by A. S. Etaski
Table of Contents
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
Acknowledgments
About the Author
THE MARK OF GOLD
Sister Seekers Book 6
by
A.S. Etaski
Published by Corpus Nexus Press
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Copyright © 2021, A.S. Etaski
Cover Design by Eris Adderly
Formatting by Guido Henkel
This book is a work of fiction and intended for adults. Sexual activities represented in this work are between adults and are fantasies only. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as the author advocating any non-consensual activity.
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Dedicated to the unsuspecting GM tasked to read my first 50K-word character backstory, whose enjoyment in reading it reignited my drive to write.
For dear Hubs and an old youth gaining wisdom and vision.
CHAPTER 1
The trees were bending.
It was subtle, but I was spooked despite guiding an undead horse in the dark, her tepid muscles rolling without cease.
“What do you sense?” Gavin asked.
“Mm. The forest.”
“Vague.”
I motioned to our right. “Do you see it?”
“No. It is dark. Describe it to me.”
I tried.
In a broad view of continual forest and worsening road, it appeared close to what I’d studied for months at night. Yet in the smaller view, some of these Surface mainstays leaned uphill while some listed down along the very same grade. Older trees possessed bulges and crooks with bark split or stretched like the scars upon Gavin’s back, as if these bits might have swelled in the last fortnight instead of gradually adding girth every spring. Next to one, I believed I spotted a sapling with its newest leaves growing underside-up.
There had been birds and insects at sunset, and the rustlings of burrowers in the brush or squirrels in the trees, but I expected those soon to alter their tone. Or disappear altogether.
As I fell quiet, the mare’s hooves thudding the ground, Gavin said, “Let us stop soon for a short rest.”
The road was deserted. We had passed no one and could camp in the middle without obstructing travel, although resting in the open was not my habit. I smirked, looking ahead for a likely spot to hide on one side. “Are you tired?”
“Some, yes.”
“Do you need sleep? Or food?”
“Yes.”
I was surprised. Finally.
“And guidance,” he added.
One brow lifted but I let it be. “Then I shall guard.”
The death mage and I had been traveling North from Troshin Bend for two days and a night since our escape from Brom’s Inn. We’d stopped thus far only for me, about four hours in midafternoon as I collapsed into a troubled Reverie on solid ground.
Gavin and his brown mare had waited patiently, neither needing sleep. He’d gathered a surplus of wild roots, eggs, and berries to take with us, while I used Callitro’s ring to make certain I obtained fresh meat. Unable to preserve my catches for long, I had eaten all which was edible, and Gavin took the rest; we wasted nothing.
Not deep into this second night away from Brom and the Ma’ab, I slowed the horse by mental command alone, clutching the bone talisman tucked beneath my glove into my palm. There were no signs of recent travel, no camps along the path despite the Witch Hunters’ earlier claims of passing through twice.
As we moved off the road, I fretted about eating anything here if the woody giants showed me something might be wrong with the soil. Supplies stored in the saddlebags would last about a week if I rationed it, but how long would we be here? How large was the spread of warp rot in this forest, and where would we come out of it?
Will we come out of it?
I kept watch while Gavin ate an egg and a handful of berries—too little, indeed, for his tall frame—before he laid down, draping a blanket over his head and torso with his boots sticking out. The pale man had said nothing to me, and I knew the plan well enough not to delay him seeking “guidance” with more chatter.
Although, in truth, I tended to speak to Gavin so the red rune dagger wouldn’t speak to me when my mind wandered. I could ignore that gleeful, bare whisper if I wasn’t touching it.
*You’re a curious one. You will use me again.*
Carefully, I brought out my three guardian spiders for company. The Dwarven eve witch, Osgrid, had been correct that the magical bubble trapping them within would fade on its own with distance from the sorcerer who’d made it. Not a perpetual spell, thank goddess. Familiar, black arachnids crawled up my arm opposite the dagger to settle on my shoulder and at my nape. They weren’t hungry. I was lucky to have them.
I could have lost you.
I kept watch over Gavin as I’d promised, although I sank into a heavier mood as the final events at the town to the South dragged at me.
My spiders hadn’t been able to help me.
I was caught with my pants down.
Why hadn’t I used the same poison on Kurn which took the Chief Warrant Bictrius? Why had it been the slow fever paste?
Because I grabbed the wrong jar. No sense or time to swap.
What would have happened if I had killed Kurn quickly as he chased me around the kitchen table? I wasn’t sure the outcome would have been better. I would not have yielded my netherhole, perhaps, but both Castis and Brom could have done something even harsher to neutralize me, to wrench my will away and press me down. Amelda may have surprised me, for she’d been faking part of her tranquilized sleep.
They still underestimated me.
There was a reason for that. Why hadn’t I killed the Ma’ab before leaving, surviving such threat? Especially Kurn, drugged again with his own dagger up his ass. I thought on this and hesitated to hear my own answer.
