“Stop this!” the Hunter shouted at the top of his lungs. “The time for bloodshed is over!”
People turned toward him, their faces twisted by hate and rage. Some actually moved to attack him, but Athid stepped in their way. “This is the Ghost-Faced Man!” he cried, waving his hands to hold them back.
Sanity filtered through the fire of fury burning in the eyes of the men and women in front of him. Whispers of “Ghost-Faced Man” rippled through the crowd, up toward the ones wielding the improvised battering ram—two wooden benches from the mess hall bound together by strips of cloth. The thud, thud fell quiet, and a thunderous silence gripped the people on the staircase. A hundred pairs of eyes fixed on the Hunter.
He climbed the staircase, an island of calm in the midst of the chaos and bloodlust. He glared at the men and women he passed, his expression as hard as the stone walls. At the top of the stairs, a thick steel-banded wooden gate barred his way to the Terrace of the Sun and Moon. He could see the cracks in the wood and dents in the steel left by the ram. The people would have gotten through in a matter of minutes.
He paused at the doors and turned to face the people below him. “No one else needs to die this day.”
“The Elivasti—”
“Have paid the price for their actions,” the Hunter snapped. He glared at the men and women filling the staircase. “The ones that held you prisoner lie dead—at my hands and at yours.”
“And what of their children?” one woman shouted. “They deserve to suffer for the sins of their parents!”
“That will not happen.” The Hunter planted his feet and shot a stern gaze at the faces before him. “I will not permit it.”
“Then we’ll cut you down with them!” roared a pale-faced, balding fellow with a hollowed chest and ribs poking from his ratty shirt. “You join them—”
“Do you know who this is?” Athid shouted as he shoved his way through the crowd. “This is Ghost-Faced Man. He is the one who released us.”
“I set you free so you could have a chance at a new life. A life free of the torments inflicted upon you by those who held you captive.” The Hunter’s jaw clenched. “But if you seek to do to them what they did to you, you are simply continuing the cycle of violence and evil.”
“They deserve it!”
“Of course they do.” The Hunter nodded. “But now is when you prove that you are better than they are, that you can show mercy even to those who do not deserve it.”
“Mercy!” snarled one man, a fellow with a massive burn scar down the side of his face. “Do you think the one who did this deserves mercy?”
“No.” The Hunter shook his head. “Were he here, I would be the first one to cut him down.”
Mutters of approval ran through the crowd.
“But the ones you seek to kill here are not those men!” the Hunter snarled.
An idea flashed through the Hunter’s mind. “Would you kill this boy?” he asked, gesturing to Hailen. “Could you cut him down right here, right now?”
A few angry shouts echoed in the stairway, but most of those he faced were shaking their heads.
“Look at him. Innocent, helpless, weak. A child. How many of you have sons and daughters the same age?”
Men and women exchanged hesitant glances.
He knelt and set Hailen on the floor. “Open your eyes, Hailen,” he whispered.
“You told me not to.” Hailen’s answer was equally quiet. “You didn’t want them to think I was one of the bad men.” The boy refused to release his lock on the Hunter’s neck.
“I know.” The Hunter tilted the boy’s face up to his. “But now I need you to. Doing it will save a lot of lives.”
“Really?” Hailen’s eyes popped open and flew wide.
The Hunter nodded. “You’re going to be a hero, Hailen.”
Please let this work. He drew in a deep breath, then turned Hailen to face the angry mob.
Gasps echoed through the stairway, and faces darkened as they caught sight of the unmistakable violet of Hailen’s eyes.
The Hunter tensed, one hand hovering near Soulhunger’s hilt. He would cut down anyone who laid a hand on Hailen, but that would only spark more violence. Right now, he had to hope logic and reason could appease the bloodthirst of those in front of him.
Help came in the form of Athid. “He’s the same age as my Itar,” the scruffy-looking man said in a quiet voice. He turned to the mob and pointed a finger at a woman with lanky hair and a long scar across her forehead. “And your Lilyn.”
