by Clayton Wood
“Kyle, do it NOW!” he screamed.
He saw Kyle stop, saw the green crystal sink deeper into the boy's skull. Kyle's eyelids fluttered, his right hand dropping from the Chosen's forearm, landing on his front pants pocket. Kyle's hand twitched, and he fumbled for the pocket's opening, reaching in and pulling out a short black cylinder. Kyle moaned as the crystal slipped ever deeper, his legs twitching grotesquely. He clung to the cylinder, his chest rising and falling rapidly, vomit pouring up and out of his mouth.
Oh god, Kalibar thought, closing his eyes. Tears squeezed out from between his eyelids, streaming down his cheeks. He opened his eyes, forcing himself to look, though ever fiber in his being screamed at him not to.
Kyle's eyes rolled into the back of his head, his thumb hovering over one end of the black cylinder.
And then he pressed it.
Kalibar saw the end of the cylinder extend, saw a faint red light appear there, smooth silver metal shimmering underneath. Then Kyle's entire body convulsed, and the cylinder fell from his hand, rolling down the side of the path and falling into the abyss.
My boy, Kalibar thought. My sweet, sweet boy...
And then there was a brilliant flash of light, like a thousand suns exploding at once. Kalibar cried out, squeezing his eyes shut, and suddenly his limbs came back to life. He nearly collapsed, catching himself at the last minute and rising back to his feet, shielding his eyes with one hand. He peeked out between his fingers, seeing the Chosen shielding its eyes from the assault. The light vanished suddenly, and a dark shape hurtled through the sky right at the Chosen.
It was Petra!
She shot toward the ungodly creature, a half-dozen gravity shields appearing around her. The Chosen stood up, turning away from Kyle and smirking at her. She shouted, ramming straight into the thing. But her shields vanished at the last minute, and the Chosen grabbed her out of the air by the neck, holding her a foot above the path. She struggled, kicking her legs wildly, bursts of light slamming into the Chosen’s shields. But the Chosen continued to squeeze her neck, and her flailing slowed, then stopped, her eyes rolling into the back of her head.
Then he threw her backward, tossing her through the air...right at Kalibar.
Kalibar's eyes widened, and he backpedaled frantically on the narrow ridge, but he was too slow. Petra hurtled right at him, slamming into him and knocking him off of his feet. He fell backward and to the side, landing on his back on the steeply-angled edge of the path, Petra laying limply on top of him. He grabbed onto her with one arm wrapped around her waist, feeling himself sliding headfirst down the slope. He dug his heels into the rock, reaching out with his other hand and grabbing at the loose stone, but he continued to slide, falling faster and faster. He felt the rocks scraping his back disappear, felt the sickening lurch of free-fall grip his stomach. He plummeted through the mist, the sheer vertical rock wall of the Spine of Grimore speeding past him.
So this is how it ends, he thought.
He looked down at Petra then, at her lovely face, those slim eyebrows arching over her closed eyes. Her full lips.
What could have been, he mused.
Then he spotted the faint U-shaped bulge at her neckline, underneath her uniform.
The necklace!
He reached for her neck with one hand, slipping his fingers under the tight cloth of her uniform, sliding his whole hand down, until he felt the warm metal of her necklace between his fingers. He pulled on it, feeling the chain snap. He withdrew his hand, seeing the necklace there, dozens of tiny diamonds on a golden chain...glowing the faintest of blues.
Yes!
Kalibar felt his heels strike the rock wall before him, and tumbled through the air violently, nearly losing his grip on Petra. He clung to her, pressing the necklace against his forehead.
He pulled.
Magic seeped into his mind's eye, and he twisted it into a tight knot, flinging the pattern outward and attaching a magic stream to it. He felt the wind ripping through his cloak stop, felt his descent starting to slow. He concentrated, pulling more magic from the necklace, straining with the effort. The diamonds were so small that they held precious little magic; he was still falling far too quickly. He arched his neck back, seeing the mist-shrouded forest coming up on them...and fast.
Come on!
