Snake Heart

by Lindsay Buroker

  Hoping nobody was watching his passage, Yanko crept out. He would have liked to leap out, flinging fireballs the way Sun Dragon could, but he knew he should apply his strengths. He might only get one chance to attack.

  To his left, a couple of bulky bags, a stack of books, and some other items he didn’t have time to examine leaned against the wall. To the right, two men and a woman battled with the soul construct. One other woman lay on the ground, crumpled against a wall, blood saturating her clothing. She might already be dead. The other woman carried no weapons, and Yanko felt her drawing upon power, trying to attack the soul construct with her mind while the men leaped at it with swords. They had dropped their bows and were trying to hack at it like loggers, driving it away from the woman. The creature must have known she was the most dangerous, because it wouldn’t be distracted from her.

  No longer bothering to hide himself, Yanko tried to come up with an attack he could use. His first instinct would have been to collapse part of the chamber and bury the monster. But with the Kyattese all around it, he couldn’t risk burying them too. He considered how rock-like the construct’s body was and wondered if earth magic had been involved in its creation. If it was comprised largely of stone or clay, maybe he could affect it with his earth magic.

  He stretched his hand toward it, as if that might help him get a sense of faults and weaknesses within the blocky body. His vision blurred as he tried to see how the pieces had once gone together, seeking tiny fractures he might exploit. But the thing seemed to have been melted together with great heat, and he could not find any cracks inside of it.

  The construct knocked one of the swordsmen aside with a massive arm. The man cried out as he was flung into the air. He smashed into the wall with an audible crack, his head striking stone. He crumpled and did not rise.

  Yanko cursed himself for hesitating, for taking so much time to assess the creature when people were in trouble. He threw an attack, trying to snap and break off one of the creature’s arms, using the same method he would to sheer rock from a cliff.

  The construct screeched and spun toward him. Its arm did not fall off. It was as if his attack had slid right off the creature.

  Both of those bulky arms raised, and it sprang toward Yanko, more like a cougar than a heavy two-legged monster. With no time to concentrate on magic, Yanko relied on his reflexes. He leaped to the side as the construct sailed toward him, throwing out a desperate slash with his sword.

  The blade met what felt like solid stone, clanging uselessly off and jarring his arm. At least he avoided being hit. He rolled several times before coming up. A bow twanged and another arrow bounced off the construct. The creature did not even notice. It ran after Yanko again.

  Cursing himself for wasting his surprise attack doing something that hadn’t worked, Yanko sprinted along the wall, trying to keep ahead of the construct. He glimpsed Lakeo—she was rummaging in the goods, but she leaped out of the way, pressing her back to the wall as Yanko raced past followed by the construct. He wanted to yell at her to help, but arrows and swords were doing nothing. It would take magic, powerful magic.

  A gust of wind slammed into the construct with such ferocity that it tottered, bumping into the wall. Yanko felt the tail end of that blast and was almost hurtled into the wall himself. He caught his balance, sprinted to the other side of the chamber, and turned back, hoping he had time to launch an attack.

  The construct’s attention had once again been diverted toward the weather mage. The Kyattese woman, her blonde hair tangled about her face, her clothes torn and stained with blood, stared grimly at the creature. She raised her hands and threw another gust of wind. It struck the construct, but again did not damage it, only delayed it. Still, it gave Yanko the seconds he needed to try another magical attack.

  “Go with what you know,” he muttered and examined the ceiling with his mind. The chamber might have been carved out by a mage decades ago, the walls smooth and unmarred, but he sensed the ancient and porous lava rock above it.

  As the construct recovered from the wind attack and started toward the woman, Yanko channeled his power into some of the pockets of air in the rock above the center of the chamber. Snaps and cracks sounded, a warning of the inevitable. The Kyattese heard it and understood what it meant—the two who still stood and fought skittered back to the far wall. Yanko held his final thrust of energy, waiting for the construct to step beneath the spot. Then he threw his strength into bringing down an eight-food-wide section of the ceiling.

