Bladesorrow (The Agarsfar Saga Book 1)

by D. T. Kane

  She banged her shin on a chair and cursed as she rushed to the window, just in time to see Erem pulling Ferrin to his feet and begin helping him toward the cottage. He appeared injured, limping as if only half conscious. The fierce wave of emotion that pulsed through her was startling, hotter than the flames outside, and she had to remind herself of what he was. But that did nothing to quell the roiling of her innards as she watched Erem half drag her friend toward the house.

  They needed help, she realized, and hurried to the door, only to find it barred from the outside. Earth swallow them! How dare they assume she wouldn’t be able to help. She might not handle a sword like Ferrin, but she wasn’t useless.

  The dream’s ugly smear immediately stained her thoughts. Even with father’s life in the balance she’d been unable to kill. Perhaps they’d been right to leave her here while they fought... What had they been battling? She’d seen their blades drawn and just assumed the Parents had found them. Erem even had his shield. But she’d seen no white robes.

  Her question was answered a moment later when she returned to the window and witnessed three creatures appear from seemingly nowhere. They looked like men, and for a moment she feared they were in fact Parents come from Ral Mok. But their movements were all wrong; staggering about, arms jutting out at awful right angles. She’d never taken particular interest in northern lore or even father’s history classes about the Great Shadow War. But she’d heard enough children’s tales to know that the things confronting Ferrin and Erem were some sort of shadow fiends. Maybe even shades.

  She had little time to ponder that ridiculous thought, however. An instant later she was blinded by a flash of flame. A rush of heat slammed into her, as if an oven in Ral Mok’s kitchen had just been flung open. She staggered back, dropping to a knee, eyes burning. As she rubbed tears away, she saw the three creatures engulfed in fire. They were staggering off in different directions, arms grotesquely batting at the flames. Then vines rolled out from the darkness, wrapped around the floundering monstrosities and dragged them into the darkness. Her senses tingled, almost as if she’d just tried an earth channel.

  What in Tragnè’s name was going on?

  The door to the dwelling flung open so violently it nearly flew off the hinges. She opened her mouth, ready to berate the men’s arrogance at leaving her locked in the house. She was not some maid who needed protecting. But before she could speak, she realized that Ferrin had not walked in. His limp form was slung over Erem’s shoulder.

  She froze, mouth still half open. Erem used his free hand to swipe clear the table near the door and set Ferrin down. Her friend’s eyes rolled back in his head and she saw for the first time the black burn consuming his left shoulder, a sinister web of veins making its way up the side of his neck and face.

  “Jenzara. Come here and hold him down while I inspect the wound.”

  She complied dumbly, eyes plastered to Ferrin’s shoulder. She recoiled at the smell as she approached. Rancid meat jumped to her mind. It seemed incongruous for such an odor to be coming from a living person.

  “Jenzara, quickly please,” Erem urged, almost pleading. “His life depends on it.”

  This brought her back to full awareness like a slap in the face, though she still hesitated.

  “How do you know my name?”

  “What?” the man gesticulated. “You told it to me. Earlier.” He waved a hand, trying to dismiss further talk.

  Jenzara ignored him.

  “No. You knew it before we said anything.”

  Erem made a sound of utter impatience in the back of his throat. Not unlike the sound her father sometimes made when Ferrin was being particularly petulant.

  “As I said, I knew Master Raldon. Your—”

  He hesitated. Only for a moment, but she heard it all the same.

  “—Father. Your name naturally came up in conversation from time to time. We really don’t have time—”

  “You mean you’d spoke to him? Recently?”

  “Yes.”

  She frowned at the man. “I don’t believe it. Father would never associate with one of your kind.”

  “Agar help me,” Erem muttered. “Look, Jenzara. I know life’s given you plenty reason to hate the shadow. Your mother—”

  “You will not speak of her,” she snapped, though she was surprised to see the angst she felt at the mere mention of her dead mother reflected in the lines around the man’s spectacles.