He closed his eyes, pushing himself even harder, yanking as much magic as he could out of the necklace and streaming it outward. Again his descent slowed...but they were still falling at a deadly pace. The forest rose up meet them, the treetops only a few dozen yards below now. His heart sank as realization dawned on him.
They weren't going to make it.
Kalibar pulled the last threads of magic out of Petra's necklace, letting go of the other pattern and weaving a new one. He thrust it outward at Petra, right as the first tree branch slammed into his back. A horrible pain ripped through his back and into his belly, and then he felt himself strike another branch, the world spinning crazily around him. A kaleidoscope of brown, green, and blue spun around him, branch after branch beating at his arms and chest.
And then he slammed into the ground.
* * *
Petra groaned, then opened her eyes...and immediately regretted it. Painfully bright light assaulted her, and she squeezed her eyes shut, turning her head to the side and covering her face with her one hand. The motion made her horribly nauseous, and she resisted the urge to puke. She kept perfectly still then, too afraid to try moving again. She tried to remember where she was, but she couldn't. Even the effort to do so was overwhelming.
She was laying on the ground, that much she did know.
Petra grit her teeth, then tried to move her head again, more slowly this time. She rolled onto her belly, her head spinning with the effort. She fought back another wave of nausea, clenching her teeth and staying perfectly still, waiting for the feeling to pass. And it did...slowly. Equally slowly, she pulled her arms and legs under her, then pushed herself up onto her hands and knees.
And promptly vomited.
Her head pounded, the pain so incredible that she cried out, dropping to the ground and rolling onto her right side, feeling a sharp, stabbing pain in her right flank. She nearly threw up again, clutching her spinning head in both hands, tears welling up in her eyes. She moaned, hoping, praying for the pain to stop.
Then she heard a voice.
Petra froze, ignoring her pounding skull, opening her eyes. The light was painfully bright, lancing through her eyeballs into her skull. She grit her teeth, blinking against the light, her eyes slowly adjusting. She saw trees in front of her, and the forest floor below, broken tree branches scattered across it.
She heard the voice again.
It was nearby, that much she could tell. Coming from her left. It seemed urgent. Petra closed her eyes, turning slowly until she was on her back, then rolling onto her left side. She ignored the pain and nausea, opening her eyes, and saw someone lying there next to her. A man, his back propped up against a thick tree trunk. He was saying something.
“Vens ibis al,” he gasped.
Petra stared at him, at his lips. He was looking right at her. He looked familiar somehow.
“Vens ibis al,” he repeated. Petra stared at him, at his eyes, his nose...his lips...and then she remembered.
“Kalibar!” she cried.
“Petra,” he gasped. She realized that his breaths were coming in short gasps, his face terribly pale. She frowned, pushing herself up – very carefully – into a sitting position.
“Kalibar, what's wrong?”
He grimaced, then raised one hand – it was covered in blood, she realized – and pointed below his chest. She followed his finger, staring at his abdomen.
Her eyes widened.
“Kalibar!” she gasped, recoiling in horror. Something very large was sticking out of the center of his abdomen. It was the sharp end of a broken tree branch, as thick around as her calf, and covered in bright red blood. Her hand went to her mouth, and she shook h
er head. “Oh Kalibar,” she repeated, staring at the branch. Blood oozed around it, spilling down his brown cloak and forming an ever-widening puddle around him.
“Petra,” he murmured, closing his eyes, then opening them again. “Vens ibis al.” She stared at him mutely, then shook her head.
“I can't understand you!”
He grunted, then lifted his hand up to his ear, touching the yellow earring there. Then his hand slumped back down to his side. Petra stared at the earring for a moment, then cursed. Of course...she'd forgotten about his earring! She reached into the stream of magic within her, finding a faint trickle of magic there. She diverted it to Kalibar's earring.
“Try it now,” she urged, pointing at his ear.
“Magic,” he gasped. “Vens ibis, ne thul tist,” he added, pointing to the large branch protruding from his abdomen. Petra frowned, then grabbed onto the end of the stick.
