by K T Munson
He heard someone nearby, so he stepped quickly until the screaming woman’s eyes closed. He spun until they opened again on the large wooden door. He opened it and slipped inside. A smoldering fire burned in the fireplace, making the room almost unbearable. It reminded him of the constant heat of the Netherworld. Ki glanced around and then followed the screaming woman on the key to a bookshelf. He waved it around until the eyes opened on a large, leather-bound book.
He put the key in his pocket and lifted the book from its place, setting it on the desk behind him. The thick binding was heavier than he expected. He opened it. Inside was an assortment of skeleton keys. With a cringe, he thought of the picture on the skin parchment Riku had handed him, recalling the spokes and the diamond.
He searched the keys. Surprisingly, it didn’t take him long to find the one he wanted. When his fingers wrapped around the key, though, he felt a jolt of electricity run through his body. His body seized up, and he knocked over the book as he collapsed. Keys scattered loudly across the floor as he started to have trouble breathing. His body continued to convulse and his grip on the key tightened. He tried to focus, but a disturbing feeling filled his chest and nothing seemed to work.
Oh no, he thought. He clenched his teeth as he realized what was happening.
For the first time Ki, the undying one, experienced death.
Ki woke with a start. At first his senses were filled with the silence and darkness. When they adjusted, he found himself gazing up at the moon. The chill of evening had set in, and he soon realized he was naked. Standing, Ki surveyed the area and recognized the forest. He was home, in Lyreane, and from the position of the mountains he was not far from where the secret cavern was located.
He started walking toward the mountain. Before long, he began to shiver. Everything seemed to shrivel up as he crossed his arms to conserve heat. The cold on his bare skin was not a pleasant feeling. The ground was unforgiving, and little cuts formed on his feet. Inevitably, the cold made them numb, so he walked faster. The cuts would heal eventually, and he did not wish to die and start over again.
Ki’s shivering worsened as the temperature continued to drop, as his breath came out like pale chimney smoke. When he finally made it to the clearing, he found that the people who had been there before were now gone. Very few wanderers stayed long—it was as though they sensed the ugliness that happened there. He stared at the new growth from the summer and wondered if the trees remembered what had happened there—the violence that had befallen his people all those years ago. It would soon be frosted over, and the cycle of regrowth would continue next year. Over the years this clearing, built on blood and bones, would become part of the forest again. The genocide would be forgotten by everyone but him and the Black Council. They would be lost to history.
When he finally reached the rocky entrance, he realized belatedly that he didn’t have the disk that would allow him entry. Ki tried calling out but no one came. Frowning, he looked up at the mountain’s face and knew there was only one way to survive the cold. He would call on his Kemshi. He knelt down and scraped at the ground until he made a pile of loose dirt for the summoning.
On the ground he began marking out the Kemshi’s name and a communication spell. Normally having the key, a runic disk the size of a coin, was enough, but the tiger was prideful and did not like being summoned in such a way. Had they been spirit partners, none of this would have been necessary, but the feline had never bonded with him before their village had been destroyed. Without the disk, he would have to appeal to the proud feline. When it was done, he stood and pressed his thumb into the mountain’s jagged face, making it well up with blood. When he turned it over, it formed a perfect dome. Without hesitation, he pushed his thumb into the center of his markings and concentrated on the tiger. Through blue lips, he whispered the incantation.
In an instant, he was inside of the Kemshi. The tiger was in the forest hunting. When the connection was made, the tiger stopped for a moment and lifted his head like it was listening for something. Ki called out to it, but the feline’s belly rumbled in defiance. Instead, it took off hunting again, and Ki’s shaking body could hardly focus on the spell. His thumb was shifting back and forth, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before he ruined the markings. Yet the Kemshi still ignored him. Eventually it saw a deer drinking from the stream. Ki saw and felt the tiger begin to prowl along the perimeter. The deer eventually lifted its head, and its long thin ears turned around like the perfectly adapted noise locaters they were. The tiger froze.