  “Of course. Apologies. But the fact remains, it was not so long ago, from the perspective of a man like your father at least, that the Shadow Edicts didn’t exist. People of my... kind,” he said this word like a man spitting curdled milk, “weren’t always reviled. At least not like today. I was friends with Raldon, and he, unlike most of the fools in the Senate, was wise enough to realize I hadn’t suddenly changed just because a few hateful people signed a piece of parchment decrying all who bore attunement to a certain element.”

  Jenzara opened her mouth to retort, but found no words. When he put it like that—a mere sheet of paper as the only foundation for society’s distrust of the shadow—it sounded so inhumane.

  Erem took advantage of her momentary silence. “I don’t expect to change your mind about any of this. You can hate me all you want. But right now your friend is in trouble. Please help me help him.”

  She glanced down at Ferrin, immobile on the table. A tendril of steam wafted from the gash in his shoulder and his face seemed even darker than it had just a few moments before.

  “What do you need?” she asked in a tone she hoped sounded sufficiently fractious.

  “Hold his arm. Careful not to touch the corruption.”

  Corruption? A dozen questions jumped to her mind, but she only nodded and clasped Ferrin’s left wrist and arm, putting her weight down on them. Ferrin gave no reaction. He still had his sword strapped on, but she avoided touching it, nudging it away with her hip.

  Erem snatched his dagger from the table and Jenzara nearly stepped back, remembering Ferrin’s earlier revelation that the thing was made of ebon. But she clenched her teeth and stood her ground, trying not to look at it. As if that would do anything to protect her from the toxic metal.

  Erem ripped Ferrin’s shirt open with the weapon, letting the tattered rags fall to either side of the table. A wave of anxiety swept through her at the sight. Nearly his entire torso was an unnatural shade of ash, like the bark of a tree that had been struck by lightning. She could almost see the darkness progressing over what little naturally colored skin remained. Her eyes snapped to Erem’s for answers, but he’d leaned over the wound, so close she feared his nose might actually touch it. Then he set his right hand on Ferrin’s shoulder, directly above the wound. He began muttering to himself and for a moment she thought he was trying to channel. But the man only frowned and he soon released his grip on Ferrin’s shoulder. His stare remained fixed on the wound.

  “If only I had some light,” he murmured.

  “I’ll get a lantern,” Jenzara interjected. “I saw one over by the hearth.”

  The man looked up at her. She thought his expression was confused, but it was difficult to tell with those specs covering his eyes. Did he ever take them off?

  “Oh,” he finally said. “That’s not what I meant.” He returned his stare to Ferrin’s wound for a moment, then back to her. This time she thought she saw a hint of anxiety. That frightened her more than the sight of Ferrin’s shoulder.

  “You’re light attuned,” Erem said to her. “Can you do anything for him?”

  The question startled her for multiple reasons. How did the man know she was light attuned? She’d certainly done no channeling in front of him. She thought back to the last time she’d channeled, trying to heal that fifth boy’s arm, and shuddered.

  “You don’t want me channeling anywhere near him,” she replied.

  Erem made as if to say something, then just bowed his head.

  “Will he be alright?” She demanded. This time she
heard pleading in her own voice.

  “No. He’s dying.”

  Erem didn’t bother to look up. His voice was flat and for a moment Jenzara thought he was going to just walk away and leave Ferrin to his fate. Jenzara felt her lower lip quake.

  “Do something,” she said, voice shaking, the desperation in her tone scaring her even more than she already was.

  Erem gave her a stern glare that seemed to say she hadn’t been at all concerned about Ferrin earlier, though perhaps she was just projecting her own guilt. But after he stared into her eyes for several moments, his glare was replaced by a veil of resolve.

  “Can you hold him fast and not let go? No matter what happens?”

  The emphasis he’d placed on “what” gave her a moment’s pause, but she wasn’t going to stand there and do nothing while Ferrin died before her. She’d just lost father; she couldn’t bear to lose her only real friend as well. Shadow attunement be hexed. She doubled her grip on Ferrin’s arm and gave Erem a level stare.

  The man hesitated a moment, giving her a long look. Then he removed the solar spectacles.

  A gasp escaped her lips. He had no eyes.

