Killers, Traitors, & Runaways

by Lucas Paynter

  “On it, sir.” A Reahv’li soldier with a lilting voice began scurrying around the edges of the room, checking for something unseen.

  “Listen—Crescen, was it?” Yetinau began nervously. “I know about your boss, and I’ve been making a point not to make waves with him. Do we really have to do this?”

  Crescen nodded apologetically. “It is necessary. If this could end any other way—”

  “It doesn’t have to start! I mean, look around you! I’ve created a safe place!”

  “A safe place?” Crescen replied. “Tell me, Yetinau Gruent: Where are the men? Where are the children? Where are the elderly and the infirm kept and cared for?” He shook his head. “You have kept the armies at bay, yes, but how many more could you have saved? How many more have you turned away?”

  Yetinau avoided Crescen’s judgmental gaze.

  “A false god must be unmade,” Arronel said, stepping forward.

  “False?!” Yetinau scoffed. “I’m no less legit than yours!”

  Gaspar had come near the edge of the room beneath which the tunnel ran. Jean began to duck, but Flynn held his position; he seemed confident they would not be found.

  “All accounted for, sir,” Gaspar declared as he knelt over something shimmering. He returned to his companions, but Jean and Flynn were giving the object of his inventory curious scrutiny. A fragment was embedded in the stone floor, no larger than a pocket knife; a jagged shard with a familiar sheen.

  “That looks like—” Jean started.

  “Poe’s Dark Sword,” Flynn finished.

  “Chunk of it, anyway.”

  “What is accounted for?” Yetinau demanded. “Look—you guys can’t do anything to me. You have to have come here knowing that.”

  “Can’t we?” A girl spoke from beyond their field of vision. “You’ll ensure we can. You’re nervous, and nervous people make mistakes.”

  Yetinau scrutinized her, unsure of something he saw. At Jean’s side, Flynn was having a similar reaction, and tried to lean for a better look, to no avail.

  “What is it?” she whispered.

  “Something … I’d swear she’s a Mystik, but … not.”

  “Ya mean on the lower end, like us?” Jean asked. “Or like blue boy on the throne there?” Flynn shook his head. He had no answer.

  “You have one chance—” Crescen started.

  “You’re wasting your breath,” Arronel muttered.

  “One chance,” Crescen sharply reaffirmed. “Swear fealty to Taryl Renivar. We’ve no desire to cause unnecessary destabilization, but your trinity remains complete. Order and Chaos can still balance for a time without you, albeit less perfectly.”

  “And what do I have to give up?” Yetinau asked. He sounded like he already knew he wouldn’t like the answer.

  “Everything else. We’ve had agents among your worshippers for months, and you’ve manipulated a great many women, most of whom deserved better. There is no place for you in the next world, but you can still do good in this one. Amplify your power, make this place into a hospice—your very nature will winnow out the worst and protect your guests from harm. And Yetinau,” Crescen firmly added. “You may touch none that do not know you for who and what you truly are: a man from another world whose divinity was granted, not inherent.”

  Yetinau smiled, amused at this. “Well, great as that offer sounds … I think I’ll just get gone.”

  No one moved. Jean waited for Yetinau, Crescen, the Reahv’li—someone to do anything. As Yetinau frantically looked around, real worry dawned on his face.

  “What’d you guys do?”

  “Our sheep have been preparing for our arrival for weeks,” Arronel gloated. “You cannot abandon this neutral space for another.”

  “Alright, alright,” Yetinau said nervously as he at last stepped away from his throne to confront the unwelcome guests. “Stalemate then. You still can’t do a thing to me.”

  “And I say again, we won’t start anything.” The unseen girl spoke once more. “You will.” This time, she stepped forward—not far enough to get a good look at her face, but something on her hand caught Jean’s eye: a gauntlet, shimmering in the light.

  “So who the hell are you, girl?”

