by Scott Moore
He wouldn’t thank her though. She had left his kingdom without permission. She had come to Sera and helped the humans. He would be outraged and may even kill her with his own hands.
She shrugged the thought away. There would be time for worry later. Now she had to do what her mother had asked. Those last words, a dying wish. Save the world.
She cleared her mind. She would have to be a void to succeed. Her father had at least taught her this much. To use the ability, she had to escape from the constant rabble of thought. She had to be blank and calm.
Alti took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment. The Groundborn were moving quickly now that the door didn’t bar them. Nov had let inside at least a hundred of the creatures. She would have to work fast, but she had to try not to overextend her own abilities. A mistake now would mean death for these people.
In Alti’s youth her father had sat her upon his knee. He had told her about his other kingdom then. A kingdom unseen by human eyes, and he brought her there soon after. A kingdom filled with these creatures. They were senseless beasts. Only built to kill and maim, even their own kind. They had no purpose but to do her father’s bidding.
She could help control them someday, he had promised her. As a child that seemed to over joy her. As a woman, she was repulsed by their sight. Their constant need to kill and feed, and their hatred. It reminded her of her father. Hatred was all he was.
She drew in another breath and the Groundborn flooded the room. Time to do something her father had never suspected. Something that made him weak, time to make her own choices.
Alti drew in the air. It grew thick like a morning fog around her and the Groundborn. The party goers wouldn’t see it, not that they would see anything over their panic. The creatures would see it though, but they could do nothing to stop it.
She let the air fill her. The talent she had was strong; her father had told her as much. She doubted herself only when she watched her brother effortlessly control the world, but she had enough power for this.
The Groundborn stopped moving; they did not know fear, but they knew control. Her father had controlled them for centuries. He had taken these creatures and used them for his single purpose. They expected him to come from the shadows.
They would not stay put long, however. Soon they would realize Alti manipulated their reality. By then she would have them under control, right where she wanted them.
Formation of her power took only a few seconds. To the naked eye they seemed like nothing. A void in the sense that no light permeated into or out of the holes, they were solid black. While the surrounding air rippled, the actual holes did not move. Alti formed three and then four black holes, before pulling the shimmering air and starting the process of pushing the Groundborn into them.
The creatures screamed in frustration, but they could do nothing to fight the strength of Alti. She would thin them down line by line. Sure, they could turn and run, maybe even destroy portions of the city, but Groundborn were not intelligent creatures. They were fixtures of death and nothing more. Not a brain between the hundreds of them in Sera.
They were like litter in the city streets of her father’s kingdom. They were everywhere, but they meant nothing.
The first set flew into the black void. The Groundborn did not develop fear; they continued to push forward, and the next line caught up in the shimmering air around the door. By this time Alti could not hear those behind her. The combat, behind her sounded like nothing. She knew nothing but the black holes, the Groundborn, and keeping her end of the bargain.
More Groundborn flew through the four holes. Alti had never learned where the creatures disappeared to. Her father had just told her they were gone forever. Once going into that hole, the people were lost, there were ways to control the destination of course, but Alti didn’t send the Groundborn to that place.
Another line of yellow teeth and eyes stepped up to be herded into the black void. It would continue like this until they were all gone. She could hold the holes that long at least. She wanted the nobles, the soldiers, and the Duchesses to see the chaos before them. Wanted them to fear the horde of Groundborn at their party doors. She, however, did not want to be the reason for their death. The promise she had made to Nov, and her mother had taught her promises only meant something if people continued to keep them.
Another batch went up and into the blackness. It would take several minutes to guide them all through, but it seemed that Nov had cut them off. She had not made that a part of the plan, but no more Groundborn seemed to be streaming the streets. She had eliminated over forty of them already. She thanked Nov for that. An oversight by her, but the soldier had been smart enough to conclude that hundreds of Groundborn would bring enough chaos.
Several more flew up and out of existence, at least in Sera. Then one of the black holes disappeared. Alti took a moment’s pause and stared where the hole had been seconds before. She had not stopped the flow of power, but something blocked it.
With her attention elsewhere she didn’t notice two other holes wink out of the air. Only one remained, but without her attention on it no Groundborn were making their way through it. Alti felt a new pressure enter the air around the room.
Shadows danced around the corners of her vision. She let the power go, as the void left her mind. The shadows moved to surround her. The Groundborn let out an awful shriek. Alti pulled on the surrounding air. Something felt wrong. The black shapes stopped moving as they cornered her into the middle of the room.
She could hear the cries of nobles now. The women and men alike were screaming in fear. There were at least thirty Groundborn left inside the room. Now they were unabashed and were making lines toward the groups of human flesh.
Alti shot two of them down with the white light from her hands, but the third spike deflected. The Groundborn didn’t have the control. She looked at the shadows around the room closer.
She saw them for what they were, not shadows at all, but her brothers and sisters.
And when the work you no longer do is your own you will then realize the hold he has on your soul.
