Blood Requiem

by Christopher Husberg

  Cinzia grabbed the nightsbane and sprinted away, tossing it as far as she could. She sprinted back—faster than any human could—in time to see Astrid stir.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” Lathe said with a frown.

  “You should have stopped me,” Cinzia said, glaring at him.

  Then, Lathe rushed at her.

  * * *

  As Astrid slowly regained awareness, she saw Cinzia trying to defend herself against Knot. Or Lathe, perhaps, or whatever Goddess-damned daemon had taken over his body.

  Bloody Oblivion, this shit got confusing.

  In the distance, Eward and his remaining Prelates battled the Sons, but she could not help them, now. Knot was more important.

  Astrid stumbled to her feet. Cinzia rushed at Lathe, but he kicked her, hard, in the chest. Cinzia stumbled back, gasping. A kick of that power should have cracked a few of her ribs, but the woman seemed to be all right.

  “Knot, I know you can hear me!” Cinzia shouted. But her voice was different. Malice and pride underlay every syllable.

  There are daemons even daemons fear.

  A shiver swept through Astrid’s bones. “Cinzia, what have you done?”

  “What I had to do,” Cinzia replied, her voice nearly a growl. “Now bloody help me.”

  “I… I don’t think I can help you anymore,” Astrid whispered.

  “You can, you stupid girl.”

  Lathe attacked Cinzia again, and the woman dodged with more speed than she should’ve been able to muster, then punched Lathe in the gut. Lathe recoiled, but retaliated quickly, shoving Cinzia to the ground.

  “I’m still me,” Cinzia said, looking at her. “That,” she said, pointing at Lathe, “is no longer Knot. We can still save him.”

  Instead of advancing on Cinzia, Lathe took a step back. Behind him, Eward and his Prelates had gained the upper hand against the Sons. But then Lathe rushed to Eward, grabbing him from behind, and dragged him towards Cinzia.

  “I can’t kill you now,” Lathe seethed, “Bazlamit will not let me. But I can kill this one. Your brother, isn’t he?”

  “No,” Cinzia said, tears in her eyes.

  Astrid looked back and forth between them, Cinzia lying on the ground, Lathe standing tall, holding Eward in front of him.

  Then, Cinzia’s eyes began to glow a bright, bold blue.

  Lathe laughed. “Or perhaps I won’t have to. It seems it is Luceraf’s turn, after all.”

  Astrid watched in horror as Cinzia’s head snapped back, and her friend’s high-pitched scream entwined with another voice, monstrous and menacing. The fog around Cinzia was blown back, as if by a swift wind that originated within her. Blue light leaked from Cinzia’s body, from her eyes and mouth, as bright blue smoke seethed from her.

  “No,” Astrid whispered. There was nothing she could do. Cinzia was far beyond her help, now.

  43

  South of the Eastmaw Mountains

  WINTER FELT THE ROAR almost before it began. She looked for the source, and quickly found it near the rihnemin, where the Khalic officers were now stationed after pushing the tiellan forces back.

  One of the officers, Winter could not tell who, had thrown his head back to make the sound. The man’s eyes glowed red, sending twin beams of crimson light up into the dark, stormy sky. The battle around her paused for a moment, while all faces turned to see what was happening.

  Then, the Daemon appeared. Winter knew instinctively that it was a Daemon; she suddenly worried for the Rangers she had ordered to guard Ghian, but there was nothing she could do for them now. She glanced around quickly for Ghian, but he was nowhere in sight.

  With a guttural howl, a soldier charged Winter, axe swinging.

  The soldier wasn’t Khalic or Cantic, however. He was a tiellan, eyes glowing deep red.

  Winter brought her sword up, sliding one hand onto the blade to block the axe strike, but the force of the blow sent vibrations of pain through her body, amplifying the throbbing in her skull. Her injured shoulder screamed in agony at the strain.

  The tiellan man raised the axe to strike again, and Winter rolled out of the way just in time. She leapt to her feet and stabbed the man in the back. She withdrew her sword as the man turned with a growl, eyes still glowing. With a cry, Winter swung her blade deep into the man’s neck, and he fell.

