The Nesilia's War Trilogy: (Buried Goddess Saga Box Set: Books 4-6)

by Rhett C. Bruno

  They spun to find her waiting behind them, not even panting. Her nightmare grin spread wider, causing the dried blood beneath to crack and flake off.

  Tingur, the closest, charged first. He swung once, and she arched her back to avoid the blow. His full weight made him stumble, while she rose up, and slashed him across his gut. A sideways kick to his chest sent him soaring across the battlefield. She held his polearm in her free hand and snapped the shaft. That should not have been possible—not by any creature living or dead.

  Torsten and Muskigo looked to each other, then came at her side-by-side. They’d battled, and so, they had intimate knowledge of each others’ fighting styles that could only be gleaned from a duel—an unspoken thing filled with mutual respect.

  They attacked her in perfect unison, him high, Torsten low. Weaving in and out of each others’ motions. Torsten focused on power, attacks meant to kill, while Muskigo distracted her with quick strikes like a stinging snake.

  Nothing hit. Not even one.

  Her speed was immeasurable. It was like she wasn’t even there. Torsten’s arms and chest ached with soreness from swinging with such might only to hit nothing, not even a parrying blade. He caught Muskigo’s intent for a last-ditch effort at landing a strike, stabbing for her hip as she took a wide step, Torsten thrust above. They had her. But she leaped and twisted sideways through the air, her thin torso passing right between their blades.

  One of her boots caught Muskigo on the chin and sent him skidding across the dirt. Torsten ducked under another. It was a guess because she moved so fast, but the gamble worked. He gripped one half of Tingur’s polearm—now a normal warhammer—and whipped it, catching Nesilia across the cheek.

  Backing away, and grabbing at her skin, she stared down at the freshly drawn blood. And then Torsten watched as the shallow, superficial wound healed all on its own. He’d been blind last he’d faced any upyr, so he hadn’t been able to see their true capabilities. There were only legends. In some, their undead bodies healed rapidly. Now, he wasn’t sure if that was Sigrid’s power or Nesilia who now inhabited it.

  Torsten gripped Salvation with both hands, checked his footing. “You’ll never win, Nesilia,” he said. “Iam’s children will strike you down. I’ve done it already. I will again.”

  “All you did was delay the inevitable,” she said. “Can’t you see? Iam has forgotten you as he forgot me.” She lowered her dagger to her side. “I could crush you like an insect. All of you. Or you can see the truth, Torsten Unger.”

  “I see through His eyes, and I see only darkness and death before me,” Torsten said.

  “You see his lies. You’re fighting for a world he doesn’t want. I can make it so much better. Stop struggling over nothing. Embrace me. Love me. And you’ll be free of him.”

  Torsten decided to change his tack. “Sigrid, if you’re in there... I don’t know what happened to make you this way, and I don’t know how Nesilia has corrupted you, but fight it. You don’t want this.”

  “I’ve promised her everything she could ever want.” Nesilia rolled her fingers. “And I keep my promises.”

  “Think of your brother!” Torsten yelled. “He wouldn’t want this. I know what Oleander did to your family. Look at all of this!” Torsten gestured to the thousands of bodies around them. Many still clung to life, bleeding out in the dirt. “We can end the violence. You can fight her.”

  “There’s nothing to fight,” Nesilia said. “She understands how men like you forsake people like her. Abandon them in the street once they've lost their usefulness.”

  “Do you think that makes you special? That Iam didn’t love you back? I’ve been scorned, and I’ve been abandoned by my own parents to the street. You aren’t the cure, Nesilia. You’re the poison. Sigrid, fight this!”

  Torsten saw her eyes flit toward the death around them. It was momentary, but it was there. The glimmer of regret.

  “He lies!” Nesilia screamed.

  She pounced at Torsten, closing the difference between them in less than a second. He barely got his blade up in time to parry, but the force of her attack was enough to send him to one knee and make the bones of his hand chatter so hard, he thought his fingers might break.

  He raised his blade, but she grinned.

  “Glaruium, from the mountain I was buried beneath,” she said. “You should know better.” She raised her hand and closed it into a fist. Salvation was specifically redesigned by Hovom Nitebrittle, the castle Blacksmith to not contain the enchanted metal she mentioned, but his armor still did. It began to constrict, pinning him in place so he couldn’t move. Crushing him.

