Bridge of Legends- The Complete Series

by Sarah K. L. Wilson

  But how could Marielle judge that raw selfishness in their eyes? Marielle, who could take all that away from the innocent victim with just a few words?

  Her head began to swim as the scent of magic grew stronger, reaching through the room like tentacles. It made it harder to think, harder to reason, like she was drunk on it.

  The people who died in the Temple District had been her fault. She was no innocent. Not like the girl they were going to sacrifice. If she really respected tradition, wouldn’t she want to uphold it? And if she really respected the value of human life, couldn’t she admit that her guilty life should be the one forfeited, not this innocent girl’s? It all made perfect sense as the magic swirled through her lungs, making her dizzy with the pleasure of the scent, washing away her nausea with the scent of lilac and vanilla, a scent that made her suck in gulping breaths to draw in as much of it as possible.

  “On Summernight, at midnight each year, we give our Lady Sacrifice. She is blood of the Dragonblooded, sacrificed for us all, to bind magic to Jingen, to save our city from the wrath of the dragon, and to grant to her people one more year. As the laws of Jingen state, ‘Each year a Dragonblooded woman of twenty-five years or fewer, unmarried, having borne no children, will be chosen from among the city and surrounding districts. She shall be purchased with blood money from her family and her blood shall be spilled upon the spine of the dragon. Any who hinder this shall be subject to prosecution and execution by Jingen City Law II A and their names shall be stricken from the books of births and remembered no more.”

  It was the law. And the law was clear and easy to understand. Marielle should have realized that when Tamerlan asked her to break it. She should have realized that there would be consequences. And now, there were hundreds dead because she had chosen to put herself over the law.

  It was so hard to think with the magic swirling through her mind. So hard to grasp what was happening, but that part was true. She could see it so clearly now – almost as if someone was speaking into her mind. How had she failed to see it before? It had been her selfishness that killed those people. And only her selfishness could make an innocent die here tonight.

  “It is for this purpose that we gather. We honor the Lady.”

  The crowd roared in appreciation as the wall mural finally showed the Lady Sacrifice, grim-faced but lovely, her head raised high as the Lord of the city – the Lord Mythos – raised his knife.

  Someone would die tonight.

  And that person would be Marielle.

  “Lord Mythos,” she said, urgently. “Take me instead.”

  His dark eyes were like pools of sympathy as he gently smiled. “I thought you might ask for that, Marielle.” He bent in close until his breath raised goosebumps along her bare arms and across her neck. “I knew you were exactly what you seemed – pure of heart and noble. I knew you could never let someone else die while you lived.”

  The crowd still cheered, and the scent of magic swelled ever stronger – filling her, intoxicating her, making it all feel so unreal like a tide sweeping her away.

  “But trust me when I tell you, I didn’t want to do this,” he said and his hand clamped around her arm, iron tight.

  33: Breath of Ash

  Tamerlan

  “It is for this purpose we gather,” the man at the lectern said, speaking as if it was just another day of murdering innocent sisters.

  Tamerlan’s hands shook as he pulled the rolled paper out. It was time. Any moment now they were going to drag his innocent sister out from where they held her, and they were going to slaughter her here in front of everyone and he had one chance to stop them – this chance.

  But he couldn’t stop the shakes that rippled through him, making his fingers clumsy. He dropped the paper, quickly scooping it back up from the ground. The ends were still twisted. He hadn’t lost the precious materials within.

  Images flashed across his eyes. Images of people fleeing for their lives while he watched himself kill them, brutally discarding their broken bodies like tattered rags flung from a workshop.

  What if that happened again? What if he slaughtered innocents again? He’d heard their mothers wailing and their fathers weeping in the streets. He still felt raw inside, like he bore a wound across his heart that would never heal. But if he didn’t at least try to save Amaryllis, he would have done all of that for nothing, right? It was a simple choice – either try again and make all the evil he had done worth it for the good he could achieve, or don’t try and it would still have been done but now Amaryllis would die, too.

