Taste of Darkness

by Maria V. Snyder

  Oh.

  “At least she died right away and didn’t linger in agony like some do.”

  “You mean like my sister.” My turn to snap.

  “I didn’t want to hurt her, but you made me so mad that day.”

  “So it’s my fault she died?”

  He gazed at me with a quizzical squint. “Of course.”

  While I agreed that I held some of the blame and felt guilty about her death, the fact that Tohon failed to see that his actions also played a part in her death just proved, once again, that he lacked basic human compassion and a conscience.

  “I don’t regret my actions. Your dead soldiers had to be stopped,” I said. “What I do regret is missing your heart with my sword.”

  “My sword. You used my sword.” Tohon growled.

  I laughed. “Ouch.”

  Tohon stood. I clutched my chair arms. He couldn’t hurt me in my own dream. Could he?

  “If I were you,” Tohon said, “I’d be worried about what Cellina’s up to. We stayed up many late nights discussing strategy. She’s smart and devious. Who do you think came up with the idea to bury my dead soldiers?” Tohon smirked. “It’s not so funny now. Is it?”

  I jerked awake. Disoriented, I stared at the ceiling. Torchlight flickered on stone. Had I slept all day? Hard to tell inside a cave. Private Jannes groaned in pain. Clambering to my feet, I checked on him. White blisters marked his skin and a few bled where he’d scratched at them. I dug into my pack and retrieved the gloves Belen had given me. Sadness gripped my heart for a moment, but another cry from Jannes spurred me into action. I slipped the gloves onto the private’s hands, then cleaned and coated the blisters with a salve.

  When I finished, I glanced up and met Sergeant Phelix’s gaze. He had pushed up on his right elbow. Sweat stained his nightshirt.

  “That’ll be me soon. Won’t it?” he asked.

  I wanted to lie to him. “Yes.”

  “Ah, hell.” He sank back down and hooked his arm over his eyes.

  I stood there unable to speak. There were no words of comfort to offer. My healing powers were useless. Nothing would stop the inevitable. Instead, I held Phelix’s hand until he fell asleep.

  After I cared for the others, I searched for Ryne. It appeared as if he hadn’t moved from the corner. Noak sat with him and I hesitated, unwilling to interrupt them. Scared of the ice giant? Who, me?

  Ryne noticed me and gestured for me to join them.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  I glanced at Noak. No icy chill raced over my skin. A first. Was it a good sign or bad? Ryne misinterpreted my silence and asked Noak to give us a few minutes.

  Noak nodded and headed toward the main fire. Danny sat with the monkeys and a number of other soldiers. They held bowls of stew, and Quain demonstrated an attack move with his spoon. Laughter echoed until Noak arrived. Then quiet descended in a heartbeat.

  “No one is quite sure what to make of him,” Ryne said.

  “The logical part of our minds knows he’s here to help us, but, let’s face it, he’s the monster under the bed.”

  Ryne laughed. “That he is!”

  I stared at Noak’s broad back. If he was the monster under the bed, who was Cellina? The ghoul in the closet? The jack-in-the-box?

  “What’s wrong?” Ryne asked.

  “Do you know what Cellina’s planning?”

  “No.”

  “How about theories? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  Ryne tapped his finger on the table. “What brought this up? Another dream?”

  It irked me that he’d guessed right. “That and experience, Ryne. You’ve a tendency to keep information from me and disappear. I’d just like a little warning this time.”

  “I’ve a theory about Cellina’s plan and I think she’s sending her troops farther north to loop in behind us. I’m going to send half my troops to intercept her. You should be safe here.”

  “Should?”

  “We’re at war. My theories are just that—theories. I can only control the actions of my army.”

  “She’s not going to catch you by surprise?”

  “I hope not. That’s why you saved me. Right?” He grinned.

  “So you could save us.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “And you’re not going to use me as bait?”

  “Avry, I won’t knowingly use you as bait. I promise.”

  “Knowingly?”

