“What does it look like to you?” he asked, wondering why those words left his mouth. He’d had the odd feeling that they saw things he didn’t.
“Molten trails of lava, always flowing, never growing…” Sunday murmured, her fingers hovering over the scar as she traced the air over it. His skin nevertheless tingled as if she touched the flesh.
He wasn’t sure if she were answering with sincerity or if it was some line from a vague book of questionable non-fiction that read like a stage play, some reference to what Cherry had just as cryptically referred to as the Flame God’s Mark.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Cherry asked, too reverent with honesty to be shy at her unguarded words.
He laughed shortly as that word broke the spell and he stepped away, looking around them now.
“’Beautiful?’ Don’t be absurd,” he scoffed, his eyes sharpening on a man in the distance who was trying far too hard to pretend he hadn’t just followed them several blocks over the city.
He masked the realization, linking his arms through theirs.
“Not much left of the day. How much further?” he asked, shooting a look at Cherry.
He suspected their followers might be closing in and wasn’t disappointed that two men in ill-fitting Kylrithian garb blocked the path they took now. He had stuck to alleys for that very purpose. He’d rather the confrontation didn’t draw eyes.
Royal Guards… He could always spot them by the selfimportant way they carried themselves but the little tattooed mark on their necks they ill-concealed was the dead giveaway. It was no revelation. Kings didn’t keep Gates in Vaults without knowing exactly what they held. No one has delusions of grandeur on the level of a King for that matter. Some of them ranked themselves as Gods from the first, with all that shit about ‘divine rule.’
He pressed the Rain Maidens behind him, feeling the volcanic thrall burning behind his eyes, the rise of ash and smoke wavering over his vision. The fire formed in both hands now, twin swords transmuting from the primal combustion. A smile split his face as his dark eyes flared.
“Not magic…” he scoffed as the last of his humanity died away.
Living warriors didn’t not go down easily like the chaff of gathering spirits and his flurry of strikes met with metallic clangs against the swords of the two men. More men were appearing on the edges of his vision, but the Maidens were not cowering behind them.
The blue light of their daggers had lengthened into swords and they fought with him. He smirked as one man tried to pin Cherry to the wall. She couldn’t overpower him, but he saw her knee swing up and unman him with a solid connection to his groin.
“Don’t kill them,” came Cherry’s hollow voice, a sound that he wasn’t sure was audible or if it caressed the fever in his brain.
“Sorry, sweetie, no can do,” he growled loudly, taking the head of one man as he used the dual blades like a pair of scissors.
He knew exactly what he was doing as the palette of the world suddenly washed over with the monochrome blue-grey of the crossing world. The cramped alley was gone and a wave of thirsty ecstasy made his battle cry roar at the freedom.
The king’s men were bewildered that they had been pulled in as well, but their opponents grew in number as the waiting shadows joined the fray. He used their confusion to cut through three of them. Death was odd here, a place where only the already dead or dying were meant to go. They did not bleed or lose limbs, they simply lost the solid corporeal form and stood paralyzed like obedient specters that had simply been benched for the rest of the fight.
In his Realm, their bodies would incur the actual damage. Any unlucky spectator there would see the Maidens fighting the men, some being cut down by him, who was unseen there, since he was only in the Realm in-between. As the Maidens had said, only they could be three places at once.
Sunday and Cherry were glorious battle Maidens, if ever he had seen them. Those silken gowns flowing here as if underwater, never encumbering them and flinching from touch like the sensitive fins of tropical fish. Another hunger built south of his belt watching the inhuman change, the cold precision as they cut through the waves of vicious shadows and men.
The shadows dispersed and reformed though, even the Keys they used unable to destroy them. He might have fought them here eternally, the thrall seducing him into wanting it more than life, but once the men had been led through Sunday’s little playpen, he felt the Maidens restrain him with surprising strength.
