by S L Matthews
His eyes returned to Anduin, red and swollen, “I couldn’t find her.”
Anduin nodded in agreement, clenching his outstretched fist around the locket.
“She never made it to the water, my old friend,” Anduin whispered, staring near the base of the tree.
Amoran’s expression grew puzzled. “But, my Lord. We all—the whole wagon—it…” His worn fingers pointed to the water and the jagged row of boulders marking the edge of the sea.
Without a word, Anduin calmly retrieved a round, blackened rock near his foot. He spun it, revealing a long, wet, crimson stain. He then pointed at two smaller rocks up the slope, then a third, all with similar stains.
“She crawled.”
Amoran’s heart leapt.
She’s alive?
| Chapter IV
Blue Flame
“I tell you. She left us up here to die.”
Marina recognized the voice immediately, for the same voice had been providing commentary since the Caro’s left Port Corcyra. It had accompanied them to the harbor of Wyvern’s Rest, and east to Volaire’s Landing. Even as the expedition gained members and reached the Saracian city of Sal’Kirathi, the pompous ramblings continued. And now, three full days removed from civilization, Marina once again woke to the babbling elite.
She opened her eyes, adjusting to the morning light.
“No food. No shelter. It’s a game to her!”
“Enough, Dervet,” Marina’s mother interrupted, exhaustion in her voice. “We’ve listened to your conspiracy theories long enough.”
Her mother’s curly hair tickled her nose, yet Marina huddled closer for warmth. She reached for her father’s arm, clenched tightly around both of them. As it had been every night, she was the meat in a Caro sandwich, a role she was eager to play. Marina rolled to her back and met her father’s weary eyes. Not surprising, it appeared he didn’t sleep well either, bracing against the frigid night air.
“Consp-conspiracy?” Dervet huffed, placing his hands on his hips. Dervet Bossa was lean and tall, aging with a graceful elegance that eluded most in the kingdoms of Kel Doran. He touted himself as a world-renowned naturalist, though Marina was convinced he’d never spent a single evening away from the company of his servants, let alone in “the wild.”
Marina sat up, pulling the blankets away from her parents, who grunted and tugged against the woolen sheets. Another chill rolled through her body as the brisk morning air caressed her skin. Several expedition members gathered for warmth, shaking and bouncing the cold away, while Saracian and Cyrean soldiers took formation, preparing for their morning routine.
Cass playfully fluttered her fingers in a make-shift wave. One that Marina was quick to return, along with a smile. But where was their guide? Marina wondered.
“What would you call it then, Caro?” Dervet boosted his voice, ensuring everyone in the camp could hear. Marina glanced at his shiny new boots and leather gloves while he stood there, seemingly accosted by her mother’s accusation. Even his hat looked as though it had been donned for the first time.
“We’re weaving through the valley like crazed lunatics! We practically freeze to death every night. And we have no idea…”
“How to survive in the wilderness?” Marina’s mother interjected. She calmly reached into her pack, withdrawing a tender slice of jerky, and chewed, slow and deliberate, offering a piece to Marina. “Seems you were the only jack ass not to come equipped for this trip.” Celien tightened the straps on Marina’s pack. “But, you’re welcome to some lamb stew if you decide not to go hungry.”
Subtle chuckles reverberated across the bluff while many tried to conceal their amusement. Marina’s stomach churned at the thought of another night of lamb stew, secretly wondering if she was allowed to offer her portion. Dervet’s face flushed with anger. While he waved a pompous finger, Celien rolled her eyes and turned back to her daughter. Marina greeted her with an attentive smile, eagerly listening to her mother’s every word.
“Now what are you smiling at,” her mother whispered, unable to avoid smiling back.
“Now-now you listen here,” Dervet bellowed. “Some of us don’t have the luxury of hiding behind the famous Eramus Caro!”
Marina’s father lightly shook his head, chuckling. “Lord Bossa. If you think for a second this woman needs to hide behind me,” Eramus said. “Then I am of the opinion you know very little about women. Especially this one. Now, sit down and let the rest of us enjoy our breakfast.” Marina’s father unfolded a flap of parchment to reveal a small loaf of bread. He broke off a piece, splitting it between her and her mother.
