Dreams of Fury: Descendants of the Fall Book IV

by Hodges, Aaron

  With a soft thump, the Anahera landed on the cobbled streets a few yards from where their party stood. As one, Dale, Travis and the other guards spun towards her. Only then did recognition bloom in the eyes of Lukys’s fellow Perfugians.

  The Anahera standing before them was Cara, their long-lost friend from Fogmore.

  “Lukys?” Cara said his name again, but this time he sensed her hesitation, the doubt in her mind.

  Lukys couldn’t blame her. As far as she and most of the world had known, he and his friends had died south of the Illmoor. For Lukys to be standing there alive, let alone in the garb of a Sovereign…well, even he had trouble believing it at times.

  “Cara?”

  Another voice spoke before Lukys could greet the Anahera, as tearing off his helmet, Travis stepped from the line of guards.

  “By the…You, I guess, it is you!” he exclaimed, a sudden grin stretching across his lips.

  Then he was racing forward to drag Cara into an embrace, lifting her from the ground and spinning her around, wings and all. A chuckle whispered in Lukys’s mind at the sight and he glanced at Sophia, seeing the grin on his partners lips.

  So this is the Anahera you’re all so fond of.

  So it would seem, Lukys said quietly, then hesitated, wondering if he should reveal more. But…Sophia would sense the truth from him anyway—there were no secrets between them now. Travis in particular….

  He trailed off as Isabella stepped hesitantly after her partner, lifting the helmet from her own head. Still embracing Cara, Travis noticed her approach and turned from the Anahera, still wearing his grin.

  “Cara, there’s someone I want you to meet!” he said with his usual enthusiasm. Releasing the Anahera, he stepped up to Isabella and kissed her quickly, before looking back at Cara. “This is Isabella, my partner!”

  Lukys’s heart twisted as he watched the smile fall from Cara’s lips and she took an abrupt step backwards, eyes wide, suddenly shining. There was no missing the shock on her face, even if he had not seen her aura change from pink to white. Her mouth opened and closed, but the surprise of seeing her former…crush with another had obviously robbed her of words.

  “You must be the Anahera who protected my favourite human from the Old Ones,” Sophia interjected quickly, stepping forward to offer Cara a hug. The Anahera had regained a little of her composure by the time Sophia stepped back, and Lukys smiled at his partners quick thinking. “It’s a welcome sight to see one of your kind on our side,” she continued, though Cara was still staring at her in surprise, no doubt wondering at her Tangatan nature. “We have heard terrible rumours of the Anahera fighting alongside the Old One.”

  “I’m afraid that much is true,” a new voice interjected, and Lukys’s heart clenched as the face he’d glimpsed in the minds of the crowd approached up the street. So Erika was here. Behind her, the Calafe lingered, apparently shocked to a standstill by Cara’s appearance. “I thought you were dead, recruit.”

  An audible groan came from somewhere behind Lukys at the Archivist’s appearance. He cast a sharp glanced over his shoulder, catching Dale’s eye, but the guard only shrugged. Erika wasn’t exactly their favourite person, after she’d forced them all to join her on her mad quest south. Regardless, Lukys shook off his hesitation and stepped forward to greet the woman.

  “Archivist,” he said, keeping his tone pleasant whatever his true feelings about her. “It is good to see that you have endured these past months.” He did not offer any explanations for his own survival.

  “I have a new title now,” she replied somewhat hesitantly, glancing over her shoulder. Several men of the Calafe moved to join her and Lukys thought he glimpsed what might have been a nod from one missing an arm. Apparently reassured by their presence, Erika faced Lukys and Sophia again, though only for a moment, as her eyes registered another presence.

  “King Nguyen,” she greeted, arching an eyebrow. “I am surprised to find you here. Don’t tell me you’ve allied yourself with Amina after all?”

  Nguyen chuckled at that. “The Sovereigns and I decided we liked the look of Mildeth, so we took the city for ourselves.”

