Origins

by A D Starrling

  By the time he turned and started to raise his sword, a livid roar emerging from his throat, she had jumped, grabbed his shoulders, and rammed her right knee in his gut, robbing him of his breath. She twisted and swooped at the waist as she landed in the dirt, bringing her left leg around and up to deliver two lightning-fast kicks to his chest.

  A wheeze left the giant’s lips. His eyes widened comically as he stumbled and doubled over.

  ‘Perfect,’ murmured Mila.

  She grabbed his chin and punched him in the face. The troop commander went down hard, his sword clattering to the ground, eyes rolling back in his head and blood pouring from his broken nose.

  Shocked silence fell across the crowd. Mila straightened and studied the soldiers. Fury slowly replaced surprise on many of their faces.

  ‘I do not want to fight you.’ She drew her broadsword and daggers and dropped them at her feet. Dozens of pairs of eyes strayed briefly to the weapons.

  ‘Are you mad?’ hissed Kayan behind her.

  Mila ignored him, her gaze focused on the hostile figures around them.

  Now that she had taken out their immediate superior, she knew she had the soldiers’ undivided attention. ‘All I ask is that you listen to what I have to say.’

  Doubt flashed across the faces of most of the men.

  ‘And if we do not?’ someone shouted challengingly.

  ‘There are six hundred of us,’ another called out. ‘You number what, a fifth of that?’

  Nervous laughter broke out among the soldiers. A discordant noise rose above it. It was the sound of hinges squeaking.

  She smiled.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Aäron surfaced slowly, the handle of his dagger gripped securely in his mouth, sword strapped to his thigh with a leather band so it would not rattle. Water dripped down his face and body as he emerged, the faint splashes lost in the noise from the smelters’ hearths some fifteen feet away. He climbed out of the underwater channel, his men rising silently behind him.

  The furnaces beneath Kadavan never slept, the flames burning all day and night while the prisoners worked grueling shifts to produce arms for the Empire. It was this light that had guided them as they navigated the cold darkness of the submerged tunnel linking the lake to the forges deep beneath the island.

  Skin drying rapidly in the hellish heat of the cavern, he crept up to a guard who stood watching the prisoners toiling over the fires, clamped his hand over the man’s mouth, and dealt him a sharp blow to the base of the neck with the end of the dagger’s handle.

  The soldier slumped in his arms. In the shadows to his left and right, other guards fell, knocked unconscious or drugged with pads imbued with the soporific sap of the joy plant he and his men carried in waterskin pouches at their waists.

  A prisoner saw him when he was disposing of his fourth guard and froze for a moment, hammer stilling above glowing metal, eyes widening as he glanced around and registered the other intruders in the gloom. Aäron placed a finger against his lips, gaze flashing to the guards who were still oblivious to their presence. The prisoner, a middle-aged man with a face scarred by pockmarks, dipped his chin slightly and continued beating the sword he was molding.

  They had incapacitated a third of the soldiers guarding the forges when one managed to escape the grip of Aäron’s men and uttered a harsh cry. A scuffle broke out in the middle of the cavern, drawing the gaze of prisoners and guards alike. Aäron moved swiftly toward the struggling figures, eyes flickering to the soldiers closest the exit, a locked grille at the north end of the cavern.

  Shouts broke out when the guards finally detected the enemies in their midst, the noise mercifully muffled by the furnaces and the clash of tools against metal. One drew his blade and moved toward the doorway, a keyring rattling in his grasp.

  Aäron snatched his bow from his back and fired two arrows swiftly. The shafts whizzed through the air and pierced the soldier’s hands. He screamed, the keys and sword dropping at his feet.

  A prisoner tripped a guard who rushed to help the injured man and felled him with a blow to the back of the head. Another pierced a soldier in the thigh with a red-hot blade, the man’s shriek echoing against the rock walls as his flesh sizzled around the glowing metal.

  ‘Do not kill them!’ shouted Aäron as more prisoners turned on the guards.