  Salvation clattered to the earth.

  He couldn’t even speak as his throat was closed in by the collar of his chest plate.

  This can’t be how it ends, he thought.

  He didn’t close his eyes. He watched in complete disbelief as Nesilia hefted Salvation and stalked toward him.

  Just then, Muskigo barreled into her side, knocking her to the earth. He plunged his sickle-blade toward her chest. She was pinned, no way out. Yet, still, his blade merely buried itself in dirt. He gawked down, and she was already behind him, her long, thin fingers spreading over his scalp, her nails pressing into the skin.

  “Protect, Mahra—” Before he could finish, Nesilia yanked Muskigo's head back and slit his throat.

  “Damn you, Nesilia!" Torsten shouted.

  She shoved Muskigo's face down into the dirt with her knee. “The best Pantego has to offer?” she sneered. “Oh, Iam, how did you let our world come to this?”

  Torsten stared as blood pooled out from Muskigo’s neck. Within arm’s reach—Salvation.

  “I won't let you leave,” Torsten said, breathless. Fighting against the strain of his crumpled armor, he reached out and grabbed the sword. Stabbed it into the ground, he used it to rise, like a cane. Memories of his weakness flooded him—blindness created by the hand of one of Nesilia's followers.

  “Oh Torsten, can’t you see?” she said. “You can’t stop me.”

  With her tongue, she cleaned the dagger she’d used to kill Muskigo, then crept toward him. He shifted back and almost fell. He could hardly stay upright, his legs were so exhausted. Squeezing the handle of the claymore was a chore. His eyes teared from dust, and utter fear gripped him, refusing to let go.

  “I can’t watch any longer, my love,” a powerful, basso voice echoed.

  He wasn’t sure if he was seeing clearly through his blindfold, but he thought he saw Dellbar the Holy standing a short distance away. His hands rested atop his cane, clutching the Eye of Iam there. What was strange was the light radiating off him in the same way shadow clung to Sigrid’s body. Stranger still, was that the High Priest’s eyes were open, revealing slits of bright, white energy staring down at them.

  While Nesilia turned to face him, Torsten’s muscles finally surrendered, and he fell to both knees, leaning on his sword.

  “After all this time, now is when you choose to show yourself?” Nesilia asked. “For him!” Her playful tone was gone. Her every word dripped with rancor.

  “We weren’t meant to rule them, only be their guide,” Dellbar said. “Until eventually, they forgot us entirely. You know that. It’s why the feud happened and tore us all apart.”

  “Then why is your name still on their lips! Iam, Iam, Iam everywhere. While mine is spoken only in the shadows or the bitter cold.”

  Iam, Torsten thought.

  “It’s what they chose,” Iam said through Dellbar's lips. “We left it in their hands.”

  “You left it!” Nesilia’s roar hit the air like a thunderclap. Torsten’s very rib cage vibrated. “I gave everything to protect you from Bliss. Chose you over my own brother. Over all of them. And you left me buried!”

  “I couldn’t reach you,” Iam said.

  “You were the strongest of us. Anything you imagined would have come to pass.”

  “Reach you, Nesilia. Darkness swallowed your heart. I saw it in the feud.
When I hated every moment, you delighted in the fighting. I lost you in it.” Dellbar’s body stepped forward, his white robe fluttering in an unfelt breeze. “I should have seen it sooner.”

  “No, I should have,” Nesilia snarled. “Should have seen that the only thing you were capable of loving was yourself. You don’t care about these people. All these bodies… you could bring them all back to life with a snap of your fingers, but you won’t.”

  “Because it’s their world now. You never understood that.”

  “No, Iam, that’s where you’re wrong. It is mine.”

  She bolted at him. He raised his cane to greet her attack, and the ripple of energy blew Torsten onto his back. All he could see was distortion, whipping around them. He had to hold his ears just to drown out the sound.

  The energy erupted, and Nesilia’s body wheeled back. She scrambled to her knees and glared at Dellbar. Finally displaying weakness, she wheezed, her chest heaving. She tried to use her daggers, as Torsten had, to steady herself, but the blade slipped, and she lurched forward.

