by S L Matthews
“Vezra, Vezra, Vezra.”
Ava kept her eyes shut and followed the broken melody. She extended her hands, pushing her way through bloodied and wounded families while the voice grew louder.
“Vezer, Vezer, Vezer.”
She clutched at the old necklace. Her head throbbed, the shrill voices returning to her thoughts. They chanted in rhythm to the broken tone, each mirroring the other.
Ava’s eyes shot open. Before her, sitting atop a crude bench, carved from a fallen log, sat a disheveled old man. His clothes hung from his meek, skeletal frame and his wrinkled skin peeked through tattered fabric, heavily stained over countless years. His warped cane had fallen to the floor, coming to rest at his crusted, bare feet.
The old man’s mouth moved with a steady cadence, matching the voices in Ava’s head. His pale, discolored eyes were wide, staring blankly through Ava, through the seaside windows, into the market beyond.
“L-Lazarus?” Ava questioned.
She had known of him most of her life—half of her life, actually. Since the day Viktor dragged her into this inn, she had always been aware of the crooked figure, sitting on the bench, staring longingly into the sea. He never spoke, made eye contact, or left his seat. He became the subject of ridicule and the source of much of the inn’s notorious aroma. Though they had never shared a single word, Ava had always felt an attachment to him.
Lassie, most called him, but nicknames were common among those that frequented the Guilded Wyrmling. Ava paused, wondering what nicknames she had earned over the years, or what vulgarities whispered from the shadows as she passed. She also questioned if Lazarus was his real name. After all, who would know? For all her time under this roof, she had only known him to mumble a single word under his breath, a word that finally found strength, a word she had become painfully familiar with this fateful morning.
From the corner of Ava’s vision, she saw Dari crawl away, terrified of the old man’s incessant chant. She extended a hand, inviting him into her arms, an invite he was quick to accept. Dari crawled off the bench and into Ava’s lap, his eyes fixed, never leaving the old man.
Lazarus shook while he continued to chant the word. Tears flowed down his face, and the oaken bench rattled in unison.
“Vesera, Vesera, Vesera,” Lazarus chanted, accompanied by the shrill voices. As Lazarus’s screams grew steadily louder, so too did the screams in Ava’s mind.
Pain enveloped Ava’s thoughts as she crouched closer. She grasped the sides of his face and pulled his attention to her. While he screamed the words, Ava stared helplessly into the pupil-less eyes of the distressed elder.
“What is Vesera?” Ava screamed, trying in vain to break his concentration, but he was undeterred. Meanwhile, the voices grew more determined. Her head pounded in agony, and her thoughts strayed from her mind.
Ava reached for her forehead, desperate to seek relief from the pain. Through the screams, she heard the mumbles of the crowd. She felt their judgment and the intensity of their stares.
Panic reigned. The voices reached a fevered pitch. She drew closer to Lazarus, still petrified amidst his torrid fit. Ava studied his eyes, fixed and focused. She followed his gaze through the market and the docks beyond. His stare was not to the sea or the horizon, but to the colossal statue standing watch over the bay.
Ava rose to her feet and turned to the seaside windows of the tavern. A familiar chill returned, the same one she felt every morning when the sun disappeared behind those massive wings. The voices chanted faster and faster, louder and louder. Ava stared at the enormous statue, positioned at the mouth of the bay. Its body dwarfed the docks, enshrouding them in the shadow of the morning sun. Its mighty jaw angled toward the heavens as if emitting a terrifying roar. The dragon statue stood watch over the city, a symbol of the fallen citadel’s former glory, and the reign of man’s greatest protectors.
Vesera?
Ava’s ears split. Her eyes watered and she staggered in pain. The voices screeched in terror, screaming to the heavens in unison, now joined by Lazarus’s dusty, broken tone. She fell to her knees and let loose a blood-curdling scream. Ava reached for her ears as pain ripped through her body. Her fingers and toes curled, her head and neck throbbed, her throat blistered, yet her wail persisted. Ava’s scream echoed off the rafters and rattled the Abyssal rock of the ancient fireplace. She grasped the onyx amulet, wrenching it from her neck. She lunged forward, casting the rusted jewelry into the gaping fire pit—and collapsed.
