The Redstar Rising Trilogy

by Rhett C. Bruno

  He drew himself to a window and stared off across the snowy plains. Sora was somewhere out there, and she was in trouble. He wasn’t sure how he knew it, but he did. He could never forget that look on her face in Elsewhere right before they were split apart once again. The sheer terror.

  Maybe it was the mystics' fault or the Buried Goddess. Perhaps both or something unimaginably worse. It didn’t matter. Sora had sought out a people thought to be extinct just to save him, now he was going to do the same for her. Wherever it took him.

  XXXVI

  THE MYSTIC

  Sora heard screams. They weren’t the cries of demon spawn in Elsewhere, they were human, and they were horrified. She tried desperately to open her eyes, but she couldn’t. The bright light, still searing, still blinding, forced her eyes shut although she fought. It was as if her eyes were controlled by someone, something else. The smell of iron filled her nostrils, a scent she’d become far too familiar with over the course of her lifetime. It was part of her, and she, it.

  Blood.

  Lots of blood.

  “Please, don’t.” She heard the voice but couldn’t see its owner. Even so, she didn’t need her eyes to know it was Aihara Na. The voice came from below Sora like she was standing and the other was kneeling. “Together we can start afresh.”

  “Yes,” said a voice, familiar and loud. It belonged to Nesilia. Sora had encountered her enough times to know. And it was loud like it came from within Sora’s head.

  A sudden flash in Sora’s vision revealed the walls of the Red Tower. How had she gotten back there? Was it another vision? Another flash showed the color red, deep like blood. This time her eyes stayed open and her insides roiled around, gurgling, threatening to make her heave.

  Dead mystics littered the floor, Madam Jaya, Huyshi and the others, their blood spattered all over the walls. Red on red. She had no idea they could even bleed, but it was like their spectral forms had been undone. Their blood formed crimson streams, coalescing into one current and pouring into the rushing waters of the chamber of the Secret Council. It frothed beneath the spray of the wianu statues, and Sora could’ve sworn she saw one of them move.

  Her stomach lurched, and she threw up. As she looked down, she saw the bile pooling in front of Aihara Na. The woman was on her knees and didn’t flinch as the vomit sprinkled her robes.

  That was when Sora realized the blood soaking her shredded kimono and covering her own hands. Wetzel’s knife was gripped in one of them.

  “Please, Sora, don’t do this,” Ancient One Aihara Na sniveled, groveling. “I was wrong about you, your power. We can still save Panping and the Order. Together.”

  “What—what happened?” Sora asked.

  Madam Aihara looked scared and confused.

  Sora searched the room. Madam Jaya wasn’t merely bleeding, she had a gash across her throat left there by a blade. Sora regarded her hands again. She staggered back, the knife slipping through her fingers, landing in the pool of red with a loud clatter.

  “You know the truth,” came a voice from within, sultry and hypnotic. “No more lies.”

  “Nesilia?” Sora asked.

  From the depths of the waters, vines began to grow, climbing the impossibly high walls and ceiling. Leaves, branches, and thorns congregated together, thick like the Webbed Woods. They weren’t just sprouting from the waters. Sora saw them coming from her own hands.

  Panic drove Sora to her knees.

  “Please, spare me?” Aihara said. The vines wrapped the mystic’s calves and throat, slowly squeezing the life from her. Her form was corporeal now as well. “The others they could not see, but I know now this is the form of our saving. Your forgiveness, no? I offer you mine.”

  She gagged as the vines tightened. Her cheeks went pale. Tears welled in her eyes. A fearless, centuries-old being she no longer seemed, but instead, an old human woman who’d realized she didn’t want to die yet. Sora didn’t think she could pity the cruel woman, but she did, and the vines stopped tightening. Seeing her fear made her mind drift to Whitney and the way he looked at her before they were split apart.

  “Stop fighting.” Sora heard the words echoing all around her. Her thoughts were promptly yanked back to her present. The smell of blood gave way to the scent of dirt. “You no longer have to struggle, my love. I will take care of everything.” Sora shook like a tall tree amidst a great storm. “Give in!”

  Sora’s head snapped back, eyes rolling upward. She felt her back straighten, arch, then her feet touched down. It was as if Sora watched herself from within. Not in control. She screamed and begged for answers, but her cries only seemed to fill the formless void she now inhabited, whispers in the dark, like when she used to call upon Elsewhere and heard it responding but couldn’t understand, only now, her mind rumbled with Nesilia's words.

