He considered the blade, turning it over in his hands. Its last sheath would be deep in his chest. The blade would enter just below the breast bone, thrust up and into the heart. He could lead his people no longer. He’d seen them into the valley. They could take it from here. The fight for a new Most Worthy would be bloody, and life for the Maddion would be chaotic for a while, but they would settle their conflicts and life would resume normalcy soon enough.
His skin began to tingle all over. The air grew heavy and pushed at him, making it difficult for him to breathe. Then the pressure eased and the tingling faded. A moment later, the sensations came again, then ebbed.
An icy chill ran down his spine. These were not signs of the illness that had racked him for days. This was something else. Something magical. Kushtrim looked up again. The shards had stopped their slow descent and were slowly rising. The Jeguduns and Taakwa were pouring magic back into the barrier. If they succeeded while his men were still inside the valley, they’d all die. All he’d done would be for nothing. Okpairo’s death and Gerwyn’s death would be for nothing.
Voices shouted in the distance. Kushtrim caught only snatches, but enough to understand Okpairo’s men were in the woods and closing in on him.
He hastened to his feet. He sheathed the dagger, grabbed his crossbow and arrows, and ran towards the place he’d heard the Taakwa men and woman talking. To save his people, he’d kill them all himself, starting with the woman.
* * *
After the branch had struck the dragon like an arrow, Malia began to wend her way through the Jeguduns and Taakwa. The direct strike against a dragon had shown her the combined army had things well under control. She wanted to make sure nobody had any problems cooperating with the Jeguduns. But more so, the fire she’d seen pour from the dragon’s mouth had bothered her. With the Taakwa spread so thin and many of them in a sort of trance while letting the Jeguduns draw power, they’d be caught in the flames if a fire broke out.
Her vision grew hazy, and her next breath told her why. She choked on smoke and charred flesh. Her heart began pounding. The Maddion had set fire to the woods already. They meant to burn the forest down around the helpless Taakwa and Jeguduns. She ran towards the source of the smoke and stench.
Several Taakwa worked around a smoldering heap, stamping on small flames or throwing dirt over them. The smell of charred flesh grew overpowering. Malia stopped and gagged, then ripped a piece of cloth from her skirt to hold over her nose and mouth. It dampened the odors enough so she could step closer.
The dragon had been eviscerated. Its body showed few signs of burning, but the smaller body trapped beside it was nearly unrecognizable. Still, the size and the tatters of burnt flesh hanging from the wings told Malia it was a Jegudun. A thick sob built in her throat. She swallowed it down.
One of the men noticed her and brought his dagger halfway up before he seemed to recognize her. He quickly sheathed it, then pressed his hands together before him. “My apologies. I thought for a moment you were an Outsider.”
The other men, half a dozen in all, greeted her.
“Are there other fallen bodies like this?” she asked, her voice muffled by the cloth she held over her mouth. “Other fires?”
“I don’t know,” the same man answered. “More of the creatures have fallen, but mostly we’ve found Jeguduns.” He paused. “They are brave, much braver than I expected.”
“You remember that. You and the others will have to tell those who won’t be able to.”
He nodded. “This fire is under control. We should move on, see if anybody needs our help.”
“Of course.”
He directed three of the men in one direction and two in the other. Then to Malia he said, “You should travel with me. It’s too dangerous for you to be out here alone.”
She glanced at the remains and shuddered. What if she came across one of those creatures, alive and well and breathing fire? There would be no escaping it as she’d escaped the forest fire.
“Which way are you going?” she asked.
“North and east. Do you have a weapon?”
She patted the dagger hanging from the leather belt.
“Good.” He gestured for her to lead the way.
“I am Malia of the Velebit clan of Selu,” she said as they began walking. A few paces from the remains she took the cloth from her mouth. Smoke and burnt flesh still filled each breath she took, but it faded quickly as they put distance between them and bodies.