  “We’re at war. Things change in a heartbeat.” He glanced over to the fire. “I’m leaving for HQ tomorrow, taking Noak and the lady warriors with me. They’ll be part of that northern force. Lieutenant Macon and his men plus the odd squad, Loren, and Quain will stay with you, guarding the infirmary. I suspect Danny will want to remain, as well. And...” He peered at me as if trying to read my mood. “When Kerrick and Flea return, I’d like them both to join me at HQ. Their help is vital.”

  I clamped down on my instinctive reply of no way. Instead, I said, “Flea has refused to use his power.”

  “I know. But he’s had enough time to adjust. He can’t keep avoiding it. His powers can make a difference in the outcome of this fight.”

  “I’ll relay your message.” And let them decide.

  “Thank you.”

  I nodded and then joined the others at the fire. My stomach growled as soon as I smelled the stew. Ladling a bowlful, I listened as Quain asked Noak questions about the wildlands. Danny answered a couple. He talked with confidence about the tribespeople as if he’d been born one of them. I hid a smile. The boy had been in a horrible situation and he’d managed to turn it around, creating allies from enemies. Perhaps Flea would also come to terms with his unique situation. One could hope.

  * * *

  After Ryne and the others left, we settled into a routine. Quain groused about babysitting duty, but the others seemed happy with the arrangement. And Odd planned to take his squad out on patrols, sweeping the surrounding area in wider and wider loops in case the enemy attempted to sneak up on us.

  As we neared the first day of winter, my worry increased. First, Kerrick and Flea hadn’t returned as expected. Granted they were only two days late, but my imagination kicked in and created terrible reasons for the delay. Second, more victims of the plague arrived at the infirmary. And not just a handful, but a steady stream of sick patients.

  The small cavern I’d been using to keep them quarantined overflowed. I commandeered two more caverns. By the first morning of winter, I counted a total of twenty-four. Jannes had died.

  By the end of the day, I had thirty. Danny helped me. We grouped them by their stages. Those experiencing stage one stayed together while those in the throes of stage two filled another. Stage three remained in their original location; moving them would cause them too much pain.

  After helping to carry a woman into the stage-two area, Danny paused and looked at me with a slightly horrified grimace. “King Tohon did the same thing with the kids he injected the toxin into.” He gestured. “Divided us by how sick we were.”

  “It makes sense for the caregivers and I think it’s a kindness,” I said.

  “Yeah. They’re scared enough. Seeing your friends die and knowing that’s your fate...” He shuddered. “It would be cruel. At least when they reach that stage, they’re too sick to be aware of their surroundings.”

  The voice of experience. Tohon had taken Danny’s childhood, and I wished I could send Danny to Alga Realm where he’d be safe and wouldn’t have to deal with the horrors of war. Where he could be a kid. And while I was wishing, I’d send Flea along, too.

  A soldier sat up suddenly and flung his blanket to the ground. He yanked his sweat-stained shirt off and fanned his face. I poured him a glass of cool water and added a pinch of feve
r powder before hurrying over to him.

  Catching sight of his back, I stopped. A black mark stained his skin. Dirt? I moved closer. When I reached his bedside, the mark was horrifyingly clear—a two-inch-long tattoo of a skeleton wearing a crown of bones.

  Clamping down on my growing panic, I kept my voice even as I asked, “Danny, can you fetch Odd?”

  “Sure.” Danny rushed away.

  “Wash your hands first,” I yelled after him.

  He returned and scrubbed.

  “What happened to you before you got sick?” I handed the sergeant the drink.

  He swept a hand out. “You mean before my whole squad started puking?”

  “Yes, Sergeant...”

  “Gylon.” He gulped the drink then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Nothing happened. We were out on patrol and didn’t encounter the enemy.”

  “Did you see anyone?”

  “We helped that guy out, remember, Sarge?” another man lying nearby asked.

  “Oh, yeah. The man’s wagon wheel had broken and we helped fix it. No biggie,” Gylon said.

