Rise of the Darkwitch (The Dance of Dark and Light Book 1)

by Ziv Gray

  ‘That is not good enough,’ Bandim said. His insides churned and swirled, as though a fire built in his belly. ‘You are supposed to be my adviser. You are supposed to know everything about the spirit world and the goddess. You are supposed to be the last Uloni. You are supposed to be my Heart. How could you not know?’

  The tips of his talons grew hotter and hotter. Johrann whimpered as her skin sizzled. Smoke rose from Bandim’s hands as the power of Dorai coursed through him, right down to his bones. The smell of burning flesh consumed him.

  ‘You are supposed to know everything!’ he screeched. ‘You are supposed to know!’

  Johrann wailed, the screech ear-piercing, as her face burned.

  ‘Please, stop! Stop!’

  Her pleading shocked him from his thoughts. Bandim released her, stumbling back. His eyes flicked from the fear in her eyes to the smoking wounds on her face. His talons had scorched even her facial armour. Her flesh still glowed. Bandim stared at the tips of his fingers. They glowed like embers. His breath caught.

  ‘What is this?’ he said. ‘What is this power?’

  ‘Your…your eyes,’ Johrann whispered. ‘They were glowing…glowing red…’

  She threw herself forward. She fell to her knees at his feet.

  ‘Hand of Dorai,’ she said, her voice thick with emotion. ‘Your powers are awakening. Your true spirit is returning!’

  Those words made Bandim’s heart sing. He couldn’t take his eyes from his hands. They glowed and pulsed as Dorai danced within him.

  ‘This is…tremendous,’ he said. ‘I feel more powerful than I have ever felt before.’

  ‘You are not just more powerful,’ Johrann said, clutching at the hem of his cloak. ‘You are becoming all-powerful.’

  Pulling her up, Bandim took her hands. Residual heat still pulsed through him.

  ‘Can you teach me of this?’ he asked. ‘Can you help me unlock my true potential?’

  Johrann smiled, an expression of complete devotion.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I believe I can.’

  ‘If my brother is still alive,’ Bandim said, leaning close, ‘I will destroy him with this power.’

  Heart still singing, flesh tingling, Bandim bent for a kiss. When their mouths met, victory burned through him.

  I shall be all-powerful, he thought. And if my brother is alive, I will crush him. Nothing will stand in my way… He pulled away. His lips curled into a smirk.

  I am a god.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Treetop

  It was still early when Emmy roused, her bones protesting against the hard ground. I could sleep for days, she thought. Stretching, she rubbed her eyes, then struggled to her feet. She and her companions had put as much ground between themselves and the battle as they could, eventually coming to rest in a small glade.

  A cool breeze blew through the morning calm. Her friends still slept. Charo and Zecha curled into one another, limbs entwined and breath in sync. Rel’s eyes were closed, though she sat up, her back against the rough bark of the tree. I’m so grateful we survived, Emmy thought. Now we’re free from the Althemerians. But where next? What will Rel have us do? And…how different will life be?

  Those questions were all too complicated for the dewy morning. Instead, Emmy fixed her attention on a gnarled tree across the glade. Its branches reached into the brightening morning. A thin covering of cloud drowsed high in the sky, gradually burning as the sun rose.

  Time felt like it had passed in an instant, and yet, it felt like no time had passed at all. It’s so strange, Emmy thought. Everything is strange.

  She laid her hands on the tree. It was a twistwart, famed for its unique trunk that grew in a spiral, as well as its many medicinal purposes. Emmy used its bark often in her time as Krodge’s apprentice, but had never seen one planted in the earth.

  My ‘time’ as Krodge’s apprentice, she thought. That makes it sound like it was cycles ago, but yet it wasn’t. Only last month, I was still living that life. Now… It feels as though it hardly happened at all. Nothing feels the same.

  The memory of the battle kept echoing in her mind. The surge and burst of power, the tingling of the impossible at the tips of her talons. I’ve never felt so…alive, she thought. I never dreamed such a thing was possible. The events of that night had shattered her existence, and turned her understanding of the world on its head.

  Everything had changed. Even Emmy.

  She grabbed a low bough and planted her booted feet onto its bark. The sun’s rise was caught by her ring.

