by Ziv Gray
‘I would have you take on the mantle of Nunako,’ Bomsoi said. ‘You must become the Hand.’
Eyes bulging, Mantos’s mouth went dry.
‘You would have me become a god, so that I might kill my brother, also a god?’ he scoffed. ‘You say my brother is possessed by a mangled spirit. How do you know that would not happen to me?’
Bomsoi walked down the bank and padded towards him. For the first time, he saw her feet were bare.
‘Because the Heart I have for you is strong and brave and pure,’ she said. ‘You would not turn from your path.’
‘You mean, like you did?’ Mantos snapped, ignoring the strangeness of her words.
Bomsoi winced.
‘You would not turn from your path,’ she said. ‘Not like me.’
‘How can you expect me to do as you ask?’ Mantos spluttered, a thousand thoughts racing through his mind. ‘None of this makes sense. Perhaps I am still dead!’ he cried, throwing his hands into the air. ‘Perhaps this is all a trick of the Dark!’
Bomsoi stepped forward again and shook her head.
‘There is no Dark,’ she said. ‘There is no Light. There are only choices.’
To that, Mantos had an answer. But before he could give it, the half-god, half-flesh creature fell on her knees before him. She supplicated herself with a bent head.
‘Please, Mantos of House Tiboli. If you cannot do it for me, do it for your brother. And if you cannot do it for your brother, do it for your beloved mother, who has suffered so much for so long at the hands of poor decisions. And if you cannot do it for her, do it for Fonbir, who you yearn to spend the rest of your days with.’
To that, Mantos had no answer. His throat tightened. His talons clenched. He closed his eyes.
Bomsoi looked up again. When his eyes met hers, they were filled with gleaming tears.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Fear Nothing
As the battle drew closer, Emmy’s whole body shook. Alone in the tent, she couldn’t see the fighting, but in the distance, the first chink and clash of sword on sword sounded. Her heart stuttered. She couldn’t stop fiddling with her ring.
Her friends were out there. Charo, fighting on the front lines of a war that was not her own. A freed slave enslaved again. But at least this time, Emmy thought, she’s been given something more than scars.
‘Lightfoot! Lightfoot!’
The jubilation echoed in Emmy’s mind as the sound of horns and pipes came into earshot. The enemy edged closer and closer. She gripped the handles of her daggers as the sound of cannon fire boomed.
She thought of Zecha, high on the city wall, sending volleys of arrows over the heads of the Althemerians.
‘I wish it was different...’ he’d said. ‘I never fitted in.’
Sweat beaded on Emmy’s forehead as a chorus of braying vaemar sounded close by. It was an ear-splitting howl of defiance.
For Zecha, everything was different. Finally, he had the chance to fight, to be who he wanted… But perhaps at the cost of his life. Will it be worth it if he pays the ultimate price? Emmy thought. Her neck scales flexed. I don’t want to think about it.
The cacophony drew ever closer. Drums beat and beat. Swords clanked and bones crunched, discordant with the sound of the fallen. Soon, they would know the silence of death.
Emmy trembled harder as shadows danced against the canvas walls. She thought of Rel, of her words.
‘I am no slave. I can leave when I choose. And I said I would introduce you to my friend.’
Rel was out there somewhere, a fearsome beast wielding Haelo, felling foes all around, coating her right arm in kills. Please come back to me, Rel, Emmy asked. Too much has happened. There’s too much I need to know. And… You’re my friend. I need you to come back to me.
The battle raged too close now. Silhouettes danced and swirled, forced back by snapping blades. Emmy’s mouth was dry. She backed away, unable to break her gaze from the macabre shadows. Rel, and Rel’s friend. Bomsoi, she thought, please protect me. Please protect us all!
The canvas sliced open like flesh.
A Masvam pushed through, breath coming in ragged gasps. The first thing he saw was Emmy. His face was a dark leer, his eyes black with the fury of battle. He dripped with blood.
The single face struck white-hot terror into Emmy’s heart, and she knew it was too late. I’m gone, she thought. I’m dead before he strikes the first blow. The Masvam screeched his findings, summoning a hoard of fellow soldiers in a dark enchantment.
