Every last one of them had sacrifices to make, some bigger than others, but it would all be for naught if Alderan didn’t save the world. He can’t save the world without me. The thought startled her and warmed her cheeks, but she couldn’t deny the truth of it.
The girl in the mirror would soon fade from existence, but she would survive. She must. I am his protector. The world rested on Alderan’s shoulders, but she lightened his load with her unyielding love and dedication to him.
She placed her hand on the mirror. I am coming, my love. Her reflection faded as the mirror’s surface grew wet and cold, and what lay beyond it left her breathless and petrified.
A dim corridor stretched before Rayah, its breadth wide. Black stone walls, floors, and ceilings extended beyond her vision. Black metal sconces hung from the walls at evenly-spaced intervals, alternating from one wall to the other. Torches burned, popped, and smoked in the sconces but offered little light to brighten the corridor.
Alderan?
A man dressed in black armor stepped into the corridor ten paces away. He glanced Rayah’s way and then took two steps in the opposite direction before wheeling back around. He squinted at her and lowered his pike.
“Halt!” He stormed toward her, his armor clanking together and his boots pounding the stone floor with each step.
He nearly came upon her before she roused from her stupor. She backed away from the mirror, ripe with fear. “Don’t come any closer.” Her voice croaked.
He poked his pike through the mirror, its tip little more than a foot from her midsection. “You dare bark orders at me?”
Rayah stepped back until her back touched the closest row of clothes. “Are you so foolish? I’m trying to save your life!”
The man snarled and stepped through the mirror. “You’re—”
His eyes widened, and his pike dropped from his hand, thumping against the wooden floor. His armor followed suit, piling on the floor with a loud crash. In a blink, nothing remained of him but a charred pile of ash.
The mirror’s surface returned to a reflection of the closet.
The stench of singed hair and burned flesh assaulted Rayah’s nostrils and stung her eyes. She gagged and coughed and shook her finger at the ashes. “This isn’t my fault. I warned you.”
Rayah huffed, stepped around the pile of armor, and faced the mirror once again. She raised her hand but couldn’t bring herself to touch the mirror again. Twice, she’d been attacked through a stupid mirror.
The closet started spinning as her past reared its ugly, forked-tongue head. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and her heart thundered in her ears, drowning out the world.
Buckled knees pulled Rayah to the floor as Sardis’s scaly arm slithered out of the past and wrapped around her throat. His clammy hand clamped over her mouth.
Sardis’s voiced hissed in the back of her mind. “He’sss dead.”
“No!” she screamed.
Chapter Four
Calen stood in front of the cold hearth, staring into the depths of darkness and blackened logs. The fire had died out several days ago, but he didn’t care. A fire might warm his extremities, but it’d do nothing for his cold and broken heart.
Three weeks ago, Master Savric had disappeared without so much as a parting word. He’d never done that before, and it both scared and hurt Calen. Soon after that, Calen’s aunt fell ill after tilling the garden under. Her skin began turning white, and her blue and purple veins turned black. In the last few days, she’d become unresponsive, keeping to her room and mumbling with incoherence. After several failed attempts, Calen finally persuaded the town’s natural healer, Erlich Mann, to come examine his aunt.
“Calen?”
Calen turned around and faced Healer Mann. “What’s wrong with her? What can I do?”
Healer Mann stood across the small room, his fingers lodged in his thinning, peppered hair. “Look, son, what I’m about to tell you will be hard to hear. As you might’ve heard, there are more than a hundred cases like your aunt’s in Daltura alone. What’s more disturbing is that it seems to be a widespread problem, daily reports coming in from across the Ancient Realm bearing similar news.”
Calen wiped his nose. “I know, but I need my aunt. What can you do for her?”
Healer Mann removed his spectacles and wiped his eyes and brow with a kerchief. His slumped shoulders dropped farther as he eyed Calen. “I must be brutally honest with you. It would be unfair otherwise.” He returned his spectacles to his face. “There’s nothing to be done because no one knows what’s wrong with them.”
