Mother of Slag

by Timandra Whitecastle

  Her hands lingered on his shoulders for a moment after she had helped him into his coat, then trailed down both his arms and grasped his hands.

  He gasped at the sensation, and looked down.

  His black hand lay in hers, and though he could feel his missing hand flex the missing fingers between hers, he saw nothing.

  It wasn’t there.

  “But your mind remembers its shape and feel,” she said with half a smile. “You and I can make it real. If you want your arm back …”

  He bit back an immediate response, reveling in the sensation of holding her close with both arms.

  His heart skipped. With both arms, he could be the warrior he used to be, the man he used to be, the one she fell in love with. He could protect her, hold her close. He would not be dependent on her assistance. On anyone’s assistance. Ever. The thought was enticing, exhilarating. He could do so many things. He could—he could …

  He took a deep breath.

  Nora was making him a huge offer, he understood. She was trying to set him free.

  From her.

  His heart sank.

  It was a gentle push away, a distancing that would gradually set him adrift on his own course. But he had swum in that sea already, had fought the waves and the rocking and the swaying and the depths, and as he stood opposite her, he knew he had found his solid ground.

  Diaz let his missing arm drop to his side, and met her gaze as he felt it grow numb and the sensation of feeling faded away.

  He took hold of both her hands with his inked one, and smiled his answer.

  They set off towards Shinar, and didn’t look back.

  Chapter 38

  The last days of their journey to Shinar went by far too quickly. They both pressed ahead, eager to reach their destination, hastening towards an end. Any end.

  They walked long hours with short breaks in between to eat and drink and rest and love. The final leg was the climb down into the Red Canyons, and the sun beat down upon them oppressively, despite the coming of winter. The meandering pathways through the crags and ravines offered sparse shadow and less water, and yet with his wight hardiness, and her new Blade-born stubbornness, they made it through to the little shrines tucked in the nooks and crannies of the red stone. Each of the figurines in the shrines with their overly large heads and tiny bodies represented a life given to Suranna’s god, a child sacrifice or a cruel punishment for transgression against her order.

  Nora squeezed her eyes shut as she walked past the beatifically smiling figures. The path was too narrow to walk side by side and so she lead the way, Diaz trailing behind her.

  “I can feel it,” she told him when they stopped that night. “The tipping point.”

  He gave her a puzzled look.

  “The power of the cauldron is like a heavy weight pulling everything else into its gaping maw, to fill it. It’s as if we were strolling down a steep hillside and the closer we get to the entrance of the temple, the more we accelerate towards the swirling flames below. I can see it clearly, like a beacon in a moonless night.”

  He pressed his lips together. “If you can feel it, does she know you’re here?”

  “Oh yeah. She knows.”

  Worry flashed across his face. He didn’t try to hide it from her anymore. The stoic philosopher warrior mentor was gone.

  “You knew we wouldn’t be able to sneak in and surprise her,” he rebuked her softly.

  “Sneaking in and surprising someone is not my style. So yeah, I knew she’d know. I just didn’t think the power of the cauldron was so strong.” She glanced around the ravine they were in. “I certainly didn’t feel this the last time we were here.”

  “Things have changed,” he shrugged.

  “Yes.”

  Her gaze lingered on his lips.

  “What?”

  She smirked and stepped closer to him to whisper into his ear. He bent over to accommodate her.

  “I would have you up against that wall,” she murmured, playfully biting into his earlobe. He closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. “Right here. Right now. Or rather, I’d have you have me up against that wall.”

  She stepped away, raising her eyebrows invitingly, and he followed her, gently cupping her face with his hand while he pressed her into the sun-warmed rock with his body.

  “You’d have to ask nicely,” he rasped in a hoarse whisper, raking his lips and his tongue down her neck.

  “I won’t.” She licked her chapped lips. “I’d like to, but I won’t.”

  “Why not?” She saw the corners of his mouth twitch in amusement.

