by AB Bradley
At long last, Iron found his way across the treacherous landscape and spilled onto the island’s western shore. The Sapphire Sea glittered under an unbroken dome of diamonds. The moon hid its face that night and gave the stars leave to shine brighter in its place, transforming the water into a sea of rippling silver. Had the stars not shone or thunderheads obscured them, he might not have seen the islets dotting the shallow waters, but in the clear night air, those dark formations stood against the bright sea, thrust above the waves like a titan’s broken teeth.
One arch over the waves caught his eye—a curve molded by generations of wind and water blanketed on either side by thick vegetation. When he held the charm toward it, the enchanted heartbeat answered with an unmistakable flutter.
“Found you,” he said with a creeping grin.
So Iron tore down the path as fast as stealth allowed him. Fronds and vines slapped his face as he muscled through the greenery. He’d cut his cheeks on more than a few thorny tendrils, and scrapes and bruises painted his arms. The constant, stinging pain dulled the closer he came to his goal.
He reached the main island’s beach but hesitated just where trees gave way to sand. Leading the Goshgonoi to the shrine was a superbly amateur idea. He’d be trapped there for one, and whatever secrets it held would fall right into the hands of a bunch of lunatic cannibals.
A long palm not far from where he stood grew over the beach so low taller waves lapped its fronds. Iron headed for it and jumped onto the trunk, balancing as the tree wobbled from his weight. With arms outstretched, he carefully tiptoed over the beach and came to the shallow water. He glanced behind him.
Movement disturbed the jungle not far from the verdant wall. Were they figures? Iron slipped onto his knees and swung quietly into the sea.
The saltwater stung his cuts, but he ignored the pain. His body ached from the terrifying flight, but he powered ahead. Fang tried its best to pull him beneath the surface, but he continued one hushed stroke after another.
Thrallox’s murder weighed on Iron nearly as much as Fang, no matter how he tried to justify the act. Death tarnished his soul like rusted steel. Before that day, he could cling to innocence, be that boy beneath the Everfrosts. Not now. He could never be that boy again, and criminal or not, taking a life not his own was the evilest form of thievery. Gods passed judgment, not mortal men and certainly not Sinner’s men.
Who judges then when gods are dead? Iron wondered.
Wet rocks and steep sides made climbing the island a feat of strength, but soon he found himself flopping onto flat ground high above the waves, his clothes sopping wet and chest burning with each breath.
Iron rocked to his knees and flicked the water from his knuckles. He turned to the edge and gazed into the dark, heaving waves crashing against the islet. No movement disturbed the main isle’s shoreline. Whatever he glimpsed, the thing that disturbed the jungle remained invisible. Satisfied he had evaded the Goshgonoi, Iron turned his back to the beach and struck into the islet.
Foliage grew obnoxiously thick on the tiny land mass. Glittering eyes of birds and serpents watched him from dark perches, but if they feared him, they didn’t show it.
Iron clenched the charm that brought him here as he slinked through the shadows. His footfalls didn’t so much as disturb a fallen leaf while he carefully walked the path the charm revealed through its gentle pulses.
He came to the arch conjoining both rocky mounds. The island peaked at the midpoint between them; a jagged spike too slick and sharp to scale but large enough to pique his interest.
A long crevice sheared the rock. Iron wriggled into the crack; water ran in oily lines down the sides. Moss tore from the granite as he forced his way through the opening. It narrowed to such a thin width that stone shredded his tunic and sliced into his chest. With a last, great heave, he burst through the passage and into a deep cavity open to the sky but otherwise hidden from the world.
Above the dark stone encircling him, tall palms grew around a perfect circle of glittering stars. Roots snaked down the walls like tentacles of a long-dead sea monster. They parted in even spaces, revealing towering alcoves cut into the rock.
Iron headed to one of the shadowy recesses so tall it could swallow him several times over. Something might have lurked within it, but no light penetrated its shadows, and the silence—gods, the silence—that was its own terror.
