Or would the Voices have even more power over me in my sleep? I would be defenseless.
He thinks you are weak.
Were these my own thoughts or the Voices? Sometimes, it was hard to tell. I was so tired.
Rath left me to check Zarra’s wounded arm. He had left his water flask behind. Maybe a fresh drink of water would clear my head and make my voice work again. I picked it up, unscrewed the cap, and drank.
Rath’s water tasted far worse than anything he had ever made me drink. This was a new level of horrible my tongue had never before experienced. It tasted so wretched that even the Voices howled in protest.
What in the world was in this water?
As I coughed and spluttered and spit into the grass, I held the flask at arm’s length as if it might bite me.
If this was the stuff Rath usually drank, it was no wonder his potions tasted so awful. His tongue must be completely shriveled from this torture.
You could add something to his drink.
He wouldn’t even notice.
He would sleep instead.
Why would I care if Rath slept?
He hates us.
I hate you, too.
We killed his friend.
That’s not my fault.
He could have saved his friend.
But he had to save you instead.
Often, I wondered how exactly Rath felt about me. He was a dedicated mentor and a perfect bodyguard, but was that his choice, or was he compelled by the wish my father made? Did he blame me for my father’s death?
There is darkness in him.
A desire for vengeance.
I couldn’t blame him for wanting revenge, but avenging my father’s death by hurting me wouldn’t help anything.
He wishes you were dead.
But he cannot kill you.
So he will make you sleep instead.
Forever.
Fear began to prick my heart with its sharp little claws.
He is free while you sleep.
Free from you.
You warned him of us, but he would not believe you.
No I didn’t. I couldn’t tell him. You stole my words.
Silly man! We do not have that power.
Was it foolish of me to think the Voices had so much control? Maybe I had imagined that they choked the words from my throat.
You told him, and he didn’t listen.
Secretly he wishes you to suffer.
He did?
He ignores your pain.
Rath had never ignored my pain, though his response to my pain was usually more sleeping potions. Maybe the Voices were really on to something.
Now he will make you sleep.
He wishes to leave you here.
Alone.
I didn’t want to be alone.
But you will never be alone.
We will be with you.
Rath would not abandon me to the Voices. I would rather be completely, utterly, totally alone than trapped with them.
You will never be alone.
He would not make me sleep.
You will dream with us.
Dream of death.
I wouldn’t give Rath a chance to trap me with them. I would show him what it felt like to be forced to sleep. I dumped the entire contents of the vial into Rath’s flask. Then I carried it to him and watched him drink it.
He drank it all. He didn’t even notice.
I tried to remember the last time I had slept. I was so tired I trembled, and time was losing all sense of meaning.
Night fell, casting its cool, dark blanket over us all. Mel was still recovering from the effects of Banash’s healing. She had fallen deeply asleep, wrapped in blankets inside the tent. She wrapped herself tightly, showing no skin. She was anxious I would bump into her and kill her, just like that.
It is that easy.
So easy to kill.
Zarra was on guard duty. Rath was supposed to switch off with her, but he was so deeply asleep he had lost all track of time. I watched him fall asleep, mesmerized by the potency of his own potions. He nodded off, leaned toward the fire, and lost his balance. Falling to the ground didn’t even rouse him. He looked dead.
Dead.
Dead!
I don’t know how long I sat there staring at Rath. It could have been hours. The fire was dying down, but I didn’t bother to revive it. The Voices didn’t like fire. If I could just appease the Voices, maybe they would leave me alone. My mind was exhausted, but my body was alert, tense with fear. If I fell asleep, the Voices would get me. If Rath woke and discovered what I’d done to him, he would be angry.
I sat still as a stone, but my mind fought an active battle.
I flinched when I heard a familiar voice.
“Highness?”
“Zarra?” I lifted my head to see her but she was nowhere to be found.
“Highness?” I heard Zarra’s voice again.
“Yeah?” I whispered. She must have been standing just on the other side of the tent. She sounded so near.
“You need to clear out of here,” she said.
I tensed. “Why?”
“Just go. Quickly. There is danger here.”
I reached for my pitchfork. We were once again on good terms now that I knew the pitchfork hadn’t been used to kill Rath.
“Where?”
Something near the tent moved. I jumped. But it was only Mel, awoken by the sound of my voice. She stood in the tent doorway, watching me with a furrowed brow.
“Zarra, where are you?” I asked.
From the trees came the glow of her lantern. Why was she so far from camp? And how could I hear her as if she was right next to me?
“Zarra?”
No answer.
He’s just hearing things, said the Voices.
He’s hearing voices in his head.
I gritted my teeth and tried to shut the Voices out.
Mel didn’t ask any questions. She grabbed her staff and clicked it out to its full length. Quiet as a forest cat, she crept over to where Rath lay. She tried to nudge him awake, but he didn’t move.
She looked up at me with a deep frown.
I pretended not to notice.
Mel grabbed the lantern that sat on the ground beside Rath. She lit it, and the Voices shrieked for her to put it out. I ignored them.