Calen stalked forward with his hands clenched at his sides. Anger brewed in the pit of his stomach and rose into his chest, tightening it. “There must be something you can do for her.”
Healer Mann’s gaze fell to the floor and his head shook slowly. “You should prepare yourself for her death, son.”
Calen stopped dead in his tracks, his anger abated. Death? His pounding heart sounded in his ears, shaking him with every beat. He nodded, his throat so tight he couldn’t talk or breathe. Tears streaked his face.
Healer Mann stepped forward and patted Calen’s shoulder twice. A fly would’ve landed harder. “I’ll leave you to it.” He stepped back and eyed the door. “As you can imagine, I’m quite busy. Because of the circumstance, I won’t charge you for the visit.” He exited the house, closing the door behind himself.
Calen dropped to his knees. I don’t want you to die, Aunt Tahmara. I still need you. I’ve started to become a man, but fourteen name days aren’t enough to be on my own. Please don’t leave me.
The worst case Calen had ever contemplated involved living with Master Savric if his aunt died, but what would he do now that Master Savric went missing too? Calen had very little to his name. To be exact, he possessed a small coin purse with four copper coins and a few silver ones that he’d earned doing chores for Master Savric.
Calen didn’t have enough to live on for long. They were running out of food already. Aunt Tahmara hadn’t eaten anything in the last three days. If she had, they’d probably be out of food now. He didn’t know how much longer she’d survive without eating or drinking, but so far, she didn’t seem worse for wear other than the black veins, pale skin, and lack of interaction. Her ignoring him hurt more than seeing her in such a state.
The floor squeaked behind Calen. He whipped around to find his aunt standing a few feet away.
“Aunt Tahmara?” Calen’s voice shook.
Tahmara didn’t look Calen’s direction or seem to notice him at all. She walked over to the door and opened it. She wore few clothes, not even a jacket, and stepped out into the cold morning. Heat rose from her in vaporous plumes. Calen yelled for her to come back, but she kept walking.
Calen grabbed his coat and ran out the door after her, not bothering to close or lock it behind himself. What he saw outside disturbed him. Dozens of people walked down the road like a mob, none of them speaking or carrying anything except what was on their backs. All of them had pale skin and black veins covering the exposed skin that Calen could see. Several people he didn’t know but recognized were amongst the horde. Others, uninfected like him, watched in horror.
Calen ran back inside the house and gathered what little food remained and stuffed it into his pack, along with a blanket. He collected all the coins he could find stashed around the house and stuffed them into his coin purse. Then he grabbed the dagger and scabbard from his aunt’s room and rushed back outside. The horde had traveled a full block down the road, but they moved slow.
Calen caught up with his aunt and tried to shake her out of her stupor even though his heart told him it would do no good. Tahmara didn’t fight back, but she didn’t respond to Calen either. When he released her, she continued walking north with the others. Calen trailed her all the way through Daltura and to the northern town gates. Several people stood at the gates, watching the mass exodus of the infected.
“Good ridd
ance,” said an elderly woman. She gestured with two fingers. Calen’s cheeks warmed. “Never thought I’d rid myself of the old coot. I pray the gods don’t return him.”
“Mother wait!” cried several children.
A man spat on the ground. “Ƨäʈūr has cursed them. They travel toward Ef Demd Dhä.”
Dozens of other people wailed while still others cried. Most people hung back at the gates, wrought with fear, but many children chased after one or both of their parents with abandon.
The road out of Daltura curved toward the northwest, but the horde of infected didn’t stick to it. Instead, they headed northeast, trampling through the tall grass. Many stumbled over the uneven ground, several falling to their knees and a few all the way to the ground, but all of them got back up and continued their march. Calen didn’t understand what drove them all in the same direction and why they didn’t stick to the road. It would’ve been a far easier path, especially for the children and the elderly.
