Beron looked his way several times, but always looked back to Harper. There was no doubt who was in charge when it came to final decisions. That was why Brogan was there. But Harper spoke for him in this.
The voices were kept low enough to avoid anyone listening in. It depended on which kingdom as to which laws applied when it came to selling slaves. Most lands did not allow the sale of newly captured enemies as slaves, but Saramond was the exception. Saramond had a king, but he did not rule the land and that was common enough knowledge. King Frankel wore the crown, but it was Beron and his ilk that truly ruled. The Slavers’ Guild made most of the money that filled the royal coffers and for that reason alone they were beyond reproach.
Beron’s voice had a musical quality, Brogan thought. The accent from his native tongue. Beron came from the far south, the very edge of the Five Kingdoms, from one of the islands where it seemed all the slavers were raised and trained in the art of taming slaves without killing them in the process. “Where do they come from? I’ve never seen their kind before.”
“From the other side of Trant’s Peak.” Harper kept his face perfectly straight as he told his lies and for that reason most believed him. If Harper had ever been beyond Trant’s Peak he would have been one of the few. The peak was the edge of the world for most people. After that the cold was too fearsome and there was nothing to find but wind and ice. The people over there, the few who lived in the vicinity, were normally pale in color. It was enough.
Beron nodded. “That would explain their color then.”
Brogan resisted the urge to call the man an idiot and instead looked around them. The city was clean, the people well fed and mostly disease free. Even the slaves were relatively well tended. Better than some he’d seen in Hollum. There was a town full of the worst people around. He should know. Half of his crew had just come from the place when he decided to either save or avenge his family.
He had hoped for salvation. Instead he settled for revenge.
Brogan slid his eyes over to the men and their haggling. Harper slapped the slaver’s arm amiably and offered his half grin. “You are a hard man to bargain with, you bastard.”
Beron’s satisfaction hovered around him like an odor. “It is my duty, boy.” The slaver stood up and Brogan understood why the man was in charge. Even in a town where physical prowess was not as valuable as a good mind, the man was a staggering sight. Taller than Brogan by a full head and almost half again as broad, sitting down he looked like a bull. Standing he looked like a boulder granted life.
The man bellowed and four of his associates slipped out of the shadows. They set down a substantial fortune in coins. It spoke highly of Beron that none of the people around them looked twice or even considered counting from a distance.
That didn’t stop Brogan from preparing himself. The locals respected the slaver. That did not mean they thought enough of Brogan or his men to avoid trying to kill them for a fortune.
Harper slipped two fingers into his mouth and blew out a piercing whistle. Three of the lads came forward to help with the payment. A score of men were suddenly wealthier than any of them imagined. He wondered if any of them would seriously consider the slave trade when they saw their earnings from the raid.
Not for long. They’d know what Brogan already knew: the money was good but most raiders didn’t go into Grakhul territory and literally steal away all the women and children.
Harper’s expression was unchanged. “We could have bartered for more, but it’s enough, I think,” he told Brogan.
“More than enough. We’re all of us rich.” The words tasted like ashes. He was glad they’d made their plans earlier. Laram and a few of the others were up and out of sight on the rooftops. They watched over everything that happened. And they waited, with weapons at the ready. The roads and alleys of Saramond might stop many things, but an arrow could still drop from the skies and kill with ease.
He looked over his shoulder and, knowing he should not, let his eyes move over the pens where the remaining Grakhul women and children were now gathered. An unsettling number looked back at him with dark expressions. They were not a hopeless lot, which was what he supposed he’d expected. Instead they had a cold air about them, like anger simmering under the surface. It was a feeling he knew well enough to recognize it in others.
The slavers had them properly surrounded. He looked away, refusing himself the luxury of guilt. Had their ilk not taken his family for the damnable sacrifices their men would be alive and they would still be free. That was the end of it.
Harper chuckled and tapped his leg lightly with the tip of his hooked sword as he and Brogan made their way through the alleyways to meet the rest of their men. “That didn’t take long.”
The hooked blade flickered lightly to the right and when Brogan looked he could see the first of their stalkers.
It was a lot of gold and silver. Someone was bound to try for it.
“Are we ready for them?”
“Your decision of course. We can make a spectacle or we can simply cut them down.”
The other men with them were still carrying the sacks. Brogan forced himself to remain calm. Part of him wanted to lash out, to strike down any fool wanting to take from him, but he crushed that notion.
“Let Laram and the archers take care of it.”
Harper nodded, sheathed his sword, then made a dozen quick gestures that involved tapping his wrists, his chest and his chin. The last gestures all pointed the way for the archers.
They were discreet, which was what Brogan wanted. That didn’t mean they weren’t efficient. Seven arrows fired. Seven stalkers died. Left where they fell, they served as warning lest others had the same inclinations.
Unless the slavers reneged there likely wouldn’t be any more attacks. It was one thing to try for five armed men. It was another to try for twenty.
While everyone watched, Brogan sorted the coins into piles. As the leader he could have taken a larger cut. Instead he let the others choose their stacks first and took the last allotment of coins for himself. As the scout, Harper was also entitled to an extra cut. Neither of them took it. There was plenty for all and none of them needed to get greedy.