The deer returned to the stream and finished sating its thirst. Ki was so enraptured that he momentarily forgot about his own suffering and felt only the Kemshi’s hunger deep in his gut as he crouched on the hard ground. Normally this wasn’t an issue, but Ki had not considered his weakened state. Ki called to the Kemshi, trying to draw him back as he stalked the deer. The tiger’s footfalls were silent and deadly. When the deer finally sensed its impending doom and tried to bolt, it was too late. The feline’s massive paw connected with its hindquarter, causing the animal to be swept to the side. Before it could rebound, the tiger bit into the deer’s neck, crushing it.
Ki was pulled out of the Kemshi, his shaking fingers having ruined the spell. Half frozen, he curled up into a ball. Breathing was becoming more difficult as his senses dulled. He could feel himself slowly freezing to death. Worse, Ki knew he would just start over again. The prospect was disheartening. He had never died before, so he’d never known how his inability to do so might work. Now he knew he would revive at that tree not far from where their village had been. He knew the story well and easily connected the dots. It was obvious that he’d have to reset every time he died and return to where it all began—where he had become the savior.
Soon Ki felt as though he was floating. He limply rested a hand on the wall. He was so close to salvation and yet so far. His limbs felt distant, and his eyelids began to grow heavy. He could no longer focus, his thoughts straining to form even a single word. The pain of dying last time returned to him as he slowly succumbed. Knowing he would regenerate wasn’t much of a comfort.
Heat seared through his limbs. Just as he faded into a blissful sleep, though, something hit the ground above his head. He opened his eyes with a start and struggled to lift his head, but his body protested. The oversized tiger stood nearby over the crippled body of the deer. Blood and organs littered the ground, and parts of the deer were missing. The tiger’s hot breath could be seen in the frosty evening. Their eyes met, and the Kemshi watched him with a cold impassivity.
The feline eventually began walking toward him. Too tired and cold to react, Ki curled himself back into a tight ball. The soft fur of the Kemshi pressed up against him, its great mass emitting an abundance of heat. It wasn’t long until Ki stopped shaking, and the tiger lay his head down on Ki’s shoulder. This was the closest thing to companionship that Ki had ever experienced, and he was loath to say he enjoyed it. The elders had always been around, but they had never been more than teachers.
As Ki fell asleep wrapped in the warmth of the Kemshi, thankful he wouldn’t die a second time, he realized he had always been alone.
Chapter 17: Ashlad
Malthael frowned as he discussed the unexpected attack with Meridith. She was a hard woman with a long history of careful planning, and she wouldn’t hesitate when it came to protecting her planet. Yet the idea of the Netherworld’s shrikes coming into the land of the living worried him. If they could escape, what else could come through? He didn’t like to even consider the damage the Weavers could cause with their ability to spit acid.
“Something is disrupting the balance,” Malthael responded, remembering what Zod had said.
“The number of unexplained occurrences lately is disturbing,” she said, crossing her arms. “Have you had an attack within your house?”
“Yes.” Malthael stood up straighter as he answered. “Did you?”
“A murder, actually,” Meridith answered grimly. “Ou
r Spiritwalker is dead.”
“By a Sin Eater to the heart?” the demon asked with heavy worry.
“Yes,” she answered, clearly unsettled. “He was stabbed in the heart. How do you know that?”
Malthael sighed. “Was his heart gone?”
Meridith paled. “Yes.” Her voice sounded almost breathless.
“My daughter was attacked, and the assassin tried to kill her with a Sin Eater,” Malthael explained. “I thought he was after her because of her abilities. It seems a larger game is afoot.”
“Yes,” she said with a deeper frown, “but who is pulling the strings?”