  Arms and legs moving of their own accord, she climbed. Before she knew it, she was at the top of the tree, nestled carefully on a curved bough. She sat for some time in the tree’s embrace, feeling the soft breeze, watching as the orange ball of the sun rose through the morning haze.

  The quiet was broken by a rustling from below. Rel hauled herself into the upper boughs with her strong arms, settling on a branch below from her. Emmy gave her a tired smile.

  ‘We’re alive because of you,’ Rel said. ‘You should be proud of what you did. You’re beginning to realise who you truly are.’

  Rel’s face was drawn with a weariness Emmy hadn’t seen before. Perhaps it was a trick of the morning light, or her Uloni roots washing out her complexion. She had shed the facade of the Belfoni, embracing the blue and purple.

  Emmy slid across the bough, leaving space for Rel if she chose to climb further. The wood creaked under her weight.

  ‘Rel, are you well?’ Emmy asked.

  With a slow nod, Rel smiled. She climbed onto Emmy’s branch.

  ‘Do not worry. I’m fine.’

  Emmy shook her head, pulling her eyeridges low.

  ‘You’re not fine,’ she said. She gestured at the slumbering figures of Zecha and Charo, curled together under the protection of a low-slung tree. ‘None of us are fine.’

  Rel went to protest, but stopped. Instead, she sighed.

  ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘It’s the shock and the change. We will recover.’

  Emmy gripped the rough surface of the branch that held her snug and safe in the treetop.

  ‘We need to get to Bomsoi,’ she said. ‘I don’t know exactly what it is that I’m supposed to do, but I know that we need to go to her.’

  ‘Yes,’ Rel said. ‘I believe you understand my friend a little more.’ She chuckled. The sound carried into the distance. ‘She is a strange creature, and for all the time I have known her, I still cannot comprehend her. But yes. We must go to her.’

  Emmy was silent. She looked away. The last sliver of Dato sank below the horizon. Rafa and Akata were nearly gone. The light of the sun sent a yellow wave through the blueness of the sky.

  ‘Yes, we must,’ Emmy said at length. ‘I’m…not sure if I want to, but I don’t think I have a choice.’

  ‘You do have a choice,’ Rel said, shifting on her branch. Her eyes were soft and round. ‘You have already made it. And, as long as I draw breath, I will be by your side to help you.’

  Emmy resisted the urge to reach across and embrace the other female. And then she stopped resisting, because there was no good reason not to embrace Rel. We’ve been through so much together, she thought. We’re friends.

  Rel returned the hug and wound her fingers through Emmy’s thick black fronds. She smelled of worn leather and blood, but it was the most comforting scent Emmy had ever breathed.

  ‘I’m glad I found you,’ Rel said. ‘Yet, at the same time, I…’

  She trembled, her words growing thick. Emmy drew back, holding her at arm’s length.

  ‘Why are you shaking?’ she asked.

  ‘Because,’ Rel replied, ‘I don’t know what I have found you for.’ She passed a hand over the side of Emmy’s face, slow and comforting. ‘But I know it is not for something simple. It is not for something safe. And now that I have found you and I know you, and…’ She faltered. ‘I am afraid for you.’

  ‘Afraid?’ Emmy asked. ‘You? I didn�
�t think you could feel fear.’

  With a brief smile, Rel patted Emmy’s cheek.

  ‘Of course I feel fear,’ she said, ‘but I tell myself to fear nothing when I know it will consume me. To be paralysed by fear is to be vulnerable. But to believe there is nothing to be feared is foolish.’

  Embracing Rel once more, Emmy nodded into her shoulder.

  ‘That makes sense,’ she said. ‘How did you become so wise, Rel?’

  ‘Anyone can be wise,’ came the reply, ‘if they choose to look beyond the edges of their own experience.’

  They stayed in the tree for some time, bound together as the sun rose. Emmy drowsed, images of her sixteen cycles floating through her half-sleep. Dreams with Zecha. The sweetness of a friendship with Charo. Fights with Krodge and Bose. Commander Pama and Drenna Haldra, and all the others she had known in the camp. She thought of her old self, angry and outcast, furious at everything in the world, always ready to snap. She’d been helpless. Powerless.

