Grave of Words (Fall of Under Book 2)

by Kathryn Ann Kingsley

  It was probably for the best.

  He knew the scent of the rotted meat. He knew to whom it belonged. He prowled along the row of the houses, sniffing the air, a low growl forming in his throat. It was not long before he found the door from which the scent came the most strongly.

  Kamira was already at the door of the offending home, her fists clenched, her tail swishing behind her. “It cannot be.”

  “It is.” He shifted his form to his human one—his preferred shape would simply not fit. He hated going indoors, but this was a matter of some urgency. “Fetch Ini.”

  “You fetch her.” Kamira bared her teeth. “I have known him longer than you. It is my right.”

  “No need to fetch me, dears.”

  Dtu flinched. He was accustomed to Ini’s unpredictable comings and goings, but it still startled him from time to time. Kamira looked far more put out, the hair on her tail puffing up as she hissed at the floating blue elf.

  Ini giggled. “Let me get the door.”

  “It’s locked. I’ll kick it in.” Kamira cracked her neck.

  “Posh! So violent.” Ini blinked out of existence. A moment later, the sound of a metal latch sliding against wood, and then the door swung open. Ini stood on the other side, her long blue hair flowing around her. “Hurry, now. Before you’re too late to say goodbye.”

  “Bullshit,” Kamira snarled at the woman. But still, she heeded the warning of the Queen of Fate. She flew into the building and bounded up the stairs. Dtu and Ini followed in her wake.

  He did not know the Elder of Words well. Maverick was an odd man. Quiet, studious, and…angry. He was told by Kamira that he had not always been that way—that the events of the Rise of the Ancients and the death of his wife Aria had scarred and changed him in ways that troubled her deeply. She mourned for him, and for the man he had once been.

  The smell of rot and death grew stronger as he climbed the stairs ahead of Ini. The building was an older one, by the town standards. Thick gunstock beams in the corners leaned at odd angles, the age and weight of the house settling them into position over the centuries. He ducked his head under one particularly low beam before stepping into the room.

  Kamira was already sitting on the edge of the bed, her teeth bared once more. But this time, not just in fury—but in grief. Tears streaked down her cheeks unchecked. “You fool, you stupid old fool.”

  “Younger than you,” Maverick murmured. The visible part of his face was beaded in sweat. The sheets were soaked through. His arm was laying atop the fabric, and Dtu grimaced behind his mask.

  There was the source of the smell. His arm was a disgusting, festering mess. The skin was pale and yellowish. It laid there limply, even as Maverick tried to shift. There was a bite in his forearm that must have been from one of the drengil. How it had infected him, Dtu did not know. Maverick was not the first soul to have been bitten who did not have their soulmarks removed. He was simply the first whose wounds did not heal. But why?

  It was troubling, to put it mildly.

  Dtu could do nothing but watch.

  “Doesn’t change a damned thing!” Kamira held Maverick’s good hand in both of hers. “You’re still an old fool—why didn’t you say something?”

  A bleary golden eye blinked slowly. The man was dying. “I suppose…after all this time, I am afraid to die after all.” He coughed, his face creasing in pain. “By the time—the time I knew what was happening, it was…already too late.”

  Maverick turned his usable arm over, revealing the marks that inked his flesh from his wrist to elbow. They should have been purple, dark against his pale skin. But they were not. Dtu swore under his breath. Kamira did the same, save much more vehemently. Her obscenities turned into a wail, and she doubled over Maverick’s chest, weeping.

  The marks were yellow.

  “What does this mean?” Dtu whispered to Ini, not wishing to disturb Kamira.

  “I fear I do not know. The Ancients have not whispered visions to me since the collision. I think perhaps…they do not know either.” Ini clutched her hands to her breast.

  “You cannot die,” Kamira insisted to the Elder of Words. “You cannot. I will not allow it.”

  “I will do my best to comply, but I fear—I do not have much say in the matter.” Pale lips formed a weak smirk. Maverick’s voice was already growing softer. His visible eye was becoming unfocused. “Perhaps it is time. Perhaps I am not meant for this world any longer.”