Before Malthael could consider forming a response, the gate’s surface shimmered. Meridith’s image shifted to make room for the face of a young boy. He looked pensive until the image cleared and his features hardened. He was clearly on a mission and did not look thrilled to see them already there. The dots along his hairline marked him for a youth of Hystera, but Malthael knew he was no child.
“What an unexpected pleasure,” Troy said with no real enthusiasm. There were tired lines on his face and the edge of stress in his voice. “I take it I am not alone.” It wasn’t a statement—there was no other reason they would gather.
Meridith asked, “What emergency brings you here, Troy?”
“We are in need of a Seer,” Troy answered almost immediately. “One of our planet’s Keepers has found a disturbance.”
“Something out of balance?” Malthael asked and elicited a surprised look from Troy.
“I have a feeling there is something I am missing,” the boy stated pointedly.
“Were the Seers of Hystera killed by a blade to the heart?” Meridith asked, though they both already suspected the answer.
“Yes, or at least where the heart should have been,” Troy responded. “How did you know?”
“Sin Eater,” Malthael surmised before he started to pace, his tail moving around of its own accord. “Why is this assassin killing those who can see the dead? What is the purpose of the Sin Eater?”
“What is a Sin Eater?” Troy asked, clearly lost.
“It is a blade forged in a volcano in the Netherworld, and its sole purpose is consuming the hearts of sinners,” Malthael explained. “The orcs of old made Holy Blades in the Netherworld. The volcano is a mirror of the Ashy Mountains in Oran. Before the orcs were wiped out, they forged swords, the Sin Eaters, to try to destroy what was hunting them. It is the only place they can be made, and to my knowledge only six were forged. Without any living orcs, I do not know how a Sin Eater could be made.”
“Who killed the orcs?” Troy interrupted, his demeanor that of an enthralled boy.
“I believe Ashladian texts called him the Black King,” Malthael responded as he pondered. “Though he is known by many names, The Final Conqueror and The World Eater.”
“We call him The Devouring One,” Meridith added.
“The World Eater?” Troy said, his face stricken, “We call him that, but in many of our texts he is referred to as The Destroyer because of what he did.”
“An accurate name,” the reformed demon conceded. “Only the righteous can get anywhere near that volcano to dip weapons in the ash and create a Sin Eater. These swords were made when the Black King was banished so they would have weapons when they marched him into exile.”
“They sound indestructible,” Troy said with a worried expression.
“To the sinner, yes,” Malthael said, “but a Sin Eater returns to ash when it tries to kill an innocent soul.”
“There is one question I have,” Meridith interjected. “It was always unclear to me what constitutes a sin.”
“It depends,” Malthael said with a shrug. “If you have ever purposely caused harm to another person in your life, you have sin. The Sin Eater needs more than a few infractions to work, though. Lying won’t do it either. Easiest way, you need to take a life.”
“Murder is the only way?” Troy demanded. “My Seer swore to harm nothing, yet this sword worked on him.”
“It is an accumulation,” he tried to explain, and then looked at Meridith. “What sins did your Spiritwalker commit throughout his life?”
“He was a soldier,” Meridith said, clearing her throat. “I am sure there were many.”
“This seems ridiculous,” Troy finally said. “I am only twelve, but my decisions are sometimes those of life and death. Could this sword kill me?”
“I don’t make the rules, Troy,” he said with a frown. “Remember this came from the Netherworld, and the Black King was all powerful before his banishment. His magic was used to destroy the orcs, and the wild magic of the Netherworld makes anything forged there unpredictable.”
“That still doesn’t explain the shrikes,” she reminded him, “or how they got here from the Netherworld.”
“That I cannot speak to,” Malthael responded honestly, “though I can say that the Det Mor Clan sent a representative who informed me that the spirit lines that exist across the worlds are out of balance.”
“Is the imbalance caused by the death of the Seers?” the boy inquired.
“They were looking for the assassin. Apparently he has many souls within him, and he is likely your killer,” Malthael explained, certain now that the assassin had hunted more before trying to kill Elisabeth. “They claim he is putting the worlds out of balance. So many souls shouldn’t exist in one place.”
