by Keri Arthur
If in the process I saved the life of a man I might well love, then I’d consider that a personal win.
I unslung the sword and rifle and stripped off the coat. It might be cold here out in the open, but the gentle airflow coming from inside the lava tube held the distant promise of heat. I had no doubt it would increase the closer I got to the active vent. I slung the sword back over my shoulder but then hesitated as my gaze fell onto the backpack. If I failed to destroy them with the sword and knife, then I could at least use the pomegranates to bring the whole damn mountain down on top of us all.
I slung the pack over my other shoulder and—with another deep breath that did little to bolster my courage or cage the fear—walked across to the tube and stepped inside. I slid more than walked down the steep hill and, with every step, a gathering force of small stones and dust bounced ahead of me. The noise echoed through the chamber, and I could only hope the Volker were now far enough ahead not to hear it.
I reached the bottom of the tube unhurt and upright, but the earth now pulsed with urgency. I swore and broke into a run, my steps echoing softly on the tube’s hard black base. There was no light in this place, but I didn’t really need it once my eyes had adjusted.
Though the air remained relatively cold, sweat slicked my body—fear as much as exertion, I suspected. While the floor was fairly smooth in this portion of the tube, lavacicles hung from the ceiling like stalactites and the walls were ledged and ropey-looking. It was all rather surreal and, at any other time, would have been quite awe-inspiring.
But I had no time for wonder. No time to do anything more than run as hard and as fast as I could.
The tube grew rougher, narrower. I sped on, brushing past jagged edges of rock and leaping over volcanic clumps that had fallen from the ceiling, leaving gaping holes through which water seeped. Up ahead, a black wall loomed. I slid to a halt and scanned the immediate area, knowing there had to be a way around the blockage given that the Volker weren’t anywhere near. Even as the earth whispered her secrets, I spotted it—a thin slash in the wall to my right.
I unhooked the sword and backpack, then squeezed in sideways. It was a tight fit—the tunnel’s ceiling was barely inches above my head and my breasts were pressed hard against the wall. Jagged edges of stone tore at my shirt as I forced my way through and would have done the same to my skin if not for Marttia’s vest.
Of course, I could have very easily fixed that just by asking the earth to retreat. But doing so would not only alert the mages to my presence but also pull on my strength. Right now, I couldn’t afford either, not when it would undoubtedly take everything I had to destroy the staffs.
The air grew hotter and sweat dripped from my chin and my hair. I peered into the deeper darkness, hoping to see an end to this thing, but there was nothing visible other than a gentle curve away to the right. As I approached it, the walls grew even rougher and the top of the tunnel closer and more treacherous. A jagged piece of stone scraped my forehead, although I couldn’t tell if it was deep enough to draw blood thanks to the river of sweat already flowing down my face. I cursed softly and dropped down to all fours, shoving the sword and pack ahead of me as I alternated between crawling and thrusting sideways through the increasingly narrow space. How the bipeds had gotten through here without leaving behind a river of skin and blood, I had no idea.
But then, maybe they hadn’t had to. Maybe they’d simply done what I was afraid to, and opened this tunnel up long enough to slip through without hassle. Or maybe they were behind the near impassible nature of the damn thing.
The deeper darkness finally began to lighten, and the thick, heated air stirred, an indication that somewhere up ahead there was an end to this narrow nightmare. Fresh energy spurted through me, and I pushed on quickly. But just as the tunnel started to widen, a tremor ran through the earth and dust and debris began to fall.
That tremor wasn’t born of natural causes. It had come from a biped burying the first of the staffs into the ground.
Time was almost out.
I swore again and pushed through the tunnel, tearing clothes and skin and not caring.
Another tremor ran through the earth. Cracks appeared in the tunnel walls, slithering through the darkness far faster than me. Rocks rained down with bruising efficiency and I bit my lip against the desire to scream in frustration and pain.
A third tremor. A third staff planted into the ground.
