Tainted Blood Anthology

by Jeff Gunzel

  She hoped to see at least a survivor or two, perhaps an old woman or small child who had somehow escaped unnoticed. But in her heart, she knew that even that was too much to hope for. The ghatins were always thorough, and never needed to cover the same area more than once.

  The apocalyptic scene chilled Viola to the bone, and it made her regret nearly every decision leading up to this moment. What if things had played out differently, could she have saved them? What if the lerwicks had organized faster, or hadn’t wasted so much time fighting among themselves?

  No sense in worrying about things I can’t change.

  “Don’t give up on us, humans,” Viola said to the barren wasteland below. “We haven’t lost yet.”

  *

  Narkural eyed the masked man suspiciously, not entirely sure what to make of him or his motives. Few agreed with the views of the nezzerians, so this particular visit was strange indeed. However, Diovok was not human, and even the few who knew him couldn’t be sure what really motivated the mysterious shaman.

  Surrounded by a watchful ring of nezzerians, his red clerics stood off to one side. An extreme precaution, given how harmless these little humans seemed to be, but Narkural was not about to take any chances, especially after underestimating the tarrins as he recently had.

  “And why should I trust anything you say?” Narkural asked. “For so long now you have lived amongst these humans, blending in with their kind, trying to convince yourself that you were one of them. You served them day and night, practically begging for their acceptance. And now this? Why should I trust you?”

  “You shouldn’t,” Diovok hissed from behind his mask. “That is, not if the world were whole. But it isn’t whole, as you very well know. It is broken beyond repair, and that is why I have come to you. I believe the two of us might be able to reach an understanding.”

  “My motives are my own,” Narkural said, impatiently drumming his thick fingers along the table. “We see the world differently, you and me. Nothing you have to offer is of any interest to me. I serve only—”

  “The balance... Yes, I know,” Diovok said. “And which way do you believe it has tipped during these dark days?” Narkural didn’t answer. “Or, perhaps these days are not so dark at all? Perhaps this is the beginning of the final salvation we all have been waiting for?” Narkural’s fingers stopped drumming, and Diovok now knew he had his full attention.

  “Do we?” Diovok continued. “Do we really see the world so differently, you and me? The future is clear, is it not? The balance is supposed to have no preference for one source of energy over another, but I believe that has changed as well. How do you compare the feeble energies of the humans to an ancient race who are practically gods in their own right?”

  “There is no comparison,” Narkural replied, the rings piercing his lips twisting upward ever so slightly. “That imbalance alone is not one that could ever be corrected.”

  “That is, if you view it as an imbalance at all,” Diovok added. Narkural’s grin widened. “I have come to a realization, my friend. The humans are a disease to this realm, nothing more. They war among themselves as if they were enemies, and consume resources at a rate that far exceeds all other races combined. I can’t imagine how the balance has sustained itself this long against such a constant drain.”

  “Keeping the balance in order against such odds has been a challenge, to say the least,” Narkural admitted, rubbing his chin in thought. “It has grown tiresome and futile. In truth, I no longer believe they play a part in this world.”

  “And yet your people have been burdened with this impossible task for many years. In this, you have shown patience beyond all reason. But what if someone, or something, were to eradicate this global plague once and for all? Would such a miracle not be the greatest gift to your people? To the realm itself?”

  “Indeed it would,” Narkural agreed. “But I still don’t understand what any of this has to do with you.” He pointed to the clerics. “Or to them in particular. Why would the humans side with a force that plans to exterminate them?”

  “Why would they stand tall on the side of righteousness?” Diovok seemed surprised by the very question. “What future do you think they have in this world even if things were to remain as they are? This handful of humans has proven themselves, stood out from the black energy of their peers. They know and accept that the humans are a plague that needs to disappear.

  “They are the future, Narkural. They will be the ones to rebuild a brighter world once this one has fallen. All they want is the opportunity to prove themselves.”

  “You actually believe the ghatins will spare your little cult if you were to side with them?” Narkural asked, now really understanding the truth of this meeting.

  “Only the gods know the answer to that,” Diovok admitted. “But is that really relevant in the grand scheme of things? They have no future as the world stands now, so why not take a chance while serving the light at the same time? If it comes down to it, at least their deaths will have meaning.”

  “And what of you?” Narkural asked. “What interest do you have in betraying the humans?”

  “I finally get what they would never give me, what I could not earn even with my greatest efforts. After proving my worth, I will obtain position and rank in the new world. With no humans left to hold me back, my status will know no bounds. As far as I’m concerned, the choice is clear, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I’m not sure if you’re ambitious beyond logic, or simply mad,” Narkural chuckled. “But I still agree wholeheartedly. A new world is coming, and you and I shall be the center of that glorious future.”

  *

  An arsenal of weapons was laid out across several tables and benches. Among them were spears, daggers, and even several stacks of arrows. Methodically moving through them with a brush and bucket, the A’zara warrior applied the clear liquid to each blade and pointed steel head. Before moving on to the next, he took the time to mouth a silent “thank you” as the blood of the tree of life seeped into the metal. As if reciting a solemn prayer, he bowed each time as the simple words came straight from his heart.