  No, that wasn’t quite right. She looked harder into the dimness and saw firelight from the still-lit torches outside reflecting off his eyes. But they were pure black, like gazing into oblivion. Worse than no eyes at all.

  He was touched. Just like the shadow children the Parents had brought to Ral Mok. Channeled too much of the fifth element, mind consumed by the lust for its tainted power. Mad beyond recovery. The children, at least, had been collared. Controlled and unable to channel unless directed by a Parent. The man before her was totally uninhibited. If the Temple knew he existed, they’d call the whole of Her Lady’s Army down from Doom’s Keep to see him dead.

  But he’d taken them in, fed them. And he’d fought off those creatures. Her and Ferrin wouldn’t have stood a chance against them. He could be lying now, about helping Ferrin. But you didn’t need to be a healer to know the burn in her friend’s shoulder wasn’t healthy. She kept a firm grip on Ferrin’s arm.

  “Did my father trust you? Even with those eyes?”

  “Yes.”

  There was no hesitation in his voice, no hint of subterfuge. She forced herself to look him in the face.

  “Then do what you need do,” she said, much more confidently than she felt.

  There was a hint of relief, or maybe appreciation, in his expression. His dark eyes meant the absence of the specs made little difference in reading his face.

  Erem returned to Ferrin’s side and stooped over him as he had before, nose hovering just above the festering wound. He closed his eyes and Jenzara clamped down on Ferrin’s arm so hard her fingers ached.

  The room began to brighten. It was a strange thing. No lamp had been kindled, no fire lit. If anything, the torches outside now burned lower. Yet the shadows lessened. She could see Ferrin’s injury more clearly and the gruesome sight brought with it a renewed awareness of the rotten stench emanating from it. She gulped and resisted the urge to put a hand to her nose.

  The room continued to brighten unnaturally. As if the sun had risen, but was producing no light. And then she realized. Erem was channeling, sucking the shade from the room.

  If channeling shadow is anything like channeling other elements, she thought, he must be nearly overflowing with power by now. She shot a nervous glance at the man, but he seemed unchanged, eyes still closed, face hovering just over Ferrin. He muttered softly to himself, but otherwise silence hung over the room like a shroud.

  The dwelling shuddered, nearly throwing Jenzara from her feet. Erem’s expression tightened. A low, furious shriek emanated from the woods beyond the clearing, like maggots skittering over her ear drums. She shuddered.

  Perspiration broke out on Erem’s forehead and he placed a hand on Ferrin, directly over the black trauma, apparently heedless of his earlier warning about not touching it. The darkness began to recede from Ferrin’s veins, and some color returned to his face. His breathing, which had been coming in ragged gasps, slowed to a steadier rhythm.

  Then the house shuddered again and Ferrin began convulsing, a wild seizure that nearly caused her to lose grip of his arm. Some of the darkness returned to his face.

  “What’s happening? She cried at Erem.

  The man’s face twisted, sweat now dripping from his brow onto Ferrin’s seizing form.

  “A Lesser Terror,” the man grated, so quiet Jenzara was sure she’d misunderstood. “Somewhere nearby. It’s—” he gasped. “Fighting my efforts to remove the corruption.”

  He left it at that, as if it told Jenzara everything she needed to know. But it made no sense; the man was talking fairytales. A Terror? Surely those weren’t actually real. But something was clearly hampering Erem’s progress. Ferrin continued to quake, and his skin had become almost darker than before Erem had begun his bizarre display of shadow healing. As far as she knew, shadow could only destroy. It couldn’t even be used to create defensive shields, much less cure the sick. At least, that’s what she’d been taught.

  After going on for a few more moments, Erem opened his eyes and stared into Jenzara’s. She grimaced. He hardly looked human, those dark eyes like caves from a nightmare.

  “Remember what you said about holding him down no matter what.” It was a statement, not a question. “What I do is necessary to save your friend. For saving Ferrin.”

  In silent reply, Jenzara pressed all her weight into holding her friend.

  Erem drew his runed dagger once more. It caught in the firelight for a moment, its dark edge gleaming. The red runes throbbed, seeming to emulate Erem’s ill ease.