“Like this?”
“Es, es, es!” he gasped, shaking his head side to side. Petra let go of the stick, and Kalibar moaned, his head slumping back against the ground. His eyes fluttered, then closed. “Vens ibis al,” he mumbled. Petra crawled over his limp body, ignoring the pain in her head, until she was right over him. She reached into her magic stream, finding little magic left. She felt the others at the edge of her mind, the Reaper vines with their promise of boundless power. She paused, then pulled at them. She felt an all-too-familiar pain in her skull, and throughout the rest of her body, her bones starting to ache. She ignored the pain, knowing it was the price she paid for her request.
A moment later, magic flowed into her, filling her mind with power. She concentrated, taking a large stream of it and sending it outward at Kalibar's earring.
“Magic,” he gasped, his voice barely audible now. His skin was becoming deathly pale, almost as pale as Ariana's. Petra shook her head, feeling panic rising in her breast.
“Magic what?” she asked, holding his head in her hands. His skin was cold, like a corpse's.
“Magic,” he mumbled.
“Magic what?” she almost screamed. He opened his eyes, then closed them again. Petra felt terror grip her, and she slapped his cheek with one hand, her heart thumping in her chest. “Come on, tell me!”
“Give me,” he gasped.
And then he stopped.
Petra hesitated, then slapped his face again, harder this time. His head rolled to the side, his eyes open but unseeing.
“No,” she said, rolling his head back toward her. “No, no!” She stared at him in horror, tears welling up in her eyes. She took his head in her hands, then slipped the fingers of her right hand down to his neck, at the great vessel there.
Nothing.
“Kalibar!” she shouted, shaking him now, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him. “Kalibar!” She shook him again, then leaned over him until her forehead was touching his.
Give him magic!
She closed her eyes, feeling the river of magic within her, sending it gushing outward at Kalibar's forehead. She felt the magic leave her, felt it flow like water breaching a dam. She let it go, let it pour from her into him, until there was nothing left. Then she pushed herself up, staring at him, her fingers still on the side of his neck.
No pulse.
“Come on!” she urged. She lowered herself to him again, closing her eyes and reaching out to the others within her. She pulled magic from them, feeling that awful aching in her bones. The pain was worse this time, becoming sharp, as if knives were being thrust into her head and limbs. She knew what that meant; the vines were consuming her, digging their roots ever deeper into her bones.
She ignored the pain, continuing to pull, and felt magic flood her mind. She poured it into Kalibar as quickly as she could, filling him with it. She started to sense his mind resisting the flow, and knew that his mind was nearly full. Still she poured, until she could do so no more.
Petra opened her eyes, pushing herself up from Kalibar’s cool, pale skin. She placed her fingertips on his neck, feeling for the throb of blood within. She waited, her lower lip starting to tremble, her vision blurring with moisture.
Nothing.
It was then that she started to cry, great sobs wracking her body. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she laid across Kalibar, cradling his head to her bosom.
“Kalibar, please...” she pleaded, knowing that it was too late.
He was already dead.
Chapter 30
The wrought-iron bars of Sabin's prison cell extend from the stone floor all the way up to the irregular ceiling above, each spaced five inches apart from the one beside it. Sabin rests his back against the cool rock wall opposite those bars, at the far end of his cell, his legs splayed on in front of him on the dusty stone floor. There is no bed in the cell, only a small hole in the ground for a toilet. He'd been locked in this cell since Witt's execution yesterday. Night had come, and the Behemoths had launched, making their way toward the Empire. He'd felt the vibrations in the floor of his cell when they'd gone. That had been at least twelve hours ago.
Which meant they'd already reached the Empire, and very likely had destroyed it.
Sabin takes a deep breath in, then lets it out slowly, staring beyond the gaps between the bars, at the two guards sitting in chairs nearby pretending to watch him. It's obvious that they have no fear of him escaping...and for good reason. There's no way to escape.