  More cracks and snaps sounded, so loud that they seemed to bang at his eardrums, and then the ceiling fell. Tons and tons of rock crashed down, more than Yanko had intended. He backed to the wall, suddenly aware that the exit was on the opposite side of the chamber from him.

  As dust and rock plunged down from above, Lakeo sprinted along the wall and into the passage. She was carrying something. He couldn’t tell if it was the lodestone or if she had simply grabbed what looked valuable. Either way, he was relieved that at least she would make it out, so long as she could navigate those traps on her own.

  He grimaced as more rocks tumbled into the chamber, a cloud of dust obscuring everything. Would she be able to get past those traps without him? He had better survive so he could help her. He reached up with his mind, intending to shore up the ceiling above him. The collapse was already slowing, however, and he slumped against the wall in relief. He had known it would take a great deal of rock to crush the soul construct, but he hadn’t meant to bury them all.

  The rocks stopped falling, the silence odd after the cacophony of clatters and clunks. Dust still filled the room, and Yanko couldn’t see more than two feet in front of him.

  The woman said something, coughs interrupting her words. Yanko wouldn’t have understood anyway. He almost said something in Nurian, so they would at least know his language, but a few rocks shuddered and clacked against each other. With dread rushing into his stomach, Yanko knew the noise hadn’t originated in the stone above them. The construct was still alive under the rubble—and it was trying to get out.

  He had no idea what else he might throw at it in order to kill it.

  “We have to get out of here,” he said, already edging around the rubble pile and toward the entrance. He felt cowardly for contemplating leaving the Kyattese, especially when they were injured and would have to carry out two of their people—if those people were still alive. But he wasn’t a healer and didn’t know what else he could do. He had no weapons that could hurt the construct further. “If we leave, maybe it won’t follow.”

  The Kyattese did not respond to him. Maybe they didn’t know Nurian, or maybe they were too worried about their injured people.

  His toe bumped against something as he crept toward the exit. A rock? No, he was passing the spot where the pirate’s goods had been stored. Lakeo had escaped with some items, but not everything. Had she searched for the lodestone? Had she found it? Or should he take the time to look?

  The rock pile shifted again, several stones rolling off the top and down to the floor. An unearthly and extremely angry screech emanated from within. Yanko shuddered, certain that screech meant the construct had him marked for death.

  “Yanko, damn it, get out here,” Lakeo yelled from somewhere down the passage. From the closest trap, most likely.

  Hoping he wasn’t making a mistake, Yanko left the treasure and ran for the exit.

  “Get out of here before it escapes,” he called to the Kyattese, one last warning. If they couldn’t figure that out, he did not know what else he could do for them.

  The dust filled the tunnel, clouding it almost as badly as the chamber. He would have run into Lakeo’s back if she hadn’t been cursing him for taking so long.

  “I’m here,” he rasped, his vocal chords feeling as if they were caked in dust. He gripped her arm. “Follow me.”

  Another angry screech came from behind them. He forced himself to check the floor carefully, not to rush, as he guided Lakeo through th
e trap.

  “I almost fried my eyebrows off trying to find the way on my own,” Lakeo said. “I did sense the attack right before it went off, and I had time to jump back.” There was a hint of wonder in her voice.

  “Good.”

  With his ear toward the chamber, he couldn’t manage much more of a response. He worried the construct would know Lakeo had taken some of its treasure and charge after them as soon as it escaped. He was all too aware that they were on an island and without a means off, unless they could indeed get away in the underwater boat. Or if they could grab one of the pirates’ rowboats. If they rowed out far enough, would the soul construct be thwarted? It did not seem like something that should be able to swim.

  “We’re through the first trap,” Yanko said, picking up his pace.

  A loud thud came from behind them.

  “Uh, I think it’s coming.” Lakeo glanced at her hands. She was carrying a small chest and also had a bag slung over her shoulder in addition to all of her usual gear. The woman had the stamina of an ox when it came to toting stolen goods.