  The door to the chamber suddenly creaked, and Sora’s body whipped around. Aquira stood in the entry, her big, bright eyes blinking. Sora’s hand rose, beyond her control, and the jagged vines extended toward the little creature.

  Sora screamed Aquira’s name into the darkness. She poured every ounce of her soul into the word, and the little wyvern’s eyes went wide. She screeched, then soared, dodging a snapping vine. She blew fire at another as she twisted back around.

  Sora’s body turned to watch Aquira spin sideways and zip through one of the tower’s narrow, arrowslit windows. She simultaneously felt anger and relief, not sure which emotion belonged to her any longer.

  Cloth brushed stone.

  “Where are you going, mystic?” said the voice of Nesilia. This time, it came from Sora’s own lips. Aihara Na had been crawling away thanks to Aquira’s distraction, but the vines rose to wrap her limbs and throat again.

  Aihara Na struggled to speak the vines grew so tight. “I’ll pledge myself to you,” she gagged. “With your power, we could once again rule Panping.”

  The vines loosened, and Aihara Na collapsed onto her hands and knees, coughing like a mere mortal.

  “Why settle for Panping?” Nesilia said. “With this body, together, we can rule it all.”

  EPILOGUE

  Sigrid sat silently in a booth on the ground floor of the Vineyard. Valin had let her out of her room, though she wasn't sure why. Screams sounded outside in Dockside, like a war had broken out, some so shrill and filled with terror they made Sigrid wince.

  None of it fazed Valin. He sat across from her with his bad leg stretched out on the seat, massaging his knee. With his other hand, he used a fork to enjoy a steak, drenched in gravy, the pieces already cut for him. Two thugs remained so she couldn't do anything but watch him indulge. The rest of the rotten place was empty. Even the few wenches and their regulars who didn't care to honor the Dawning had filed out.

  "What do you want?" Sigrid asked meekly. A scream, louder than all the others, made her heart feel like it was going to burst through her chest. What sounded like glass shattering followed it. "What's going on?"

  "Progress, my dear," Valin said, chewing on a chunk of meat.

  "I don't understand. Can't you help them?"

  A flash of orange streaked across a window, accompanied by cheering.

  "Save your prayers for your brother," Valin said.

  Sigrid slid along the booth toward Valin, but one of the thugs flaunted his cudgel to keep her still.

  "Is he out there still?" she asked.

  "Not if he cares a lick about you." Sigrid hung her head, and Valin finally glanced over at her. "Relax. I have a good feeling about him. It took some work, but I think I finally got through to him."

  The doors swung open, and Codar strode inside. Blood spatter covered half his face, a few spots staining his usually neat, white mustache. Valin sat up at the sight of him. Codar took a moment to gather his breath as if refusing to speak until he collected himself. "They passed through the gates," he said. "I feared Rand might try and come back for her, but it seems he finally sees reason.”

  "Excellent!" Valin clapped his hands
. He stood and waved up to the balcony. Sigrid hadn’t noticed before, but one of his thugs had a crossbow perched on the railing aimed at her. The man lowered it and backed away.

  A chill ran up Sigrid’s spine. Before she could speak, Valin laid his hand on her shoulder. “Just a precaution, my dear,” he said, a warmth to his tone that somehow made her feel worse. “I had every faith in him—”

  A torch broke through the window of the Vineyard and landed on one of the tables. The dry wood instantly caught fire.

  Codar whipped around just before a masked cultist of Nesilia plowed into him. He fended off a fury of stabs and gutted the assailant. Another leaped through the broken window and ran toward the booth where Sigrid sat. He screamed mad, indecipherable words until a crossbow bolt struck him in the chest and knocked him over.

  “Yigging savages!” Valin yelled. He slammed his fist on the table, flipping his meal and sending his fork clattering to the ground. “Get this cleaned up. And call for Uhlvark and place him outside on guard. That ought to scare the crazies off.”

  The two thugs hurried to put out the flames. Valin grabbed his crutch and went to stand, then noticed Sigrid.

  “Get her locked up safe upstairs,” Valin said. “We wouldn’t want anything happening to her.”

  The thug with the crossbow rushed down the stairs to the booth. “Let’s go beautiful,” he said. He gave Sigrid’s arm a gentle tug despite only just having been prepared to do to her what he’d done to the cultist. Sigrid’s gaze darted between Valin as he crutched away and Codar, busy trying to roll the corpse off him.

  “I said, let’s go, wench!” This time he pulled hard on her arm.