  Breathing heavily, she looked around to see the red-eyed bloodlust spreading around her. Tiellans and humans alike turned on their allies. This battle was no longer about the tiellan movement. It was not about the Khalic government. It was suddenly, and only, about survival.

  Winter and Urstadt rallied as many of their tiellan forces as they could. They had to keep together if they wanted to survive. She couldn’t see Gord or Eranda. She had lost track of them in the initial charge.

  They were all right. They had to be.

  “What is this madness?” Urstadt panted, knocking out a red-eyed tiellan with her sword hilt as he plunged a dagger uselessly towards her. “Why have our fighters turned on us?”

  “That Daemon is the cause. We must fight our way to Carrieri!” Winter shouted back. “We have to ally with him to defeat the creature.”

  The Rangers who were not affected pulled closer as she spoke. Her heart leapt to see Selldor, Gord, and Eranda were in the small band. They charged toward the rihnemin as one. The Khalic soldiers in front of them were half-distracted by their own berserkers, and Winter’s organized group smashed into them. Just as they were about to break through, a group of human soldiers, some red-eyed, some not, struck their flank. One man set his glowing red eyes on Winter and charged at her. Winter dodged the first swing of the man’s axe, and parried the next as best she could, but he was strong. Another berserker came at her from the side. She could only dodge and parry as the two maddened, red-eyed men attacked her at once. Her small force was likely to be overwhelmed.

  The exhaustion that had been tugging at the back of Winter’s mind since the battle began set in deep. Her limbs burned as she maneuvered for her life, barely escaping one man’s axe, only to parry the other’s sword with a glancing blow that set her hands, arms, and entire body vibrating. She could not keep this up much longer. Sooner or later—

  Winter slipped, one leg giving out beneath her. She fell to one knee, and the berserker with the sword swung down. Winter lifted her own to parry, but she was not quick enough. She deflected the blow from her face and torso, but the sword cut deep into her arm. Winter dropped to the ground, avoiding the berserker’s kick, only to find herself looking straight up at an axe coming towards her.

  With a scream, someone blurred into the axe-wielding berserker just in time, sending him off balance. Winter thought it was Urstadt at first, but as she struggled to her feet, she saw it was Eranda.

  Before Winter could even scream, the man with the sword turned and swung with such force that his blade buried itself between Eranda’s neck and shoulder, biting deep into her back. He kicked Eranda, freeing his sword. She fell to the ground, and both berserkers turned to face Winter.

  Urstadt swept in between Winter and the berserkers. In all her training, in all Winter’s time with Urstadt on the battlefield, she had never seen the warrior move so quickly. Her glaive cut, slashed, and stabbed, until both berserkers bled out onto the rain-soaked muddy ground.

  Winter ran to Eranda’s body. Her oldest remaining friend lay still and face down in the mud.

  Urstadt grabbed her shoulder roughly.

  “I have to—”

  “Do not let your emotions control you,” Urstadt growled. Above them, lightning split the sky, and thunder rolled.

  “Let go of me!”

  “You know what we must do, Winter.”

  Winter stared at Eranda’s body. Urstadt was right. Eranda was gone. The Daemon was here.

  And, she realized, a strange glimmer catching her eye, something else was here too. Shimmering shapes in the sky above her.

  Winter’s heart sank. She had seen those shapes before
, in the imperial palace in Izet. She knew what came from them. Without frost, none of them stood a chance.

  Her gaze lingered on Eranda for a moment longer, then she turned and stalked the rest of the way to Carrieri, the Daemon, and the end of this conflict, as Outsiders began to drop to the ground around her.

  44

  The Void

  KNOT RUSHED BACK THROUGH the Void, finally finding the place where he’d first entered it. He recognized it easily enough; Winter was not the only one with an anomalous appearance in the Void. As he was pulled away from the Coastal Road, he’d noticed two great spheres of translucent color in the Void—one blue, the other a shining silver. The two bubbles were impossible to miss, and he navigated his way easily back to them. They’d almost merged, their outlines barely discernible.

  “You see Lathe?” Kali asked. She had traveled with Knot, gliding by his side back to the Coastal Road.

