“And then what?” she barked. “This faceless god rises, and he does what exactly?”
“I-I don’t know,” he confessed, “but it would be good and glorious. He said things need to be redone.”
He looked like he was about to be sick suddenly, and he clutched at his head.
“I know!” he shouted glancing to the clay figure. “I-I’m trying but—”
His hands pressed to his ears, and the grimace of pain was enough to make Pen grit her teeth along with him.
“Stop yelling,” he whimpered, almost too quiet for her to hear. “I’m trying, master. I know, I know she can help.”
He screamed then. It echoed through the ancient chamber, and Pen felt it vibrate in her bones.
The crimson sword melted in the distraction, but Pen managed to concentrate enough to keep it as a formless mass in her hand.
Something barreled into her and flung her back. The noise vanished, and she saw Zenous was practically on top of her.
Before she could react, she was already falling, and her skull cracked against the stone dais.
Blind, white pain radiated behind her eyes, and the drawn blood melted entirely. Pressure on her chest made her cough but it shifted.
Forcing her eyes open, Zenous’s face loomed directly over her. He sat on her lap, pinning her shoulders down.
It felt like her skull had cracked open, and her limbs were sluggish, no matter how much she tried to move. Even her thoughts felt like lead banging around in her brain.
The Fang’s arm looked blurry in her addled vision as he reached under his robes. The candlelight glinting off the new blade’s edge was enough to terrify her, but she was still barely conscious.
She blinked, trying to focus and shove him off, but he was too heavy.
The quick sting at her throat cut through the fog.
Zenous cradled her head in his hands and brought his lips down to her throat, almost like a lover’s kiss.
He sucked on the wound, giving her the horrible sensation of her blood moving backwards.
She was used to the differences in blood flow, but only when she did it to herself. This just felt wrong.
“Get off!” she shrieked, finally finding her voice through the pain in her skull.
All of his weight was on top of her. Her left hand was under his gut, the hand with the fresh cut on the back. All she needed was one good spike through his stomach.
Slick blood was also draining from the back of her skull. She could feel it in her hair now and sticking to the back of her neck. She didn’t know how much she could draw herself now.
She tried to focus, but blood was draining away faster than she could concentrate.
Pen did manage to get her eyes open, half expecting Nyx to be gloating over her, but all she saw was red.
Tendrils of blood as fine as hair rose above her and crashed down onto the Fang of Stymphalia. He jerked against the onslaught and pulled back, grunting and taking a chunk of her throat with him.
He screamed again as her blood whipped around him, but he still straddled her.
Pen watched stunned for a moment as her blood moved. Her brain was addled, but she knew enough to realize she wasn’t moving the tendrils.
Get him off! Get off me!
Her mind screamed, and she was finally able to concentrate for a split second. While Zenous was distracted, Pen drew what she could from her left hand.
A sharp, narrow spike pierced through his gut.
Zenous shrieked at the new agony and dove off her, no doubt trying to escape the barrage of blood.
Pen sucked in a breath once he was gone. Sitting up, away from the dais, she felt the bones of her skull grate together. Risking a glance back, the pool of blood was frightening but stayed connected to her by a string. The tendrils attacking Zenous sprouted like odd plants from that pool.
Dizzy, Pen focused on the pool and drew from the string. The tendrils pulled back, and the pool started to recede into her skull. It hurt like a bitch, but her vision finally cleared.
Turning back to Zenous, her anger boiled. He was only a few paces from her, getting back to his feet. Dozens of cuts covered his arms and face. He groaned and put one hand to his knee. His other gripped his stomach where she’d consciously stabbed him. Blood oozed from his fingers, but not as much as she’d hoped.
Pen drew from both hands, blind to all sense of caution now. The queen never said she needed him alive.
“Wait!” He held up the hand from his knee seeing her standing. “No wait, please. I need your help.”
“Fuck that!” she shouted.