  “Ezara Xevus,” she replied, taking a step toward him with each word she spoke. “And you, Yetinau … you’re the type of man who’s had to learn to avoid conflict, aren’t you? We met with your old coworkers in Stoten before coming here. They’re getting on in years, but many still remember you.”

  Yetinau grew visibly perturbed as she closed in, and began backing up against his throne.

  “Not a violent man per se, but always ready to roughhouse if the situation allowed. Something you found came in conflict with your station as the Mystik of Neutrality, something that’s in your nature but you’ve learned to suppress. Something—”

  Yetinau raised his hand to stop her.

  “—that with the right prodding—”

  She leaned in, her left hand grazing his forearm before striking her fingers gently through his hair.

  “—is bound to come out.”

  “Get away!” Yetinau yelled, pushing Ezara back. She fell and rolled to the floor, but before she even landed, something nameless reverberated through the air. Yetinau froze, wide-eyed and dumbfounded at what he’d done.

  “Shit,” Jean whispered.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—” Yetinau stammered as the Reahv’li began drawing closer. “Look, I’ll take the offer, okay? I’ll serve the Living God—”

  “You’re not worthy,” Arronel condemned. “You shall never look upon my august lord and bow in supplication. Your selfishness and cowardice have assured that.”

  “Then I’ll step down,” he begged. “I’ll give up my godhood if you’ll just let me go.”

  “You haven’t been a god for very long,” Crescen said. “Even if we let you go today, you still have the potential, and your life force is vibrant. Who’s to say another won’t pass you their divinity? We’d find ourselves at the same impasse.”

  Unable to will himself away from this place, Yetinau did the only thing he could: he ran. He pushed through the Reahv’li in a feat of superhuman strength, but they raised their spears up for him; one snagged Yetinau and sent him crashing to the ground.

  Though blood was spilt, the wound closed as soon as it was cleaved, and he attempted to break for the corridor passage out of the mountain, throwing off every Reahv’li that caught on to him. Arronel caught Yetinau by his silk shirt, and it tore as its wearer twisted free and threw his assailant back. He tried to run once more, but the other Reahv’li began hurling spears and volleying arrows at him, and with every one that landed, Yetinau’s momentum slowed.

  “You can’t kill me so easily!” he cried desperately.

  But as the assault went on and he staggered for his exit, Jean realized Flynn was barely paying attention to Yetinau—he was looking at Ezara, who still stood confidently by the throne. She extended her left hand, and in an almost surreal motion, an arrow fired by a Reahv’li soldier that seemed to arc too low managed to hit its target, connecting with Yetinau’s ankle. A flick of Ezara’s wrist, and he was wrenched wider than the injury should have caused, crashing against the chamber wall.

  Crescen only shook his head in disappointment as he walked over, grabbing Yetinau by the ankle and dragging his spear-ridden body back into the room. Even then, Jean knew he was still alive.

  “Begin,” he ordered the Reahv’li, who gathered around Yetinau to pull their spears free and began stabbing him again and again. He screamed in agony—as deification did nothing to numb his sense of pleasure, so too did he still feel pain.

  As this merciless assault continued, Crescen went to a corner of the chamber and carefully pried free one of the shards that had been embedded in the floor. The circle had been made to keep Ye
tinau trapped, but he might well be able to escape if he only had the clarity of mind for it. As Crescen approached Yetinau, he slowed his steps, looking at the blade he’d plucked loose.

  “He doesn’t want to do it,” Flynn whispered.

  Arronel, who had recovered from being flung across the room, clasped Crescen’s shoulder. “I’ll do it. Death is more my domain than yours.”

  Crescen nodded in gratitude and passed the blade to Arronel, who held it firmly in his cloven hands. He rudely pulled aside one of the Reahv’li and brought the dagger down.

  “Jean.” Flynn’s voice sounded faint. “Jean.”

  Another stab, and she looked at him.

  “I got Yetinau to tell me about this tunnel so we could escape unnoticed,” he reminded her. “If we wait too long, someone will find us.”

