Sen slid down off her beast but stayed pinned to his side. “It doesn’t matter.”
“What?” Nya exclaimed. “After all that nasci business?”
“But I’m—”
“Osan’s shy’t about ‘miracles’ and ancient legends—a waste of time, delusions for the desperate.” Her hand went to her slapped cheek, but when she realized what she did, she tried to play it off. “Don’t you see how you’ve divided the last of us?”
Sen squeezed her eyes shut and shouted over Nya’s tirade. “I’m not nasci!”
The girl’s voice carried through the thicket of trees, echoing off the side of the mountain and rising to the cloudy afternoon sky. All the bird song, and even insect trilling, paused in the wake of her outburst.
“At least we agree about that,” Nya said, keeping an eye on Sen’s beast. She didn’t like the way Akoto’s black fur rose on his back, or how he dug his claws into the ground. He’s reacting to her, she thought, watching his lips curl back on sharp teeth.
As another baritone rumble emitted from Akoto’s chest, she reconsidered her original idea. “Alright, look—you can come with me, but you have to do everything I say.”
Sen nodded, her eyes drifting off to the west, where steep mountain passes and the countless hidden dangerous scored the pathway to the Lightning Guild fortress.
“The Nezra aren’t headed to Hirak. Not directly, at least,” Nya said, resuming her course down the trail. “This is the back way to the Gardens.”
“But you said we could check on my parents—”
“Rescue mission first.”
If she had a response, the girl kept it to herself as they traversed their way through the foothills.
Like all the other territories, denom influence caused rapid environmental transitions within short distances. In the foothills, succulent plants gave way to ivy and trees with leafy branches that draped to the ground. Bamboo punctuated the forest floor, making it almost impossible to deviate from the established trail. Passing higher, they came across fast-moving rivers that dropped and twisted down rocky channels and spilled over into lost lakes. Nya caught glimpses of the mist-shrouded blue waters but squelched any hint of wonder with the objective of their mission.
I’m coming, Sho.
Five miles in, hunger pains and the ache of her injured ankle whittled down her concentration, enough so that she couldn’t hide her limp.
“I can hear that,” she said, picking up Sen’s whispers and Akoto’s grumble.
“Akoto says it’s okay to ride on his back for a while.”
Nya resisted the urge to look over her shoulder, not wanting to see the sweet, innocent expression on the kid’s face. “No.”
“Why not? He’s really strong. And you’re hurt—”
“I said no.” Nya turned around, intending to yell at the girl, but her ankle couldn’t handle the sudden position change. She fell to her side, cracking her hip and elbow against one of the dead tree branches littering the edge of the trail.
Cradling her elbow, she scowled at Sen, but it didn’t keep the girl from kneeling down a few feet in front of her. “Your elbow—it’s bleeding.”
“Really?” Nya said, but the girl didn’t catch on to her sarcastic tone.
“Here,” Sen said, pulling around her satchel to the front and digging through it. When she couldn’t find what she wanted, she ripped off a piece of her tattered shirt. “Take this.”
“What am I supposed to do with that?”
A look of confusion crossed her face. “To stop the bleeding.”
“I’m not using your dirty shirt.”
Sen tilted her head to the side, looking at her with a mix of trepidation and inquisitiveness. “Why won’t you let me help you?”
The question hit her in a place she didn’t think herself vulnerable anymore, least of all when asked by a shadowless fourteen-year-old girl. Her deepest scars, not earned or received in battle, became a pulsating beacon in her mind’s eye, even though they lay hidden underneath her layers of armor.
“I don’t need help, especially from you.”
Sen said nothing, but her gaze dropped the gaping laceration on the young warrior’s elbow.
I should cover it up, she thought, frustration subsiding. The scent of fresh blood might attract the Nezra and, estimating they trailed behind by less than a mile, they couldn’t risk any exposure.
With a grunt, she swiped the dirty strip of cloth from the kid’s hand and bound the wound. “You’re a pest.”
