Serpent's Child (The Mindbender's Rise Book 3)

by D J Salisbury

  “The weapon is consummately executed.” The serpent dipped its head in a way that looked like a salute.

  Lorel blinked and turned to Viper.

  He scuffed his padded boot through the sand. “It says you did a brilliant job.” He forced himself to smile, but his gut wriggled. The Dreshin Viper was full of complements lately. It was making him nervous.

  It stared at Lorel as though it could see her very bones. “However, this one is cognizant of an additional procedure with which the swordling might contribute to the Quest.”

  She glanced at Viper. “What?”

  “It wants you to do something.” He hobbled to the rear of the wagon and stashed the unused leather strips inside the trunk.

  The Kyridon sounded like it was trying to start a quarrel. By why?

  “What, already? It talks too slow.”

  “This one reminds the swordling of the garnets the hatchling collected. This one believes more will be required than were gathered.” The serpent coiled tighter on the driver’s platform and stared at her impassively.

  The meaning of that sentence was clear enough. The Kyridon was up to something, and he suspected he’d pay the price. The serpent often told him about gemstones, but it hadn’t involved Lorel before. And it hadn’t ever mentioned garnets.

  Lorel shoved her hands on her hips. “Them little red rock are lots to the south. What’s so important about them?”

  “This classification of garnet is obtainable only on Land’s End.” The Kyridon glanced at Viper. “The crystals are found nowhere else on Menajr. The garnet itself is not rare. Nonetheless, Land’s End garnets contain a special magic.”

  “Fraying magic stuff. At least them garnets are pretty.” Lorel tilted her head and smiled. “Glitter like fresh blood. But the kid only picked up a few.”

  “The swordling could ride back and fetch more.” The serpent pointed its snout at Nightshade. “The earth child may travel there and back in a day. The morning is still young. If the swordling begins its journey soon–”

  “I’ll start now.” Lorel grabbed her riding gear, whistled Nightshade closer, and swung the saddle blanket over his withers. “Have the wood ready for when we get back, kid. We’ll finish them weapons tonight.” She hoisted the saddle onto the stallion’s back.

  Tonight? “No we won’t.” Who was she kidding? Or hadn’t she paid attention?

  Lorel stopped yanking on the saddle girth and glared at him. “Why not?”

  “We have to wait two days, until the spring equinox.” He fed a driftwood stick to the dying cook fire.

  “Oh.” Lorel tilted her head, and nodded. “You told me that a while back. You sure it’s only two more days? I can last that long. You can still start gathering wood.” She eased the bridle over Nightshade’s head.

  “The hatchling will labor on the Quest. The Weapons are not primed for activation.”

  Lorel sighed and swung up into the saddle. “Loom-warping magic stuff. It ain’t never gonna end. You better get lots done while I’m gone, kid.”

  “I hear you.” He touched his fist to his forehead in salute. “Try and get back before dark.”

  She nodded and urged Nightshade into a gallop.

  The fur-wrapped seahorn rested beside the fire, where Lorel had abandoned it. He started to take it inside the wagon, but the stench of vinegar was overwhelming. He stashed it inside the bottom rear trunk, on top of a pile of serdil pelts.

  The horn’s brilliant green coloring triggered a memory. Of course the flute looked wrong. Finally he knew how to fix that problem.

  He clambered inside the wagon.

  The Kyridon was gone. Hunting, perhaps. Or smirking, if a snake could gloat. It had accomplished whatever mischief it had aimed at Lorel. Maybe it was just trying to get her to leave camp. He’d get thundering more work done now that she was out of his way.

  Viper plucked the flute from its drawer and rubbed its engraved dragons. “Indigo, I think. Pure white simply doesn’t feel right. I have some marvelous indigo ink stashed away somewhere.”

  ***

  The thud of galloping hooves on packed sand echoed through the night.

  Viper stood and peered southward, but he could see only the firelight reflecting off the Hreshith skeletons. Even the moons were hidden behind the clouds.

  Tsai’dona got up and stood beside him. “They shouldn’t be galloping in the dark.”

  He nodded and sat down again. “Safety doesn’t ever concern her. I thought it was a warrior thing.”

