Suddenly, a flaming branch connected with the bat’s head so solidly that it nearly tumbled off its hapless victim. Kluber swung a second time, and the force of this blow finished the job. He dropped the branch to grab Margo by the shoulders and pull her away.
Jak stepped between them and the wounded velbat, hoping to take advantage of its momentary disorientation. Its wings opened clumsily, seeking either balance or flight. It mattered not to Jak, for he felt the burning inside his body blend with that of the tree, and he commanded the flames as if they were a part of him. They closed the distance in a split-second, bathing the demon in hot red light, forcing it to the ground just as it had done to countless others. The wings opened again, but there was no escaping the fire.
Feeling no joy, Jak watched its shrieks and flops diminish until all movement ceased entirely. There was only relief, and disbelief.
“We killed it,” he said. The smallest of victories, but the first time they had successfully fought back.
He stared down at his right palm. He had neglected to cut it in the confusion of Kluber’s attack. How, then, did I—
“Come on, Jak. We should hurry.” Kluber tugged at his arm with his free hand. The other arm was wrapped around Margo’s back, taking most of her weight as she struggled to recover.
“Why?” Jak did not understand the urgency. His mind was as cloudy as the skies above, as disorderly as the mass of refugees, as weak as the sun at winter solstice. “Why?” he repeated. “It’s dead.”
“I don’t think that’s what they’re fleeing.” Kluber’s voice trailed off as another hail of screams erupted from the road behind.
An unnatural mist had wound itself around the trees. From it, a large dark creature emerged, still blurry in the haze. Some breed of great bear, grown to enormous proportions. Though wounded, judging by its awkward motions.
Jak relaxed, for even a giant bear would cause no trouble to armed soldiers. It might even be another innocent fleeing the real danger, deeper inside the woods. If the animal was hurt, he might even be able to help it.
Jak took several steps forward before his wits were fully returned, then stopped in his tracks. This was no bear, after all. Its shambling gait was not only awkward, it was all wrong. So was its fur, a mix of brown hide and black scales. The malformed legs were short and stumpy, better suited to reptile than mammal.
The mighty head turned, and Jak thought he might have been looking at a giant lizard. Its eyes met his, and a forked tongue whisked across the muddy earth.
This, then, was a blend of two animals, and both parts were angry. Its existence had become a vulgarity, a torture, and it sought retribution on anyone in its path.
A crossbow bolt thudded into its flank, embedding deep within the patchy fur. The beast’s response was a monstrous growl and another twitch of the tongue. Then it loped forward, far faster than those stunted legs appeared capable.
As frozen by astonishment as were most of the onlookers, Jak could only watch the confrontation unfold before his eyes. The velbeast charged toward the outriders, knocking aside several panicked civilians and scattering the rest.
The three gendarmes faced the threat with admirable fortitude. Those on foot moved to either side, positioning themselves on opposite flanks, while the mounted officer drew the monster’s attention. He fired another bolt, solidly hitting the creature’s head, but ricocheting off the scaly hide harmlessly.
Then the rider drew his sword and kicked his horse into motion, leaping forward with a yell. On the signal, his flanking companions started their own attacks.
With surprising strength, the velbeast launched itself at the horse, bringing down the animal and sending the man flying. Then the two other soldiers struck its sides with their swords. The first few slashes failed to penetrate its natural protection, but the young woman quickly adapted her tactics and was able to drive her blade deep into the body with a determined thrust.
Her yell of triumph quickly changed to one of agony as the irate animal clamped its jaws around her thigh. In less than a second she was lifted off her feet, then tossed through the air like a broken stick.
The remaining gendarme took a single step back, then held his ground despite an expression of abject terror. The velbeast lunged forward, crushing him beneath its weight while the jaws went back to work. The young man desperately pushed away with useless arms, struggling to keep the massive head away from his own. Then he cried out as the savage teeth clamped down on one shoulder, tearing through mail and meat.