Before she could think, a sword swung so close to Emmy’s face she could taste the metal. She leapt backwards, only a frond’s breadth separating her life from death. The Masvams bellowed, swelling into the tent like a bloody wave.
Rel’s words came to Emmy once more.
‘Fear nothing. Fear nothing and be feared instead. That is the only way to survive.’
Clenching her daggers, a feral shriek built in Emmy’s chest. Determination roared red in her heart.
‘Today will not bring my death!’
She swung her weapons in a wide arc, her ring biting against the dagger handle. Her attackers were forced back, but the victory was momentary. Undeterred, two Masvams lunged forward with their terrifying scimitars. Emmy dropped a dagger and held up a hand, her eyes closed so tightly that moons danced in the darkness. Stop! she thought. Blades, stop! She envisioned the scimitars stilling, mid-strike. If only!
All she had now was the brief wait before death.
But something happened.
A strange power pulsed through her, the sensation rattling through her bones. Like when Rel touched her, she was consumed with a stark coldness. The weapons stopped dead, motionless in the air. They hovered in a cocoon of blueness. The Masvams stared with dumb mouths.
‘Darkwitch!’ one shouted. ‘Darkwitch, she is!’
That word jolted Emmy from her anger. She couldn’t take her eyes from the weapons hanging in mid-air.
‘What?’ she whispered, breaking her gaze to stare at her hands. She dropped her other dagger. ‘How…?’
There was no time to ponder.
‘Kill her! Kill the witch!’
The screeching Masvam swept in, swinging at Emmy’s neck with a new blade. Her concentration broken, the scimitars lost their blue and topped from the air. Emmy ducked away, shrieking, but wasn’t fast enough to dodge a second attack. The aim was off, but the blade caught her arm. It sliced the armour.
Emmy whirled away with a screech, and as she did, her tail collided with a brazier. The hot coals tumbled from their resting place. As soon as they embraced the canvas, it burst into flames. Within seconds, Emmy was surrounded by fire. It licked and bit and spat, belching choking black smoke.
‘Witch, let her burn!’ a retreating Masvam cried. ‘Kill it!’
The Masvams tried to flee, but some were caught in the blaze. They howled, wrapped in a blanket of flame. Emmy’s breath came in harried gasps as she choked and guttered, turning and turning, looking for a way out. She saw nothing. She felt only the heat of the blaze. Today will not bring my death! Today will not bring my death! she thought, the words turning over and over in her head. Rel, Bomsoi, whoever you are, help me!
Death came at her head-on as a Masvam in blood-lust raised his sword high above her.
‘Darkwitch!’
Emmy couldn’t stop the blade. There was no cold power this time. All she could hear was the rush of blood in her ears, the clang of metal on metal, and the screeches of battle and death all around her. Her nostrils filled with the stench of burning canvas and blood. The heat and the smoke choked her, clawing at her eyes until she wept.
She waited for the killing stroke.
The Masvam jerked forward. His eyes widened and his arms stilled before they had the chance to strike. Emmy stumbled away, flames licking all around. When her streaming eyes focused, her heart stopped. The point of a sword jutted through the Masvam’s chest. Blood bubbled from his lips, and Emmy leapt aside as his
body slumped forward. The blade that had come so close to ending her life clattered to the ground. Emmy looked at it, and then up again. Who saved me?
Charo grinned, standing over the body with a bloodied sword. Zecha, at her side, smiled fiercely.
‘You’re alive!’ Emmy breathed, coughing through the smoke. ‘You’re both alive!’
Her friends grabbed her uninjured arm, twirling her from the path of another sword. With a skill akin to a hero of old stories, Charo parried the strike and slew another foe. Her right arm will be heavy with kills, Emmy thought. Zecha swirled and unleashed arrows at impossibly short range, his arm reaching over his shoulder so fast Emmy couldn’t even see it. Another heavy arm.
‘Stay close!’ Charo said.
Her throat tight and her hands empty, bar the ring, Emmy did as she was told. She tried to block the terror of the roaring flames and the shrieks of the dying. It’s all so awful, she thought. Why is this happening? Why must life be so cruel? Why must we suffer such torment?
