by Brandon Barr
Aven sat on the cold metal floor and gazed at the orange embers. The words farm folk sang in his ears. Memories of hope passed before his eyes. Green fields. Seeds and dirt. A home to live in.
Was it possible to dream again?
The loud whinny of Savarah’s horse snapped Aven out of his reverie. His attention flew from the fire to the black, open mouth of twisted wreckage and the dark outside.
A hushed stir of movement came from outside. Nothing alarming but for the slight tremor of vibrations felt deep in the marrow of Aven’s bones. Aven saw the shadow of the horse rear and snort wildly, and then it bolted and was gone. In the silence, there was no longer any sensation of vibrations. Only the random pop of a coal on the fire interrupting the stillness. Then, just outside the torn opening, was a form in the darkness. The embers cast the faintest glow upon its monstrous shape.
The kiehueth stepped inside, head cocked. Its one, visible eye stared at Aven. Then it sniffed the air, its long, toothed snout rising to the grated ceiling.
Aven sat frozen as the monster stepped closer. Like before, when it had him all alone as he stood outside the wreckage of the bridge, it seemed uninterested in him. The bulk of its scaled body moved beside him and one of its clawed, reptilian feet passed through the embers, scattering the hot orange and red coals across the metal corridor.
There was just enough light for Aven to see the great snout stop at the opening in the ceiling where the warrior woman, Savarah, had disappeared.
The creature stood sniffing at the hole. Suddenly it leapt up on its hind legs and brought its forelimbs and head up through the ceiling. The metal shrieked under the kiehueth’s weight and he watched, still frozen in place, as the animal brought down the entire scaffolding of ceiling grids.
Savarah jumped from the ceiling to the floor a short distance down the corridor. Aven saw her draw something into her hands. A bow, with an arrow fitted to it.
Immediately the creature lowered its body and moved toward her.
Aven stood and followed the kiehueth. Savarah stood, arrow ready to fly, but her face was pale. Was the animal speaking to her mind, as it had to his?
Aven quickened his pace and began to sprint toward Savarah. The kiehueth was almost upon her when Aven slammed into her, knocking her to the ground. Her bow and arrow slid some distance away. In the shadowy light he saw her eyes focus on his.
“Get off!” she shouted, but Aven didn’t move.
A cold knife came against his throat, but she kept the metal flat, her eyes now drawn past his to the creature whose head now hung over them.
Aven felt the creature’s mind press against his. A quick image entered his thoughts. He saw himself roll off Savarah and then the kiehueth’s clawed forelimb slammed down upon her. Then her head was in its jaws.
The beast snorted. Was it giving him instructions? Did it really not intend to kill him?
Savarah removed the knife.
The creature snorted again. Aven felt its hot breath against his neck.
Then the snout came against his and Savarah’s right side and paused, sniffing.
A sudden thrust of its snout sent Aven and Savarah tumbling against the side of the corridor. Aven quickly maneuvered himself over Savarah, so that she lay beneath him. Then the snout came against him again and pushed him down the walkway. He maintained his position covering Savarah, gripping her tight and shielding her from the kiehueth.
“Why doesn’t it want you?” whispered Savarah.
“I don’t know.”
The snout flung them again, rolling them through hot embers. Aven lost his grip on Savarah as the force of the kiehueth sent him tumbling out the mangled opening.
Aven hit the dirt flat on his back and grimaced.
“Aven!” shouted Savarah. She leapt from the opening, almost landing on him.
“I’m right here!” he shouted back.
Instantly the kiehueth was upon them. Savarah dove to the ground just as Aven rolled over to shield her. A forelimb came down hard against his back. He cried out in pain, and then the forelimb lifted.
Aven lay there, his strength gone, shooting pain running up his back.
Again the kiehueth’s mind pressed upon his. This time, it was an image of a deer in a forest. The next moment, the deer hung draped across the mouth of the kiehueth. Then the deer disappeared. It was replaced by a human form. The body of the woman Aven was protecting.
