by J. Thorn
“Tell me again what you just said.”
“That half locket,” said Jonah, pointing at the trinket hanging from Morlan’s neck, “was worn by my mother when she was alive. It was given to her as a gift, before my father and the T’Yun took the northern villages. She was a slave there, she had said. She told me the story more than once when I was younger. They didn’t kill her, and my father claimed her as his property. She said her younger brother gave her the locket as a gift, and he used to wear the other half, but she believed the other half lost in the forest when the T’Yun raided. She never saw her brother again, but she said his name was Mo.”
Jonah could tell, just by the man’s change of stance, that Morlan had come to the same conclusion. All around them, the gathered clans of both sides had fallen almost silent, but Jonah could hear a murmur ripple through the gathered Cygoa.
“That was what she called me,” said Morlan. ”My sister.”
“My mother,” said Jonah. "You are my mother’s brother, who fled with the rest when the T’Yun raided the northern villages. She spoke of you. She wished you well and she hoped that you had survived.”
“We were slaves.” Morlan’s voice wavered. “But that changed when the Cygoa fled to the north. Slaves were freed. Are you telling me that she married Judas? She married the leader of the T’Yun?”
“She was a slave. The T’Yun did not free slaves unless they married. She told me that my father claimed her and that she had no choice, but she grew to accept it...until...I don’t remember the day very clearly. I was young, maybe only three or four. She woke me one morning and told me we had to leave. I asked her why and where we were going, but she just said ‘north.’ I never questioned it. If my mother said we were leaving then we were. I remember running through the woods, and I remember hearing shouting, and then they caught us. I never really understood it.”
“Who caught you?” asked Morlan.
“The warriors of the village. We were separated and taken back to the village, but something went wrong. My father said there had been an accident...A wild boar had attacked...and that she had fallen. They buried her a few days later.”
“She was trying to escape,” said Morlan.
“That doesn’t make sense.” Jonah shook his head. “She was loyal to my people.”
“No. I doubt that. She was loyal to you, not your father. She must have been trying to flee north to the Cygoa lands. So your father had her killed.”
“I do not believe that.” An edge of anger returned to Jonah’s voice.
“Do you not? Maybe with time you will.”
“How so?” asked Jonah. “You mean to kill me in vengeance, and I will not surrender my people to slavery.”
“And I will not kill my sister’s son and my only blood kin,” said Morlan, his voice carrying across the battlefield.
As the Cygoa behind Morlan shuffled and murmured, Jonah realized that this was not for his benefit, but for the horde that stood behind Morlan.
After a moment, Jonah heard a thud, a banging noise coming from behind the Cygoa line. Then more joined, hitting weapons upon shields until the hammering was as loud as a massive herd of animals. The Cygoa began to chant a word that Jonah did not recognize Uth or Truth or some mixture of those two words. He frowned, confused.
“It seems your warriors won’t accept anything less than my death.” Jonah raised his ax once more, moving into a fighting stance.
At this Morlan smiled, but this time it had warmth behind it. “You misunderstand. They heard every word that we’ve spoken, and now they are calling for me to accept you as my blood.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means they want me to name you as my kin. If you truly are my sister’s son, then you are my only living relative, my heir, and this war is over.”
Jonah took a step back. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Morlan stepped forward, lowering his hammer, reaching an arm out.
How could this be? How could events turn so swiftly? All the battling with the Cygoa and it could end now because this man who led them, war leader of his people, was his uncle.
Morlan took a step forward but then stopped and stumbled, grasping at his neck. His eyes went wide, and he pulled something away from his skin. Jonah could see blood trickle down Morlan’s neck as the man stared at something he now held in his hand — a dart.
Jonah rushed forward as Morlan began to fall and caught him before he hit the ground. He looked in the direction the dart must have come from, and saw just a building...no...there — movement inside the shadows. He pointed.
“There! Assassin!” but his words ended when he felt a sharp pain in his exposed upper arm. He stared in shock at the dart protruding from his skin.
There was a cry of rage from the Cygoa and some of the shield wall opened up. Warriors rushed forward to help their leader.
“Who did this?” one of them bellowed.
Jonah tried to point at the building, but barely managed to lift his arm. The Cygoa warrior stepped toward him and stared at the dart stuck in his arm. He snatched the thing from Jonah’s flesh, and sniffed at the point.
“They are both poisoned!” The warrior turned in the direction of the building Jonah had indicated.
Jonah felt a thud in his chest as his heart quickened. He looked down, and saw that Morlan was shaking violently, the poison already working its way through his system. The world spun, and Jonah sagged backward. It would come for him too, very soon, he thought.
He heard the gates grinding open behind him and many footfalls as his own people came out from the barrier. No, he thought. The Cygoa, they could slaughter everyone now, but he didn’t have the strength to tell them to flee back behind the walls.
Rough hands stopped him from falling, and they were not those of his own warriors. He opened his eyes to a blurred world but saw clearly enough to see that he was being held up by a Cygoa. “Protect them!” the warrior screamed.
Another voice cut through the air. “This was not our doing!”
