by David Estes
“I can protect myself,” Rhea said. “And Noura.”
“And I won’t leave their side,” Grey added.
“I know,” Roan said. “But I can’t risk you or the baby.”
Rhea nodded and said, “Thank you. And brother?”
Roan had started to walk away but turned back at his sister’s voice. “Yes?”
She took three steps forward and hugged him, Noura pressed between their heads. She smelled of lilac and incense. “Be safe, Roan. Come back to us.”
“I will,” he said, though it was a false promise.
They broke apart and he strode forward, waving the others on with his hand. They were few. Shae Arris. Erric Clawborn. Lisbeth Lorne. Windy Sandes.
And Roan Loren, his lifemark already burning hot in his chest.
Falcon
We’re too late, Falcon thought as the walls of the city emerged through the mist. The stonework was painted with strange lines, and at first he wondered whether it was some western tradition he was unaware of.
Until he realized they were rivers of blood, streaking down the mortar, pooling on the ground. There were still screams issuing from within, but they were few and far between. Then came the Horde, snarling and snuffling as they clambered down the walls, landing with heavy thumps before the Phanecians.
“Give them Void!” he shouted. And then he charged.
The first barbarian sprang toward him with a snarl, swinging a massive club. Falcon ducked under the blow, raking his blade across the barbarian’s gut, but no, it moved so fast it was a blur, spinning away, his attempted strike whistling through empty air.
The impact came from the back as his foe swung its club the opposite way; it was only instinct that saved him, Falcon barely managing to duck to the side, the blow landing on his shoulder. Pain bloomed, but Falcon was no stranger to combat and he was already throwing himself out of reach of the next swing, which whooshed past his ear.
How do they move like that? he wondered. As fast as lightning but with the power of thunder.
All around him was chaos, Phanecians performing aerial maneuvers, most of which were ignored by the barbarians, who were content to wait for their foes to come down, bludgeoning them with clubs, large stones, or clawed fists.
Oh gods, Falcon thought, narrowly avoiding another hit to the head. We stand no chance.
He lashed out with a high, hard kick, but the barbarian simply slapped his foot away, the impact so solid it spun him halfway around. Sensing the barbarian’s next move, he tried to dive forward, but the club clipped the back of his knee, shooting agony all the way up his spine, his back arching as he fell.
I am done, he thought. He would never have the chance to talk to Shanti again, to try to heal all that had been broken inside her. He could only hope that Roan and the other fatemarked could find a way to defeat this vicious foe.
He rolled over, kicking out his uninjured foot in a final effort to pierce his enemy’s heart.
His eyes widened as he saw the barbarian clutching at its neck, blood pouring from a long slash. It fell to its knees, revealing a leather-clad woman with deadly intent in her eyes, which dripped tears as black as night.
“That’s the last time I save your sorry ass,” Sonika Vaid said, whirling around and sprinting toward another barbarian.
Shae
“Are you ready?” she asked Erric as he crutched along beside her.
He glanced at her and nodded. “Three times,” he said. “We must choose wisely.”
Shae saw Roan stiffen. “What do you mean?” he asked.
Shae knew they needed to tell him, but she didn’t want to see his disappointment. Not at the information, but at her, for withholding it from him.
To her surprise, however, it was Windy who answered. “The halfmarked can only use their power thrice in short succession, else they will grow too weak to be of much use.”
Roan stopped, glaring at Windy, then Erric, and, finally, Shae. “Is this true?”
She nodded.
Roan snorted in disgust. “That explains why you thought a single burst to kill all the fatemarked might be the best option left.”
“We were wrong,” Shae said. “We see that now. And I didn’t tell you about this because…because hope felt more important. And we can strengthen you and Lisbeth and Sir Dietrich. But only thrice.”
Roan looked like he wanted to say something else, but then decided against it. “Fine. But save me for last. Lisbeth first. See if you can help her draw her friends from the Hinterlands. We could use them right now.”