The whole fight had not lasted long, but the sacrifice of the gendarmes bought time for most of the refugees to flee the area. Only a few remained, transfixed by the unfolding tragedy or too panicked to move. Soon they would all pay the price for their inaction, Jak foremost among them, if he did not run soon.
Kluber was pulling on his arm, yelling in his ear, but Jak could not hear.
The sudden change in fortune—from salvation to peril, then triumph to disaster—was wreaking havoc on his ability to think. And when thought failed, the habits of long years returned to the forefront. Gods help us, he prayed.
The contradiction sounded off inside his soul, snapping his mind back to reality. There were no gods. Not yet. There is only me. And I already made this decision. There will be no more running.
His breathing calmed. He felt his friend still tugging at him, but it appeared that Calla and the others were gone. That was good. They would be safe, if he could slow this thing down.
Jak pulled away from Kluber and stepped not toward the fighting, but to the burning tree. Reaching out his cut hand to the flames, he felt the burning pain as a mere dull throb. He did not feel himself fall to his knees, his corporal form suddenly insignificant. Though his eyes were closed, his senses clarified, and all of nature called out to him—the earth below, the rain and the mud, and especially the woods about. He spoke back to the trees, and they listened.
A splintering sound caught the attention of the velbeast, but too late to react. Poised above the wounded gendarme, it spun its grotesque head just in time to see the giant spruce come crashing down. Monster and man disappeared beneath tons of bark, needle, and cone. Then all was still.
Jak saw this without looking. His mind had formed the image, watched its progress, then gone blank. Alas, he was incapable of watching any other way. His neck would not turn, and his eyelids were far too heavy to open, just as his body was too heavy to stand.
He could hear the shouts of the others, however. Kluber was still beside him, holding Jak up as his legs tried to collapse completely. Then Calla’s voice joined the din, much closer than expected. She had not run away, after all. Only retreated to the trees with Margo, Mara, and the other refugees. They had watched everything.
Jak heard all their voices now—even quiet Simpa, asking her father if the man with the scary beard was going to die. It took a moment for Jak to realize she spoke of him.
Once again pulling away from Kluber, he felt the impact of soft earth on his palms. Leaning forward, mouth open, he emptied his stomach of its meager contents.
Though the air was wet and cold, sweat dripped down from his sweltering temples. He used his good hand to hold himself up. The other—bloody and burnt—he tucked inside his tunic to spare the children from the sight.
A different hand, soft and comforting, began rubbing his shoulder. Another slowly began stroking his ratty hair. Calla said nothing, but her presence meant everything.
“I had…no choice,” he mumbled.
She shushed him, then gently kissed the back of his neck. “There’s always a choice,” she whispered.
She doesn’t understand. Yet Jak was in no mood to argue, and her touch was more important than approval.
Slowly, he felt strength returning to his muscles. Aware that he was making a spectacle, knowing how much work remained, Jak decided this break had gone on long enough. He nodded and sat up straight. Calla squeezed his shoulder once, then let go. Jak tested his neck, lifted his fa
ce to the sky, and felt the soothing touch of light rain on his cheeks. At last, he forced open his eyes, fearful that his sight was forever lost.
The sky was gray, but lighter than he last recalled. The clouds were easing, for the moment. But soon there would be more beasts, more demons, and more darkness.
“I’m ready,” he said.
Jak’s damaged hand was hidden beneath bandages. His healthy hand was clenched tight in Simpa’s, her delicate fingers belying a surprising strength.
He enjoyed walking beside her more than any other. She spoke now with the bossiness of youth—usually to prompt him from one story to another—but her scant words were sweet music, and the child’s pace she set for them was the fastest he could manage. Jak’s muscles remained weak, and his balance was even slower in returning. Walking side-by-side, hand-in-hand with the little girl allowed him to hide his weakness from the others.