The same cold power grew again, like vines snaking over her skin. Focusing, she tried to harness whatever the strangeness was. She thought of Rel and her glowing eyes, of her blue coldness. She thought of Rel’s friend.
Bomsoi, help me! Emmy pleaded. I don’t know who you are, but I’ll do whatever you need. But I can’t help if I’m dead! What am I supposed to do? How can I save myself and my friends?
Blue and jagged spirits swirled around her. Coldness consumed her, tracking her body like frost. What is this power? Rel’s influence shone forth. Emmy could see her in her mind’s eye, powering towards the healer’s tent, cutting down Masvams as she passed.
‘I am coming, Emmy! I promise, you will not perish!’
The words were so clear in her ears, Rel could have been with her. But she wasn’t.
Emmy lifted her hands to the moons. Unadulterated power pulsed through her. Everything shone bright and blue as the noon sky. Succumbing to it, brightness pulsed to Emmy’s very core. Dato, I am small, but make me brave, she thought. Rafa, give your strength to my heart. Akata, give me speed, and give me the wisdom to know what is right. By the Goddess, help me!
Everything stopped.
Flames stilled, shining blue like shards of ice. Emmy counted her breaths. One, two, three… In the stillness, she could feel everything. Charo and Zecha’s hearts beat in time with one another, together like stacked moons. Their thoughts echoed, the words unclear, but the tones undoubtedly theirs. They dropped their weapons, claws slack.
‘What—?’
Emmy crossed her arms over her chest. A jolt of energy burst from within her, the power of the moons flowing through her. It shot up from her head like a lightning strike. The tent disintegrated. The power lifted her until she was suspended high in the air, hanging between reality and disbelief.
Around her, Masvams and Althemerians alike screamed.
‘Darkwitch! Darkwitch! Evil!’
She could taste their terror as they fled through shards of fire. The words echoed. Darkwitch. Darkwitch. Evil…
Emmy snapped her eyes open and grinned. Perhaps I am a Darkwitch, after all.
The Masvams fled. With their enemies’ backs turned, the Althemerians broke from their stupor and pursued with bloodied blades.
Emmy returned to the ground as Rel appeared, fighting through waves of retreating Masvams. Zecha and Charo didn’t run to Emmy, but lingered back. They were trembling.
‘What… What is this?’ Charo whispered. ‘Emmy, what?’
Emmy shivered. The absence of the strange power left her empty. Alone.
‘I…’ she started. But she couldn’t finish.
Rel sheathed Haelo, then planted firm hands on Emmy’s shoulders.
‘What did you do?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Emmy said. ‘I… I asked Bomsoi for help and…’ She broke off, suppressing a sob. ‘I truly don’t know, Rel!’
Rel pulled her in for a brief hug, then withdrew.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘But now that the Masvams are retreating, it’s time for us to leave. Consider your debts paid. You owe nothing to the Althemerians. Now, come!’
‘Where are we going?’ Zecha asked. ‘What—?’
At Charo’s sharp look, he said no more. Instead, he fell in step behind the others as they fled
The air was thick with the stench of smoke and blood. The sounds of the dying pierced the stillness of the barren battlefield. And in the sky, the moons—Dato, Rafa and Akata—hung low, twinkling and pulsing like heartbeats.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Defeat
‘This was not supposed to happen,’ Bandim snarled. ‘It was not supposed to be possible. And yet, here I am, an emperor and a god, still defeated!’
He swept his arm across the table, sending the scrolls and parchment flying in a hurricane of fury. The embers of frustration smoldered in the lavish Masvam council chamber. There was no one there but and Johrann and the emperor. Bandim had long since sent the other advisers away.
‘How is has this happened?’ he raged.
Even Johrann Maa’s eternal calm was shaken. Word of the Masvams’ crippling defeat at Athomur had crossed the water overnight. Her grey eyes were flat in the dim of the morning.
‘I did not foresee this,’ she said.
It was no answer to his question. Bandim whirled around and scowled, bearing his pointed teeth.
‘Clearly not,’ he said. ‘Had you seen it, I would not have sent my soldiers to die at the hands of the pathetic Althemerians. What was this power the messenger spoke of?’ he asked. ‘What was this strange occurrence? It is not possible to freeze flames!’