“Well, what do you propose we eat, Caro?” Dervet said, waving his hands to anyone near him.
“I believe I can help you with that,” came a soft voice from the edge of the bluff. Marina snapped her head to the sentinel, carrying burlap sacks over her shoulder with one hand and a spear in the other. While it appeared she had just returned, Marina wondered how long she had been standing there, observing the petty bickering.
The sentinel walked across the bluff to the center of camp, throwing down the sacks. Stacks of charred wood and hideous worms spilled forth, writhing through the piles of ash. As thick as Marina’s fist and long as her arm, the worms squirmed along the ground, green and slimy. The sentinel skewered one with her spear, causing it to emit a high-pitched squeal. It lurched back and forth, helplessly impaled. With her arm outstretched, she motioned to Dervet.
“For my loudest guest—breakfast.”
The warrior kicked at the charred pieces of wood. “For the rest of you—a fire,” she said in her broken accent.
Dervet backed away from the worm, still writhing against the spear. He crossed his arms over his puffed chest. “Well, I never…”
“So you know,” she interrupted. “You’re alive because I wish it so. If you sleep down there,” she said, pointing toward the valley with her spear, “you freeze in your sleep. If you sleep beyond that dune,” spinning to the west, “you’ll be eaten before you wake.” She stepped closer, lowered her spear, and pointed to the east. “And if you sleep beyond that horizon, you would wander this world for all eternity—never to wake again.”
The subtle laughter in the camp ceased.
Dervet was silent for a moment; his gaze darted back and forth. “Wha… that doesn’t even make sense, you damned Kuri.”
The sentinel smiled, though it was not like any smile Marina had ever seen. It was cold—heartless. The stranger turned toward Marina and her family. A softness returned to her eyes before saying, “and yes, I believe she could take you.”
Dervet’s voice grew incensed. “Are you mad? The professor? She’s a—she’s just a woman!”
The sentinel’s gaze fell to Marina, offering a gentle nod. “No, Lord Bossa.” She raised a finger toward the small girl huddled between her parents. “I mean the little one.”
Laughter shot across the camp as Marina proudly beamed a smile back to the sentinel. Joyful chatter resumed, and the expedition burst into activity, preparing for their day to come. Marina couldn’t control her curiosity, looking back to the lean warrior.
“Who is she, mother?” Marina asked.
“Well, I can’t really say who she is…I doubt many know that answer. But her name is Syndra, one of the sworn protectors of Valshyr. She is one of the Kurodai, sentinels that guard and protect their sacred land.”
Marina hung on every syllable, excitement dripping from her words. “Can I be one of those?”
Her parents laughed, finally feeling a hint of warmth as the sun crested the last dune. Idle chatter echoed through the camp, as the glimmer of light brought many from their uncomfortable slumber. Cursing and bad attitudes prevailed while the expedition awakened, short on sleep, warm clothes, and apparently—patience.
Marina stood, walking to the edge of the bluff. A murky, gray fog flowed through the valley like a river in slow motion. Jagged remnants of magnificent oak trees broke through the mist, most talle
r than anything ever constructed by the hands of man.
Thin beams of light poked through the haze, dancing across the ashen dunes. Marina gazed to the far horizon and wondered how far she could see…10 miles? 100? A salt and pepper wilderness lay sprawled beneath her, suffocating in a bed of swirling mist. It was endless, and at the very heart of it—beautiful.
And horrifying.
Marina headed back to her family and, from the corner of her eye, caught a glimpse of Syndra. The sentinel’s face shot up, her gaze snapping to the edge of the bluff. She sniffed the wind and held up a hand, waving it gently through the breeze. Her stoic expression turned to fear.
“Get behind me!” Syndra yelled. “All of you. Now!”
Syndra cupped her hands over the logs and mumbled words in quick succession. Occasionally, she would glance toward the edge of the bluff, then resume her chant.
Marina’s tone turned worried as her parents hurried her behind the sentinel. “What’s wrong with her?”
Celien squeezed her arm, stepping in front of her. “I—I don’t know, dear.”