Two cold pairs of lips pressed to the lids of his eyes, drawing the heat from him, clearing away the approaching shadows and restoring his vision. Kylrith reappeared in disjointed chunks once more and when he slumped forward, he yanked both women down with him. Their human weaknesses had clearly returned.
“He’s amazing,” Sunday murmured as Cherry nodded at her with agreement. “He shouldn’t be able to pull the living into the Gate Realm like that…”
He barely had the strength to protest the absurdity of the words they lavished on him, shaking his head but deciding he could get used to it.
“Tell me there’s a bar at the end of this day,” he said, slurring his words already.
Cherry managed a laugh as she slapped his arm. He shrugged them away and staggered to his feet, anxious to get away from the grotesque piles of bodies that would be discovered in short order.
“She’s close now, but she may flee. There’s no way she didn’t feel us being pulled in. I told you not to do that,” Cherry scolded, pinching his arm, aware that curious eyes were being drawn to them already.
“You say that but if I hadn’t, we would have drawn too much attention here. I know those shadows are dangerous, but this whole situation is a shitstorm, princess, so sometimes we’re going to have to hold our breaths and go in swinging,” he reminded her.
Sunday hung behind them, watching their exchange.
“You say there is another of our kind here… why did I not feel her nearby during the ferry incident?” Sunday asked, causing him to stop in his tracks and turn towards her.
“She must have just arrived. Cherry, you have seen her movements…” he said, turning to her. Cherry’s face was edged with discomfort.
“Her beacon doesn’t move,” Cherry murmured sheepishly. The realization of her oversight kept her from meeting his eyes.
“Move,” he ordered and Cherry did not balk as she ran towards the beacon only she could see.
He felt a sudden piercing of tension in his brain rounding a corner and he had grabbed Cherry’s wrist to halt her, holding out a hand to signal Sunday to do the same. His eyes traveled up the large empty warehouse and Cherry bit her lip.
“You feel her in there, too…” she said, her voice nearly a whisper.
He nodded, his brow furrowing before he charged in.
One of the guards was plunging the Maiden’s own key into her chest.
In one sickening lurch, the thrall swallowed him and the Gate Realm of the dying Maiden slammed down around them, the weaponized fire deforming in his hands but never taking shape. Something was really wrong here.
On the edges of his vision, he could see Cherry and Sunday had taken on their Rain Maiden forms, their eyes leaking thick black trails as they wailed, unable to move.
Fuck, this was a trap… Someone is one step ahead of us.
The thrall listed through him, unstable, and he fought the warring urges: the bloodlust as he carved through guards and shadows as well as his conscious effort to make his way towards the Maiden impaled with her own Key and being pulled towards her Gate.
The Maiden was fading, flickering between her human form and the Maiden. The blankness of the expression worn by the newly dead and the terror-filled struggle of her soul struggling for life competed for domination of her face.
He reached her, not sure of what the hell he would do now that he did. The failed weapon in his hand sputtered out as he extended his hand and yanked the Key from her chest.
The Key flared to life, a blazing orange greatsw
ord in his hand as the Maiden collapsed. Her Maiden form became solid as she gasped to catch her breath. The sound of shattered metal pierced the air and the other two Maidens were freed, carving through the growing number of shadows to reach him and their fellow Maiden.
He yanked the weakened woman to her feet, trying to cradle her with his only free arm before the chill in her hands stole what remained of his sight and consciousness slipped away.
He felt the urgency of hands pressing his chest, shaking him, but it was the hard slap to his face that finally roused him.
Cherry, Sunday and… Dolly were frantically trying to push him into action, the thrall gone but the aftereffects leaving him feeling drunk and useless.
His eyes struggled to make sense of the blond woman with the childish ringlets and pale green eyes. It seemed absurd that this doll-like girl wasn’t shrinking away from him in terror.
No, she wouldn’t, would she? She probably thinks I’m adorable.
Dolly and Sunday were on each arm, pulling him to his feet, shouting something unintelligible as Cherry pressed his back.