  ‘What?!’ The man with the pockmarks came up beside him, a hammer in each hand. He spat in the dirt, a scowl darkening his grimy face. ‘I do not know who you are, son, but if you expect us to take pity on these swine, you have—’

  ‘Our plan depends on keeping these soldiers alive!’

  Aäron crossed the floor and grabbed a prisoner’s arm just as the latter swung a mallet at a guard struggling with one of his men.

  He snatched the weapon out of the stunned inmate’s hand and cast it in the gloom. ‘We will take this prison. And we will do it without killing a single soldier, is that understood?’

  The prisoner with the pockmarks glared at Aäron while the soldiers from Dur Untash and Parsah took care of the remaining guards.

  ‘Who in the name of the seven hells are you?’

  Aäron returned his hard stare. ‘Someone you do not want to cross.’

  The man opposite stilled and studied him with a calculating expression. Aäron met his gaze unflinchingly, conscious of the prisoners’ watchful eyes and the tension in the air.

  It would take little for them to turn on us. And it seems this man holds some sort of sway over them.

  ‘My name is Aäron of Parsah,’ he said to the crowd circling them. ‘My men and I are here to free you. But we need your help.’

  The man with the scarred face hesitated. ‘I am Tanis of Cayon.’

  Surprise darted through Aäron.

  He masked it behind a slight frown. ‘The Governor Tanis?’

  ‘Aye,’ the man grumbled, dipping his chin.

  Aäron arched an eyebrow. ‘I thought you long dead.’

  Tanis grinned. ‘You thought wrong, Aäron of Parsah.’

  ‘Do you know where the other governors are?’

  Tanis blinked, smile fading. ‘How do you know about them?’ His gaze swept over Aäron and his men. ‘And how in the blazes did you discover the underwater channel?’

  Aäron shrugged. ‘I have my source. Now, here is what I want you to do.’

  Incredulity dawned on the faces of the prisoners as they listened to his plan.

  ‘Have you been drinking the juice of the joy plant?’ snapped Tanis when he finished talking.

  Aäron smiled faintly. ‘No.’

  Creases furrowed Tanis’s already-lined brow. ‘And you say there are more of you on the surface, led by this source of yours?’

  Aäron kept his face carefully blank. If they knew who it was, they would kill us in the blink of an eye.

  ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘They move at midnight.’

  Tanis rubbed his chin. ‘Midnight is not far off. There will be a change of guards before fresh prisoners take over the shift.’

  ‘We know.’ Aäron stifled a burst of impatience. ‘Will you help us?’

  Tanis’s gaze moved to the prisoners. ‘What say you, men?’

  Murmurs rose around them.

  ‘We have nothing to lose,’ someone called out.

  ‘Better to go in a blaze of glory than fester in this stinking pit as their prisoners,’ growled another.

  ‘Speak for yourself,’ scoffed someone. ‘We smell like roses compared to you, Salem.’

  Raucous laughter rose from the crowd.

  A fierce smile curved Tanis’s lips. ‘Lead the way, Aäron of Parsah.’

  With Tanis confirming Mila’s outline of the layout and location of guard rooms and armories inside the complex, it did not take them long to put the next soldiers they came across out of action and release the other governors from their cells. Once they freed some hundred inmates and armed them, taking out the rest of the opposition was shockingly straightforward. By the ti
me they worked their way up through the labyrinthine prison and reached the surface, midnight had come and gone.

  It was as he came to one of the exits that led to the fortress grounds that Aäron heard Mila’s voice.

  ‘All I ask is that you listen to what I have to say.’

  ‘And if we do not?’ someone called out in a hostile voice.

  ‘There are six hundred of us,’ said another man. ‘You number what, a fifth of that?’

  Laughter came next, high-strung and mocking.

  Aäron unlocked the opening, pushed the grille up, and climbed out. ‘I am afraid your tally is not quite right.’

  The metal bars clanged onto the dirt by his feet. Other grates swung up around him, the prisoners and his men pouring out of the prison.

