The Fires of Vengeance

by Evan Winter

  She looked terrified, and seeing her that way tore Tau in two. Relief ran through him that her sacrifice would save Tsiora, but pacing his relief was his shame at how easily he’d come to value the queen’s life over another’s.

  Seeking some reprieve from the shame, Tau split his mind in two, flashing back to Uhmlaba, where he saw that Kellan’s Indlovu were facing Odili’s fighters. The time difference between realms meant that he could only view the battle in discrete moments, and watching a war fought in frozen glimpses turned the expected nightmare of battle into something even more ghoulish.

  The killing fields were covered with the dead, lying like unearthed worms across the ground as smoke cocooned the air like massive spiderwebs. Men, their mouths yawning wide in endless screams, died for an eternity, and in the sky was Black Wrath, not far from the city, its domes, and …

  Tau snapped the whole of his mind back into Isihogo. “Another dragon!” he shouted, calling to Tsiora and Nyah. “It came from the mountains and is flying over the city. Queen Tsiora, it’s coming for your dragon!”

  “Another …” Tsiora went quiet and Tau guessed she was seeing through Black Wrath’s eyes. “Such vicious treachery,” the queen said.

  “Odili didn’t use every Hex, did he?” Nyah asked.

  “He did not,” Tsiora said. “He was attacking us in phases.”

  Tau named them in his head, the surprise attack aided by dragon fire, the sacrificial Edifiers to overwhelm Tsiora’s Gifted with demons, and the masterstroke, the dragon held in reserve to finish them once they’d lost the ability to call Guardians of their own.

  “The Edifiers over here are dead,” called Yaw from the other side of the circle of Ayim. “The demons are coming for us.”

  “We have to leave,” said Tau as an Edifier in front of him fell and Nyah lost her shroud, her soul’s glow seeming luminous, beautiful, and vulnerable. “We can’t hold the circle against this many.”

  “We said we wouldn’t leave before, and now we cannot, not if Odili has a Guardian,” Tsiora said.

  The shame Tau had felt earlier vanished, replaced by a worry so deep it shook him to his core. Tsiora was going to stay in the underworld past the point where her Hex could save her.

  “Protect the queen,” Nyah said. “Protect her and the Hex.”

  “I can’t lose her again …,” Tau said, his mind melding the past and present. “I can’t—”

  “Tau!” Nyah said, tearing him from the past. “Champion Solarin, do your duty.”

  He couldn’t make it go away, the memories and the pain that came with them. He tried to do as he must regardless. “Ayim, tighten the circle. Nothing passes your blades.”

  In mere breaths, the Ayim did as they were bid, the light of the last Edifier went dark, and as if a balance was being struck, the shrouds of those Tau was meant to protect failed, sending out enough light to push back the encroaching dark, enough light to provoke the things that had been hidden in it.

  Only the queen still wore her ebon armor, and though she was safe for the moment, the mercy was a small one. The demons, those within sight as well as the ones still half wrapped in the mists, crept closer, possessed with a need to snuff out all the lights they could see.

  The first wave hit hard, and the Ayim’s saving grace was that the demons sought to kill them in small skirmishes versus overwhelming them in numbers. Demons did not think in tactics like women and men, and it seemed random chance as to whether they worked together to secure a kill or resorted to dueling for one, fighting by themselves and for themselves only.

  The Ayim had the advantage in that. Themba would fight to save Auset and Auset would fight to save him. Uduak protected Tau’s back and Tau could team with Jabari to slaughter larger foe. Ramia and Yaw did the same, shoring up the other’s weaknesses and bolstering their sword sibling’s strengths.

  And they held for a time. It felt like a season, but Tau doubted it was a hundredth of a sun span. The only thing he knew for sure was that he fought the demons with everything he had in his heart, spirit, and soul. The only things he knew for sure were that he could not give in and that they’d still get him anyway.

  Unable to help them, he watched as Yaw, Themba, and Ramia died to demon talons, teeth, and torture. Unable to help, he watched as first two, then three, then four of the Gifted in Tsiora’s Hex were killed, in Isihogo and Uhmlaba. He came close to watching Nyah die but pulled the demon off her and fought it back before it was able to tear out her throat.