That night the men took turns and slept in shifts. There were no disturbances.
* * *
Four nights after they left their homeland, Myridia and her small group rose to the surface and climbed from the waters. She looked to the north and saw the storms building.
Waves that were stronger than she’d expected hammered the shore, but the sand was soft and they managed to step away from the water easily enough. The tide was out and the damp sand gave easy footing. Ahead of them the sand gave way to smaller cliffs than those they were used to, and beyond that the lights of a town burned and painted the underbelly of the clouds.
As she walked she looked at the others, marveling as always at the transformations and how quickly they happened. The webbing slipped away from their hands and feet. Their fingers and toes shortened, and the shimmering scales faded quickly enough. There were many tales along these shores that spoke of water nymphs and other creatures that haunted sailors. Myridia and her kind knew the origins of those tales.
“Will they come for us, Myridia?” Lorae’s voice was soft and uncertain.
“The He-Kisshi? Or the men who came for vengeance?”
Lorae shook her head. Her eyes were wide and showed that even after they’d been travelling for days, she was still afraid. The moon was bright and the clouds were finer than they had been. They had moved beyond the fury of the gods. The winds from the north, however, smelled of rain and rage.
“I don’t know, Myridia. I can’t think.”
“So I will think for you.” She kept her voice low and soft and touched her forehead to the young girl’s brow until she had no choice but to look at Myridia and share her breath. “If the He-Kisshi come, they are our allies. They might make demands, but they will have their reasons. If the others come, we will kil
l them. We do not have the children to consider any longer. We will do what we must.”
Lorae took a deep, shuddering breath and nodded, forcing a brave smile. “We will do what we must,” she repeated.
Not far ahead of them, Lyraal kept low to the sand and looked carefully for signs of anyone else. The beaches here were often deserted, but it was best to be safe. Lyraal was a prize to have with her; the woman was a seasoned fighter and furious over the deaths of the others, as she should be. Her husband was among them, and he had been a kind, gentle soul.
For the last four days Lyraal had sung her rage into the waters, and the storms almost seemed to promise her revenge.
Myridia knew better, of course.
The sacrifices had not happened. Even if the He-Kisshi had managed to bring fresh sacrifices to the pits, they would not have known the proper way to prepare the flesh, or cleanse the spirits of the chosen.
A body could not merely be cast into the pits and accepted as an offering. There were stories passed down from the old times that said offering anything unclean to the gods was an insult and would only anger them.
“Where do we go from here, Myridia?”
“We have a great distance to travel, little one.” She put her hand on the younger girl’s arm and moved it slowly up to her face. “We have to travel to the other side of the Five Kingdoms.”
Lorae nodded and looked to the evening skies. “Will we get there in time?”
“We must.” She frowned and watched Lyraal move up the soft embankment to the road they knew was above. The winds were blowing colder than they should have and for a moment Myridia lamented the loss of her clothes. They would have helped against the chill, but in the waters they’d only slowed her down.
Four sleepless days of travel under the waters had placed them well beyond the reach of the humans they’d escaped from, even if the men had chosen to come after them, which she suspected they had not. Now it was a matter of getting to the Sessanoh, the Mirrored Lake, where the other pits lay unused for as long as there had been Five Kingdoms.
None of them had ever been to the Sessanoh. There were no maps, but there were the songs of their ancestors and tales they’d learned throughout their lifetimes, and there was the pulling sensation that roiled and tugged at her insides and she knew if she followed that pull, she would find her way.
They had no choice. If they did not find their way to the Sessanoh soon enough, the gods would not be appeased and the rage that was already showing itself would only get worse.
* * *
He-Kisshi. The word, roughly translated, meant Divine Collector. There was little of the creatures that most would consider divine. There were twelve. There had always been twelve. The gods made their decrees and the He-Kisshi obeyed. For that reason there would be twelve again
The corpse of Ohdra-Hun lay where it had fallen, where the escaped sacrifices had left it. The flesh was wounded in a dozen places, bruised and slashed by chains.
Because the He-Kisshi demanded it, the weather calmed down, allowing them to do their solemn duties in relative silence. For the moment at least the gods were done with their tantrum.
“Ohdra-Hun, you always let your temper get the best of you.” Dowru-Thist looked at the body and shook its head. Then carefully, it bent down and grabbed the flesh, peeling it slowly back. Long, curved claws caught the hidden flaps where the flesh sealed and pried them open. The skin did not part easily. It never did.
The hooded form opened, the heavy hide peeling away from the body underneath. The human under the hide was dead, of course. She’d been dying for a long time but the beating administered by the desperate escapees guaranteed that her life would end sooner rather than later.
Three of the others gathered around, all of them looking down at the ruined flesh, watching as Dowru-Thist removed the heavy, leathery form.
“Are there any nearby?” Dowru-Thist’s voice held no sign of the strain of lifting the heavy, shapeless mass.