Is something controlling them? He gasped. Or someone? The thought prickled his skin. Just don’t think about it.
Calen needed to press on before he lost his nerve, the horde, and his aunt. He tried to move forward, but his legs refused to respond, his feet rooted to the ground.
I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t do this.
Nothing in his life had prepared him for a moment like this. In fact, he’d been groomed for the opposite. His mother had died when he was four. His father, a drunken bastard with a streak of rage that rivaled any other, rotted in jail for killing her. If not for Master Savric and Aunt Tahmara, Calen would’ve lived in the alleys.
Maybe it would’ve served me better. I’m just a scared, fat kid. What can I possibly do to help them?
Calen scrunched up his face and pulled on his hair. Master Savric would reprimand him for such thoughts. He knew better. Ƨäʈūr had a plan for everyone, even him.
That thought sparked a memory from a month prior. The words of the wizard he’d met at the gates rose in his mind: “…they will look to you in the time of their greatest need.”
Had that time come? “Is this the moment he spoke of?” Calen could think of no greater need than the one presenting itself right then, but his feet stayed rooted to the ground.
He stared at his feet. Oversized for his height. Perhaps he’d grow into them, but he had his doubts since his father wasn’t a tall man. Then again, he bore little resemblance to his father at all.
Don’t fail me, feet. I don’t want to be nothing forever. And I don’t want to be my father.
Calen took a deep breath. He’d never ventured more than a few dozen paces from the town gates before, and the thought of doing so shook him to the core. His arms and legs trembled, both covered in gooseflesh. He’d planned on venturing out one day, but not like this; not in pursuit of a horde of infected people. He’d always imagined embarking on an adventure with Master Savric.
Where are you, Master Savric? I need you.
Calen’s throat tightened and tears formed in the corners of his eyes. He blinked them back and gritted his teeth.
I can’t be a baby anymore. Aunt Tahmara needs me.
In truth, he knew it to be the other way around, but he couldn’t change the situation. He drew another deep breath, but his hands wouldn’t steady. The world before him blurred. He wiped his eyes with his sleeves.
Calen balled his hands. “No more. They need me.” He stepped beyond the gates with apprehension.
A hand latched onto Calen’s shoulder and spun him around. “Auh!” His stomach leapt into his throat.
“Calen, where do you think you’re going?” He knew the woman’s voice.
He wiped his eyes once more, and his vision cleared. “Mrs. Dougett?”
“It’s not safe out there for a boy like you.”
A boy like me? Did she know something about him?
No, her eyes mirrored the fear that threatened to consume him. Nothing more than that. He didn’t blame her.
Calen tried to shrug her hand away, but her taloned fingers held firm. “I have to follow my aunt. I don’t think she knows what she’s doing.”
Deep ruts formed between Mrs. Dougett’s eyes, flanking the bridge of her slender nose. “You’re in no shape to follow them. You’ll freeze to death, and your aunt will be no better off than she is right now.”
Calen groaned. “My aunt wouldn’t know the difference either way right now.”
“Well then perhaps you should stick with me.” She smiled a knowing smile, but it faded just as quickly as it had appeared. “My husband is among the infected as well. We can use my carriage to follow them. It will be far safer and more efficient than trying to follow them on foot.”
Calen glanced back at the retreating mob. “But they’re not using the roads. How will a carriage be able to follow them?”
Mrs. Dougett tapped her chin with her middle finger and nodded. “I see your point.” Her eyes brightened. “We could just use the horses then.”
Calen shook his head. “I don’t know how to ride a horse, and I don’t think this is a good time to learn how to do so.” He pulled away from her grasp. “I need to go. I’ve already lost sight of my aunt.”
Mrs. Dougett frowned. “We’d be better together, Calen. Safer. There are so many dangers out there. Creatures and people who aren’t friendly.”
He sniffed loudly. “I know, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve no one left but my aunt. If she dies, I’ll have no one.”
Pangs of despair wracked him.
