Unleashed

by Tiffany Roberts

  Aduun’s attention was caught by one of the plants when it moved — it was a long, pinkish stalk topped with a circular growth that was covered in a mess of hair-like tendrils, some of which had twitched. He paused to watch as an insect landed on the plant, undoubtedly lured by the glistening liquid at the tips of the tendrils. With surprising speed, the tendrils closed around the insect, folding it into the center of the plant.

  It was as fascinating to witness as it was unsettling. He had a sense that this was but a taste of what Kelsharn had laid in wait for them here.

  Nina slapped her arm and cringed when she lifted her hand; a string of ooze, the remains of the insect she’d squashed, trailed from her palm. “I’ve never seen a place like this before.” She frowned as she stared at her hand, nose wrinkled in disgust. “Maybe that was for the best.”

  “Each place has its own challenges,” said Balir. “We will adapt to these and overcome them, just as we have the others.”

  “If things continue like this, we’ll have to start walking in the water,” Vortok grumbled. “How will you adapt when you’re up to your knees in hungry muck?”

  “If anyone is likely to get stuck, it is you, Vortok,” Aduun said.

  The clouds overhead darkened as the group continued, and soon the air was charged with a disconcerting energy. Aduun’s quills rose, and his skin tingled faintly. His instinct spoke from that beast portion of himself, the part of him that was tuned to the surrounding world in ways he could neither fully understand nor deny, to tell him a storm was inevitable.

  This weather wasn’t going to blow over before it struck; it was exactly what Kelsharn intended and would happen exactly when he intended.

  “We should seek shelter,” Balir said.

  Aduun glanced at him over his shoulder. Balir’s features were drawn, his face tilted toward the sky.

  “We already know that if it rains, it probably won’t stop,” Nina said, looking up. “We should keep going. We’re closer than ever.”

  “She is right.” Aduun swung his gaze from Balir to Vortok. “If it becomes too much, we will stop. But we cannot allow Kelsharn’s games to keep us from our goal any longer.”

  “If it rains too hard, my awareness of our surroundings will be greatly diminished.” Despite Balir’s steady, neutral tone, Aduun sensed a struggle beneath his words; even after all this time, it was not easy for him to fully accept what he’d lost. And to feel as though he might be a burden to the others because of it…

  “We will guide you,” Aduun said, “as you have for so long guided us.”

  Nina settled one hand on Balir’s shoulder and cupped his jaw with the other. “We just need to stay together, and we’ll be fine. Lean on us, Balir.”

  Their progress slowed significantly when they finally came to a point at which the dry ground was no longer connected. After handing the bags to Vortok in the hopes of keeping them dry, they walked into the water, moving slowly through muck that seemed intent on trapping their feet and holding them in place. Aduun did his best to feel out as sure a path as he could, but it became more difficult as they moved farther from land, and soon the water was waist deep.

  Nina cursed, and there was a splash. Aduun turned to see her battling for balance, one side of her body somewhat lower than the other.

  “My foot sank.” She eased down until the water was touching her chin, tilting her head back to keep it out of her face. “I can’t get my boot up. It’s stuck.”

  Vortok moved up behind her and crouched, reaching into the murky water. He held both bags on his other shoulder, keeping them above the waterline. A moment later, she fell backward into his chest, and he put an arm around her to steady her.

  “Thanks, Vortok,” she said.

  Aduun’s gratefulness was almost overwhelming when they finally reached the next bit of dry land. He stood at the edge and faced the others, assisting as they drew themselves out of the last of the persistent muck.

  Once they were all on the ground, he surveyed the area and frowned. Large expanses of water, riddled with various plants and fat-bottomed trees, separated the outcroppings of land as far as he could see.

  “Look at that!” Nina called, gesturing to the water they’d just exited.

  Aduun followed her gesture with his gaze to see a long, dark shape moving beneath the surface, too obscured by the murk to make out.