  Simple – but still not easy. He bit the inside of his cheek as the images rippled across his mind’s eye, biting harder at the pain that ripped through him, triggered by the memories. He could taste blood. The inside of his cheek felt ragged against his tongue, but it was hard to stop, hard to wrench himself away from the memories of that horror.

  This one thing was all that was left. He just had to do this one thing – save his sister. The thing he’d been doing all of this for. And then he could deal with the memories and the guilt. Then he could bury himself in shame, drink away the memories, hide himself from friends, slide into decrepit death.

  But first this.

  He drew a long, tremulous breath, glad that it was hard for anyone to see him. He reached over to the brazier and lit the roll of paper, bringing it to his lips to draw in the smoke. It flowed over his ragged cheek, across his tongue and sucked deep into his lungs. He stifled the cough, letting the smoke drift out his nose.

  There was nothing yet. He pulled again on the smoke, scanning the sights before him, ready to charge.

  The moving mural was still slowly spinning and the Canticler was still speaking, “We bless the sacrifice, placing on her our debt. Placing on her our hopes.”

  The mural spun into the wall and now a lattice of gold and roses was revealed as the wall continued to turn. Was that the whole base of the Sunset Tower spinning beside the Hall? Or was the Hall spinning around the tower? The ground beneath Tamerlan rumbled from the movement of weighty stone on weighty stone. Red light spilled from the lattice, flooding the front of the room as the crowd drew a wonderous breath together.

  What was wrong with them? They were treating this travesty like entertainment! Their eyes sparkled, raptured looks painting their grotesque, made-up faces, their costumes looking utterly ridiculous – or maybe it was more pitiable, like children come to witness a beheading. Lost, broken children. What was wrong with Jingen?

  The Legend still hadn’t come for him. Maybe smoking the ingredients this way didn’t work. Maybe he wasn’t getting enough smoke. He puffed madly on the roll of paper, his hands shaking like leaves in a thunderstorm, and his heart beating so hard that his pulse pummeled his eardrums. Come on, Tamerlan! Come on! Open that Bridge!

  His eyes flitted along the rapt faces, watching them, seeing them in the crowd, trying to cement in his mind an image of who these people were who so glibly sacrificed the life of another for their own.

  Wait.

  He ran his eyes back through the crowd to the girl dressed like the Lady Sacrifice – the one with long blonde hair arranged in elaborate curls and the virginal white dress dipped in pink at the edges. The girl with flushing cheeks and excited eyes. The girl who was standing right beside his father.

  Oh no.

  No, no. no.

  He was wrong. The Lady Sacrifice wasn’t going to be Amaryllis at all. His sister was safe, here only to attend the celebration. They must be guests. They must have come, as Landholds sometimes did, to attend the party.

  But those had been her eyes on the barge, looking at him through the curtain. That had been her desperate, tear-stained face.

  How could he have been so wrong?

  He felt light-headed, suddenly, and his feet tingled as if all his blood had rushed away from his head and to his feet. They were glued in place, unable to run away from the events he had already set in motion.

  Because it was too late for Tamerla
n. Too late. The smoke filling his lungs was finally working its magic.

  What had he done? What would he do?

  The roll of paper dropped from his hand at the same moment that the moving wall finally opened to reveal the heart of the Sunset Tower. The bright glow coming from the base of the tower filled the Grand Hall, making the bright braziers and glowing chandeliers seem like candles on a summer afternoon. The rock of the floor – shaped like dragon scales, seemed to pulse to the same rhythm as Tamerlan’s racing heart.

  At the very center of the room, a horrific metal contraption – like the ribcage of some beast of prey – stood open, the straps to hold hands and feet were loose and ready to receive a victim. The drains that ran beneath it led to the glowing chasm on the other side of the tower base.

  “Accept our sacrifice, dragon!” the Canticler said as Tamerlan’s hands reached for his sword – no longer directed by him at all. “Spare us from your wrath!”

  DRAGON! a deep voice in Tamerlan’s head roared.