He could see why. There were guards charging them, closing in on them fast.
He kicked into autopilot and started to run. The startled women needed no motivation to follow as fast as they could.
He had no clue where he was going, only knew that he had to get the hell out of there. Cherry seemed to have a better idea; she grabbed his arm and redirected him to a road that took them towards the Galled River.
“Can’t swim,” he mumbled, his legs already maxed out and his voice taxing him further.
They reached the edge of the River and he collapsed to his knees. The three woman looked at each other nervously and Sunday nodded her head sharply.
“Call it,” Sunday said.
The women joined hands and their eyes swam with that haunting fathomless blue.
He could feel the rumble under his feet, his ears popping from the sudden distortion and the water bubbled from the deepest part of the river. The river itself seemed to take on a sudden serpentine shape and he watched with disbelief as it took on the form of an enormous dragon, easily as big as a river barge. Large glass talons sprung from its feet as it clawed at the surface. Long twitching whiskers rippled at its twitching jowls. The giant transparent creature roared and slithered along the surface towards them, bowing its head before them in obedience.
Cherry hurried over to where he already struggled to stay on his feet, lifting his arm over his head to rest on hers while the other Maidens already mounted just behind the beast’s head.
He heard the shouting and shuffling of the men that caught up to them.
“I suppose you’re going to tell me that’s not magic either,” he grumbled, using every effort to be lead onto its neck.
“It’s not… Dragons slumber everywhere. They didn’t fade with magic, but it does make them extremely lazy,” Cherry labored to explain while trying to keep him on his feet.
His eyes slid over to meet the large blue eyes of the dragon.
“I feel your pain, pal. I could use a nap myself,” he told the dragon as he hefted his weight onto its enormous neck.
He collapsed alongside the mounted Maidens, a feminine shriek from one of them. He barely acknowledged the powerful lunge of the dragon in motion before he slipped into oblivion once more.
His eyes opened to endless blue. Not the watery sort of afterlife that the Maidens might come with, just a spotless swatch of blue.
“Boring,” he said with a slurring sing-song voice, nearly jumping as Cherry’s head loomed into view.
He felt something warm and wet press against his lips and opened his mouth to have the sudden flavor of seasoned fish explode on his tongue. The muscles in his jaw labored to make work of the morsel his stomach clearly wanted far more.
He made no move to sit up and feed himself, letting Cherry stay propped up on one arm beside him and hand feed him.
Dolly appeared on his other side, smiling shyly and showing him a bowl of steamed mashed sweet potatoes before spooning a bite out for him.
“Dolly,” he mumbled to himself, making her frown as he chewed with increased vigor.
“Oh! You don’t know my name! It’s—” Dolly started, but Cherry laughed.
“My name isn’t Cherry either. He has a stubborn habit of naming people whatever he likes. So what did you name her anyway?” Cherry asked, jerking her head off to her right where his eyes saw Sunday still making food over a fire.
“Sunday,” he said roughly, taking another bite of fish before he had even swallowed the sweet potatoes.
Cherry frowned as she puzzled that one out.
“I might have called her Cherry too, with that hat she wears, but she reminds me of ice cream more,” he slurred, still too weak to censor his words. Sunday took no offense, stroking a hand over the beautiful splotched skin of her arm.
Dolly laughed girlishly and fed him more of the sweet potatoes.
He looked around them, no cities in view. They were in some natural alcove, a dirt path up the grassy hill behind Cherry. There was an outcropping of rock and a small pond nearby that occasionally bubbled, a sure sign that the rock was part of an underground cavern that fed the pond. He hadn’t see the trees before when he woke up to the endless blue above him, but the sun was angled so that their shade stretched over them.
He registered the scenery sluggishly as if it appeared from the pages of a pop-up book, feeling an odd sense of peace. The errant thought of his growing little harem made a crooked smile spread across his face.
Cherry narrowed her eyes at him.
“I don’t like that look,” she announced.
