Again, the pulse, faint yet present. He had no idea whether it signaled acceptance or denial.
The Hunter roared again and pressed a hand to the wound. The flow of blood from her side hadn’t yet slowed.
His eyes flew wide as he stared at the widening pool of crimson. If she still bled, it meant her heart still beat. He pressed a bloodstained hand to her throat to feel for a pulse.
Yes! An ember of hope flared to life within him. She was weak, a heartbeat away from death, but she still lived.
“Tell me how to save her!” the Hunter shouted into the empty air. “Tell me what to do!”
The pulse in the Hunter’s mind pulled his attention toward Hailen, who crouched beside him. No, not toward Hailen, but beyond. To the empty Chamber of Sustenance.
The Hunter sprang to his feet, gathered up Taiana’s body, and raced toward the Chamber. He ignored the withered husk on the floor—what had once been a Serenii, what he’d called a god his entire life—and placed her still form gently into the stone cradle. He gasped as the coils of flexible tubing seemed to come alive like a serpent. They moved of their own accord to slither around her head, her arms, her chest. They settled into place, rendering her immobile, and faint pulses of power ran through the conduit. He jerked backward as the lid closed with a loud hiss, sealing Taiana inside the Chamber.
The Hunter whirled and raced toward the altar, the last place he’d heard Kharna’s voice. “Will she live?” he demanded. “Tell me, damn you!”
His eyes dropped to the altar, where he saw a gemstone similar to the one that had connected him to Kharna in the chamber far below. Without hesitation, he placed his hand to the stone.
The Hunter floated in the void—the void within his mind, or the mind of Kharna, he knew. A total absence of sensation, yet he could somehow feel the presence of the god—no, the Serenii.
“YOU PROMISED ME AN ABIARAZI,” Kharna rumbled in his mind.
“The Sage was no longer Abiarazi. He gave up the last of his power to become human. It was the only way he could avoid the curse you placed on the Empty Mountains.”
“THEN THE WAR WITH THE DESTROYER WILL CONTINUE. AND I WILL CONTINUE TO GROW WEAKER.”
“There are more out there,” the Hunter said. “More Abiarazi hiding around Einan. I will hunt them down and bring them here to sustain you.”
The presence of the imprisoned Kharna seemed to grow pensive.
“And I will bring people who deserve to die and feed them to Khar’nath. I will bear the burden of keeping you alive, even if it means I have to lock myself in a Chamber. All that matters is that you heal Taiana.”
“I CANNOT HEAL HER.”
The words sent ice flooding through the Hunter’s veins.
“BUT THE POWER OF ENARIUM CAN SUSTAIN HER LIFE UNTIL SHE HAS RECOVERED ENOUGH FOR HER BODY TO HEAL ITSELF.”
Hope surged within the Hunter. “How long will that take?”
“I DO NOT KNOW,” Kharna replied. “DECADES, PERHAPS EVEN CENTURIES. HER BODY WAS CHANGED BY HER TIME IN THE CHAMBERS. SHE HAS BECOME MORE LIKE THE SERENII THAN THE REST OF YOUR KIND. AS THE POWER GATHERED BY THE KEEPS IN ENARIUM AND THE DOLMENRATH AROUND THE WORLD FLOWS THROUGH HER, THROUGH THIS SPIRE, HER BODY WILL RECOVER. IT WILL BE A SLOW PROCESS, YET THESE CHANGES ARE WHAT MAKE HER BEST-SUITED TO SUSTAIN ME.”
A familiar burden of despair settled on the Hunter’s shoulders, yet he forced himself not to yield to it. He had to stay strong, for Taiana’s sake.
“Can I…speak with her?” he asked. “If you are connected to her mind as you are connected to mine...”
Taiana’s face slowly faded into view, ethereal yet unmistakably the woman he’d crossed a world to see. The same sharp cheekbones and full lips, framed by long golden hair. The same eyes that had stared into his with such love.
“Drayvin, I feared I would never see you again.” Her voice was faint, as if she spoke from a thousand leagues away. Yet he could see her face clear as if she stood in front of him.
He reached out and took her hand—it felt real enough, soft and strong, warm in his.
“I’m sorry,” he told her. “I’m sorry I had to lock you away again.”