A familiar mocking tone erupted from Syndra’s side. Dervet, always quick to add his professional opinion, offered more unnecessary advice. “You can’t be serious. Those logs will never produce a fire again. Just look at them. What you need to do is rub…”
A low growl emanated from the bluff, reverberating through Marina’s core. The hair on her neck bristled, and gooseflesh covered her body. Dervet’s words cut short. Collectively, the expedition stepped away from the edge and huddled close.
Five large forms emerged from the mist, rising from the valley floor. Massive claws of bone sank into the ash. Their bodies were a blend of patched fur and bony protrusions, casting hulking silhouettes in the morning light. Their eyes were lifeless, hollow, and empty.
Giant cats inched their way forward, like predators cornering their prey. Their enormous fangs glistened in the light, along their razor-sharp edge, down to the rapier-like tips.
“M-Mother?” Marina questioned, but Celien had no answer.
One massive sabre stood taller than the rest, drawing Marina’s horrified gaze. Its fur was familiar, like a haunting memory, or a terrible nightmare. She eyed its torn ear and its striped, marble coat.
It can’t be.
Smoke billowed from the logs as Syndra’s words grew louder.
“Valle en redouch. Malle y redondtes…Valle en redouch. Malle y redontes!”
Her words grew haunting. The sabres roared and charged.
A column of blue flame erupted from the logs. Syndra pulled an arrow, jammed it into the fire, and spun the bow off her back. She nocked the arrow as one of the sabres lunged.
The great beast howled, lighting up in a torrent of blue flame. Clumps of fur burned away, revealing a web of interlocked bone. The sabre collapsed into the ash, and a soft, blue light lifted from its body, floating skyward into the hazy morning sky.
Chaos enveloped the camp. Archaeologists, hunters, and naturalists were fleeing in every direction, dodging man-sized fangs and claws. Cyrean and Saracian guards drew their bows and fired. Bolts sank deep into the cat hides with a thud, but their momentum was undeterred. Syndra struck another sabre with a fiery arrow, sending it into the ash.
The Cyrean ranks converged, separating one of the sabres from the group. Cass and another young soldier closed ranks. Armed with spears, they knelt before a small line of archers. The frontline soldiers pressed forward while the archers let loose a volley. Hollow echoes rang from the sabre’s bony frame, the harmless arrows deflected into the ash. Spearheads drove forward as the cat advanced, piercing through open patches of fur. The weapons failed to strike the sabre’s flesh, however.
There was none.
The great beast attacked. Spears snapped, and sinister claws impaled the front line. Marina screamed as the cat lunged, exposing its massive fangs, nearly as tall as the soldiers before it.
It dove forward, its mouth encircling Cass as she fought to draw her sword. A blue flame erupted around the sabre, and it lurched, howling in agony. It rolled around in the ash before finally coming to rest, a single, flaming arrow lodged in its skeletal hide. Marina broke free from her parents’ grasp and sprinted to Cass, who lay motionless in an ashen dune.
Marina dropped to her knees and pulled Cass’s head onto her lap, pulling her hair away from the soldier’s face. Cass offered a half-hearted smile and a flutter of her hand, enough to put Marina at ease until a piercing roar echoed from behind. Screams erupted from the far side of camp. The Saracian guards fought to stave off one of the remaining cats, but their efforts yielded catastrophic results. The beast lunged, biting two soldiers in half, then swiping its mighty paw across the line of archers.
A lean shadow sprinted toward the sentinel and a hollow pit formed in Marina’s stomach. She screamed.
“Daddy, no!”
Her father slid through piles of ash and grabbed a log from the pyre. In one fluid motion, he flung it at the sabre—and missed. The log tumbled helplessly over its head, plummeting down the embankment, into the valley below.
His arm recoiled in pain, scorched by the pale blue flame. The great cat flinched, then tucked its ears, angling toward her father. It lowered its head, emitted an ear-piercing scream, and pounced. Eramus reached once more into the flames and grabbed another log. As the sabre lunged, he drove the log upward, forcing it into the beast’s outstretched mouth.