  A frown creased Erika’s brow at his words. “Sovereigns?” Her eyes flicked back to the pair of the and widened. “I see…” she hesitated, then made to offer her hand. “It seems we have all moved up—”

  Before she could come any closer, the one-armed Calafe man leapt forward, grabbing her by the shoulder and dragging her back. “Beware!” he cried, a blade appearing in his hand as he placed himself between the former Archivist and the Sovereigns.

  “Darien!” Erika gasped, struggling to retain her balance as she staggered. “What in the--?”

  “A Tangata stands with these kings,” the Calafe man hissed. “See the eyes of the two women?” He added, gesturing to Sophia and Isabella, neither of whom were concealing their faces now.

  Blood began to pound in Lukys’s ears as he watched the colour drain from Erika’s face. Light burst from the familiar gauntlet she wore, even as the Calafe warriors raised their weapons. Her head whipped around, focusing on Sophia as the glow of her gauntlet grew brighter.

  “Stop!” Lukys bellowed, unleashing his Voice for the second time in as many minutes.

  Erika stopped dead, hand half raised, that strange glow dancing around the metallic links. But she did not—could not—bring herself to open her fist and unleash her power. Drawing in a breath for calm, Lukys placed himself between the new queen and his Sovereign mate.

  “Peace, Erika,” he said softly, hands raised. “Wait a minute, before you make a mistake you will regret. Sophia and her brethren are on her side.”

  Rage shone in Erika’s eyes and her face twitched. Abruptly, Lukys’s spell broke and letting out a sharp exhalation, she retreated from him, gauntlet still raised in readiness for an attack.

  “What was that?” she hissed, looking from Lukys to Sophia, then back at Cara. “It…it was like he was in my mind.”

  “The Voice of the Tangata,” Cara replied, still frowning. “Lukys has it, though it has become far more powerful since I knew him in Fogmore.” She looked to Sophia. “And it should not be able to have such an effect on a human.”

  Erika watched the Anahera a moment, then shaking herself, she swung on Lukys once more. “How can you say they’re on our side?” she hissed. Flinging out a hand, she pointed to the south, in the direction of the approaching armies. “Don’t you know what’s happening out there, the danger that marches upon this city? Their kind are slaughtering people all across Flumeer.”

  “I know,” Lucky replied, refusing to retreat from the rage in her eyes, nor the fear behind it. “And the Anahera too, if the rumours are true.” He looked pointedly at Cara. “But it is not the Anahera, nor the Tangata, who are our true enemy.” He swallowed, staring at Erika, recalling the darkness of the tunnels they had uncovered, the stench of rot and death thick on the air. The creatures that had stalked them in that darkness. “Do you remember what we found…that day beneath the earth?”

  Erika started at his words, her eyes widening, revealing her shock. For a moment, he thought she would deny his words. She had been knocked unconscious during that conflict, had only caught a glimpse of the Old Ones before Cara had slain them.

  Then the former Archivist lowered her fist, the light dying from her gauntlet, and she nodded.

  “So you have seen her too,” Erika whispered.

  23

  The Fallen

  For days, Adonis and Maisie followed behind the Tangatan army, trailing in the shadow of their conquest, surviving off the scraps they left behind, watching, waiting. There was nothing else for them to do, no alternative path either could take. Afterall, where else could they go? The lands behind them belonged to the Tangata, but they were mostly empty now, their inhabitants swept up in the wake of Maya’s power.

  And so Adonis followed in the wake of his former mate, tracking her passage through the human lands. Maisie’s people had retreated
before the might of Maya’s army, avoiding a pitched battle and forcing the Old One to give chase if she wished to bring the half-blood queen to heel.

  Even so, they still found bodies scattered across the hilly landscape, the remains of skirmishes between the Tangata and the enemy, only…strange how Adonis had never noticed before, how difficult it was to distinguish between the two in death, how similar his people looked, lying side by side with the humans.

  A week after his fallout with Maya, Adonis’s wounds had at least partially mended. The same could not be said for Maisie with her human frailty, and after a few hours walking each day, she often resorted to her makeshift crutch for support. Or failing that, his shoulder.

  Despite his own improvement, it would be obvious to any they crossed that neither was up for a fight. Thankfully, the attention of Adonis’s brethren remained focused on the human army. Whenever they drew near the fringes of the Tangatan camp, he could sense their rage, like the distant pounding of drums, sounding to the beat of their conductor, to the Voice of Maya.