“You saved me.” A smile wreathed her beautiful face. “It is better this way, better than you sacrificing yourself.”
“I would have done it.” His voice cracked, and he clenched his jaw to stop the tears from flowing. “I’d rather be the one lying in the Chamber.”
“But it is better this way,” she said. Her voice held no recrimination, no anger, only acceptance. And all the love he’d seen sparkling in her eyes. “You are the one best-suited to do what needs to be done. You know this world far better than I. My place is here, for now.”
“I’ll come back for you,” the Hunter said. “I promise I will.”
The vision of her pulled him close and pressed a kiss to his lips. “You know where to find me when the Withering comes again.”
“No!” the Hunter recoiled in horror. “That’s five hundred years away. I can’t be without you for that long. I’ve spent enough time without you already.”
“It is necessary,” she said, and the commanding tone of her voice brooked no argument. “Kharna will heal me, and in return I will sustain him.”
“Let me join you, then,” the Hunter said. “We can be together—”
“You know what you need to do.” She pushed him away firmly, yet tenderness shone in her eyes. “You need to prepare the world for the next Withering. It is the only way to stop the Devourer once and for all.”
“But five hundred years apart!” Sorrow drove a knife into the Hunter’s chest.
“You’ve been gone for five thousand years already.” She smiled. “What’s a few hundred more?”
A lump rose to his throat. He couldn’t imagine spending that much time apart, yet he knew he had no other choice. Hailen needed him. Taiana needed him. Kharna needed him. He could not escape this burden.
“I…” He drew in a deep breath and pushed back against the emotions crashing over him. “I will miss you.”
“I’ll be with you.” She placed one hand on his heart. “In here, in your memories, and in the knowledge that our daughter is somewhere out there.”
“Somewhere,” the Hunter echoed.
“Find her, Drayvin,” Taiana gripped his hands tightly. “Find her. For my sake, for yours, and, most of all, for hers.”
“I will.” A lump swelled in the Hunter’s throat. “I promise.”
Her face creased into a smile. “See you in five hundred years, handsome.”
She paused for a moment, looking him in the eyes. “I’ll be waiting.”
Her hands slipped from his as she disappeared, and the Hunter once again found himself alone in the void.
“REMEMBER THIS, LITTLE MORTAL,” Kharna’s voice rumbled in his mind. “THE MORE POWER YOU FEED ME, THE MORE POWER I CAN SPARE TO AID IN HER RECOVERY. LIFE WILL SUSTAIN LIFE.”
“I will do it,” the Hunter said without hesitation. “I swear.”
“AS YOU SWORE ONCE, LONG AGO, WHEN THERE WERE MORE OF YOU TO CARRY THE BURDEN.”
”Then I will carry it alone,” the Hunter said. “As I have done for so many years.”
“I, TOO, CARRY MY BURDEN ALONE.” A wistful tone—could a god feel loneliness?—echoed in the void. “I AM THE LAST OF MY KIND.”
“What about the other Chambers?” the Hunter asked. “There were Serenii bodies—”
“THEIR MINDS FADED INTO NOTHINGNESS LONG AGO, AND THERE IS NO POWER ON THIS WORLD THAT CAN BRING THAT BACK. THEIR BODIES ARE SUSTAINED BY THE POWER OF ENARIUM TO SERVE AS A CONDUIT, YET THEY ARE EMPTY VESSELS. OF THE TWELVE THAT REMAINED TO FACE THE DEVOURER, I ALONE SURVIVE TO FIGHT ON.”
“I will do what I can to aid you in that fight. You will not battle the Destroyer alone!”
“A BATTLE TOGETHER, WE THE LAST OF OUR RACES. IT IS ONLY LOGICAL.”
“Until next time,” the Hunter said.
The darkness faded around him
and snapped back to reality with a gasp. Once again, he stood in the highest chamber of the Illumina. The red light of the Withering had faded, and the loud humming within the tower had returned to its low, throbbing thrum. The Keeps had returned to their usual dim glow. The world seemed normal once more.
Yet the Hunter knew nothing would ever go back to anything close to “normal”. Everything he’d learned in the last few days—hells, in the last few hours—had changed his life irreversibly. He could never again be the Hunter, assassin of Voramis; or Hardwell, the nameless traveler roaming Einan in search of his forgotten past. He couldn’t even be Drayvin, the last of the living Bucelarii.