  Mila stood in a yellow pool of brightness some twenty feet away, posture relaxed and a small smile on her lips.

  Aäron stepped into the light and grinned at the Empire’s soldiers. ‘Make that a thousand.’

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  ‘That was a stroke of madness.’

  ‘It was the princess’s idea,’ said Aäron.

  They were in the dining hall of the main fortress barrack. It was the only room big enough to accommodate all of them. Across the table, captains of the Empire and former prisoners glared at each other.

  With the troop commander still unconscious and under guard in another part of the building, Mila had gathered his subordinates for the meeting. The rest of the soldiers had been secured in the prison beneath the island.

  A wry grimace had crossed her lips as she watched the Empire’s men being herded away. The prison’s design and security measures had been Tobias and Baruch’s creation. They were not going to be pleased when they discovered she had taken their precious fortress so easily, and with not a single life lost among the men who guarded it to boot, although there had been inevitable injuries.

  This was the one condition Mila had insisted upon when she spoke of her idea in the council chamber of Parsah. That the Empire’s soldiers not be killed during their attempt to capture the prison. She had seen too much death as it was in her Immortal life, without adding to it the slaughter of those who once stood by her.

  Besides, they deserve to be given the chance to choose sides in the coming war.

  The man who had spoken grunted and frowned at her across the room as he stroked the stump of the missing little finger on his left hand.

  ‘I have heard of this supposed…alliance. Most of us who governed cities inside the Empire have.’ He paused. ‘Like everyone else, I thought it a fanciful rumor. Now you say there is an army willing to fight the Immortals who rule us and that a human king controls it?’

  A bark of laughter sounded two seats to his right. ‘Come now, Yakaad! Has it been so long since you governed Urfa that you would fall for such lies?’ This man had a rough voice and a face scored by scars and pockmarks. ‘I too heard those tall tales when I ruled Cayon. I always believed them to be part of an elaborate trap set by King Crovir to test our loyalty to him.’ He sneered, his dark eyes glowing hotly at Mila where she stood next to Aäron at the head of the table. ‘He is twisted enough to try something like that. Mark my words, this too is a trick. Only this time, it is his snake of a daughter who seeks to deceive us, just as she did when she took my city by stealth, after she poisoned my men in the middle of the night. And she seems to have fooled this so called prince.’

  Aäron stiffened next to her.

  ‘Calm down, Tanis,’ murmured the figure beside the scowling governor. He was tall and thin, with long white hair he had managed to keep clean despite being in Kadavan for fifteen years. ‘Red Queen, although I too have gleaned word of this alliance from some of the prisoners who have come to Kadavan in recent years, it is impossible to believe the story you and the—’ he glanced at Aäron, ‘—general of this alleged army have just recounted. It is too far-fetched.’

  Mila narrowed her eyes. ‘Which part? The one where Crovir killed Romerus or the one where we just freed you from a life of slavery?’

  Aäron laid a hand on her arm.

  She took a shallow breath and clamped down on the frustration surging through her. ‘Prince Aäron and I did not think it would be easy to convince you of the truthfulness of our words. Indeed, he warned me it could take days to bring you around. But we do not have days.’ She paused and clenched her jaw. ‘The captains currently sitting in this room will confirm that Crovir has accused me of the murder of my grandfather and has issued a warrant for my arrest and execution.’

  Several of the soldiers hesitated before nodding reluctantly, faces pale as they watched her.

  Mila turned to the man with the pockmarks. ‘Governor Tanis, I cannot undo the past, nor can I take back my actions in Cayon.’ Her gaze shifted to the silent man next to him. ‘Governor Ibrahim, you may choose to believe that we fabricated this entire story, but it still does not change one important fact.’ She straightened, her face settling in grim lines as she studied the figures in the room. ‘There is a war coming and it is one that will swallow the lands of this kingdom. You can either choose to stand with us or you can side with the kings who sit on the thrones of Uryl.’