  He couldn’t guess what was in the water and found himself unwilling to try. “We just need to remain alert,” he said. “There’s no way to go but through the water.”

  “At least those things might be edible. It could be worse,” said Vortok, lifting one of his legs to shake mud off the fur of his calf.

  The sky chose that moment to unleash the storm that had been building. A single flash of lightning lit the heavens, followed by a peal of thunder, loud enough to make the ground beneath Aduun’s feet tremble, and then the rain began — torrents of rain, so much falling water that it quickly seemed as though there was as much of it in the air as in the swamp itself. The sound was overwhelming, and the rain was so heavy that it immensely reduced Aduun’s visibility.

  He flattened his quills and shot Vortok an annoyed glare.

  Vortok spread his hands and lifted his shoulders, already wet enough that his mane hung around his face in limp clumps.

  Aduun wiped raindrops from his eyes, though he knew it was a futile endeavor. “Come on,” he called over the din.

  He extended his tail toward Nina and watched her over his shoulder. She took hold of it and reached back with her other arm to clasp Balir’s hand, drawing the shrieker valo closer to her. Behind them, Vortok grabbed the end of Balir’s tail.

  They continued forward, correcting their course as Nina directed. More lightning flashed, and more thunder boomed. The rain was worse once they were in the water again; not only did it fall on them from above, but it bounced off the surface of the water to splash their faces from below.

  Never releasing hold of one another despite their frequent missteps and stumbles, the four trudged onward through the swamp, battling mud and rain every step of the way. Occasionally, one of them reported something brushing against their legs, but nothing attacked — that would’ve been too simple a problem to deal with. The valos were well-equipped to do battle with anything living. They had the natural weapons, the toughness, and the ferocity.

  Dealing with the environment, however, was a different matter. They could not fight the rain, and their claws and hooves offered no advantages in the mud.

  Eventually, they dragged themselves out of the water onto one of the many patches of land and stumbled forward. Despite the endurance that had been instilled in him when he was changed into a valo, Aduun’s muscles burned, and his breath was ragged. A glance at his companions suggested they were in the same state. Exhausted, soaking wet, and discouraged.

  Their high spirits upon entering this swamp had quickly plummeted. In some ways, that was as dangerous as the environment itself.

  They reached a spot where a huge tree stood atop a rise. It looked as though the ground had crumbled away beneath a portion of the tree. The large, exposed roots branched out in all directions, seeking water. They left a wide space beneath the tree that was relatively sheltered from the rain.

  The spot was far enough from the water that it would likely be safe from flooding, at least for a while.

  Aduun slowed to a stop and looked over his shoulder. “We should rest here,” he called.

  None of the others made any effort to keep their relief from showing on their faces. They moved to the tree and sank into the hollow beneath it, showing no concern for the lack of space; by now, they were used to laying pressed against one another.

  Vortok had hunched over to fit and leaned on his hip with one shoulder braced against the dirt-and-root wall behind him. Nina sighed; she was nestled in Vortok’s arms, tucked against his chest, facing the others. Balir sat beside the two, his legs pressed to Nina’s. Aduun had positioned himself on Balir’s oth
er side, his right arm and shoulder wedged against his companion.

  The droning, ceaseless sound of the rain drowned out all else save the occasional peals of thunder.

  “There are so many different valos on Sonhadra,” Nina said, her voice nearly swallowed by the rain’s din. “The Creators used them for war, for pleasure, as builders and slaves, but not you. Kelsharn hid you. Why did he lock you away?”

  Her question caught Aduun off-guard. He clenched his jaw at the sudden tightness in his chest and released a long, slow breath.

  Nina’s soft hand on his arm drew his attention to her. He looked into her eyes.

  “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, Aduun,” she said. “I know it’s in your memory, and I could find it if I tried, but…I am not going to take that from you. I just… It causes you a lot of pain, and I just wanted to share the weight of it with you.”

  He held her gaze for several moments. What kept him from speaking about it? Was it simple shame, or was it misguided pride?