“I am Lukin of the Chokar clan of Posalo.”
Malia perked up at the mention of a familiar name. “Some of your clan lives in Selu.”
“Yes. They pester me every spring about sending them wool. Do it once, and they expect it all the time.”
She allowed herself a small grin. Despite the idle talk, she picked up on the tension in Lukin’s voice. It was no surprise, given how he’d reacted to her moments before when he thought an Outsider was sneaking up on him. She felt herself stretched thin, her nerves strumming. Any little sound or movement out of the ordinary would probably send her for her own weapon.
He glanced up. “Will this really work?”
It has to. “Yes.”
His tense shoulders relaxed, and he nodded.
She asked, “Were there any men from Selu with you all?”
“I don’t think so. There was supposed to be a second wave behind us, but when the Outsiders—the Maddion, I mean—attacked, they probably stopped wherever they were to fight.”
Which meant Vedran wasn’t necessarily anywhere safe. If he and the others had been caught in the open, they would make easy targets for the Maddion. And, sometimes boys newly entered into manhood felt as if they had to prove themselves and ended up doing foolish things.
Lukin asked, “Do you smell that?”
A sharp, mineral odor reached Malia’s nose. “It’s a hot spring.” She wondered if carvings surrounded it as the one outside Selu did. “Let’s take a look at it.”
She changed directions slightly and, a few paces later, came across a small clearing that held the spring. Its source came from somewhere underground, bubbling up to spill into the pool. Tall grasses grew around it, and a few red and yellow flowers dotted the area, but no carvings.
Across the clearing, a dark form moved in the shadows of the woods. A twang sounded, and then the whistle of an arrow. Lukin shoved Malia down. Without time to brace herself, she hit the ground hard and grunted as Lukin landed on top of her.
Another twang, followed by a thump. Lukin’s body shuddered.
Malia squirmed one way and the other until Lukin rolled off her. His eyes were open but sightless. An arrow tip protruded from his chest. No, no, no, nonono. She didn’t recognize the fletching at all. It was a Maddion arrow. A chill gripped her body as her heart sped faster.
Malia scrambled towards the nearest tree while looking around wildly for the arrow’s source. She crawled behind it, putting it between her and the shadow that had moved just before the arrow flew. She pulled her dagger free with a trembling hand. It wouldn’t do much good against a bow, but it was all she had.
A figure emerged silently from the shadows like a spirit. He stood tall, his head crowned with a mass of light brown hair in thick ropes that hung around his face like serpents. Grime and blood covered the pale skin of his face. His eyes were light in color and bright with rage and anger.
He wore thick, wool clothes, more suitable for the midst of winter than summer, the tunic tied with a white sash stained with blood. He held a strange looking device in front of him. That was what had shot the arrow. It looked coiled and powerful, and had shot the arrow that killed Lukin from farther than any Taakwa made bow could have. It would have to, if the Maddion shot at things from the backs of their dragons. Malia would not be able to outrun such a weapon. She forced herself to take longer, deeper breaths, and she wiped her clammy hand against her skirt before gripping the dagger tightly.
The Maddion exuded power, more so than an
y clan father or clan mother Malia had ever known. This man was someone very important among the Maddion. If so, why was he alone? He must have lost his dragon. But that would mean the dragon had probably fallen quite a distance, and this man with it. If he could survive such a fall, how strong must he be? What chance did Malia have against him?
She couldn’t best him, not when he was so much bigger than her and had better weapons. She could surrender and hope he wouldn’t kill her. No. His expression said he meant to kill her. Her legs began to shake, and she bit her lower lip to keep a fearful moan from escaping. Clan mother, protect me, save me.
The Maddion said something. His language was guttural and harsh. She understood nothing, but there was no denying the contempt and hatred in his voice. Then he whipped the bow up and fired.
Malia screamed as the arrow hit the tree where she hid. Then something inside her broke through the dam of fear. She screamed again, calling for help this time. Surely some of the Taakwa guards would hear her.