The voices stopped, and Ava’s world went black.
Deep within Viktor’s chamber, an old, wooden armoire teetered against a broken support. The splintering of wood signaled the beginning of a long descent as the armoire leaned away from the wall, crashing into a limp, desecrated form on the floor. Shattered, wooden fragments littered the rug, centered around a mound of exotic tunics and silken robes. The pile lay at the base of the bed, and, after a few moments, moved.
What began as a low moan and a rustle within the silken pile, soon turned into panic and a thrashing frenzy. A violent cough erupted from beneath the crumpled satin, followed by the ring of coins bouncing off wooden floorboards. Viktor threw the clothes off his head and stared across his battered room, bewilderment etched into his face. His coughing fit continued, spitting up more coins with each outburst. He reached into his mouth, withdrawing a final, rusted mark. The coin glistened in the morning sun, wrapped in his pudgy, wrinkled fingers.
An ornate chandelier broke free of the shattered rafters, crashing into the floor. Glass fragments shot across the room, along with a whimper and a shriek from within the pile of clothes. Viktor dove headfirst into the mound. He concealed himself in silken clothes until the chandelier’s final remnants settled into place. As chaos gave way to silence, he withdrew from his sanctuary to take in the state of his chambers. The stranger from Crossroads leaned against the back of an old leather chair, and the body of a slave lay strewn across a rug.
Viktor tensed and his pulse raced, his gaze darting to the darkened corners of the room. He spun, falling back to the floor, relieved to find the girl absent. He let loose a long, slow sigh of relief, then wiped the saliva from his chin.
Distant shouts echoed from the hallway as he crawled from the pile, standing before a broken table and a small, seaside window. His eyes widened as memories of Ava returned. Viktor could still see her haloed silhouette, standing amidst a blinding light, and her brilliant blue eyes as she shoved rusted coins into his mouth.
A pitiful whimper echoed across the room. Viktor coughed, then cleared his throat, realizing the noise came from him. He turned back to the center of his chambers when his eyes fell upon a misted, blue, dagger, protruding from the floorboard. The wood cracked and popped as a frozen mist crept from the blade, a purple lotus hilt at its frozen center.
Viktor knelt, reaching for the cold, blue steel. He grasped the weapon and twisted it free. He examined the blade as his grip tightened, and his thoughts grew sinister. An ear-splitting scream echoed from the tavern below, followed by the gasp of a crowd. He knew in an instant the source of the scream, and his eyes narrowed. Viktor turned toward the open doors and the sounds of pain and suffering from beyond.
| Chapter VI
Kneel
The subtle tap of footsteps echoed through an abandoned square, deep within the Outer Quarter of Wyvern’s Rest. Camille’s bloodied feet traversed trampled stalks of Highland Grass and wildflowers. A gentle breeze rustled their feathered tips, accompanied by the distant sound of crumbled brick and shattered stone. As she navigated the urban wilderness, however, there was silence. The tattered blue dress clung to her form and ribbons of torn lace dragged behind her. Their lustrous, white accents were gone, no longer distinguishable from the cobblestone below.
Blurred images of brilliant wagons and flamboyant men haunted her memories. Distant visions plagued her mind, of men on horseback, of giant towers nestled against a blackened sea, of her mother—falling. With each bloodied step, howev
er, she fought to bury those thoughts and press forward.
Camille rounded a corner, turning deeper into the square. Small stone buildings lay cloaked within the feathered, yellow grass, the subtle remnants of better times. Ribbons of red cobblestone streaked between piles of stone, destined for a cluster of hunched, alabaster figures cowering against the city walls. Camille’s tiny form instilled terror in the primal beasts.
With each step forward, the creatures flinched—and she loved it.
Camille approached the sea of creatures, soaking in every ounce of fear. They parted before her, their blood-red eyes twisting in a panicked attempt to flee the bloodied girl in the torn blue dress. They clawed over one another, desperate to distance themselves. They tumbled and screeched, ripping at broken cobblestone while Camille stepped toward them, solely for spite. Yet her intent was set upon something more sinister.
