Sharani series Box Set
Page 29
The genesauri were all here. Every one of them within the desert, from here to the Forbiddence that encircled the massive desert the clans called home. Every one of them. They had to die here, all of them, or the clans would eventually die. The effort would likely kill her.
The storm raged on within her body, but now she directed the flow. She didn’t pull at the blood anymore; she pushed it, forced it to expand. Sailfins burst apart, splattering gore. Pockets of sand grew wet as the creatures beneath the surface burst as well. Marsaisi seemed to bleed from all the places where their armor met. And the blood flowed through the sands toward Lhaurel. She called it to her.
The red mist around her swirled and began to spin, becoming a vortex of blood and wind. It screamed and howled. Genesauri died, and she died with them. Her fingernails became a deep, dark crimson. Her hair, already a rusty red, darkened as if it, too, had absorbed the blood. And her skin grew even paler than before, a shade away from white.
The storm hit her. And with a last fading scream, Lhaurel tasted blood on her lips.
* * *
As Khari fell, she felt something swell and surge from behind her. A chorus of screams hit her ears. Yet she didn’t falter. Her spear spun, point held before her. Her only hope was to land somewhere close to the open maw and ram it up into the brain.
The creature trembled and coiled in around itself.
Khari hit the rocks and stared up at it, awestruck. A red band seemed to be pouring out of its mouth, like a massive piece of wool yarn dyed red. But it wasn’t yarn. She recognized it for what it was. Blood.
Something was pulling the blood out of this monster. Something was draining it.
Lhaurel. She knew it with an absolute certainty.
Khari watched, stunned, horrified, and grateful all at once, as the creature fell from the sky, bits of its armor crumbling from it as it fell, and then seemed to deflate. Somehow, Lhaurel had killed it. And it had probably cost her her life.
From within the Oasis came the sound of a ragged cheering. Soft at first, but then growing louder and louder, the shout rose until it echoed off the walls of the Oasis and reverberated out over the sands where Khari stood. Cries of victory, joy, and sheer, emotional relief.
Khari looked down at her hands and studied the blood there. She looked to the side and saw the bodies of the fallen warriors around her. Women and children’s bodies were interspersed with those of the men.
They had upheld the flame and won. Had it been worth the cost?
* * *
Gavin looked down at the man they called Kaiden. Near them, some women clustered around Lhaurel’s fallen form, conversing in hushed tones. They said she was still alive. Gavin leaned against his greatsword and watched Kaiden’s body slide down onto the rocks. Kaiden looked suddenly old, as if he had somehow aged thirty years in a moment.
“You fools,” Kaiden rasped, blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. “The enemy is coming. You cannot stand against them without me.”
Gavin looked out over the sands, surveying the clansmen who still lived. All of them clustered together around the rock upon which they stood. They raised weapons in the air. Men, women, and children. The genesauri lay dead around the Oasis, bodies dripping blood into the sand. As one, the survivors took up a chant, voices mingling into one cacophonous sound.
“Freedom!”
“We’ve already won,” Gavin said.
Kaiden blinked a few times and struggled to say something, but all that came out was a gurgling noise that could have been taken as a laugh.
Gavin turned away from him. He basked in the sound of voices united. Men and women hugged one another or else clasped small children to them, tears streaming down their faces despite the lack of pure, precious water. People from different clans, even outcasts, laughed and cried and shouted their victory to the sky. Arm in arm. Hand in hand. He wished his grandmother could have been there to see it.
He raised his greatsword high into the air.
“Peace!”
Epilogue
Khari paused for a moment at the back of the procession, squinting up into the sky. Were those clouds? The strange, billowing balls of fluff floated through the air like grey sheep that had learned to fly. In the distance, she heard a distant sound of thunder. The rains were coming early, too. After the Migration, after everything they’d just been through, they had to deal with more change?
Khari turned back to the convoy and resumed walking, quickening her step so she could catch up to the two litters being born across the sands and trying to hide a scowl. Lhaurel lay on one of the litters, straining and thrashing against the loose bonds that held her in place and kept her from injuring herself. Khari put a hand to the woman’s wrist, checking the weak pulse. Looking at her, Khari couldn’t suppress a small shudder. She didn’t fully understand what had gone on, but it was clear now that Lhaurel was not a wetta at all, but something else entirely. Something far more powerful and sinister.
“Is she going to make it?”
The voice was young, yet strong and genuinely concerned. Khari looked up into Gavin’s eyes, walking along on the other side of the second litter. Khari knew nothing about the young man other than what had been told to her following the battle, but the clans, those who were not Roterralar, were treating him as if he were king. He’d killed Taren and, to the Rahuli, that was worthy of their honor and respect.
“I don’t know,” Khari said, honestly. She’d tried to heal Lhaurel, but whatever was going on inside the woman was not something over which her powers held sway.
“She—she looks different.”