  Even at the edges of her influence, Adonis found his own emotions stirring, his fists clenching tighter, his anger rising at the human’s incessant chatting. Fortunately, Maisie tended to grow quiet at those times too. She might not hear the Voice of Maya, but that did not entirely spare her from the Old One’s influence. Adonis couldn’t help but wonder if it was that power which had broken the human army. If Maya could stoke the rage of so many Tangata, might she also be capable of influencing the humans, of fuelling their fears until they fled?

  Such a use of Voice had long been forbidden amongst his people, even on the smaller scales capable of by the Tangata. Adonis had argued against such restrictions, but their former Matriarch had denied him, enforcing the principles of ancestors long since perished.

  Now, watching the madness that had consumed his people, Adonis at last saw her wisdom. His people might have won the battle for the river, might have driven the humans back, might even soon claim a final victory…but what had they lost in doing so, in bowing to the greater power of Maya? What remained of his people now but a mindless mob, thirsty for the blood of their enemies?

  No, this victory had cost his people their soul.

  Standing atop a hill looking out across the next valley, Adonis looked upon the Tangatan horde—and the walls of the city that towered beyond. Mildeth, Maisie called it, the capital of the Flumeeren kingdom. The humans and their half-blood queen had finally run out of places to hide, though…they had not yet entered the city.

  Instead, they had readied fortifications beneath the great walls and turned to face the Tangata. Perhaps suspecting another of the queen’s traps, Maya had not yet attacked, but Adonis was sure the Old One would not wait long. Above, he caught glimpses of shadows in the sky, the winged Anahera scouting out the enemy formations, no doubt.

  Shivering, Adonis tore his eyes from the mass of Tangata and looked to the human, Maisie. Even after three days, he was still not sure what to make of her. Half the time they’d spent together, he found himself regretting sparing her life. She spoke constantly now, her voice grating on his nerves day and night, and her presence only slowed him now his wounds were healing. Perhaps he should put the creature out of her misery. After all, there would be nothing left for her kind after Maya’s inevitable victory. Death would be a mercy, rather than the enslavement that waited when the new dawn rose.

  But with a sigh, Adonis dismissed thought. The human could have slain him as he lay injured from Maya’s beating. He would not harm her now. He had at least that much honour. Though…

  …they were close enough to the Tangatan camp that he could feel her, could sense the darkness of her Voice upon his mind, upon the minds of all who resided in the valley. Despite that dark touch—or perhaps because of it—Adonis found himself confused when his thoughts turned to Maya.

  Even far from her presence, he found himself longing for her touch. The pain of her rejection, her repudiation, had not healed with his other wounds, remaining instead a gaping hole in his soul, a nightmare from which he could not wake. His vision blurred as he recalled the promises she had made him, the children she carried, the future he had envisioned at her side.

  Adonis clenched his fists, his entire being trembling. If only…

  An image flashed into his mind, the memory of Nyriah, of her body lying cold in the mud, her feathers twisted and broken, empty eyes staring…

  Gasping, Adonis tore his gaze from the distant army and staggered back from the crest of the hill. The human made some sounds of concern, but he ignored her. How had it come to this? The great Adonis, third generation Tangata, strongest of his people, now trailed after the woman that had spurned him, yearning like a lost puppy for a second chance. Why did he want her still, when all she had ever done was cause him pain?

  A shudder racked him and Adonis squeezed his eyes closed. He’d been wrong to come here, to follow. The human thought Adonis planned to help her, but…he did not have the strength for that, did he? No, he had come to hand Maisie over to his mate, to earn the Old One’s praise, to restore himself in her eyes, to…to…

  “You still want her back, don’t you?” Maisie’s voice came from behind him, soft, yet firm. She snorted. “Why not, I suppose? Maybe you can present me to her on a platter, a human that has completely outlived her usefulness. I’m sure it will entirely makeup for the queen you failed to kill back on the Illmoor.”

  She laughed, the sound harsh, bitter. Her eyes remained on the army and the city beyond, but as he looked in her direction, they narrowed. “Well, isn’t that something?”