“Bogrun-Nisht brings a new host.” Ellish-Loa pointed to the skies and the slowly descending form. Wind-riding was always a strain, but doing so while carrying a struggling human made it harder. Just the same Bogrun-Nisht managed and dropped the screaming shape into the mud only a dozen feet from where Ohdra-Hun had fallen.
The girl was young, no older than fourteen years. Perfect.
She looked at the He-Kisshi and reacted exactly as they would have expected, by staggering to her legs and starting to run. They did not stop her. There was no reason. There was nowhere for her to go and they knew that better than most. The great citadel of Nugonghappalur was gone, destroyed by the gods themselves when the vile humans who’d committed their wanton slaughter failed to offer sacrifices.
Petty gods. Hungry gods. Angry gods.
And they had to be appeased.
Dowru-Thist listened to the girl as she ran, her breaths rapid and fearful. Her body was strong and she moved quickly across the great, muddied field, wisely heading away from the waters. The sea was enraged and the waves would have shredded her as easily as they had destroyed the other sacrifices who had escaped earlier.
The runaways had not been forgotten, but they were not important at the moment. “It is time, Ohdra-Hun. Time to be reborn.”
The great collection of hide whipped and thrashed in its arms and so Dowru-Thist let it go and watched as the winds caught the remains of its sibling.
The wind was slave to the He-Kisshi, whether or not they were intact. The thick caul of flesh rose into the air and steadied itself for a moment before moving toward the fleeing child in the distance.
She ran well, but the mud was tiring her out and she, foolishly perhaps, looked back in an effort to see whether or not she was safe. That was what cost her the most.
Ohdra-Hun caught her easily and wrapped itself around the girl, staggering her with its surprising weight. Long, thin legs buckled at the knees and she fell forward catching herself on her hands and screaming her fright to the uncaring skies.
Ohdra-Hun did what it had to in order to survive and opened itself completely, revealing the fine layers of thread-thin tendrils that quickly pushed through the girl’s flesh and insinuated themselves deeper and deeper into her body. Her screams only stopped when she fell face first into dark mud.
For several minutes she lay where she was, her body shivering in the heavy protection of the thick hide. And then she rose, standing with ease, her slight form completely lost within the depths of Ohdra-Hun.
The scream that cut from Ohdra-Hun was not human.
The He-Kisshi gathered together around their brethren and examined it from the crest of its hood down to the mud-painted legs and long, curving toes.
“Nugonghappalur is gone.”
“I know.” Ohdra-Hun took in great breaths of cold, damp air, and bellowed out gouts of steam. The body burned hot as they often did when first taken. Deep inside Ohdra-Hun the girl continued to fight. She was strong and she was suffering. Ohdra-Hun was pleased by her struggle. As she resisted, the thick blood of the He-Kisshi slowly sealed her properly within the body. She tried to scream and drank deep of the blood, speeding up the union of bodies with each thrash and moan.
The gods were kind in their ways.
“Ohdra-Hun, we must go.”
“Go?” The entire body shook with rage. “I will find them! I will have them! They are mine!”
“There is no time for this,” Bogrun-Nisht warned.
Instead of listening, Ohdra-Hun extended its great wings and caught the winds, rising fast into the clouds.
Bogrun-Nisht looked at the other He-Kisshi. “We go on. Ohdra-Hun will follow or not, but we cannot delay any longer.” They all agreed. The gods made demands and the He-Kisshi did as they were bid.
As they rose into the air the storms began again, no longer restrained by their will. In the distance, too far away now for human eyes, the Gateway stood against the raging lightning and watched on blindly as the shoreline shook and began to split
.
The gods would be appeased, or there would be nothing left of the world.
Five
Unexpected Company
As soon as Niall was sure that they were out of sight of the monstrosities that had kept them captive, he made the girl stop long enough to collect the rain waters and rinse the worst of the muck from her feet. When he was done, he tore his tunic into strips and wrapped her damaged feet as best he could. She did not need to die of infection, not so soon after saving his life. After that, they moved as quickly as they could, often crawling or hiding when they could find a place to shelter and keep them from view.
Each night they hid in the mud. When the darkness came they slathered themselves in the stuff, constantly fearing the Grakhul would come for them and desperate to find ways to hide themselves. They slept fitfully, exhausted and unable to properly recover.
As he feared, she took on a fever. She was strong, and her body fought against the illness, but it came back again and again.
He would not leave her.
On the third morning she found mushrooms but he warned her off them. Mosara would have been proud. Those particular fungi brought about severe stomach cramps, vomiting and diarrhea. There wasn’t much left of Niall’s clothes, but he managed to wrap a few of the mushrooms into a pouch just the same.
There was always the chance they’d get captured again. Best to plan for the possibility.
On the third afternoon they ran out of mud and rain. They’d managed to stay ahead of the storms mostly by running and walking fast. They’d used the rains to their advantage, drinking what fell from the sky and cleansing from their bodies whatever venoms the bastard Grakhul had forced on them from their bodies.
They did not speak. Instead they focused on moving and when one of them fell, the other was there to help them back up and to urge them on silently.
The Last Sacrifice Page 5