  “No!” Dtu’s elder growled, her voice becoming bestial in her desperation. She visibly forced herself to swallow her rage. “We will find a way to cure you. There must be a way…”

  “I do not think…there is time. But I appreciate the sentiment. You have been…a good friend, Kamira…as juxtaposed as we are. Do not cry for me.”

  “I will do as I like.” Kamira lifted his hand to her lips and kissed his fingers. “You are my brother, Maverick. You are like family to me, and we fight as such. Lyon will—Lyon will be beside himself when he—no. No. You are not dying. You are not. You will heal from this.”

  “I do not think I wish to.” He chuckled, a strained sound. “I am sick of these games they play with us. I do not want to play a part in this new tragedy they have paid us. Let me die. Perhaps Aria will greet me there…and we may finally settle my grudge.”

  “Do not talk like that. You will survive, Maverick. We are immortal. Disease cannot touch us. You will die, then you will return. As we always do.”

  “Not anymore.” Maverick shut his eyes. “I am tired, my friend…”

  “No—no—” Kamira bit back another choked sound of grief as she, like the rest of them, could do nothing but watch.

  “Thank you for…I was afraid I would…die alone…I have been so…alone…”

  Maverick never finished his sentence. He breathed in. He breathed out. He breathed in. He breathed out.

  For painful seconds, no one moved. Nothing stirred.

  The sound that followed was Kamira’s furious wail. She collapsed atop Maverick’s corpse, sobbing loudly. Dtu approached her and laid his hand on her back. He knew, as well as she did, that Maverick was not going to return to life. Whatever plague had struck him had poisoned his marks.

  The Elder of Words was gone.

  Kamira flew into his arms, weeping against his bare chest. He held her tightly, resting the wooden cheek of his mask against her head. He did not bother to shush her. Her grief was well earned. Tears stung his own eyes unexpectedly. He had not known Maverick well, but he could not help but feel some of his elder’s sorrow. She was family to him, and the Elder of Words had been family to her.

  He let his own tears fall without shame. He held her for a long time before she finally pressed away from him, wiping at her cheeks. She sniffled. “We should…wrap his body for burial. I will not leave him in a ditch like the others. Scavengers will not have his corpse.”

  Ini’s shoulders were shaking. Dtu watched as she pulled her ornate porcelain mask from her face, revealing her features. Her large, almond-shaped eyes were wet, as were her cheeks. Kamira blinked, stunned at the reveal of the Queen of Fate’s face. Dtu had seen Ini before, but his elder had not.

  “Oh, my dear, darling Kamira.” It was Ini’s turn to hug Kamira. The wild woman sank against the queen’s smaller frame. Ini kissed her cheek several times. “You are a treasure to all. We will mourn him when we can.”

  Kamira’s green eyes slipped shut, and peace came over her features. She had willingly surrendered to Ini’s gift, Dtu knew. She welcomed the solace that Ini could grant with just a touch of a hand.

  The Queen of Fate’s ability could bring bliss. It could also bring agony, Dtu knew. There had only been one instance where Dtu had seen the elf use her gift in such a way. It was a faded and foggy memory of the time before, when the world was nothing but sand and suffering.

  The King of All had not come to his senses alone when he had first turned away from the Ancients and cast them into the pool nearly six thousand y
ears ago.

  Some believed that Ini’s gift of the whispers of the future from the Ancients was her most powerful tool. Dtu knew better. Because nothing could change the path through the years more than a lens upon the present and the past.

  Ini had forced the King of All to feel all that he had done to them. To know the source of his cruelty for what it was—loneliness.

  And it was then that the man who would become the King of Shadows had rejected his creators and shattered his own mind. Rxa had chained the Ancients into the lake of blood where they were imprisoned, and they became as they had been for so long—seven kings and queens of Under.

  All because Ini had placed a hand upon him and forced him to see.

  But the kindest creature in Under had never had a reason to use her gift in such a way since that time six thousand years ago. Instead, she was always tender. Loving. Forgiving. A source of consolation to any who needed it. Many sought her as a lover to quiet the darkness in their minds for a time. If Dtu found the female form attractive, he would have likely done the same.