  “Aye,” Knot said. At the center of the two spheres, Knot saw Lathe’s sift. Without Knot’s multiple sifts, it was a simple star-light, blueish in hue.

  “Yes,” Kali said, approaching the sift with him. “That one is definitely Lathe. Without his sift, you won’t have your psimantic abilities, but I’ll tell you something very few people know. Everyone…”

  Kali trailed off as Knot tentatively reached out his tendra—two of them, each hardly more than a trickle— towards Lathe’s sift.

  “How did you know to do that?” Kali asked.

  “A psimancer named Wyle,” Knot said. “He told me all beings technically have tendra in the Void, if they somehow find their way into this plane of existence.”

  Kali huffed. “Wyle. I should’ve known. He’s the one that stabilized your sift, I take it?”

  “He is,” Knot said. He stopped his tendra just before they made contact with Lathe’s sift. “Ain’t sure what to do here. Any suggestions?”

  “You’ll need to make contact with him first,” Kali said. “After that—”

  When Knot’s tendra made contact with Lathe’s sift, a burst of light radiated outward.

  Then, Knot felt himself propelled forward through the Void, inward, into Lathe’s sift. Everything magnified around him, and then was still.

  Knot stood within what appeared to be a huge ball of blue light, facing Lathe. It was like looking in a mirror: shaggy brown hair, brown eyes, sinewy bodies, nondescript features. Beneath that, they could not be any more different.

  “How did you get in here?” Lathe asked. His voice echoed in the blue haze. It was flat, without emotion, without pretense.

  “Long story,” Knot mumbled.

  “Your priestess is about to be taken over by a Daemon,” Lathe remarked.

  “We must…” Knot hesitated. “Cinzia is about to be taken over by a Daemon?” What in Oblivion is he talking about?

  “I can’t let you back in,” Lathe said, shaking his head. “Even if I wanted to, I… she would not allow it. It appears I’ve gotten in a bit over my head this time.”

  “What happened to Cinzia?” Knot demanded.

  “She will be destroyed, and only the Daemon will exist. I didn’t know until just now—Goddess, of course she didn’t tell me—but the same thing will happen to me. It’s already happened to Mefiston’s avatar.” Lathe’s eyes slid away from Knot, his voice still eerily flat and emotionless. “I thought I wanted to live. I suppose I still do. But this… this wasn’t what I had in mind.”

  “Then let me back in. We can fix this.”

  “No,” Lathe said. “I don’t control that anymore. She will not let me.”

  Knot swore. He hated not having a physical body. He needed to hit something.

  Then, a third presence joined them in Lathe’s sift. While both Knot and Lathe were almost solid, the third presence had a fuzzy, transparent quality to it. At first Knot worried it was Bazlamit, but the form’s ever-shifting face gave her away.

  Lathe stared at the new projection, eyes wide. “Kali?”

  “Hello, Lathe,” Kali said. “It’s been a while.”

  “What in Oblivion are you doing here?”

  “I wish I had time to explain that,” Kali said, “but I don’t. I think I can help you. Both of you. I think I can distract Bazlamit long enough for her to relax her guard. Then you can let Knot back in to take over your body, Lathe.”

  “I’ll die,” Lathe said. “Or I’ll be as good as dead, anyway.”

  Kali shrugged. “You’ll die either way. At least if you let me help, you won’t be responsible for allowing a Daemon to take its true form on the Sfaera.”

  Lathe met Knot’s eyes, and again Knot had the strange sensation he was looking into a mirror.

  “Shit. Let’s do it.” Then, Lathe actually chuckled. It was the first sign of emotion Knot had seen from him throughout the conversation. “Knot… take care of myself, if you know what I mean. And, Kali, it was good seeing you. Give my love to Sirana, if you can.”

  Lathe’s form flickered, then faded, as did the blue light all around them.

  Knot and Kali were back in the Void.

  “Even if I could, I doubt that would happen,” Kali muttered to herself.

  “Don’t you have a job to do?” Knot asked.

  Kali smiled at him. “On it.”

  Almost two dozen multicolored tendra exploded outward from Kali’s shifting form, jutting out in all directions. The tendra extended outward an impossible distance, until finally each one made contact with the very edge of the silver bubble around Lathe’s sift.