The ground shook in a steady rhythm as Camille waded through the terrified mob. Cobblestones skipped across the grass and broken stone walls crumbled into the sea of flowers. A giant approached. A lethal gash crossed from the bridge of its nose to its brow. Its eye oozed a putrid, green mixture, pouring down its cheek. A jagged metal blade protruded from its chest, a flash of light reflecting the morning sun with each step. In one massive hand, it held the trunk of a fallen tree. In the other, a headless ox, no doubt destined for the dinner table.
Camille smirked as the behemoth approached. She stepped to the side, amused at the cascade of albino creatures that tumbled out of her way. Her gaze locked onto its earthen body and her bloodied, bare feet moved with ease until she stood before it. The beast snorted in displeasure then stepped to the side.
Camille followed.
It roared, smashing the tree trunk into the ground. Broken stone and shattered fragments launched high into the air, along with a few withered, pale beings.
Yet Camille stood firm.
The behemoth sidestepped once more. And still, she followed. Both colossal fists pounded into the ground, like a monstrous ape defending its territory. A deafening roar bellowed from the giant. Smaller creatures cowered, scurrying into the alleys and darkened corners of the Outer Quarter.
Camille took a step forward, her eyes level with its knee, and said simply, “kneel.”
The creature howled once more. It raised its club and pounded it into the ground, over and over, relentlessly shattering the old square and any buildings left standing. It flung the body of the ox into the city wall, then turned to Camille. The beast raised the tree trunk high overhead, gripped with both hands, and lunged.
Agony coursed through its expression, and its muscles bulged. Veins popped along its neck and sweat oozed from its pores, yet the trunk would not budge. It fought to swing the mighty oak, to crush the insect of a girl before it. Camille relished in the sensation, knowing it could not.
Camille took another step forward, her smile widening, her grin as wicked as ever. “You will kneel before me.”
The creature fought, shaking its head violently. It lost control, flailing in all directions. It flung the mighty tree trunk deep into the Outer Quarter, the smashing of stone signaling its final landing somewhere beyond the city walls. The beast grabbed both sides of its head; its screams echoed off the nearby bluffs. Camille hummed along to the haunting melody, music to her ears. Still, the beast fought. It clenched both fists, pulled them high overhead, and lunged once more.
Camille’s brow furrowed.
Her eyes glistened a brilliant shade of yellow, and she planted her feet before the giant. The ground shook and stone collapsed upon itself. Buildings crumbled in an instant and stalks of highland grass flattened into the ground, as though leveled by an unseen, divine force. Several smaller creatures suffered a similar fate, their muffled screams short and inconsequential as their bodies flattened into the broken cobblestone. Smoke erupted from Camille’s back, and shadows deepened across the square. Blackened wings unfolded, and her nails hardened into onyx steel. The remnants of the square shook as it flattened to a layer of dust and stone.
“I said—KNEEL!”
The beast’s knees buckled, launching into broken cobblestone. Its fists fell to its side and its body thrust forward, mere inches from the little girl. Camille’s blue dress swayed in the morning breeze as white, laced accents fluttered behind her, a calm to her inner storm. The giant’s face was a jeweled amber, the light of Camille’s eyes glistening off its sweat.
She raised her hand, her sinister black nails tracing the open wound across its eye.
“He hurt you, didn’t he?” she said, feigned sincerity dripping from her tongue.
The beast scowled, baring its teeth.
“Don’t worry. You’ll have your chance, my pet.” Camille gently stroked the side of its face. The light from her eyes intensified, and the creature’s skin hardened. Its dusty, leather exterior absorbed the shadow of the square while its muscles rippled, forging plates across its arms and chest.
Camille studied her creation, contempt flowing through her heart. She traced the creature’s brow, clenching her teeth in anger, before driving her nails deep into its skull.
“They sent you to retrieve an amulet, didn’t they?”
The beast howled, wincing at the blackened daggers buried deep in its face.
Camille inched closer, tugging at the meager blue trappings around her waist.