The woman nodded.
“Ryncha, your Delis is a year or so older.” Athid indicated more of the people in the crowd. “And Burina, Lusel, Atia, Vessan, and so many others.”
“He is a child,” the Hunter said. “Innocent of the crimes of his people. Look into his face and see the truth in your hearts.”
The Hunter had to cling to hope. Mobs could turn ravenous and violent at the drop of a hat, but cooler heads could pull it back from the brink of chaos. If his words had convinced enough of them to see reason—
“He’s right, and you know it.” A new voice, this one familiar, echoed from below. The people parted for a tall, blue-armored figure to get through.
Relief filled the Hunter’s chest at the sight of Ryat. He had been the one to galvanize the people in the Pit to action—he’d be the closest thing to a leader this rabble would have.
The Hunter held his breath as Ryat came to stand before Hailen, but the tall man simply knelt before the boy. “What’s your name, son?”
“Hailen,” he replied in his bright, cheerful voice. True to his nature, he continued chattering happily, as if forgetting he faced a mob intent on butchering anyone who looked like him. “And this is Hardwell. He’s my friend, and we’ve been traveling together across a desert, through mountains—”
“Hailen,” Ryat said in a loud voice, then turned and faced the crowd. “His name is Hailen. He is a child, just like your children. It doesn’t matter what blood runs through his veins—he does not deserve to suffer any more than yours do.”
The Hunter took a step down to stand beside Ryat. “You have had your vengeance. Those who harmed you have received just punishment. The time for destruction and death is passed.”
“Go,” Ryat said, his voice firm, unwavering. “You are free, thanks to this man. Use the gift given. Find your children, your loved ones. The future is yours to do with as you please.”
A few of the men and women below seemed unwilling to relinquish their hold on their anger, but most were nodding at Ryat’s words. One by one, they filtered down the stairs until the Hunter, Ryat, and Hailen stood alone in the stairway.
Chapter Fifty
Ryat whistled through his teeth, his shoulders slumping. “Damn, for a moment there, I thought I’d arrived too late. These are the ones you spoke of protecting, yes?”
The Hunter nodded.
“Then consider us even.” He thrust out a hand to the Hunter. “I’ve done what I could. Now it’s up to you to figure out what comes next.”
The Hunter shook Ryat’s hand. “Something tells me these people are going to need someone to lead them. You seem as good a choice as any.”
Ryat’s brow furrowed. “I…I wouldn’t know how.”
“You did a damned good job just now.” The Hunter gave him a wry grin. “You spoke, they listened. Seems like the sort of thing a leader does.”
“I got lucky.” Ryat shrugged. “But where am I supposed to lead them? What do we do? The Pit is all we’ve known our entire lives. How do I feed all these people? What about homes and clothes?”
“The city of Enarium is empty,” the Hunter said. “The Serenii left long ago. It can be yours now. Surely there are houses enough for your people.”
“And food?” Ryat asked.
The Hunter grinned. “That’s a much simpler answer than you’d think.”
He turned and banged on the wooden door. “Kiara, can you hear me?”
A moment of s
ilence, then a muffled voice asked, “Hunter?”
“You sound surprised,” the Hunter called back. “Like you were expecting me to end up dead.”
The sound of shifting rubble and grating stones echoed through the heavy wooden gate. A moment later, the gate creaked open to reveal a familiar face with full lips and dark eyes framed by raven hair.
“Well, to be fair,” said Kiara, “you were going to fight your way through a demon and his Blood Sentinels.” Dried blood stained the right half of her face from a cut in her forehead, and she had a split lip, black eye, and bloody nose.
The Hunter winced. “Yet it looks like you took a worse beating.”
“Funny.” She shot him a mocking glare. “Not all of us are lucky to have special healing abilities.”
“You might want to get some,” the Hunter said, grinning. “They’re bloody handy.”
“Ryat!” Kiara smiled at the sight of the blue-armored man beside the Hunter. “You had me worried there.”
