hid the moon, plunging them into near total blackness. Meliora's halo was their main source of light; it crackled, woven of dragonfire, casting its red light across the barren hills. There was no grass here, almost no trees, and no wildlife that Elory could see. She might as well have been walking upon the desolate plains of Lanburg Fields, the place where Requiem was said to have fallen many years ago.
&nbs
p; "Are you sure you know your way?" Meliora asked, moving to walk closer to Lucem.
After all this time in the wilderness, Meliora too looked different, Elory thought. Back in the ziggurat, Meliora had been like a fairy of purest beauty—pale cheeks tinged pink, a halo of gold, flowing blond hair, her tall and delicate form clad in silks matched in softness only by her swan wings. Later, freed from her imprisonment, Meliora had been shivering, feverish, beaten, her shoulder blades bleeding from the loss of her wings, her head shaved, her cheeks gaunt.
And now, Elory thought, Meliora was something different. No longer a seraph princess, but nor was she a beaten slave. Even with an iron collar around her neck, with her hair barely longer than stubble, Meliora looked like a queen of Requiem. Her back was straight, her shoulders square, and her body—once soft—had hardened, her fat melting to reveal taut muscles. With her crackling halo and her royal sword at her side—Amerath itself, ancient sword of the Aeternum dynasty of Requiem—Meliora could just as easily be walking through the halls of a reborn Requiem.
It seemed that Lucem noticed her striking presence too. The young man turned toward Meliora, and it seemed to Elory that she saw appreciation in his eyes, maybe even admiration.
Suddenly Elory felt rather plain looking. She had never spared much thought to her looks. Why would she? Beauty did not matter in Tofet, only a back strong enough to lift the bitumen, lungs strong enough to survive their fumes. Ishtafel had obviously thought her fair enough, but perhaps he had only lusted for her fragility—a fragility he longed to shatter.
I'm not tall and noble like Meliora, she thought. I don't have the curves or alluring beauty of Tash. She glanced over at Lucem; he was still looking at Meliora. Why would he look at me when he can look at my sister?
"Of course I know my way!" The young man puffed out his chest. "I've spent countless days traveling all across these hills and mountains. In my first year of freedom, I hid in a network of caves that runs beneath these hills. Seraphim covered the sky, seeking me, but they could not find me underground. I'm going to look after you, Meliora. And you, Elory. I'm going to lead you to Khalish Mountain and we're going to find this Keymaker."
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