Sen stared at her, no hint of retort or resentment in her big hazel eyes. Anger surfaced first, her conditioned reaction to such a vexing personality, but then something new and unexpected nibbled at the corners of her mind. Warmth, a memory of comforts long forgotten; sentiments Nya dismissed with a huff before they could be realized. Stupid kid. This world will eat her up.
“Here,” Nya said, standing up as she drew one of the ten-inch knives from her belt and handed it to Sen. “You’re no good to me if you can’t fight.”
“What am I supposed to do with this?” Sen held the knife up with two hands, her eyes converging at the sharpened point.
“I want you to practice two moves as we hike. A fake stab, then slice, and a parry and slash. Like this.”
Nya drew the other knife and demonstrated the first attack with advancing shuffle steps, and then second defensive/counterattack using a side-step and deep forward stance. Her ankle screamed with pain, but she couldn’t falter, not as Sen watched on with fright and awe.
“You try,” Nya said to the girl still sitting on her knees and holding the knife out away from her body.
“N-no, I can’t.”
“Do it,” Nya said, grabbing her by the upper arm and hoisting her to her feet. “Or go back to camp.”
Sen gave a half-hearted stab at the invisible enemy in front of her, and an even less enthusiastic and weak-wristed slice. Instead of trying the second move, Sen whimpered an excuse and fumbled with the knife.
“At least he’s got some fight in him,” Nya said, nodding to the growling beast looming over Sen.
“Sorry, I’m just not good at this stuff.”
“No excuses,” Nya said, resuming their hike. Glancing over her shoulder, she added: “Keep practicing.”
Frustrated grunts and boots scuffing across the dirt followed, but not the sweet swishing sound of coordinated knife attacks cutting through the air.
The question popped out of Nya’s mouth: “So, what are you good at?”
Silence.
Nya resisted the temptation to look back. Unsure of why she asked such an idiotic thing, she tried to justify it with the nagging pain of her ankle, empty stomach, or the need to know more about the survival worth of her travel companion. Not that I really care.
“Nothing.”
The girl’s fragile response didn’t surprise her, but nonetheless, summoned uncomfortable feelings from deep within, as if someone shined the spotlight on her, not Sen.
Clearing her throat, Nya afforded the girl no pity. “Then keep practicing.”
After crossing a weathered stone bridge, they reached a clearing that overlooked the valley dividing the White mountains and the endless verdant hills. The sun, sinking behind Hirak mountain, cast shadows over the sleepy forests.
“That’s the end of Guild territory,” Nya said, pointing to the river cutting through the valley at the base of Hirak mountain. “The Gardens are right over there. See the post? That’s the entry to the Mazes.”
Sen squinted, looking out a mile to the northeast where a group of trees twisted together to form a fortified platform. “Yeah, but why aren’t they moving?”
As soon as she pointed out the Virid soldiers frozen in place, Nya dropped to the ground, pulling Sen down with her.
“Quiet,” she said, putting her finger over her lips before Sen could question her action.
Though the soldiers on the platform remained unmoving, their strangulated cries carried across the valley. Vines attached
to their post sprung up to the sky as if the Virid soldiers made to defend themselves against an invisible enemy.
“What’s happening—”
Nya slapped her hand over Sen’s mouth. More vines shot up to the sky and fell back to the ground around the post. Two petal cannons formed from the surrounding pink and yellow floral bed, then fell apart and reformed, as if none of the soldiers bore the concentration to be able to finish the command, let alone aim it at whatever attacked them.
“Stay here,” Nya said, pointing to Sen and Akoto.
“But Nya—”
“Do as I say!”
Keeping low, Nya descended the trail, looking for any movement in the trees as she made her way toward the tower. Gurgling and slurping sounds, like the ones she heard just before the Soushin attacked, made her reach for her swords.
The shadows up ahead congealed. Nya kept her swords in front of her, taking slower and slower steps, trying to understand what she saw and heard. Something clicking and grating silenced all the twilight forest song.
Insects?
No, she corrected herself. More like—
—bones rubbing and snapping together.
What the hell is that?!
