Jena quickly looked away. She did not like staring at it, and was clearly not the only one who felt that way. A crowd had formed, but most onlookers averted their eyes from the darkening shadow and manifest malignance.
The man before it did not shy away, however, nor avert his eyes as did the others. His mouth formed one last crooked snarl. Then the demon’s left forearm streaked through the air in a quick, horizontal arc, followed by the right. Its movements were difficult to see clearly; the effects were not. First, the man’s throat was opened, then his forehead. A sliver of skull smoothly slipped away, exposing the soft matter within. Already dead, the tribesman dropped to his knees as those forearms needlessly lashed out twice more.
The dismemberment continued as the body collapsed to the bloody grass. The reaver sliced away bits and pieces with no particular hurry to finish the gruesome task, its motions one long series of blurs interspersed with pauses to taste its bloody handiwork.
Jena watched as much as she could, with a purpose, trying to follow its movements. Studying them, measuring the speed and precision, in case one day she might fight this demon. Hopefully not alone, for she did not think she could win.
The moaning on the ground brought awareness back to her companion’s predicament. The Archon and others stood above the whimpering form. Not gently, the halfman bent down and took the injured leg in his oversize hands. Roughly pushing the palms together, the swollen joint was forced back into place. Summersong cried out in pain, writhed once, then calmed both body and speech. As the Chekik stood and walked away, she sat up and tried to straighten the injured limb.
Jena kneeled beside her. So did Redjack. The harpa looked from one to the other, then raised her arms to allow herself to be lifted. By the traitor.
He cut the length of rope that bound her in place, then wrapped an arm around her back and helped her awkwardly limp away from the scene and into his tent.
Breathless, mind numbed by all that had happened, Jena stared at the quieting camp. She had not been overly friendly with Summersong, to be sure, but this rejection still stung.
On further reflection, however, she could not blame the other woman for giving in to the only person who could help. Unlikely as it was that he meant what he said about saving the trader, any chance of survival was better than Jena could offer.
The abandonment meant she was truly alone, however. She had not considered the presence of the other woman to be worth much, until now that it was missing.
The reaver was gone, as were all the tribesmen. No doubt returned to their tents, pretending to forget what they had witnessed.
Snarl’s corpse, too, was gone, having been completely consumed by the ravenous demon. Now the only signs remaining were the many patches of grass stained red.
An unusual silence had fallen over the camp. A stillness of motion, suggesting Jena was the only being in the universe.
Then she looked down at the unconscious man. No, she was not alone. He would awaken eventually, not that it mattered. She did not even want to know his name.
The darkness of night had come without her noticing. A mild breeze blew across the plains. Despite the unnaturally rising temperature, Jena shivered.
She awoke in the morn, unsure when she had fallen asleep. To her surprise, she noticed Summersong sleeping nearby. He’s already grown tired of her, Jena thought bitterly. That’s too bad.
The harpa and the man woke at the same time, just as the raiders were breaking up camp. Before introductions or explanations could be made, however, Redjack and another tribesman approached the three prisoners. “Be prepared to leave soon,” he ordered. “Figure out a way to keep up.”
“She can’t walk without assistance,” Jena said. “Cut my bonds so I can help her.”
The traitor stared back for a moment, then barked an order at his companion. Alas, the man cut the rope from around the magistrate’s wrists, not Jena’s.
“Don’t trust you,” Redjack said to her. He took a few steps away, then looked back at Summersong as she struggled to pull herself upright by the stake to which the prisoners were secured. “Ungrateful bitch.” He spat on the grass and left them alone.
If the newest prisoner had any questions about the strange state of affairs in which he found himself, they went unspoken. Instead, he merely blinked at the sky as stupidly as a head of cattle.
“Help her,” Jena told him angrily.
Summersong finished pulling herself upright and leaned against the stake. She waved him away. “I’m all right, for now.” In stark contrast to her words, she appeared likely to topple back over. How she would keep pace throughout the day was a problem beyond Jena’s knowledge or concern.
Disgusted by both her companions, she turned her mind back to the helplessness of her own circumstances. Everything about them felt impossible—but she remembered another time that had been equally bleak. Yet she and Yohan had survived.
“My Princess, could you lend me a hand?”
That the woman did not ask for assistance from the one whose hands were unbound was an irritant, but Jena did not refuse.
She leaned close, waiting for the harpa to slip a hand around her waist. Instead, it quickly slid down to the pocket, and Jena felt a tiny object slide back into place. She froze, even as the hands now reached around her neck, the rope which bound the wrists helping to secure them in place. “Ready,” Summersong announced.
“Thank you,” Jena whispered. Then she straightened up, allowing her companion to balance herself between one good leg and one grateful princess. If she began to stumble, Jena was prepared to carry her all the way to Threefork.
But the raiders were not yet ready to start moving, after all. Instead, there was more yelling and staring about than usual. Jena wondered whether the horrors of the eve before were taking a toll on discipline.