  ‘Say we believe you,’ growled Tanis. ‘Say we trust you and we win this—this war! What then? What happens once you depose your father and uncle?’ A bitter scowl distorted his features. ‘Will we have other Immortals take the throne instead? Will you become the queen of the Empire?!’

  Mila stilled. This was the question she had feared the most, the one thing she had struggled to answer for herself since discovering Aäron’s true identity and agreeing to help King Gishur.

  She took a deep breath, conscious of the warmth of the man beside her, comforted by his very presence. ‘There will be no Empire.’

  A hush fell across the room at her words. Several men gaped.

  Tanis blinked, blood slowly draining from his face. ‘What?’

  ‘If we win this war, the Empire will fall. And you will all gain your freedom.’ Mila’s voice hardened. ‘Every man, woman, and child in the kingdom shall be delivered from the dominion of the Immortals. On this, you have my oath.’

  ‘That looks like a good place to stop for the night,’ said Aäron.

  Mila studied the formation he indicated. It jutted out of the desert, a craggy collection of dark rocks cradling the otherwise barren landscape. The fronds of a palm tree were visible against the reddening sky. She nodded and followed him toward the hillock.

  Three days had passed since they departed Kadavan and headed south.

  ‘My prince, I feel it is unwise for the two of you to go there. At least take some of the men from Parsah with you,’ Kayan had urged back at the fortress when he had heard their plan, trepidation in his eyes.

  All around them, soldiers and former prisoners worked side by side, making preparations and arming themselves for the journey ahead, united in their common goal and invigorated by the promise Mila had made the night before. Supervising them were the captains and fallen governors. Even the troop commander had reluctantly joined their ranks, after he awoke and heard all that had passed.

  How long this new found fervor lasts remains to be seen, Mila thought as she watched the bustle. Some may still choose to defect and stand with the kings in Uryl.

  ‘It is quite alright.’ Aäron smiled and patted Kayan’s shoulder. ‘Besides, what have I to fear when the Red Queen rides with me?’

  They had left the fortress with enough supplies to last them until the next Half Moon and soon crossed the tapering tail of the Zagros Range. Once they reached the plains beyond and crossed the northern border of the Empire’s domain, they moved more stealthily, on the lookout for soldiers from the garrison at Niibru still out searching for them, according to the captains in Kadavan.

  They set up camp in the shade of the palm tree and soon settled in each other’s arms. As stars flashed above them and their horses grazed on desert scrub, they shared stories from thei
r lives, as they had done the past two nights.

  Mila smiled as she listened to Aäron’s tales from his childhood, of perilous dares and adventures with his younger brother that had regularly earned them their father’s wrath and turned their mother’s hair grey long before she passed prematurely from illness when he was ten. Like the previous evenings, sadness and a sliver of envy stabbed through her at the obvious warmth and affection in his words. It was a childhood as far removed from her own as the Moon was from the Sun.

  All too soon, the desire that lived just below the surface of their skin swelled once more and they mated under the shimmering heavens, movements all consuming, their hunger unabated despite the many times they had melded their bodies together.

  When Aäron’s breathing slowed and he fell asleep in the cradle of her arms, his head against her breast, Mila gently stroked his hair and finally whispered the words he had spoken to her that first morning they had lain with one another, the sky above glimmering through a thin film of tears.

  For she understood. However much she wanted to be with him and he with her, to merge into one for all of eternity, they would remain separate entities, until death parted them. It was because of this that they chose to join their bodies repeatedly, to complete each other, however ephemerally short a time their physical union lasted, using their earthly forms to convey the heartfelt wishes their souls could not express in words. For in him she had found the other half of her, as he had in her, a missing piece unbeknown to them until they kissed and touched for the first time, a precious part they could no longer do without. A connection she had never felt with Kronos.

  A noise woke her some time later. She blinked and raised her head, gaze sweeping the landscape and the horses standing in the lee of the rocks on her right. Her breath misted before her face in the chilly air, the remains of their fire a faint glow smoldering in the gloom. To the east, the lightening horizon heralded the arrival of dawn.