Nya retreated behind a tangle of blue grass, watching the horror unfold at the base of the Virid post fifty feet ahead. Hunched over figures, too dark to see, wiggled long fingers at the soldiers high up in the tower. Vines snaked up the tower, went taut, and then pulled a soldier to the ground with sickening force, shattering his bones and splitting his skull.
A flash of green, the putrid smell of wet leaves. Nya spied a Virid soldier, his green and grey uniform ripped to shreds, his face bloodied and almost unrecognizable, limping toward the other side of the post. Standing at an awkward angle, he raised his broken hands and molded and bent the vegetation around him to his will. Petal cannons reformed, this time taking aim at the tower.
What’s he—?
Before she could complete the thought, he fired the cannons, sending a spread of pistils at his own men. Nya crouched down and covered her head as a plume of pollen, dust, and wood splinters exploded out from the collapsing tower.
As the wreckage settled, the hissing and clicking sounds returned. Staying crouched, Nya tried to watch from her limited vantage point as the dark figures perused the fallen Virid post, lingering over the dead and dying soldiers trapped underneath vines and wooden beams.
No…
Nya recoiled as a Virid officer, cut in half by a vine, reanimated under the wriggling fingers of the dark figures. Mouth agape, he looked up with bleached eyes at his masters.
“Hissan de templare… Hissan de templare…” the dark figures hissed.
Dropping her swords, Nya pressed her palms against her ears, not wanting to hear any more of the vicious Nezran tongue. Whatever they chanted made her feel weak and powerless, like a mouse trapped inside the jaws of a predator.
The officer shook and contorted, both halves of his body writhing in pain, but he would not respond to the death-dealers’ demands.
Their chants escalated, penetrating through Nya’s meager barrier, turning her bones to ice. “Hissan de templare. HISSAN DE TEMPLARE."
I can’t take it, Nya thought, unable to take a breath. A phantom vice trapped her mind, crushing down on all sides. Dread pulled apart reason, allowing panic to calve the last of her rational mind.
Tell them—TELL THEM!
Submitting, the dead officer raised his broken arm, pointing it northwest. Tears streamed from his eyes as he shrieked for mercy, his fractured jaw dangling from the hinges.
But the torments didn’t stop, not even after the officer gave them whatever they demanded. Instead, the death-dealers drew together, pooling their collective talents, decay spreading out from their squirming fingers in fetid waves of brown and black. Flowers wilted and withered in seconds, the grasses, trees, and plants turning into heaps of tarry mold. The dying Virid soldiers and the officers morphed in ways that Nya couldn’t fathom in her worst nightmares, screaming out as their skin went from green hues to jaundiced yellow, then to a deathly cracked brown.
Nya fell to the ground shaking, forgetting all but the terrible pain pulling her apart from the inside out. God, please stop, please stop, STOP.
A mournful howl broke through forest, silencing the death-dealer chant, washing away their terrible words from her mind. Nya inhaled sharply, taking in a starving breath, filling her lungs until she thought they’d burst. As she fought to catch her breath, she saw all around her with extraordinary lucidity, as if she had a thousand eyes open all at once. She saw each insect scurrying up the trees, the branching veins on the leaves, individual blades of grass; the tiny flecks of dirt that covered her boots. Head reeling, she caught sight of bloodshot eyes, rawboned faces. Despite her fear, she couldn’t look away, drawn into the Nezra’s hollow stare, the way their mouths hung open with words unspoken, their fingers outstretched in panic, not malice.
Shocked, she closed her eyes, not wanting to see the world with such clarity. As the sensation passed, she heard Akoto’s uneven gait, his four paws slapping against rock as he bound down toward her, like a boulder crashing through the forest.
When she opened her eyes, the dark figures in front of had dispersed, disappearing into the sanctuary of the Garden shadows.
“Shy’t,” she muttered, rolling up to a sitting position as the beast and his rider charged through to her position.
“Nya—are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she grumbled, brushing herself of and using the adjacent tree to help her stand. “Didn’t I tell you to wait?”
“Yeah, but Akoto wouldn’t stay.”
“Do you not have control over your beast?”