  Sigrid instantly recalled the feeling of helplessness when the Drav Cra men tried to rape her. She ripped free and reached under the booth. The thug grabbed her foot and dragged her. She pawed at the floor as she slid until her fingers found the handle of Valin’s fork.

  The thug yanked her so hard she crashed onto the floor, and when he went to lift her, she stabbed the fork into his eye. His scream made those echoing outside the doors seem tame. Valin stopped by the exit to his office and looked back. Sigrid made eye contact with him, then bolted for the front door.

  The crimelord of Dockside didn’t seem concerned. “Codar, retrieve her,” he groaned, rolling his eyes.

  The Breklian pushed the body atop him aside and rolled over. He slashed at Sigrid’s legs on her way by, cutting her calf. She fell through the doorway and tumbled down the stairs, but she didn’t let it stop her. She hopped back to her feet and limped, glancing back to see Codar leisurely walking after her.

  “Get away from me!” she shouted. A crash drew her vision back in front of her. A cart of supplies toppled over, and fish slid from barrels across the snow. Her gaze then rose to see the Dockside church she’d spent many a sermon in over the years entirely consumed by fire. Terrified citizens ran this way and that, some being chased by cultists in their billowing red robes and white masks.

  Sigrid slipped and nearly lost her footing. She glanced back to see Codar gaining on her, and when she turned back around, she bumped into a cultist.

  “Buried, not dead,” the man behind the mask hissed before scurrying away.

  Sigrid went to take another step, then her legs went weak, and she fell to a knee. When she looked down, she saw the tip of the cultist’s dagger jutting out of her stomach, buried all the way down to the hilt. She’d been so frantic she didn’t even feel him stab her.

  She grabbed the handle, blood covering her hands.

  Codar grabbed her shoulders and gently laid her back upon the street.

  “You had to run,” he sighed. He inspected the wound, and his expression told Sigrid all she needed to know.

  She was going to die.

  Sigrid struggled for words, but none came. She didn’t feel pain, only a cold sensation spreading within her, a coldness that made the harsh winter air seem warm.

  “Rand…” she managed to eke out through quivering lips.

  “At least you will die knowing he loved you,” Codar said. “You westerners care terribly for being loved.” He yanked, removing the blade and stared down into Sigrid’s eyes. “Don’t worry, girl, it will all be over soon.”

  He held the blade to her throat, but as he did, his gaze lifted away from her. His face twisted with terror.

  “Kazimir?” he said softly.

  “Why would you sully such potential with death?” a man said. His voice was nearly as cold as the ground beneath Sigrid. “I can feel the rage within her—power like you never had.”

  Whoever it was, his presence rendered Codar speechless. Sigrid couldn’t speak either, only watch and listen as the numbness spread within her. The newcomer circled them, and the dagger fell from Codar’s grasp as he staggered back.

  “Grandfather, H… how are you here?” Codar stammered.

  “I asked myself that when my eyes finally opened after so many years in Elsewhere and this chaos surrounded me. Now I see. I denied the Sanguine Lords a blood pact owed, and so it is time I offer them a new vessel.”

  The stranger had silken, white hair just like Codar. But when he knelt before Sigrid, she saw that his face was smooth as a young man despite Codar calling him his grandfather. He kneeled and dragged his finger through Sigrid’s blood, then brought it to his lips. His eyes closed, lids flickering like he was in ecstasy.

  “How I missed this,” he said. Then he stared straight into Sigrid’s eyes. His were dark, soulless—the stuff of nightmares, yet she couldn’t look away.

  “No more a woman than a girl and already your life draws to an abrupt end,” he whispered to her. He ran the back of his now bloody hand across her cheek. “Don’t be afraid. I’m not here to kill you. Quite the opposite, really.”

  Sigrid listened but didn’t speak—couldn’t speak. The stranger leaned down, drawing himself to her ear. She felt no warmth on his breath. She felt nothing.

  “Do you not wish to live?” he said. “Do you not wish for more?”

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  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  Jaime lives in Texas with his wife and two kids. He enjoys anything creative, from graphic arts to painting. His office looks like the Avengers threw up on the walls.

  Jaime has been writing since elementary school and is a bit of a grammar officer—here to correct and serve.

  Rhett is a Sci-fi/Fantasy author currently living in Stamford, Connecticut. His published works include books in the USA Today Bestselling CIRCUIT SERIES (Published by Diversion Books and Podium Audio), THE BURIED GODDESS SAGA and the THE CHILDREN OF TITAN SERIES (Aethon Books, Audible Studios). He is also one of the founders of the popular science fiction platform, Sci-Fi Bridge.

 

 

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