Shae nodded and Erric said, “It’s a good plan.”
“If you sense Rhea is in danger,” Roan added, “strengthen Dietrich. With your help, he can protect them.”
“We will do it,” Shae said.
“Me last,” Roan reiterated.
Shae nodded, but knew it was another lie. There would be no last. We will never get to the third time, she thought, something she and Erric had already agreed. They would use the last of their energy to kill the fatemarked—all of them.
Lisbeth
Lisbeth risked a look back. Through the gloom, she could just make out Dietrich’s soul, a glimmering blue pylon standing as still as stone, watching her go.
She didn’t fault him for not coming. He trusted her and they both had their own roles to play in whatever was to come.
But what is my role? she wondered, turning around and pushing heat into the eye on her forehead. She searched the mist for souls, but all she saw were dark shapes moving with predatory glee. They might’ve been the rocks from the canyon brought to life—soulless, empty husks without compassion or kindness or mercy. Somewhere amongst them, she sensed a soul, however, powerful and menacing. The sounds of battle intensified. Shouts, clashing steel, cries of pain. The roar of the dragon, so loud it might’ve been thunder.
“Lisbeth,” Roan said, placing a hand on her shoulder. She turned toward him, and saw how his soul had brightened, clarified.
Her blue eye flared. “You are…” she said, trying to choose the right words to describe a man whose soul was akin to that of a star.
“Just a man,” he said. “A man who needs to save them. Will you help me?”
“I don’t know how.”
“You do,” Roan said.
“They have no souls.”
“Then draw other souls to you. Your friends in the north.”
“They aren’t my friends,” she said. “I don’t know what they are.”
“Allies,” Roan said. “Bring them here. Shae, Erric—lend her your strength.”
The two halfmarked nodded, dropping to their knees. They clasped their hands together and raised them to their foreheads, which pressed together as if in prayer. Their eyes closed as tremors rolled through them.
Lisbeth had felt the surge of power once before, but it didn’t prepare her for the jolt she felt now, a thrust of strength that allowed her blue eye to cut through the mist, seeing everything.
All-Seeing.
No! she wanted to scream, but her lips were pressed tight. Barbarians ran amok, killing at will. There were no living souls within the castle, and all around it colorful souls winked out one at a time, beautiful columns of light shooting into the heavens as each soldier died.
Focus, Lisbeth. The voice came not from without but within, and it spoke not the common tongue but Garzi.
Zur? she said, having not realized her soulmark had roamed so far. It was the power of the halfmarked, she knew.
I am here, Lisbeth. We are coming.
For a split-second her heart soared, but then Zur showed her what he saw:
Snow-capped mountains standing sentinel. A fast-flowing river cutting between them, creating a narrow pass. Beyond, a forest afire, spouting clouds of black-gray smoke.
Zur and his army of Garzi were still north of the Mournful Mountains. They might as well be a world away. The battle would end on this night, one way or the other.
Zur, she said.
<
br /> Yes?
Come to me.
Lisbeth screamed, a high-pitched sound as intense as the edge of a sword.
She blinked, feeling her soulmark begin to fade, drained of power. Whirling around, she searched for the familiar souls of the Garzi. She looked for Zur.
Souls vanishing, snuffed out by shadowy forms.
And then—
Lightning split the sky in a dozen places as dark clouds rolled in. The ground shook as thunder crashed.
And Lisbeth’s soulmark flared once more.
Gwen
The mist was all around them, as thick as pea soup. Gwen’s heromark flared but it didn’t help, her vision obscured by the fog. The sky was changing. Night was falling, yes, but this was a different kind of darkening. Something was coming.
All around, lightning flashed, so bright and hot and close she felt her hair stand up in response. The air itself felt burnt, seared.
For a moment, the mist could not hide the horrors of the battle, the lightning illuminating humans slashing at barbarians. Barbarians clawing at humans. Death on all sides.