He reached the entrance and swallowed, lifting his chin. With a trembling hand he thrust the charm into the black. A hooded face greeted him much larger than his own, capping a figure hunched with hands clasped across its chest. Iron yelped and fell flat on his backside, his charm before him like a pathetic shield.
The alcove’s enormous occupant didn’t move. Iron wheezed on the ground and stared at the giant. It wasn’t a titan’s height, no, not nearly, more like something a titan might carry around in its pocket—or perhaps place within a shrine.
“A shrine,” he rasped. “The shrine. Asgeron’s shrine!”
Iron leapt to his feet and ran the glowing charm down the statue. Now that his fear abated, he recognized this figure. Sander had one next to his bed, always.
“The Slippery Sinner,” Iron said as he moved to the next alcove. One by one, he counted off the prime gods of Urum. He came to the sixth recess and shined the light into it. A woman stood there, pregnant and holding her belly, a warm smile carved across her face.
“Burning Mother.” Iron frowned, his gaze flicking to the last unexplored opening. “Wait.”
He turned to the Sinner’s shrine and counted.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Then, he turned to the Mother and stared at her blue-kissed cheeks. “Six.”
Slowly, his gaze settled upon the last, dark splotch, an uneasy chill seeping into his stomach. “Seven.”
His steps crunched on the rocky earth. He held the charm before him, drawing nearer to the seventh towering mouth in the secret circle.
Iron licked his lips. He paused just before the edge, then stepped forward. The charm dispelled the dark, and there stood a seventh statue. It was a man, tall and imposing like the others. He held a sword curved and carved with runes, its grip arching opposite the blade. A serpent coiled from the statue’s leg to his neck, and there the snake sank its fangs. While the man stood tall, he bowed his head so shadows hid it.
Iron slipped the charm into his pocket and unsheathed Fang. Walking forward, he held the sword to the statue’s. Identical. While the serpent charm provided meager illumination, Fang shone much brighter. Iron squeezed the sword and slowly guided it up the statue’s leg.
Fang’s light washed away the darkness and revealed the figure’s face. The strong cheeks, the serious eyes, even the hair matched his own. Iron stared into a reflection carved from rock.
A new kind of terror chilled his blood, and he stumbled from the sculpture. “No, that’s—that’s not possible. This isn’t the answer. It can’t be!”
Red light mingled with Fang’s blue. He whipped to the source. Gentle tendrils of flameless firelight surrounded the Mother’s figure and washed the air with warmth.
The circle is broken. Forgive us. The Serpent comes in many forms, and the Sun he raises will be your destruction.
“But that’s me! That statue in there is me!”
The Serpent comes for you. Seal the circle or the Third Sun will set.
“How do I seal this circle? What does it even mean?”
The Mother had no answers for him. Iron sucked in a breath and closed his eyes. Think logically. Look at the facts. The circle is broken. Obviously, he had some part to play in it. Maybe so did the other gods. Maybe…
“Sander, Ayska, Nephele…they’re all priests of different gods.” He opened his eyes and stepped toward the Mother. “The circle is broken. It needs one priest from each to mend it, doesn’t it?”
Forgive us. Forgive us.
Iron looked to the seventh alcove—his alcove. The Burning Mother played a tired tune, always asking him for forgi
veness. But in the shrine, staring at the dark recess holding his statue, he finally began to understand why.
“This isn’t fair.” Iron turned his back, only to come face to face with the other alcoves walling him in. “You didn’t prepare me for this. Choose another champion for your quest. I don’t want the responsibility. Whatever that statue is in there, I don’t like it. I don’t want to be it. That snake’s killing me, dammit!” He swung around and jabbed a finger at the Mother. “If you ever loved me, why would you let this happen to me?”
A crack split the statue from the corner of her eye to her jaw. There can be no other. Only flesh born of fire fights flesh born of ice. He has returned, and he will stop at nothing to consume what we create. It is his hunger. It is our shame.
“Your shame? How is the Serpent your shame…” Iron’s lips slowly peeled apart. “Unless—unless you did something to him to cause this. What did you do, Burning Mother? What have you done to all of us?”