  She snorted and sat across from him. “That’s pure Too Tall. We’re taught to be more cautious.”

  He settled closer to the fire’s warmth and pulled the grimoire back into his lap. “Knowing her, she’ll stop to go hunting before she bothers to tell us she’s back. Inconsiderate female.”

  Tsai’dona grinned. “Knowing her, she’s got a bag full of crabs and can’t wait to show us.”

  The thud of hooves stopped with a crash. Seconds later, a harsh, inhuman scream slashed through the darkness.

  Viper tossed the grimoire under the wagon, grabbed a brand from the fire, and limped towards the sound. “Lorel? Pine tree, where are you?”

  Tsai’dona dashed past him, torch in hand. “Answer us, bog take you!”

  No answer but the scream. It seemed to go on for hours. Suddenly there was a pause, a moment of absolute silence, but the high-pitched scream began again.

  Three pauses later, something large moved in his torchlight. “This way!” He hobbled closer.

  Lorel lay limp on the sand.

  He froze, unable to move. His stomach sank to his knees. His turybird couldn’t be dead. What would he do without her?

  Fighting and keening, Nightshade laid several paces behind her, his front legs trapped in a tangle of Hreshith bone.

  Tsai’dona sprinted to Lorel’s side and touched her face. “She’s breathing, bless the Seven Temples.”

  Breathing? His own breath started up again.

  Viper planted his torch in the sand and knelt next to Lorel’s still body. Praise the Thunderer, she lived. Unconscious, but alive.

  “She doesn’t look too hurt.” Tsai’dona poked at her cautiously. “I don’t see any broken bones.”

  He couldn’t say as much for the screaming horse. Both of its front legs were broken in several places. Blood squirted from jagged wounds where bone showed. The pain must be excruciating.

  He couldn’t leave the poor horse to suffer any longer.

  “There is no healing for you, little brother,” Viper whispered. “Forgive me.” He drew his knife and walked behind the thrashing head. “Nightshade, I send thee to the Deathsinger. Thou art most fit to be the greatest of her steeds. Go proudly, and ride the night as thou hast ridden this earth.”

  He grabbed the black mane and slammed his full weight across the stallion’s neck. He yanked his knife hard against the horse’s throat, across the largest veins.

  Blood spurted across the sand.

  Nightshade thrashed and shuddered, and collapsed onto the jumble of bones entrapping him.

  The night whispered with silence.

  Bowing his head, he stroked the stallion’s mane. Such a loss. The horse had been so alive, so happy.

  Lorel moaned, a mewling, lost sound.

  Tsai’dona patted her shoulder. “Easy, now.”

  Viper wiped the tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand, and the blood from his knife on a tuft of grass. He stumbled forward and knelt next to her.

  “Oooh?” She swallowed back a moan. “Nightshade?”

  “Nightshade is gone,” Tsai’dona said softly. “Come, let’s walk to camp.”

  Lorel sat up, swaying. She looked at around blankly. “I can’t leave Nightshade.”

  “The anchor must amputate a hoof from the earth child. The anchor must perform this action now, while the spirit is strong and the blood is fresh.”

  Amputate? And leave the ghost crippled?

  Blood drained out of his face, but r
esentment welled up to replace it. Anger burst behind his eyes like a volcano spewing molten rage. “Scuttle off to the Deathsinger. Have you no mercy? Leave her alone!”

  “The swordling must– ”

  “The poor girl would be better off taking her sword to your miserable hide!” Viper bellowed.

  Tsai’dona cringed and stared as if she’d never seen him before.

  Lorel moaned and covered her ears. “How come you’re yelling at the toad?”

  “It wants you to–” He stopped and took several deep breaths. “It says you have to– Thunderer! Have mercy, Kyridon. Can’t I do it for her?”

  “The action will be meaningful only if the anchor performs it with full comprehension.”

  Lorel blinked at him. “What’s it talking about, kid?”

  “Nightshade is dead.” Viper put an arm around her shoulders. “It wants you to cut off one of his hooves and take it back to camp with us.”

  “Why?” Her voice held a note of such childlike sadness that Viper’s throat closed tight. He looked in the direction of the Kyridon’s voice.

