by Claire Luana
“I do,” he admitted. Though I have failed them. “I am…I was…a king of a sort. Our ruler is selected by the people—who make a pledge of faith towards that ruler. If the people are displeased with you and withdraw their pledge, you must step down. I do not know…perhaps things have changed since I left.”
“The people would abandon you because you couldn’t defeat the soul-eaters?”
“Perhaps the people thought I abandoned them.”
Rika was silent.
“And what of you? Your father was…the king?”
“My parents shared power,” Rika said quietly. “They ruled together.”
“And who would rule when they are gone?”
“Me,” she said. “If I ever get back.”
He stopped, looking at her. “We will get you back. I promise.” He had failed so many people so many times—Sarya, Cayono, his subjects. The capital of Surayasa was overrun, Castle Nuanita taken. Burned and destroyed. But perhaps…perhaps he could find some small piece of redemption if he could help Rika prevent a similar tragedy in her own home. As soon as they defeated the soul-eaters here…
“I thought my land was gone, but here it is. Perhaps the leeches will not do so much damage to your home before we can return.”
“I hope you’re right.”
As they resumed their trek, an acrid smell tickled Vikal’s nose. Rika sneezed.
Vikal stretched out his hands, brushing them against the green vines and knobby tree trunks they passed. The threads here vibrated with pain and sorrow. “Something’s wrong.” The top of the ridge was in sight, and Vikal could wait no longer. He had to know. Had to see. He took off up the mountain, spurred on by a dark intuition. As he crested the ridge, he stumbled to a stop, his legs seeming to turn to stone from shock. Words—thoughts—froze in his mind.
Rika reached his side a few seconds later and rested her hands on her knees, panting. “What—?“ she began with a gasp before the words died on her lips.
The island was…a wasteland. A smoking, wrecked slope of blackened, twisted tree trunks. The jungle ended a hundred yards below them, and all that went beyond it, as far as the eye could see, was destruction. Dotted lakes, once blue, sat like stagnant pools of ink, and even the shining ocean beyond the far stretch of shore was putrid with waste.
Vikal had thought there was a limit to the amount of sorrow that could pour from one man’s heart. He’d thought he had reached it when Sarya had turned to dust, thought that the well of agony and guilt and rage had run dry. He had been wrong.
Vikal opened his arms wide and screamed, a primal cry of anger and sorrow. A flock of birds alit from the canopy behind them. The cry echoed off the hillsides and valley. He screamed again, picking up a rock and hurtling it down the hillside into the ravaged stretch of forest. He threw another rock, and another before sitting down in disbelief and burying his head in his hands. The trees and bushes seemed to curl around him, a comforting embrace, sharing his mourning. This cannot be. This cannot be Nua.
Rika dropped down next to him, pulling her knees against her chest and wrapping her arms around them.
Vikal’s broad shoulders shook as he sobbed into his hands. He didn’t care if the girl saw him cry. He had no pride left, no honor. Like this island, he was a broken thing.
Rika voice was quiet. “Nua can regrow. If we kill them all, it will.”
“It is a fool’s errand,” he said. “I saw you kill that leech and it freed me, and I thought it changed everything. I was kidding myself. You are one untrained girl against hundreds of them. Thousands. They are powerful beyond belief. They are nearly impossible to kill. They eat and consume and eat and consume. All you will do if you try to go against them is die.”
“I will with that attitude,” she said petulantly.
“Do not be naive!” he shouted from where he was sitting, grasping her shoulders in one lithe motion. “You forget what I have seen. Every moment I was under those creatures’ power, I was aware. Awake. I remember…everything.” His hands shook, and his grip tightened, digging into the flesh of her arms. “I killed and slaughtered and maimed for those things. My own people…I might as well have set this fire. They are unstoppable.”
She stared at him with unflinching gray eyes, her jaw set. She didn’t back down from his ferocity, but matched it with her own. “You said you believe in beginnings and endings. A cycle. Well, these creatures began somewhere, and they will end somewhere. Let it be here. Let it be Yoshai. Gods willing, my home isn’t gone yet. For whatever reason, I have this ability. So I’m going to kill as many of them as I can before I go.”