We feared him once. It was our folly. We should have loved, but we feared, and so we split him into two. Two brothers, one with heart of fire, one with heart of ice, both so mighty, they rose above the land. Though we were old, we were young and did not know ourselves. We did not know what that first judgment wrought. Fire held passion for life, but ice held only memories of pain and punishment.
“You’re talking about Asgeron and Freidon, aren’t you?”
We thought he had forgotten, but ice does not forget. Ice preserves, and so he rose against us. He always rises against us. We cannot die, but we can dwindle. He is the same. We are all the same.
Those words disarmed Iron’s anger. “He is the same?” Iron shook his head, Fang’s point falling toward the ground. “You split the Serpent in two and buried a piece in Freidon and Asgeron. It makes so much sense now. You can never kill a god that cannot die, but maybe you can cut his heart in half and trap it where it can never escape.”
We saw his hate and mourned his pain, and so we gave him brothers and sisters to walk the lands with him. Their love did not melt the poison in his heart. Flame holds all the passion for creation. Ice could never let it in. And so he waged his first war.
Iron collapsed to his knees. “Asgeron defeated him. Asgeron didn’t kill himself because he mourned the dead. He hated himself for what he’d done. He knew the truth! He knew the truth and made this shrine to hold it so the people of the next Sun would have a warning the Serpent would return. The Fireborn alp never found it. He never knew the whole story. But I did. I do.”
We made the alp and thought the Serpent gone, but he was remembered and returned.
“Because gods can never truly die.”
And so the Serpent fell upon the land and began his consumption, and we woke the fire to stand against the ice, one heart made two to stand against oblivion. We feared our brother and cast him out, and in doing so made him a thing to fear. Seal the circle, Fireborn. We are fallen, fallen, oh, we are fallen. Now you know our shame.
The Burning Mother’s light faded to a few sad wisps. The Serpent comes in many forms. We cannot die. He cannot die. You cannot die. Forgive us for what we’ve done, oh Forgotten Seventh.
“How do I stop him? I’ve done what the alp champion couldn’t do. I found the shrine and learned the truth. Tell me where to go now.”
“Seek the Simmering Sands. Keep them safe, Fireborn, for you will perish should they perish, and if you perish, so does creation.”
The air cooled, and her ruby light faded. Iron stared blankly down at Fang. “Everything we know is a lie,” he murmured. He dropped his sword and upturned his palms, staring at the cracked and broken skin. “And what am I? Human? This…this Forgotten Seventh? Half a god.” He laughed at the words and stared into the stars. “Half a god. Sinner save me, how insane does that sound?”
Iron knew then that High King Sol would never leave him in peace. Sol was more than a man. He was the ice to Iron’s fire. The king would never rest until he sunk his fangs in Iron’s throat and regained the power he lost.
“No.” Iron said. “I’m not some reincarnated god. I refuse to believe it. It’s just another one of your stupid lies to make me fight to bring you back. I’m not one of you. I’m nothing like you. I reject the Six. Even if this shit’s true, I reject you! Do you know why?
The statues didn’t ask.
“You’re nothing but lies. All lies! You expect me to believe this story when so many people have lived and died for you based on total lies?”
The statues didn’t argue.
Iron rubbed his temples. Whatever the truth may be, Sol would hunt him to the ends of Urum and beyond. As long as Iron lived, he would look over his shoulder and fear the shadows. Everyone who came into his life would be in danger or used as bait. Sol and his serpents would slaughter everyone Iron loved like they slaughtered the crew of the Scarlet Widowmaker.
Iron took Fang and rammed its point into the ground. He pressed the pommel against his brow and closed his eyes, listening to his breathing. Damn the Six. Damn them and their stupid, bitter war. Their shame brought the end of the First Sun. Their shame brought the fall of the Second. Now, it may very well bring the Third crashing down unless Iron found a way to break the cycle.
“I won’t let the Third Sun fall.” He stood and ripped Fang out of the ground. “But I’ll be damned if I do it the way you want. How can I forgive gods of genocide? Even if I could, it’s not my apology you need. Ask the titans. Ask the alp. Ask every man, woman, and child who died while you tried to forget your sins.”