  “The earth child is destined to be the spirit of a Weapon.” The serpent slithered into the torchlight. “The earth child must not be left to dissipate.”

  “You mean he ain’t dead?” Lorel asked hopefully.

  “The body is dead.” The Kyridon reared up tall and gazed down on Nightshade’s broken corpse. “The lesser part is gone. The spirit of the earth child awaits the summons to duty. As does that of the fire heart, the ocean warrior, and the air lord. All are prepared to consummate the Weapons. Is the anchor unwilling? Does the hatchling refuse?”

  “We accepted the quest.” Nightshade’s blood glistened in the moon­­light, promising him grisly nightmares. The poor horse was probably the first of many dead friends on this journey. “We’ll do what we have to do.”

  “No matter how awful.” Lorel wiped sand from her face and tried to stand. “And this is pretty awful. Help me up, guys. Let’s get it over with.”

  With Tsai’dona and Viper’s help, she wobbled to her feet, and staggered to Nightshade’s corpse.

  Viper stepped back, ready to assist, but unsure of anything he could do.

  Lorel stood silently over the broken body.

  His poor gyrfalcon must be frozen with pain. “I curse you, Kyridon,” he muttered. “I curse your heartlessness. I curse your cruelty. I curse–”

  “This one is already more profoundly cursed than the hatchling can imagine,” the serpent said softly.

  Viper jumped and spun to face it. When had it gotten close enough to hear him?

  “This one apologizes that it cannot remember the pain of being young and human. This one has no heart and no cruelty. It has only the Quest.”

  What could he say to that?

  Lorel turned and smiled sadly at the serpent. “That ain’t much to keep going on, is it, toad? But I suppose it’s better than nothing.” She turned back to the horse and carefully pulled a wrecked, bloody leg from the tangle of Hreshith bones. “We never even saw it.”

  She drew her honor sword and hacked off one black front hoof. She cleaned the blade on the hem of her shirt and sheathed it slowly. Ignoring the trickle of blood, she picked up the hoof with both hands and held it to her chest.

  Tsai’dona took her elbow and tried to lead her away.

  Lorel planted her feet. “I want to burn him.”

  Burn Nightshade? Why not? “I’ll collect firewood.”

  “No.” The Kyridon arched up behind them. “The earth child is brother to the sea empress. Permit the earth child’s bones rest as they are, as the Hreshiths’ do. This one knows of no greater honor.”

  Lorel’s eyes widened, but she nodded acceptance. After a single glance back at Nightshade’s body, she leaned on Tsai’dona’s shoulder, and they followed him to the wagon.

  He couldn’t bear to look back. He’d never seen so much pain on her face, not even when she’d been kicked out of the sword school. And there was nothing he could do to help her.

  Much later, near dawn, muffled weeping shook the bunk below his. Both Viper and Tsai’dona pretended they couldn’t hear it.

  The Kyridon didn’t return to the wagon that night. Just as well. He’d have shouted himself witless. Again. The lightning-blasted snake.

  Chapter 24.

  The next morning, the Kyridon was still avoiding him. Probably a wise decision. He still wanted to yell at the cursed snake.

  Tsai’dona left to go foraging before dawn. From the look on her face, he wasn’t the only one feeling the pain of Lorel’s loss.

  Looking bewildered and miserable, his poor turybird went walking up the beach. It was only an hour past dawn, but she’d long since disappeared in the distance. He hoped she didn’t do anything he couldn’t fix.

  What really hurt was he didn’t have time to worry about her. Tomorrow was the spring equinox. Tomorrow, with a few unfamiliar spells and a lot of luck, he’d awaken the Kyridon’s weapons.

  Tomorrow morning he’d turn fourteen years old, as decreed by Trevor just a year ago. As of tomorrow afternoon, Trevor would be one year dead.

  He felt like he’d been wandering across Menajr for far longer than a single year. He missed Trevor dreadfully. He desperately wished someone could share the burden of awakening the weapons, of leading his little band, of completing the Kyridon’s quest.

  Fourteen felt awfully young to rescue the whole world from a Mind­bender. But there was no one else to do it. He had to keep trying.

