Ascending Shadows (The Age of Dawn Book 6)

by Everet Martins

  “What sort of business?” Greyson asked, craning his neck up from the lapping water.

  “Believe me now?” Isa grunted.

  “You’re partially right about the Shadow, but wholly wrong. Walter did slay the Shadow god, but what was not written in the histories was how exactly the Shadow princess escaped from the Shadow Realm. She fled via flight—” Juzo cut off to push away a floating Tigerian corpse, his expression strangely content, then drawn under the gurgling water and never to rise again.

  “What-but. No. Why?” Greyson stammered. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Believe it,” Isa growled.

  Juzo sprayed water from his nose. “She fled and made her way here. We’re to find her, kill her if we can… seems we can’t. Eventually make our way back to Zoria to deliver our report somehow.” Juzo furrowed his brow.

  Senka pressed her cheek against the damp wood, listening as warm water rolled up her back, lapped against her neck. How would they escape this wasteland? They had to find another boat, someone who knew how to navigate. The odds were terribly against them.

  “There you are,” Isa snorted, pulling the second knot snug around the top of her hand, but not so tight that it prevented movement. “Need to find you some Ribwort oil…”

  “Had some,” Senka said distantly.

  “I never would have guessed,” Greyson said with a sigh. “Isa, I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. I just needed to hear it from another source. I suppose since we’re spilling our guts, I should tell you why I’m here.”

  “You’ve already told us,” Isa muttered. A Tigerian noble screeched like an angry cat, arms furiously beating at the water and following a trajectory for them. Senka raised her head to look. Isa let out a deep growl, pushed himself away from the raft to create some distance, reached out and cruelly pressed the Tigerian below the surface. Bubbles formed around Isa’s submerged arm, its nailed fingers raking at it.

  “Give him here. I’m hungry,” Juzo said with a wolfish grin.

  Isa gave Juzo a wry smile, dragged the Tigerian up spluttering for a breath. He jerked the Tigerian around the edge of the raft into Juzo’s expectant hand.

  “Hungry? What are you… doing?” Greyson asked slowly.

  Juzo wrapped the flailing Tigerian in one arm tight as a boa constrictor’s embrace. It squawked and raged in Tigerian. Juzo pressed himself back against the raft, grabbed a bunch of fur at the back of the Tigerian’s head, pulled his arm down to expose its throbbing neck. Juzo punched him in the throat, caving it in and snuffing out his protests.

  “Good,” Isa muttered.

  Juzo parted his lips and his mouth latched around the Tigerian’s throat like a ravenous lover. Red oozed from the sides of Juzo’s lips as he gulped down the Tigerian’s throbbing blood. He ignored the world around him, his eyes closed as if lost in ecstasy.

  Senka sighed. “Must be nice to have sustenance so close.”

  Juzo opened his eyes and shot her a glance. He pulled his scarlet mouth from the Tigerian’s neck to grin at her, his triangular teeth pink. “Can always change you, if you’re actually interested.”

  “Not going to happen,” Isa barked. “Don’t even entertain the idea.”

  “Always with the deadly seriousness. Need to learn to lighten up a bit. All that stress will do you in, friend.” Juzo shook his head. “Of course, I would never.” Juzo grinned at her, turned back to the limp Tigerian and started sucking on the blood that had matted itself in its fur, then traced his mouth back to its wound.

  “Shipton,” Isa said under his breath, making Juzo narrow his eyes at Isa. “Won’t forget.”

  “Thank you, Isa, but I can make my own decisions.” Senka forced a wan smile. “Thank you for—” She stifled a wince as she readjusted her grip on the raft. “Doing my hands.”

  “Of course.” He gave her a cursory nod, turning his disgust back on Juzo.

  Greyson had made his way around the raft, his eyes swimming as he stared at Juzo slack-jawed. He bumped into Senka’s shoulder and yelped. “Don’t let him eat me!” he squealed.

  “Not going to eat you,” Juzo said between bloody gulps.

