Ascending Shadows

by Everet Martins

  His eyes traced the thousands of objects on the ground, looking for something useful. He saw a noble’s muddy hat, a bittermelon, a broken plank, shattered bits of jars, a pile of gravel, a Tigerian whose head had been crushed. He saw a pair of waterskins whose straps had been twisted together and snatched them up, draping them over his shoulder. Next, he grabbed a lemon and a bit of string beside it, stuffed the bittermelon in his mouth, holding it with his teeth. He eyed a rust-pitted sword standing half out of its sheath. He slapped it back in and slipped it over his shoulder.

  “Shoot! Kill them!” Scab screeched. His voice carried down the wall with perfect clarity, filled with nothing but mad rage.

  “Fuck you!” Juzo screamed back, his fists balled so tight the veins stood out of his forearms. “Bastard! I’ll kill you! If I—”

  Arrows hissed down and thunked into the sand. Isa chomped through the bittermelon’s flesh, red juice spraying onto his cheek, sweet and sour filling his mouth, the rest of it tumbling to the ground. “Follow me!” Isa threw over his shoulder, his legs feeling heavy as stones. “Don’t run straight. Follow my footsteps. Make it hard for them.” He ran in an asymmetrical zigzagging pattern. He varied his pace, going from a sprint to a jog, at one point even dropping into a fast walk. The chains of the others jingled behind him, and he used the sound to judge how well they were keeping up.

  An arrow hissed past his ear, and he saw it skitter across the packed earth. He gasped as another arrow tore through the edge of his shoulder, flesh burning. He felt a waterskin slide free from his shoulder, saw the strap had been cut. He bent down and snatched it up, stealing a backward glance. The sky was littered with black lines arcing down for what he guessed was a bit ahead of them. “Run!”

  They weren’t fast enough. “Shit!” He peered up, his heart thumping in his head as the arrows closed in. “Stop!” he shouted. Senka came to skidding stop behind him, Juzo dragging Greyson behind her. At least ten arrows pelted the ground about five paces ahead of them. “Go! Hard! Fast!” His chest worked, the air hot and dry in this throat.

  His thighs burned, breath rattled, sweat starting to bead in the furrow of muscle that ran down the center of his neck. His bare feet slapped against the wet earth, pain biting at his feet because his makeshift sandals had been stripped away in the flash flood. Just a bit more and they should be out of range. Arrows fell behind them in a series of thunks that grew ever closer.

  “This way!” Isa swiveled on the ball of his foot with his next stride, turning in a sharp angle relative to Ashrath’s walls. By the Dragon, their archers were good, but hitting a foe who knew how to dodge them was all but impossible at this distance. He turned hard again, cutting another angle. There was always luck though, always a roll of the dice from an arrow striking true. Thunk, thunk, thunk went their arrows at their rear, their aim ever widening.

  Isa slowed his run, spun around and started running backwards. The other’s ran past him, Senka mirrored him, running backwards beside him.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, her chest hardly working as if the run was nothing for her. “We out of bowshot?”

  “Think so.” He nodded, sweat burning in his eyes. “Look. They’re out of range now,” he said. A few more came, striking the earth and splitting apart on impact twenty paces off.

  She sniffed. “Why do they care about us so much?” Senka snorted and spat out something brown.

  “You sick?” he asked, peering back to make sure he wasn’t about to trip on anything.

  “Not anymore. I think.” She knitted her eyebrows and scrunched up her face as if battling some hidden pain. The Dragon knew we all had them, he thought. He was tempted to dig into the matter further, but opted for treating it the way he’d want it treated: left alone.

  “I’m not sure about the Tigerians, our enemies once, remember?” he answered. “What I do know now is that we’re nothing but beasts of burden, sometimes food, sometimes working animals to them. Shouldn’t be all that surprising though. They’re superior in every way. Stronger, faster, maybe more intelligent. Not surprised they tried to take Zoria. Can’t be sure, but it’s the natural way of things.”

  “Not right.” Senka spat again, holding her daggers in her better of the two wounded hands. Her bandages were pinked with blood and would have to be changed by the end of the day, he reckoned.