  “Are you sure we fixed it?” A private pushed up on her elbow. “I don’t recall that.”

  “That’s ’cause you took rear guard, Tyra, watching our backs,” yet another soldier added.

  She frowned. “And I thought I saw...something before getting stung by a bee.”

  A few of the others piped up. “I was stung.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Must have disturbed a nest.”

  “Stung? Are you sure?” I asked Tyra.

  Tyra pointed to her neck. I examined the area. A tiny red puncture marked her skin. Not a bee sting, but evidence that she’d been hit by a dart. I checked the others. All had puncture wounds. The squad had been ambushed and didn’t even know it.

  “Where were you?” I asked.

  “South,” Sergeant Gylon said. “Prince Ryne wanted us to sweep the area to ensure no one tried to get in behind Grzebien.”

  My panic boiled up my throat. “How far?”

  “Two days, but with everyone so sick, it took us twice as long to get here.”

  The Skeleton King had been two days south of us four days ago. Bad, very bad.

  Even worse, he had a powerful weapon. The new plague.

  KERRICK

  On his knees, Kerrick leaned against the back of the jailhouse. He held the hem of his shirt over his nose and mouth, taking deep breaths. The image of the cook butchering two men seared into his mind while the acid from his stomach burned up his throat. His body shook as he fought the desire to retch. The Skeleton King and his army ate their victims. Horror mixed with revulsion, and he lost the battle and dry heaved over the grass.

  More howling pierced the air, along with a set of rapid drumbeats. The bonfire sizzled and Kerrick wondered if the two bowls of blood the king had collected from the victims had been tossed into the flames. Kerrick sank back onto his heels and covered his mouth again, blocking the foul odor of burned flesh.

  When he’d regained his composure, he peered around the corner of the building. He eyed the spits of meat over the coals. How many people had they killed? Was Belen one of them? Not going there.

  He locked his emotions away. At this point, second-guessing would be a waste of time. Kerrick reviewed the facts. The victims had been taken from the jailhouse, so there must be more locked inside. And he had to rescue them. Tonight.

  He crept around the side, searching for the window they’d used to rescue Avry a little over a year ago. Almost at ground level, it had been boarded up, which meant the iron bars hadn’t been replaced. First thing to go right all night.

  Now the hard part. Should he wait until the army settled down for the night or do it now while they were preoccupied? The prison cells had been built belowground. The prisoners would need help climbing out the window. Kerrick scanned the area. Ivy grew on the pasture fence and jailhouse walls. Another chant started. Would the Skeleton King return for more victims? He couldn’t bear for anyone else to die.

  A plan formed. Kerrick pressed his palm to the ground. He concentrated on Flea and Huxley. They remained where he’d left them. Closing his eyes, Kerrick envisioned his location and his need, hoping one or both of them would pick up on his silent message.

  Huxley pawed the ground and then started in Kerrick’s direction. Soon after, Flea followed. Good.

  While he waited for them, Kerrick worked on the boards, prying them loose with his dagger every time the chanting and howling grew loud enough to cover the noise. He’d gotten a couple free when he sensed Huxley nearby. They had reached the edge of the forest behind the jailhouse. Kerrick joined them, turning back to normal.

  “This is beyond creepy,” Flea said when he appeared. “What’s with the noise, the awful smell, and that howling?” he asked in an urgent whisper.

  “Later. First we need to rescue—”

  “Belen? Is he in there?” Flea pointed to the jailhouse.

  “I hope. Do you remember how we rescued Avry last year?”

  “Yes, but Loren—”

  “I’ve a substitute for your leg holders.”

  Flea glanced at Huxley. “Won’t he be too noticeable?”

  “He’s staying here. Don’t worry. I’ve a plan.”

  “And the distraction?”

  “With all that noise, I’m hoping we don’t need one.”

  “Lots of hoping going on here, Kerrick.”

  “We’ve had flimsier plans.”

  Flea grinned. “True. Lead on before they stop.”