  Yanko wanted badly to ask about the lodestone, but they reached the second trap, and he needed his concentration for that. Another bang came from behind them, then an ominous thud, thud, thud. Footsteps. Heavy footsteps.

  “Definitely coming,” Lakeo whispered.

  Light flared behind them. The first trap being triggered. Yanko wished that meant the construct would be incinerated, but he doubted it.

  The thud, thud, thud continued, growing closer.

  They were almost through the second trap. Lakeo was so close to him that he could feel her breath on his neck. Yanko risked a glance back and wished he hadn’t. The construct loomed right behind them, about to enter the trap.

  Alarm surged in Yanko’s every fiber as he realized it would trigger the trap and that he and Lakeo were still in it.

  “Run,” he yelled.

  “But the—”

  “Just run.” Not worrying about the pieces of floor that could be depressed, Yanko sprinted toward the entrance, toward the distant roar of the waterfall.

  Light flared once again, more intense since they were so close. As Yanko and Lakeo sprinted away, the inferno burst from the walls, filling the passage. They reached the end of the trap a second ahead of it and escaped unharmed. For a moment, the fire swallowed the construct, and it disappeared from sight. But the thud of its footsteps continued.

  Yanko ran so quickly, he couldn’t turn to follow the ledge around the waterfall in time. Instead, his feet slipped on the slick rock. He tumbled into the waterfall.

  Its power crushed him, smashing him into the pool. He was turned over and over, water filling his nostrils and his mouth. He flailed about, trying to swim, but he was so disoriented that he did not know which way was up.

  If the current hadn’t carried him into calmer waters, he may never have figured it out. He bumped into slimy rocks—the bottom of the pool. His sword—he wasn’t even sure how he had kept hold of it—scraped along the pebbles. He twisted around, getting his feet underneath him, and pushed off. He kicked until he broke the surface. He gasped for air, his throat and lungs burning from inhaling water.

  Shouts came from somewhere nearby. Confused, he dashed water out of his eyes. Before he could see clearly, he grew aware of lights. Lanterns. Many lanterns.

  Lakeo came up near him with a gasp. Yanko treaded water, certain he should swim in one direction and try to escape, but which direction? The lanterns completely ringed the pool. The pirates had found them.

  Chapter 7

  “Get those two in the water,” a woman said from somewhere in the crowd near the waterfall.

  Yanko glanced toward the other side of the pool, wondering if there was any hope of swimming across and slipping out into the dense foliage. But lanterns burned on that end of the pool too. There had to be a hundred pirates ringing the area. How had they found this spot? Were the gods sending tortoise visitors to guide everyone?

  Earlier Yanko had felt pleased at the divine intervention, but now he wondered if someone up there loved the pirates even more than they loved him. A disgruntling thought.

  “Duck.” Lakeo shoved down on his shoulder.

  Yanko had little choice but to submerge. Trusting that she had seen trouble, he paddled backward several strokes before coming up. When he did surface, he only lifted his eyes out, hoping the darkness would make him tough to target. He looked for the underwater boat, thinking to hide behind it, but it wasn’t where it had been when he had gone in. He didn’t see it at all.

  “I said get them, not shoot them,” the woman said, her tone dry. “I want them questioned. I—”

  A distressingly familiar screech erupted from behind the waterfall. The soul construct.

  Lakeo bumped his arm. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Yanko did not need the suggestion. He was already paddling backward, the monster worrying him more than the pirates. Since he had struck the most grievous blow to the soul construct, it was probably still after him.

  As one, the pirates turned toward the waterfall.

  “What is it?” a nervous-sounding man asked.

  Numerous rifles and crossbows pointed at the waterfall as another screech came from behind it. The soul construct leaped straight out into the pool. The heavy curtain of water did not affect it as much as it had Yanko, and the creature landed with a splash.