From Calla, in particular. She had never hidden her disapproval of his obsession with unnatural lore, even when it had only meant time away from his friends. She believed using the Eye of Orkus was affecting his mind and personality, despite all reassurances to the contrary. Now she had evidence that these powers did real injury to his body, which made his arguments far more difficult to maintain.
What she could not understand was that he did it for them. His entire life had been spent serving others, helping his masters and his friends. Surely, it was only natural that he would seek to defend them from harm, of which there was no shortage in these chaotic times.
“You stopped,” Simpa admonished him. “Go on.”
Jak grinned down at the face full of impatient curiosity. “Where was I?”
“The fox made a bargain.”
“Aye, that he did. Orkus. As the youngest and weakest of brothers and sisters, he sought more power for himself. Yet the others had taken everything for themselves—Tempus had fire, Kron the earth, Sola the sky, Todos death—”
“Da often talks to Kron.”
Jak nodded. “Aye, all those who work the land do. They ask Kron to give a bountiful harvest.” And the prayers fall on uncaring ears, for they know not how to really reach him.
“Go on,” she said again. “The fox…”
“Aye. As the youngest and weakest of—”
“You already said that part.”
At least he knew the girl was paying attention. “Orkus could not bully the others the way they did him, so he became accustomed to using his wits to get what he wanted. He out-clevered them, you might say. And therein discovered his answer. So Orkus went to his eldest brother Theus, who alone could bestow more power to his siblings. All that could be seen or touched was taken, but Orkus wished to command what could not. Wisdom. Cunning. Knowledge.”
Simpa scoffed. “Who needs those?”
Jak laughed. “Not as useful as a good hoe or sword, I grant you, but they have their place. Knowledge is letting me tell you this story, for example.”
Not far away, he heard Kluber chuckle. Glancing toward his friends, Jak even saw Calla smirk for an instant, before looking away. A welcome sight, and far too uncommon.
“But you’re right, Simpa. Wisdom has its limits. Orkus was still at the mercy of his brothers and sisters, who liked to torment him as only siblings can. This time he went to Kron and asked for protection—”
“Is Kron a fox, too?”
“Nay, Kron is a scorpion, with two tails.”
“How can a fox and scorpion be brothers?”
Because they aren’t really animals, those are just the forms made up by hrathans to make the devils more palatable. “What a great question, Simpa. I’m afraid I don’t know the answer. Do you still want to hear the rest?”
“Okay.” But he could tell she was disappointed in him. In her eyes, he was no longer the man who knew everything. That was probably for the best, since he knew almost nothing.
“Well, Kron asked for one favor after another. Orkus performed them all, and in the end his brother agreed to protect him. They made a pact that so long as Orkus touched the earth, Kron would shield him from harm.”
“Foxes can’t fly anyway.”
“Exactly. This was an easy offer for Orkus to accept, and so it is today. On those rare occasions when Orkus comes out of his hole, he does so with the safety that Kron provides.”
A commotion behind the weary flock put an end to the chatter. Everyone turned back to watch a dozen more walkers racing to catch up with Jak’s group, which had already swelled to fifty.
“What is it?” Kluber asked the nearest stranger, whose panic was written on his face.
“Kevik the Corrupt draws near,” came the response. “The devil himself, walking at the head of his army.”
“What nonsense,” Kluber replied. But Jak noticed he would not meet the eyes of his friends.
“Nay, it’s not nonsense.” The man became even more agitated. “I saw him myself. I stopped to…” He paused, glancing at the children. “For a call of nature. And when I was done, there he was. Nine feet tall, with a great stone sword just as large. Surrounded by demons of every size. Some walking, some flying, others crawling and wriggling. I ran to warn the others. We all ran…”
Jak had heard enough. It did not matter how much was true. What mattered is that Calla was crying, and clutching her belly. He took her hand and squeezed it. “Kluber’s right. Rumors and nonsense.”