He was something different. What that was, who he’d be, he still didn’t know. Only time would tell.
He turned to find Hailen staring up at him. The Hunter picked the boy up. So small, so innocent, so trusting. Hailen’s clasped his neck and the boy buried his face in the Hunter’s chest.
“Come, Hailen. It’s time for us to leave this place.”
“Where are we going?” Hailen whispered.
The Hunter squeezed the boy tighter. “To save your life one last time.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
The Hunter paused only long enough to retrieve the Swordsman’s daggers, Soulhunger—and, after a moment of thought, the Sage’s sword—before leaving the towertop chamber. He refused to look at the two Bucelarii corpses lying there. He’d had no desire to kill them, two of the last of his kind still alive on Einan, but they’d left him no choice.
He descended the staircase toward the bottom floor, but stopped before stepping onto the landing. Through the transparent gemstone walls, he could see the mob of human prisoners laying siege to the Illumina. In vain they attacked the tower with crude weapons and spikestaffs taken from the dead Elivasti. His stomach clenched as he saw the fury burning in their eyes, and he paused. No way could he fight through that horde. His only hope lay in convincing them he was on their side.
Setting Hailen down, he stripped out of the bloodstained, dented, and damaged blue Elivasti armor. He gathered the boy into his arms and fixed him with a stern gaze. “Whatever you do, keep your eyes closed.”
“Are you going to hurt people again?”
“No.” The Hunter shook his head. “But the people we’re going to see are angry at people with purple eyes.”
“Like mine?” Hailen’s eyes went wide.
The Hunter nodded. “Like yours. So you need to keep your eyes closed real tight, no matter what, so they don’t think you’re one of the bad men.”
“Okay.” Hailen screwed up his face and pressed his eyes tightly closed. “Like this?”
The Hunter smiled. “Perfect.” He adjusted his weapons—Soulhunger, the slim fencing sword, and the two iron blades—and strode toward the nearest doorway.
He pressed Soulhunger to the gemstone locking mechanism beside the door, and it slid open without a sound. A dozen furious men and women spilled through the opening before he could take a step. They charged toward him, hefting the weapons they’d taken from the dead Elivasti, but paused when they saw Hailen in his arms.
“I am not the enemy you seek,” the Hunter shouted. “The Elivasti and their master lie dead at my hand.”
“Who are you, then?” asked one man, a short fellow with a scruffy beard drooping down to his waist.
“I am the one who opened the gate and set you free.”
The freed prisoners turned to each other, surprise etched into their expressions. After a moment, the same bearded man spoke again.
“Prove it.”
The Hunter pondered a moment, then a grin spread his face. “That shouldn’t be a problem.”
He turned his focus inward to the flesh, bone, and muscles of his face and exerted his will on his features. His nose thickened, his eyes drew closer together, and his jaw and mouth took on a heavy, brutish shape as he formed the face of Setin—a face they would all recognize.
The men and women before him gasped and fell back, though a few prepared to attack. A moment later, the Hunter shifted his features to those of Ryken, the Blood Sentinel Detrarch he’d killed on the streets.
“So it’s true!” The scruffy-looking man’s eyes were wide, shock mingling with his disbelief. “The Ghost-Faced Man isn’t just a legend.”
The Hunter shook his head. “As real as you are.”
“You say you killed the Elivasti and their master?” the man asked.
The Hunter nodded. “The Blood Sentinels’ bodies decorate the staircase even now.” He didn’t bother explaining why they wouldn’t find the Sage’s corpse. He doubted they would believe the demon had been ripped to shreds by the Devourer—fiery hell, until a few hours ago, he wouldn’t have believed it either. “Where is Ryat?”
The men and women exchanged puzzled glances. “Who?”
The Hunter opened his mouth to speak, then snapped it shut. This was no organized army with an established chain of command. He faced a rabble with no leader, no coherence, driven only by the single-minded desire to eliminate their enemy.
“I need to get to Hellsgate,” he said instead. “I need to find my friend. The woman that was brought to the Pit a couple of days ago.” He had sent Kiara to protect the Elivasti Rothia had brought to the rooftop garden. He had to ensure she had survived—and that the opia had survived as well.