“Then you’d hate the reason behind it. Just sorry I missed riding on the back of a dragon,” he mused, letting his eyes drift shut as he enjoyed a deep breath.
In the idyllic stillness, he nearly dozed off once more but more questions danced on the edges of his mind.
“Dolly… You aren’t from Kylrith… What were you doing there?” he asked harshly and regretted it when her face became crestfallen. She tugged at a ringlet.
“I’m… from a hamlet not too far from here. Bryerton. From a family of farmers. I was on my way back from the market when those men snatched me away. My family must be so worried…” Dolly said, looking off into the distance.
Better than being dead. He was glad that thought didn’t slip out.
“You can’t risk going back there,” he reminded her.
Dolly nodded miserably.
“I know… but are we really safer gathering together like this?” she asked nervously.
He definitely didn’t have an answer for that, but his only real lead right then was that they had to be rescued and he was only one man. Like so much else, he assumed the answers would come in time.
“The Rain God seems to think so,” Cherry answered and the two girls looked doubtful.
“The Rain God’s seat is empty, so let’s not rely on that too much,” he grumbled, struggling to sit up.
He knew the story of the four Gods. The Flame of the South, the Rain in the North, the Mountain of the East, the Winds of the West. The western Anders territory was the domain of the Rain God and for some reason, two thousand years ago, he vacated his seat and divided his power among his ‘Goddesses,’ the Rain Maidens.
When he had clung to the edges of life in Uther, the Flame God had tormented him. He didn’t know if it had anything to do with the sealing of his scars at the forge or if there was some deeper meaning. He never cared to live his life in service to anyone, but he didn’t care to be trapped in the past.
“You’re going to have to raise the beacons again. Will they be more powerful with the three of you calling them?” he asked, shifting.
Cherry laid a hand on his shoulder with concern on her face.
“You’re not strong enough yet,” she warned and he flicked her a look of annoyance.
Sunday stood up and came over to join them.
“
We’ve… never worked together like this before. And there’s a chance that more power also alerts the forces that are seeking us,” Sunday said, the other two nodding with solemnity.
“And you have no clue what the shadows are…” he said, not buying that, especially when Dolly flicked Sunday a nervous look. “Spill it.”
Dolly let out a shaky sigh.
“It could be… the Sentinels…” she added, unable to look at them.
“They are suspected to be the reason the Rain God split the Gates and sealed away magic. Powerful magicians that split the Anders from the Melikai to drive a rift between the Gods,” Sunday explained, smoothing at her skirts.
He laughed with bitter derision. Right. Another fairytale.
“After the split, the War of the Magi nearly destroyed the world and even when the Gods killed them, they breeched the God Gate. The Rain God broke the Gate, forced magic into the Gates and made eight Keys from the bones of his body. Mine is the Spark of Vashyra,” Dolly said, putting a hand over it.
“Why are the Keys named for fire?” he asked.
“The Rain God asked the Flame God to tear him apart while he still lived,” Sunday added.
“The names: Vashyra, Haseroth, Arkhades… What of them?” he pressed further.
“The names given to the Gates,” Dolly murmured.
Bad at lying.
“The names of the magicians they seal,” he guessed and Dolly’s eyes went wide. “Won’t they be set free if the Keys are gathered?”
He didn’t need to say it. Only one Gate ever appeared each time he had crossed over. The only way the Gates melded was when the Maidens were killed. It seemed a huge oversight on the Rain God’s part. In his time, they were but a hair’s breadth from that coming to pass. He had walked the last piece right up to it himself. He saw the fear on their faces and decided they didn’t need to know. He had one question he couldn’t ask—why did Cherry’s Key not return to the God Gate?
“Whoever gathers at the Gate becomes the new Rain God. If their ambitions are evil, they could very well release that evil once more…” Cherry told him.
“And let me guess, no one knows a damn thing about how to banish these Sentinels,” he said, clicking his tongue with annoyance.
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