30
They were talking, but most of the words were hard to make out. Dizzy and exhausted, Miles found it hard to keep his eyes from drooping. The booze or the fight, or both, weighed him down. He had drunk a lot of whiskey and then fought three bastard creatures or was it two? He couldn’t remember, didn’t care to remember. All the same, he had spent far too long being pampered by the soldiers of Delvi. He should have run while he had the chance, but his selfishness consumed him. He wanted to remember the luxury. Wanted to remember the taste of power, but he stayed far too long.
Now he could already taste the king’s justice. The justice he had been running from for three months. The justice he had rallied a group of misfit rebels to avoid. How many stomachs had he shoved that rusted pile of shit sword into, just to avoid coming face to face with his former king? All for naught.
“Five men,” someone near him said.
“How did he kill five of our soldiers in a state like this?”
Two men were talking beside Miles, but Miles didn’t have the energy to lift his head to see their faces. They were talking about slaughter and rampage, but it made little sense. The soldiers had seen the beasts that had appeared from nothing and began to slaughter their friends.
“Drunken rage,” the first man said, before being cut off by a third man.
“Miles Tiro was a renowned soldier, but word has come to me he defected from the king’s orders. He then ran off with the rebels that called themselves the Hands of Justice. It’s a shame for both Miles and the Hands, because they met their match three nights ago in Helmen.” Miles felt fingers graze his face. “Isn’t that right Miles?”
Miles’ fingers curled into a fist. The man talking was the soldier who arrested him. He had to have seen the monsters. “Defected, treason, fighting with the enemy, and now the slaughter of five Delvi guards,” the soldier clicked his tongue.
“Seems like maybe before sending you off the to the King, we should have ourselves just a bit [CF6]of fun.” The soldier turned toward the two men in the room with him. “What do you boys say?” Miles already knew the men in the room would champ at the bit for a round of violence. Delvi was quiet, these men wouldn’t get the chance to fight in a war on the outskirts of the kingdom, they wouldn’t see the rebels, but a round of good bullying would be right up their alley.
Miles could have almost been happy to have it all done. The running would be finished, the panic, and the fear would disappear. He would be free even if they chained him and dragged him toward the king who would show him little mercy. The only problem with happiness, it never lasted, and Miles remembered that when the first fist hit his jaw.
His head rolled to the side. The good thing about being drunk happened to be that pain didn’t hurt so much. Almost like the alcohol became his friend again, and the numbing effect it had on his face soothed him.
The second hit came from behind in Miles’ kidneys. He doubled over forward and met another fist. Even with the numbing side effect of the alcohol it still hurt very much. Miles fell to the ground and felt the boots stomping on his midsection and legs. Soon after that, the first round of vomiting began. He spewed all over his new shirt and then puked all over his arms. The alcohol was funny like that. His enemy, then his friend, and then back to his enemy.
As Miles lay on the ground, getting the shit kicked out of him, covered in vomit, he thought to himself that at least it couldn’t get much worse off. That’s when the soldier picked him up by the lapel and elbowed him in the eye. The blood came instantly, mixing with the vomit already covering his upper body.
“Call yourself lucky that the king has called for you alive, or I would be more than happy sending him a lifeless corpse.”
Miles didn’t care what the man had to say anymore. He had endured the beating, which was the least of his worries. The two guards in the room bound his wrists and pulled him to his feet.
“Enjoy your visit,” the soldier said and smiled as he walked away from the room. The two soldiers pulled Miles by his arms.
Miles didn’t remember the trip up the stairs being so difficult, but the trip down he would remember as horrendous. His body ached with every step, his stomach churned from the alcohol or the beating—who knew for sure which—and the men seemed to deem it necessary to drive their fists into his shoulder with every step.
Outside, the other guards of Delvi gathered to say hello to the traitorous knight, who once almost crowned himself a lord. Each man had something to say as he passed, but Miles didn’t give two shits what the men said.
“Loyal to the king!” many of them shouted as he passed and drove their fists into his sides.
Miles knew the words were bullshit. Not a fraction of these men had ever even seen the King. They didn’t know his cold, piercing eyes. They didn’t know his stone humor, or the way he ordered a baby killed; a baby that not even out of the mother’s womb. A mother and child to be murdered without a second thought, and these people cheered for their king. They didn’t know, but they sure filled their throats with bullshit yelling.
The show trailed down the cobbled path toward the gates. The gates where Miles would be thrown upon a rocky cart and delivered to the king like a sack of flour, but at least there he would be free from the torture of walking. He could lay his head down on the splintered wood and dream of a freedom he would never know again.
Another fist hit him in the side and Miles lost his footing. He heard the soldiers behind him curse. He wondered if they were dragging Sammy behind him. Wondered if they had even taken Sammy at all. He didn’t wonder too long as one soldier punched him in the back of the neck, and he felt the pain travel down his spine. Miles spit up blood and seconds later vomited more onto the path. He glanced up and saw that the gates weren’t too far off, just another hundred yards and he would be free from the crippling blows.
An apple flew in front of Miles, barely missing his nose as he walked forward. A good thing the bastards were lousy at aiming. Miles doubted he would have felt it anyhow, he couldn’t even begin describing all the places he hurt.
