A March of Woe

by Aaron Bunce

  A woman lunged in from the side, but Tusk caught her by the back of her dress and pinned her to the ground. Roman shouldered through two smoking bodies, pushing them to the ground as he fought towards Dennah and the others, desperately trying not to harm or kill any of them.

  He approached the horses, three lithe forms moving in to block his path. The first gnarl sprang up onto its hind legs and slashed violently. Roman stabbed straight ahead, the beast impaling itself on the blade, its weight nearly knocking him back. Tusk bolted by and collided with the second, tumbling into the snow in a ball of raking claws and snapping teeth.

  The third gnarl circled him, but screeched and leapt back as he pushed the fire forth yet again, the flames leaping out in a violent splash of javelin-shaped heat. The fire worked its way up his arm, the intoxicating power flooding into his mind, pushing aside reason and begging to be unleashed completely. Roman managed to wrestle control back and pushed the fire back down inside. The Ifrit may have been gone, but the power radiating from its black heart was potentially just as dangerous.

  He lifted the sword and approached Arrin and Devlin, the two lifeless young men watching with strangely apathetic postures.

  “Let them go!” Roman growled, surging forward and bringing the blade to bear. But before he could get close, the two gaunt young men sunk into the snow, disappearing bodily into the white ground.

  Dennah cried out in alarm, the horses stamping the ground and rearing up, knocking all but Tadd into the snow.

  Two mounds appeared in the snow, moving quickly around him. Tusk pounced onto the closest, jaws snapping into the powdery white. He bounced back up, only snow covering his face. The first mound curved, approaching Roman, and it dawned on him. He remembered the two seemingly invisible forms moving through the reedy grass outside the orchard – the strange, formless creatures that had spooked General into flight, and chased the horse off. Had it been Arrin and Devlin all along?

  Roman reared back, preparing to skewer the ground, but the mound disappeared just a few paces away. A heartbeat later, something exploded from the snow behind him, the force jarring him off his feet.

  He rolled and stood, snow plastering his hands and face. Tusk lunged at Devlin, but the young man dropped away into the snow. Dennah staggered and fell into him, her wrists bound. Folkvar helped Tadd off the horse, the two working to untie their hands. Their faces were white and eyes wide.

  Roman pulled Dennah and the others behind him, shielding them with his body. Berg and the townsfolk pressed in around them, some burned and their clothes scorched black from fire. Gnarls slipped between them, slinking between legs and clawing at the snow, their eyes gleaming with malice.

  Arrin and Devlin erupted from the snow, one on either side of him, just as a flash of green light broke the still, early morning air. DaeGeroth appeared inside the circle of people, the gnarls clustering around him like a personal guard. His fingers sliced through the air, his eyes radiant and terrible.

  Roman reared back and stabbed the sword forward, but a tremendous weight settled over his arm, the blade stabbing hard into the ground. Green runes appeared in the snow all around him, the powder rushing up his legs, over his abdomen, and finally to his arms. It forced him upright, hardening and encasing him up to the neck in cold, thick ice.

  Roman watched DaeGeroth approach, the mask floating just above his outstretched palm, and urged the fire out. It bubbled forth from its hiding spot, hot orange flames dancing against the ice, a flickering glow illuminating the thick encrustment covering his body.

  “No!” DaeGeroth yelled, his hand stabbing out suddenly.

  The ice constricted violently around Roman’s body, more snow rushing up and over him, until he was sure that he would be crushed to death. The fire died away, retreating inside, smothered by cold and dark. Arrin and Devlin bustled by, their movements languid and mouths slack, Dennah, Tadd, and Folkvar clustered between them.

  “You should feel pride, Roman,” DaeGeroth purred. “Garon’s sons were to be my first faceless, but they lacked the strength of spirit. I broke them in the process and realized I needed someone with more constitution. You will become the perfect version of you.”

  “Where is his dog?” Berg asked, stepping up behind DaeGeroth, a healthy portion of his beard burned down to stubble.

  “It is of no consequence now. The little spirit caught us off guard once, but that trap would only snare the foolish twice,” DaeGeroth cooed, the people Roman used to call neighbors closing in around them.