  The team nibbled on beach grass that grew a few hundred yards from the wagon. He limped to them and ran his hands down each long leg, but the roans seemed healthy and content. They didn’t need him.

  It was time to stop procrastinating. He hobbled back to camp.

  He carried the weapons out of the wagon, one by one, and laid them on the sand in a ring around his campfire. With a little luck, seeing them next to the flames would help him visualize the ceremony.

  He needed a lot of luck. He still didn’t know what to do. Awaken them with mage fire, the Kyridon said. Summon ghosts, Frederick told him. Well, what was he supposed to do before, between, and after all that?

  Not to mention he still didn’t know how to raise mage fire, and spirit summoning sounded more hazardous than helpful. What if RedAdder showed up? He hadn’t defeated the wizard’s ghost, he’d simply driven it away. What if it returned, angrier and hungrier than ever?

  The four Hreshith-bone weapons lying on the sand looked pathetic, like homeless orphans. Who would go to war with a seahorn and a flute? Neither was a real weapon. They barely looked like real instruments.

  Both the broadsword and the scimitar were just plain wrong. They should have been made of bahtdor bone. How could he be sure that Hreshith bone was strong enough to hold up in a fight? Sure, it had thundering fierce magic, but it needed physical resilience, too. What if the bone broke during the first sword fight?

  What if his carvings destroyed the whole quest?

  And what about the ceremony? He had a shark tooth to call an ocean spirit. He had poor Nightshade’s hoof to represent earth. But what about air and fire? What could he use to call those ghosts?

  He shook his head and walked around the campfire, around the weapons, searching for inspiration. Maybe he should read through the grimoire again. It must contain some secret he hadn’t unlocked.

  Just as he turned to the wagon to retrieve the little book, Frederick appeared on the driver’s platform. “Hurry, get inside. Serdil are coming.”

  “Serdil can’t be coming. We haven’t seen them since–” since the Hreshith died, only sixteen days ago. “How many?”

  The ghost closed its eyes and muttered numbers under its breath. “Four, I think.”

  The roans could handle four monsters if they weren’t trying to protect him. They’d be safe enough. “I hope Lorel’s out of range.”

  “I don’t sense her.” Frederick leaned back and vanished through the wood of the door.


  “I hate it when you do that.” Viper clambered up to the driver’s bench and eased under the door. “And you know it.”

  Frederick smirked at him. “That’s what makes it fun.”

  A serdil howled.

  Viper hurried to the window, cracked open the shutters, and peeked out, careful to avoid the sharp Crayl steel blades stored on the walls all around him.

  The team galloped away, stopping at the cliff wall. Good. They’d be able to protect each other there.

  Three gray-pelted serdil dashed into view. They circled the wagon as if they were trying to create a tornado. Sand flew up from their paws as they ran, and a deep, circular track soon appeared around the camp.

  This was entertaining. He hadn’t been able to witness serdil behavior before. He grabbed a notebook and pencil off the shelf behind him and scribbled down his observations.

  Where–? There it was. Fascinating. The fourth one’s fur was bone white, with black markings on its head and over its shoulders, like a saddle. It strutted slowly into camp, sniffing and examining everything.

  Very odd. He’d never seen a serdil show interest in their gear. Was there something different about this one? Its head did seem larger.

  The white serdil paused at each of the four weapons he’d left lying in the sand. It sniffed at each, barked once, and clamped its jaws on the seahorn.

  The three gray serdil dashed in. Each grabbed a different weapon.

  “Wait! No!” Those monsters couldn’t run off with the Kyridon’s weapons!

  Frederick shouted, “Shields,” and vanished.

  Blast and sandblast. Viper collected his magic and cast the biggest shield he could. It scarcely covered the wagon and the campfire.

  It was enough. Barely enough. The weapons were inside its boundaries.

  He firmed the shield inside his mind and grounded it between the wagon and the fire.

  Now what? All four serdil were trapped inside his barrier. With him. And nobody was around to help him.

  Could he hold them until the girls got back? He thrust his nose against the window.

  The three gray serdil threw themselves at his shield, but the white one sat down and gnawed on the seahorn.