He deflated, loosening his grip. His head fell forward and he heaved a great sigh. He was supposed to be a ruler of men—brave, bold—god of all green things, and he was getting lectured by this strange, steely-eyed girl. And gods help him, she was right.
“Let’s make them pay,” she whispered.
He nodded, closing his eyes. “All right,” he said, though he did not believe it could be done. Not really. Not anymore.
Silence stretched between them.
Rika stood and extended her hand to him. He looked from it to her and back again. After all he had done, he didn’t deserve her companionship, let alone her forgiveness. But she was all he had. The smallest glimmer of hope that she could change things. And perhaps he was all she had too. So he enveloped her hand in his own and pulled himself to his feet, scrubbing away the tears with the heel of his other hand.
“Where are we headed?” she asked.
Goa Awan. The name of the holy place swam to his mind unbidden. Yes. Goa Awan. But how to explain… “There is a legend that the creator spirits formed Nua on the back of a giant sea turtle.”
“Right,” Rika said with a little eye roll. “Of course.”
“The legend says that the great turtle was best friends with a flying snake, the spirit who formed the sky. The snake was exhausted from setting the sky in the heavens and flapping the stars away from the land with gusts of wind from his wings. So he rested on the back of his friend, falling into a deep sleep. When Nua was born, it formed right over the back of the snake. When the snake awoke eons later, he panicked, finding himself encased in darkness. He thrashed about below the ground, raising the earth into the mountain we see today. Finally, he found his way out, breaking a hole through the top of the mountain and flying into the sky.”
Rika nodded. “Great story. Not sure how it impacts where we’re going…”
“The snake’s attempts to free himself left caves and tunnels under the mountain. They are called Goa Awan. The lost caves. We will find my people there.”
“Lost caves… Have you ever seen these tunnels?”
Vikal shook his head. “The island will show us the way.” He hoped. If it still found him worthy.
A branch cracked down the hillside, and they both froze. “What was that?”
Vikal held up a hand to silence her and peered into the twisted, fire-eaten forest.
“I see movement,” he whispered. A flash of black. And glowing green. Vikal’s blood turned to ice in his veins.
“A soul-eater,” she hissed. She had seen it too. “Should we hide?”
Vikal shook his head. “They already have our scent. We fight.” He drew his twin blades from the scabbards on his back with a ring of steel. “You ready to kill that thing?”
Rika let out a shaky breath, drawing her father’s sword. It was far too long for her, but her grip appeared steady, and her stance was practiced. “Ready.”
The soul-eater appeared through the blackened limbs of the burnt trees, its ebony plate glinting in the low afternoon sun. It wasn’t alone. Five. Five thralls in addition to the soul-eater. Could they fight so many? Would he be able to hold them off while Rika summoned her power? And then…he saw the face of one of the thralls.
“Gods above,” he said, his swords drooping.
“What?” she asked.
“The man with the shaved head. He is my…” Vikal cor
rected himself. “He was my second-in-command.” Cayono was alive.
Rika groaned. “So we can’t kill him?”
“No. Please. Do everything you can to save him.”
“Short of dying, right?” Rika asked.
“Right.”
And then Cayono let out a bloodcurdling battle cry and surged up the mountain.
IT WAS NOT an easy thing—to fight a battle without killing your opponent. Vikal’s friend crashed against him with a sound like a clap of thunder. The man bulged with muscle; his arms looked like tree trunks underneath his black leather armor. He wielded an odd axe as his weapon, and Vikal countered it with his blades crossed. “Cayono,” he grunted at his friend as they grappled against one another. “Bak. My brother. I know you’re in there. We’ll get you out. Fight it.”