  “Tsiora!” he bellowed.

  “We are trying,” she said, and Tau wanted to flash back to Uhmlaba to see what that meant, but the throng of demons was too thick and then Uduak fell, dragged under by a foul sea of beasts.

  “Back to back,” Tau said to the Ayim, shoving Nyah up against the surprisingly solid bounds of Tsiora’s shroud. “Auset, Jabari, back to back, protect that Gifted!” He pointed to the young woman whose shroud had been first to fail, thanking the Goddess that she’d survived when other Gifted had not.

  We have to protect the sacrifice, he thought as she was wrenched from the circle, swarmed, and torn apart, taken from Isihogo and Uhmlaba both, equally dead in both.

  That came close to breaking Tau, and his worry got worse when a light behind him flared so brightly it felt tangible, like it was pressing against his back. Daring death, he turned away from the demons and looked over his shoulder to see.

  Tsiora’s shroud had failed, and though she stood beside Nyah, he saw her alone. She was so beautiful. She was so … he’d lost Zuri this way.

  “Odili’s Guardian is dead,” Tsiora said.

  “Leave, then,” Tau said. “Leave.”

  “We can’t. Our Guardian will not release us, and there is no one to take our place.”

  With hopelessness clawing at him, Tau lowered his swords.

  “Tau!”

  Heeding Auset’s warning, he wheeled away from a demon’s bite and struck it three times in rapid succession, dropping it to the dirt. Turning to thank Auset for saving him, Tau saw a demon dragging what was left of her into the mists.

  That left Tau and Jabari, standing against the legion of demons. Everywhere Tau looked he saw them and the hunger in their faces. They were waiting, sending in one or two to nip at them, hoping to catch them unawares and drag them off. It was misery, torturous misery.

  “Queen Tsiora,” Tau said. “The circle is broken. Leave now or never.”

  “We’re being held here,” she said. “But so too do we hold to our Guardian. We’ve sent it to burn down the city gates, compelling it so fiercely that, though the demons may take us before the work is done, she will not stop burning until the gates fall.”

  In a shout, the first sound he’d made in the underworld, Jabari was taken down and dragged into the mists. Nyah was closest to him, and she reached out. Their fingertips touched and they scrabbled to keep hold of each other, but then Jabari was wrenched back and out of sight.

  Nyah moved forward, thinking she could still help him, and Tau yelled for her to get back. The vizier was corporeal in the underworld, and if the demons got her, she’d die in both realms.

  “Your promise, Champion,” Nyah said to him. “Will you keep them safe? Will you keep my girls safe?”

  Tau’s eyes went wide. The only reason Nyah needed him to take care of Tsiora and her daughter was because she wouldn’t be there to do it herself.

  “I swear it to you. I swear it to the Goddess,” he said, grieving already. “I’ll give my life before I’ll surrender theirs. Just help her. Save Tsiora.”

  Nyah turned to the queen. “Before it’s too late,” she said. “Do what must be done!”

  “No, we … I will not,” Tsiora said. “I won’t do this to you.”

  “Tsiora, it’s not you I’m asking,” Nyah said. “I’m speaking to my queen, the queen of the Omehi people, because she’ll do whatever it takes to be there for her people. She’ll do it, always.”

  Tsiora shook her head, staring at Nyah
as if in shock.

  “Goddess keep you, Tsiora,” she said.

  “Nyah …,” whispered Tsiora, pleading with the woman who’d helped raise her. “Nyah …,” said the queen of the Omehi as she shunted all of her power into her vizier.

  The sudden burst of light was blinding enough to push the demons back, and, eyes burning, Tau shielded his face. Her power drained, and glowing faintly, Tsiora dropped to her knees, exhausted, defeated, stricken.

  “Nyah, I love you,” she said, winking out of Isihogo’s existence.

  With Tsiora safe, Tau moved as close to Nyah as he could, and, swords raised, he stood in front of her, hoping the demons behind them wouldn’t come.

  “I can give you some time,” he said. “Maybe you can—”

  “The Guardian has me,” she said. “I’m done.”

  Tau shook his head. “As long as I stand, you will too.”