“He is killing those who can see the dead, yet your daughter survived,” Meridith said. “She is half Soul Collector like the rest, but the Sin Eater didn’t take her. Why?”
“It does not matter what is in her blood. Elisabeth has never taken a life and has devoted her own life to helping others,” Malthael responded proudly. “The sword turned to ash.”
“I and my Keeper are in need of her services,” Troy stated abruptly. “I have a feeling this is all connected.”
“We need to gather all the Guardians,” Meridith declared, raising her head. “Your daughter is the last of our Spiritwalkers that we know of, and we cannot all utilize her at once. She should stay in Ashlad until the meeting. We can present our cases when we are all together. It is unfair to exclude the others from this important decision.”
“We do not have time to wait,” Troy argued. “We need to know what your daughter sees. Our Keeper feels the planet weakening.”
“Enough!” Malthael yelled, cutting his hand through the air. “My daughter is not connected to this at all! She has no obligation to any of you.”
“Ask her,” Troy responded calmly. “If she is as good as you think she is, I believe she will choose wisely.”
“Set the meeting. I can promise nothing else,” Malthael growled before pulling the dial out from the wall. The gate returned to stone.
He was fuming as he walked up the stairs and shoved the stone slab open, nearly breaking it off the hinges. Stomping into the study, he pushed the massive door closed himself instead of using the switch just to burn off his excess energy. As he left the study, he realized that something wasn’t quite right. Slowly turning back, he saw his book of his keys was open on a side desk with its contents strewn across the floor. Not far from them, gathered in a pool on the ground, was a pile of clothes.
It had not been there before he had gone down to the gate. He bent over and lifted the clothes, startled when things fell out and onto the floor. They clanged and jangled, sounding like more keys, but he realized it was a bunch of knives. With dread, he wondered if there was a man running around his house without his clothes on. He summoned Nathan and Duke to find out.
Chapter 18: Oran
Princess Nanette watched the water move around the small pool in the garden. Blue fish that weren’t actually blue—just reflecting the light fragmentation of the water—swam around. She watched them with dull interest and waited. She knew all too well what it was like to be a gray fish that everyone believed was a beautiful blue one. It was every girl’s dream to become a princess, to attend balls, and marry the hand
some prince. Her younger self had thought so, but that dream had soon faded.
She was married to a man who had absolutely no interest in her. It was fair to say she had only been a young, fascinated girl looking wide-eyed at a prince when they first met. She always wondered if it was her good luck or bad that her father had been chosen by the gate to be its Guardian.
Her silk robe was held in place by a thick sash at her waist. The robes were straight lined, the hem at her ankles. It had a high, attached collar and wide sleeves that fell to her knees. Yet it was the complex pattern that was painted onto the outfit that made it beautiful. A score of pink and white blossoms decorated the full length of the dress in a fetching pattern. Every day now felt she was dressed for a celebration. It was royal attire for a Butterfly Princess—the term to describe a commoner who had married a prince.
Watching the fish made her think of her sister Yuna and how fortunate she had been to marry before the gate had chosen. Before her sister had married their new friend, Tidus, Nanette had thought she was going to marry him. How foolish she had been, yet she could not hate them, even for her fate of a loveless marriage, because Yuna and Tidus were truly in love.
She glanced around the garden, but the flowers held no appeal. The women at court who were in similarly arranged marriages had told her she would love her children. They would distract her, they said, and her husband would do whatever he wished. The idea did not sit well with her.
Sometimes she dreamed of running away and living her own life. But she had no wealth or money to fund her freedom, so she stayed. Before her father had become the Gate Guardian, they had been poor merchants, barely making ends meet. Her father had lost most of his money when Nanette was very young, and so she remembered only poverty. Yuna was three years older and she remembered their happy mother and fine dresses.