Because Soul Drinker wanted me to, and I refused.
That same moment, Osgrid had been urging me to get out, and Gavin needed me. My baby needed me to escape, and Gaelan was waiting for me. I had little but confusion in the time I made my choices.
And now that it is quiet?
I looked around the forest, listening. I wasn’t sure either Rithal or Mathias would or could catch up to us. Gavin had gone two days without sleep and his horse wasn’t alive anymore; she did not need rest, food, or water. This was a concern as she slowly decayed, moving without healing, feeling neither pain nor caution if she tore a muscle or cracked a bone. Her maker was working on a solution to make her last longer.
Or so he said.
If my allies the Dwarf and the skin hunter, could not catch up then perhaps neither could my enemies, the Ma’ab and Zauyrian sorcerer. I needed none of them. I have Gavin and both of Sarilis’s vials.
Acco
rding to the Zauyrian and the Deathwalker, that might be enough to purge the warp rot. Once we found its source.
Soul Drinker chuckled. *I know the source, Davrin. Ask me.*
My ear twitched, and I flicked my hand as if a bug harried it. I made a face to realize my other hand lightly touched the pommel. That was why the voice was so clear.
~Why would you know?~ I asked.
*We existed long before these chaos pockets began bursting through the material crust. We were there when they began in earnest.*
Leading my curiosities. How like a Priestess.
The voice sounded neither male nor female but hissed far less than when I’d been struggling for my life and my mind at the inn. I frowned as the forest around me seemed to waver.
~Where were you made?~
*Oo!* The demon sounded surprised. Delighted. *North.*
~North?~ I recalled the Zauyrian’s story of recruiting the Ma’ab to find the dagger again. ~The Empire?~
*Even farther. Older. Colder. The Ascended are children compared to what lives at Ice Heart.*
I eschewed the obvious path, knowing this game. ~How will you help me when we find the source of the warp rot?~
Soul Drinker abruptly grew excited, squealing and hissing as it had at our first meeting. *Eee-hee-hee! Yesss! Yes, you are determined. And touched. Are all Davrin touched by a broken god? Your Father will be displeased, oh, he will.*
My face scrunched. ~The source of warp rot, dagger. I’m asking you.~
The demon settled down. *Cris-ri-phon ended the Desert war. Cris-ri-phon lost the Desert war. Thus, the warp rot spreads where he’s not looking. It’s all the Sorcerer-General’s doing. Why your kind fled ancestral lands.*
I shook my head. The entity answered to meander and tease but didn’t answer straight in the here and now. I asked something else.
~Do you ‘drink’ Vis? Or Vitas?~
I saw red strokes slide around my periphery like a tainted paw caressing a canvas, and the demon snickered. *Both. I relish it, gorge on it. And I can share with you. We already have. You’ve seen her, the Queen’s Vis.*
I swallowed, not daring to ask how her own dagger turned on her.
*You may feel the Vitas with me, but you must feed me first. Use me, and I shall share.*
~Why would I want to share the Vitas of those we’ve slain?~
*You accepted our aid. I heard you. If you’re weak, we can make you strong. If you’re hungry, we can satisfy. If you’re bleeding, we can heal. Use me. Feed me, and what you lack, you shall have.*
I pursed my lips. ~Do you know what a Deathwalker is?~
*Hrm?* Curiosity. No annoyance at the change of topic. *No. Not truly.*
~How can that be? Cris-ri-phon could have chosen to become one.~
*A path denied long before he quested to find me. I hate them. They steal Vis from me, and their souls are… unpalatable.*
I glanced at Gavin sleeping. He made occasional grunts beneath the blanket as if he might be dreaming something as uncomfortable as the ground upon which he lay. At the same time, my spiders came into view on my forearm, creeping closer to where I tightly grasped the hilt of the black dagger.
~Who is Braqth to you?~ I asked.
Soul Drinker cackled then shrieked. I flinched like in an outward attack.
*Nothing at all,* it hissed.
Despite that claim, my guardians eased onto my wrist, chiming softly in their protective way. The heavy air seemed to clear, and my hand relaxed. I drew it away from the relic while I could.
*Awww, hehehe…!*
~Rest, now. All of us.~
I ignored that fading laugh, cradling my recently freed babies in both hands. I decided not to ask what the demon wanted from joining my journey, for it would taunt me with that knowledge eventually. My Sisters would be in danger after I found them, though, and I could not imagine the potential destruction of carrying it into Sivaraus.
A mental image returned, of Osgrid holding out her hand.
I’ll bury it for ye.
Perhaps. After I learned the Queen’s full story.
Should I discover where Osgrid or any of her kin had gone.
Gavin woke in the coldest part of the night while I walked the perimeter to keep warm. Without warning he sat up, the rough blanket falling from his scowling face, his black eyes glowing an icy blue in the center, his face a misty white. I was accustomed to this new face even as it could never be comforting or forgettable. In that way, the Deathwalker offered insight to how some others might be startled by my appearance.