The floor cracked underneath me. I scrambled on, knowing by the ever-growing lightness in the air that the end of the tunnel was close. The gentle sweep straightened and, up ahead, a strange green luminescence appeared. For one heart-stopping moment, I thought I was staring at the eyes of some gigantic animal. Then other glowing orbs appeared, some of them round, some of them long slashes of brightness. Not a life form but rather some sort of plant that had found a way to survive in the damp darkness of this place.
A fourth tremor ran through the ground, and this time, the tunnel’s floor gave way. I dropped like stone, bounced off something solid, and then slid down a long, steep slope for far too many seconds—only to crash with breath-stealing force into a large boulder. Unconsciousness briefly threatened, but I somehow fought it back and threw my hands over my head to protect it against the debris still bouncing down the slope after me.
A fifth tremor.
This time it was accompanied by the first surge of power—but it wasn’t just earth power. It was magic. Blood magic.
I cursed and pushed upright, shedding rocks and dirt like water. Realizing I no longer had the sword and backpack, I looked around frantically and spotted a glimmer of blue ice half buried in debris some twenty feet away. Not far to its left was the edge of a strap. I raced over, drew the sword free, hauled the pack from under the mound of rubble, and then kept on running. Almost every part of my body was protesting, and there were bloody scrapes all over my legs and arms. But they didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Nothing except getting into position before the last staff was plunged into the earth.
The cavern into which I’d fallen was a huge, dome-like structure filled with not only glowing moss, but also stalactites and stalagmites. At the other end, at the top of a roughly hewn staircase that had been created by the Volker rather than time or volcanic eruption, was another tunnel entrance.
Another mage staff went into the ground, and this time the tremor was more violent. The cavern’s vast dome cracked and stalactites crashed down and shattered, sending razor-sharp splinters spinning through the air.
But I was close to them now. So close.
The knowledge sent a fresh spurt of energy through my limbs. I ran through the mini forest of stalagmites, my footsteps lost to the vastness of the cavern, the trembling of the earth, and the destruction it was causing. The steps were awkwardly spaced, built for Volker ease of use rather than mine, each one taking two steps rather than one. By the time I reached the top, another mage staff had been buried in the ground, my lungs were burning, and my legs were threatening to give
The eighth mage staff went into the earth. The tremor this time was so violent it threw me sideways. I somehow caught my balance and raced into the tunnel, the earth’s urgency lending my feet wings.
The ninth staff connected. Cracks appeared all around me, and the earth was now heaving.
At the far end of the long and narrow tunnel was a distant dot of dark, dark red. It was the glow coming from the stones that sat on top of the nine earth-connected mage staffs.
I wasn’t going to get there in time to stop the tenth.
I knew it. The earth knew it.
I skidded to a halt, dropped the pack, and swung the sword off my shoulder. I tossed the sheath aside, then dropped to my knees, ignoring the pain that shuddered up my spine as I raised the sword high. The earth pulsed under me, through me, and then into the sword. Light flared deep in its heart, a bloody color that matched the distant glow up ahead.
I closed my eyes and shed awareness of everything except the earth and the powe
r that surged all around me.
Not earth power.
Magic.
It was now so fierce it felt like a swarm of biting, stinging gnats. But in that awareness, there was also knowledge. I waited, my muscles twitching and jumping under the increasing weight of magic, until it felt as if I was being flayed alive.
As it reached a crescendo, earth and instinct screamed, Now!
Protect me, I said, then plunged the sword down with as much strength as I could muster, burying her deep into the ground. Power exploded, a force so strong that it was only my fierce grip on the hilt that kept me upright. A shockwave that was both energy and magic rolled outward from the sword’s blade, causing the walls and earth to roll with even fiercer intensity as the wave raced toward the bloody glow at the far end.
The runes in the blade came to life, the glow so intense I could see them through my closed eyelids. As shuddering in the tunnel increased and stone began to rain all around me, my hands were forced down the hilt, over the guard, and onto the blade.