  Regardless, Berg and those closest to him turned, eying the snowy trees warily. They could look to their heart’s content, but they would never find Tusk. Roman had already sent the dog for help.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Mending the Whole

  Luca sat at the window, watching the wind blow through the otherworldly trees, their leaves whistling quietly. He didn’t move, even when the cushion propping him up flattened and his bottom became sore. He’d spent the better part of the day in this one spot, watching the strange dalan city, its peculiar people moving to and fro.

  He wondered what they would be like if he and Emma weren’t there. Would they still look and move like them? Luca considered the many things Juna had told him, his curiosity spinning in widening circles. The dalan desperately wanted to be as they once were.

  They were fascinated with appearing like normal folk, but from Luca’s perspective, looked, acted, and spoke like pretenders. A memory jarred loose. He was little, and sat on his Pa’s lap, Eisa sitting before his Ma, her dexterous fingers braiding his sister’s raven-black hair. A troop of pretenders marched and yelled from the stage, talking in strange, formal speech, acting out a tale of kings and queens.

  The dalan reminded him of those pretenders.

  “She has returned,” Emma said, simply, her gaze not leaving the doorway. She hadn’t spoken to him, or anyone else, much. Instead, sat quietly, always watching and picking nervously at her fingers. She had told him a little about what happened to her before Juna gave her the necklet. The magic didn’t cripple her, but stole away her reason and made her run…like an animal. Luca worried that she would run again. He hoped that things changed soon, so she wouldn’t. He wanted his friend to be happy again.

  Juna swept into the chamber a short while later, almost unrecognizable. Her hair was light, almost silver, and pulled back in a tight, sleek braid. She wore a voluminous cloak, and when she moved, he spotted only pale skin beneath. His cheeks flushed hot at the recognition and he dropped his gaze.

  “Luca, have you not moved from that spot?” she asked, stopping between them.

  Luca shook his head, meeting her gaze and then turned to look back out the window. “I like the view,” he said, simply. He wanted to tell her that he was terrified to move – that the necklet had continued to wither, and every shift or lean promised another new pain or twinge. But he didn’t. Saying it out loud would force him to think about her offer, and Luca wasn’t sure which he was more terrified of – living his entire life a broken cripple, or allowing the dalan to use their strange magic on him.

  “The time draws near, Luca. We leave with the setting of the sun. Are you ready?” she asked.

  Luca swallowed and rubbed the sore lump that had been developing in his leg, the pain immediately washing away his resistance. Whatever happened, he would be brave and leave the pain behind. He nodded, set his jaw, and slid gingerly off the seat.

  “Follow me,” the matrona said and promptly turned and swept out of the chamber.

  Luca hobbled after her, Emma walking just ahead of him, her steps irregular and jittery. He wanted to ask Juna what she would do for his friend. Did she have another necklet? What would they do if Emma lost control again? Could they help her?

  Juna led them down the long hall, passed the pedestals holding their dalan artifacts, and to a solitary door opposite the stairs. The matrona heaved the heavy portal open, the thick, banded wood creaking loudly. They stepped into a dark, tightly sp
iraling stairwell, the only light streaming in through small, round windows.

  He stepped inside, his heart suddenly racing in his chest. His nightmare flashed to mind, the same nightmare he’d had since regaining his memories. He remembered the gloom, the dilapidated stone and heavy smell of mold, the monster, and the tight, spiraling stair. His foot slid over the stone as he edged further inside the claustrophobic space and looked up. It wasn’t ravaged by time or covered in dust, but it was the same flowing stone and scalloped stairs.

  “Be brave, there is no monster. There is no monster,” Luca whispered, and pushed forward fully into the dark stair. He hobbled up one step at a time, his legs quickly tiring. Emma and Juna climbed the steps somewhere ahead, the scuff of their shoes and rustle of their clothes the only indication he wasn’t alone in the gloom.

  Up he went, pushing his body defiantly, resisting the overpowering urge to slow down or rest. He would not be broken by pain, or worse, let it hold him back from an opportunity to be whole again.

  After an interminable climb, every muscle in his legs aflame, Luca emerged from the darkness, stepping out onto a wide balcony. Juna and Emma stood next to the edge, a waist-high railing the only thing separating them from the open air beyond. Emma stared at the ground, her arms crossed and shoulders twitching slightly.