“Then he does,” Zenous shouted back. “He’s never seen anything like you before. He … he wants … I know. I’m trying! Just—”
The dreaded Fang of Stymphalia clamped both hands over his ears again, practically crying.
Pen paused, unsure what he’d do next but ready for it.
“Why?” he demanded. He sounded so tired. “Why is she so fascinating?! Why do the gods love her? Even Emera is watching over her loved ones. Why is she so much more important than the rest of us? Why!”
He screamed again, clutching his skull as if it pained him.
Pen was done with this madness.
Keeping the blood soft for now, she shot it towards Zenous.
He opened his eyes just in time to see her strike coming and dove to the ground.
Pen’s blooded moved too fast and left her lightheaded, so she wasn’t able to react perfectly. She struck the column behind Zenous, coating it in a web of crimson.
Yelling in her frustration and pulling her arms back, the column snapped. Dust and chunks of rubble rained down on Zenous.
Sharpening her ropes into spears, Pen went to outright kill him.
A larger chunk of rubble fell and destroyed the end of her right spear.
Stone and dust continued to trickle around them, enough to thicken the air.
Pen wanted to keep her attention on Zenous, but his terrified gaze wasn’t on her anymore. He sat on the ground, bleeding from several wounds, staring up at the ceiling.
Pen chanced a glance up and equally froze.
The column she’d broken had completely crumbled to the ceiling, which was now cracking and shifting as chunks kept falling.
Scrambling footsteps pulled her attention back down. Zenous was halfway out of the crypt already, sprinting for the door.
“Hey!” Pen shouted after him and took off.
The ceiling broke completely then. Huge slabs of stone and dirt rained behind her.
The wind of a large piece of rubble rushed past her, and for a brief moment she’d forgotten about Zenous.
The entire crypt was crumbling behind her. The roar of the carnage sounded like an old, dying beast, furious that it had been beaten. It carried grit into her eyes and lungs.
Pen made it partially up the stairs before tripping.
Coughing and hating how everything hurt, hating how Zenous had gone again, she waited to be crushed.
When that didn’t happen, she glanced back as the dust settled and saw bits of the black door sticking out of the rubble.
Rock and earth choked that maw now, with jagged pieces of black wood jutting out like broken teeth.
Getting to her feet, and gingerly touching the back of her head, she started climbing the stairs.
That’s when she saw him.
Zenous stood at the top, panting and holding his stomach.
“Are you okay?” he called down.
Pen bounded after him.
He took a step back as he saw the rage in her eyes.
He bolted again, back the way they’d come. Pen shouted after him, along with a string of curses.
She caught glimpses of his ragged coattails or a boot as he turned random corners, but she quickly lost him in the maze of the dead.
Eventually, she skid to a stop, lest she trip over a scattering of bones, and had to lean on the wall.
She gulped down stale air, pissed that her legs k
ept shaking. Blood leaked from her skull tickling her neck. If she focused enough, the blood would stay, but it still had to be treated.
She’d lost him. Again.
Chapter Forty Four
Pen
Pen’s boots pounded on the cobblestones, matching her heartbeat. It felt like a damn animal wanted to escape from her chest.
Hundreds of questions flooded her aching head. Who was Zenous talking to? Why was Emera, the sun goddess herself, watching over her? No, Zenous said ‘her loved ones.’ Emera must have been watching Raisa and Drivas, but why?
Pen knew her as the Matriarch of the home and families. If anything, her daughter Myron, the goddess of health and longevity, should be there. That would have made some sense.
She could hardly breathe from her constricted lungs when the Ragged Wolves’ home came into view.
The night was still too dark to see details, but Pen saw movement from the lit window that was Raisa’s room.
Barreling inside, she passed Palrig who was hanging up his coat, and ran up the stairs.
Pen bolted through the corridor, into the office, and burst into Raisa’s room.
“Is the building on fire?” Raisa asked taking in Pen’s ragged appearance. “What happened to your neck?”
Drivas sat on the bed, equally surprised by the entrance.
