by Ramy Vance
Sarah covered her mouth, trying to keep herself from laughing at Kravis, who was obviously attempting to be serious. "Well, maybe we should talk now."
Kravis stretched and touched his toes. Then he stretched and cracked his knuckles. After that, he twisted his waist back and forth as he gave a high-pitched whine. "Yeah, I guess you should go first, seeing as how you proposed."
"Or maybe you should. It seemed like it freaked you out a lot."
Kravis took a deep breath. "Marriage is a huge thing, and there's this war going on. Why commit to something that might not even happen? It seems like such a huge thing to hope for, and hope makes people stupid."
Usually that was Sarah's line, but seeing Kravis full of despair made her want to be the positive one. "Hope also can be the thing that keeps you going. I know you want kids, too. That's something we both hope for, even if we never talked about it."
"Talking about something I know will probably not happen doesn't sound appealing. You know how gnomes feel about family."
Sarah did know. Even if gnomes didn't think about marriage or kids often, once it happened, it happened in a big way. Most gnomish families had at least fifteen children, and that was on the small side. Sarah didn’t want to be pregnant for the rest of her life.
"One or two wouldn't be too bad," Sarah offered. "I'd even be willing to try for three, but you wouldn't get to name any of them."
Kravis laughed, but there was a hint of sadness to it. "You know that would be terrible for them. Even half-gnomes need a big family. Otherwise, they get depressed and have developmental issues. Then before you know it, we’ll have three serial killers on our hands. Most people already label us sociopaths, if not downright psychotic. Think of the children!"
Thinking about a roaming pack of half-human, half-gnome toddler serial killers made Sarah burst out laughing.
Kravis wasn't through. "And then there's the whole long life thing. All your kids would outlive you, and then they'd spend a lot of their time without a mother."
Sarah swallowed hard. She'd already thought that through. She'd been thinking about it for a while. "Well, there are options."
Kravis stared at Sarah, confused. "Unless you're planning on trying to become a lich, I don't see how we get around the whole mortality thing."
"I have friends who have sort of an open family situation. Elves and humans end up doing something like that a lot."
Kravis' face went white. "Uh, okay. Wasn’t prepared for the conversation to go this way. I'm going to need a little bit of time to think about it."
Sarah rested her hand on Kravis'. "There's no rush. I'm just saying we have options to think about and work through all this. It'll take time, but...hey, you okay?"
Kravis, who was still white, pointed behind Sarah, who instinctively drew her daggers and stood.
Myrddin was standing behind her. "Good to see you two again."
Sarah sheathed her daggers. "First off, how fucking long were you back there? Then explain to me what you're doing here?"
"The entire time. You both handled that conversation with a grace I don't often see from people your age."
Kravis's white face turned tomato-red as he hid his face.
The wizard continued, "And to answer your second question, I've been trying to get in touch with you both for some time. It's easier to enter through dreams, but catching you two while you’re sleeping is a nightmare, no pun intended."
"Are you just here to be creeping on us?"
"No. I came to speak to you about Anabelle, Grok, Terra, and the Path of the Lost."
Sarah groaned. She couldn't even get a moment alone with her boyfriend while he was in a coma without being interrupted.
Kravis reached out and pinched Sarah, causing her to glare at him. Her face softened once she saw his smile. "Before things got weird, I was going to tell you the answer is yes. It still is yes, even though things are very weird now."
Sarah's heart fluttered for a moment. That was all she had time for. Myrddin was impatiently tapping his foot, waiting for her attention, so Sarah pushed down her feelings. It was time to get back to work.
Chapter Twelve
Terra was in the arena before the sun rose. Cire was at her side. They watched the stars fading above them.
The shaman had been correct; many things were different about Cire. There were also things that were the same but deeper.
The orc had always been quiet, only speaking when he felt it was important. Now he was even quieter, but when he spoke, his words held a weight they had not before. Gone was the awkward silence. It was replaced by something that felt much more intentional.
The two of them had spent the night in Terra's bed, holding each other through the silence, tracing their fingers over each other's skin. All that had transpired that night felt sacred, like a prayer, the slightest glimpse of God. Terra had never felt that way with another person. When Cire whispered in her ear, it didn't matter that he was speaking orcish. She understood it regardless.
Later that night, as Terra was drifting to sleep, Cire told her their training started in the morning. The old shaman would take him, and Grok would handle Terra. That was when Cire suggested they get up early enough to watch the sunrise.
It had been a great idea. Terra had never cared for sunrises. They took too much out of you. But this one, it was perfect. She could have watched this sunrise for the rest of her life.
Unfortunately, Grok eventually walked into the arena.
Cire rose when he saw her, kissed Terra on the forehead, and left without a word.
Terra didn't bother standing up or looking at her trainer. She would enjoy herself for a little bit longer.
Grok sat in front of her, folding her knees over each other. She waited for the human to meet her eyes. "Are you ready to begin?"
Terra realized it was pointless to keep acting like the orc wasn't right in front of her. "What's with the politeness?"