  Nyah didn’t seem to hear. She was staring out around her. “They’re not attacking. Tau, you have this chance. Exhale and leave this cursed place.”

  She was right. The demons were holding themselves back, and Tau didn’t understand why until he saw a group of them shift left or right, clearing a path so that, from the mists, the one with the ring of horns about its head had an unimpeded way forward.

  It had no eyes but its steps were sure, and it was dragging its oversized Guardian-scale blade in its left hand. Behind it, the blade’s point scored Isihogo’s blighted ground, cutting a furrowed line through its murk.

  “You?” Tau asked it.

  “Oh Goddess,” said Nyah, her voice trembling. “Try to leave, Tau. Don’t stay here with me. Don’t stay here with it.”

  Tau shook his head, spat on the ground, and loosened his wrists. Nyah would not die alone.

  POWERLESS

  They were waiting for you,” Tau said to the demon with the dragon-scale blade.

  It came on.

  “Tau …,” said Nyah.

  “This is a duel, yes?” Tau asked it. “It’s to be a contest between us?” He twirled his swords. “I’ll play, but for stakes.”

  The horned one came on, sword splitting the ground behind it.

  “If I win, you let her go,” Tau said, pointing to Nyah. “If I win—”

  The horned one swung its massive sword in an overhand arc with so much force the air around Tau sucked at him as he threw himself aside. Missing him, the weapon’s edge struck the ground like a lightning strike, the blade blasting two or three handspans into the ground, and the horned one ripped it free like it was nothing, tearing up heavy gouts of muck when it swung the blade at Tau again.

  Tau leapt back and the blade’s point strafed past his midsection, three fingerspans from cleaving him open, and Tau shouted over the winds to it.

  “If I win—”

  The horned one sent the sword back the other way, and Tau had had enough. He dashed in, avoiding the heft of the swing, and, raising his weak-side sword to block the blow near its demented hilt, Tau stabbed out with his strong side. The demon’s blade connected with his blocking one and Tau’s forearm snapped in two.

  As his arm broke, Tau’s strong-side sword, the stabbing one, was knocked aside by the horned demon’s hand, the demon moving so quickly Tau had no time to react when it parried or when it reversed its motion to slap him across the head and neck, sending him spinning through the air to crash down several strides away.

  Tau tried to scream when he landed. He’d fallen on his broken arm, and what was left of the bone had shattered on impact. But the only sound he managed was an agonized lowing. The demon’s slap had crushed his jaw, leaving his tongue hanging helpless from the side of his mutilated mouth.

  Tau turned to Nyah, trying to resist the pain exploding through him, and knew how bad the damage was when he saw her face. Her hand was over her mouth, her eyes were wide, and she was shaking her head as if to deny the hateful things she was being shown.

  Refusing to be beaten, Tau staggered to his feet, moaning with the pain his every movement caused his mangled arm and jaw. He’d lost his weak-side sword but had held fast to his strong-side one. With it in hand, he stumbled his way to Nyah’s side, standing in front of her, blocking the horned one’s path.

  He raised his sword, positioning it defensively, and the horned one attacked, dashing in and closing the distance between them before Tau could blink. His sword, held too high for the demon’s incoming blow, wobbled uselessly when the horned one thundered a fist into Tau’s chest, launching him back and off his feet, splintering his ribs, and caving his chest clean in.

  He must have blacked out, because he didn’t remember hitting the ground. He just knew he was coughing up blood, unable to breathe, and that he’d never known so much pain.

  Still, drawing in air that felt thick as sludge, Tau rolled to his left, and using his good arm, he pushed his way to his knees. The horned one was between him and Nyah. The other demons were moving again, coming for her.

  Tau, moaning and blubbering, making whatever noises he could from his dangling mouth, got to his feet, picked up his fallen sword, and, unable to bring air into the lungs he’d punctured by standing, realized he was drowning in his own blood.

  “It’s enough, Tau,” Nyah said. “It’s enough.”

  The demons, set loose by some unheard signal, sped for her, Nyah closed her eyes, and Tau stumbled to her defense.

  He didn’t see, sense, or know that the horned one had moved, but one moment Tau was running and the next he was lifted in the air, skewered on that massive, twisted black blade. The horned one tilted its weapon upward, and beyond the scope of more suffering, Tau felt nothing as his body slid wetly down the dragon scale, stopping when he hit the sword’s hilt.