“You’re okay,” Pen said gulping down air.
“Yeah, well, relatively. I’m still coughing a bit,” she replied pushing herself up on the pillows more.
Relief and the fading adrenaline left Pen shaking as she sat on the other side of the bed and gently hugged Raisa, heedless of the dust she was covered in. She knew the chest wound was still bad, and she didn’t want to cause any extra pain.
Pulling away, movement by the window drew her eye. A large, white crane was perched on the neighbor’s roof again. The bird held still, watching Pen, then dipped her head before flying away.
Drivas glanced to the window too as the crane flew off. She didn’t say anything, probably thinking it was a normal bird.
Pen sent a silent thanks to the goddess and was actually thankful that Zenous had said something about it.
Raisa’s cough pulled her back to reality. She was still too pale, and the rattle hadn’t vanished. If anything, it sounded deeper. To Pen’s horror, she managed to get a cloth to her mouth in time, but when she pulled it away, blood painted it.
“Are you all right?” Pen asked, knowing it was a dumb question.
“I’ll be fine,” Raisa said leaning back again. The coughing alone seemed to take a lot out of her. “Hey, Drivas, could you give us the room for a bit?”
“Sure,” Drivas said standing. “I’m glad you’re back, Pen.”
Pen managed a smile as she left.
Raisa seemed to visibly change then. She sank deeper into the bed, as if shrinking around the wound. Her smile turned into a grimace.
“So, what did happen to your neck?” Raisa asked again. “You don’t look so good.”
“I’m okay,” Pen gave, “but a lot happened while you were napping.”
“Napping?!”
They both laughed, but it was cut short by the rattling cough again.
“Fuck, sorry, sorry,” Pen said, helping Raisa get a clean cloth.
“It’s … fine,” Raisa said slowly, “felt good actually. So, you cough up too, what happened?”
Pen didn’t want to stress her out more but knew she wouldn’t let up.
“The Fang found me.”
“What?!”
“He didn’t attack right away,” Pen quickly added. “If anything, he was excited to meet me, actually thinking I could help him with something. But then he nearly knocked me unconscious. He started drinking from my neck, but my blood started attacking on its own.”
Raisa hesitated before asking, “Has it done that before?”
“Not really, but I heard it did after my execution. Back then, the blood sprouted and reattached my head. I don’t remember it, but there have been stories.”
“Yeah, I remember hearing that too. Holy shit.”
“There’s more to it, but we can really talk when you’re well,” Pen said, “and after I’ve cleaned up a bit.”
A quiet moment passed between them before Pen asked, “What did Drivas mean by being glad I’m back? I didn’t go anywhere.”
Raisa sighed, but it was cut short by another bloody cough. Once that was under control, she said, “She misses you, and your little visits were never quite long enough. I think she’s afraid you’re going to leave again.”
“I was never exactly there in the first place,” Pen said. Guilt rose.
“You were,” Raisa countered. “You were there when she was born. You even coached me through that. And you came back when you could. I told her about Arch and Alard a while ago. How you were never able to move on from them.”
“For good reason,” Pen defended.
“I know, but it’s been fifteen years, Pen,” Raisa squeezed her hand. “You don’t need to let go of them, any more than I would let go of Drivas, but you need to ease up on yourself.”
Pen looked down to the bedsheets unable to reply. Alard’s little smile rose in her thoughts, and it still hurt to think about them. Nightmares of them filled her sleep, and the darkness in her mind would leave her shaking and scared of everything, including getting close to Drivas, and she didn’t even realize that until now.
Arch wouldn’t have wanted her to live like this.
Raisa coughed again, bringing Pen back to her. Raisa grimaced against the rattle, and Pen saw how she had to force air into her lungs.
Raisa’s eyes flicked to the corner of the room, and fear leaked into them. Her next words made Pen’s blood run cold.
“Pen? Who is that?”
Nyx stood in the corner, watching them both.
