by Matt Russell
"Some of our tribe..." Narok went on, his voice filled pain, "it was as though they were driven uncontrollably into a rage as soon as the big demon appeared. He killed them all first."
Kota's breathing grew rough. Gretis glanced at him and saw veins standing up on his arms and neck.
"Where are the Onkai now?" she said.
"We wrapped their bodies," Narok murmured, and then added in a quieter voice: "What was left of them."
She turned to Kota, switching back to Tethric as she said: "This is the second encroachment into the Denigoth Empire in less than a decade. It seems the Demon King is no longer abiding by the terms Emperor Tacitus laid down."
Kota blinked. She had never told him about her battle with Rakathon, as any complete discussion of the encounter would lead to the topic of Iona, whom Gretis suspected to be the Messiah spoken of in the Enumis—a subject that would place far too much weight upon Kota's already overburdened mind. Still, he knew that demons had attacked her, and that they were not simple, corrupted creatures roaming the countryside but soldiers of the Demon King, and Kota was educated enough to know what that meant.
"Are they starting another war?" he said, also in the human tongue.
"I do not know," she replied, sweeping the bewildered shamalak tribesmen around them with her eyes. "I think that they are focused on eliminating you to the point they are willing to risk the consequences. Attacking Onkai soldiers..." she grimaced, "We must get word to Otho, and to the Denigoth Imperium."
"What are you two talking about?" Skillen grunted in the shamalak tongue.
"War," Gretis answered him, her voice cold. "Take us to the elders."
Skillen's face twitched in irritation, but Narok turned and gestured with his left arm to a path in the trees. "Yes, I think they will wish to speak with you."
“Kota, pick up your sword,” Gretis said.
The shamalak around the two of them fidgeted as Kota glanced down at his weapon. After a brief pause, he looked at Gretis and said: "No."
"You heard them say it!" she snapped. "Demons are in this forest!" Kota only stared at her, stone-faced, and so she exclaimed: “Gods-dammit!” She darted over and snatched up the weapon herself. Before any of the shamalak around her could react, she looked at her stubborn apprentice and said aloud: “Kota, advise your tribesmen not to attempt to disarm me.”
Kota frowned at her but muttered: “This woman is more dangerous than an Onkai. She could kill all of you right now if she wished.”
The swordsmen around her tensed, and a few of them edged back.
“I came here to slaughter demons, not shamalak,” she said, meeting each of their eyes. “You would do far better to have me as an ally, which is what I came to be.”
“Some of us have heard stories of you from the North,” Narok said in a voice that was remarkably gracious, given the circumstances, “stories that predate your meeting Kota, Blade Witch.” His eyebrow raised as he asked: “You are the same ‘Gretis’ who visited the Sorius Tribe in the northern plains, are you not?”
“I am.”
“You may enter our village without disarming,” he said, giving her a nod.
“Thank you,” Gretis said, nodding back.
Skillen and the other warriors said nothing as Gretis and Kota began to walk with Narok. They filed in behind in silence. Just to be safe, Gretis kept Kota's sword out, pointing the blade down at an angle as she walked so that it hovered just above the ground. She was not concerned merely with the angry warriors around her. The demons had a magic user. Gretis had heard of but never encountered Nathrets—sorcerers who sacrificed their souls for increased arcane power. Kota had met one years ago, but he had had an extremely talented Starborn with him, and, from what Gretis had deciphered from the reports, that one had been a weak specimen. This Nathret could be centuries old and far, far stronger. Its power, combined with that of an Archdemon and its servants, was likely too great a force for Kota and herself to take on.
"Have any of the tribe tried to flee this forest?" Kota said. His voice mirrored the nerves in her stomach.
"A few," Narok whispered. "We heard their screams shortly after. The sorcerer brought back one of their heads. He's not afraid of us—not of the whole tribe. He dropped the head at the feet of the elders and told them next time three children would die for every adult who tries to run.”