Vikal’s words faded away as one of the other thralls came at Rika, his short sword held aloft like a banner. She brought her father’s sword up and the man slammed into her, his sour breath bathing her as they grappled. With a panicked move that held none of the grace of her training, she shoved him back. He stumbled a few steps down the mountain slope before skidding to a stop and renewing his attack. The man was thin and wiry, but tall, with a long reach. Her sword was too large for her, too heavy, too unwieldy compared to the more compact weapons she was used to. She realized all this in the span of a second between the rush of blood that thrummed in her ears. But there was nothing for it. Her father’s sword, impractical as it may have been for a fighter of her size, was the only thing keeping her alive.
She struggled to keep her footing as she traded blows with the man, her feet slipping in the rich earth, her clothing snagging on branches and grasping burnt limbs. No, they weren’t fighting on the smooth gravel of an even training ground. She ducked a swipe of the man’s sword, diving out of the way, and found herself rolling down the hill, sword torn from her grip, empty hands scrambling to grasp something that would stop her progress.
Rika’s outstretched palms scraped and sliced against rough bark and rocks as she fell, but as she slipped past the trunk of a sturdy palm, she was able to hook her elbow around it and stop herself. She groaned as pain lanced through her shoulder—it felt like her arm had been torn from its socket. But that wasn’t as concerning as her sword, which lay uselessly in the dirt halfway up the hill. She wanted to lay her face in the ashy soil, but she knew she couldn’t. She had to get it. She had to get up. She rolled over—just in time to see another soldier swinging his sword down in a blow aimed for her head. She shied away from the thrall’s swing and the blade buried itself in the earth, quivering where her neck had been. She acted without thought, exploding up into the man, hammering her shoulder against his torso. He grunted in surprise and toppled over backwards, rolling down the hill just as she had moments before. She picked up his sword and wiped her hair from her eyes. This was madness.
The other two thralls were standing slightly down the hill, guarding the soul-eater, who stood like a black hole, soaking up the remaining light and brightness of the day. It seemed content to let its minions tire its prey, sure there was nowhere they could go, no way to escape its clutches. Rika narrowed her eyes. To end this fight, she needed to end that leech. But could she grasp her power without a moment to center herself and focus?
She risked a glance up the hill, to where Vikal was still locked in furious combat with the bald-headed man. It was good she did, because she was able to get her sword up in time to parry a wicked thrust by her first attacker. Rika’s skull rang with the vibration of the swords clanging together, and her feet slid in the earth as the man pushed with his sword, blackened teeth bared. Thoughts of summoning her power fled from her mind as she focused on the immediate threat. She kicked out, knocking one of his knees out from under him. He fell to one knee but caught himself before careening down the hill. It was all the opportunity she needed. Rika plunged her sword into his throat, gagging as the coppery scent of blood perfumed the air. She pulled her sword out, eyes wide as the man clutched desperately at his neck. Rika’s stomach heaved as crimson blood pulsed between his fingers, his life draining away. He slumped forward into the dirt, an accusing stare frozen on his face by death’s embrace. She drew in a shuddering breath. She had killed a man. That man was dead because of her.
The man whom she had sent tumbling down the hill was nearly back to her position now, and so she shoved her dismay aside, adding it to the growing pile of sorrows too horrible to deal with. She dodged past him, scrambling down the hillside towards the soul-eater. Its two guards came to life, one pulling a sword from its scabbard, the other pulling two knives from sheaths at his belt. He threw them at her in quick succession, and she dodged, twisting her torso to avoid the deadly projectiles.
Pain bloomed in Rika’s stomach, and her steps faltered. She looked down, stumbling, almost losing her footing. A knife blade protruded from her stomach. Red blood flowed freely, staining her obi. Numb disbelief washed over her. The thrall had hit her. The man was pulling two more long-bladed fighting knives from sheaths on his thighs, but the other thrall came at her first, his sword singing a deadly song. Blocking his blow sent a wave of pain and nausea through her. She countered two more blows, but the ending to this encounter stood before her, clear as day. She couldn’t fight both of them, not wounded and losing blood. She needed to destroy the leech, freeing these men from its compulsion.