In response to the images, Aven closed his eyes and focused his mind on the kiehueth. He created an image, showing himself and Savarah holding hands, as if friends.
A soft growl issued from the kiehueth’s thick throat.
Another image pushed into Aven’s mind. It was of Aven letting go of Savarah’s hand. The moment he left her side, the kiehueth leapt upon her and ripped her in half with its claws. Then the creature showed the image of Aven holding Savarah’s hand, and in this image, the kiehueth lay still instead of pouncing and slaughtering the girl. Aven wasn’t certain, but it seemed the creature was making a promise to him.
If you leave her, she will die.
A bizarre thought occurred to Aven, and he hesitated only a moment before he put an image into his own mind for the kiehueth to see.
He showed himself holding Savarah’s hand, but stood beside the creature and stroked its thick hide, as if it were a dog.
The kiehueth made a strange grunting sound, then circled Aven and Savarah. Slowly it lowered itself beside them, the hide of its belly expanding as its full weight came against the desert floor. Aven felt the hide press against him.
In the sudden stillness, Aven looked down at Savarah. The starlight illuminated her face. A hot desert wind blew strands of her hair across her nose and cheeks. She stared up at him, bewildered.
“I made a deal with the animal,” said Aven.
Savarah squinted. The fear on her face receded until her emotions collapsed into an indiscernible void in her eyes. “Does the animal speak?” she asked coldly.
“It speaks in images. Images in my mind. I spoke back with thought-pictures of my own.”
“What kind of deal did you make?”
Aven frowned, the rigidity in her tone made him realize Savarah might not like the arrangement. “The kiehueth promised not to kill you as long as we are together.” Aven faltered at that definition—it wasn’t the full truth. “What I mean is, we have to be connected by touch, I think. Like holding hands. Otherwise the animal will kill you.”
“Shit to that bargain,” breathed out Savarah, pushing Aven off of her. Even so, she hooked Aven’s arm under her own and pressed it against her side. “If that animal is going to follow you, I have to get away. I have my own path to take. I need to be across the wastelands quickly. There are others who will try and outrun me. Or kill me.”
Aven wondered how she might get away. He thought of the farmlands she’d told him about. He would like to go in that direction.
He lay there in silence for a long time, absorbing the implications of this new situation. Temporarily, he was bound to both a monstrous creature and a woman whose demeanor and gear marked her as some kind of outlaw.
It slowly dawned on him that his dilemma was far more complicated and awful than he realized. He couldn’t go to the farmland. Not if the kiehueth intended to follow him. Did it? If so, why?
The thought of the creature killing every person in his path gave him pause. If that was the case, it would be better to stay as far away from civilization as possible.
Perhaps the woman’s path through the wasteland was the right direction for him after all.
Aven closed his eyes and released a slow breath. “I’ll go with you,” he said. “At least until we can be rid of this thing.”
He heard Savarah’s head scratch in the dirt as she turned to look at him.
“It seems fate would have it no other way,” said Savarah. “Just know this, I will hold your hand to stay alive, but don’t get close. I know men well enough. If you try and touch me anywhere else, I�
�ll turn you into a eunuch.”
Aven nodded, as if she already had the cleaver in hand. “I promise…I would never.”
“Fine,” said Savarah. “Go to sleep. Tomorrow, we begin our journey. My mission cannot fail.”
Aven nodded again. “Alright. Good night.”
She lay her head down beside his and pressed tight against him. Timidly, he rested his hand on his side, careful not to touch her. After a while he closed his eyes, but found sleep hard to grasp. What would life be like come daybreak? There were so many questions revolving around the kiehueth. But also, there was the question of Savarah’s destination.
What was this mission?
Whatever it was, she was determined to carry it out.
LOAM
My beauty is gone. My allure has past. The men of my tribe, they do not behave as they once did in my presence. When I was young, I enjoyed my beauty. Was confident in it. I knew it was a passing splendor, but I could not fathom living without it. My legs were full of strength, my breasts round and firm, my face young and vibrant.