Marina screamed, staring into the sabre’s gaping maw, seeing only bone and deteriorated tissue. The cat’s mouth instantly lit up in blue flame, and it lurched to the side. The beast turned to flee but only made it a few steps before collapsing in a flaming, blue heap.
Eramus dropped the log, his arm searing in pain. His knees buckled, and he slumped to the ground, falling into the salt and pepper ash. Marina dropped Cass’s head and sprinted toward him. She reached for him, grabbing his arm. She tugged with all her might, but couldn’t pull him from danger.
While she clutched his blistered hand, a large shadow loomed overhead, along with a low, constant growl. Marina closed her eyes and felt a cold, frosted breath against the back of her neck.
The light jingle of bone and a tender voice broke through the darkness.
“Vasha, Kiel y galduun.” Marina opened her eyes to see a slender shadow step behind her.
“Kiel y morgul. En tieste,” Syndra continued, a nervous confidence piercing through her words.
Marina’s mother rushed into view, pulling against her husband’s arm while Marina tugged on the other. Together, they pulled Eramus away from the fire, back to the expedition. Breathless, Marina collapsed into the ash. She spun as the final, hulking silhouette approached.
Its shoulders stood taller than the sentinel and its hollow eyes locked onto her, and her alone. Syndra threw her bow to the side, withdrawing two slender blades. She jabbed them into the flame and lifted her hands, extending them toward the sabre.
Syndra continued to chant, placing her hands onto its massive brow. The great beast grew calm. Its fangs receded, and it slowly stood to its proper height. A breeze whistled across the bluff and the mist wrapped around the giant cat. It engulfed the sabre, twisting into an amber vortex. Syndra screamed, “Vasha! Morgul en tieste!”
The giant sabre shook its head and roared. Its eyes burst into a torrent of yellow flame, and its fangs glistened in the morning sun. It eyed the sentinel—and pounced.
Syndra rolled back, pulled her swords from the fire, and slashed across the sabre’s throat. Blue flame erupted from its eyes and mouth. The beast howled as the blaze consumed its enormous body. Patches of fur ignited, falling to clumps on the ground, its haunting, bony structure coming into view before the camp.
The sabre whimpered, pleading to Syndra. Her shoulders shook, and a steady stream of tears flowed from her cheeks. The sentinel spun, lodging a sword between the great beast’s eyes.
And the whimpering stopped.
The enormous, skeletal cat collapsed
at her feet, smoldering as the camp lit up in an eerie shade of blue. A spectral image of a great cat rose from the burning carcass and flew through Syndra’s body, lifting effortlessly into the morning sky.
| Chapter V
Shattered Dreams
Bare feet descended the stairs, a small void in the dust left on each step. Ava anticipated the loose boards. She subconsciously side-stepped each one as a nervous hush dominated the tavern. Uncertainty filled the air, and a palpable tension split the room. The gargantuan fireplace, carved from Abyssal rock, warmed the belly of the inn; yet the dark, unforgiving tavern felt cold and alone.
Moans of the wounded echoed from wooden rafters, their haunting melody replacing the laughter and music of the morning. Battered, bloodied men and women lined the walls while more poured through the front doors, all in search of someone, anyone, who could tend to their wounds—or ease their passing.
Ava slowed her descent, pausing a few steps from the landing. From her perch, she saw them all—the desperate pleas of the injured and the ghostly silence of the fallen. Ava examined the faces as they shuffled past her, caked in layers of dust and soot. Their eyes implored her to aid them in any way she could.
She despised them for it.
Ava recalled countless ships docked in the harbor, each with their own, joyous line of passengers. They had one intention—to leave. No one came to her aid. No one even came looking for her. She had survived on her own—alone. Their solemn eyes met hers, yet Ava looked upon their wounds and felt nothing.
Repulsed, Ava turned away from the needy faces, up the darkened stairway. Her heart raced, and her shoulders sank as the narrow stairwell closed in on her. Viktor’s musky scent wafted through the air. A pit formed in her stomach and a familiar sickness worked its way up. She closed her eyes, inhaled, and breathed through it.
Through the chorus of crying and agony, a nervous, steady voice resonated over the crowd. Ava listened as the brittle voice croaked its repetitious melody.
