I stay in my human form, but I am prepared to switch if necessary. I have a decent reputation for transformation speed, but each of my forms come up short in this situation.
A semicircle consisting of nearly every citizen of Coldhaven has formed around us. Most of the men clutch torches which cast the crowd in an eerie light. Some of the men carry hunting bows, and half a dozen more clutch swords. For a while only faint shuffles and murmurs reach across the twenty or so feet of empty space between us. I scan the assembly and try to determine who might pose the greatest threat, but much of what I encounter in their expressions is fear, not threat.
“Stand aside,” orders Shadow. “We have business elsewhere.”
Several people respond.
“We need you,” says a child.
“Stay and help us!” begs a woman.
“We come to ask ya to take up our cause,” explains a man.
Tellen whistles sharply and waves for silence.
“Why should we help you?” I demand, seizing the opening provided by the sudden quiet.
“How can we help?” asks Shadow, keeping his voice neutral. “We haven’t time to hear everybody out so I’ll ask the elder to summarize for us.”
“There’s no time!” protests a man.
“They’re coming!” warns a woman, her voice high with panic.
Straightening from his ready stance, Shadow makes his weapons disappear. I had seen Tellen do that on occasion. However, this hardly strikes me as a proper moment to send spirit weapons beyond the Veil.
“Who. Is. Coming?” I growl, clenching my hands into fists.
“Servants of the Master,” calls Markesh from my left. He sounds triumphant.
I glance over to see him kneeling on the ground, hands bound behind his back. Two burly men hold on to Markesh’s shoulders, pressing down to keep him in place.
“Quiet,” orders one of his guards.
“We have sent those you summoned back to the Darklands,” I tell Markesh.
His return grin disturbs me. He looks like he knows a secret he’s dying to tell us. I wonder if we’re about to find out why he volunteered to stay behind and guard us when the others left for the fort.
“Evil comes,” warns an old woman gravely.
“Who?” I demand again.
“Denkari,” says the woman. Her voice is barely more than a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might bring the evil ones closer.
“They come for you! All of you! You cannot stop them!” Markesh’s laugh shifts into a maniacal giggle, but when he speaks again his voice changes to a smooth, deep, scary voice that does not belong to him. “I am a prophet. Hear my words. The Master comes to find the faithful. Do not fear his loyal servants. Welcome them. Join them. Take up your weapons and capture the magic ones. The faithful shall reap reward. The unfaithful will reap pain and—”
A heavy thunk cuts Markesh off as a small, flat rock flies up and raps him sharply on the forehead. He slumps over unconscious, flopping to the ground as he slips through the startled fingers of his two guards. Unsure of what to do, they simply leave him there.
“That’s better.” Shadow clears his throat. “How many Denkari are coming? How do you know they will come?”
“I have felt them,” declares the same old woman who had spoken before. “They number three for now, and they move closer every moment. Minutes or hours, I could not tell you, but soon.”
“What are you going to do about them?” snaps a man. “We cannot fight these devils.”
“We know what we have to do,” declares a young man. “The prophet said they want the magic ones. There’s no reason for any of us to suffer. The other man left when he got that girl, the other traveler. Certainly, the Denkari—”
“He is no prophet,” interrupts the old woman. “He is trouble.”
I have no desire to hurt these people, but I also have no time to play savior right now. The danger facing Vic grows by the second, and the sense that this new threat stalks her nearly overpowers me.
“Do you want us to fight or are you planning on trading us for your peace?”
“Trade,” mumbles half the crowd.
“Fight,” cries the other half.
“They are here,” says the old woman.
Screams from the back of the crowd confirm her statement.
Our reaction is instantaneous. Shadow’s weapons return to him, and he throws up a shield to protect against magic strikes.
Tellen slips through the shield, grabs the three nearest children, and pushes them into the Gathering Hall behind us. Every mother near us hustles her children into the Gathering hall.