  But that life was over. Now she was someone else.

  Finished it off, I did.

  ‘Now, come,’ Rel said, pressing a kiss to the top of Emmy’s head. ‘It’s time that we journeyed on. We need to get to the capital. Bomsoi knows we are on our way.’

  Emmy didn’t question how. She didn’t say anything. A shudder passed through her, as though she had been dipped in icy water. But it wasn’t an unpleasant cold, or a feeling of adrift hopelessness.

  No. It was a feeling of control.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Choices

  As the day wound on, the sky opened. A deluge of rain like nothing Mantos had ever seen poured down. The silver drops hammered against the courtyard below, drenching any palace servant who dared venture out. From the open window, he stared at the specks that scurried across the square. The fountain spurted uselessly in the storm. He didn’t care that the wind sent curtains of rain into his face. He still watched.

  Somewhere in the distance, wind chimes fluttered in the storm. The sound was hollow. It was desperate.

  Just like Mantos.

  He could think of nothing but the words Bomsoi had said to him. Her voice plagued his mind, insidious in its penetration.

  ‘I would have you take on the mantle of Nunako.’

  You would, would you? he thought. You would have me be the same as my brother. You would have me match his machinations in order to stop him. He is bent on destruction, and you would have me take his life before he can take mine—or the lives of others. Mantos blinked against another barrage of raindrops. The front of his tunic was drenched.

  It was easy for Bomsoi to tell him to become something he was not. It was easy for her to suggest he become part-god, for she already was. Or at least, so she claimed. She does not know any better, he thought. She does not know what it means to be mere flesh and blood. How could she understand?

  Though, Bomsoi seemed to think she knew him well.

  ‘You would not turn from your path,’ she had said. ‘Not like me.’

  Snorting, Mantos leaned out, letting the raindrops pound his face. Their coldness blunted the edge of his pain. How wrong she is, he thought. How utterly wrong.

  For of course, Mantos had already strayed from his path.

  ‘His Imperial Majesty, Sole Ruler of the Masvam Empire, Protector of the Realm and Defender of the Faith, Conqueror of Heathens, Scorcher of Souls, son of Braslen Tiboli, grandson of Maram Tiboli, Emperor Mantos Tiboli.’

  The words that were never spoken sounded back at him, said in every voice but his own. Remembering the last words of his father, Mantos shuddered.

  ‘You must lead the empire to new glories.’

  There was no glory now. There was no leadership. There was only the clipped sting of shame that burned his insides. Instead of leading his folk, he had sold their secrets to a queendom that was his father’s enemy.

  An unanswered question sounded loud in his mind. This time, the voice was his own.

  ‘How can I command an empire if I cannot keep my own house in order?’

  Mantos snorted. I never needed the answer to that question, he thought. I never got the chance to command an empire. Perhaps it is for the best. I don’t think I would have succeeded, not in the way Father wanted. Not in the way they all expected.

  Not all, perhaps.

  His mother did not seem to think grabbing every last scrap of land was the most important part of ruling an empire. But then, she had never been empress, not really. She had barely even lived. Mother does not make good choices, he thought. That much is clear.

  What mother would abandon both her sons to save the life of one? I may have lived, but it was at the expense of Bandim’s mind… Mantos’s chest tightened. I do not know my life was worth that.

  His life was now twice-saved. He could almost feel the freezing prints of death’s grasp on his throat. Twice-saved, with nothing to show for it, he thought. What a waste.

  He pulled his head from the storm at the sound of a knock. Given permission to enter, the door opened. It was Fonbir. His mouth gaped as he took in the sodden mess Mantos had become.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he asked as he bustled in. ‘Were you hanging out the window?’

  On another day, Mantos might have chuckled at Fonbir’s fond clucking. But he did not. Instead, he shrugged.

  ‘I was,’ he said. ‘I thought the rain might clear my head.’

  ‘A soaking will do nothing but make you ill,’ Fonbir said. ‘You must change your clothes.’