I was like fruit, ripe on the vine but caught in a momentary web of deception, as if the silken strings I danced upon would never summon the spider’s bite. But now that the poison of age has sucked the life from my skin, I see clearly my own vanity.
Yet I still yearn to be beautiful again, and to live eternal in that moment of ambrosial confidence.
I yearn for the pain in my bones to cease, and my eyes to see clear and far. I want to run again, swift as a doe, to bathe myself, to feed myself. To scrawl these thoughts with my own hand and let my granddaughter enjoy her youth without my shadow hanging over her future, like a ghost around the bend.
May I be like her again, may we all be filled with life, when we wake from this painful dream.
-Erdu Proverbs, Haukeetep of the Rock Tribe, Spider Bones, threnody nine.
CHAPTER 37
WINTER
Sanctor Theurg stood at the door to her room, cheeks pale, eyes sunken into his skull like vapid flickering orbs. “Winter, are you certain on your decision about deliverance?”
Winter sighed with annoyance. “For the last time, yes, I am certain. There’s no going back for me. I’m sorry you cannot understand.”
Theurg had been to see her earlier that morning, before Karience had called on her to be an Emissary to Night 2. And the day before, Theurg had talked with her for an hour, and she had frustrated him with a similar statement. There was no going back, she’d told him. She was weary of his attempts to pile doubts upon her—doubts she’d already dealt with. She’d faced Theurg’s questions in her mind long before he’d voiced them, and though some weren’t resolved, she’d wrestled through them, and had come to her decision. Fighting the doubts, in the end, had made her stronger. She saw both sides and found solace in her choice.
Theurg leaned against her door frame like a defeated animal, body sagging, jaded face bowed down to the floor. “If that’s your choice,” he said, his words trailing away.
“It’s my life, not yours,” said Winter. “Why do you take it so personally?”
He stopped leaning against the door and stood erect. His eyes twitched. “I was Sanctuss Voyanta’s apprentice. She taught me to care too much about your kind, the Oracles. I thought I could finish what she started.”
Winter refrained from trying to comfort him with more words. She just wanted him to leave. The heaviness that hung on Theurg’s features and resonated in his voice was morose and left an ominous chill in the room. She wondered if his failure to deliver her had some ill effect on his career in the Consecrators’ order, but she wasn’t about to ask.
She turned her back to him and wandered over to peer out the porthole. Maybe he would take his cue and leave.
“Galthess and I will be returning tonight to Bridge,” said Theurg.
Slowly, Winter turned around. Theurg’s gaze remained on the floor just beyond his feet. He continued, “Galthess has been given permission to inform you of some of the Scrivers’ material. If you’re interested, he wants to meet with you before he leaves.”
“Yes, I’d love to speak more with Galthess,” said Winter. “Will you take me to him now?”
“Yes,” he said. “Come with me.”
Winter followed and felt her spirits lift. She wanted badly to know about other Oracles. About the Scrivers, and what they had written. And about Galthess, since he had seemed eager to tell her about his studies of the Scrivers.
And just as Galthess and Theurg were set to depart this evening, so was she, in secret, after everyone had gone to sleep, she would step through the portal, and go to wherever the gods would take her.
Theurg led her to the tunnel Rueik had shown her with the moving floor.
“He’s waiting for you at the other end,” said Theurg, then briskly turned and walked away.
Winter stepped onto the machine, thankful Theurg wasn’t accompanying her on the trip, and yet, she felt unsettled by his strange demeanor.
At the other end, the floor began to slow, finally coming to a stop at a lift, the same kind of machine she’d used in the Guardian Tower.
The moment she climbed out, the salty air met her nose and the never ceasing breeze flowed over her skin and through her hair. She took a deep breath of air in through her nose. Soon she would be leaving Loam, and whether or not she’d ever return, she did not know.