“What about Master Savric? Isn’t he your friend?”
“Yes, but he’s been gone for many weeks. He even missed my name day. He’s never done that before. I think something might’ve happened to him as well.”
Calen’s chest tightened just thinking about it. He didn’t have time to waste anymore. He turned to leave.
A mournful, bone-chilling sound filled the air. Calen had never heard such a sound, but it reminded him of someone blowing a ram’s horn. But who would be blowing a horn right now? The sound morphed into a chorus of horns and grew louder.
Several people screamed, “Zhebəllin!”
Mrs. Dougett grabbed Calen’s hand. “Back inside! They’ll kill us all!”
Calen jerked his hand away. “I’m not your responsibility!”
“Close the gates!” yelled a man.
“Hurry! Before they overrun us!” exclaimed another.
People rushed back toward the gates, trampling several others who had lost their footing amidst the panic and chaos. Projectiles flew through the air, taking down others. Sick, twisted snarls joined the screams in a rising symphony of madness. Men and women shoved past Calen, several yelling at him to get out of their way, but his feet stayed rooted in the ground.
Calen’s eyes bulged as hideous, humanoid creatures poured out of the surrounding hills like a plague, their swords sheathed and strange yellow tubes hanging between their lips. Little man-beasts, no more than three-and-a-half-feet tall. He’d never seen such creatures with his own eyes, but he’d heard many tales growing up.
Zhebəllin. Fear coursed through him in waves.
Each zhebəllin sported a mouth full of small, sharp, yellowed fangs. Their flattened faces drew back from broad noses and stretched into long foreheads. Beady, red eyes, deep-set under thick, white eyebrows, brimmed with hatred as they scanned what had become a battlefield. Elongated and pointed ears pinned back against stretched skulls akin to those of hellhounds. Dark, orangish-brown colored skin served as a backdrop to small bones strung around their thick necks. Dark leathers stained with who knew what covered their lower extremities, and spiked gauntlets wrapped their forearms. A repulsive stench of feces and death preceded them as they stalked closer.
Animalistic war cries rose from deep within the throats of the zhebəllin. Calen couldn’t pull his gaze from them, even as they drew ever closer. Never had he seen so much chaos and bloodshed. It’d all
happened in the space of a minute, a thousand souls sent to meet their maker.
The zhebəllin didn’t seem to care for their own kind, shooting an assortment of projectiles at everything that moved. Calen started as the town gates slammed shut behind him with a loud thud. The noise pulled him from his thoughts and set his mind and feet into action.
In that moment, Calen did something he never though he could do. He unsheathed his dagger, screamed a battle cry with such ferocity that he didn’t recognize his own voice, and then stormed through the grass, giving chase to the horde of infected.
Several zhebəllin broke away from their assault on Daltura and gave chase to Calen. Calen slashed at anything that came close, connecting several times with jarring blows. Warm fluids splattered his face and arms as he pressed forward, but he didn’t allow his mind to think about what it was that covered him and dripped from his eyes and chin. His eyes burned, both with tears and the fluids that sprayed them.
Within minutes, his lungs burned, and his legs ached. He could hardly see through blurry vision. He fell so far behind that he didn’t know where his aunt had gone.
He stopped for a moment and drew several ragged breaths, his chest heaving. “Aunt Tahmara!” He yelled her name several more times, knowing she wouldn’t respond even if she stood next to him.
What would he do if he couldn’t find her again? How would he continue living without her? She’d saved him from his father and from living in an orphanage or in the alleyways. He’d do anything to save her. He’d travel across the Ancient Realm on foot if he must. Nothing would stop him from doing so, not even the zhebəllin or whatever else might be lurking out there in the wild, open world.
Calen wiped his face with his shirt and continued on, trudging through the mud, snow, and dead grass. He spun several people about looking for his aunt, but she seemed to have disappeared. He couldn’t think straight or do anything but press on looking for her. She had to be somewhere among them.
Rended Souls Page 4