  Isa and Senka turned to run the right way, caught up with Greyson and Juzo. Greyson was panting with his hands on his knees. Juzo twisted his torso from side to side as if working out some tightness. They were spattered with churned mud from feet to back.

  “Don’t have time to waste. They’ll be on us in no time with their Tougeres,” Juzo said. He shielded his eye from the sun, scanning Ashrath. “Scab won’t give up so easily.” Water still poured through the gate they had exited, and the land around the outside of the walls shimmered with wet. The rain became warm mist where they were now, though over the city it still looked to be falling hard from dark clouds. “Looks like those clouds might be coming this way if the winds don’t change.”

  “Doubt Scab will be a problem now, not with all the water killing the lot of them. Seems like few knew how to swim,” Isa said.

  “Doesn’t matter. Let’s stay moving.” Senka hefted her daggers, then offered one to Isa, hilt first. “Juzo’s right about Scab. He’s a madman, won’t give up ‘til he’s dead. Take it.” She nodded at the dagger.

  “You sure?” He started to slowly reach for it, then paused, admiring its ornamented hilt.

  “I’m sure,” she said, sliding it into his hand and giving him an encouraging smile. His hand was upturned, fingertips rested against the tops of her sticky knuckles. She was beautiful. Her big bourbon eyes penetrated his, feeling like she was seeing inside his heart, seeing his black soul. He wanted to hide what he was. It made him feel shame for what he had become for a moment. He rarely felt that shame. He successfully drowned it out in drink and whores on most days. Then he remembered they were a lot alike, both raised as killers and trying to find a place in this world, hoping to make it out alive. In that moment, there were things he wished he’d never done. Children he’d never been forced to murder. Children he left without caretakers. Everything he did was in service of the Tower, and for a greater good, wasn’t it?

  “Hate to ruin this touching moment, but we should be going.” Juzo pointed back at Ashrath, and Isa followed his direction. Dark shapes flitted around the winding stairs that led down from the top of the ramparts. They were coming for them. Juzo started back into a run.

  “Why won’t he leave us be?” Greyson rose up and interlaced his hands behind his head. He’d apparently found a Tigerian spear, stuck in the ground in front of him. It was a brutal looking weapon. It had blades at both ends, the blade’s edges blackened and jagged to cause a nasty exit wound. Greyson snatched the spear in his small hands and staggered after Juzo.

  Isa squeezed the Dragon headed dagger in his hand, felt its icy metal in his grip. He and Senka followed after Juzo and Greyson. Greyson ran awkwardly with the weight of his spear. Juzo looked to have procured a naked long sword and a pair of waterskins, something else bulging from his pockets.

  “What did you manage to grab? Got two water skins, a lemon, piece of bittermelon, a section of string, and this rusty sword.” He patted the strap hanging from shoulder to hip. He tied a knot in the water skin strap that had been cut by an arrow, then slung it over his shoulder beside the other. The lemon ridiculously bulged from his pocket.

  “Three water skins. Two plums. Didn’t see much else worth the taking,” Senka breathed. “Could’ve done with a dagger sheath or two. Thought I was going to open up my veins during the run on these daggers.”

  Isa dragged the sword strap around such that the scabbard draped across his chest. He eyed the scabbard and saw there were ornamental pieces of leather wrapping around its width. He slipped the dagger through one of them, pleased to see it fit snugly. “Could put it here,” he offered.

  “
No,” she snapped. “I’ll carry it. Please don’t lose it.” She looked up at him, eyes narrowed.

  Isa nodded. “Suppose I’ll carry it then. Sorry,” he mumbled. That was stupid, he berated himself with a head shake. Surely there was nothing she would like more than one of her most precious items dropping into the sands of Tigeria, lost for the end of time.

  “It’s fine, Isa.” She gave his arm a quick squeeze, then winced and clutched her hand.

  “How are your hands feeling?”

  “Miserable. Not the wisest idea in hindsight.” She let out a stifled moan.

  “If only we had a Phoenix healer,” Juzo added. “Sure you can’t heal, Isa?”

  “I’m sure,” he said flatly. “Don’t you think I would’ve healed myself by now?”

  Juzo shrugged and met Greyson’s eyes. “People hide things.”