  She nodded, shaken by the brutality of what she’d just seen. She already knew there was no point in waiting—by the third strike, Yetinau was clearly dead.

  CHAPTER TWELVE: Altars of Worship

  A snow-drifted canyon lay on the other side of Chot Vot, and it was a day’s journey before they found passage out, then another week to reach the northern coast. The news of Yetinau’s death had disturbed the entire party, but none more than Poe, who walked in silence, ruminating on the implications. Even as Thoris began to loom on the horizon, as vast as Shea’s tales had promised, he found himself more burdened by the weight of his blades and the question of whether, when the time came, they would do him any good.

  “Yetinau wasn’t a fighter,” Flynn assured him. “As for you … well, it’s part of why you were tapped.”

  “Even had Rousow better options, she’d have still chosen me,” Poe echoed. It was in no way comforting. “Is this the fate that awaits me? To ascend and face execution for it?”

  “They need you alive,” Chari reminded him. “Stabilizing Renivar’s trinity comes first, or there will be no reality left to house those he seeks to save.”

  Poe wanted to take comfort in that, but he knew the truth all too well. “I will stand only as a placeholder. When one among his people rises with the same potential as I, his Mystik-killers will seek to pry the godhood from my corpse.”

  “They’ll not have you as easily,” Flynn assured him.

  “You mentioned a girl before—that Yetinau performed his greatest errors after she approached him.”

  “Ezara Xevus.” Flynn dwelled on her for a moment before continuing. “It seemed like she wasn’t doing anything. And yet…”

  “I swear—that fucker who nailed Yeti in the leg?” Jean added. “Shot shouldn’t have landed. Like it was gonna miss. Barely, but just the same.”

  “What otherworldly power does she possess?” Poe asked. He reached back and drew the Dark Sword. “And if the dagger that ended Yetinau is of the same forge as my blade, have I any better chance at stopping her?”

  No one had an answer.

  The trees gave way to fields and those in turn to the lonely shores. Save for the waves, the only sound was that of distant cannon fire; within the first day of Yetinau’s demise, conflict had invaded his sacred lands.

  The great wall encompassing Thoris climbed so high that the clouds themselves scraped against it. It was not so perfectly sheer that it couldn’t be climbed, but the turbulent waves and protruding rocks that protected it made trying impossible.

  “So I’m thinkin’,” Jean suggested. “What we need is a rocket launcher. Bust a hole right in the fuckin’ thing.”

  “Keltia doesn’t have that kind of technology,” Flynn said with resignation.

  “Then what do you propose?” Poe asked. “Our intent was to approach by vessel, but it’s apparent now such a plan would be as foolhardy as swimming to Thoris.”

  “We’ll walk,” Zaja said. “Once we get close enough, I’ll place my hands in the water. I can freeze it.”

  “Even at the closest point, that’s still at least a mile from shore,” Zella said with some concern. “Can your body handle it?”

  Poe knew he should speak up, for Zaja’s gifts strained her even in short bursts. But they had come so close, and despite his fears and reservations about what future his ascension might now lead to, he still craved the power—and the freedom—that deification promised. So, even knowing what permanent damage Zaja might endure to get him there, Poe said nothing.

  This didn’t stop his companions from objecting, of course, but Zaja finally put her hands up to soothe their misgivings. “Listen: I’ve thought about this. It’s something only I can do, and unless anyone has a better idea about how to get there, let me have it, okay?”

  Before anyone could object, Poe offered a point of reason. “The Reahv’li are likely trailing us. The traitors among Yetinau’s congregation would have divulged our presence there. After all,” he concluded as he glanced at Zella, “we possess something they desire.”

  “Thing?” she snapped, insulted.

  “Poe’s right,” Flynn interrupted. “We didn’t come this far to get cornered now.”

  Shea took to the fore and pointed at a distant protrusion in the land. “Atvuon Peninsula’s just there. Closest point to Thoris.”

  It would take the remaining day to cross to the tip of the peninsula, and likely hours more for Zaja to bridge the way to the great wall. Their method of breaching it was not under discussion.