Holding the lantern high, we walked together toward the other light, weaving through the trees. Mel made a point to always stay several paces away from me.
“Don’t come this way!” Zarra’s voice pierced the night. I flinched. Her voice was loud enough that she might have been right beside me. I had never heard such desperation and anxiety in Zarra’s voice before. She was usually so calm and level headed. Hearing her in such distress could only mean one thing:
Trouble.
“Zarra, where are you?” I said louder, hoping the sound of my voice would frighten off whatever was scaring her.
“Don’t come this way,” she said.
I pushed some branches aside. It was too dark to run. Was the light getting farther away as I approached, or was it only a trick of the shadows?
“We’re coming,” I said.
“Highness?”
I jumped when I thought I saw someone staring at me. Just a spirit. In fact, many spirits had congregated here tonight. Didn’t they have anything better to do than stare at me?
“Highness?” Zarra repeated.
“I’m coming.”
“Highness?”
At last, we reached the light. I stopped dead in my tracks. Mel dropped the lantern with a gasp. The light was indeed coming from Zarra’s lantern, but she was not holding it. The lantern hung from a branch, cutting a circle of light out of the darkness. In the ring of light, we found Zarra.
She was dead.
Mel covered her mouth with her hands. The Voices rejoiced. They made a racket in my head bidding for her vacant body.
Zarra had been run through with a sword, pinned upright
to the tree that now held her lantern. Her body slumped forward over the hilt of the blade, her hands hanging limp at her sides.
“Highness?”
I realized with sudden horror and understanding that the voice I had been hearing was her spirit’s. Zarra was dead. Her spirit had been speaking to me, trying to warn me.
And then I saw her. She was standing just outside of the glow of her lantern. Our eyes met. Sadness washed over me in a wave of emotion that made the Voices momentarily silent.
“Zarra.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I tried to warn you.”
“Oh, Zarra,” groaned Mel. I held up my hand to warn her back.
This was not the work of a deadman. They weren’t this neat, this clever, or this sick. Someone had deliberately, viciously murdered her.
Murder.
Smell the blood.
Hatred kills and we rejoice.
“Who did this to you?” I demanded.
Zarra’s spirit looked startled that I was addressing her. Then understanding lit her eyes. Gravely, she pointed into the trees. As she did, light flared from several other lanterns and torches, distorting her image. We were completely surrounded by people.
This was a trap.
So much blood!
“Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite renegade.” General Canron stepped from behind a tree, where he had been lying in wait for me. I hadn’t seen him since the day of my execution, when he had been apprehended by Shyronn. Safford must have bought his freedom and sent him after me like a desperate bloodhound. And he had found me, alright. He had found me, and he had killed Zarra to get to me.
“There are seventeen soldiers with him,” Zarra’s spirit said. “They attacked me so quickly. I didn’t have a moment to respond. I couldn’t even scream. I tried to warn you. I’m so sorry, Highness.”
“Don’t apologize,” I said.
“I don’t intend to,” Canron replied with a wolfish smile.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” I spat. “I was talking to her.” I gestured to Zarra’s body with a disgusted twitch of my pitchfork.
I itched to burn her. I understood now why there were so many spirits loitering about. They were all waiting for a chance to seize this fresh body, all lured by the false hope of a new life.
Fresh blood.
A new body for us.
We will make it whole again.
Canron laughed. “Oh, so you can speak to the dead now, can you?”
“You have no idea,” I said.
“Well,” Canron drawled, “that will make the transition all the easier when you join them.”
I scowled, spinning the pitchfork menacingly.
“Are you really going to try to fight me?” Canron’s words dripped with arrogance. I wanted to strangle him.
Wrap your fingers around his neck and squeeze his life away.
Make him suffer.
Make him die.
For once, I actually agreed with the Voices. They delighted in this. Their excitement gave me confidence.
“You have nothing but a dirty old pitchfork,” Canron said. He looked Mel over dismissively. “And a little stick. Where are your thugs now, Izayik? Where are your hired roughers and your tricks and traps? You really are nothing all by yourself.”
He thinks you are alone.
Silly man.
You are never alone.
There is always us.
Canron was enjoying his moment of triumph. Unfortunately, my mind was so clouded by the opinions of the Voices that I couldn’t possibly think of a way out of this. After everything I had survived, would this be the way I died?
“I told you I would have my revenge,” Canron said.
“Revenge for what?” I asked.
His eyes flared. He drew his sword with an angry, clumsy scrape of metal.
Violence! cried the Voices.
“Does my family mean so little to you that you have forgotten their deaths, or are you guilty of so many others that they simply blur together in your sick mind?”
“I didn’t kill your family.”
Canron was so livid his face turned purple. I thought he might die of indignation all on his own.
Yes. Die.
Please die.
“You massacred them!” Canron shouted. I hoped his shout would be loud enough to wake Rath from his potion-induced sleep.
Beside me, Mel turned slowly around. She was counting the men we were up against. So many spirits had crowded near that I couldn’t see where the living people ended and the dead ones began.