"I'm here to train you. There's no sense in making this harder on myself than it needs to be. You will endure suffering, and I need not drag it out. Besides, it was never personal for me."
"Wait, not personal? You tried to kill my friends and me!"
Grok nodded slowly, her eyes still locked on Terra's. "What was between Anabelle and me was personal. You were incidental. A great warrior, unfortunately for you, hampered by your humanness, but great nonetheless. I don't need to waste time dancing around such things."
Terra looked around the arena. "Where's Anabelle? Part of the deal was that you would train her as well."
Grok's face tensed at the mention of the elf. "She has had years of training already. I merely have to show her how to access the Path of the Lost by her own choice instead of being prompted. You, on the other hand, have no formal training of any sort and no reservoirs of magic to pull from, which is an extreme handicap."
"What are you talking about?"
"Humans, much like most orcs, lost their ability to perform magic without certain accessories. Orcs are given it at birth. It is rudimentary but works. Those such as us, who need magic to access the deep power within, need something a little more substantial. It is not enough to allow us to do spellwork, merely enough to help us access all of our inner strength."
Grok held her hand to her chest. It began to glow bright blue. She cupped her other hand beneath her chest, and a blue liquid poured into her palm. She held her palms together and rolled the blue liquid back and forth, molding it into a solid ball that crackled with energy.
"This is the soul of one of the strongest orcish warriors. You must absorb it to begin the path. This particular soul has killed four hundred people."
Terra stared at the ball in awe. "They must have been some warrior."
"You misunderstand me. Four hundred have died trying to absorb this soul."
Terra's throat dried and she swallowed uncomfortably. "And I have to..."
"Push this into your chest. Only then will you have the will to travel the Path of
the Lost."
Terra eyed the soul as her body went cold. She'd been prepared to meditate or do some light stretching. Maybe even read. But this? There was no way she could have prepared for this.
She reached for the soul. The moment her finger touched it, she screamed in pain and pulled her hand back. It felt like she had just pressed her finger to a flame. "Are you fucking kidding me?"
Grok stood, still holding the soul as if it were nothing. She dropped it on the ground. "If you cannot pass this test, you will never be a Hand, and I will be free of half my obligation."
"Do you have any tips or anything? You're supposed to be training me."
Grok sneered at Terra. "Figure out how badly you want this."
Terra grabbed the ball. The pain was unbearable. She screamed, pulling her hand back instantly. The skin of her palm was smoking. "I can't even pick this thing up!" she shouted, unsure who she was angry at.
Grok crossed her arms and clicked her tongue. "Looks like you have a problem."
Terra tried again and recoiled from the pain, which was unlike anything she'd ever felt. It went all the way down to her bones and lingered even after she released the soul. "How the hell did you have this in you?"
Grok pressed her hand to her chest, withdrawing another soul. She rolled it between her palms before shoving it back into her chest. "The first one is always the worst. If it doesn't kill you."
Terra looked at the soul orb. There was no way she was going to be able to do this. She couldn’t even hold the damn thing. It hurt too much.
Grok chuckled softly, and the sound was like glass slicing Terra's ear. The orc was laughing at what Terra couldn't do, the same laugh she'd heard her entire life from everyone. The laugh when she flunked out of college, when she failed to get a promotion, when she had to ask to borrow money because she couldn't pay her bills. It was always the same.
Terra leaned over and grabbed the orb, and her bones screamed from the pain. She acted fast to keep from backing out and pressed it to her chest. It felt like her skin was being burned off by a flamethrower. She shoved it into her body.
Everything went white.
The pain of touching the soul orb had been nothing compared to what she felt now. It was as if someone were cutting through the skin all over her body. Her bones vibrated with energy, and she burned alive from the inside.
The scream that came from Terra was heard for miles as she collapsed, gripping her chest, her eyes bulging from her head as her feet twitched uncontrollably. She tried to get up, only to continue lying there convulsing as the soul orb tried to force its way out of her body.
Grok watched with no trace of emotion on her face.
Terra stumbled to her feet, still screaming, her mind breaking from the pain. She fell to her knees and coughed up blood. She slammed her head against the ground until she thought her skull was going to crack open. Anything to take this pain away.
She felt the skin of her chest unraveling, thread by thread, and she pounded her fists into the ground as her eyes and ears bled.
A bit of the soul poked through her chest, and she grasped it with both hands and forced it back in, increasing the pain, her body shivering as it began to shut down.
Grok knelt beside Terra. "It'll take hours. You understand now what you are going to endure?"
Terra's head flung back, smacking the ground as she clawed her face, scratching her skin away. She forced her neck to go rigid for a second, gritting her teeth to keep from biting through her tongue, and she nodded.
"Good. I'll see you at sundown."
Grok walked away, leaving Terra screaming and rolling around in the dirt of the arena, filled with a pain that few had ever experienced.
Terra fought, but she didn't know what she was fighting. It was more than pain. Perhaps it was death, but she fought.
There was only blank whiteness in her mind. The pain. All she knew was she couldn't let go. She didn't know why, but she didn't need to.