Galthess sat on a rock not far away, staring out toward the ocean. The setting of the sun in the west cast an orange glow.
“What are you thinking of just now?” asked Winter.
Galthess looked genuinely surprised. A quiet smile formed on his lips. “I was thinking how long it has been since I’ve seen an ocean. I don’t leave Bridge often enough.”
“Have you met many other Oracles?”
“A few,” said Galthess, rising from the rock. “Though none had eyes the color of sunset, as you do. Would you care to walk down by the cliff face? The view there is profound…the perfect place to ponder deep questions, as I’m sure you have many.”
Winter fingered the twine holding Whisper’s jar. “Why have the Consecrators given you permission to speak to me? On the first day you were here, Theurg made it sound like it was against the rules.”
“Rules can be broken,” said Galthess. “Being the curator of the Scrivers’ Den, I have more leeway than those like Sanctor Theurg.”
Winter doubted that was the entire truth. She came alongside Galthess as he started down the path. “I thought it was because of your station,” said Winter. “That is, considering you answer only to the Sentinels and not the Consecrators.”
Galthess stopped and turned, deep lines creasing his forehead. “Where did you receive that information?”
She thought of Dicameron, the security officer. She didn’t want to get him in trouble. “I overheard it when I went to Bridge,” said Winter.
“No doubt, you overheard a certain loose-tongued security officer,” said Galthess, staring hard at her. “I know the man well.”
Winter decided to change the subject. She shrugged, then asked, “You said you’ve met very few Oracles, so why were you assigned to me? Am I unusual in some way?”
“Yes, you are,” said Galthess, and turned to continue down the path. “There is a short prophetic poem called The Contagion. We believe it speaks of you.”
Winter heart quickened. A prophecy about herself? Her body flowed with warmth at the thought. “When was the prophecy given?”
“We date the original to between ten and eleven thousand years ago. Written by Corvair. All we have are copies of course.”
“What does the prophecy say?”
“On one world, a Beast attains fire and flight,
On another, a sun-eyed carrier stays not still,
On a third, Makers sing the songs of all,
Inhabiting to cry, and kill.”
Winter shook her head. “How do you see me in that prophecy?”
Galthess stepped out onto the roc
ky opening where the portal waited, invisible, beyond the bent tree that hung over the cliff. Galthess turned toward her, his eyes studying her own.
“I have little doubt. You are the sun-eyed carrier.” He moved uncomfortably close to the edge of the cliff, and she followed a distance behind him.
“There is more as Corvair goes on, bits and pieces of what is meant by that poem. His vision was of an equidistant triangle of stars, and he described where each star was within a specific constellation called the Huntress. Of course, the constellation can only be seen on his world, and so we traveled there and documented which stars he spoke of. The Triangle comprises the arrowhead at the tip of the Huntress’ spear. Your sun is one of those stars.
“And as to the poem, on the first world a Beast will create a new body for himself with wings and fire. On the second world, you, Winter, will not stay still, but travel the portal. The meaning of the third world remains a mystery to us…Makers inhabiting, crying and killing. Many Scriver writings suggest the Makers’ ultimate goal is to inhabit all life. What inhabitation entails, no one knows.”
Winter stared at the old tree hanging on the cliff side. The portal beyond called to her.
Stay not still.
All of Leaf’s promises stood behind her thoughts. A chill ran from her neck to her shoulders, down to her arms. It was as if, right then, she knew the Makers were watching her. Leaf was closer than her next breath.
“If you were to step through the portal you would go either to Hearth, a world protected by Guardians, or you would go to the unknown world. Corvair is very clear about this one thing. If the sun-eyed carrier steps through the portal of their homeworld without following in the wake of another person, they will not travel to any random world within the galaxy as the rest of us do, but only to the worlds within The Triangle.”
Winter glanced at Galthess. Why was he telling her this? She was standing so near the portal entrance, it felt almost as if Galthess were baiting her to go through.