  “Come,” Juna said, beckoning him to her.

  Luca stepped out and turned. A vast tree branch loomed behind and above him. I was inside the tree! he thought in wonder, his gaze scanning the branch all the way back down to the doorway he had just emerged from.

  Emboldened, Luca stepped out and joined Juna and Emma. His gaze drifted out into the clear, blue sky, only the puffy clouds breaking his view of the horizon. He looked down, and felt a flutter in his gut. The ground loomed far below, the smaller trees and glowing lanterns much smaller than when he’d seen them last from his window seat.

  “It’s so high…” he muttered, turning, “will it happen up here?”

  Juna returned his question with a smile, her eyes and cheeks momentarily flashing with color. She shook her head, squeezed Emma’s shoulder and stepped away.

  “I brought you up here so we could be away from Altair’s eyes. The others are waiting in a glen on the other side of the island. You will be safe there. To get you there, I must carry you. Luca and Emma, you must not fear me. You must know that I will still be me, no matter how I look,” she said.

  Luca glanced to Emma, who looked just as confused. Together they nodded.

  Juna stepped back and bowed, gracefully sliding free from the heavy cloak. Luca blushed, not fully able to tear his gaze away from the magnificent woman’s bare body. She was tall and lean, more muscular than he’d have guessed, and pale. She looked like a statue brought to life, chiseled in the way people wanted to look, not the way they really did.

  “I will not be able to speak. Please, do not fear me, children,” she said again, and then her body started to change. Juna hunched over, her face drawn in what appeared to be excruciating concentration.

  Her arms shifted and contorted, her legs buckling. Emma cried out, her arms wrapping around Luca. She squeezed, the pressure igniting the pain throughout most of his body, but he couldn’t push her away.

  Juna’s body flexed, her arms and neck lengthening horribly. Emma buried her face into Luca’s shoulder, her terrified cries like the squeaks of a cornered animal. Luca didn’t look away. He watched the matrona change, her body growing and contorting, and denied his fear.

  Fingers changed into talons, strange buds pushing through her pale flesh, growing long before springing open into white feathers. Juna croaked loudly a moment later and shook her long, angular head. She pushed up onto her hind legs and unfurled long, spectacular wings, the white feathers glowing red in the last rays of the setting sun. The dalan dropped back down and considered them, her eyes large and round, the pupils like long, dark blades.

  “Look,” Luca managed, pulling Emma away. She wiped her eyes and recoiled at the sight, the handrail creaking under her weight. He pulled her back as a piece of bark broke loose and fell over the side.

  “It is… it is still you?” Emma asked, weakly.

  Juna bobbed her head and walked towards them, her large, feathered wings serving as arms. Luca’s sense of wonder fought his fear and he stepped forward. Juna had shapeshifted, changing her body into something magnificent and strange – a beast not quite reptile, but not quite bird either.

  “Emma, the stories are all true. They can change their shape,” he said, placing a palm on the flat ridge between the dalan’s eyes, “it’s amazing!”

  “…true,” Emma hiccupped, but tentatively held out her hand, her fingers just brushing against Juna’s white feathers.

  “I’m ready,” Luca said, boldly.

  Juna turned a large eye to both of them, cooed deeply, and reared back, driving her magnificent wings down. Luca stumbled back, the force nearly knocking him off his feet. The dalan lifted gracefully off the ground, hooking a claw around Luca first, and then Emma, pulling them tightly to her feathered body, and swooped off the balcony.

  Wind rushed over them, his belly lurching dramatically, but with several, powerful scoops of her wings, they rose towards the dark sky. Luca gasped, not realizing that he’d been holding his breath. Something slapped against his face, and then his chest. Emma’s fingers bunched up in his shirt, her eyes smashing shut in fear.

  Juna soared up and into the darkening sky, the last rays of a strawberry sunset disappearing beneath the horizon. Cold air buffeted against them as the dalan banked, her left wing drooping and the ground suddenly tilting into view. Luca cried out involuntarily, his stomach clenching so tight he thought he might soil himself.