  The moment they made contact, the hazy exterior of the silver bubble shifted, and it suddenly became solid.

  “What—”

  “Send your tendra into Lathe’s sift again,” Kali said through gritted teeth. “Do it now.”

  Knot obeyed without hesitation. As his own tendra made contact with Lathe’s sift, the same flash of light pierced his vision.

  When Knot opened his eyes, he found he actually had eyes to open.

  He was in his own body, and it was a foggy morning on the Coastal Road. He was holding Eward, as if threatening him. He immediately released the man. Cinzia writhed before him on the dirt road, blue light bursting forth from her as she screamed.

  What… what are you doing here? a voice inside of himself asked.

  Throwing you out, Knot thought. I do not want you here. I did not give you permission. Get out.

  You cannot—

  Then, the voice was gone, and Knot was himself again. The light crackling from Cinzia’s body faded, and she slumped backwards into the road.

  Knot looked around. Eward was with him, and five Prelates. The bodies of the Sons and Goddessguard lay behind him.

  And there, at his side, was Astrid.

  “Knot?” she asked.

  Not trusting himself to speak, Knot knelt down and held her as if he would never let go.

  “Uh… nomad? I know it’s been a long time and everything, but isn’t this a bit much?”

  Never.

  And, for all her talk, Astrid was not the first to pull away.

  When they separated, Knot reached into the secret pocket in his trousers, pulling out Astrid’s voidstone, the blood-red rune glinting. He held it out to her.

  “I’ve had a lot of free time over the last few months,” he said.

  Astrid stared at the voidstone. Then she turned away. “I don’t think I can hear it. Whatever it is, I don’t think I can—”

  “It ain’t what you think,” Knot said. He pressed the voidstone into her hand. “You’ve been responsible for a lot of shitty things on this Sfaera, darlin’, there’s no getting around that. But that ain’t all there is. The Black Matron, she made you forget all the terrible things, but she made you forget all the good things you’ve done, too. And you did a lot of good, Astrid. The Black Matron made you think your only redemption was through her, but the truth is, you’ve been working at it your whole life.”

  Astrid buried her face in his shoulder. “I don’t… I don’t know what to say.
”

  “You don’t have to say anything,” Knot said. “We can talk about it as much as you want later. Or as little. It’s completely up to you. I just wanted to… to thank you, for lettin’ me in.”

  * * *

  Astrid pulled away, wiping her face. “Enough with the hugs, nomad. Eward’s going to think we aren’t fit to lead him into battle any longer.”

  Knot laughed, as did Eward behind them. Astrid had almost forgotten the lad was there.

  “I’m glad you’re back,” Astrid said, looking up at him.

  Knot smiled. “Me too.” He glanced over at Cinzia. “We’d better help her…”

  “She’s out cold.” Astrid grabbed Knot’s hand and led him a few rods down the road. “Come here, I want to show you something.”

  There, lying on the damp dirt road, mangled and filthy, was the Black Matron. The woman’s eyes were open wide, staring up at the clouded sky, but she did not move. Her head was bent back and twisted unnaturally. Dust caked her robes, staining the once bright white and red fabric.

  “The bitch is dead,” Knot said.

  “Damn right she is.”

  The Black Matron was dead, and Astrid could do nothing but stare at the woman’s mangled body. She was vaguely aware of Cinzia regaining consciousness behind her, of Knot moving away to help her to her feet, and of Eward and the remaining Prelates gathering the scattered horses and preparing to leave. The entire time, Astrid could not tear herself away. How one person could have caused her so much grief, Astrid could not comprehend.

  She flinched as a hand gently touched her shoulder. She turned to see Knot standing behind her.

  “Eward and the Prelates will take care of the bodies,” Knot said.

  Of course they would. They could not very well leave the bodies of a Cantic matron, priestesses, Goddessguards, and Sons in the middle of the road.

  She looked back at the Black Matron’s body.

  “You all right?” Knot asked.

  Astrid took a deep breath, felt the dampness of the fog around her, the comforting cover of the clouds in the sky. Then, she turned away, and did not look back.