Footsteps pounded the ground. The Maddion was coming for her.
Malia stepped away from the tree. The Maddion threw his bow aside and barreled towards her, apparently intent on running into her at full speed. She recalled the way she’d knocked Dalibor from his feet and raced to meet the Maddion. At the last moment, she tucked and rolled.
And he leapt over her easily.
The same trick wasn’t going to work twice. Malia sprang to her feet as she brought her dagger up.
The Maddion drew something from his tunic and slipped it over his hand. Blades shone wickedly in the sunlight. Two protruded straight out from his palm and one to the side of his hand.
“Clan mother have mercy on me,” Malia whispered. The man meant to bury those blades in her. Her breathing came fast and shallow, and her thoughts raced.
She had to calm down and think. The man had to have some sort of weakness.
If Malia could get him in the hot spring while she remained on land, it might slow him down enough so she could run. She would be taking a huge chance, but she could see no other options. Her screams hadn’t brought any help. She had to do this alone.
At that moment, an image came unbidden to her mind, that of the Taakwa hanging from rows upon rows of poles, disemboweled. That might have happened long before she lived, but the same fury that drove those Maddion drove this man here and now. How could she possibly fight such fury?
She’d meet it with her own.
The Maddion threatened her people, her loved ones: her mother, Vedran, all the people of Selu, Rasmus, Enuwal, the Jeguduns. They invaded her home to destroy it. The Maddion would kill most of them and enslave the rest. Rage boiled up within her and poured through her just as her power did when Vacir tapped into it. Maybe that was the power that Vacir used, that pent-up, generations-old fury at what her ancestors had gone through. It flowed through her veins like molten fire. She was ready.
The Maddion stalked towards her. The blades of his weapon protruded like talons from his right hand.
Malia moved away from him, angling herself towards the springs so they’d be at her back.
The man leaped for her, his long legs eating up ground quickly.
Her foot slipped as she scrambled out of the way of those blades. Then she caught her footing and darted away, but not before the tip of one blade raked her arm, creating a line of burning pain. Blood welled up.
She ran backwards, panting hard. Now the Maddion stood between her and the springs. She gritted her teeth.
His strange bow lay a few paces to her left. If only she had an arrow … the top of his quiver showed above his shoulder. He was out. The bow wouldn’t do either of them any good.
Before Malia could decide whether to scrabble up a tree and wait him out or try to maneuver around the Maddion, he sprang towards her.
She jumped left, picking up the bow as she did, and whirled to face him. The main shaft of the weapon was thick and heavy. Even without arrows, she could still use it.
As the Maddion brought those blades towards her face, she swung the bow. It connected solidly with his arm and deflected it. Then she stepped forward and drove it into his belly. His eyes widened in surprise, and he let out a quick puff of air as he doubled over.
Malia brought the shaft down on the back of his neck. Just before she connected with flesh, the Maddion side stepped and straightened. He grabbed the bow, and with a snarl, yanked it from her hands. Then he swung it towards her.
She turned her face and danced backwards to get out of the way, but the end of the bow caught her on the head. Bright lights burst to life before her eyes even as the world grew gray and hazy around the edges. She willed her legs to keep moving. One more blow to her head would knock her out, and then she’d be dead.
She stumbled, caught herself before she could fall forward, kept moving. She could think only of putting distance between her and the Maddion, and so she almost fell into the hot springs. Her arms pinwheeled to keep her balance. Then, unable to hold herself up any longer, she went to her knees.
The strong mineral stench of the springs brought her part way back to her senses, enough so she noticed the Maddion’s footsteps approaching her, unhurried. He probably thought he had her, that one more blow would finish her.
She took a deep breath, pulling the rotten egg smell into her lungs and nearly gagging on it. It brought her back just enough that she fought the hazy gray that threatened to overtake her vision. I will fight to the end. When the Maddion stopped just behind her, her head was clear.
