To her utter surprise, many of the halja burst apart into plumes of thick gray dust after a single strike. She saw that this confused the others as well, but none of them questioned it. A boon was a boon.
Because of this, they made far better time than she expected, and she only lost one archer from her warband due to an ambush from the Empty Hunt. They made it to the shadows of the Guardian and Ghaokla, one hissing and flapping her wings, the other biting down with almost careless apathy. The halja’s arms still held back the Guardian with ease.
“Legs and arms,” she breathed immediately as she wiped sweat from her eyes. “Together in groups, focus on a spot. Thin out the sinew or saw out gashes—anything the Guardian can exploit—and try to keep her clear of the lesser halja. Oh, and try not to die.”
They sprang into action without acknowledgment, splitting into groups. Some warriors moved underneath the Guardian’s coils toward the elder halja’s feet. Lesser halja set on them almost immediately, dropping from either the Guardian or Ghaokla, or rising up from the Stillness itself. Warriors began to die all too fast.
“Think I’d hurt her if I went a little heavy with Redflow?” Sanaa asked from beside her.
Colibrí glanced at the woman, then up at the two titans battling above them. “I’m not sure we should risk it.”
“Then, next problem: I see why you think tearing off its arms might help, but how the fuck do you expect us to get up there?” Sanaa flipped her warrior braid back over her shoulder. “Should have dragged some Amberflow or Blueflow spiritseers with me.”
The Guardian’s length still vanished into the forest, looping around several nearby tree-lords. She hissed and bit at the elder halja, glistening fangs somehow scraping but not sinking into its hide. Every so often the Guardian bludgeoned it with her head while her wings threw off halja and helped maintain her position. Ghaokla’s massive, grinning maw continued to clamp down on a wide stretch of of the Guardian, jagged teeth scraping against her scales. The scales snapped and tore free, exposing the flesh beneath.
“Climb the Guardian,” Colibrí ordered, looking at the part of the Guardian’s coils that angled down against the forest layer.
She sprinted and leaped, spear in hand, and her sentinels followed. She scampered up, using the prickly scales as leverage, and soon found herself atop the Guardian’s bulk. She could feel the trembling muscle beneath as the Guardian fought against Ghaokla’s unnatural strength.
The others followed close behind, and together they rushed along the serpent as if she were a root-road, toward the point where Ghaokla’s arm pinned the Guardian. Halja swarmed across the Guardian like ants, more savage than she had ever seen them before, and they tore at the Guardian’s scales or set free violet blood from exposed bits of flesh.
Colibrí flattened her ears and streamed out her tail behind her, then charged at them with a warcry. Her spear danced as lesser halja died beneath her rage, and when an Empty Victory missed its swing at her, it sent her tumbling with a backhand blow. Colibrí rolled back onto her feet and rushed back toward it without hesitation.
All the exhaustion and pain from the days before returned in white-hot bolts, but she ignored them the same way she ignored the Jurakán screaming in her skull.
Blood and sweat dripped off her by the time they made it to Ghaokla’s arm, Sanaa at their head, and the spiritseer left deep burns on Ghaokla’s arm as they rushed across it onto the elder halja’s bulk.
Halja, imitating the island monkeys that kept to the topmost layers of the forest, crawled over Ghaokla, but so did others like Empty Furies and Empty Victories. They walked across Ghaokla’s hide without concern and seemed unaffected by its movements or the curve of its flesh— Ghaokla might as well have been flat ground to them, as far as Colibrí could tell.
Seas aflame, these fucking halja! she thought, feeling her arms tremble and a growl gush from her throat. She herself staggered and fell when Ghaokla repositioned after a blow from the Guardian. Her muscles bulged as she tried to hold herself in place, her other hand clenched around her spear. Why is nothing ever easy for us, eh?
The faces along Ghaokla still had their mouths covered by hands, but, now that she was closer, it seemed as if they hadn’t stopped chanting. Colibrí shuddered and try not to think too hard about the sight as her sandals stepped across faces and clamped hands.