Whose voice was that? Ghafir, he thought. It was Ghafir.
“The attack came from the building!” shouted someone else, another voice that Jonah recognized but could not place.
“Find them!” screamed another Cygoa, one of the other leaders. “Find the culprit and bring them here!”
Jonah could feel his legs turning to jelly. Someone poisoned me, and now it could unravel every hope that he just had of the war ending. It could all fall apart right now.
“On the roof,” called a woman.
Was it Sasha? He couldn’t tell. No, he knew the voice, but it was not Sasha. This was Seren.
“Who are you?” asked the loud Cygoa. “There has been treachery!”
“We’re here to help,” said Seren.
“Let me look at them,” said another voice Jonah recognized. The world rapidly faded. Who was this last voice? Abernathy from the base?
“Show me,” the voice said.
Then a moment later “A poison dart.”
Other voices chimed in, shouts, accusations, but still Jonah heard no drawing of weapons. He could feel his heart thumping his chest.
“These are poisoned,” said Abernathy.
“There,” said the Cygoa. “I told you it was treachery. They poisoned Morlan.”
“But you can see that both are poisoned,” said Seren. “This was not our doing. This must’ve been the Valk or someone else.”
Cries of rage came from the Cygoa.
“I need to get them back to the base,” said Abernathy. “If you want your leaders to live, you need to put aside your differences and listen to me. I may only have minutes, but if I can get them to the base, we have medicine, antidotes. We may be able to save them.”
“As he bids,” said the Cygoa leader. “Cygoa! Go quickly! Carry these and follow this man. The rest of you, spread out! Find who did this!”
Jonah drifted in and out of consciousness. He felt himself being lifted, or was he floating?
The world came and went until darkness claimed both day and night.
Chapter 43
The men had squared off for the fight. The forces faced each other, hurling insults and cries of war as the two leaders moved in a circle at the foot of the wall. She’d watched as the man in the armor swung his massive hammer and Jonah, the leader of the clans had avoided it, and she’d watched as the battle swayed from one warrior to the next, but then, as if caused by the unseen hands of the dark ancestors, everything changed.
Ruk nearly screamed with rage as the two leaders of men fell to the ground. First, the tall one, the leader Morlan in his dark armor collapsed, and then Jonah. When Morlan fell, she had frowned as she watched through the telescopic sight on her crossbow. She had the shot lined up, and the second crossbow ready at her side. It would have taken seconds, her place among the ancestors guaranteed.
She had been about to fire when she saw the dart appear in the tall man’s throat and it took just a moment for her to realize what was happening. When Jonah stumbled and fell, she used the sites on the crossbow to close in on what had struck him.
Another dart, identical to the first, protruded from his arm. She narrowed her eyes with concentration and was about to take the shot anyway, to strike while the two were still alive, but then she saw how the tall one shuddered. Poison. It was too late. The lives of these two men had already been claimed. It would be that way. The poison would take time to kill them even if that time was short, but death would happen, and so no matter if she killed the two men now. In the eyes of the ancestors, the kills had already been claimed.
Another hunter. It had to be. Someone else had beaten her to the ultimate prey and it wouldn’t matter now. A dart such as the ones that had struck the two men would not have done any real damage, but both had fallen.
She scanned the tops of the buildings, searching for the one who had wronged her. Revenge was what she would have, at least, yet no one moved upon the rooftops and she could see clearly across all of the buildings that would have provided enough elevation for a clear shot.
The disturbance from below was becoming louder, people arguing and shouting. Soon they would realize what had happened and turn their attentions outward, and she needed to be away before that happened. But she saw nothing as she scoured the shadowy areas of the roof tops, looking for a spot where someone could have hidden.
Then she saw it, a glimpse of movement through the top floor window opposite the building she stood upon. It was the slightest of flickers, a shadow wavering across the first opening, and then another, and she realized that the hunter had not been upon the roof at all. They’d been inside the building.
She felt a burn of anger, her eyes narrowing to vengeful slits as the cries from the road below grew louder still. She heard a loud bang, and felt the air next to her shift as something rushed past her at speed. Down in the street, people dove for the ground and warriors sprawled on their bellies to hide from the thunderous noise.
She spun back to the street and glared. There, standing not far from where several people gathered around their fallen leaders, was the one she had heard of, the female that wielded the thunder, and she had both hands raised and pointed straight at Ruk.
Ruk could see that the female had something grasped between her fingers — a device.
The thing that brings the thunder, she thought. As she ducked another loud bang rang out, but she was not waiting to be struck by whatever ancient technology the female wielded, and was already up and sprinting across the rooftop. She would be away from this place before the female could trace her, and she would follow the one who fled the building opposite.
She reached the other end of the rooftop, and leapt onto the metal stairway quickly. She would not have long before the crowd was chasing her, and without her warriors around her she knew the female with the thunder could best her. The female was coming, and Ruk still intended to kill the one who had stolen her position among the ancestors, for maybe then she could reclaim the honor.
As she hurried down the stairwell the figure hurried away down the back alley. She grabbed for the still loaded crossbow, but the figure disappeared around a corner.
