by Claire Luana
The forest’s previous coyness regarding the location of the sacred caves had vanished. The vegetation parted for him, revealing the path, propelling them forward. Faster, faster, it seemed to say. He ran as best he could without disturbing the precious cargo in his arms. Rika’s eyes flickered back and forth behind her long, dark lashes, her breathing uneven. Her head lolled back against his shoulder, her neck as limp as a flower petal. The plant medicine he had given her seemed to be keeping her alive. No more blood flowed from the wound. But for how long?
“I am dying to hear your story, my friend.” Cayono puffed behind them as they traversed up a hillside along a tumbling stream. “Where did this girl come from? How did you find her?”
“Another world,” Vikal said. “And dumb luck. I will tell you all if we make it to Goa Awan.”
“When we make it,” Cayono said pointedly.
“Right.”
The terrain was growing steeper, the river fuller. “I know this place,” one of the former thralls called from where he jogged behind Cayono. “There’s a waterfall up ahead.” Vikal felt a stab of guilt that he hadn’t gotten the men’s names. He was normally better about making the time to get to know those around him, to give his subjects their due attention. But right now, there was only one thing that mattered. Rika. The thought of losing her terrified him, and that fact alone left him uneasy and confused. Surely, it was just what Rika meant that made her so precious to him—she was his only hope of freeing his people and defeating the soul-eaters.
Over the crest of an emerald hill a waterfall came into view—a hazy deluge thundering into the jungle below. The path ended abruptly at a wall of dark volcanic rock, slicked by the waterfall’s rainbow mist. Vikal knelt and gently laid Rika on the soft springy undergrowth, stretching his aching arms with a groan.
“Where has the forest led us, Vikal?” Cayono asked, placing his palm on the rock and looking up the soaring expanse. “A dead end? Why would it do this?”
Vikal had been thinking the exact same thing but held his tongue. Perhaps he was still not worthy of the secrets of Goa Awan. Perhaps the island had weighed him—his failures, his crimes against its people—and had found him wanting. Or perhaps—a small frightened voice suggested—he would be retaken by the soul-eaters. A cold wave of panic swept over him at the thought, threatening to pull him under. He couldn’t go back. He wouldn’t. He’d rather die first. Better die a coward than live a thrall.
“Vikal?” Cayono’s voice was gentle.
With a shaking breath, Vikal clawed free of the fears. Perhaps the island wouldn’t show him Goa Awan. But Rika needed help. And it had brought them here for a reason. With a worried glance at Rika, Vikal stepped up beside Cayono, examining the cliff face. There was nowhere to go. A torrent of water to their right, a crumbling slope a few yards to the left. From here, the whole of the soul-eaters’ devastation was visible, a cruel black scar through Nua’s picturesque landscape. “I don’t know,” Vikal admitted. “The path seemed so clear.”
“Gusti,” one of the other two men said—the taller one. “A few vines up there are acting strange.”
Vikal looked up with his third eye open. Sure enough, the man was right. The vegetation was pulsing with movement and life. The path led—up.
“How in the world…?” Vikal said, looking back at Rika.
“We go up?” Cayono asked.
Vikal nodded.
“I have an idea.”
And so they found themselves climbing, Rika strapped to Cayono’s back with an overabundance of vines. Her head lolled against his burly shoulder, her arms and legs hanging down limply, waving with Cayono’s every movement. Vikal climbed below Cayono and hardly noticed the precariousness of his own ascent, so fixed was he on watching Rika’s form. “How is she doing?” he called.
“How is she doing? How am I doing!” Cayono grunted. “She is sleeping like a baby! I am the one stuck on the side of a mountain! Man is not meant for these heights. The gods would have made us monkeys.”
Vikal knew Cayono’s words were meant to lift his spirits, to make him laugh. But his ragged nerves left no room for humor. If the harness slipped…there was nothing they could do to stop Rika from plummeting to the ground far below. He tugged at the threads of the vines holding Rika, infusing them with his own will—ordering, pleading with them to be strong. To hold firm to this most precious of cargo.