  Kamira pushed away from Ini once more, her sorrow and anger visibly dampened. Ini replaced her mask over her features and stroked a hand gently over his elder’s wild and braided hair. “I will prepare him for burial.”

  “No.” Kamira shook her head. “I will do it. It will help me, I think. And someone should stand guard in case he rises as…one of them.” She grimaced. “If anyone will need to destroy him if he does, it should be me.”

  “Very well.” Ini floated away from her. “I will see to the preparation of a suitable grave, then. Dtu, my darling, will you help me dig? I fear with the frozen ground, we may need your claws.”

  “Of course.” He placed a hand again on Kamira’s shoulder. “Will you be all right?”

  She nodded once. Her expression was already growing resolute. “I have lost many over the years. Yes. I will. In time.”

  Dtu squeezed her shoulder before heading to the door. The smell of death was thick in his nostrils, and he was eager for the fresh air of the cold. As he stepped out, he let out a breath of relief.

  “Dtu?”

  Turning his head, he saw Jakob hovering nearby, a coat pulled tight around him. The snow was still falling heavily, and Dtu was instantly concerned for the man. But he reminded himself that Jakob was accustomed to the cold and the outdoors. “It is all right.”

  “I heard—I heard screaming, and…I couldn’t find you.”

  “Maverick.” Dtu paused. He didn’t know how to describe what had happened. “He is gone.”

  Jakob winced and, frowning, looked down at his shoes. “The poison does work on your kind, then…”

  “So it seems.”

  “Are you all right?” Jakob reached out and placed it on Dtu’s bare elbow. His touch was warm and pleasant. Dtu forgot what it was like. Even just the smallest brush of fingers on his skin made him want to seek out more.

  “I am concerned for what this means for us. And Kamira is…she was close with Maverick, as much as anyone can bond with those from the House of Words.” Dtu shook his head. What was the point of lying? “No. I do not think I am all right. I fear for us all.”

  “I know you don’t like being indoors, but, um…” Jakob took a step toward him. “If you don’t want to be alone right now, you can come with me.”

  Ini leaned her head in close to his and whispered, “The grave can wait until morning. Kamira will wish to sit in vigil for some time to ensure he does not rise as a drengil. Go with him, puppy. You deserve it after all this time.”

  Dtu sighed heavily. With a nod, he reached out and…took Jakob’s hand. He let the young mortal lead him away from the home and into another one. The smell of burning wood was homey and comforting. He did not like being indoors.

  Unless he had a good reason to be.

  Past those sleeping on a sofa or on piled up blankets on the floor. Up a winding, old, creaking staircase, and past several closed doors. Jakob led him to another room and shut the door behind him. He shrugged out of his coat and his boots, putting them by the flickering coals in the fireplace.

  Dtu stood there, feeling like a fool, unsure of what to do. He was already barefoot and with nothing but a pair of worn trousers. He certainly wasn’t going to strip them off.

  Jakob pulled off his shirt. Dtu could not help but stare. He was smaller than Dtu was in frame, but he was lean and muscular. Tattoos that reminded him of those of the human Vikings dotted down Jakob’s arm and his shoulder.

  He fought the urge to tangle his fingers into the man’s long blond hair and braids. Desire flared in him. It was the first time he had felt such a thing in a very, very long time. His mind wandered to dangerous places.

  Jakob smiled at him shyly and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Come on, silly. I know you might bite, but I won’t.”

  Feeling stiff and awkward, he walked to the bed and hesitated. After a long, beleaguered sigh, he lay down. “I’m not used to beds.”

  “Neither am I. Now and then I roll off them, thinking I’m on the ground.” Jakob chuckled and lay down beside him, pulling the blankets up over them. He snuggled in close, resting his head on Dtu’s shoulder, and draped his arm over his chest.

  It felt good.

  It felt natural.

  Dtu took in a deep breath, held it for a long moment, and then let it out slowly. He forced his tension to go along with it. This was not wrong. This was not a sin. This was not disrespecting the memory of Qta.

  He would always love the King of Dreams. But that did not mean he had to be alone forever.