  They returned to the window and finished pulling off the boards, exposing the stumps of the bars that had been left when they’d used Quain’s lightning juice to cut through them. Kerrick then concentrated on the ivy growing on the fence, encouraging it to weave into a ladder and elongate. It resisted, but he pushed through its reluctance. The effort sapped him and he needed a boost of energy from Flea. Once he recovered, Kerrick dropped the ivy ladder into the cell and then wiggled through the tight opening.

  “Stay here,” he instructed Flea. “The prisoners can climb up the ladder. You need to help them out and direct them to Huxley.”

  “Okay.”

  Kerrick descended. At the bottom he stood for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the semidarkness. Even with the ivy hanging next to him, he felt the strong tug from the forest and combined with the energy he needed to maintain a normal appearance, he had to be careful not to drain all his strength.

  Now accustomed to the dim light, he glanced around. No surprise this cell was empty. But men and women stared at him from its neighbors.

  “Who—”

  He put a finger to his lips. “I’m here to help you escape.” Kerrick kept his voice low. “It’s very important that you keep quiet and follow my instructions. All right?”

  They nodded. Kerrick pulled out his lock picks and went to work. He unlocked the closest cell and showed them the ladder. While they took turns, he unlocked the other cells and searched for Belen. Three to five people shared each cell. No Belen. Grief and frustration mixed into a tight ball in the pit of his stomach.

  He asked the others about Belen. “He’s a big guy, black hair, looks like a bear,” Kerrick whispered.

  Most didn’t answer, but one woman said, “He’s down below. He fought the guards and gave them such a hard time, they locked him in the pit. Poor guy hasn’t had any food or water in days.”

  After all the cells had been opened, Kerrick found the hatch to the pit. It’d been bolted to the floor and secured with a thick lock that shone—brand-new. He cursed under his breath. Inserting his tension wrench and diamond pick, Kerrick wished for Quain’s lightning juice. This wouldn’t be easy. He worked on the lock until his fingers cramped. His energy dipped.
<
br />   “They’re all out,” Flea said. “Fifteen total.”

  Kerrick strode to the window. “Lead them to Mom’s.”

  “But—”

  “Go.”

  But instead of obeying him, Flea climbed through the window and dropped down beside him. “How can I help?”

  “You can’t.” Biting down on his anger, Kerrick turned and resumed his efforts to pop the complex lock. Sweat soaked his shirt and stung his eyes. His fingers slipped on the pick and he clamped down on a growl of frustration.

  Flea tapped him on the shoulder. “Company.”

  The clang of a door echoed. Flea gripped the hilt of his sword, but Kerrick stopped him.

  “A dagger’s better for an ambush.” Kerrick stood and drew his blade. He motioned for Flea to stand to the right of the main door, while he stepped to the left. He’d been wrong. Flea could help.

  They waited. The jailhouse had two sets of heavy double doors from the processing area to the cells. Metal screeched as the second set was unlocked. A beam of lantern light sliced the darkness, then grew wider as the doors swung open.

  Kerrick didn’t hesitate. “Now!” he shouted then grabbed the closest guard and spun him, ramming his head into the wall. The man crumpled in a heap.

  He turned. Flea struggled with two men. Kerrick pulled one off the boy and slit the guard’s throat. Two more guards rushed into the fray, armed with swords and prepared for a fight. Kerrick discovered that bone armor was quite effective against his dagger. And their sharp rapiers snaked in past his defenses, finding flesh.

  Kerrick drew his dadao sword. Even though he didn’t have much room to swing, he hoped the thick curved blade would intimidate them. Aside from a brief pause, it failed to impress them.

  They pressed their advantage and Kerrick retreated. Soon his back hit bars. He was trapped and near the end of his energy. Flea made a strangled cry. Kerrick dropped his normal camouflage and increased his attacks, hoping to slip past them. Besides a grunt of surprise, the two men kept lunging with their thinner weapons. Fighting in tight quarters against two, Kerrick knew it was just a matter of time.