The edge of the shamalak village came into view through the trees, and Gretis saw dozens upon dozens of triangular animal skin structures surrounding fire pits dug in the ground bordered with stones. The village had been built in a clearing next to a flowing river. As she and Kota stepped into its borders, hundreds of nervous silver eyes stared at them. Women hugged young children close to them, while many others gripped weapons. Some had bows and arrows, some swords, some carved wooden spears, and some simply curled their fingers, extending their claws. For all of this display of hostility though, Gretis pitied them. This tribe had been terrorized for weeks, and they were ultimately powerless to defend themselves. She looked at the gaunt, disheveled faces and understood how far they had fallen. Gretis had spent time among shamalak in the past, and though every tribe had their own idiosyncrasies, they were overall a remarkably kind and happy people. This lot was utterly miserable. There were abandoned basket weaving projects lying in the dirt, old clay pots lying in cracked pieces on the ground, and many other details that bespoke of hopelessness.
They ambled toward the center of the village where a large canopy constructed of thick tree limbs rested. The floor of the open structure was covered in many blankets. Four very old shamalak—two males and two females—sat upon those blankets under the shade, their thin bodies wrapped in animal skins. They watched the visitors to the village approach, glancing at Gretis, though their attention, like the rest of the tribe’s, was chiefly focused on their long lost member.
Kota stepped ahead of the others and moved to the front of the canopy, which visibly made several warriors nearby fidget, but he dropped into a kneel, fists on the forest floor, his head bowed low. "Honored Elders," he said aloud in his native tongue, "I, Kota, son of Keema, return to my tribe. I have seen my spirit and learned the truth of myself."
The four elder shamalak stared at him in silence, and he remained perfectly still. Finally, the most wizened of them, a wrinkled woman whose hair had gone entirely white, spoke in a creaking voice: "You return to us with honor, Kota, son of Keema. You return to us a man."
There was a low snarl to the left. Gretis turned to see a very large shamalak male who appeared to be in his mid-thirties bounding forward. He had a great battle ax in his right hand and a wooden shield in the other. Unlike the other shamalak around her, this one had bone-white face paint around the angles of his hawk-like face. From this, and the multi-stranded necklace of beads and animal fangs that hung down his broad chest, she guessed this to be the tribe's chief.
"So you finally show your face," the leader bellowed as he stepped up to Kota's still kneeling form and glared down. "At least you have that much courage."
"I know what has happened," Kota said in a grave voice, keeping his head bowed. "I know members of this tribe have been killed by those in pursuit of me."
The arm holding the ax near Kota's head trembled at these words, and the chief's bronze face grew a touch redder. "Women and children," he said. He leaned in. "Have you come to surrender yourself to the demons to end this slaughter?"
"No," Kota said, "I have come to kill them."
"Have you really?" the chief grunted in exasperation. "No one can kill those things."
“Nonetheless, I will try,” Kota said.
The chief stiffened and said in a sharp voice: "Kota, if you are still a member of this tribe, then rise."
Kota rose to his feet and met the leader’s eyes with a solemn look. The two of them were of a height with one another, though the chief's body was thicker while Kota's was leaner and more defined. For a long moment, the white-painted shamalak
stared at Kota, and there was silence all throughout the village. He seemed to see something that met his approval, for eventually, he lowered his ax. His voice lost only a little of its hard edge though as he said: "Many a warrior would have stayed away were he in your place. I can see in your eyes that you have returned as a man. Still," his face grimaced, "it would probably be best for the tribe for me to bind your wrists and ankles and hand you over to the monsters."
Gretis fidgeted, and the fingers of her right hand curled around the hilt of her sword, but Kota gave no reaction at all. He stared at the chief, unblinking until the female elder spoke: "Kota has committed no crime. To hand him over to those evil creatures would be an act of cowardice and would bring shame upon the tribe."