Colibrí and her warriors separated again as if by some unseen signal, some of them unsheathing knives or war axes if not just using their spears, and they began to work at the curve where the thin skeletal arm joined with Ghaokla. The rest of them, including Colibrí and Sanaa, held off the rush of halja as best they could.
Their best wasn’t good enough.
Empty Fury blinded them before rushing in with their namesake, allowing Empty Hunt to fire past their defense and into the desperately cutting warriors. Sanaa moved forward, laughing and covering one of the warband’s flanks all on her own while Colibrí fought with warriors and spiritseers everywhere else.
The warriors below seemed no better, and when she glanced down through the haze of fatigue, and her pounding head, she saw some of the truly wicked breeds crowding on the elder halja’s feet. Among them were Empty Hunger, a rare but much-feared halja that were slow, but practically indestructible from anywhere outside its coquí-like body—and inside was the last place you ever wanted to be.
Things were going from terrible, to worse, to pointless, but that last thought had given her an idea.
A terrible, stupid idea, but they were going to die here if she did nothing.
She threw a glance over her shoulder and saw her fellow warriors snarling in frustration. They cut at the sinew, trying to avoid the faces and hands which were thick, but everything they damaged regrew too quickly to matter and some had already broken their knives or spears trying to force leverage. But they didn’t stop.
Colibrí closed her eyes—it was just a blink, really, but for a moment it felt like the world and all its horrors just might fade away forever. She took a breath, then stepped forward and made a messy parry with her spear, the haft chipped and scratched, and then held against an Empty Victory for the heartbeat it took a spiritseer to slice it in two. Then, they moved side by side, killed another two halja, and breathed deep while more surged toward them.
She placed her hand on the spiritseer’s shoulder, his blade the deep umber color of soil. Like his Flow, he had been the boulder of their defense, unmovable and unmoved, but sending him away made the most sense. He might actually survive the act. Colibrí called the other warriors to her. They didn’t hesitate and rose from their tasks to join them against the encroaching halja.
“Sanaa,” Colibrí screamed, and when the spiritseer glanced over, she said to the both of them, “I need you two to work together and open us a way inside the halja, then you—” She looked at the Umberflow adept. “—need to lead the others below back to the safehold and go with them. Anyone is welcome to join him—you’ve already more than proven your honor and courage.”
If this worked then they would all go back, and it needed to work. Colibrí sucked in breath and eyed the Guardian. Their champion was weakening, her struggles becoming less fierce, her attacks less frequent, and her hissing grew ever softer. Colibrí had no doubt she was giving everything she had—but it wasn’t enough.
There was no shame in that. The Guardian was the first among all warriors, but she wasn’t the last. She wasn’t alone.
Sanaa laughed and stepped back with a fierce grin as the Umberflow spiritseer raised his Flowing Blade. “Brilliant and fucking insane all at once!” the elder spiritseer shouted. She flipped her Blade around and it flared bright as the sun.
The Umberflow spiritseer’s Blade deepened in color too, but he held it in two hands. He moved back away from where the halja’s arm met its body—the sinew was far thicker there—and slammed his Blade down like an axe. The motion was oddly slow, like a lumbering giant making a strike, and she knew it was because his Flow was giving
his attack weight far beyond the reality. It crashed into the sinew of Ghaokla and only formed small, shallow crater, but the force almost toppled all of them. Lines of umber filled the sinew like cracks as the spiritseer retreated back to the edge.
The crater began to heal almost immediately.
But then Sanaa lurched forward and plunged her Flowing Blade down. There was resistance, but it sunk deep, charring the gray sinew around it into black flakes, and then a powerful eruption flung her arm and Blade back. Ghaokla actually trembled and shook, then flame plumed up from the small hole Sanaa had made. The elder transitioned smoothly into her next spell.
Spouts of flame and force coiled toward Sanaa’s Flowing Blade, just as she fought the momentum that flung her arms back, her face locked into a vicious grin, and her Blade drank the light and fire, growing longer, wider, and tinged with blue and white.