Terra screamed long into the afternoon. She only stopped when she tore her vocal cords. Now she lay on the ground, eyes wide open, trembling as she clutched her chest, a high-pitched mix of a whine and a wheeze coming from her mouth.
She saw hands tearing open the ground around her, picking at her flesh like vultures. She wanted to fight them off, but she couldn't move. All she could do was wheeze.
Cire sat in a pool of dark water, submerged up to his neck. The shaman sat across from him. Black masks covered their faces.
The water was troubled. It moved back and forth as if it had a mind of its own. Screams echoed throughout the room as shadows moved across the wall.
They were Terra’s screams.
Cire tried to close himself off from his feelings and ignore the pain Terra was experiencing. The pain that he was causing.
The shaman hummed a soothing song, which did nothing for him. He had learned too much in the last two days. Nothing could soothe him.
“You are distraught, my child,” she said.
Cire didn’t want to speak. He wanted to fade into the water, but he knew this was his trial. There was no running away from what needed to be done.
The shaman stood, the thick black water rolling down her nude, wrinkled body as she raised her hands to the sky. “I have looked for you century after century, Cire. Born again and again, resurrected time after time. We didn’t think we were ever going to find you again.”
Cire remained quiet. He was still trying to understand what the shaman had told him. This was not his first life. There had been hundreds, much like her own. With every death, they were reborn, but not entirely. Their true soul rested someplace other than their body. Rested within the Hand.
Terra’s screams continued to echo throughout the room as she tried to absorb a piece of Cire’s soul.
Cire finally spoke. “How many did you say have died trying to absorb my soul?”
The shaman was quiet for some time. “The last time we had you in our possession, it was around four hundred. You were the toughest of all souls for anyone to handle, which is no doubt why you are the only one who has continued through the cycle of reincarnation.”
“And if this kills her?”
The shaman cupped water in her hand, drawing it forth and pouring it over Cire’s head. “That is not a thing we must think about now. If she fails, you will be lost again, and another dark time will fall over the orcs. It is best not to ponder that.”
“I’m hurting her!”
“Or making her stronger than she could ever be without your magic. If she is capable, you will have knowledge and power you could never have dreamed of. She will tie you to the world of the living, keeping you from becoming a lich. You’ll retain your mind and your soul. You can grow in wisdom and strength, and more than anything else, in compassion.”
The water pulsed, exploding upward in an image of Terra, screaming on the ground as she clawed her face.
Cire still could not believe any of this. His entire life, searching for the way of the true orc, only to find he had lived it countless times without realizing it. Finally learning that the true shaman was a lich, that his whole existence had been moving toward this. “I love her,” he whispered.
The shaman removed Cire’s mask and kissed the top of his head. “It is your love for her that will keep you, and that love will give her strength and power. Her life will keep yours, and you will keep hers. It is the way it has always been.”
“And Grok?”
The shaman removed her mask, her face tired and worn. “There was a reason Grok absorbed a piece of my soul for power, but despite that bonding, despite our essences being connected, she still did what she did.”
The water trembled again as the shaman moved to stand behind Cire. “Now, let us complete the ritual. Drink deep, shaman, for when you wake, it will be for an eternity.”
The shaman pushed Cire down, forcing his head under the water. He struggled, but the shaman was strong. She held him down as he tried to stand, his lungs
burning as he held his breath before finally accepting his place in the grand scheme of things. Then he relaxed and lay still, his lungs aflame before breathing in and extinguishing the pain.
When he stopped moving, the shaman stepped away. His body floated to the surface of the water as the shaman stepped out.
Cire was gone. Now she would wait.
Chapter Thirteen
Anabelle and Abby arrived on the orcish world in the early afternoon. Transportation between the orc world, the gnome world, and the human world had been significantly improved. Creon had created a team of scientists to adjust the hadron collider to run more smoothly once the DGA found they were frequently needed on all three worlds.
War was brewing. Even though there had been fewer conflicts over the last several weeks, Anabelle knew this silence was the eye of the storm. Whatever was coming was probably already here. They just didn’t know what it was.
That wasn’t to say Anabelle didn’t have any ideas. The dots were all there, waiting to be connected.
Tesla. The undead army. Those two were obvious, but there was one thing that continued to bother Anabelle, something she couldn’t get out of her head. Why would the Dark One have taken such a huge gamble on Rasputina? Did he not know the details surrounding her becoming a lich, or was he banking on her switching sides?
Everything was happening on Anabelle’s side of the equation. The increase in orcish forces, complemented by the orcish peace talks and treaties. The gnomish resistance was steadily growing. It wouldn’t be long until the resistance was a force to be reckoned with. Gnomes were coming out of hiding from all over the nine realms and returning to their homeworld.
The only wildcard that Anabelle could think of was Roy’s and Abby’s recent gamble. Enlisting a disgraced Dragon Rider team to hunt down a herd of ether dragons sounded good on paper, but from what Anabelle had read about Alex Bound in her briefs, there was cause to worry. The brief didn’t mince words. Alex was a skilled rider and fighter, having climbed the ranks of the Dragonrider Corp exceptionally fast.