Sabin closes his eyes, seeing Witt's body lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood, then opens them again. He stares at those guards, imagining himself weaving magic to burst through those prison bars. Imagines himself slaughtering those cocky, arrogant guards. He closes his eyes again, picturing himself wrapping his hands around Gunthar's throat, and squeezing.
He opens his eyes, realizing that his hands are curled into claws before him. He hears the guards laughing, and drops his hands to his lap.
Pricks.
He lowers his gaze to his feet, ignoring the guards' laughter. He feels his rage seeping out of him, knowing that he'll never have his revenge. The world doesn't work that way, he knows all too well. There is no higher power to ensure that justice will prevail.
The strong win at the expense of the weak, he muses. The weak suffer at the whim of the strong.
He closes his eyes, picturing Nespo's face as he'd last seen the man. So calm, so serene as he'd ascended toward the hole in the ceiling of Sabin's prison cell.
Men who crave power over people get it, Sabin thinks. And they're the last people who should have it.
He chuckles then, quietly, his lips twisting into a smirk. How ironic that he should find himself in the exact same position as he was over two years ago, in some prison cell at the whim of a despot. He'd traveled across the ocean, to another damn continent, working tirelessly for the exact cause he'd been imprisoned for, only to be imprisoned by the very people he'd liberated.
If only Ampir had let me die.
Sabin closes his eyes again, feeling despair come over him. To think that Ampir had seen it so many years ago. How naïve Sabin was. How weak and pathetic. Even back on the floating island, when Sabin had first met the man, he'd exposed Sabin's powerlessness in advocating for his line of research. Not to mention his indecisiveness with Vera.
Vera.
He feels shame then, a horrible, crushing shame. He imagines her dying, that lovely fire in her eyes winking out, leaving a cold, lifeless corpse behind. The thought is so excruciatingly painful that he has the sudden urge to kill himself. To smash his head against the rock wall behind him, to tear out his own throat. But he knows from experience that he is too much of a coward to follow through with it.
Instead, he sits there, doing nothing.
Minutes pass, and Sabin finds himself staring up at the ceiling, at a small white crystal embedded into the rock there. Gunthar had commented on it when he'd first had Sabin thrown into the cell. A mysterious crystal, a Runic device crafted by the Orjanian tribes of the north forest, at the base of Mount Grimore
. Within minutes, it had completely drained Sabin of his magic, rendering him utterly helpless. The Empire would never have believed that such a device could exist, that a single crystal the size of a small fruit could have done such an incredible thing.
And yet it had...and continued to do so. It's no wonder that the guards don't fear him escaping.
Sabin stares at that crystal, knowing that the tribes who had created it were the only Orjanians who had managed to successfully stave off the Empire's initial assault on Orja. The Empire had lost so badly to the “primitive” tribes that they'd never ventured near Mount Grimore again.
Sabin is taken by the sudden urge to meet these people, to learn from them. He shakes his head bitterly, knowing that that is what Ampir had told him to do after he'd freed Sabin from prison.
Do what you're best at.
Creating massive war machines for a tyrant hadn't been what Ampir had meant, of course. Sabin's strength had always been his research.
Not that it matters now.
Sabin sighs, feeling suddenly and overwhelmingly exhausted, he slumps down onto his side on the floor, curling up into a fetal position. He hears the guards making snide remarks, but doesn't care. His pride is pointless now. There's no way to escape, and he knows all too well that Gunthar will never let him go. Sabin is too valuable. Too dangerous. Despite Gunthar's promise not to kill him, Sabin knows that is just another lie. Men like Gunthar and Nespo – men with power – can never be trusted. There is no other way for this to end but for Gunthar to execute him.
Sabin feels a subtle vibration in the stone floor, sees a fine layer of dust fall from the ceiling, swirling in the torchlight coming from beyond his cell. Then he feels a second vibration – much stronger this time – followed by a shower of dust from the ceiling.
Boom.
The muffled sound echoes through the hallway outside of his cell, and this time his guards do notice, standing up from their chairs and walking out of Sabin's field of view.