  Even Owen’s weapons were laid out on a separate table. The mighty Demon Hunter was not a member of the A’zara clan, but he would still be treated as an equal for the upcoming battle. Any who took up arms with these ancient warriors was considered a brother and would be treated as such.

  A’zara warriors lined the paths of the village, their faces streaked with red and white paint. The lines of men and women inched forward, each step bringing them a bit closer to Xavier. Bare-chested with Aurabelle standing by his side, he stood still while the A’zara approached him one at a time.

  “May my blood mix with the chosen so I too may be blessed in battle,” the woman said, drawing a blade across her wrist. The wound was deep, but began closing even before the cut was complete. With the edge of the blade glistening red with her blood, she drew it across Xavier’s chest.

  Like her own cut, the wound on his chest only stayed open long enough for her blood to mix with his. Once it closed completely, it left behind a thin, white scar. There would be many more before this ritual was complete. But if that bothered Xavier in any way, he didn’t show it. He bowed his head in thanks, then allowed the next warrior to step up and take her place.

  Here, he would stand and share the blood of every villager. It was a fitting ritual, for soon enough they would bleed together on the battlefield.

  Owen leaned against a nearby tree and watched. Never had he seen anything like this before. “Yer not my student no more, bo—” he muttered to himself. “No, you haven’t been a boy for a long time, have ye? No one will ever remember you as my apprentice. After all, the chosen has no master. It will be an honor to fight by your side one last time.”

  Chapter 22

  The next few days seemed to vanish like smoke. It was strange how a person’s concept of time could change so dramatically once it seemed like there wasn’t much of it lef
t. If only one could feel each day, each hour, as if it might be their last. Only then did one realize how precious time really was.

  Such a waste, Viola thought to herself. Ironic that only the dying ever truly experience life. She hadn’t meant to let her mind wonder so, but it was a profound thought that helped to provide a bit of distraction. A well-timed distraction could be a good thing, a welcome thing in times like these. But as with all distractions, sooner or later you had to come back and face reality. That time was now...

  “What I ask of you this day is not fair,” she said. “None about this is fair, but this responsibility has fallen to us nonetheless. It is unrealistic to believe that all of us will make it back. Perhaps none of us will.” There came a rippling of stirs, but all still hung on her every word.

  “Brothers and sisters, I will not lie to you, I am frightened. In fact, I have never been so scared in all my life. Am I ashamed of that?” She paused a moment, taking the time to read those faces watching her intently, to look into the eyes of those she loved so dearly whether they realized it or not.

  “No, I am not,” she continued. “I find that facing my fears is a form of liberation. It frees me from the need to deceive anyone or to try to appear stronger than I am. Fear is nothing more than a reminder of our mortality, and we are mortal, my friends. This fight is not for ourselves, but for a future generation who just might be spared from this nightmare if we can somehow find a way to do the impossible this day.

  “I wish there were another way. If I could be sure that my own death might somehow secure their future, I would gladly lay down my life right here. If only it could be so easy. If only such a minimal sacrifice were required, I would have ended this long ago. In my mind, my life is already forfeit, a thing I’ve already come to terms with.

  “Brothers and sisters, I urge you to embrace the fear that feels like it just may consume you. Embrace it just as I have, and try to understand what it is that you truly fear... Me? I fear for those who have not yet been born. I fear a future world filled with blackness and despair.

  “Brothers and sisters, we are the last hope this world has. What I ask of you is not fair, but still I ask it anyway.

  “Follow me.

  “Even when the terror floods through your body, driving you to the brink of madness.

  “Follow me.

  “I’m not asking you to be brave. I’m not asking you to be fearless and strong. I’m asking you to follow me, even when every fiber of your being wants to flee. Do this one thing for all our sakes, and the chains will be lifted. When we stand as one, fearful or not, the energies around us will begin to change.

  “Bonded together, our collective fear shall become a weapon. All that emotion will need to be channeled somewhere. And believe me, our enemies will have no answer for that weapon. Follow me, and together we will show the world who we really are.”

  With that, Viola climbed up onto her war bird. Her intent was not even to encourage her men, she only wished to speak her mind. If these were to be her last words, then they needed to be from the heart. Her true intent was not to inspire, but inspire she did. Spiritists and lerwicks mounted up, ready to ride.

  Viola tried to stay focused, but still felt guilty for letting her mind wonder to other worries. What had become of her friends? Where was Assirra? Was she safe? Owen had not returned, either. So mighty a man, was it possible he had fallen at the hands of the enemy? Xavier... If anything has happened to you…

  She shook it all away. No, this was not the time for such distracting thoughts. Assuming the worst only fed these fears, once again making her feel as if she had failed them. If she did not succeed this day, then her friends were doomed anyway. She could afford to think of nothing else.

  Away they flew as lines of screeching ravens soared into the sky. No one entertained the thought of returning, or even seeing another day come and go.