Relying on my beetle form, I fly high enough to see three distinct sections of the crowd collapsing, falling forward like wheat felled by a scythe.
Shadow drops the original shield and forms a new one across the threshold to the Gathering Hall. Normal Bereft can still pass through the shield, but unless Shadow drops it, everything with a touch of magic in it, including us, will be kept out.
“Help Tellen,” Shadow orders.
Using the nimble dog form, I do as bid, lacking time to raise questions. The crowd milling about in the square bumps into each other. Twice, I dash into the crowd, find a group of three or four villagers, and guide them back to the Gathering Hall. Midway through my third trip, something cold brushes past me and saturates me with hopelessness.
Losing my ability to concentrate, I revert to human form and kneel with my forehead pressed to the ground. Only through massive effort am I able to summon enough willpower to raise my head. My three charges lie prone around me. The wave of hopelessness spreads in front of me.
Three large figures march forward steadily. Their measured footfalls cause pain in everyone unfortunate enough to be in their way.
Shadow releases three spirit arrows in quick succession, but the arrows simply bounce away from the targets and land in the crowd. Frustrated, Shadow banishes the arrows before any damage can be done with them on redirect. With whispered words I cannot hear, Shadow conjures a staff and twirls it to test the balance.
The Denkari on the right and left close in on Shadow from opposite sides.
The one in front and slightly to the left of me pauses to watch.
“Make them submit,” growls the Denkari leader. He is not exactly a high-ranking member, but he outranks the other two. His slightly curved silver sword rests idly in his left hand.
I silently thank Master Talini for the lessons on mystical creatures.
Before the fight can begin, Tellen eases up beside Shadow and raises his hands—clutching daggers, of course—toward the Denkari approaching from Shadow’s left and my right. I know Tellen wants to fire lightning bolts into these Denkari, but he refrains for the sake of the densely packed crowd trembling all around the creatures.
With the three Denkari focused on my companions, my ability to think returns and a crazy idea springs to mind. If I think about it too long, sanity might prevent me from carrying out the plan. Pushing every thought from my mind, I gather my will and strength to break the mental shackles the Denkari have placed upon me.
The Denkari strike hard and fast, swinging their terrible black blades. The metal on their swords appears etched with bright lines weaving an intricate pattern up and down the blades. The Denkari facing Tellen possesses a blade with brilliant blue etchings, confirming the warrior as a low-ranking officer. The Denkari facing Shadow bears the green-lined blade of a foot soldier.
Shadow meets his opponent directly while Tellen dodges each strike from his opponent. The clanging sound of battle fills the area. As Tellen starts adding careful lightning strikes to distract the Denkari, I yank my attention away from the combatants to concentrate on my task. I need a source of fire, Tellen’s cooperation, quick reflexes, solid aim, and a generous share of holy help to carry out my plan.
The battle settles into a rhythm with Tellen and Shadow dancing into and out of range of the Denkari weapons. The creatures miss the opportunity
to end the fight quickly.
As my companions begin to grow weary, I charge forward, shouting, “Tellen! The berries! Give me the berries and get a torch for Shadow!”
The distraction nearly gets Shadow killed as he hesitates a quarter of a second too long in blocking a heavy strike targeting his head. Thankfully, his reflexes save him.
Along the way, I snatch up a fallen torch, light it with my fingertips, and call, “Trade!”
Tellen catches on and tosses me the pouch of baydonberries as I pitch the lit torch to him. Thinking I must have lost my mind, I empty the bag onto the ground, turn into a snake, and scoop up as many of the berries as possible. I miss about a third of them, but I cannot waste time on regrets.
One of the beautiful loopholes in transformation is that objects in one’s mouth are treated as part of the body, making the baydonberries mine to command. In this case, I simply shrink them and load them into my venom pouch.