Ayska’s words rang truer than ever. Following the Six was a curse, and Iron hated them for it. He couldn’t run from the path, he couldn’t hide from what darkness approached, but that didn’t mean he would shout praises to dead gods that placed the burden of war squarely on his shoulders.
Iron lurched to his feet. He turned his back to the shrine and squeezed through the thin break in the rock. This place, these words, they would be a secret he would never tell. He loved his master and wouldn’t break the man’s heart by breaking his faith, and he loved Ayska and would not further poison hers with the truth.
But he would find a way to seal the circle and break the cycle, and he’d do it without the help of holy ghosts. These gods and their wars would end, and they’d end by Iron’s hand. After all, they were avalanches, and he was the thundersnow.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Reunited
“You’re alive, you stupid fool of a boy!” Sander burst from the cave mouth as Iron slipped through the waterfall and sloshed onto the ledge. The man yanked Iron to his feet and cupped his jaw, pressing their brows together. “You look like you’ve been dragged through several hells and back. I feared the Goshgonoi got to you—”
“I’m okay, I’m okay.” Iron forced a grin despite the anger at the gods rooted in his heart and patted Sander’s grizzled jaw. “You worry too much, old man.”
“Well, if you weren’t such a damnable fool all the time, maybe I’d feel a little more secure in your well being, but it seems like every other day you’re getting beaten, bruised, cut, or otherwise incapacitated. I swear, Iron, you’ll give me a heart attack years before my time.”
Iron pulled back and squeezed Sander’s shoulders. “You made it out of the tribe just fine.”
Sander looked healthy enough considering their current predicament. He leaned over his master’s shoulder and peered into the dark cave. A figure glided from the darkness. The starlight glittering through the falls struck her, washing her braids in silver and glimmering in her wet eyes.
“You’re alive,” Ayska said.
Iron pushed past Sander and wrapped his arms around her. Her slave scars textured her skin, but somehow they only made her more beautiful. Seeing her now after being separated for the first time since they’d began their long journey from Ormhild stirred something within him. Iron’s anger abated, and a new heat took its place.
“I feared the worst,” he said. “I would’ve come sooner. I’m s
o sorry, please forgive me.”
“We’re alive and that’s all that matters, little bay gull. After you killed the chief, Nephele broke us out.” She lifted her hands and placed them on his arms. “I knew you wouldn’t leave me. I knew you more than anyone else would return.”
Iron’s heartbeat thundered against his ribs. This warmth radiating through him—it overpowered his common sense. Looking at her there unleashed a tsunami of emotion. He pulled her close and pressed his lips to hers. She leaned in to him, and the world beyond their embrace evaporated.
His life was darkness and anger. If the shrine taught him one thing, it was that those who walked with him would share in his curse. Yet, he couldn’t turn from Ayska any more than he could ask a storm not to rain. The storm had to rain. It had to release what it held within it or far more would suffer for it.
Iron would protect her. No matter what, she above all others would be safe.
Such warmth her body held. Her lips were soft as silk and melting against his like downy snow beneath a hot sun. He could have stayed that way forever, lost in her embrace, forgetting the horror that fell on the world. Ayska pulled back first.
He stroked one of her thick braids and smiled. “It’s good to see you.”
Ayska slapped him, but not hard enough to hurt. “That doesn’t mean I wasn’t worried about you! You had us all worried. You had me worried. Where have you been?”
He flashed a toothy grin, this one realer than the one he had showed his master. He glanced over her shoulder as Nephele and Kalila drifted from the cave. Kalila blinked and cocked her head. Maybe she didn’t even know him anymore. If she recognized him, she didn’t show it.
Nephele winked above her practiced smile. “You certainly kicked the ant hill with that stunt you pulled. Thrallox is dead. The Goshgonoi are in utter chaos. I doubt they’ll be feasting on castaways any time soon. But…where did you go? You’ve been gone three days.”
“Three days?” Iron stepped back, his gaze darting to each of them. “But I killed Thrallox this evening. It’s…it’s only been a few hours.”