  The massive clock at the center of the Grand Hall began to strike.

  34: Lady Sacrifice

  Marielle

  The Lord Mythos had her arm in his hand, his eyes narrowing as the Canticler continued, “We bless the sacrifice, placing on her our debt. Placing on her our hopes.”

  “The blessings of Jingen are upon her,” he said, his face grave.

  Marielle swallowed. She’d chosen this. She’d chosen to take someone else’s place so that they wouldn’t have to die. She couldn’t back out now. She had to be strong.

  As the mural faded and was replaced by a metal lattice, she strained to look through the lattice. Where was the girl?

  Carnelian pushed a path through the spectators from the lower level of the pulpit and the Lord Mythos strode through it – Marielle’s arm still clamped in his hand. Seven Suns Palace guards formed up around them, obscuring Marielle’s view as she strained to see the girl whose life she would save. Where was she? A niggling voice in the back of her mind said, ‘Are you sure she’s worth it?’

  Her mouth was dry, her limbs wooden and clunky. Why was Carnelian pressing in so close to her back? She glanced behind her to see her friend’s firm expression and tight eyes. She’d expected more protest from Carnelian. Instead, that sweet smell she sometimes caught a whiff of when Carnelian was around suddenly burst into a puff of fleshy-pink. It was the smell of rotting fruit. And betrayal.

  And then the lattice opened up as the wall moved.

  “Fascinating, isn’t it?” the Lord Mythos asked through a cold mask. “The tower walls spin on huge gears. A genius invention. I wish I could have shown you how it works.”

  And the room it revealed was the very one that the Lord Mythos had led Marielle into, but this time, as the light spilled out from the tower into the room beyond, it spread past the railing at the back of the tower and out to a black metal chair in the center of the room – a chair that looked like a giant squid, if squids had legs of blades and wickedness.

  And it was empty.

  There was no Lady Sacrifice in the chair. There was no Lady sobbing in the room, her eyes looking desperately for her salvation.

  Marielle looked down at the dress she wore – the one that the Lord Mythos had insisted she wear – and then at the empty chair and then at Carnelian, stiff and blank-faced behind her. She felt the blood drain from her head so quickly that she stumbled, her vision clouding with popping black and white stars, the smell of acid and blood in her nose.

  “Etienne,” she said, her voice only a ghost of what it usually was. The voice of a child seeking reassurance.

  “Marielle,” he replied gently but still pulling her along, her booted feet dragging slightly as if her body was just now realizing what her mind had concluded.

  “I thought you said you didn’t want me to die.” She hated how her voice wavered. She was a Scenter. A Jingen City Guard. She was strong and capable. She was a hunter of criminals, a lover of the law. She was not a helpless sacrifice.

  Only, that wasn’t true, was it?

  “I also told you that I would do anything, sacrifice anything for Jingen,” the Lord Mythos said.

  “It’s just a tradition. It’s superstition.”

  “Oh no, sweet Marielle. It’s very real. Your blood will save the lives of thousands.”

  She tried to pull away from Lord Mythos’ grip, but she couldn’t budge his hold. Carnelian stepped up and took her other arm in a firm hand.

  “But there was never another Lady Sacrifice, was there?”

  A look of pain flashed across his face. “Circumstances changed. Debts were called in.”

  “Accept our sacrifice, dragon!” the Canticler said as Carnelian and the Lord Mythos pulled her into the opening. Her feet were on the scales of the dragon. “Spare us from your wrath!”

  She could feel the ebb and pulse of something underneath her – something alive.

  The massive grandmother clock began to strike.

  Bong.

  The scent of magic filled the air around her until it was all she could smell. It obscured her vision, painting everything turquoise and gold.

  Bong.

  The crowd was chanting something she couldn’t make out. Her breath was coming in gasps.

  “No,” she whispered, fighting against the iron grips that held her.

  Bong.

  “Shhh ... don’t fight it,” Etienne, Lord Mythos said, his young face twisted with pity as he pushed her into the horrific chair. “Remember that impulse you had to give your life for someone else? Cling to that.”