  “It would have happened eventually, Aduun. It was inevitable,” Balir said.

  Vortok grunted his assent. “Didn’t matter what we did. We were not what he wanted.”

  “What do you two mean?” Nina asked, tilting her head back to look up at Vortok, brow furrowed. Aduun doubted she could see much other than the big valo’s chin from her position. “Does it have to do with what Kelsharn said about you being his mistakes?”

  “Yes,” Balir replied. “We were the first valos he created. Though we were much enhanced from our natural forms — impossibly stronger, faster, and tougher — we were not what he wanted. Kelsharn craved perfection. At least as far as his ends were concerned. He wanted war machines because the concept of war was amusing to him.”

  “But despite our strength, we can be killed,” Vortok continued. “We were not invincible war beasts.”

  “And we could not easily be controlled.” Balir shifted a hand to his chest, curled his fingers, and rapped his knuckles over his heartstone. “With the stones, he was able to command us, but they were not enough to provide him full control regardless of his power. Our beasts were too wild. Even he could not tame them. As time passed, he took increasing displeasure in that.”

  “So, he would have eventually disposed of us in some way,” Vortok said.

  “He would have,” Balir agreed.

  “But I acted before he could,” said Aduun.

  Everyone shifted their attention to him, and his skin suddenly burned. Even if Nina didn’t know, Balir and Vortok surely remembered. No matter what they’d said, how could they not hold a grudge against him for it, how could they have forgiven him all he’d done?

  “What did you do?” Nina asked.

  “I gathered my people,” he replied, mouth dry. “I told them I had been wrong to counsel the chieftain toward trusting Kelsharn, and that I would make up for my mistake. I told them I would fight against Kelsharn, that I would kill him, and reclaim our freedom.”

  “You should have seen him, Nina,” Balir said. Though Aduun sought bitterness or mockery in Balir’s tone, there was none; how could that be? “Aduun’s passion, his steadfastness, rallied our clan. Kelsharn had tried to break us, but he had failed. He meant to use us as slaves, we who had always roamed Sonhadra freely. And Aduun accepted responsibility for leading us to that point—”

  “Forgetting that Kelsharn would have taken our freedom, even if we had not trusted him,” Vortok interjected.

  Balir nodded. “He would have. But Aduun took that responsibility and claimed his place as chieftain by rallying us to rise against Kelsharn and reclaim what had been stolen from us.”

  “There were many of us, then.” Aduun’s words were like a knife in his own heart. “Some had not survived the change, like my father, our chieftain, and others were unable to endure Kelsharn’s tests. But our numbers were strong. We were still a clan, a tribe, and what could stop us if we stood together? We were confused by what we had become, frightened by it, but that had not snuffed out our will to fight.

  “Balir and Vortok stood with me and helped organize our efforts. We plotted and planned, tried to think like him, and when we struck it caught him by surprise. But Kelsharn was too powerful. Even against all of us, he was too powerful. He was inside our heads, clawing our minds apart…”

  Aduun dropped his chin, looking at the muddy ground beyond the shelter. “We made him bleed, but it was not enough. He killed many of our people in the battle. Crushed their heartstones or damaged their bodies so greatly that they were unable to heal. Yet despite our savagery, despite the beasts within us that he could not control, he eventually overwhelmed our minds, and we froze. With his blood dripping from my fangs and claws, I froze and could not move save to turn my eyes toward him and glare with more hatred than could ever have existed.”

  “His punishment for us was special,” Vortok said, voice uncharacteristically soft.

  “Because of our role in inciting the uprising, he wanted to ensure we paid the highest price,” Balir added.

  Aduun flicked his gaze toward Nina. Her frown was painful to see; more painful, perhaps, than it was to dredge up these old memories, though they’d never truly faded from his thoughts. “He locked us in those cages and placed our heartstones in plain sight. He knew our beasts would rise, but he knew also that the men within would look upon those heartstones and know what they were… Our means of containing what he made us, our only hope of being men again. The hole you fell through was one of three. Occasionally, a creature would drop into one of our cages, and we would eat. But it was never enough, and we always hungered for more meat…and for our heartstones.”