“A ledge!” Cayono called. “I think…we might be there!”
Vikal prayed it was true, and with a burst of strength, made his way to where Cayono now stood. Vikal pulled himself up onto a ragged outcropping of rock that ran perpendicular to the waterfall, disappearing behind its spray.
“Is this it?” Cayono asked, massaging his hands.
Vikal scooted over to give the other two men room on the ledge. Without thinking, he smoothed Rika’s hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear. She was so still now, her lovely features pale once again. The adrenaline and energy of the plant medicine was waning.
“Let us hope so,” Vikal said. “Rika has little time left.”
Cayono inched forward on the ledge, hugging the cliff face as the path disappeared into the roaring darkness behind the waterfall. The tiny jutting of rock opened into a wide tunnel, completely hidden from the outside world. Vikal peered into the dim light but saw nothing. Cayono unwrapped the vines from his torso and Vikal was there ready to catch Rika as she slipped off Cayono’s back. “Thank you for carrying her, bak.”
“It is my honor.” Cayono clapped him on the shoulder. “Into the dark?”
“No way but forward.”
They crept forward until all light from the entrance had dimmed. There was nothing but rock and breathing, the heavy weight of the unknown.
Vikal didn’t know how long they had been moving when a light bloomed in the distance. A strange light. A dim lavender glow.
“I see something,” he hissed.
“What is it—woah!” Cayono said, coming up short, his hands raised.
Four men had materialized from the darkness. And four spear points were leveled at them.
CHAPTER 16
“EASY,” VIKAL SAID. “It is Vikal and Cayono. We are here to help.” And for help.
“Out of the way,” a gruff voice said, shoving aside one of the men who was now lowering his spear. “You are late,” Sarnak said, his black eyes gleaming in the darkness. The man looked the same—orange robes, bald head, lines in his face as deep as the furrows on a fresh field.
Vikal grinned in relief, overcome with gratitude at the sight of his old mentor. “Better late than never.”
Sarnak waved a gnarled hand for them to follow before turning and disappearing into the depths of the tunnel, the light of his floating orb bobbing before him. The orb was the most mysterious of the totems of the gods, giving Sarnak the ability to gaze into the past or the future. Or just show off by making it defy gravity.
Vikal and Cayono exchanged a glance before hurrying to follow. They came to a junction in the tunnels and took the left, diving deeper into the blackness. Sarnak stooped low while he shuffled along, though the tunnel was tall enough for even Cayono to pass without ducking his head. The tunnel deposited them into a large room. Vikal looked around, letting his eyes adjust to the purple light that glowed from recesses on the wall, illuminating half a dozen beds of leaves and cloth. A sick ward.
“Come, come,” Sarnak said, walking to the bed on the end and motioning for them to deposit Rika. Her breathing was faint, her skin sallow. It was like she was already gone.
“Can you save her?” Vikal didn’t think he could bear returning to his people only to fail them once again.
“It is not time for her ending. She will live.”
Vikal heaved a huge sigh of relief, stepping back. Weariness swept over him as the adrenaline of their frantic flight drained away.
Cayono clapped a hand on Vikal’s back. “Well done, bak.”
“It was your fast thinking that saw u
s here,” Vikal said.
“Yes, yes, a parade for each of you. Now, there must be silence if I am to do my job,” Sarnak snapped, pulling Rika’s shirt up slowly to reveal her wound. The stiff shirt fought him, the blood crusting the fabric to her skin.
Vikal suppressed the urge to hug Sarnak. Over his years of training, he had learned to love Sarnak’s straightforward gruffness. It was refreshing to hear such truth spoken, especially for a king.
Cayono just shook his head. “I would like to find my sister,” he whispered, motioning to the tunnel entrance.
Vikal nodded.
Sarnak, without looking up from examining Rika, shook his hand at one of the little recesses filled with light. “Take a lantern. Dark out there.”
Cayono squeezed Vikal’s shoulder before grabbing a light and vanishing into the darkness.