Malia whirled as she rose to her feet. She grabbed the Maddion’s tunic and pulled hard, sending him tumbling towards the hot springs.
The blades protruding from his hand dug into her arm and pulled her along with him. She screamed as she fell into the warm pool after the Maddion.
* * *
Kushtrim found himself unsurprised by the Taakwa woman’s initial reaction to him, cowering behind a tree. But then she fought back. A grudging respect built for her until she fell to her knees beside the hot springs. She was so close to the healing waters, and yet she didn’t use them. He couldn’t understand why. He hadn’t thought she was that dazed even when she stumbled away from him.
So he’d approached her. He hated the thought of killing her while her back was to him, but she was only a woman after all. So he raised the crossbow and started to bring it down when she suddenly turned on him and pulled him off balance.
He grabbed for her as he fell into the water, not wanting her to escape. He’d show her dead body to the men who followed her like a bunch of soft boys clinging to their mother. And as he took a great gulp of rotten egg scented air before falling into the water, he grinned. His battered body would be healed. His disease would be no more. And with all his strength available, he’d make short work of this woman and the rest of the Taakwa.
He pushed the woman’s head down, wondering of she’d be able to drown or if the healing water would somehow prevent it.
His lungs began to burn, not from holding his breath, but from the disease. The urge to cough came over him and drove him to the surface. He let go of the woman as he kicked his legs and arms. When he surfaced, he took a great gulp of air. His body drew up tight as racking coughs shook him.
He spat up blood. A wad of it floated on the water and drifted away. Okpairo’s words came back to him. Some of the men doubted the springs’ healing abilities. The frozen hand of doubt clutched his heart. What if Okpairo had been right? What if the springs had no healing power?
No, they had to. The scrolls—the voices of their ancestors—would never lie. Perhaps only some of the springs had healing power, or maybe even just one spring had healing power. Yes, that had to be it. Kushtrim had yet to find the right source.
The woman must know where the healing spring was. He would make her take him to it, then kill her. If she hadn’t drowned. It was hard to make out shapes beneath the water. Their struggle had kicked up a lot of dirt. About to dive back underwater, he took a
deep breath.
That’s when a leather strap, two feathers hanging from it, swept over his head, around his neck, and pulled tight. He hadn’t any idea the woman was so strong.
* * *
Malia didn’t know why the Maddion suddenly let her go, but she took advantage of it to kick her way towards the side of the pool and surface, her intention to get out and get away.
He was coughing, a horrible, harsh sound. She realized he was seriously ill. And yet he’d fought so well. She shuddered to think how strong he would be if he were healthy.
She began to climb out of the pool when she thought of what damage he might still be capable of if left alive. What if he found another dragon and took to the air? What if he found any of the Taakwa or Jeguduns, vulnerable in their joined state, and killed them?
She could bring somebody back here to take care of him. But what if he wasn’t here when she returned? Her earlier unanswered calls told her either nobody was nearby, or if they were, they were engaged in their own battles. It was up to her to stop this Maddion.
Somewhere along the way she’d lost her dagger. That left her with … nothing. Her hand rose to Tuvin’s feather to fiddle with it as she thought.
She had the leather strap. The Maddion had so much trouble breathing as it was, he might easily succumb to having his air cut off. She loosed the strap and, before she could rethink the plan, glided through the water towards him. The strap slid easily over his head and around his neck like a dagger into its sheath.
* * *
Kushtrim’s fingers tried to slip between the leather strap and the flesh of his neck, but to no avail. The woman … how could she be so strong?
He gave up on tearing the leather loose and reached behind him instead. Finding the woman’s body, he pulled her to him, her front to his back, as intimate as two people mating. She struggled against him while trying to keep hold of the strap around his neck, but Kushtrim had found a new reserve of power. And he had decided that if he was about to die, so was she.
Shards of History Page 24