“No, no, no, please,” Pen begged. “Don’t take her too.”
Pen tried to shield Raisa, but the goddess of death just walked to the other side of the bed.
Raisa tried to push herself away from the child-like form, but her strength gave out. All she could do was watch death approach.
“Pen?” Raisa whispered.
Nyx looked to Pen as well, her strange eyes waiting for a reply or argument no doubt.
“It’s okay,” Pen choked out as tears took over.
The terror in Raisa was all too clear. Pen had never seen her frightened like this before.
“It’s okay,” she said again, wiping away the tears and pulling more conviction behind her voice. “You’ll be okay.”
“What about you?” Raisa asked. “And Drivas?”
“I’ll look after Drivas, and I’ll come visit you.”
The fear was still there, but it was smoothed over with a calm understanding.
“What’s it like?” Raisa asked.
Millions of lost and wandering souls, every one of them alone and gray. It was a bleak, cold place, but she couldn’t say that.
“It’s big,” Pen said instead. “It’s this huge cavern, like a valley, but underground. It’s dark, but it’s a nice place.”
“Will I be aware?”
It was like an icicle stabbed at her heart.
“No,” she confessed, “but you’ll rest well.”
“You’ll watch over Drivas?” Raisa asked.
“Of course,” Pen nodded.
“Tell her about Arus. Palrig can help with that. And Pen,” Raisa squeezed her hand, “please, don’t vanish for fifteen years again.”
A sob escaped, but after a shaking breath, Pen said, “I won’t.”
Raisa smiled to her and it was a strong one. No begging, no more fear, just the quiet goodbye.
Raisa turned back to Nyx, who had been waiting patiently for them the entire time. She gave a small smile to the goddess too.
Nyx smiled back, like a kind mother watching over her child, and presented the thigh bone.
Raisa lifted her other hand and gripped it with newfound strength.
A second later, her hand slipped and fell to the bed, limp as the other in Pen’s hands.
Pen sobbed, unable to contain the grief and pain again.
“I am sorry,” Nyx whispered.
Pen forced herself to look to the goddess when she spoke, not knowing how to reply.
Nyx clearly didn’t expect an answer anyway. She just looked away, her own sadness in her eyes, and vanished.
“Pen?”
Palamedes’s voice called from the hall, but she didn’t reply.
“Pen, I heard about the commotion from Drivas.”
He sounded excited as he got closer.
“And that Raisa woke—”
Pen heard his footfalls stop at the door.
“Oh, gods, no.”
To her astonishment, she felt Palamedes take her by the shoulders. She couldn’t move from Raisa’s side, but she did turn enough to bury her face into his arm and sob.
Chapter Forty Five
Pen
“Pen? … Pen!”
She pushed against the hands shaking her, finally seeing Palamedes kneeling in front of her.
It felt like she was trudging out of a nightmare, but she realized they were in Raisa’s office. Glancing over to the bedroom door, Pen was able to see the mound of Raisa’s feet under the bedsheets. Everything locked up inside her at the sound of Drivas’s sobs from inside.
Pen tried to breathe but couldn’t gain any air.
“What happened?” she heard Palamedes ask. “You’re covered in blood and dirt.”
“Is Drivas all right?”
“No, can you close that door?”
Kaya entered her view and closed Raisa’s door. Drivas’s cries became muffled, but it was loud enough.
Pen forced herself to look away and faced Palamedes.
“Hey,” he said softly.
“Do you have any water?” Pen asked even quieter.
“Yes! Yes, here.”
He yanked a wineskin from his belt and handed it to her. Once the cork was off, she downed all of it in three swallows.
Gasping from the cold shock, and shivering a bit, Pen managed to come back to herself. Everything still hurt, but her mind was a little clearer.
“I found him,” Pen told Palamedes. “Well, the Fang found me in the graveyard. I actually did meet him before. He was the bartender at the Lion’s Den.”
Grief of the Undying (The Ichorian Epics Book 3) Page 25