  “Because fucking you in front of her would make me no better than her.”

  He stopped immediately and stepped away, leaving her breathless and aroused. The moment had passed, cracked, shattered. Her predator smile felt fixed on her face and it was not meant for him, but for the snarling, whirling vortex of power below them.

  He didn’t know that, though, couldn’t see the black hole.

  “Nora—”

  “Telen.” She mimicked his warning tone.

  “Why do you always have to be so … so—”

  He sighed and stormed up the ravine in spite of the steep climb.

  “And besides, Bashan would probably hear us,” she added after he had gone up a few paces.

  He halted.

  “Bashan?”

  “I can sense him up there,” she explained. Through the red wavering stone, she could make out the strings of lights that represented a cluster of people, and in their midst, a black, bubbling fragment of the Blade.

  It had recognized a part of itself out in the world and reeled, confused. A remnant of Bashan whispered amongst the babble of voices within Nora, while at the same time she perceived him standing on the plaza at the end of the ravine.

  A stabbing pain flared up behind her left eye, leaving her feeling hollow, hungry, and sick. Not a good way to face off with the slagging bitch queen. She pinched the bridge of her nose.

  “He’s in the Plaza in front of the temple. Over a hundred other souls are with him. I can hear their heartbeats.”

  Diaz ogled her, but pulled himself together quickly.

  “What do you want to do about it?” he asked calmly, earnestly.

  Their relationship so far had been like a pendulum swinging between levity and seriousness, and while they were both at ease in either condition, Nora wished that the wild amplitude would soften a little and hit a median between the two extremes soon. Intense joy and dark grief. Awkward joking and sincere declarations of love and care. It was sometimes hard to follow, especially with the chorus of the Blade forever at the back of her mind.

  She bit her lip.

  Odd, too, to be the one taking the lead.

  “Remember the fort?” she asked him. “Last time I lost control over the Blade was right there. And I lost it because I ran into Bashan unexpectedly. People died. Lots of people. And … children.”

  “You don’t know what will happen if you confront him now?”

  Nora nodded.

  “Maybe we can find another way into the temple?” Diaz suggested. “We could go around—”

  “No.” Nora cut him short. “This is a test. She’s watching and … I cannot show weakness.”

  She opened her mouth to tell him of the immense power behind Suranna, equal to the Blade’s, and about her doubts that she could withstand the temptations the slagging queen would doubtless offer her. She had spoken true that the Blade would not allow her to die, but there were other ways she could fail. Nora knew that she was walking on a path that Suranna had laid out for the Blade centuries ago, that she was walking into the middle of the web of an ancient spider who did not have to destroy her, only bend and twist her to her own purposes.

  And the thought of how much power Suranna would exercise through Nora as the Blade would give her nightmares if she ever slept that deep again.

  For a moment she thought to tell Diaz to stay behind, to not be here with her. But
she knew he wouldn’t hear it.

  “Well, he likes you,” she told Diaz instead. “You’re the closest thing to a father figure he’s ever accepted. Perhaps you can talk some sense into him?”

  Diaz looked doubtful.

  “Perhaps,” he conceded.

  He stretched out his hand and she took it, and they followed the winding path out of the ravine.

  Two guards in blackened armor stood guarding the entrance to the plaza. They wore the same blue demon mask Nora had seen on Bashan, and held elegant halberds at the ready.

  “Try not to kill them?” Diaz whispered.

  She nodded.

  With one simple gesture, she slammed their bodies face forward onto the dazzling white flagstones of the plaza so hard their ceramic masks shattered and cut into their eyes and cheeks.

  Diaz raised one eyebrow.

  “Do you even realize how hard this is?” she snapped.

  The shattering of the masks had the rest of the men whip around to see who was attacking them. Shouts. Confusion. Then precise formation. Whomever Bashan had recruited, they were scary efficient.

  So she strode forward with a confidence she didn’t feel, head held high and hands outstretched.