His throat tightened with every word. It was as if they strangled him.
‘I did not think it was possible,’ Johrann began.
She trailed off and looked away. Bandim’s eyes bulged.
‘It is not possible,’ he snapped. ‘It cannot have happened. The troops were mistaken—or this is some trickery of Althemerian propaganda. It cannot have happened.’
Johrann did something she had never done before. She turned from the emperor. Bandim stalked forward and clamped his hand on her arm, whirling her around.
‘Do not turn your back to me!’ he snarled.
Eyes widening, Johrann made to pull away, but stopped herself. Bandim’s nostrils flared and his neck scales rose.
‘Why do you turn from me?’ he asked. ‘What secret are you keeping?’ When Johrann looked away again, he screamed. ‘Answer me!’
The screech echoed up to the vaulted roof of the chamber. Calm in his furious grip, Johrann rested a hand on Bandim’s arm. The small gesture cooled his fire, and his scales retracted. When he spoke again, his tone was soft.
‘Dear Heart,’ he said. ‘Tell me. Do not be afraid. I will not hurt you.’
The sound of his untruth rang clearly. Of course she should be afraid, he thought. I am an emperor and a god. She has everything to fear from me. I could kill her so easily…
Johrann licked her lips and met his gaze.
‘You are the Hand of Dorai,’ she said. ‘You will grow to know your powers. But it is not as simple as taking upon the goddess’s mantle and ruling anew. Were it so easy, your forces would not have been defeated.’ She sucked in a deep breath and shook her head. ‘There was another reason I advised you to let me kill your brother,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t simply that he was a step to climb in order to gain the crown. There is…more to it.’
Cold unease churned in Bandim’s stomach. He grabbed Johrann’s chin, forcing her to look at him.
‘Continue.’
Johrann took another shuddering breath.
‘By bringing Dorai into this world, I opened a conduit from the spirit realm,’ she said. ‘The power of the moons was diminished as they spoke to one another, but now that they are free again, their power is renewed. There is a chance that, just as you have taken on Dorai, someone will take on Nunako.’ She paused, eyes glimmering. ‘There is
only one likely choice for that.’
His blood running cold, Bandim’s back stiffened. His tail twitched. Rage flared anew.
‘Mantos,’ he breathed.
Johrann tried to nod, but his grip was too strong.
‘Yes. Mantos. I took his life but, perhaps…’ She broke off, shaking her head. ‘There is no guarantee that he is alive, and even if he was, that he would become the Hand of Nunako. He would need a Heart to do so.’
Bandim released her and stalked towards the window. The dawn sky was grey with cloud.
‘But you are the last of your kind,’ he said. ‘You told me so. There cannot be another Heart. Mantos must be dead. You told me that the feeling of his presence in my dreams was nothing but my past life infringing on my present.’ His words tumbled out faster and faster as he went on. ‘And, in any case, the only one who can harness the power of the goddess is you. You told me that yourself!’
Those last words were flinty with accusation. Biting her lip, Johrann nodded.
‘I did,’ she said. ‘But from the news of what happened at Athomur, it would seem…’ She gulped. ‘There could be another Uloni.’
‘That is not possible!’ Bandim said, his voice hitching. ‘You told me you killed them all. There cannot be another Uloni.’
‘I’m afraid it is possible,’ Johrann said, treading carefully with her words. ‘I never believed it, but… There have always been rumours. Apocryphal tales. That the One of Balance is still corporeal, that she walks this land, eternally searching for her kind. She… She could know things. She might feel my intentions. If she knew, she could have acted. If she has found another of her kind, she might have a second Heart.’
Whirling around, braided fronds whipping, Bandim’s face fell.
‘It is not possible,’ he said. ‘My father searched and searched, and no news of someone of your colours ever returned. He sent troops into the Great Northern Range, and they found no evidence of the Uloni. He had talons in all corners of the land. Had the Balancer been alive, he would have found her.’
‘I do not know,’ Johrann said. ‘I simply do not know.’
Stalking forward, Bandim grabbed her face once more, ramming her against the wall. Her talons scrabbled as she keened in terror.