The tall man returned her smile. “If thirty-five years in the Pit can’t kill me, there’s no way a few hundred Elivasti could finish the job.” His smile faltered as his gaze rested on the people behind her.
Kiara glanced back, then shook her head. “There are no soldiers up here. Only those who could not protect themselves.” Her gaze shot to the Hunter. “Rothia got a handful of people here before it all started.”
Mention of Rothia sent a pang of sorrow through the Hunter’s chest. “Does she know?”
“About her husband?” Kiara nodded.
The Hunter winced. Garnos had died helping him open the gate for the prisoners to escape the Pit—a final act of redemption after a life spent holding these people captive.
Ryat gasped as he stepped out of the stairwell and got his first good look at the Terrace of the Sun and Moon. He seemed at a loss for words as he took in the gardens.
The Hunter stepped up beside him, Hailen’s hand in his. “This should be more than enough to feed your people.”
“Rothia’s not just going to let them destroy her gardens,” Kiara said in a low voice. “She’s made it abundantly clear that she’ll die before they lay a hand on her life’s work.”
“They won’t.” The Hunter fixed Ryat with a stern gaze. “Enarium belongs to your people now, but you are not alone. There are those who have nowhere else to go, no families waiting for them. This is all they know. Yet they know more about this city than anyone alive. Who better than to help you start a new life here?”
Ryat’s eyes narrowed. “You expect us to live with them? Forget everything their people have done to us?”
“Yes,” the Hunter said simply. “Unless you plan to slaughter them all, it is the only way to move forward. You need their help to live in Enarium or to find your way back down the mountains to civilization. This is the only way you survive today.”
“And you think people will just go along with it?” Ryat demanded, his eyes hard. “We managed to stop them from breaking down the doors, but what’s to stop them from rushing up here and slaughtering everyone?”
“You.” The Hunter tapped a finger on the man’s chest. “You are the leader now. You make the tough choices for them, help them see the reason. This is the first choice you will make, and the toughest. Starvation or coexistence?”
Ryat was silent for a long moment, but finally he nodded. “So be it. I will do everything I can.”
“You are the one who led your people to freedom,” the Hunter said. “I have no doubt people are whispering tales about you and your heroics.”
“Ryat the conqueror!” Kiara’s eyes sparkled, and a little smile played on her lips. “Ryat the liberator.”
The man scowled. “Surely you’re mistaken.”
The Hunter grinned. “As someone who knows a thing or two about fabricating a legend, trust me when I say it doesn’t take a lot to get people telling stories.” He clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Everyone wants a hero. You will be that hero, and in return they will follow you.”
Doubt filled Ryat’s eyes, but he seemed willing to accept the Hunter’s words.
The Hunter felt a tug on his pants, and he looked down to find Hailen staring up at him. “Hardwell, can I go play with them?” His chubby finger indicated a handful of young children—some barely more than infants—running through the gardens.
He nodded. “Of course, Hailen.”
With a grin, the boy took off running as fast as his little legs could carry him in pursuit of the other children.
The Hunter watched him go, sorrow mingling with the joy and relief thrumming through him. Over the last months, Hailen had suffered so much—more than any child ought to—yet it hadn’t driven away the happy, innocent child he’d been when they’d met in the House of Need in Malandria. Perhaps one day he’d even forget everything he’d endured on their journey. The gift of a short life, indeed.
His eyes fell on the glass dome, and hope blossomed within him as he strode through the gardens. Within the massive bubble of transparent crystal, a handful of Elivasti—perhaps fifty children with their mothers and a dozen white-haired men and women—sat on stone benches or moved quietly among the plants.
Rothia sat on an old garden stool near the entrance, sorrow twisting her face, her eyes vacant as she stared down at the mud-covered trowel in her hands. She looked up at the Hunter’s approach.
“It’s you,” she said in a heavy, dull voice.
The Hunter crouched in front of her. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
She nodded slowly. “You ought to be.” A tear slipped down her weathered cheek. “He was a good man, my Garnos. Unlike the others. In the end, it’s always the good ones that go first, isn’t it?”