“Soul-eater,” she cried, “are you such a coward that you let these men do your fighting for you?” The soldier came at her with a fast attack, and she barely parried the blows. She was slowing. The man with the knives threw another at her, and she dove to the side, landing with a thud. The pain took her breath away, and fire bloomed on her arm. He had hit her again—a glancing blow. She clawed through the pain in her mind, grasping at the threads of power she had felt when she had summoned Cygna. When she had killed the first soul-eater. They eluded her dazed efforts, slippery as eels.
The creature seemed to respond to her taunt, advancing up the hillside. The two soldiers were upon her in a moment, the one with the sword leveling its tip at her throat. She lay back, panting, her blood mingling with the ash of the fires that had ravaged the forest. The soul-eater came to a stop just feet from her, surveying her with its glowing green eyes. “You think me so easily baited?” it hissed, its voice grating in her ears. “I have heard of you. We have all heard of you. My brother was foolish enough to die at your hand. I will not make the same mistake. I will claim your head for a trophy, and my queen will rejoice.”
Her vision swam, the creature becoming two, three black shapes before merging back into one. She was losing too much blood.
“So easily killed,” the leech said. “You are little more than bleating sheep.”
Rika’s eyes narrowed, and she threw open the gates of her mind, grabbing desperately at what she found. Help me! she screamed desperately. Cygna! Anything. I summon you! Kill it!
The energy responded, pulsing with celestial power. Though she couldn’t see, she grabbed for it, yanking it towards herself like a lifeline. The power yielded, streaming towards her in a raging river of pure light. She was tired, and her mind was sluggish. Her effort drained the last ounce of strength from her. The soldier’s sword was raised above her, ready to give the killing blow—and she knew she didn’t have it in her to evade it.
But before the blow could fall, a jet of crystalline light streaked down from above and barreled into the soul-eater with the force of a shooting star. The intensity of the flash burned her retinas, and she squeezed her eyes shut against the force and backlash of the landing. When she opened them again, blinking away the dust, she saw that the power had eviscerated the soul-eater and tossed the other men off their feet.
The thrall who had been poised to kill her rolled on the ground beside her, groaning, holding his head. When he opened groggy eyes to look at her, they were dark brown—free of the soul-eater’s compulsion. Thank the gods. The muscles in Rika’s body loosened, exhaustion a
nd pain washing over her. The handle of the knife still protruded from her stomach. Her shirt was black with blood.
The former thrall pulled himself onto his knees beside her, speaking words of concern. The language was strange to her—the words meaningless.
Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes as Rika realized her predicament. Without a miracle, she was going to die. She had sat by her mother and grandmother in the healing ward often enough to know what could be fixed and what couldn’t. Her wound was grave. Perhaps she could have been saved before she’d lost so much blood…but now…she would leave this world without helping her family. Kitina would fall—her home burned and ravaged like this land. She felt hollow inside. This is what Kita and Miina would look like. If it didn’t already. This is what those leeches did. They consumed and destroyed. She felt so foolish. All she had wanted, all she had prayed for fervently every day of the last four years, was for her power to manifest. And now that it had, it had ruined everything. How could she have been so selfish, so self-absorbed? Had she known that the cost of her power would be her father…her people…her home…she would have stayed away as long as she lived.
“Vikal,” she managed. Her voice was distant. Perhaps the gods of this land had some other power. Something that would save her.
“Vikal?” The soldier perked up. “Vikal?” As if he wasn’t sure he had heard her right. The man stood, and waved his arms up the hill. “Vikal!” Then more foreign words.
A sob escaped from her mouth. She would die in this strange place, in this strange land. Her body wouldn’t lay to rest in Yoshai, with her parents and her people. She would be lost forever. They would never know what became of her.
Blackness swam before her vision, but she blinked, clearing it. She wanted to see Vikal, the most familiar thing she had in this place. The face appeared above her, concern and worry written like the chapters of a book. “Rika! Stay with us. Stay with me.” She felt his hands on her face, cradling her head, the dichotomy of his rough palms and gentle touch soothing her.