  “You did what you thought was right. All of you,” Nina said, squeezing his arm. “There was nothing — nothing — that you could have done to prevent what Kelsharn did to you and your people. The Creators took without remorse, without question, and Vortok is right. Kelsharn would have done it to you whether you had befriended him or not. You might have taken responsibility for it, Aduun, but you were never, ever to blame for what he did.

  “He might have shaped your bodies, but you three have shaped your own hearts, and look at who you are in spite of him.” She reached up and twined her fingers in Vortok’s mane. “Gentle and protective.” Next, she brushed the knuckles of the same hand over Balir’s cheek. “Considerate and wise.” Finally, she leaned out of Vortok’s arms to cup Aduun’s jaw. “Fierce and selfless. You are who you were always meant to be, and that has nothing to do with Kelsharn. You are great men, and you have yourselves to thank for it.”

  Aduun’s heart warmed, and his heartstone heated along with it. It was not easy to accept her words, not easy to see himself the way she saw him. But, if nothing else, he trusted Nina — trusted her with his own life and those of his companions, would trust her with the lives of all his people. What she’d spoken had been genuine.

  He leaned forward and kissed her, slowly and gently. When he pulled away, Balir leaned in to press his lips to hers. Vortok lowered his head to kiss her last. She twisted against him to reach his mouth before settling down in his arms once more.

  “Thank you for telling me. For trusting me,” she said.

  “Always,” the valos replied in unison.

  “We should rest while we have some protection from the rain,” Balir said.

  Aduun felt his companions’ bodies ease beside him, even as his own muscles relaxed. The storm continued, but it couldn’t disturb him now. He had his family here.

  He had everything he needed to carry on.

  Aduun closed his eyes and gave in to his weariness.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Nina woke to a light caress on her ankle. It slid upward along her calf, and she hummed in pleasure, smiling as she imagined where else Balir’s tail might venture.

  “Mmm, Balir,” she moaned, eyes still closed as she snuggled against Vortok’s fur-covered chest. She shifted her legs. Balir’s tail pulled away, only to settle back down
a moment later, slowly curling around her knee. “We need rest before we head out.”

  “Hmm?” Balir stirred behind her. “Did you speak, Nina?”

  “You’re being naughty with your tail again,” she said, opening her eyes. It was too dark to see anything, especially with her face buried against Vortok, and the drone of rain was as pervasive as it had been when they’d fallen asleep.

  Balir grunted softly. “My tail is currently stuck under Aduun.”

  Nina frowned as what she’d thought was Balir’s tail wound tighter around her leg. “Then wha—”

  Her words were cut off by a scream as whatever held her leg yanked her away from her mates, dragging her into the blackness and rain.

  “Nina!” Balir shouted.

  She slid through puddles and muck. Turning onto her belly, she clawed at the ground, desperately seeking a grip by which to stop herself. But the soft mud gave way, barely slowing her momentum.

  The thing around her leg tugged her feet into the water. She struggled and fought, tearing up clumps of dirt, but her efforts couldn’t withstand the thing’s strength for long. She was quickly losing ground. As her hips passed the waterline, she sucked in a deep breath, prepared to go under.

  A hand clamped around her wrist just before her head submerged.

  Her backward motion halted abruptly, and she cried out as the two forces pulled her in opposite directions, threatening to tear her arm and leg out of their sockets.

  “I have you, Nina,” Balir shouted, grabbing her other arm. Nina blinked and squinted up against the rain to see him standing before her, legs braced in the mud, his figure shadowy and indistinct.

  “Nina!” Vortok shouted.

  Lightning flashed, granting her a few disjointed images of the scene before her. Balir with a grim expression, muscles straining, and water dripping down his face. Vortok charging through the mud, mouth open in a shout. And Aduun in the air, frozen for that instant in mid-leap.