  “Thank you, Jakob.”

  The mortal placed a kiss against his shoulder. Tender and sweet. “Of course.”

  Dtu slept.

  And he did so peacefully.

  20

  The head of the monster hit the ground with a wet thump and rolled away from Rxa’s feet, the uneven shape leading it in an off-center circle as it left a trail of blood in its wake. Shame to waste it. But there was plenty for him to eat.

  He dropped his scythe to the ground, uncaring for where he left the rusty blade in the grass. Kneeling at the side of the reindeer-gone-giant-porcupine that he had found and murdered, he rolled it over onto its back, exposing the underbelly of the headless corpse. With his claws, he began to rip open its stomach, slitting it crudely from neck to groin.

  It was not the first animal he had cleaned in his life.

  Normally, he might not care for peeling away the skin to leave the muscle and sinew intact beneath. But he had more of a mission on this little sojourn into the woods than simply to feed his overwhelming need for raw flesh.

  He was going to make a nice dinner!

  He grinned at the thought as he cracked the ribcage of the reindeer-esque creature open. The bones snapping was a sharp contrast to his happy humming. He was going to make a lovely dinner for Ember, serve her a bottle of wine—or several—and then woo her like a gentleman. He would lay her down, kiss every square inch of her body, and then show her what someone with his experience could give to her.

  Perhaps he’d even find some flowers for the occasion. Chocolates, perhaps? Yes—he’d make a lovely dessert. He couldn’t imagine she had much opportunity to eat sweets while wandering about in the wasteland of an apocalypse from which she hailed.

  Ripping the creature’s liver from its torso, he sank his teeth into the hot, gooey organ. Fresh blood burst into his mouth as though he had just bitten into a ripe strawberry. He let the blood ooze from his lips and down his neck and chest, moaning in ecstasy.

  It tasted so good.

  He devoured the liver. Then the kidneys. Then the lungs. He saved the heart for last. With his bare hands, he tore it free from the veins and arteries, and trailed his tongue up his forearm and his wrist, licking a trail of hot blood before he extended his fangs, sinking them deep into the heart, wishing to suck the precious liquid from it before he ate the organ whole.

  He would feed from Ember tonight. He would pi
erce her throat and drink from her—or perhaps her thigh if she let him. He would bring her to the heights of bliss with his touch and his bite. It meant he should be certain he was well-fed and not hungry before he did so. He didn’t want to hurt her in a bout of bloodlust. There was plenty of other lust he felt for Ember, without wanting to devour her flesh.

  Maybe someday.

  But not today.

  Oddly enough, he cared about her. When she was sad, he wished to comfort her. When she was upset, he wished to cheer her. He wondered what she was doing in his home. He had left her napping in bed after she had bathed. She was so very tired and accustomed to running, he supposed she had little opportunity to enjoy simple things like a hot bath and a fresh bed. Idly, he wondered if she had foolishly tried to run while he was gone. Rightfully, she still feared him. But she also respected his abilities enough to know that he’d hunt her down if she tried.

  And he would. In a heartbeat.

  Heh. Heart. He pulled his fangs from the organ in his hand and began to eat it instead, sinking his teeth into the tissue and pulling out a chunk, chewing on it before swallowing. He felt it slide down his throat, and he let out a wavering breath of relief. Each time he fed, it lessened the pain just a little. That was to say nothing of how good it felt.

  But the question remained—why? Why did he care about Ember? She had a dry sense of humor that he found amusing. He supposed it was her capacity for sympathy that he enjoyed the most. How she had wept for him as he had suffered, even as she poisoned him with her blood.

  She didn’t want to hurt him.

  And honestly, that was a first for him.

  But she also cared about that damned horse. So maybe it wasn’t personal. Maybe she didn’t really like him, she just put up with how he wanted to hold her while they slept. Or make her breakfast. Or to touch her.

  It was a good survival tactic, wasn’t it? Seduce the creature keeping her prisoner? Lull him into thinking she wanted him? But something about it didn’t ring true to him, even as keen as he was to loathe himself and what he’d become—what the Ancients had turned him into.