The Hunter wanted to offer her words of comfort, but he knew nothing he could say would give her what she sought: her husband, alive.
“He saved all of them,” he managed at last. “Men, women, children. Six hundred and eighty-four thousand of them.”
Rothia lifted her eyes to meet his. “As good as any of us could have hoped for, I suppose.”
The Hunter swallowed the lump in his throat. He knew he would never forget Garnos, the Elivasti that had sacrificed his life to redeem himself and his people. As Rothia had said, one of the good ones.
“Rothia,” he said in a quiet voice, “there are people that need your help. People who are hungry, who will starve if you don’t keep this garden alive.”
She stared at him, uncomprehending.
“The prisoners. Nearly seven hundred thousand mouths to feed.”
She nodded.
“They need you to teach them how to feed themselves,” the Hunter pressed on. “You can turn the entire city into a garden, grow enough food for everyone to thrive.”
Her expression grew pensive. “I’ve always wanted to try planting crops in the rest of the city. Never had a chance to—was always told we had enough here.”
“Now’s your chance,” the Hunter said. “Enarium was once the greatest city on Einan, a thriving home for humans, Serenii, and Elivasti alike. With your help, it could be again.”
A sad smile played at her lips. “Garnos would have liked that.”
The Hunter nodded. “I have no doubt.”
A thought flashed into his mind, and he had an image of a face—a pale face, hairless, with a high brow and squinting eyes.
“I know someone who will be as interested in cultivation as you.” Arudan had grown excited when he read the Serenii tablets about farming. “Someone who can show you some of the old Serenii methods of growing crops.”
Her eyes flew wide. “But those have been lost to time!” She motioned at the glass dome. “It has taken all of our skill to keep the Terrace of the Sun and Moon from withering.”
“Well, with my friend’s help, you’ll be able to bring the entire city to life again.”
Her expression grew animated, and the Hunter could see the wheels turning in her mind.
“Where do I find this
friend of yours?”
* * *
The Hunter smiled as he watched Athid help Arudan climb the last steps to the garden. The Bucelarii’s eyes went wide at the sight of the myriad of plants growing in the Terrance of the Sun and Moon, and excitement flashed across his pale face.
“Is that him?”
The Hunter turned to find Rothia beside him, and he nodded. “He’s like me. A Bucelarii.”
Her brow furrowed. “He’s not going to be any trouble, is he?” She shot him a scornful glance. “You haven’t exactly brought peace and stability to our world.”
The Hunter smiled. It was good to see a hint of the sharp-tongued Rothia return. “He’s happiest when he’s reading. I doubt he’d want to do anything else.”
“Good.” Rothia nodded. “If those stone tablets of his really do contain what you say they do, we’ll keep him busy reading until his eyes fall out.”
A sweet scent drifted up to the Hunter’s nostrils. It smelled like a mixture of grapes, blackberries, and blueberries, but a deeper, richer tang. He glanced down at the steaming cup in Rothia’s hand. “Is that…?”
“Yes.” She held out the cup to him. “It will cure him of the Irrsinnon without any side effects.”
Relief surged within the Hunter. “Thank you,” he breathed. He’d come so far to find this cure for Hailen’s madness. With it, the boy could escape the curse that had plagued the Elivasti for thousands of years.
He held the cup but made no move toward Hailen. His eyes followed the boy as he played with the Elivasti children that had survived the massacre. This was the closest Hailen had come to anything approaching a normal childhood since leaving the Beggar Priests in Malandria.
A smile touched his lips as he watched the laughing, running children. From the way they played, it seemed impossible to believe the world had nearly ended just a few hours earlier. Their smiles looked so at odds with the grim, haunted expressions of their mothers and grandmothers. They had no idea what had happened, and even when they found out, the sorrow would pass. He envied that resilience of spirit. He wished he could be free of the burdens—of guilt, responsibility, and loss—that rested on his shoulders.
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