“He isn’t looking for you,” Zarra said. I barely heard her voice above the rest of the spirits. “He wants the Imposter. He killed his family before we ever knew you existed. I — I was there.”
Fantastic. The Imposter was dead, and he was still ruining my life.
Body.
We want the body.
Take his body.
For us.
These Voices were crazier than deadmen. The Voices wanted to be deadmen. But all deadmen wanted was to be freed from the bodies they were trapped in. It was a never-ending round of death and disappointment. Why was all of this happening? Why was there nowhere else for spirits to go? Was death really so pointless?
Death.
Let there be death.
He will die, or you will.
Give us the body.
Canron was talking, but I couldn’t hear him. There were too many voices, all pressing closer.
I was sick of this. I was sick of everything. I was tired of the constant running and fighting. Tired of the death. Tired of feeling helpless while a war waged around me.
Mel gasped as a soldier reached for her. She whacked him on the head with her staff, but another man grabbed her, and then another. I tried to help, but another soldier jabbed his sword at me.
Rath appeared between us. Still sound asleep, he fell to the ground, where I had to dance around him to keep the men away from Mel. But it was too late. The staff was pulled away from her, and the men dragged her toward Canron.
“Let her go,” I said.
“I don’t think I will.” Canron was clearly enjoying this. “Since you care so much about her, I think I’ll kill her first. And I’ll make you watch.”
Killing!
Let there be killing.
More bodies for us.
“You’re sick. Release her. Now.”
Canron nodded, and the soldiers forced Mel to her knees. He tapped his sword on the ground like a sportsman about to play an innocent game of ball. “I’m not going to listen to you, not this time. I think you’re bluffing. The last time I called you on a bluff, you took the lives of people who were dear to me. Now, I’m going to do the same to you. And there is not a thing in this world you can do to stop me. You have nothing, Izayik. You have no plans. You have no army. Now you are going to face your nothingness and watch her die.”
I pointed to Zarra’s body.
“Take it,” I said.
The Voices cheered. My arm tingled as the spirits converged on Zarra. Her eyes glowed red. She wasn’t a normal deadman. These weren’t normal spirits. I had turned her into a beast.
“This is your last warning,” I said. My voice trembled, but it wasn’t from fear. All of the fear had leaked out of me. I didn’t feel anything at all, except a sense of resolute calm. I separated myself from what I was about to do. The Voices were pleased. “Release her now.”
“Or else what?” Canron asked. He raised the sword.
“If we’re talking revenge,” I said, “then I know someone who would like her own taste of it.”
I raised my hand, palm up, and Zarra’s head lifted. I clenched my fist, and her hands reached for the hilt of the sword stuck through her. I heard murmurs of anxiety from the soldiers all around us.
There were gasps of alarm as Zarra jerked the sword out of her body. She took a halting step forward, dragging the bloody sword in the grass.
“Don, what are you doing?” Mel
asked, her voice tight with terror.
I smiled.
“Making an army,” I said.
Mist spewed from beast-Zarra’s mouth. The soldiers backed away in horror, waving their lanterns and torches. Fire. What a bother.
“Prince of Death,” Canron gasped. It wasn’t even an insult anymore.
It was true.
I held my finger against my mouth as if to shush a child. I puffed air out of my lips. The spirits all around me copied my movement. All at once, every torch, candle, and lantern went out.
“Kill,” I said.
Rath!” Mel shrieked. Her voice sounded far away, distorted by sleepiness.
Cold water jerked Rath from the depths of sleep. His eyes snapped open. His limbs were heavy from the effects of his own potion.
The sounds of struggle all around him sent his heart racing. He could see branches of trees above him, smell burned cloth and skin and smoking wood. He heard so much screaming. What had happened while he slept? Once he was able to establish reliable use of one hand, he pawed clumsily at his coat.
Mel swatted his hand away.
“What do you need?” she asked.
Rath’s tongue felt about as useful as a rock in his mouth. He smacked his lips until words came out.
“Brown packet,” he said. Mel held one up. He shook his head. “Not that one.” Another. “No.”
“All of your little packets are brown!” Her voice edged toward hysteria. Rath wondered, rather lazily, what could be causing her such distress. The sleep was winning him over again.
At last, Mel held a tiny packet made of brown parchment. Rath nodded and tried to grab it, but his hand decided not to move. Rath cursed himself for being such a talented brewer. Perhaps this particular sedative worked a bit too well.
“How much of it do you need?” Mel’s hands were shaking.
Rath tried to mumble a measurement that clearly went over her head. Then he tried to gesture, but his hands just flapped pathetically.
“We don’t have time for this!” Mel groaned.
She forced Rath’s mouth open and dumped the entire package in.
For a brief second, Rath could see the whole universe. Energy buzzed through his veins, snapping him into hyper-focus. The sleepy effect of the draught vanished as if it had never occurred. Rath pushed himself into the air with such force that he smacked his head on a tree branch.
Fatal Heir Page 21