Khari didn’t answer right away. It was obvious, looking at Lhaurel’s blood red hair and nails and the absolute paleness, almost translucence, of her skin.
“Power comes with a cost. It always comes with a cost. If she comes through this, I’m not sure she’ll ever be the same. With what she did, the mental strain alone could have completely crushed her mind. I really don’t know.”
Khari trailed off, looking over to the other litter. Kaiden rested there. Wrinkles covered his face and hands now, and his hair had bleached white as if aged. Immediately, Khari felt a flare of sharp, hot anger. He’d betrayed them all. He’d killed Makin, killed Tieran. He was nothing short of a murderer. If Khari had had her way, Kaiden would never have gotten up off the rocks. But Gavin and several of the surviving clan leaders had defended him, if only for the sake of gathering information. Gavin walked near him, Khari was sure, partly to ensure she didn’t try anything. Regardless, Khari wasn’t even going to attempt to heal him.
“Are you sure your warren will hold us all?” Gavin asked. He’d already asked the question before, so he had to be trying to draw her attention away from the man.
“Yes. As I said, we’ll be safe there, though we’ll face some logistics problems soon. We don’t have the stores to support this many people.”
“We’ll face that challenge when we come to it. But if what you say is true and your warren has protected you from the Migrations for all these years, why haven’t you shown yourselves before?”
Khari sighed. She’d wondered when that subject would come up.
“I don’t have to explain my or my people’s actions to anyone. Let’s just worry about getting there.”
Gavin nodded and looked out over the procession. She was a little surprised he didn’t push it any further.
The surviving Rahuli trudged through the sand, the Oasis already a small blip on the horizon behind them. There were so few of them left, perhaps only a few hundred. The remains of the two clans who had hidden within the Oasis walls walked at the center of the procession, surrounded by warriors from the other clans, those who could still hold a sword. No one but the children had escaped unscathed. These ran around the procession, subdued but delighting in the sudden release from the confines of the Oasis. That the two traitorous clans had not simply been abandoned was another of Gavin’s doings. They needed unity, he claimed. Khari wasn’t so su
re.
“Khari.”
Khari jumped, looking down.
Lhaurel stared up at her, eyes open wide.
Khari rushed to her side, marveling that the woman could be awake. When she got close, though, Khari realized Lhaurel’s eyes were unfocused, gazing off into some unseen distance. There was no recognition in those eyes.
“Death,” Lhaurel whispered. “Death and blood—death and blood—dead—dead everywhere. Can’t escape . . .”
Lhaurel’s voice trailed off, and she began thrashing against the bonds again, her mouth still moving in a silent chant.
Thunder rumbled in the distance behind them. A single tear dripped from the corner of Khari’s eye, but she blinked away the rest before they could fall. Crying was a waste of precious water.
* * *
Within the confines of the Roterralar Warren, Beryl huddled in a dark corner of the weapons room, wind screaming against the thick leather door through which the aevians entered. His bad leg lay sprawled out in the sand, the other pulled up tight against his chest, held there by his thick, muscular arms.
“Bloodlines,” he muttered, slowly rocking back and forth. “The bloodlines have converged. She is one of them.”
The rocking stilled, and his hands relaxed, his expression hardening and his lips curling into a slow smile. He’d felt her break, felt the powerful wave of massive strength and energy. She had killed them all. Such power.
“One of us,” he said in a strong voice.
His grip tightened again, and the rocking resumed. His voice fell to almost a whisper.
“The Orinai must be told.”
He sent the signal.
Acknowledgements
This book is primarily for Kaitlynn, who upholds the flame.
However, I would be remiss if I did not name the others who were also important to the process. My writing group, Team Unleashed, has provided invaluable assistance. The people at Future House have been wonderful to work with and I thank each of them in turn—they know who they are. My parents also deserve their moment, for supporting me when I needed support and giving me tough love.
And finally, the two who originally inspired me to write: Kevin Bailey and Ms. Wolfe. Thanks for the motivation to start. May death’s shadow pass over you all. Always.
STORMS
Future House Publishing
Text © 2016 Kevin L. Nielsen
Cover illustration © 2016 Future House Publishing
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the written permission of Future House Publishing at rights@futurehousepublishing.com.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either
the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN 10: 0-9966193-4-8 (paperbound
ISBN 13: 978-0-9966193-4-9 (paperbound)
Cover illustration by Garrett Hamon
Developmental editing by Mandi Diaz
Substantive editing by Emma Hoggan
Copy editing by Holly Astle
Interior design by Emma Hoggan
Storms
Part 1: Failure
Chapter 1: Voices in the Dark
Chapter 2: Broken Ties
Chapter 3: Squaring to the Stone
Part 2: Conqueror
Chapter 4: Outcast
Chapter 5: Monster
Chapter 6: Chance
Chapter 7: Lost
Chapter 8: Reconciliation
Chapter 9: Samsin’s Folly
Chapter 10: Hints of Discovery
Chapter 11: Blasphemy
Part 3: Mystic
Chapter 12: Stories on the Sand
Chapter 13: Love’s Cost
Chapter 14: Feelings
Chapter 15: Brisson
Chapter 16: Broken Powers
Chapter 17: Prisoner
Chapter 18: Confrontation
Chapter 19: Guilt and Justice
Chapter 20: Fresh Sweat
Part 4: Leader
Chapter 21: Stains
Chapter 22: Hidden Sister
Chapter 23: Fear
Chapter 24: Honor
Part 5: Survivor
Chapter 25: Orinai
Chapter 26: Desperation
Chapter 27: Power
Chapter 28: Mountain Snow
Epilogue
This book is primarily Liliane's. She is her father's little princess. And this book is also for Kaitlynn, who upholds the flame.