  He plunged it into Ferrin’s shoulder.

  “No!” she shrieked.

  Erem held out his free hand to her. “Keep holding him.” His voice was barely audible, a whisper of a whisper, yet it held such command that her mouth shut, practically of its own accord. Her eyes, however, did not leave the knife.

  The thing outside—whatever it was—shrieked again, though this time it sounded more a furious dying animal than a raging bull. Once more the shadow began to recede from Ferrin’s veins, and his seizing eased. Instead, Erem began to shake, the runes on the dagger slowly glowing a brighter and brighter red, until they cast ruby reflections against the dwelling’s walls, bright as the blood that had spurted from the poor shadow child’s neck back in father’s study.

  Erem’s shaking grew more violent and she feared he would lose his grasp on the blade. Disregarding his command, she released Ferrin and placed her hands atop Erem’s, squeezing his grip. His tremors seemed to ease some as she did. The dark continued to recede from Ferrin’s veins, edging back towards the wound. The smell had lessened too, she thought, though perhaps that was only wishful thinking.

  The creature that Erem had called a Lesser Terror gave a final wail of rage, then cut off abruptly. Erem pulled the dagger free of Ferrin’s shoulder and she was surprised to see no blood come with it. The man staggered away from the table, letting the weapon clatter to the floor. He looked disoriented, confused, glancing frantically around the dwelling’s interior. Then he lurched towards the iron cook pot that he’d used to cook their dinner earlier. He collapsed to his knees and retched into it.

  Jenzara had never seen tar, but she imagined the substance spewing from Erem’s mouth must have resembled it. Thick, black sludge slid from his throat, streaming into the pot with a consistency like mud. The reeking smell that had emanated from Ferrin’s wound returned tenfold, wafting up in nearly visible fumes of putridity from the cauldron. Jenzara’s head spun and she struggled to stay conscious, the stink overpowering her senses. She sank to the floor, curling into a ball, and for a time her world was only the foulness creeping into her very being and the sound of Erem’s gagging.

  EREM VOMITED FOR WHAT seemed an eternity, but eventually his convulsions subsided, head hanging over the pot, gasping for air. Jenzara had regained enough of her senses to craw
l to the door and get it open. It was nearly morning, and the damp, pre-dawn air penetrated her airway with the sweetness of wildflowers in bloom. For a moment she basked in the glory of the cold, clean air rushing in and out of her, then dragged herself outside, leaving the crusty, thick stench of whatever Erem had retched behind her. She willed herself to a sitting position, back against the house, breathing hard from the effort, but relieved to escape the putrid odor.

  After a time, Erem completed his own, crawling gauntlet out of the house and slid down next to her, his breath ragged, though slower than it had been. He’d donned the solar specs once more and she was thankful for the reprieve from his cavernous eyes.

  “Ferrin is resting peacefully now,” he rasped. His voice was raw. Streaks of the sludge still stained his beard and she suppressed the urge to sidle further away from him. Some of the smell had followed him outside.

  “Did you cure him?” she asked after a time.

  Erem didn’t respond immediately. “He is stable,” he said finally.

  “That’s no answer,” Jenzara said, crossing her arms with not a little effort.

  Erem sighed. Leaning there against the stone cottage all disheveled, he hardly looked like the stone-faced stranger who’d defeated Ferrin like a kings grandmaster mating a beginner.

  “I know.” He paused again and she thought she might have to provoke him further. But then he said, “It’s been many years since I saw corruption like that. The only things that will destroy it entirely are powerful light or particularly skilled alchemy. We’ve neither of those here.”

  Erem rubbed at his beard and Jenzara’s stomach burbled as dried flecks of the sludge he’d spewed up went flying into the predawn gloom.

  “He’ll be stable for a time, but the corruption will slowly consume him unless he gets help. Help I cannot provide.”

  He looked like a man lost in the woods as he said this. For a time neither of them spoke. Erem made it sound hopeless, but she’d meet Trimale before sitting here while Ferrin wasted away. And there was only one place sure to have what Ferrin needed. She rose and dusted herself off, ignoring the wobble that remained in her muscles.