The gates were lined with people trying to get into the city. They directed Miles toward a smaller service gate away from the crowd. He saw the cart lined with sacks of goods. Horses for the soldiers were saddled to the side, but he saw no room for him on either.
The soldier guiding him kicked him in the knee and Miles went down.
“Stay put,” the man said and trailed off, leaving only one guard with Miles. The man held on tight as if Miles had the strength to fight him.
Several seconds later the second guard returned with a tether of rope and wrapped it around the Miles’ neck.
“Stand up,” he instructed and tugged the rope. Miles did as asked, although slower than the guard had liked. The man pulled the rope and Miles toppled forward onto his face. The guards got their laughs in and then tugged again, yanking Miles back up. Miles complied and tried to get slack into the rope. The man guided him forward toward the cart, but Miles wouldn’t find that rest he had dreamed of. Instead, the man took the free end of the rope and tied it off to one of the pack horse’s legs.
“You had better keep up, darling,” the man laughed at his own insult and walked away slugging Miles in the shoulder one last time.
The gates to the lower peasant quarters opened fifty yards to the west of where Miles stood, tied behind a stinking horse. The gates opened to dilapidated, old, rotted, and barely standing homes. Homes that the poor and desolate felt lucky to have. Delvi overfilled with thieves, murders, rapist, and other deplorable people, and the west gates right outside the main city filled with those who came to die.
Fitting then that Miles started his journey with the sight of these lifeless fucks. He would start carving his own death path behind this damned horse. He thought for a moment about slapping the horse on its ass and spooking it. Sure, the death would be painful, and he would scream and cry out. The bastards who had tied him to the horse wouldn’t get the pleasure of beating him or watching him suffer and the king wouldn’t get his unforgiving hands upon him.
Miles could reach out and end it all. He would feel his head bouncing off the pathway. He would be dead in minutes and there would be no torture or pleasure from his death. He would go out on his own and no one could say they killed Miles Tiro.
Then he thought about the blood rushing down his face. The bones snapping in his shoulders. He thought about the dirt stinging his eyes. He thought about it all and even if he had the courage to reach out, he would be dead at the end of it all. Death came no matter how he went, but something about the instant death, the thought of death right there, it scared the shit out of him. So, for all his brave thoughts of a grand death and going out on his own accord, he couldn’t do it. He was a chicken shit. He would walk behind the horse and hold the rope tightly. He would take the berating and the punishment handed out by the soldiers along the way. He would do it all, because he feared to do anything else that could stop it.
Miles looked out over the land. A long walk to the king’s city of Rosin. His legs would be sore, his body would ache, and then he would die.
“These men don’t seem to like you,” said a voice behind him.
***
Sammy still found amazement in the city. The leisure at which people moved with their goods. The way buildings sprang up out of nowhere and seemed to touch the sky. While other areas seemed to fall in. They moved behind Miles and his escort. The crowd didn’t seem to care for Miles too much. They slung the food Sammy had seen them eating earlier. Sammy thought it a great waste, but he wasn’t sure what people needed it for anyhow.
Sammy watched the crowd sneak in shots to Miles’ body. He also watched the surrounding buildings and noticed that in a calmer time they could be beautiful. The places left where flowers sprouted and grass grew reminded him of the walk toward the city. Most of the ground turned to dusty dirt wi
th the trample of so many people throughout the city. At the gates, Sammy watched the guards tie Miles to an old horse. They whispered something to him, but Sammy couldn’t make it out.
Sammy got his first glance upon Miles’ face. His eyes swelled shut, his lips were busted and fat, dried blood covered his cheeks and chin. For lack of a better word, he looked tired and in need of a long thing he called sleep. Sammy walked toward him. Not a single guard paid him any mind, not in the barracks, not on the walk toward the gates, and not now as he approached Miles.
Sammy put his hand on Miles’ shoulder. Even though he had done so gently, Miles still jumped at the touch. His eyes tried to widen, but they were just too swollen to do so. Sammy wondered if Miles could even still see through the slits.
“These men don’t seem to like you,” Sammy said.
Miles didn’t reply. He looked out toward the distance of the road. Then coughed and Sammy saw blood seep through his teeth.
Several men came up behind Miles, they were the men guarding the gates from the previous day.
“Told Mant you weren’t all you were cracked up to be,” one of them said.
“Killed the entire second watch I heard.” The second guard seemed impressed by the death of his friends.
Sammy stood as he watched the two men berate Miles. Miles didn’t bother to say anything back to them. Sammy wondered if he could talk with the swollen face and lips. Soon after, the guards grew bored and left, without ever even looking in Sammy’s direction.
Sammy stepped forward again and stood next to Miles. They stood like that—in silence—for a few minutes.
“Why don’t you leave?” Miles asked in a croak.
Sammy didn’t have to think too hard to come up with an answer. “I don’t have anywhere to go.”
It was the truth. The only person Sammy knew stood tied before him. He couldn’t remember a thing from before the cemetery. He couldn’t remember where he came from, where he lived, or even what his name had been.