  On another day, Mantos might have laughed and pulled Fonbir into an embrace, or spun him across the floor, teasing him with his eyes. But he did not. Those days were in the cycles they had left behind. Those days had been trampled by duty and rules and his father’s will. You cannot marry an Althemerian, Mantos, he had said. I will not allow it. Instead of teasing, Mantos let Fonbir delve into a trunk to fish out a dry shirt.

  ‘Toketa, you must take better care of yourself,’ Fonbir said, his voice muffled as he dug through the clothing. ‘You have only just returned to me—to us. It would not do for you to die of sickness now.’

  Mantos shrugged again and stood, his arms hanging loose at his sides.

  When Fonbir straightened and closed the trunk, his lips curled.

  ‘Do you need me to remove your tunic for you?’ he asked.

  Mirth danced in his eyes. Mantos’s did not match. On another day, he would have joined in. On another day, they would have ended up on the bed. But this was not another day. Those times will never return, Mantos thought. He peeled off his clothing, dried his skin and armour on the proffered cloth, then put on another shirt and tunic that were not his own.

  At the lack of levity, Fonbir sobered. He took up Mantos’s hands. Mantos met his eyes.

  ‘Do you know what Bomsoi would have me do?’ he asked.

  His words were so quiet, the storm drowned them. Nodding, Fonbir tightened his grip.

  ‘I do,’ he said.

  ‘And do you know what that means?’ Mantos asked. ‘Do you know what it really means?’

  Eyes widening at the question, Fonbir’s grip slackened. His lips moved, but he made no sound.

  ‘Exactly,’ Mantos said. ‘You don’t know. And I don’t know. And yet she wants me to go through with this…magic, and become something I am not. She wants me to destroy my brother. She wants me to return balance to the world. She wants me to do what she did not.’ He snorted and squeezed Fonbir’s hands. ‘If she, a half-god, could not do it, how does she expect me to achieve it?’

  Far-off thunder rolled.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Fonbir whispered.

  ‘I will tell you how she expects me to do it,’ Mantos said, his tone rising. ‘She expects me to sacrifice myself. She wants me to become the Hand of Nunako so that the goddess can inhabit me—so she can take over my life.’ His chest heaving, he squeezed harder. Fonbir’s arms tensed. ‘Bomsoi has returned me to life only so that I will have it taken from me again—for the third
time. How is that fair, Fonbir? How is that right?’

  ‘It isn’t,’ Fonbir whispered. He pulled one of his hands from Mantos’s grasp, laying it on his cheek. ‘It isn’t right, and it isn’t fair. But I trust Bomsoi. I have known her for many cycles. If she says it must be done, it must be done.’

  Those words coming from that mouth felt like a slap. Mantos batted Fonbir’s hand away and glared, his temper seething.

  ‘So, you would have me sacrifice myself as well?’ he asked. ‘You would have me die for the third time?’

  Recoiling as though he had been singed, Fonbir cradled his hands against his chest. His tail stiffened. He narrowed his eyes.

  ‘Mantos, that’s not what I meant.’

  ‘It’s exactly what will happen if I go through with Bomsoi’s plan,’ Mantos snapped. ‘I will die. Again. And my brother will die, and I will have no choice and no control.’

  Stung, Fonbir bit his bottom lip. He let his arms drop.

  ‘Mantos, I do not have the answers,’ he said. ‘All know is that Omidha is upon us, but I have faith. Faith in Ethay and Apago. Faith in Bomsoi. And, most important of all, faith in you.’ His voice cracked. ‘You are good and loyal, Mantos,’ he said. ‘I know you will do what is right.’

  Heart growing cold, Mantos snarled. He stepped back.

  ‘Then you are a fool.’

  The words tasted bitter. Why must you push him away? he asked. An answer returned as an echo. Because you are not good enough for him. You are not good enough for anyone.

  ‘Mantos, I—’

  ‘Out!’ Mantos snapped, jerking an arm towards the door. ‘Get out!’

  Fonbir’s hurt turned to fury. His white eyes narrowed.

  ‘As you wish, Your Highness.’

  Without another word, Fonbir swept from the room, tail whipping behind him. He did not slam the door. He was still a prince and knew his place, his duty, what was expected of him. He closed the door in silence. For Mantos, his absence sounded in place of the slam.

  I wish I was more like him, Mantos thought, but I never will be.