  Greyson turned away from him with a grunt and pointed at the horizon. “See that? I remember seeing that as we passed Ashrath the first time.”

  On the razor’s edge of the horizon was what once might have been a glorious city, now in shambles. There was what looked to be a few broken spires, crumbled in sharp angles and showing their empty innards. It had foreboding piles of ocher sand blown up as high as its outer walls, allowing one to easily walk over them. No roads led to it, no carrion birds hovered around it seeking a meal. A series of about ten blanched and leafless trees marched from what might have once been an archway before the city, now mostly buried in sand. The last two trees extending from the city were whittled down to almost nothing, raggedly split down the middle.

  “What is that place?” Isa asked. “Don’t tell me you went there.”

  “Don’t know. Didn’t go there. Scab said the place was cursed. Corin seemed terrified of it. Called it the Dread Temple. Looks creepy as a Death Spawn lair to me.”

  “Ominous name if I’ve ever heard one,” Juzo chuckled.

  “Sometimes things are named in a way for the sake of keeping others away from their secrets,” Isa said.

  “The first time? You said you passed Ashrath before?” Senka asked Greyson.

  “Uh-huh. Came from the north, marched around Ashrath to where we found you. Long days, longer nights.” He gave a grim snicker. “What was it Scab had said…” he raised his finger into the air and swaggered in a mock imitation of the slaver. “There is a great fortune to be had in the south, my dear boy, a great haul of flesh indeed. It is a circuitous route that only a bold warrior such as myself would be willing to embark upon. Don’t you agree, my young prince?” He sighed, letting the imitation go.

  “Scab’s afraid of it. Then that’s where we’ll go.” Isa said with a shrug. “Just another couple miles. Let’s pick up the pace in case they find mounts.”

  “Oh, will we?” Senka regarded him with crossed arms, stepping away from him. “Don’t think entering cursed ruins is the wisest idea, Isa.”

  “I don’t either, but do you have a better idea?” Isa slicked sweat from the top of his head, flicked it from his fingers with a grimace.

  Senka sighed and squinted at the horizon, a band of blue on top and shades of brown on the bottom interspersed with the occasional dead, wind-worn shrub. “Everyone else want to go to the Dread Temple?”

  “No,” Greyson said without a measure of doubt, his head shaking back and forth.

  “Might be interesting to see.” Juzo blinked at her.

  It was incredible to see how much Juzo’s mood had changed since he’d fed. He was almost a different person, more optimistic, less brooding, maybe even bordering on cheerful. He almost seemed to be enjoying being hounded by Scab. Isa supposed if death were a near improbability, he might have found the pursuit more interesting too.

  He was aware of all of his pains then, usually muted, now suddenly brought into the forefront of his mind. They were his unyielding enemies, burning at his flesh and chewing at his iron resolve. He stopped counting them long ago, for doing so only made him feel the touch of madness. He remembered watching Walter go into a mindless blood rage and felt like he was starting to understand how that urge might have felt.

  They all had their own distinctive feeling that he couldn’t put into words. Each pain was a formless entity speaking their own language of agony. The gashes from Corin’s torture still tore at him, never properly healing without adequate rest and food. The constant movement kept reopening the wounds, pusing, breaking, bleeding all over again with every passing day.

  It felt like maybe his pains were getting worse. Or maybe he was going soft. Either way, his endurance was waning, and he had a feeling they still had a long way to go before finding their way home. He reckoned he was getting old by Swiftshade standards. He remembered recovering from grisly lacerations in a span of days, now seeming to take weeks. Growing old was not kind to the body, even with the enhancements of the Test of Stones.

  He pushed the thoughts away, forcing himself to focus on the path ahead. He let the beauty of the landscape distract him, and it did help a little. He liked the empty sky, enjoyed being able to see any approaching enemies along the scrubland, choked with dying and dead weeds, the occasional animal’s skeleton. His pain was always there though, skirting in the shadows of his mind, waiting for a time to pounce into his thoughts.

  “He didn’t waste any time,” Senka breathed, swallowed, looking over her shoulder.

  Isa let out a growl. He gave Senka’s dagger a twirl, hefting its perfectly balanced weight. “Time to get back to running.”