  *

  As they flew for hours, the scenery down below remained very much the same. Shattered towns and scorched earth were all beginning to appear normal. Flying at the head of their formation, a horrible thought occurred to Viola. What if this was the norm? Had they miscalculated the ghatins’ path, and this was all that remained? It was possible the ghatins had found a way to resist their migratory instincts and begun moving in different patterns. The horrifying thought made her sick.

  “Up ahead!” one of the spiritists called out. Straining her eyes, she could see lines of wandering humans making their way across the desert-like landscape. Many carried sacks slung over their shoulders. Others shuffled along while pushing wheelbarrows, and she could even see a few covered wagons. They rolled along slowly, folk hanging from every inch of canvas as they made their slow trek toward Mirstone.

  A rush of air escaped her lungs, and it was all she could do not to burst into tears. So many... So many made it. Determined mothers marched with their children high on their shoulders, trying to feed the happy illusion that everything was alright. Elderly women clung to the backs of exhausted young men who were clearly weak and dehydrated, but still unwilling to put them down or make them walk.

  This was the humans’ spirit Viola had heard so much about. It warmed her heart and gave her hope. They had not given up yet, so neither would she.

  The city of Mirstone was practically overflowing with people. Even with the front gate wide open, it seemed to act more like a dam than an entrance as folk tried to funnel their way in from all angles. Its high stone walls were alive with soldiers scurrying back and forth across the upper paths. Armed and ready, they marched with purpose.

  A bell began ringing, its chiming gong hammering throughout the city. Already uneasy humans began to panic and push, trying to force their way past the front gates. Guards yelled for order, trying to move the mob in as quickly as they could. Men with looking glasses flailed their arms wildly as they looked to the horizon.

  They were coming...

  Off in the distance, they saw the wave of white sweeping over the hilltops. Unchallenged, virtually invincible against the humans, the ghatins had come to finish off the last remaining stronghold. Like a white sheet being dragged across the landscape, they swarmed over rocks and trees, appearing to swallow up everything they touched.

  “Surround the city!” Viola shouted, already leading the way before finishing the order. Streaking low, the flying formation followed her lead as they moved toward the walls. Soldiers sprang into action, doing the only thing they could. They couldn’t fight the ghatins, but they were determined to save the people any way they could.

  Rope ladders came rolling down from the tops of the walls, each one secured by four or five men pulling with all their might. Those that couldn’t make it through the crowded gate hurriedly made their way toward the ladders, then began scaling up as fast as they could. Those that weren’t strong enough to pull themselves up had to just hang on while the ropes were lifted.

  Shrieks and screams filled the air as the wave of white came crashing in. Spinning like a whirlpool, the ghatins whirled around the outer wall. Countering their movements, Viola led her force to fly around in the opposite direction.

  The initial standoff had begun.

  The ghatins closed in, their spinning white wave working along the wall like a speeding shadow. Humans barely had time to scream before their bodies simply vaporized. Torn beyond recognition, what was left of them rained down on those below in a misty spray of red. Mostly just a fine mist of blood, only a few body parts actually remained intact as the occasional head or foot came tumbling down.

  “Now!” Viola shouted, guiding her raven closer to the wall. Other spiritists followed her lead, their riders snapping out flesh blades as they spun around the outer wall. Ghatins squealed like stuck pigs, screeching as the passing blades barely nicked their bodies. The minor wounds festered and swelled, their flesh searing into ash moments before their bodies burst into blue flame.

  Leading the charge, Viola scraped her flesh blade along the wall while being careful
not to cut any ladders. Her arm was not immune to the severe trauma, and it was plenty painful to grind along the stone like this. But she wanted to kill as many ghatins as possible, and this strategy allowed her to cover the largest area.

  Alarmed, completely caught off guard by the brutal counterattack, the ghatins near the wall went into full retreat. With the wall cleared, the scattered humans began scrambling up once again.

  Fluttering like angry butterflies, the ghatins started to regroup themselves. They had to be careful of the lerwicks’ poisonous touch, but they had no intention of retreating, either. Wipe out this city, and the humans were gone for good. It would take more than a minor setback to make them give up on their campaign.

  The spiritists circled above like vultures, biding their time while waiting for the right opportunity. Viola was about to give the order when she gazed off in the distance. “No,” she whispered to herself. A quivering combination of fear and horror rolled up into her chest. All along she knew this was coming, but had hoped to have more time than this.

  White sheets came sweeping across the landscape from every direction, their sheer numbers making them look like a foamy tidal wave risen from the sea. She knew more were coming, but had no idea their numbers were so great. It had always been impossible to get a head count given their elusive nature, and the grim fact that only select humans had even seem them and survived to tell of it.

  But she never could have imagined this...

  Even from this height they could see no end to them. It was like the entire landscape had been consumed. Urgently, Viola began twirling her finger. “Form a parameter around the wall!”

  Springing into action, lines of spiritists began breaking off in pairs. With one hand circling the air, they started summoning their spheres of spirit energy. Swooping low around the base of the wall, their frosty orbs came crashing down along the ground. Streams of white mist rose up, each twisting and churning like dancing ghosts. Within moments they were spinning at full speed. Churning with the power of a hundred angry spirits, they spiraled away from the walls in search of prey.