There must be blood to combat blood, a soft feminine voice whispered. Whether it was the earth or my imagination, I had no idea—and no time to wonder.
My blood was being drawn deep into the sword’s pulsing heart and, as before, it unleashed a dark power. This time it came not just from the sword, but also from the ten staffs. The stain that had lodged deep within my soul rose swiftly to accept it.
There would be no coming back from this. There couldn’t be.
You must accept rather than fight it. There is no other way, that voice said. No other choice.
I did. And in that moment, the link between the sword and the other staffs was forged.
The circle of evil was complete.
This sword was now part of the very darkness it had been designed to counter. Racinda might have escaped the final fate of the twelve mages, but she’d nevertheless succumbed to the evil within the mage staffs, and transferred it to the weapon in my hand.
No.
But that voice was lost to darkness and power that swept all around me. It was all I could see, all I could feel, within and without. It was a vortex that sucked me deeper and deeper, swamping thought and fight, filling the void—filling me—with its barbaric viciousness. All I wanted was to destroy and dominate—to wrench apart the world that existed and create a new one of fire, heat, and anger—a world where only those acclimatized to such things could ever exist. It was what I was born to do, after all. Had I not been told that all my life? I was marked by the god of war; darkness and destruction was my destiny.
Only if you wish it to be. Fight.
Another voice—alien and yet oddly comforting in this world of dark destruction—overran the advice. It was a clarion call to power—power fueled by blood sacrifice and by earth. The ground heaved and screamed as one alien voice became two, then three, then four.
Fight, that other voice demanded, even as the left side of my body began to burn.
Four voices became five, then six. Their song of darkness dragged me deeper, swamping me, making it impossible to think, to breathe.
You are my blood, and you are stronger than this darkness. Fight.
The burning in my side became a light. A fierce white light that began to pierce the utter darkness surrounding me.
Six voices became seven.
If you let this darkness win, you will be responsible for the destruction of everything you care for.
Donal’s image rose.
And with it, some clarity.
I wasn’t this darkness. I wasn’t what my father and brother had for so long forced on me or made me believe.
The god of war was one of choice—life or death.
I chose life. For others, even if that was now impossible for me.
Draw in the earth’s destructive power. Force it through the connection.
The sword’s light grew brighter. I grabbed it, held it close, using it as a shield against the vortex of evil, shattering some but not all of its talons. I reached through that light to connect with the earth on a level that was free of taint. She answered instantly, swept through me with such fierceness that it felt as if flesh, blood, and bone were torn away, and all that was left was soul and consciousness.
That force leapt from me to the sword and swept on, funneling through each and every one of the connected staffs.
They exploded, the force such that it ripped my hands from the sword and sent me tumbling backward.
Where I drifted for who knew how long, caught between life and death as the world around me came apart.
Survive, a voice whispered.
Not the same voice. Another. It rode in on the breeze that stirred past my face and played with my hair.
Move, it added. Fiercely. Angrily.
“I can’t.” It was little more than a croak, but the wind nevertheless heard.
You can.
“Death is my fate.”
Death is not. The wind doesn’t lie.
“But the runes—”
Listen to me, Princess, you’re alive, and you’ll damn well remain that way. Get up. Get up now.
Something stirred in me. Hope. Determination.
“Donal?”
Yes. Now get up and run. We can’t yet pull you free.
“Why?”
Now is not the time for questions. Just move it.
I forced my eyes open. Blue-white light washed through the darkness, highlighting the slab of stone above. Underneath me, the earth was still, despite the destruction happening beyond my small haven. The earth had protected me, just as I’d asked.
You are not safe yet, she said. The explosion that destroyed the staffs also woke the volcano.
The mages?
Are in as many pieces as the weapons they wielded.
And yet I’d somehow survived. A miracle? Or perhaps a parting gift from the woman who’d created both sword and knife—a woman whose soul inhabited the sword, and who’d guided me through its darkness.