  “Stop this now,” Iam spoke through his host. He stood amidst the swirling ribbons of light, leaning on his cane, catching his breath. He, too, seemed weakened.

  Nesilia started up with that familiar cackle, rising once more to her knees, back arched. “You have so little left, don’t you?” she said. “I can feel it. I may be constrained to this mortal shell… but your essence is fading in this realm just like my brother’s.”

  “Don’t make me do this,” Iam said. His voice was soft, but light began to accumulate in the Eye of the cane. The air itself hummed from the raw energy. The hairs all over Torsten’s body stood on end.

  “You made a mistake wasting your energy this early, my love,” Nesilia said. “Now, you will watch as I destroy your beloved creations. And when I’m done, there will be no whispers of your name. Not in the dark. Not in freezing air. You will be forgotten for eternity until even I won’t spare you a second thought.”

  Dellbar breathed in, then bellowed.

  Coruscating light lashed out from the cane, but before it struck, Nesilia vanished in a wisp of dust. The earth where she’d been cracked, splitting open across the field like a web. One ran right under Torsten’s foot and nearly swallowed him, but he crawled away and toward Dellbar, moving between his feet and knees. The light enveloping the High Priest and filling his blind eyes blinked away, and Dellbar collapsed.

  “Where am I?” he asked weakly, grasping blindly at the air, scared like Torsten had been when he awoke without sight. “Hello, where am I?”

  “I’m here, Dellbar,” Torsten rasped. He fell beside him, then fought his battered muscles to help him upright. “You’re fine.”

  “What happened?”

  Torsten looked at the site where the Buried Goddess had been, and the unnatural streams of energy still teeming on the air. He couldn’t believe what he’d just witnessed, nor could he deny it. Iam had shown himself, only, he was a hair too slow. Both great armies walked across the battlefield, as baffled as he was.

  Alone, from the direction of the White Bridge, walked Rand Langley. His gaping eyes surveyed the gruesome scene from the thousands of dead soldiers on both sides to Muskigo. Tingur now held the rebel afhem, but he was beyond saving.

  Rand knelt and pulled an arrow out of a man’s back. Dread consumed his features as he stared at the blood on it.

  “The Buried Goddess has returned…” Torsten answered, in utter disbelief of what he was saying. “And I don’t know if we can stop her.”

  Epilogue

  Burning flesh assaulted her nostrils. Nesilia couldn’t feel the pain, but she could hear the agonized screams of her host deep within. Sigrid was anxious. Scared. Angry.

  All of the things Nesilia felt when Bliss cast her down, and Iam left her in an eternity of torment.

  Iam… How dare he show his face now!

  Nesilia’s nails dug into the dirt, continuing to burn from the light of dawn. The dirt turned to clay beneath her from the heat. Her skin flaked away to embers and whipped around her in the wind.

  That spineless cur...

  “Miss,” a voice said. “Miss, are you all right?”

  A hand tugged at her shoulder. She whipped around, screaming. Next thing she knew, a man’s head hung limp from a crushed neck, the power in her host’s fingers turning his spine to dust.

  Nesilia then lunged for his collarbone, feeling Sigrid’s hunger. She stopped herself just above the flesh, her mouth watering. She could feel her fangs sliding further from her gums, eager to feed.

  “No, my dear, Sigrid,” Nesilia told the voice within. “We won’t let them make us what they want us to be anymore.”

  Nesilia stood, the man’s body in hand, and stretched out her neck. Her body continued to burn away, but she was in no hurry. Iam showed his hand and battered her new form, but it took so much of his strength to do so. He was weak now. Susceptible.

  “They say they love us, and yet, here we are, left face down in the dirt,” Nesilia said to Sigrid. “Iam, your brother, Torsten Unger. They’ll all stand witness to their failures!”

  She tossed the body aside, then heard whimpering. Leered to her left, she spotted a mother and her daughter, shrunk back against a covered wagon at the side of the road. The girl cried in her mother’s arms. The mother tried not to.

  Nesilia slowly approached them. She could taste ash in her mouth now, feel only warm bone if she licked at her lips.