“This is unusual, unusual indeed.” Sarnak was looking past him, staring over Vikal’s shoulder. Vikal turned to look at what he was staring at, but there was nothing. “What?”
“You come bearing ghosts,” Sarnak said. Sarnak pointed behind Vikal again, and again he saw nothing. Nothing except a Nuan, hurrying over with hot water and clean cloth. “My Gusti.” She inclined her head, setting the supplies down. “You have returned.”
“I have. With a very important ally. We must save this woman,” Vikal said. “She can kill soul-eaters.”
Sarnak’s head shot up at that.
Vikal suppressed a smirk of satisfaction. It wasn’t often he surprised Sarnak.
“Goddess of bright light,” Sarnak said, surveying Rika with a keen eye. “Yes, I see it is so. But a stranger to our land.”
“I did not know such a thing was possible,” Vikal said.
“We will speak of this once she is well. For now, stay out of our way.” Sarnak and the Nuan woman leaned over Rika and began to go to work.
Vikal was pacing at the end of the bed when a scream ripped from Rika’s throat. She tried to sit up, but he was at her side in a flash, pushing aside the nurse, pressing her back down gently.
“Shhhh,” he said, taking her face in his hands, trying to find her within the wildness of those gray eyes. “Rika, stay still. They’re sewing up your wound.”
She seemed to register his presence and relaxed against the bed. He stroked the velvet skin of her temple with his thumb, speaking to her in Nuan. He didn’t know what he was saying—words of comfort his mother used to whisper when he was a very young and sick or scared.
“Where…?” she croaked.
“Some water?” Vikal said to the Nuan nurse, who reached for a bowl and cloth. The woman leaned over Vikal to dribble water across Rika’s lips. She gulped it up greedily.
“That’s enough for now,” he said, gesturing to the nurse with a sharp motion of his head.
Rika glared at him before hissing in pain as Sarnak made another stitch with the needle.
Vikal chuckled. “You can have more in a moment. You seem to have gotten your spirit back. That’s a good sign.”
A half-smile broke across her face. Her eyelids fluttered. She was slipping back into unconsciousness.
“Sleep,” Vikal said. “Heal.” He stroked the side of her face until her breathing evened, mesmerized by the sight of her. He brushed her hair back from her forehead, marveling at its softness.
“All right, good job,” Sarnak snapped. “Now didn’t I tell you to stay the hell out of our way? Over there. Sit.” He pointed across the room and Vikal stood, his face flushing at the chastisement.
Vikal walked stiffly to a ledge of stone and collapsed onto it, leaning back. The cave wall was dewy with cold, leeching the warmth from his body, pulling the heat from his cheeks. It felt good. He closed his eyes, trying to forget what he had just found himself doing. What had come over him? He was just feeling grateful that Rika would live. Yes. The girl was a fighter. Strong and braver than he had given her credit for. Her face flashed before him—square jaw, smooth olive skin, that little gap that peeked from between her teeth when she smiled. Ebony hair that had felt so soft beneath his hand. Guilt spasmed in him as he thought of another whose silken strands he used to run his fingers through. Sarya. So different. Playful and full of laughter while Rika was fierce and strong, with iron in her bones. Dear gods, he had no right to compare them. To see Rika as anything but an ally. Perhaps a friend. Never mind what the lore might say.
Vikal found himself wrapped in a dream of Sarya—of their past. It was the day of silence, one of the high holy days of the Nuan calendar. The day where the whole island fell silent, tiptoed about with bated breath so the sea demons couldn’t find them, couldn’t attack and kill and maim. He had been twelve, playing hide and seek with Bahti and Sarya in the jungle outside Meru Karkita, the most magnificent of Nua’s many temples. His sight gave him an unfair advantage, so Sarya and Bahti had made him promise that the jungle wouldn’t aid him. He hadn’t promised he wouldn’t use his abilities to get comfortable, though, so he had crafted an expert hiding place out of a hammock of vines up in the shade of the canopy. He was dozing when something pinched his big toe. He surged awake and squirmed to see what it was, nearly falling out of the hammock. It was Sarya, her hair braided over one shoulder, a delighted look on her face. “I found you!” she exclaimed—before clapping her hands over her mouth.