  “Take me to Bashan. I’ve come to speak with your lord,” she said imperiously to the spears and swords and halberds pointing at her face. “Otherwise I’ll kill you all now.”

  Diaz clicked his tongue disapprovingly behind her.

  The rows of masked warriors laughed at her, but then a drawling voice commanded from behind them to bring the girl closer, so they parted and let her and Diaz through a narrow gauntlet, bristling with weapons.

  Bashan wore an iron crown, and was dressed in finest war gear, a significant change from the retching double-faced man she had encountered during the raid on the fort only a few weeks ago. His gaze wandered from Diaz to her then back again, and if he was surprised to see them or to see them together, he didn’t show a trace of it in his harsh countenance.

  The pain in Nora’s head intensified, voices whispered things she should do to relieve the pain.

  “You just don’t die, do you?,” Bashan greeted her. “Like a weed.”

  “Yes, my Lord.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s nice to see you, too.”

  “Diaz,” Bashan’s expression softened a fraction. “I see you failed to re-grow your arm among the bloodwitches. I hope you found something else worthwhile while you were on that island.”

  “I did.”

  “How nice for you.” Bashan grasped the pommel of his sword tightly, and rubbed his thumb over the gold overlay. Small rubies had been set into the guard like blood drops. “I see you lost your other sword.”

  “I sold it actually. To the same merchant to whom you sold its twin.”

  “Ah.” Bashan sneered. “How disappointing. I once thought the world of you, my old friend, but I fear you have recently made some unfathomable choices.”

  He stared at their interlocked hands.

  The stabbing throb behind her eye increased its pressure.

  “What are you doing here, Bashan?” Diaz asked wearily.

  Bashan chuckled.

  “That’s funny. I was about to ask you the same damn question.” He spread his arms. “Behold the Pazu, demon king of winds and droughts, come to exact vengeance on the self-proclaimed Queen of the South. And my fellow demons, all lieutenants of Suranna’s former guard, trained assassins. I killed their captains and sent their heads to Suranna as a warning. I made these men an offer to serve me or die. And I like to think they made a wise choice.”

  “But why are you here?” Nora repeated the question.

  Bashan curled his lips at her as though he smelled something putrid.

  “These fine men told me that Suranna has ordered everyone to leave Shinar. Her priestesses and whores have scattered with gold enough to change the course of an empire. Perhaps even the currently ailing Kandarin Empire my beloved half-sister Vashti still rules? Who knows what Suranna’s endgame is but Suranna? And she has locked herself into her temple, alone and without guards, which seems to me to be the ideal time to pay her a visit and see what she thought of my considerate gifts of her captain’s heads.”

  Nora and Diaz shared a look.

  “If you force entrance, she will kill you, Bashan,” Nora said quietly.

  “Oh really? And how would you know, O all-powerful Living Blade? Can you read minds now?”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “Nora.” Diaz shook his head. “Bashan, listen to—”

  “No! You listen!” At the snap of Bashan’s fingers, the demon-masked men edged closer with their weapons. “I was destined to rule. It was my birthright. And she took that from me. Suranna wrenched my fate out of my hands by poisoning my own father against me. I will not go crawling back to Empress Vashti and beg her for a place as an underling on her side as though she had the authority to give some position to me. All that she has was mine to begin with. Mine!”

  “Bashan,” Diaz raised his hand to calm him down. “Your half-sister is beset by the destruction of your capital city, and her imperial council lords it over her youth and inexperience and womanhood. If you were to return, even at her side, you could turn the tide and carve out a destiny of your own. A name for yourself as the savior of your line and legacy. Through your influence, you could become greater than even Kandar himself ever was.”

  Bashan seemed to consider Diaz’s words for a moment, then he laughed, and put his hands on his hips.

  “Well, that sounds really really enticing,” he said, “and I would ponder your wisdom deeply if it were not for that peasant wench at your side who has corrupted your thinking. She took the most powerful tool I ever had at my disposal from me, she and her unlucky twin brother.”