Shadow sets up two temporary shields to slow the Denkari down a few seconds. If properly anchored, the shields might have kept the Denkari at bay, but as is, it disorients them for a few seconds. The move earns Tellen and Shadow enough time to get up to the Gathering Hall roof. I’m not sure if they climbed or leapt, but they make it. No wonder Arkonai are so hard to track in a fight. They pause with their heads tilted toward each other, and I know Tellen is explaining my plan to Shadow.
Sharp talons pierce me in five different places, nearly causing me to swallow the baydonberries. Shunting the pain aside, I transform into a beetle and fly straight at the Denkari captain’s feet. Once there, I change back to snake form and coil around his legs, tripping him.
The other two Denkari whirl to face me.
I fire a stream of berry-laced venom at each Denkari before turning and biting the captain. Uncoiling and retreating a few feet, I strike again, giving him a bigger dose of the venom. Screams erupt from the other two Denkari as Shadow unloads flaming arrows into them.
Realizing what I’ve done, the captain dives and rakes my skin with his claws. Furious and in pain, I spit the last of my poison right in his face as Shadow’s next flaming arrow rushes to meet it. The sudden burst of flames sears me and dazzles my vision, distracting me from the creature’s death throes.
Breathing hard, I let my human form return and find myself sitting on the ground near the body of the fallen Denkari. Pain from deep gashes along both arms and across my back nearly drives me unconscious, but as I begin falling, something catches me.
“That was a sight to behold,” Shadow says from somewhere behind me.
Tellen’s face appears above me.
“You’re absolutely crazy,” he declares. Leaning close, he adds, “And you’re all right … for a Saroth.” His voice rumbles with amusement and worry. “Rest. We’ll get someone to treat these wounds.”
His lips brush my forehead as I pass out.
Chapter 15:
Sara
Victoria Saveron
Gabon’s Stable, Village of Bright Hope
“What do they want with ya?” Sara inquires. Her soft, lilting accent soothes me as much as the odd smelling paste she’s been beating with a thin wooden spoon.
As much as I would like to respond, I am uncertain where to begin and need to concentrate to gather enough strength to voice an answer. Between the lack of sleep, the endless walking, the little sustenance, and the wretched ropes, the day has not been kind to me. My wrists and neck burn from where the ropes punished me for every small movement. My thoughts drift back to Coldhaven and the terrifying screams that reached us when we were well upon the road. I imagine the horrors that came upon my friends and wish I could have aided them or at least perished with them.
They live.
I’m not sure if the thought is wishful thinking or a message, but I accept it at face value for now. There’s not a great deal I can do to help them anyway, even if I could stand up straight. Simply shifting to a more comfortable position on the straw takes a lot of effort. The only positive thing I can say for the pain is that it distracts me, putting the pungent smell of animals in perspective.
Tired of waiting, Sara stops mixing and starts chatting again.
“Here we are in this fine mess, and I know naught but yer name and only half at that, assuming ye have a surname.” She takes hold of my hands and positions them so she can reach the wounds. Wincing, Sara gives the paste another round of mixing. “This should help but it’s going to sting. Feel free to scream as ya like. I doubt it will bother the beasts, and I’ve been around enough wee ones to handle a good scream now and then. I’d like to give a good scream about now, but I haven’t half the excuse as ye do.”
“Thank you.” My voice sounds wispy.
“Ye won’t be thanking me in a moment,” Sara notes, “but the pain will fade, the wounds will heal, and the sun will rise on a better day, as me mum likes to say.” As she speaks, Sara covers my wrists with the brown paste. Her touch is gentle, and she doesn’t hesitate to touch the unnaturally cool, clammy skin on my diseased hand.
For a brief time, I suffer nothing, and then my good wrist feels like it’s been ripped raw then bathed in salt, which I suppose is essentially what has transpired. The other wrist hurts too, but the pain is muted, as if the damaged skin doesn’t remember how to convey pain. I clench both hands into fists and bite my lower lip to hold in the scream begging release. My effort turns the scream into a muffled whimper accompanied by tears.