But she would not stop crying. “I didn’t want this, Jak. I didn’t want to…” She hesitated.
This was as close to explaining what bothered her as she had yet come. He did not want to press her, but he also could not help without knowing more. “Talk to me, Calla.”
“The baby. It’s coming too fast. Far too fast. It’s going to be a monster. I know it is.”
“Nay, Calla. Any child of yours is going to be wonderful. And of Kevik the Kind’s. He was a great man, before the sword got to him.” In his own mind, Jak brushed away the conflict, for a murder had been committed before the sword came to Everdawn. He had long since chosen to believe that crime was an unfortunate accident by a confused boy, not an indication of a descent already well in progress.
She shook her head. “Poor Jak. You don’t understand.”
“What don’t I understand?” Far too much, it seems. Despite himself, Jak felt defensive. For himself—and for his master. “He was your betrothed. You wouldn’t have—”
“I…was marrying him because I thought I should. Not because I loved him.”
“You don’t mean that, Calla. You loved him as much as I did.”
“I loved the old Kevik. Not the one he became. Even before…this madness.”
Jak shook his head. “Love doesn’t work that way. When you love someone, you love the good and the bad. And there is a lot of good in Kevik.”
“I fear there is no longer.”
So do I. But I don’t want to believe it.
She came to him that night, and they shared apologies.
“You were right about love, Jak,” she whispered, not wanting to awaken the others. The group had crossed the border into Daphina, though safety seemed as remote as ever. By consensus—initiated at Jak’s advice—they would sleep for a few hours only, in case there was any truth to the rumor of Kevik’s march. Then there would be an extra-long day of walking ahead, and more after that.
“How so?” He had given up being right about anything.
“I love you—both the good and the bad.”
Here it comes.
“I want you to stop using these powers.”
“I do it only when I need to,” he protested. “Only to protect you and the others.”
She shook her head. “It isn’t worth it. You nearly killed yourself last time.”
“I’ll be more careful.”
“Nay, you won’t. I know you, Jak. You don’t know how to stop yourself.”
He could not really deny that. “I’ll try. I will.”
“Nay. You have to stop. I want you to promise me.”
Jak considered, but not for long. “I can’t make that promise, Calla. It’s the only way I can help the empire, and you, and our child to be. When we reach a city—Darleaux, or Chissenhall, or even Neublusten—then you’ll be safe, and I can return to the books—”
“That’s another thing. I want you to stop using the Eye.”
“What?” He noticed his own voice growing in volume, and lowered it again. “Without it, I can’t read.”
“Many times I have offered to teach you.”
It’s not that simple, Calla. How much time will that waste? And what if it turns out I’m incapable?
The Eye of Orkus was Jak’s most valued possession, the only reason he was capable of learning anything at all.
“Think of what that sword did to Kevik. I cannot bear the thought of the same thing happening to you.”
“It won’t—”
“Promise me, Jak.”
“I… I need to think on it, Calla.”
The disappointment on her face was evident enough even in the darkness of night. She only nodded, kissed his cheek, and lay down on her side.
Jak watched her eyes close, and wished that she could find peace in sleep, since there was none to be found anywhere else.
5
Akenberg
Unseasonably blue sky filled the days, the sparse, thin white streaming clouds providing more in the way of picturesque beauty than relief from the building heat.
Early spring in Akenberg was normally a time of fragrant growth and frequent showers, of buzzing industry and the deepening colors of nature. A time that lifted spirits with laughter, enthusiasm, and hope.
The sprawling grasslands west of the capital gave every indication that spring was well underway, that midseason had needed no precursor this year. Not merely were the skies stark and untroubled, but the warmth of afternoon already carried the hint of summer’s fiery edge.
At least the foliage still bloomed with optimistic radiance. Ahead, fields of green adorned by pockets of yellows and reds beckoned, catching one appreciative observer’s eye and bringing his inner sanguinity to the surface.
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