“Moon and stars,” Summersong mumbled to herself.
“What’s happening?” the new prisoner asked. Jena shook her head.
“I can’t make out every word,” Summersong said. “I haven’t yet learned their language as well as I’d like. But it seems last night’s patrol never came back.”
Her eyes met Jena’s, and they both hid their smiles.
2
Surface
Though thick trees and broken clouds obscured the view of the stars above, Calla spoke for all of them. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”
How many tendays they had spent below, Jak did not know. He had stopped counting before they left the followers of Versatz Tempus, and many more had passed since. Three exhausted, hapless refugees wandering through tunnel and ruin with little hope and less spirit, taking food and shelter where it could be found, often going without both, avoiding the all-too frequent signs of life below, until miraculously stumbling upon a way out—one of the few entryways from the world above left unsealed many generations before.
“I had forgotten how many there were,” she continued, staring reverentially above. “Hundreds and hundreds. So much light shining through so much dark.”
“You know what they are?” Jak asked.
“Of course. There is Father Gi and Mother Thalassa, who gave birth to the world…and the Midwife, who protects children. The Navigator, who guides sailors through the—”
“They’re the gods,” Jak said. And the devils.
“The gods?”
“Aye. See that cluster through the break in the clouds? There, Calla… See how they form a bifurcated line? That’s the two tails of a scorpion, the symbol of Kron.”
“Kron’s no scorpion, silly.”
“To some he is.” But Jak did not care to press the matter further.
“There, what’s that one?” She giggled as she pointed, enjoying the fancy of the moment. And why not? To be above ground, surrounded by living trees and industrious nightbugs…this was a feeling unlike any Jak could remember. Let the future worry about itself, for a change.
“We can’t see all of it, but that’s one of the feathers
of Ith…of Orkus, god of wisdom.” Whose Eye I carry.
“Orkus,” she said in marvel. “How Da loved him.” She spoke with a smile, but Jak watched the sadness silently settle over her features.
Kluber joined them, filling the vacuum with questions of his own.
“How did they get there, I wonder?”
“The legends contradict themselves on that point. Some say the gods came from above, their souls in the stars but their bodies on earth. Thus, always divine.”
“And the others?”
“The others say they were mortals who ascended to the heavens—by leading such extraordinary, exemplary lives that others began to worship them. And in the worshiping, lifted them to divinity.” Whether corrupted by power later, or always corrupt, it makes no difference. They’re all devils now.
Kluber, distracted by something, no longer seemed to be listening. “Jak, what’s that one?”
Jak saw where Kluber pointed, and was momentarily confused. The star blazed as brightly as any, yet did not correspond to the charts he had studied in the Pantheons of Ra’Cheka, nor to anything he recalled from his childhood.
“I must admit I don’t know,” he said. “It’s new.”
“A new star?” Kluber asked in marvel. “Does that happen?”
“Maybe it’s Kleo,” Calla said.
Jak looked away from the sky, taking a step away from his companions. A pressure squeezed painfully on his heart, as he was sure it did for the two of them. He doubted very much that the strange new star was the beloved companion they had lost below, but if anyone he knew deserved to ascend to the heavens, it was one who had sacrificed herself for the good of humanity.
If so, perhaps her selflessness was a sign that someone could indeed become an object of worship without succumbing to the corruptions of power. It was something to hope for, at least. He needed that.
The stretch of forest they occupied was much like that of their former home. Immense older growth mixed with small and new, the air thick with the scent of pine and spruce. A stream trickled nearby, and the buzz of insects provided a continuous low din. This was the type of setting that Jak should have felt comfortable in. But something unnamable bothered him about it.
“The air grows heavy,” Kluber said. “Rain coming.”
“Aye.”
“Where are we, Jak?” Calla asked.
He shook his head. “I don’t know. Far from Shady Glen, that’s for sure. But I doubt we’ve walked far enough to leave Falkenreach. Let’s camp here for now. We can set out at first light.”
Yet there was very little light when they awoke. Whether less time had passed since the solstice than he believed, or simply from bad weather, the day dawned with disappointing dreariness. The three set about the rituals of existence with little conversation, a sense of malaise that matched the weather threatened to affect their mood.
There was little Jak could do about the dampness soaking through his clothing. The robes they wore were large and loose, but stuck uncomfortably to the skin on the shoulders and back.
The itching on his face and neck, however, had an easy solution. He squatted on a fallen tree trunk and drew out the knife that had served so many purposes.
Itchiness was bad enough—but if his growing beard looked anywhere near as scruffy as Kluber’s, it had to go.
Raising knife to cheek, Jak tried to hold his hand steady. The blade had drawn his blood enough times already. He did not want this to be another.
He felt a gentle hand on his forearm, and turned to look into Calla’s deep brown eyes.
She smiled—the first genuine smile he could remember for ages—and shook her head. “Don’t. I like this.” Her fingers brushed over the thick stubble. “Makes you look older.”