  Yanko used his mind to stir up a great wave and send it crashing into the construct’s blocky face, but he doubted that would stop it when tons of rock had not. Before his attack landed, he spun and swam full speed for the nearest bank. His sword and his pack weighed him down, but he barely noticed. Heavy splashes came from behind him. A dozen rifles fired. Yanko doubted that would do any more to hurt the creature than the swords and arrows had.

  His knee banged against the slick bottom. He found his feet and charged up to dry land, hardly caring that some of the pirates’ rifles pointed at him.

  “Run, run,” he blurted and dove straight toward them, trying to push through.

  He thought they might let him, that they would focus on shooting the creature and barely notice him as he squeezed past. Instead, two towering men with barrel-like builds stepped together, blocking him. He bounced off, and his foot slipped on a wet, mossy stone. He went down at their feet.

  Another time, he would have been embarrassed, but he was too concerned about the soul construct. He whirled, rising to his knees and scrambling to prepare a defense that might keep the magical creature from ripping him in half.

  It was every bit as close as he had feared, charging out of the water, arms raised, ready to grab him. More guns fired. The bullets bounced off, doing nothing. Men shouted orders, a dozen people giving useless advice.

  Yanko lifted a hand, thinking to create an earthquake under its feet, imaging it toppling backward into the water. Before he struck, the night lit with an immense surge of flames. A blast of fire that seemed as large as the pool itself slammed into the soul construct.

  Yanko scrambled backward, both because of the fire but also because of the power. It railed at his mental senses almost as intensely as the heat and light railed at his body. The flames wrapped around the creature, burning so brightly that he couldn’t make out its contours within the inferno. The air stank as the monster burned. Another inhuman screech came from within the fire, this one sounding more like cries of agony than of anger, and Yanko remembered that human souls had gone into creating this monstrosity. Even as he continued backward, trying to escape the heat, as well as the monster, he imagined them trapped in that hulking body, tormented for eternity—or until the construct died.

  This time, the pirates let him back away because they were backing up themselves. Thoughts of escaping returned to mind, but the men weren’t that distracted. A meaty hand reached for him. Yanko whipped up his sword. To fight against so many would be futile, but if he could surprise this handful of men in front of him, he might slip into the dens
e foliage and disappear.

  An invisible force landed on him from above. It came down so hard that his knees buckled. He soon found himself flat on the ground, his cheek pressed against the cool, mossy rocks. He still held his sword, but he couldn’t lift his arm. He couldn’t lift anything. Only his eyes could move, allowing him to see the inferno at the edge of the pool dissipating. Nothing remained standing there. A few ashes floated in the fading light. Night returned to the pool, the darkness once again broken only by the pirates’ lanterns.

  The gunfire and the shouts had stopped, with silence falling over the jungle. The faint shifting of pebbles reached Yanko’s ear, someone walking toward him. The sets of boots that blocked the way into the trees scooted back. The force pressing down on Yanko lessened, but he could still feel magic all about him, like invisible ropes binding him, promising he could not escape. Was this truly the power of one of those two fire mages he had seen? He could imagine them hurling that inferno, though he was amazed that they could have destroyed the soul construct so completely when his own power had simply bounced off it. But the magic holding him now felt like weather magic. Usually only warrior mages had command over all of the elements.

  The footsteps stopped. “You have something of mine.” It was the woman’s voice again.

  Blessed badger goddess, it wasn’t her, was it? He had absolutely no memory of her voice, of her.

  He swallowed, not sure whether to be curious, terrified, chagrined, or all three.

  The magic holding him down lessened. Yanko pushed himself to his knees and then to his feet, moving warily, not sure if rising would be allowed. He turned to regard the speaker. He saw Lakeo then, too, standing about ten feet away, two pirates gripping her arms. Her pack and the small chest she’d taken from the cave lay at her feet. She’d had more items when they had been running, but she must have dropped them in the pool. She alternated between glowering at her captures and sending scathing looks at the woman.