The men and women parted to make way. Forty or fifty of them had already rushed up the stairs, doubtless to verify the Hunter’s claim that their enemy was dead, and more raced down to the lower floors. The Hunter had no idea what they’d find—the Illumina, the heart of Enarium, had to contain all manner of fascinating secrets—but right now none of that mattered. Hailen and Kiara were his only concerns at the moment.
“I’ll come with,” said the scruffy-bearded man. He glanced at the Hunter’s weapons. “You look like you can handle yourself, but—”
The Hunter nodded. “I’d welcome the escort.” With this man by his side, there was a much lower risk of being attacked by the mob still roaming Enarium.
“The strangest things have been happening out here.” The man spoke in a conversational tone. “You catch any of it?”
“What do you mean by strange things…?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Name’s Athid.”
“Some call me Hardwell.”
“Hardwell.” Athid nodded. “Easier than saying Ghost-Faced Man.”
The Hunter kept his pace brisk as he strode through Enarium toward Hellsgate. He pushed the anxiety from his mind—Kiara could take care of herself, even against an angry mob of humans.
“Anyway, as I said, strange things have been happening all around the city. That red light filling the sky, and the pillar of red dust over there.”
The Hunter glanced at the crimson cloud, which now hung to the east of the sun.
“Then them bloody towers glowed, and it felt like an earthquake nearly shook the city to its foundations.” Athid shook his head. “A few of the smaller buildings collapsed, but…”
The Hunter stopped listening as Athid continued recounting all the strange things that had occurred. He marveled at how resilient at least this one human was. Years, perhaps even decades, trapped in the Pit, hadn’t shattered his mind. These people would need time, but he had to hope they one day would recover from a lifetime spent in Khar’nath. If not them, their children or children’s children.
The beauty of a short life, he thought with a wry grin, and even shorter memories.
The world had nearly come to an end this day because humans long ago forgot the pledge they made to Kharna to aid him in his battle against the Devourer of Worlds. Perhaps it would happen again as time passed and the men, women, and children that had witnessed today’s events died. It could take generations for this to be truly forgotten, yet one day, there would be a time when the descendants of Athid and the other humans in Enarium would no longer remember the suffering their forefathers had endured. The slate would be cleansed and they could live free
of the burden.
He could not say the same for himself. He would do everything in his power to remember today’s events, no matter what. Somehow, he would ensure that the bargain he’d made with Kharna existed—not only in his mind, but with others.
The thoughts faded from his mind as Hellsgate came into view below him. The blue glow emanating from the Eastern Keep had returned to normal, but there was nothing normal about the thousands of people milling around in front of the massive grey and red fortress. Palpable anger hung in the air—the men and women there were like caged hounds waiting for the command from their master to attack. Yet they had no master, no foe. A hint of their listlessness had returned in the absence of threat or purpose.
With Athid by his side, the Hunter had no problem pushing through the throng of filthy, emaciated bodies toward Hellsgate. Questioning glances followed him, accompanied by whispers of “the Ghost-Faced Man” encouraged by Athid’s words.
The press of people was thick as he forced his way into Hellsgate. Blood slicked the stone floor of the corridor within, and hundreds of corpses littered the mess hall amidst piles of shattered tables and chairs. Dozens more bodies—human and Elivasti alike—lay broken and bloodied beside the now-empty racks that once held spikestaffs.
Emaciated men, women, and children in ragged clothing surged through Hellsgate, and the fortress echoed with shouts and screams. The Hunter had heard tales of armies pillaging villages and laying waste to cities, but this was far worse than he could ever have imagined.
The Hunter turned toward the stairs and climbed as quickly as he could. Freed prisoners rushed past him, dragging screaming Elivasti or breaking down doors to get at the valuables stored within the chambers. This was madness, chaos, and death at its most terrible. And he had been the one to set them loose.
His heart leapt into his throat as he reached the fourth floor. Angry shouts echoed from above, accompanied by a rhythmic thud, thud of something heavy striking wood.
He shoved his way through the crowd, reached the fifth level—the level where the Sage and his Blood Sentinels had quartered—then up toward the sixth. Hundreds of people crowded into the staircase, and their cries of “Kill them all!” echoed from the stone walls in time with the thud, thud.
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