“He’s not a beast!” Sen said, raising her voice to meet Nya’s.
Nya flexed and relaxed her fists, wanting to yell, but realizing more than just her anger. The midnight creature standing before her, his brawny chest, angular jaw, and wolf-like mask, did more than just intimate a great physical power. His howl… it did something to me.
Just like it had done to Sulo.
Before, when he howled for the dying Shifter, she saw something of Akoto’s past; a glimpse into a memory of pain and suffering that connected her to an experience beyond herself. This time she saw the world around her in the absence of darkness, from angles she never cared to see, in depths and details she once deemed unnecessary. And she saw into the faces of death, seeing less the frightful monster, and more the fragile human behind such evil acts.
No. Not possible. None of this is real.
Unsure of herself, Nya refocused on the most important matter. “Get down. We need to assess the site.”
As she picked up her swords and re-sheathed them, Sen slid off Akoto and joined her in surveying the battleground.
Covering her nose, Nya stepped into the distinct ring that separated the living forest from the area affected by the death-dealers. Her boots squished with every step, pushing up greyish liquid from the wet soil. Mold and decay peppered the air with smells that churned her stomach, but she detected no lingering Nezra.
Why would the Nezra run from a howl? she thought, surveying the dead soldiers littering the piles of moldy vegetation and splintered beams. They had the upper hand.
The answer seemed within reach, but as she tried to feel out the reason, some part of her pushed her own experiences out of consideration, leaving her frustrated and more confused.
None of this makes sense, she decided, kicking over the withered stalk of a pink quapo flower.
“Hey—Nya—I think he’s still alive!” Sen said, pointing to the halved officer lying in the wreckage. “Oh… I don’t feel so good…”
Sighing, Nya watched as the young girl turned ashen at the sight of the moaning Virid. “Stay back then.”
Nya stooped down next to the officer, studying his blind gaze and colorless lips. How is he still alive?
“Hey—can you hear me?” She slapped him on the
chest, trying to elicit some intelligible response. “Why did the Nezra attack you? What are they after?”
She got only fragmented, garbled words.
“Nya, stop,” Sen said, kneeling and clutching her stomach. “He’s in pain.”
Nya grabbed the officer by the collar and held one of her knives to his neck. “Listen—I’ll end your suffering. Just tell me why they did this.”
“Run…” the officer rasped, reaching for her face with trembling hands. Grazing her jaw with cold fingers, he screamed. “RUN!”
In one swift motion, Nya cut his throat. The light in the officer’s eyes dimmed, and his head lolled off to the side.
As she tried to process what had just happened, Sen’s quiet whimpering got under her skin.
“Stop that,” she said, grasping the girl by the elbow and lifting her to her feet. Sen wouldn’t look at her, keeping her head down as Nya continued her reprimands. “Get yourself together. This isn’t going to get any easier.”
Wiping her nose off on her shirtsleeve, she whispered: “I felt him…”
“What?”
By the pained expression on Sen’s face, she inferred that the girl meant more than just having a sense of empathy for the officer’s suffering.
Yeah, right—
But then it struck her as she watched Akoto sniffing the dead soldiers, the low rumble in his chest turning into a whine. What if…?
No, she told herself, dismissing any possibility that the beast could have feelings for the fallen—or that, even more impossibly, that Sen could tap into those sensitivities.
“Then you should feel nothing now. He’s dead,” she said, slapping the kid’s shoulder. Looking up, she saw the first stars of the night dotting the darkening sky. “Come on. We’ve got to find a light source before we go through the Mazes.”
“T-the Mazes?” Sen hugged her arms to her chest. “But we’ll get lost in there without a guide.”
The girl’s observation did more than just nettle. Yes, the Virids constantly shifted the walls, making it impossible to navigate inside their borders without a greenthumb. Nya thrust one of her blades in Sen’s face. “Then we’ll just hack our way through.”
Worry and fright pinched the girl’s face, but she didn’t try to talk her out of her terrible plan. The Mazes, alive and reactive, would not stand to be cut or hacked, and would surely put up a fight.
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