Several barbarians were struck by the lightning, their bodies going rigid, their fangs locked together as they fell, steam rising from their skin.
What the hell? Gwen thought. What new power is this?
Darkness fell once more, thunder rolling.
My soul? Siri said, and Gwen could hear the note of alarm in the dragon’s tone. There are bad things here. Bad, bad things.
I am here too. We are in this together.
They call to me.
I call to you. Don’t leave me.
I—I—I—
Siri? My soul?
The dragon didn’t respond, tucking her wings behind her and banking sharply, diving deeper into the mist, air rushing around her.
Oh ore, Gwen thought, clinging to one of the dragon’s spikes and digging her heels into her scales. Siri!
No answer, and Gwen could sense the approach of something through the mist—the ground perhaps. She tensed, preparing to leap from the dragon’s back.
The impact was like an explosion, the dragon’s powerful shoulder hitting first, crashing through the tower, rubble spraying around them. Gwen’s hands were ripped free from the spike and then she was falling, pelted by stone and mortar, tinkling like bells off her armor.
Siri! she cried, not a call for help but of fear for what was happening to her soul.
She landed hard on a balcony that ringed the half-destroyed tower, her armor pressing in on her skin, bruising her at the hip and shoulder. She rolled as a fully intact stone came crashing down, breaking the railing and a portion of the balcony. Where is she? she wondered. Where is my soul?
The roar was like a thousand lions, rending the world in two. Gwen pressed her hands over her ears, frantically searching the sky. A shadow soared overhead, cutting through the mist. It turned toward her and her breath caught.
Two fully formed heads faced her, their eyes narrowing as they locked on her lying prone on the balcony.
The two-headed dragon roared, an ear-splitting sound. Fire roiled from each head’s nostrils and maw.
And then the dragon dove, lightning sizzling all around her.
My soul! Gwen screamed.
Ninety-Eight
The Western Kingdom, Felix
Rhea Loren
“Can you see what’s happening?” Rhea asked, peering into the gloom. “Whether we’re winning?” The mist continued to shroud much of the battle, the castle hooded in fog, but occasional bursts of lightning provided a staccato glimpse of the violence.
“Not really,” Grey said. He held Noura in his arms, bouncing her slightly. She was wide awake, her big, round eyes staring up at her father with an intense look too serious by half for an infant. “That storm moved in fast. It’s unnatural. Do you think it’s caused by our enemy’s fatemark?”
“I should be out there,” Dietrich said, pacing. He’d drawn his sword a while back, and now it slashed through the air as the knight stalked back and forth.
“Then go,” Rhea said. “We will be fine.” It wasn’t a rejection of his services. She sensed the battle hung on a knife’s edge. The swordmarked knight might just be able to tip the balance.
The knight stopped to look at her. “I am sworn to protect you.”
“I will stay,” Grey said. “They’re my family.”
Uncertainty washed over Dietrich’s expression, but then he shook his head. “No. I will stay.”
Rhea nodded. “Thank you.”
Thunder shook the very ground and Rhea almost fell, clinging to Grey who clung to Noura.
“It’s Lisbeth,” Dietrich said, crouching to maintain his balance.
“She’s causing the storm?” Rhea asked.
“Yes. I can…I can feel the power surging through her. I think the halfmarked are strengthening her.”
“Good,” Rhea said, clenching her teeth. She felt the familiar desire for vengeance rise into her chest. “This is good.”
“I don’t know…” Dietrich said uncertainly. “She was supposed to draw the Garzi to the battle. She’s never done anything like this before.”
“There’s a first time for everything,” Rhea said, speaking from her own experience.
“Rhea,” Grey said, drawing her attention. “Look!”
Rhea expected Grey to be gesturing into the distance, pointing out some aspect of the battle she hadn’t noticed. Instead, her eyes widened when she saw he was speaking of Noura.
“Give her to me,” she said, practically grabbing her daughter from his arms.
She looked down upon her daughter’s face. So beautiful. So innocent and sweet.