  She said not a word to the mother and child as she passed. She couldn’t. Her tongue was too degraded, gobbled up by sunlight. Instead, she pulled what was left of her ravaged body into the back of the cart, and nestled beneath the shadow of its covering.

  The woman finally unleashed a squeal and ran to her dead husband, and the child resigned to abandoned weeping. They couldn’t see how better off they were. What he would inevitably do to them.

  The horses started to move without Nesilia needing to coax them, like they could sense her will. And along the Glass Road, they rumbled in the loving embrace of shadow.

  Her burned skin began to heal. Exposed sinew and muscles twisted back together again. Her whole body exhaled, but the panic of her host didn’t wane.

  “They thought they had us,” Nesilia told her. “They were wrong. But no, that’s not what it is. You’re worried. About him. About Rand.”

  “The way he looked at me...” Sigrid answered, the voice small in the back of her consciousness.

  “Is the way they all look when they realize what they’ve lost,” Nesilia said. “He doesn’t love you. He can’t love you. Iam didn’t put love in them.”

  “Maybe it was a mistake…”

  “Like Kazimir made a mistake by seizing control of your fate? Like the men who tried to own you, but left you bleeding in the street?”

  “They were yer followers who killed me. I remember now.”

  Nesilia smiled. Aloud, she said, “And they saw your weakness, dear. Exploited it, as they are meant to. But no longer. You’ve been purged of Iam’s lies.”

  “I don’t…”

  “Understand? Of course, you do. You know it’s true, my dear. You’ve given yourself to me. To resist is folly. I will give you the world.”

  Nesilia rose, her regenerated skin stretching to cover her figure like freshly boiled leather. Then she watched out the back of the cart as Pantego swept by, feeling as Sigrid’s consciousness receded back, surrendering. A willing host, too broken by the world Iam forced her into to fight necessity. Unlike Sora.

  Eventually, Nesilia found herself standing at the edge of Lake Yaolin, fully recuperated. The moons watched from high above, dancing behind clouds. The people of Yaolin scurried about, fixing up their city after Nesilia’s worshippers showed them the error of their ways. They didn’t even bother to stop her wagon, they were so distracted. So blind.

  In Sora’s body, Nesilia could have frozen the lake and walked across, but in her new one, she didn’t need to. The world plied to her
needs. She had worthy followers now. A wianu’s tentacle bubbled to the surface and held flat for her at the edge of the water. She stepped onto it, then forward, and another rose to take its place in her path.

  “Thank you, my pet,” she said to the wianu. “The fallen ones can’t hold you prisoner any longer. You can finish the task for which you were made.”

  All the way across the lake, the wianu helped her along. She could see the water stirring all around as more arrived from the Far North, free of the broken Citadel and the damnable upyr who’d used her creations for their own sinister means. They were the greatest threat to her in Pantego, and now they were finished, thanks to Whitney Fierstown’s rashness and Kazimir’s softened heart.

  The wianu tentacle slithered up the coast of the Red Tower’s lonely isle and delivered Nesilia to the gate. The oversized hunks of iron remained locked, but the tentacle reached into the space between them, then another, until they pried it open.

  Aihara Na appeared in the entry, electricity crackling at her fingertips. She seemed weaker than ever, barely corporeal, after allowing Kazimir to defeat her. Nesilia could see precisely how it happened now, through Sigrid’s memory.

  Pathetic.

  “You!” the old mystic growled. “I won’t be beaten again!” Electricity seared forward. Nesilia extended a hand, the energy surged in her palm, then faded to a spark.

  Aihara Na’s eyes widened. “Impossible. Only your master could be so strong and he—”

  “Is dead, you imbecile,” Nesilia hissed. “It appears my faith in you was misplaced. You can’t even recognize me, let alone protect my will.”

  The wianu pushed the doors open until they slammed against the inner walls. Nesilia strode in, and Aihara Na’s spectral form soared up beside her.

  “My Lady, Nesilia, it is you,” she said. “Your new body—”

  “Will suffice for now,” Nesilia said.

  “So, the upyr have finally been destroyed. Those meddlesome pests—”

  “Defeated you,” Nesilia finished for her. “The most powerful mystic left. Maybe, the only one left. I think I overestimated your part to play in this. Already, your new order is broken.”