He put down the knife, still staring at her face, concentrating. Jak loved tender little moments like these, and wanted to seal this one in his memory forever. Those eyes, her countenance, but mostly the smile. How long had he loved that face? Longer than he had admitted to himself, certainly. But not so long as he would go on loving it.
Events had taken a toll on her, however. She had behaved with growing agitation in recent days, and Jak noticed she spent more time apart from her male companions. He and Kluber let her have some distance, in silent respect for all she had been through.
Thankfully, she showed none of that irritability now, and her simple good nature could not be denied. Jak put the knife away. The itch was something he could live with.
The noise of heavy rain sounded off all around them. The canopy of leaves shielded them from the worst, but the downpour quickly became a deluge.
“I think I miss being underground!” Calla cried out. But she giggled in good humor, and even Kluber grinned for the first time in ages.
“Come on,” Jak suggested. “Let’s follow the stream.”
The deep immersion in nature allowed them to forget the trials of below, yet Jak’s active mind would not let him lose sight of his chosen purpose. There was still much to learn, but the beginnings of a plan were already forming. He had led his companions out of danger. Now that they were free to find new lives in whatever community they chose, he could focus on himself. And the devils.
Each part of Ra’Cheka, the underworld empire far beneath their feet, had its own Pantheon dedicated to the accumulation of lore and worship of the divines. These libraries were a trove of insight and wisdom, and Jak had lingered at each for days, until the persistent tugging of his companions pulled him away. Most of the books and scrolls contained therein were as decayed as the buildings around them, but each one had a magically sealed sanctum where much was preserved. Along with the discovery of secret keys to access these sacred chambers—a discovery made with Kleo’s help, he remembered with sadness—the artifact Jak now carried allowed him to unlock the knowledge of bygone eras, no matter the language they were written in.
That was the other problem with the books in those libraries, however. They were written long ago by ancient cultures, and many things had changed in the intervening centuries.
What he really needed access to were the great libraries of Imperial cities. He felt certain that more recent scholarship would fill in the missing pieces in his understanding.
Vast worlds had opened up for an illiterate youth. Jak had always thought of himself as a bit of a flat, but Disciple Hobbes once told him otherwise—that Jak was, in fact, the sharpest pupil to ever enter the temple. Now he did not know what to believe. Just thinking about the difference in his education in the span of one season made his head spin.
As if she could read his thoughts, Calla made her offer for the dozenth time. “Let me teach you to read. We have time, now.”
He shook his head. “I thank you, but I still don’t see the need. I have the Eye—”
She scowled, and he closed his mouth. She did not approve of his using the mystical object. She had never approved, even before learning how he willingly cut himself in his devotions to the devils. She did not understand that these things were all part of a higher plan—a plan to save her and others from the malignant whims of evil overlords.
“I want you to stop using that stone,” she said. “I want you to promise to stop. You don’t need it, if you let me teach you.” A pleading quality entered her tone, and he knew how important this was to her. But he had made a vow, and to do as she asked would be an unacceptable setback.
Yet to explain all that without hurting her feelings was no easy task. “I love you, Calla, but I won’t make that promise.”
She stared at him blankly, until he realized what he had done.
“Did you say you love me?”
“What I meant was—”
“I love you, too. I think that’s important information, don’t you?”
A burden he had not known he carried suddenly slipped from his shoulders. An oppression of a lifetime transformed into a sensation that felt so good, he had difficulty accepting it could happen in the midst of so much suffering.
It was also interrupted by Kluber’s announcement. “Someone approaches.”
Sure enough, Jak heard a feminine voice, calling out to them. Or was it speaking out to the woods?
Neither. It was singing.
In sudden fascination at the sight of another living person, they mutely watched a thin, middle-aged woman carrying a basket of laundry to the stream. Seemingly oblivious to their presence, she finished the ditty and kneeled at the water’s edge. She lifted the first item of clothing, examined it for a few seconds, then dipped it into the water. Only then did she address the three slack-jawed strangers.
“You don’t look like you belong here,” she said. “Though come to think of it, none of the things I’ve seen these last tendays make much sense. I’d worry that you come to rob us, but we have nothing to take.”
“We don’t come to rob you,” Calla said.
“But if you have any food you might share with us, that would be appreciated.” Kluber added.
The woman shook her head and answered abruptly. “Nay, we don’t.” She studied them for a long moment, then sighed. “Well, Gronen is hunting. These days, he usually comes back with nothing. The forest has changed, you may have noticed. But if he has a good day…well, I suppose we ought to help strangers.”
The reluctance showed not only in her words but in her posture, and was a source of many questions for Jak. Yet for now, he let his companions do the talking. Calla was especially good at soothing frayed nerves and reaching the best inner nature of others. While she moved closer to speak with the woman, he reseated himself on the trunk and considered their next steps.
Survival, first. Civilization, next. A city—whether Varborg or somewhere else. He needed to find out where they were and the state of the world. And warn everyone of the demon invasion, if by chance they did not already know.
Shield and Crown Page 6