Though there was no torchlight, her skin glittered, markings appearing on every scrap of exposed flesh, a tapestry of the Four Kingdoms. A tapestry of peace.
Noura smiled.
Dietrich said, “Lisbeth, I come to you will—” but never finished the statement, because he vanished.
There one second and gone the next.
Lisbeth
The lightning was her. She was the lightning. Each strike was a piece of her soul, breaking off and soaring into the dark clouds, only to come slashing down a moment later. She targeted the dark shadowy forms of the enemy, her aim improving with each attempt.
She was killing them. She was killing them all.
Strong arms grabbed her, breaking her concentration. She struggled against them, but when she tried to touch her attacker’s soul, it blocked her, as bright as the noonday sun.
“Roan,” she said.
“Lisbeth, you have to stop!” he shouted above another crash of thunder. “Your body can’t take the strain!”
She knew he was right, but her soul could. At least for a little while longer. “We all have a role to play, and this is mine,” she said, the words coming slowly. Strained. She felt her energy start to flag. The halfmarked had given her all they could.
More! she thought, conjuring more lightning. She collapsed, a nasty fall prevented only by Roan, who lowered her gently to the ground. “Stop, Lisbeth. Please. You can’t kill them all. We need you.”
Perhaps she couldn’t kill them all, but she could kill a lot of them. She could help the cause in her own way. She’d failed to bring an army here, but she was her own army now.
Lisbeth. This time, it wasn’t Roan who spoke.
Dietrich? she replied, answering with naught but a thought.
Are you hurt?
She couldn’t lie. Yes.
I must see you. Draw me to you.
I can’t. So weak. Everything was spinning now, darkening around the edges. And then she was floating, her body trapped on the ground while her soul rose. I am returning to the stars.
Lisbeth, listen to me. No. Don’t. Draw me to you. Lisbeth, I come to you willingly.
She wanted him to come, even if it was only to look upon his beautiful soul one last time before she left this world. Yes, she said. Come to me.
And
he did, amongst lightning and thunder.
He came.
Sir Dietrich
“Lisbeth,” he said, seeing her fallen form so empty of life. He fell upon her, cradling her chin in his hands, searching her face for any signs of the woman he’d grown to love.
Nothing. Her skin was already growing cold.
“Help me,” he said, though he didn’t know to whom he spoke. The halfmarked kneeled nearby, but their eyes were closed and they seemed to be in their own world. Roan! If anyone could save Lisbeth, it was the lifemarked. “Please,” he implored, their eyes meeting.
Roan shook his head. “I already tried. Her soul escaped me. She doesn’t want to be saved.”
Dietrich didn’t understand. “Why not? Why would she leave?” Streaks of heat, wet and fierce, slashed down his cheeks.
“She wanted me to save my strength for the others,” Roan said softly, his head hanging.
And there it was—the reason David Dietrich loved Lisbeth above the sun in the sky and the stars in the heavens. Above his own life. Because she was the most selfless person he’d ever met.
He kissed her cheeks, her forehead. He smoothed her dark hair with his trembling fingers. His tears splashed upon her too-pale face.
The lightning and thunder had ceased. All was quiet, mourning the loss of a woman whose life was cut too short. Far too short.
“No!” Dietrich said, feeling for that connection to her, the one they’d forged through love and shared experience, through loss and failure and victory and defeat. Lisbeth, he said, shouting her name into the void. Lisbeth! I’m here! I’m still here!
Come back to me. Please, come back to me.
He fell upon her chest, his body shaking as he wept.
Thus, he did not see when her finger moved, ever so slightly.
Nor when her eyes flashed open, milky white and unseeing.
But he did hear her voice. “David. I came back.”
Siri
Her thoughts were not her own—not only. Another voice was there too, speaking of a better, darker place. A place without loss. A place where her soul would be whole again. That other voice was loud, a tempestuous roar that shook the very firmament of her being. She wanted to listen, to go to that place.