She slammed it back down into the hole, teeth now clenched, and seemingly fired off the same technique again.
This time Ghaokla staggered, the thinner sinew burst apart, and they fell inside with the halja they were currently fighting. They slammed into the sinewy ‘floor’ of Ghaokla’s insides. Most of them scrambled to their feet, but a few were torn apart by the halja that fell along with them. There was a fierce skirmish and Colibrí immediately felt the absence of the Umberflow spiritseer who had held against the tide for so long.
More halja tumbled down after them. They thudded against the floor and either partially burst apart or rose slowly, which made them easy targets for their spears. It was the only boon they had earned so far.
“Go!” Colibrí cried, turning herself. “Cut it open from the inside!”
Halja were hollow—that was what the word meant. There was nothing special about their insides other than the fact it was always weaker than the outer strips of sinew, and that rarely ever mattered.
It would now.
The only problem was that the hollowness was tangible—she could feel Stillness like she felt the Flows of Creation—and she had seriously underestimated the deepness of it.
It was a hundred times worse than the Flows, making her feel as if she had sunk to the very bottom of the sea. The Jurakán pressed close against her thoughts too, as if it were also confined, and she feared it would rip her mind apart before anything else killed her.
They moved to the elder halja’s left side, to the flesh that its arm was attached to, and struck at it with desperation. The hole above them was already closing, allowing fewer halja to enter which meant fewer halja to distract them, as she had hoped.
Their strikes continued, without pause. The flesh on the inside was easier to destroy and slower to restore itself, so they were leaving deep gouges inside Ghaokla, but it wasn’t enough.
The Stillness was so heavy it was hard to breathe, and it wasn’t long before Colibrí feared that her panic might have led them toward disaster.
Gray strips began appearing across her arms as she thrust her spear again and again. Then, as her muscles tensed and bulged, she watched her skin crumble into dust and ooze blood.
“Faster!” Colibrí cried, and their pace increased as one. Break, break, beak!
A few of the warriors stayed apart from them to fight the dropping halja, including Sanaa, but when the hole above them closed and the inside became very dark, they turned to work beside Colibrí and the others.
Sanaa was gasping, but she didn’t stop. Her Flowing Blade was engulfed in rippling flame; the Blade was the only real light they had now, and Sanaa used it to hammer the sinew, each strike not only burning Ghaokla’s hide but also injecting Flow.
Colibrí continued chopping beside the spiritseer as she sucked in air, her hair no longer in a braid, instead plastered to her neck and back with sweat.
The Jurakán screamed at her.
She screamed back, refusing to listen.
Her spear hammered down again.
The Jurakán had saved Yabisi’s life, but it had also removed Colibrí from that same life.
Another full-bodied slam of her spear, spraying a tiny cloud of dust.
She didn’t regret using it to save her cacica, friend, and lover; she only regretted not believing in herself first. Yes, she had been scared and desperate, had felt the hopelessness clutching her heart with every fellow warrior that fell, but she had also been young. Now, after so many Cycles, Colibrí had done many difficult, hopeless things with the help of nothing but her own tireless wings. She had her own strength and she respected it as much as the storm raging within her head.
Her spearhead shattered on the next thrust. She growled and jammed the shard in, deeper and deeper until the scarred haft snapped in two. Colibrí drew her knife, tail whipping side to side, her vision blurring, and landed heavy, leaden blows against the wall of sinew.
So Colibrí had promised never to want the Jurakán again, to always choose to believe in herself first. There had been times when she had feared she would never come back to Narune—more than he would ever know, more than she would ever tell him—but she had.
It had been so hard raising him alone, but she had done it with all the love and care she could muster. When she had lain in the forest, wounded and lost, it was the thought of leaving Narune alone that had forced her back onto her feet and made her drag herself home.
When Peacemaker had first ambushed her, Colibrí had trusted all the blood, sweat, and tears that had forged the person she had become over trusting the Jurakán.