“That’s grand it is,” Sara encourages. “Just a few more spots to treat and the pain’ll be nothing but a memory, a bad memory to be sure, but a thing past.”
Sara reaches for each of my ankles and applies a generous portion of the salve to the wounds.
Pain blossoms in my ankles, but the level remains far below that which originally engulfed my good wrist. Our captors’ efforts to keep the ankle ropes from doing serious harm paid off for the most part. Somehow experiencing pain from several different areas helps me ignore some of it. Tears flow down my face in greater abundance, despite my efforts to curb them.
“Let the tears come, lass,” Sara encourages, brushing damp hair away from my face. “Pay the pain little mind. Here now, ease me curiosity and tell me who ya are.”
“Victoria Saveron.”
Sara picks up my diseased hand and caresses it.
“Well, Victoria, I’m happy to know ya, even if the introduction was bit rough.” She offers me a smile and sets my hand down. “Me full name’s Sara Amelia Andari, but Sara does just fine. Soon as I finish patching these wounds, I’ll fetch the water and bread the stable boy left for us. And I’ll apologize ahead for me cold hands.” She pauses for me to respond.
I manage to nod.
Sara gently lifts my shirt enough to use the last of her healing paste to trace the irritated spots around my waist.
“Yer body will feel better after ya have a bite to eat.” Her smile brightens, lightening her features. “I always feel better when there’s food about, and the people of Bright Hope certainly know how to make a fine loaf of bread. Me elder brother moved out here to learn from the finest baker in these parts.” Her smile falters and fades.
The pain across my midsection momentarily drives thoughts away. To distract myself, I cautiously ask, “What happened to him?”
“Winter cough,” she replies with a shrug. “Gordy always had weak lungs. They killed his dreams of a soldier’s life first, and eventually, they took his body as well. So, now it’s me and the folks in our cozy home in Coldhaven.”
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, grateful the pain has subsided enough to let me think again.
“Ye have nothing to be sorry about,” Sara assures. To reinforce her words, she picks up my leathery right hand and clasps it between her two perfect hands. “The One gives and takes as He does. Ours is not the path of sadness but of peace and strength found in living through hardship.”
“How can you bear to touch that hand?” I ask.
As she considers the questi
on, Sara lifts her right hand off mine and tucks it beneath her left so that my corrupt hand is displayed between us. When at last she speaks, her answer surprises me.
“It is an honest hand.”
My expression earns another smile.
“It shows the darkness and rot awaiting us without the One. Everybody has it. We just don’t all show it. When the One comes and claims us, it’ll heal, but until then, at least ya have a reminder that ye live by power outside mortal flesh.”
“How do you have such strong faith?” I feel ridiculous asking the question. Am I allowed to feel doubt? If anyone deserves to be the Chosen Redeemer, surely this lady should qualify.
“Hold that thought,” Sara says, giving my right hand a gentle pat. “It deserves more than a quick answer, and I’m famished. We should eat.” A troubled expression crosses her face. “It’s a long way to the next village, and we may have to start early again.”
I grunt at the unpleasant thought.
With one last, reassuring squeeze, Sara releases my hand and gets up to fetch the food. She’s back by my side in moments. Gingerly, she helps me shift to a position better for being fed.
“I hate being helpless,” I mutter.
Sara’s next words contain a deep streak of wisdom.
“It is no more than we always are. I will explain more as ye eat.” She breaks off a bite-sized chunk of bread and holds it close to my mouth.
Not really in an eating mood, but lacking the will to fight her, I open my mouth. The soft bread touches my tongue with a sweetness that nearly brings more tears. I chew slowly and accept another mouthful. Noticing Sara has eaten nothing and probably plans on feeding me the whole lot, I wave off the third bite.
“Yours.”
Nodding graciously, Sara closes her eyes then eagerly puts the bread in her mouth. From then on, she alternates giving me a morsel then taking one for herself. As much as possible, she also pours water down my throat.
Awakening (Redeemer Chronicles Book 1) Page 8