  As they crossed the peninsula, Chari made a casual observation. “It makes one wonder if the way beyond was not always flooded—if there was a way to Thoris once, one forgotten or lost.”

  This caused Poe to pause, curious. He drew a blade and, on a lark, thrust it into the ground; to his surprise, it struck something solid, buried in the golden sands. His arm stung from the pain of striking the obstruction, but he nonetheless knelt and began scooping away handfuls of sand. A yellowed stone came into view.

  “There was a road here, once,” Flynn concluded.

  “The people of Keltia were in communion with their gods,” Poe concurred.

  “Bugger that,” Shea countered. “Road here means road inside. Way through the wall.”

  Poe stepped back to survey the small pit he’d dug. The journey toward Thoris thus far had been a gamble, a speculation based on old lore that something might lay hidden. This was the first assurance that all they’d suffered might come to something, though whether or not it would provide the desired nexus of conduits to other worlds remained to be seen.

  For the first time, Poe’s burdens felt a little lighter.

  * * *

  Black clouds had rolled overhead by the next morning, and Zaja had no faith the weather would improve. She knew the cold climate and sunless skies would be better for the ice; it was no secret that they also made things worse for her.

  As she approached the peninsula’s tip, Zaja pulled her gloves off and felt the warmth they provided flee her hands. She knelt in the shoals and felt the icy wind and water caress her fingers. She inhaled deeply, then exhaled and felt the cold expand beneath her palms. Seawater sloshed onto the uneven, icy platform that was steadily hardening beneath her.

  She shuddered from this first attempt, and Poe draped his cloak over her for warmth. “I believe you can shoulder this task,” he told her.

  Chari walked up and pressed her foot on the platform. It held firm. “Remember as we spoke,” she said. “The ice must run deep, else the tides will shatter the bridge and dash us all upon the stones.”

  “I’ll do the best I can,” she replied with a nod. “But everyone needs to keep spaced out. I don’t know how much weight the bridge will hold. I … I’ve never done something like this before.”

  Chari took Zaja’s hands and healed her, visibly wincing from the chill that passed between them. Her ability to mitigate the damage held little comfort considering the distance that stood between them and Thoris. The inaugural platform was no more than a few meters long
, and only inches deep.

  At first, Zaja tried to build a wall of sheer ice to connect them to the fabled continent, but this swiftly proved untenable. Generating so much ice caused a sensation akin to daggers shredding her arms, and it was harder still to push so deep in the ocean. For how taxing the work was, Zaja had to stop every few minutes to find healing and share in another’s warmth. During one of these rests, she remembered the rail bridges on Breth, and found new inspiration in them.

  From there, Zaja began to form the bridge in arches, rising and falling beneath her, creating pillared foundations in the ocean floor rather than one perpetual barrier. She asked the others to keep distant upon adopting this tactic, unsure how much weight the unfinished bridge could stand. Keeping the others away also allowed Zaja to hide the agony she was silently suffering; she didn’t want them to see her pain or worry about her.

  “You’re getting worse,” Chari observed during their next healing session. No matter how much Chari healed her, Zaja knew the damage she was inflicting on herself could not be entirely undone. The work was only a quarter of the way finished, and already her hands were riddled with tiny dark spots.

  “Don’t tell the others,” she requested.

  Chari clearly wanted to object, and looked guilty for not doing so. But she nodded in silent assent, and Zaja began her task anew.

  By the time they were halfway across, it was high noon, though the clouds in the sky did nothing to illustrate this. The base platform she’d started with was breaking away, but they were far enough along now that this was no concern. It just meant no going back.

  As they got farther along, Zaja needed to take more and more frequent rests. Her hands still shook even after Chari soothed her pain, and her determination couldn’t stave off the toll taken on her body. By the time Thoris was but a stone’s throw away, Zaja was trembling in the arms of Jean, who had rotated in to warm her.

  “You gonna hold up, Zaj?” she asked, worried.