  “We’ll never make it,” Greyson said with a note of desperation.

  “Best we can do is try,” Juzo said.

  “Question is, where are we going?” Senka asked.

  “The Dread Temple.” Isa shot her a glance.

  “You’re not in charge of this group.” Senka half-smiled. “We have two for the Dread Temple and two against it. Anyone care to change their mind?”

  There was a silence that stretched out for at least five minutes. Their feet thumped against the sand, occasionally skittering on patches of gravel that had been polished smooth. Greyson finally spoke. “I’ve changed my mind. To the Dread Temple. If Scab won’t go there, maybe it will be a way to lose him.”

  “But Scab’s mad!” Senka protested. “If even he won’t go there, you think it’s wise for us?”

  “I’m sorry, Isa’s right.” Greyson panted. “But I don’t see any other option. They’ve got the numbers, the equipment. They’ll be on us eventually, and there’s no way we’ll be able to fight them off, right?”

  Juzo licked his lips. Senka snorted and spat. Isa nodded at Greyson. They changed direction, running straight at the temple. Why it was called a temple was a mystery to Isa as it appeared more and more like a city as they drew closer.

  They came upon a rising sand dune and started to trudge their way up. Progress was slow, each step seeming to slide them back a pace. Isa’s knee felt sore from all the running, and this bloody hill wasn’t helping much. He closed his eyes, took in a deep breath, forced his legs to march on. By the Dragon, he was tired. They had finally made it to the top, and he half wanted to laugh at the joy of seeing the dune sloping downward towards the ruined city, half wanted to cry at the prospect of entering it. He looked back and saw that Scab and his men had stopped and were staring, maybe a mile off. They had covered a lot of ground.

  Pitted columns rose up around the outside of the walls, once inscribed with something that had appeared to be mostly scoured away. The sun hung level with the ruined city, half of it obscured by its walls and taking on a hazy yellow.

  The vista of the Dread Temple was breathtaking, despite its terrible name. Shattered roof lines stretched over the city, pocked with gaping holes. The outside walls were crumbling, some sections brightly lit while others were draped in shadows. There were a few domes whose ceilings had long caved in, the leaning towers looking on the verge of collapse. The stones making up the walls glowed much like the Tower did in the morning, infused with some sort of shining metal.<
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  “This reminds me why I like traveling,” Juzo said with a bob of his eyebrows.

  “Still sure you want to go here?” Senka said, pushing her short hair up to stand.

  Isa peered back again to look at Scab and his ten or so men, saw them still watching. Their armor shone like mirrors in the light. “I’m sure.”

  “Think about it,” Juzo said with a wild gesture. “How many living people do you think have stood upon these dunes and viewed this city? We’re looking at ancient history. Nyset would’ve loved to see this.” He sucked his teeth and subtly shook his head.

  “A bunch of old buildings. That’s what Scab’s scared of?” Isa growled, stalking off down the dune, knees throbbing with every step. “It’s time we stop staring at them and get into them,” he threw back. There was no denying their beauty, but he had to admit there was something terribly frightening about this place. All of his posturing was for himself as much as it was for them. There was a heavy feel to this place, as if the air itself carried an oppressive weight.

  The others followed after a moment’s hesitation. They crested the last copper sand dune that sloped up over its once magnificent walls, went down again into what he hoped was the protection of the Dread Temple. The dune led them into a dark alley surrounded by towering buildings that seemed to drown out all the outside sound, even the occasional gust of wind.

  It sounded like stones skittered in the distance. Something creaked.

  “You hear that?” Greyson said, staring about wild-eyed. “There’s undoubtedly someone— something here.”

  “Just the wind. Scared of your own shadow,” Isa said. “Scab’s not coming,” he muttered.

  “Didn’t appear so,” Senka swallowed. Blood pattered onto the sand from her fingertips.

  “You’re bleeding,” Juzo said, staring at her hands, his red eye pulsing.

  A spike of anger filled Isa’s chest. “Don’t get any ideas.”

  “Oh, go fuck yourself,” Juzo said and turned away from him, striding towards the heart of the Dread Temple. His naked sword flashed on a chink of light shining down between dilapidated buildings.