  The island hung below, the colossal trees and their glowing lanterns like dark shoots of grass and flickering stars. Luca’s belly loosened, the initial fear losing its grip, and he gave a whoop of joy, the wind stealing his voice. He was flying!

  They passed over dark water and many smaller islands, but with the sun gone, the air turned icy and dark and he lost sight of the ground. Luca started to shiver and shake and pressed more tightly into the matrona, savoring the warmth of her body and soft embrace of her feathers. After a short while, Juna banked again, spiraling slowly towards the darkness below. Luca watched shadowy shapes appear, – first a tree, and then two, but they were like ghosts in the darkness, there one moment, and swallowed by the black in the next. He flinched, hoping the matrona could see better in the darkness than him.

  Juna descended until they soared just over the canopy of trees, and then passed a sheer bluff, the trees opening beneath them in a wide glen. A bonfire appeared, and then a solitary path of lanterns leading to what looked like a table of wind-bleached stone.

  Wings flapping, Juna slowed, until they landed gently in the grass. Luca staggered free, his weight and many pains returning. Emma dropped next to him and took off as if to run, but after half a dozen steps, stopped and seemed to collect herself.

  “Emma, it’s okay,” Luca called, wincing as he struggled after her.

  Juna flapped her mighty wings one final time, her body already shifting back. Feathers withdrew as she shrunk, graceful animal lines giving way quickly. In the span of four paces forward, Juna had changed back.

  The matrona approached Luca and Emma, her bare skin shimmering in the fire’s glow. A figure appeared suddenly behind her, as if taking his form from the darkness itself. Luca gasped to warn her, but before he could utter a sound the dalan man draped a white cloak over her shoulders, the heavy fabric covering her once again.

  “Matrona, ries’da moisayan,” the dalan man said, dropping his head in an efficient bow.

  “In common tongue, Dune, so that Luca and Emma might understand,” Juna replied, her eyes scanning the glen.

  “As you wish, Matrona,” he shot back respectfully. His colorless eyes flitted to Luca and then Emma, before back to Juna. “Poe is here. He awaits you at the altar of faces. Volo…has
not yet returned.”

  Luca eyed Dune up and down. He was tall and slender, with a square jaw, well-defined cheekbones, and shorter hair than most dalan. He had a rugged, attractive quality that made Luca want to like and trust him. Moreover, if he passed Dune on a road anywhere in Denoril, he wouldn’t think him out of place. Well, except for maybe his eyes – those he would never get used to.

  “Very well,” Juna replied. “Let us begin at once. Luca and Emma do not have the benefit of time on their side.”

  At this Emma jumped, as if flinching to a noise only she could hear. Luca reached out and gently touched her arm, but she turned and swatted him away, baring her teeth. Something snapped, a prickling sensation cutting at his neck.

  The warmth and humanity was gone from Emma’s eyes, replaced by a cold, brutishness. She was losing to the animal, and worse, a horrible weariness was settling over his body. At the sight of her necklet, Luca patted his chest. It was gone. He looked down frantically and caught a silver glimmer in the dark grass.

  “No!” he gasped, crouching down awkwardly. He fished the delicate medallion out of the grass, the metal crumbling apart between his fingers.

  “Emma, are you well?” Juna asked quietly.

  Emma’s gaze snapped up, the animal searching their faces.

  “Emma!” Juna repeated more firmly.

  The cold, dark stare broke, and her lids flickered before she refocused on the matrona. “I’m…sorry. I cannot seem to, well…I cannot…”

  “I know, my dear. Now, please follow me,” Juna said, sharing a look with Dune.

  The matrona led them onto the path, the knee-high lanterns barely illuminating the cobblestones. They moved up a hill, Luca’s weariness mounting with every step forward. It felt like he was trudging up a mountain, not a gentle slope.

  A sheer bluff appeared over the hill’s crest, a wide metal brazier burning brightly. The stone was streaked with color, running like massive scars up the rock’s vertical surface. Beneath it, sitting on a shelf carved out of the stone, sat the large, bleached-stone table. A small figure burst out of the table’s shadow, covering the distance between them in a flash. Luca yelped in alarm and turned awkwardly, his leg’s stiffening.