And I don’t have red eyes. No race up here does.
The death mage’s gaze was unfocused, floating, seeking that anchor to the waking world. Anxious as I was to hear him speak, I stood still, easy to see but silent, waiting until he spoke first.
Finally, he recognized me. “Sirana.”
I smiled a little. “No change here. Far as I can sense.”
Gavin nodded slightly and leaned forward, his veiny hands out to push himself up, unfurling like a rapidly rising shoot of grey grass. He looked North and West, lifting a finger.
“Another ten leagues that direction,” he said. “The forest will change rapidly.”
I frowned. Leagues, again. “That was how far you can walk in an hour? Not your horse?”
“Correct.”
“Midday by horse, if we do not stop?”
“Indeed, good timing.”
I grimaced. “You say. To challenge the warp rot at the brightest of day when my headache is worst?”
“I’d rather not attempt to face it in deepest night,” the death mage countered. “I see you by your life aura, remember.”
Yet he was clear in every detail to me. I sighed, spotting the large moon on its rise. The last of the night would not be dark, the day ever warmer as sunlight grew so intense as to obliterate the moons. Such were my days, weeks, and months on the Surface.
My stomach growled, and I ate slowly from the saddlebags draped on a standing corpse while Gavin took a brief time to write in his book. My patience lasted only until the end of my meal and the moment his ink had dried.
“So, did you receive ‘guidance’?” I asked.
“Warnings,” he replied.
“We have no shortage of those while awake.”
Gavin glanced up as he firmly stoppered his ink bottle and wiped off the tip of his stylus. “Have you spoken much with the relic?”
I shifted my feet, making effort to keep my eyes on my ally. “Just after you laid down.”
“Did it suggest how it harmed the Deathless?”
“No, I did not ask.”
I heard a whisper but ignored it, waiting for Gavin to inquire what Soul Drinker had spoken of instead. The Deathwalker did not ask; he continued packing.
“Let us ride and talk. We are fortunate nothing found us.”
Nodding, I turned my ear toward the forest. The constant sounds of small and tiny creatures hadn’t ceased, though they were quieter than they had been anywhere else thus far. Waiting until he had his pack secured, I observed Gavin delay us a bit longer.
The death mage cut his arm with the eating knife on his belt and offered the blood to his mare. She lapped at it with a wide, dry tongue, the lips of her muzzle stiff as they remained drawn up afterward, exposing her blunt, dully gleaming teeth.
Suppressing a small shudder, I mounted up when Gavin covered his arm and signaled to me. Soon I was guiding the mare onto the overgrown road.
“What warnings has your Greylord offered?”
Gavin paused. “I’ve never spoke of her thus. Where did you hear this?”
“Amelda. She said your worshipping the Grave Mother of long ago meant you were a traitor to the Ascended, because of your Ma’ab blood.”
He grunted. “She would view it as such. I do not. The enslavers of Ennikar do not own the blood in my veins, and almost every deity I’ve heard whispers about is older than them.�
�
What Soul Drinker had claimed. Farther North. Older. Colder… Your Father will be displeased…
“What warnings, then?” I asked.
“Curiously, that the Ma’ab close faster behind us than we expected.”
I cursed. “The Deathless as well?”
“Not yet. Left behind, though his daughter rides with the men. Why I asked you what the rune dagger had done to him.”
“You want me to ask?”
Gavin grunted. “It is not urgent.”
I rolled my eyes. “The dagger suggested the same as your dream at the inn. The wrap rot spreads because of the Deathless.”
“It did?”
“Beginning in the Desert when the war was lost. It keeps ‘bursting’ through the material.”
“Hm. How?”
“I don’t know. It teases answers.”
“Unsurprising—”
Our mount stepped in a rut rounding a bend; I didn’t see it until it was too late. We jolted forward in a stumble which threw Gavin against my back and me against her neck.
~Stay on your feet! Run!~
The horse caught herself and continued loping without breath. Fortunately, the leg bone didn’t snap although any other horse would have pitched us off and collapsed in a squealing heap. Instead, Gavin had kept us mounted by gripping the front of the saddle until I could guide her stable again.
I took a deep breath, attempting to straighten, only to realize how dense he was. As bad as Kurn or Brom, yet he was without their bulk.
“Off!” I grunted. “Heavy.”
Gavin rapidly made space between us. “Apologies.”
I exhaled in relief. “Where was I?”
“A war lost and somehow causing the warp rot, following the Deathless.”
“Yes,” I agreed, “but just that.”
“Anything else of note?”
“It doesn’t know Deathwalkers well, too new. It knows enough not to like them.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, the relic drinks both Vis and Vitas, thus its name, Soul Drinker. Sometimes it shares that essence with the wielder, feeding strength or healing. But Deathwalkers ‘steal’ Vis while being ‘unpalatable’ in Vitas. It didn’t like those death mages in the Desert.”