Colibrí didn’t need the protection of the screams, or the strength of its fury. She had something stronger. It had always carried her through, and, so far, that conviction had yet to take anything from her.
To her surprise the Jurakán actually slowed, the screams dimming to whispers for an eerie moment, as if it had listened to her thoughts and was left surprised. In that moment, she saw a flicker of something worth understanding in return, something without malice… like a child that simply didn’t know better, and only needed guidance to grow into something worthy.
Colibrí could understand that all too well, and in her heart her fear of the Jurakán diminished just a little.
Maybe Narune was right after all. Maybe the screams were more than just a latent curse within their blood and a symptom of their crippled spirits, but now wasn’t the time to ponder over it.
Colibrí raised her arm and was horrified to see it completely covered in blood, but still forced her knife down with all her trembling strength—
—and a small section of Ghaokla burst into thick dust, letting in the scent of the forest and cooler air. The other warriors all pounced on that opening, laughing, frantic, too many of them without eyes or ears or fingers now, likely all transformed into Stillness and then dust.
A deep shudder came from around them and the whole side burst into dust. They fell through, crashing down onto the forest layer below. Some warriors didn’t get back up, dead or done—Colibrí herself almost didn’t, but Sanaa lifted her one-handed and set Colibrí back onto her feet. Colibrí reached for a dead warrior’s spear, fighting nausea and dizziness, and prepared to fight their way back—
But then the Guardian gave a loud, triumphant hiss that emanated from all around the forest and scattered birds, and the reverberation was so strong that it seemed like the tree-lords themselves were joining in on her vicious glee.
Colibrí whirled, her warrior discipline forgotten, and watched as Ghaokla tilted, one arm shattering into thick plumes of dust. The elder halja was apathetic to it all, making no death cries and struggling no more fiercely than before, but a wave of newfound vigor rippled through the Guardian as she went for the kill.
The Guardian’s length pulled tight around Ghaokla like a serpent constricting its prey, and her maw opened to reveal glistening fangs. The fangs dripped not with venom but with the Unseen Flow, though Colibrí supposed there wasn’t a difference to the halja.
The Guardian’s head snapped forward and the fangs sunk into sinew just above Ghaokla’s own wide, mor
bid grin, up where its eyes should have been. They stood there embraced for what seemed an eternity as thick violet lines spread across the gray of Ghaokla’s body like a fierce bruise.
Then the elder halja caved in for a moment, before exploding into a gigantic wave of dust. It washed over them, scattering detritus and flinging discarded knives and spears, and clogging the air until it was hard to breathe—or spot the remaining halja.
“Watch for ambushes!” Colibrí dried, terrified at how weak her own voice sounded.
But then the Guardian’s wings began to snap, sending the cloud that was as thick as bone dust away, and her voice rang out. “No… it is over.”
Confused, Colibrí watched as the battlefield cleared of dust and saw that there were more warriors standing than she had expected. Her confusion only deepened further when she saw halja vanishing one by one, bursting apart in plumes of dust until, after a while, they simply began smearing into nothingness like water washing away wet paint.
“Most of them seem to be phantasms,” the Guardian said, hissing low and deep. “But now that my attention is freed, there is no point in Peacemaker keeping up the ruse.”
Blinking, she turned toward the expanse of Stillness. There were still some halja standing there motionlessly, but none of them looked their way. There were far too few, fewer than she had ever seen at the Primordial Wound before.
Colibrí frowned.
Peacemaker waited for them at the border between natural forest and Stillness, kneeling, his body slumped over, spasming in intervals. The Guardian, spiritseers, and warriors made their way toward him, and Colibrí followed. She came to a stop beside Warmaster Jhul and the spiritseer elders as they formed a semicircle around him.
“This must be his true appearance,” the Guardian said gently. “He was hiding his condition.”
“Condition?” Colibrí asked, staring down at Peacemaker.
“Yes. We had wondered how he could have shaped the Unseen Flow so skillfully while wielding it indirectly.” The Guardian’s wings slowly closed. “The answer is that he did not.”
Cradle of Sea and Soil Page 34