Two shamalak emerged from the crowd then, one male and one female. They were older than Kota, and, as Gretis gazed at them, she saw parts of her pupil’s features in each of them. The male, tall and quite strong for one with hair so silver, moved to Kota's right side, and the woman to his left, and each stood facing the chief. "We stand with our son,” the male said. “Whatever judgment you pass upon him, you must deliver to us as well." There was a rumble of whispers through the crowd, but Gretis did not listen to them. She was focused on the hint of a grin that played across Kota's somber features as his mother and father, after so many years apart, were willing to lay their lives down for him. In that moment, his mother cast a quick glance back at Gretis. Under her thick mane of dark hair spangled with gray, the shamalak woman's eyes studied her. There was a touch of resentment in them, for Gretis had stolen Kota away from her, but there also seemed to be respect—perhaps even a bit of appreciation.
The chief drew in a deep breath, gazing at the trio before him, and then said: "The elders are correct. You have committed no crime," his silver eyes moved to Gretis, "though your actions have cost this tribe many lives."
"Kota's actions have not caused any of this," Gretis said aloud, stepping forward and facing the leader’s hard stare. "Nor have mine for that matter. Kota is the subject of a very old prophecy. He is destined to become a great enemy to demonkind, and they would have sought to kill him whether he trained with me or not. Fortunately for all of you and for this world, I did train him." Kota's father turned to face her. He was handsome in the way that Kota was, though he had three diagonal scars that ran parallel through his left eye socket, which had been rendered into an empty pit. He cast her a nod of respect, which spurred her on. She turned her head slowly, meeting the stares of the rest of the tribe as she said aloud: "Demons do not honor their bargains. If you were to hand Kota over to those hideous creatures, they would slaughter you all for nothing more than the taste of your flesh." The words elicited murmurs from all around.
"I am so sorry for the losses you've suffered," Kota said, following Gretis’s example and facing the rest of the tribe. "I will—" he broke off, suddenly twitching, and then he cocked his head up and sniffed at the air. In a sudden blur, he shot toward Gretis. Almost before she registered the movement, Kota had his sword back from her hands, and he sprang upward so fast and that the chief and even his parents flinched back. The leap carried him up at least five times his own height before the claws on his left hand slashed down into the trunk of a tree in an explosion of bark that redoubled that momentum. Gretis gazed up into the treetops above, her heart beginning to pound as she saw a shadowy figure perched up high on a branch. It too appeared to have a sword out.
Kota flew at this figure as the branches billowed in the wind above them. It was difficult to make out the details of what happened next. There was an inhuman snarl, then a loud clank of metal striking metal, and then three hacks in the air in quick succession. Something round dropped from the branches—a mass of gray and black. It hit the ground and bounced, and Gretis saw the fur and the ghastly teeth and eyes of blood red. It was the head of a demon. The face was like that of a tiger with ashen gray fur with black stripes.
Three more shapes dropped from the branches then. One was a severed limb of leather armor and black claws, one was a breast-plated torso with the remaining arm still clutching a black sword, and one was the demon's lower half—a pair of furry legs that bent in reverse with metallic thigh and shin guards. Finally, Kota dropped down from full height of the treetops into a crouch. His right hand held his sword out to the side. Black blood dripped from the weapon's edge and off a spatter across his face. He was huffing.
"Kota!" Gretis shouted. Her sword was already in her hand, though she could not recall consciously drawing it.
Her pupil looked up at her. He could recognize his own name. That was a good sign. She watched him, looking for the beast.
"I can't smell any others," he said, his words coming in the human tongue, though at a deeper pitch than usual.
"Spirits around us!" the chief exclaimed. He stared at Kota with wide eyes, which, Gretis noticed, most the tribe was now doing. "H-how did you—"
Kota silenced the leader with a sharp grunt and a raised hand, hooked claws extended, veins standing up under the skin. His eyes narrowed as he whispered: "We're being watched."
Gretis could not help gazing about, despite the fact that her animus—far keener than her human eyes—detected nothing in their immediate surroundings. "Where?"