At least I know where you are heading, she thought as she hit the ground below and took off at a run. The figure had turned a corner far up the alleyway, and Ruk gave chase. This mortal would not live to see the end of the day, for Ruk knew she could move much faster than they. The warriors of the Valk did not fear their mistress for no reason. She sprinted as fast as her legs would take her, along the alleyway and turning into the side alley, closing the distance.
Seconds was all she needed.
Chapter 44
Gaston stumbled down the steps, coughing, but that didn’t slow him down. He was out of breath, having run so hard, but at the same time he was elated, his nerves on fire. Both of them. He’d struck both of them, and they’d fallen. The poison would take effect slowly over the next day, but their deaths were inevitable.
He let his mind wander back in time when he had led the pilgrims to White Citadel. How small the world had seemed then despite the hundreds of miles of road he had walked. This war seemed so unnecessary. If only the leaders had listened to him, paid attention to his wise insights. He could have saved so much bloodshed if only they’d put the crown on his head. But they hadn’t and so here he was, hiding and waiting.
But what next? How should he proceed? His mind raced at the thought. All of the possibilities. The next few days would be critical to his future, and to that of all the clans. He would hide for now, stay low, so that those who might suspect him would look in other directions for the culprit. Someone would be blamed, and it would not be him.
No one, as far as he knew, had even known that he was in the city unless one of those damn acolytes of his spoke up, and he suspected that they wouldn’t. They feared not only him, but the other clan leaders. And if Morlan died, as he would expect to happen, in the next day, the Cygoa would begin to argue about who should take over leadership. The same would happen within the Wytheville clans and their allies. In a few days, after he had stayed hidden and left it to stew long enough for the pair of them to die, he would emerge, he would turn up with words of wisdom and persuasion.
He could unite them, he thought. All of them.
This was the perfect opportunity. He could bring all of the clans together under his rule. It would just take the right words to the right people. The Cygoa would be the easiest, but the clans, not so much so. There would still be people who remembered his actions from before, in taking some of the Elk away, but if he could get the Cygoa on his side they could enslave the clans if necessary. Yes, he thought, as he stumbled into the darkness of the underground chamber where his bedding lay in the corner, his travel sack next to it.
He’d found the place days before, having sneaked into the city ahead of the Cygoa. There were alleyways and underpasses in this city, several he’d discovered as he prowled around. There were ways to get past the barricades that had been placed in defense. If only you took the time to look.
He would be safe here for a few days while he hid, he thought, and then...then he would emerge and begin his work.
He looked down at the bedroll. For now, it was time to rest. He dropped the dark pipe next to his bedroll and then fell to his knees, exhausted.
“Who are you that presumes to steal my prey?” asked a deep, female voice, from behind him.
Gaston spun around, reached to his belt, but then felt the cold touch of steel against his throat.
“I don’t think so,” said the woman.
Gaston took his hands away from the belt and held them out.
“Please. I mean no harm,” he said. “I am no danger to you.”
Then he caught the odor coming from the woman — a deep, earthy smell. There was something else there too, something rotten and acrid. He could only see some of the woman’s features. Was this a vagrant?
“No,” she said, then took a step to the side. �
�You are not.”
Light from the stairwell shone on one side of her face. Gaston saw pale skin and dark eyes, and more. He saw sharpened teeth. “No, you are not a threat,” she continued. “Name yourself.”
“Like I said. I mean no harm.”
“Name yourself.” Along with her demand, Gaston felt the touch of the blade at his throat increase in pressure.
“I am Gaston,” he said, then regretted telling her his real name. He could have lied.
“Gaston,” said the woman. “You stole from me.”
“I did not intend to steal anything. Please, if I have wronged you then tell me how. If I have taken something that is yours, I was unaware. I will return it to you.”
“The ones named Jonah and Morlan,” she said. “They were mine to take, and yet you have stolen their lives.”
Gaston shuddered. This wasn’t what he had expected. Maybe some small item discarded on the street? Something he had picked up, maybe? But to have stolen Jonah and Morlan? He had poisoned them, sure, and now he knew that he had been seen doing so, but how could that be theft?
“I don’t understand. How have I stolen them?”
The woman answered, her breath reeking like cold, wet dirt. “With your poison. You have taken their lives, and they were not yours to claim.”
“I intended to end the war.” He enunciated each word clearly, hoping that his voice sounded calm. Diplomacy, his greatest skill, his words. He needed them, now.
“To what purpose? The war brings souls to the chamber of ancestors.”
Gaston frowned. Ancestors? Chamber? The woman must surely be delusional. “They were leading the clans against each other, when all people could live in peace.”
“You must pay for what you have taken,” said the woman, but Gaston pushed out, shoving the woman away.
The knife flicked across his cheek, cutting deep. He stumbled back, reaching for his own blade and managed to draw it. He was about to lash out, but the woman didn’t approach him again. Instead, she took two steps back and raised a hand. She held something up, but he couldn’t see it in the darkness. There was a loud click and Gaston felt an impact in his chest. He staggered back and clutched his heart, dropping the knife. A shaft of dark wood protruded from the left side of his chest.