I rolled onto my stomach and then pushed up onto hands and feet, where I remained for altogether too many seconds, waiting for my vision to stop spinning. Every muscle and bone in my body ached, and sweat dripped from my face and slicked my body. Sweat and blood.
I thrust a hand against the wall and slowly pushed upright. Saw that the dome that protected me only had three sides—the tunnel that led back to the glowing moss cave remained open. Then I became aware of something else—the weight of footsteps against the earth.
I might have destroyed both the staffs and the mages, but three biped warriors had survived and were now coming at me.
I swore and carefully pulled the sword free from the ground. Flames rolled briefly down her sharp sides, but they were golden rather than the bloody red-black of before. The darkness had left its core.
Just as, I realized, it had left me.
To defeat death and darkness, that feminine voice whispered, you must first accept it.
I’d accepted, and because of that, survived.
But if I didn’t get moving, that survival would be all too brief.
I pushed away from the wall and staggered more than strode down the tunnel. The ground continued to convulse, and the air was thick and heated. Steam. The threatening eruption must have blown open a new vent somewhere nearby. I wished there was something I could do to stop the eruption, but I doubted that would have been possible even if I’d been at full strength, let alone when I barely had enough to keep moving.
The ground rolled, sending me staggering sideways. Big cracks chased me through the darkness, growing wider as rocks and debris rained down on top of me. There was nothing I could do. Nothing except run and hope.
As I neared the end of the tunnel, the wind hit my back and sent me flying. I fell hard and skidded along the ground’s rough surface, skinning chin and knees. Saw a yellow-green globule fly inches above my head and splatter against the nearby wall.
The Volker were close.
Far too close.
I swore, pushed upright, and fought the urge to ask the earth to ensnare them. My heart was racing, my head was on fire, and my strength was as uncertain and unstable as this entire area. If I wanted to run—to survive—the earth had to be a last resort. A last stand. Even if I used the sword as a conduit, the earth would still pull on my strength. In this state, that would be deadly.
Another globule splattered the wall to my left. As the stone dripped to the floor, I spotted something sticking out of the debris directly ahead. After a moment, I realized what it was—the backpack. Hope surged. I swept the pack up and opened it even as I continued to stagger forward. After grabbing one of the pomegranates, I set it for a minute, then tossed it over my shoulder and ran with every ounce of speed I could muster for the tunnel’s exit. I’d barely reached it when there was a huge whoomp. A second later, I was hit by a blast of air and debris and sent tumbling—skidding—across the platform. Saw the ledge approaching way too fast, realized I was still somehow still holding the sword and stuck the point into the stone. I came to an abrupt halt with my legs dangling over the long drop.
Felt the approaching thunder of footsteps.
A biped had survived the blast.
I swore and pushed upright, then caught a glimpse of yellow-green and threw myself sideways. I hit the ground hard and rolled back onto my feet, the sword still gripped in hands that shook. The Volker came out of the tunnel and launched at me. I dropped low and thrust the sword up as it soared over the top of me. The blade’s sharp tip sliced through armor and skin with ease, showering me with stinking blood and gore. A scream rent the air, a sound all but lost to the growing cacophony of destruction that surrounded us. The Volker hit the ground, swung around, and unleashed a hellfire of greeny-gold.
I did the only thing I could do.
I threw myself over the ledge.
The biped’s scream followed me down, but he didn’t fire. Instead, he leapt after me.
I’d forgotten just how well they could clamber up and down mountainsides.
I twisted around and shoved the sword into the ledge’s wall and came to an abrupt halt, hitting the wall with enough to force a grunt. I sucked in air, thrust my left foot into a fissure to give me stability, hooked the crook of my arm around the sword’s hilt, and then drew the knife. Air stirred. I glanced up to see the Volker’s claws slashing toward my face. I raised the knife, blocked the blow with the blade. Flesh was no impediment for a weapon that could cut stone and the biped’s hand tumbled past me.