Kota looked at her, his jaw trembling as he spoke. "In the sky and in the trees... I can feel them now, but I can't reach them without abandoning this tribe." He gazed around at his people. Most of the shamalak were gawking, awed by the feat of strength and speed they had just witnessed. They spoke to one another in hushed voices, yet most fell silent as Kota spoke again: "They have scouts watching every conceivable route of escape.
"Of course we do!" a loud, male voice shouted in Tethric from the left. Gretis whirled and saw a man in a thick black robe standing at the edge of the village. The first thing she noticed about him was the pale, green-tinged skin. He looked to be perhaps forty, with wizened eyes but a lean and healthy build. He had a shaven head and face, and his lips were curled into a slight grin that had no warmth to it—no humanity. There were two shamalak children just in front of him—one a girl who looked to be about seven and the other a boy perhaps a year older. Both were on their hands and knees, trembling. The man’s thin, veiny hands were held up just behind the pair, and Gretis's animus perceived tendrils of potent magic reaching from him to the young hostages.
This was the nathret the tribesmen had described. Gretis’s stomach twisted that this one was bold enough to enter the village with Kota in it. What did that mean?
The whole of the tribe stared at the demon sorcerer in deathly silence, and more than a few of them shrank away from him. The nathret seemed to notice this, for a smirk appeared on his face as his eyes darted about. He took a step in Kota's direction, and as he did the two children slid forward, their knees and hands scraping along the dirt. Neither child seemed able to move much, but from the way they whimpered and from the tears that fell from their eyes, Gretis judged that they were most likely in severe pain.
"Let them go," Kota said in a dangerous growl, and he ran at the enemy.
"I'LL KILL THEM BOTH!" the sorcerer shouted, and he whipped his hands up. The children rose up like marionettes on strings, each squealing in pain. They floated a head or so above the ground, and Kota halted, bringing his bounding momentum to a skidding halt on the ground. Gretis stared in surprise. He was able to stop himself? How was this nathret affecting his animus?
A rumbling growl escaped through Kota's teeth before he snarled: "If those children die, I'll cut you to shreds!"
The sorcerer raised his right hand and the girl rose a litter higher and let out a shriek. "Throw away your weapon," he said in an icy voice, and he made a two-fingered gesture to his male hostage. The boy's arms spread involuntarily, and he began to scream in pain.
"All right!" Kota shouted, and flung his sword to the left.
“Good,” the nathret hissed. His left hand relaxed and the boy's arms fell back to his sides,
his screams dying into whimpers
“I warn you,” Kota grunted through his teeth, “I don’t need weapons to—“
"Do not speak," the nathret said. "Just stand there." The muscles in Kota's face twitched. Gretis could tell that the sorcerer was studying her pupil with all his senses, and so she took the opportunity to study him with hers. Pieces of her animus whisked toward the nathret and immediately carried back an impression of terrible magical strength. It made her tremble inside. She recalled her encounter with the Starborn, Telemachus Vale, a year and a half before, and the power she had felt in him. Was this demon that strong? Perhaps not, though he was damned close.
"Iona," he said aloud, with a vicious grin. Gretis felt the blood leave her face. Had she just cost the human race its savior? The sorcerer stared at her with dull green eyes that seemed intelligent and alive, yet vacuously empty. "Where is she?" he said. A tiny wave of relief washed over her, but then the nathret chuckled: "You'll reveal everything soon enough, foolish little Sansrit witch.”
Kota snarled, and the sorcerer turned his attention back to him. "We were concerned you would bring Onkai with you if you came, but it appears you are a remarkably stupid creature.”
“You've come to make demands, I assume," Kota said, "So make them."
This only brought another predatory smile to the nathret. He gazed around at the tribesmen, seemingly unconcerned by the ones with bows and arrows. Not one of them was even daring to aim at him. He spoke aloud to them in their own tongue with perfect enunciation: "Every single one of you will be slaughtered tonight! We shall leave no one alive!"