  Adonis followed her gaze, expecting to see some disturbance amongst the opposing armies, but there was nothing. He turned back to Maisie and raised an eyebrow in question.

  “That wily bastard,” she muttered by way of reply. When Adonis only raised his other eyebrow, she sighed. “Seems you’re not the only one with an ex-lover on this battlefield. See those flags above the city gates, they say King Nguyen is in residence. The Sovereigns of Perfugia too, and…what’s this, the Calafe?” She blinked, glancing at Adonis in disbelief. “Haven’t seen that one in a long time. I wonder…”

  She trailed off, still looking at Adonis, as though waiting for him to say something. He shrugged and glanced at the flags she’d indicated, but they were only flapping pieces of fabric to Adonis. Humans were so strange, the way they divided themselves, pretending that differences of geography meant something. No wonder they had warred so readily against the Tangata, when they could not even keep the peace amongst themselves.

  “You know, Adonis, you’re terrible at small talk.”

  Adonis glanced sharply at Maisie and the human raised an eyebrow. After a long moment, he snorted at her, a stubborn smile touching her lips. Again, he found himself wishing he could respond in her coarse language.

  “It’s true, you know,” she said, smiling herself.

  Retreating from the edge of the hill, Maisie seated herself on a boulder. Her face was pale and she was puffing by the time she sat. Concerned, Adonis followed her, gesturing silently to her leg.

  She shrugged. “It’s fine,” she said, though her expression betrayed the lie. Reaching out with his mind, Adonis glimpsed the swirling grey-black of her agony. “It just needs to rest.”

  Adonis hesitated before nodding. Dark lines of pain still radiated from the woman, mingling with her usual rainbow of fear, anger and sadness. After a long moment, he knelt beside the boulder and reached for her leg.

  Maisie flinched away from him, her hand dropping to the knife she wore at her belt. He paused, looking up at her brown eyes, but did not move away. Eyes narrowed, Maisie stared back. Despite their days together and her incessant chatting, she clearly still did not trust him. That was smart, considering his earlier thoughts. But finally she seemed to relax, removing her hand from the dagger.

  Adonis took that as a sign he could continue. Carefully, he lifted her calf and gently rolled up the cuffs of her pants. H
er skin beneath was pale and the uneven line of her shin revealed where the bones had knitted poorly from her injury. Adonis could do nothing for that, but the muscles of her calf had locked tight, swelling as they cramped from the long journey.

  Slowly, gently, he trailed his fingers along her calf, his touch turning to gentle prods, senses extending in search of knots. Maisie flinched again at his touch, her entire body taut, but this time it seemed less due to mistrust, more the pain of her injury itself. Adonis continued, taking care not to press too hard, though he did slowly increase the pressure, seeking the deeper knots, the twisted fibres that had built through the long weeks of disuse.

  Seated on her boulder, Maisie gritted her teeth against the pain but did not try to stop him, nor reach again for her knife. Instead, she turned her to gaze again to the city.

  “It’s terrible, isn’t it?” she whispered.

  Adonis paused, but when he looked at her, he realised she wasn’t talking about him. He frowned, then decided she was just trying to distract herself from the pain. He continued the massage in silence, and Maisie went on.

  “When I first realised I was being manipulated…well, I knew he was a king. What else should I have expected? We’re all just pawns to their kind.” She sighed. “Still felt terrible though, to be used by someone I loved. At least with me…well, I think it was for a good cause. But you…” She gestured in the direction of the Tangatan army. “You think she cares about them? Your Tangata? She certainly doesn’t care about the Anahera. Those kids you helped her capture, they’ll be dead before this ends, mark my words. They’ll live so long as the adults prove useful, but the moment the Anahera fail…”

  She trailed off as Adonis stood abruptly, his task with her injured muscles forgotten. His heart beat faster as he returned to the crest of the hill and looked down on the Tangatan camp. Even as he scanned the distant campfires, his mind filled with images, of the Tangatan children lying in the snow, of Nyriah’s pain as she collapsed to the mud, defending him. Adonis owed the Anahera a debt he could never hope to repay. Not unless…