  The horned one brought its eyeless face to his, coating him in the reek of rancid flesh burning, and Tau tried to turn away but didn’t have the strength. The only grace in it, Tau thought with a dying mind, was that he was past the point of pain.

  Then Nyah’s screams, her voice filled with agony and fear, broke the fugue of Tau’s ending, and her cries damned him. They damned his failures, his weakness, and as he listened to her die a true death, Tau Solarin learned that he had not been anywhere near the limits at which he could be hurt.

  WAYWARD

  Tau opened his eyes and looked up at Tsiora’s face. She was holding him, cradling him, and crying. He tried to sit up, needing to tell her about Nyah and the horned demon, but his body and mind were not yet gathered and his limbs spasmed instead of obeying. His lips and tongue weren’t working right either, and he found that there was little he could move besides his eyes. Unwilling to wait for his body to be his again, but afraid of what he’d see, Tau wrenched his gaze away from Tsiora and toward the place where the vizier had been standing.

  Nyah was not standing. She was on the ground, her body riddled with ruptured boils, her face slack, and her eyes, unseeing and stained with red tears, unfocused.

  She was dead.

  “C-cover her,” Tau said, the words spluttering from numb lips. “Cover her.”

  It was Jabari who did it. The rest of the Ayim were still recovering, the Gifted who’d left Isihogo before the slaughter seemed stunned, and the Queen’s Guard were reluctant to go near the dead Gifted.

  Jabari moved with gentleness and purpose. He closed Nyah’s eyes, covered her face, and then did the same for the five Gifted who had belonged to Tsiora’s Hex. By the time the Petty Noble was done with the dead, Tau was well enough to sit up.

  He was still in Tsiora’s arms, and he put his arms around her. They stayed like that, holding each other, and it hurt Tau to feel her body shaking as she cried. He closed his eyes, wishing the whole day and night were some horrible dream from which he could wake, and that was when he heard the flaps of the queen’s tent rustle.

  His heart dropped and he called to the Queen’s Guard. “The tent,” he said, but it was too late.

  The flaps opened, and there was his mother with Chibuye.

  “
Queen Tsiora?” the girl said, recoiling when she noticed the bodies of the dead Gifted.

  Tau saw the child’s gaze move from body to body, Gifted robe to Gifted robe, and he saw the exact moment when she recognized her mother’s robes. He saw it in her mouth, opening slightly, in her eyes, filling with tears, and in her body, stiffening, tightening, registering that the world had suddenly and irrevocably changed. He was there the moment a child knew her parent had died.

  “Mama? Mama?! Mama!”

  Tsiora left his arms, going to Chibuye. She went to her knees in front of the girl and tried to hug her. The child fought it.

  “What happened to Mama? Why is her face covered? What happened to her?”

  Tsiora tried to speak to her, tried to find the right words. She managed one. “Gone,” she said, and the child, too small a thing to withstand the crushing weight of its meaning, collapsed into the queen.

  Tau got to his feet and the world spun round him. They’d lost so many. They’d lost so, so many.

  He heard the queen’s voice, flat, uninflected. “General Buhari, our dragon felled the city’s gates, and the way is open. Send in our army.”

  Hadith resisted. “My queen, yes, the gates are down, but Odili’s fighters are retreating. If we hold back, we can regroup, tend our wounded. We can launch a planned and concerted attack come morning. Odili’s forces can’t repair the damage to the gates and walls, and by taking what’s left of the night to recover, we’ll spare lives on both sides. We’ll spare—”

  “Take the city, General,” the queen told him, her flat affect replaced with bronze. “Take the city and send the Goddess back Her wayward children. Send them back to Her, one and all.”

  They had lost so, so many because of Abasi Odili, thought Tau, opening his eyes to find Hadith looking to him, waiting for him. His mother, facing him too, gave him an upward nod, telling him to go, and Tau would have sworn she could see him, see into him, even without her eyes.

  Tau turned to Hadith. A decision needed to be made, he had promises to keep, and the queen had made her wishes clear. “You have your orders, General Buhari,” he said. “Take the city.”