“Do I look like a blonde girl with a black amulet?”
She seethed, pressing harder into its skin. Fresh, green blood poured from each wound, streaking down its cheek and across its eye.
The beast roared, fighting to back away. It was clear, however, that it was no longer free to do so.
“Do I?!” Camille screamed, the sound of falling stone accompanying the echoes of her voice. Silence cloaked the square as Camille stared into its eye. She raised her hand and pointed beyond the inner city walls, to the roof of an old stone building, buried deep within the city core.
“You will gather your—men. And you will retrieve my amulet.” She dug her nails deeper, pulling the beast’s head closer to hers. “If you fail, I will rend the flesh from your bones myself.”
Camille waited for a subtle nod of its head, then pulled her nails from its skull. The creature stood, glancing at its armored skin before returning its gaze to the tiny girl before him.
“What…girl?” it grunted, its words broken and misspoken.
Camille sighed, realizing these insects wouldn’t be capable of such a simple task. She turned to face the inner city. Her wings dissipated, and her nails retracted, her eyes returning to their mahogany hue. She whispered, adding quietly, “all of them.”
A wicked grin crept into the corner of the giant’s mouth. He stomped into the ground and let loose a monstrous roar, then turned back into the square and the inner walls of Wyvern’s Rest. Dozens of albino, hunchbacked creatures appeared from the shadows, following the blackened behemoth. Dozens more leeched from the alleyways and streets of the Outer Quarter. Within moments, waves of them ebbed in and out of the abandoned square.
When the last one disappeared, Camille’s insidious smile faded. The light from her eyes dimmed, and her expression grew blank. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed to the ground, gazing at the crumbled square as though seeing it for the first time. Panic consumed her. Fear gripped at her chest. She looked down to her hands and her bloodied kneecaps, to her ripped dress and her crusted, bare feet. Her heart beat faster, and sweat glistened from her forehead.
Odd sounds emanated from the alleys, and shrill screams echoed in the distance.
Camille gasped.
A pit formed in her stomach and she sprinted across the broken cobblestone, leaning against the base of a massive stone wall. Tears flowed down her cheeks, and her hands shook beyond control. Her eyes shot from shadow to shadow, following the eerie sounds and distant echoes.
Memories flooded back of the carriage, of the merchants, of—the creatures.
“M—Mr. Davilla…” she whisp
ered, a hiccup cutting off her words.
A horrific expression overtook her face. “Mr.—Kendle?”
Camille curled her knees to her chest, sinking into the shadow of the city wall.
While the echoes of the creatures bounced throughout the square, another voice joined. A terrified, panicked cry. The cry of a young girl, lost in a world she did not belong.
“Daddy?”
| Chapter VII
Unfinished Business
Rage welled within Cooper. As he rose to the surface, so did his anger. He quickly wrapped his arm under Taryn’s shoulder, pulling him to the surface. The sea was littered with debris: barrels, crates, wooden planks, and broken doors. The sight was the same across all of them. Soldiers and civilians fought for every square inch of real estate, their last piece of safety in the churning waters. Taryn’s raft was no exception.
Cooper furrowed his brow and scanned the treacherous faces, assessing each, judging their lives in a single instant. “This is why we do what we do, Tar. This is who they are—who they really are. Now, who threw you over?” Cooper whispered, knowing he was only talking to himself.
“Ava,” Taryn groaned again, fighting to stay conscious.
“Well then, remind me to deal with her when we get back on dry land,” Cooper added, hoping his sarcasm would elicit a response from Taryn.
It did not.
Cooper squinted, clearing the morning sun from their faces. After a moment, his gaze fell upon a dark-haired, burly soldier, a long, crimson cloak tethered to his shoulders. Across those shoulders rested three embroidered stripes—the same stripes that unceremoniously threw Cooper to the deck and the same stripes that ordered his men to fire on unarmed civilians.
“Rowan,” Cooper whispered through gnashed teeth.
Cooper studied his armor and weapons as the Cyrean soldier fought for a spot along the edge of the door. While his eyes soaked in their features, he whispered to his brother, trying to keep him awake.