  Bong.

  They strapped her wrist in place.

  Bong.

  She could only hear the sound of the clock and the fervent cries of the worshipful crowd and a low purr in her mind like the largest cat in the world was happy.

  Bong.

  Both her hands were tethered now. She fought the bonds, tears streaming down her face.

  Bong.

  She could measure her life in seconds as she drew in the magic-laced air around her, choking on her stuttering breaths. She had five bongs of the grandmother clock left to live.

  35: Ram the Hunter

  Tamerlan

  Dragon. Dragon. Dragon.

  It was as if that was the only thought that the Legend had as he took over Tamerlan’s body, raising his sword high and leaping from the shadows.

  No! Tamerlan tried to shout as he leapt into the screaming crowds, surging forward. At least whoever this Legend was, he wasn’t slaughtering the crowd. A small mercy in a terrible mistake. He shouldn’t have smoked first. He should have waited and made absolutely certain that his sister was the one being sacrificed. He sought her through eyes no longer under his control – saw her screaming and darting behind his father, saw his father draw a blade to defend her.

  But the crowd was not in danger. Tamerlan was the one in danger. A ring of Seven Suns Palace guards surrounded the base of the Sunset Tower. No longer kneeling, they sprang to their feet, swords flashing.

  Screams erupted from the crowd and loud curses. They shrank away, distancing themselves from the spectacle. But there was curiosity there, too. There were looks that told Tamerlan that they still wanted to be entertained. Was this fun for them? Watching a man rush with cold steel against other men was a delight? Didn’t they realize that steel could bite and rend, could shred muscle and cleave bone. Didn’t they realize that pain and mutilation weren’t just things that happened to other people?

  Tamerlan rushed toward the guards – the seconds seeming to take as long as drawn out minutes.

  By the second bong his sword arm was raised and the unprotected neck of the guard – still fumbling for his sword – filled Tamerlan’s vision. He wanted to screw his eyes shut. He wanted to stop, but his body moved on its own, slashing across the guard’s exposed neck, parting the flesh in a way too gruesome for words. Bodies were meant to be whole and strong – vessels for the spirits they housed. They were not meant to be torn like r
ags.

  By the third bong, he was sailing over the dead guard, like a grasshopper in midsummer, landing in a perfectly-balanced crouch on the other side and sliding under the boar’s tooth sword position of the guard who brandished his sword with a grim face. His sword slipped up under it like a darting snake, flicking out to sever the artery in the man’s leg.

  As blood spurted across Tamerlan and the floor and the surrounding guards, the clock bonged a fourth time and now there were five opponents, sliding over the arterial blood, leaving curving red trails where their feet skidded over polished marble. These guards weren’t surprised anymore. They weren’t fumbling. Their nods and finger gestures spoke of discipline and team training.

  It was time to die. Tamerlan didn’t mind so much. After all, Amaryllis was safe. And he had sins to pay for. Perhaps, in death, there might be mercy.

  Be a man. Cowards shame us all.

  Encouraging words. This Legend sure had a sweet spirit.

  It does me good to once again dance with death.

  The fifth bong rang in Tamerlan’s ears, almost drowning out the continued screams of the fleeing crowd. By the sound of things, people were getting hurt in the madness. He hoped his father was protecting Amaryllis. He hoped that the Legend didn’t make him turn on them.

  Not with a dragon near.

  He kept saying that like it was true.

  The nearest soldier lunged at them – clearly a feint and yet they had to dodge. If it had been Tamerlan controlling his body, he would have dodged the first blow only to be speared by the sudden jab from the left that one of the other soldiers executed with the slick precision of training. But it wasn’t Tamerlan fighting. It was this Legend. And he chose to leap straight into the air – so much higher and faster than Tamerlan could even imagine. He leapt above both feints, spinning in the air with a muscle-popping maneuver that made the Tamerlan inside Tamerlan gasp, and then landing nearly on top of one of the guards.