  “Bashan,” Nora warned, the pressure rising in her head.

  “You said yourself that you were glad to be rid of the insanity that is the Blade.” Diaz said.

  “You’re right, of course, Diaz.” Bashan shook his head. “At least you would be. But I have set my mark on a higher goal than just to carve myself a realm of influence. Don’t you see what’s happening? Don’t you see the arising pattern pictures through my life?” He raised a finger, as if counting. “Suranna, a woman.” He raised another finger. “Vashti, another woman.” A third finger. “The Blade.” He nodded at Nora. “Another woman.” He waved the stiff three fingers at them. “And do you know who the Pilgrim masters in Arrun have appointed as the new Guardian of the North? Why, that dear girl, Master Calleva.” All four fingers were raised now. “I’m not doing this just for me, Telen. I’m doing it for mankind.” Some of the warriors around them cheered. “I’m doing it to preserve our traditional values and morals. Someone must defend the natural order of the world, and the men who are tired of being under the heel of a monstress. They will remember my name, and I will be more than Kandar ever could be. These brave men have pledged their allegiance to me, and I will be their champion of manhood.” More cheering. Bashan raised his hand in a call for silence. “A woman has a place,” he finished as the commotion died down a little, “and it is not in a position of authority.”

  A stunned silence followed his speech. A collective intake of breath.

  “Gods, you’re such a fucking asshole,” Nora spat. “I’ve got no patience for your bullshit. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to tell your men to let us through, or they will die and you’ll be a champion of nothing and no one.”

  “How dare you!”

  “Then,” Nora raised her voice to be heard over the angry shouts of the warriors. “I shall walk into that temple and kill Suranna, and pull the whole sordid place down with my bare hands if necessary. And there is nothing you or your manhood can do to stop me.”

  Bashan licked his lips, and held his sword in a white-knuckled grip.

  “You can’t kill me,” he said quietly to Nora. “The Blade won’t allow it and who knows what it will do to us both if you try. Do
es this situation remind you of something?”

  He flashed her a grin.

  “Fuck off.” Nora turned abruptly to push her way through to the temple entrance.

  The first few rows of soldiers looked at Bashan to give them a command. When none came, they moved aside to let Nora through, muttering curses at her. After she’d passed, an eager warrior, filled with the nervous tension of his chosen leader’s speech, took the initiative, though, and with a yell, he hurled his spear at her retreating figure.

  It pierced her lower back and punched through her abdomen. She stumbled to her knees with a wet, rattling rasp.

  Chapter 39

  “No!” Diaz roared as he saw Nora fall. He tore a sword from a warrior next to him and with a swift slash, cut the man’s throat. He had to get to her. But the men pressed in around him, confusion mounting all around. He hacked down another man, cutting deep into his ribs as he shoved him out of the way.

  Snarling, kicking, grabbing, slashing. Make way, make way, make way. Panic rising.

  He saw her fall again and again in his mind’s eye, blood on the spear tip that had punched through her body. No. He had made a promise, his final promise. He had to get to her.

  Shouts all around him.

  “The Pazu! Protect the Pazu!”

  “We’re being attacked!”

  “Kill them! Kill them! Kill them!”

  Diaz rammed into the next man, smashed the hilt of the sword into his face. But he was surrounded, his way forward blocked. He risked a look over his shoulder, to check for an opening.

  He saw Bashan dropped to one knee, a ring of men surrounding him. He was gulping air like a drowning man, hand clutched to his side, a trickle of blood running out of his wet, crimson mouth.

  Their eyes met.

  “Blade,” Bashan mouthed. “Too close.” He gasped for breath again before wheezing, “To me.”

  Diaz felt a rumble beneath his feet, a tremor of the earth. Bashan’s eyes rolled back into his head so that only the whites of his eyes were showing. Outcries of surprise and pain filled the humming air around Diaz. A crackle of electricity across his skin, and then a voice boomed like thunder.