Vikal dropped down from the hammock, looking all around for witnesses. You talked! he mouthed, his eyes wide. The importance of the tradition had been drilled into them year after year. If the day wasn’t observed with absolute silence, the sea demons would come ashore, and a sacrifice would be required to placate them—to keep them from devouring all they found in their path.
Sarya pulled herself up straight and dropped her hands. “I’m not afraid,” she said, though her voice quavered. “I will be the sacrifice.”
A rustling in the jungle to their left made them both jump, and Vikal was at Sarya’s side in a blink, his hand over her mouth. They stood as still as stones as the foliage moved. Fear squeezed his chest with a vise grip. Was it a demon? Part of him, the conscious part that knew that this was a memory, remembered Bahti emerging from the trees, squat and scowling, waving away a fly. But this dream twisted the past into something new. It was not Bahti that brushed aside the green leaves—not this time. Instead, a twisted nightmare emerged—a three-fingered hand wrapped in an iron gauntlet, followed by Seven—the soul-eater who now held his totem.
Sarya screamed into his hand as the creature looked down upon them with baleful green eyes, reaching one of its four arms out for her. Vikal was frozen to the spot, small and trembling, too terrified to defend himself or Sarya. Just as he had been when the soul-eater had taken her in real life. “I will feast on the soul of this sacrifice,” it rasped, its fingers closing around her arm.
Vikal jerked awake with a shout, cold sweat frosting his brow.
“You were leaping about like a monkey in a lightning storm,” Sarnak said, pulling a sheet up over Rika’s torso.
Vikal rubbed his hands over his face, trying to banish the image of the soul-eater reaching for young Sarya. “Bad dream,” he admitted.
“You will have bad dreams for many moons to come,” Sarnak said. “As your mind purges itself of what you saw as a thrall.”
Vikal ground his teeth. Those images would never leave him. Not now, not ever. “How’s Rika?”
“She will be well in a day or two. She lost much blood.”
“Thank you.” Vikal heaved a sigh.
“Does she know what she is?”
“Yes. I told her.”
“Does she know what it means?” Sarnak asked with a pointed look.
Vikal shook his head. He had been avoiding even thinking about sharing the deeper history of the gods of this island—what it meant for her. “I did not want to complicate things.”
“Things are already complicated. She will learn, here in Goa Awan, among her people. You tell her or I will.”
“She deserves a choice before she is yoked to me fo
r eternity.”
“This is ironic, coming from one who carries the ghost of his dead wife with him like a stone around his neck.”
“That is exactly why Rika deserves better. Why the fates should let her be this incarnation. Let her go home to her land. I have nothing to give her, even if she wanted such things.”
“You have yourself.”
“I am nothing. Not anymore.”
“When circumstances strip us down, what remains is our soul. Pure and unadorned. To think otherwise is pure ego.”
Vikal exploded from his chair, his hands balled into fists. “Ego? You know not what you speak of. Have you lost the woman you loved? Watched her soul be sucked into ash before you, to know that there would be no solace in death for her, no new life waiting for her to be reincarnated into? Have you been enslaved to the creature who killed her, forced to stand at its side, kill for it, hear its twisted thoughts in your head, scraping against the walls of your mind? When you’ve done any of those things, perhaps you can have grounds to judge me. To judge what remains.”
Sarnak hadn’t moved, hadn’t blinked at Vikal’s outburst. His tone was gentle. “Sarya is free from the soul-eater who took her. She will walk this island again in another body—feel the pink sand between her toes. You are the one holding her now. Your unwillingness to let her go. To forgive yourself for your imagined part in her death.”
Vikal paced back against the wall, his hand twitching for his staff. He longed to caress the engraved vines that adorned it, to feel the familiar patterns beneath his fingers. “I don’t know how.”
“You must discover how. For Rika. She is in a foreign land. You must teach her our ways, make her feel at home for the time she is here.”