Part 1: Failure
Chapter 1: Voices in the Dark
“On the nature of the powers of those called “mystics” by the Rahuli people: The magic, if it can be called such, is an extension of abilities already granted to men by whomever or whatever created them. Though they may appear as a manipulation of the elements in a fantastic, unexplainable manner, this is merely the outward appearance. These abilities are easily quantified and categorized.”
—From Commentary on the Schema, Volume I
Beryl fought down the voices clamoring within his mind. What Lhaurel had done, what she had become, Beryl hadn’t thought possible. Not this time. Not again. His memories from that time in his past were scattered, partitioned away in the far corners of his mind where he kept the voices. And that sword the outcast boy had with him . . .
Beryl growled to himself and limped through the narrow halls of the Roterralar Warren, pushing back the voices and the memories. He strode through the less-used passages, grateful that he hadn’t encountered anyone up to that point. He so rarely left the comfort of his smithy and he was more than a little surly at having to leave it now. But Khari had summoned him, and despite the majority of the voices in his mind protesting the fact, she was now the leader of the Roterralar.
Khari waited for him further down the passage, one foot tapping impatiently against the sand-strewn floor. A crack in the ceiling allowed a narrow beam of light to filter down over the woman’s face, lightening the cloudy expression which darkened her features. Her once-black hair shone with grey. Beryl remembered when she’d first come to the Roterralar, so many years ago. He’d been old even then. Khari, however, had aged far more gracefully.
“What was so sands-cursed important that it couldn’t be discussed in my forge?” Beryl asked without preamble.
Khari scowled, but gestured for Beryl to follow her.
Beryl didn’t move. “What do you need?” Beryl repeated, an edge of gruffness creeping into his voice.
“What’s put you in such a foul mood, Beryl?”
The voices shouted a half-dozen different responses, none of which would have earned him the woman’s praise. Instead, Beryl simply grunted.
“You’ve been like this ever since we got back from—” Khari hesitated. “From the Oasis.”
“Is there a point to all this?”
Khari’s lips hardened into a thin line and the set of her jaw firmed. Beryl noted the shift in emotion, but didn’t care.
“You know something about what happened, don’t you? Lhaurel—she’s still out, even now, a whole fortnight later. She mutters strange things in her sleep, things about blood and death.”
The voices rose to shouts within his mind.
“Old things are awakening,” Beryl said, echoing one of the voices. “With the genesauri gone, I fear things have been set in motion that should have remained still.”
“Are they truly gone, Beryl? How do you know?”
Beryl didn’t answer at first, listening to one of the voices. People often thought him slow of thought—those that didn’t know him at least. Most times, however, the delay came not from a lack of thought, but from trying to decide which of the voices to allow precedence. Usually, he simply ignored them all, but every now and then one of the voices was able to come up with a modicum of sense.
“They’re gone,” he said.
With a growl, Beryl wrestled back control. He almost shuddered as memory welled up within him at the contact with his past self.
Khari regarded him with pursed lips, brow furrowed.
“You didn’t bring me here to talk about Lhaurel,” Beryl growled.
“No,” Khari said at length. “No, I didn’t. I brought you here because Farah needs help with the task I’ve given her.”
Beryl grunted. Farah was one of the relampagos—a young one, if he recalled correctly.
“What task is that?”
“To make weapons that can’t be manipulated by mystics.”
Beryl blinked and narrowed his eyes against the pain of memory and shouting voices. Images of greatswords impervious to magneteloriums and the cries of the dying and the damned made a discordant symphony within the halls of his memory. It was starting. Before the Orinai had even responded to his message, the Rahuli were returning to their roots.
“Glass?” Beryl asked, voice subdued. That had to be what they were using. The other weapons, the other forms, those were things only he knew.
“She can’t get the balance right. It’s hard enough directing the flow of energy through the sand, but even grinding the result down afterward is yielding poor results.” There was an edge to Khari’s voice, a hardening of steel. She had handled Makin Qays’s death well, at least on the surface. But Beryl recognized the barely concealed anger hidden beneath the exterior mask.
“I will help,” he said, sealing his fate.
“Good,” Khari said. “She’s in the lower hall next to the healing room.”