  “Don’t worry.” Senka put a consoling hand on his shoulder like Nyset had done so many times to her. “You were starting to tell us something that seemed important a moment ago?” she prompted.

  “Yes. Well, no.” Greyson bit his quivering lip, his throat working. “What I’ve told you was a lie. Someone sold me to Scab, but I don’t know who yet. I came to New Breden planning to go on a diplomacy mission to Tigeria. Someone had arranged for the good Captain Derwood to deliver me into Scab’s filthy hands, or hand I should say. Where is that bastard anyway?”

  “Liar,” Senka breathed. “I took an interest in Midgaard diplomacy while I was in the Tower, though brief it was. Midgaard had ceased all diplomacy missions after the Shadow touched Zoria. The good King was far too terrified to open his doors, let alone send out diplomats.”

  “And I’m no ordinary noble!” Greyson seethed and shook his head. “If only—” he stopped himself from going on.

  Juzo frowned. “Yes, yes. A very special noble. Aren’t you all?” He frowned at the Tigerian’s throat, the blood slowly oozing out. He let the body go, sinking below them and bumping against her legs. A chill ran up her neck at that. She would never become a beast of Shadow, even if it granted wondrous strength and speed.

  “I am King Ezra’s son, heir to the crown of Midgaard!” He thumped his fist against the boards. “Do you understand now? Do you recognize me now? I can travel where I wish without my father’s fucking consent!”

  “I-I recognize you,” Isa said, head tilted at him. “So he let you out?”

  “Didn’t know Ezra had a son,” Juzo said.

  “That’s King Ezra to you,” Greyson scowled at him but Juzo only shrugged.

  Senka had to admit that deep down she knew he had a familiar face, though she wasn’t able to place it. Maybe she had seen him around the Tower, maybe visiting New Breden. “Maybe you are his child. Doesn’t make you any different than the rest of us.”

  “I know. I don’t care, not saying I am,” Greyson groaned. “I just want to get home, to serve the realm. You know the King… has had mental troubles. There is no successor to the throne.”

  “What about the princess?” Juzo asked.

  Greyson bit his lip. “A woman cannot rule Zoria. Are you that unaware of the realms laws?” he balked.

  The Arch Wizard rules Zoria, Senka wanted to say but decided it was better left unsaid. The only response was the water’s gurgling and the distant screams of the drowning. Every Tigerian could drown for all she cared. A race who viewed humans as slaves had no chance for redemption. Maybe there were some Tigerians who thought otherwise, but she had yet to meet one. It seemed few had learned to swim.

  “Ezra,” Juzo said with a few nods. “The King is a coward who rested upon his gilded throne while the Tower— Walter, all of us— saved the realms from utter destruction. Why should we help you? You’re nothing but dead weight among the three of us. Or maybe I’ll just save you as a snack.”

  “I am the prince, damn it! You must do it because it is right. I’ve come to know you; you’re good people at heart. You know it is so. You must bring me with you to Zoria so that I may seek justice for these crimes! And your Arch Wizard will be most pleased. It will afford the Tower the opportunity to strengthen their broken bonds since their division after the Shadow War.”

  Isa stared at Greyson for a long minute. “He is the prince,” he said affirmatively. “Couldn’t remember where I saw you before. But now I see it. The only reason the Tower’s bonds to Midgaard were broken was due to your daddy’s unwillingness to help. Walter gave him chances, practically begged for help. Chances he shunned.”

  “I know, I know. But I’m the future of Midgaard. Not my father. I’ll make sure it will be better and won’t turn my back on the Tower in their time of need. I can get you the funds you need to conduct research on th
e Shadow Realm. I can help you.”

  “You’re aware of her research? Her watch on the Shadow Realm?” Senka raised her chin at him, pain throbbing in her hands. Did the Arch Wizard know? Senka made a mental note to tell her to exhume her ranks for spies.

  “Of course we are. Do you really think the King would let the Arch Wizard’s goings on pass unchecked? There needs to be a balance of power. Always was, always will be. No Arch Wizard has ever operated alone,” Greyson said it with a note of frustration as if speaking to a child.

  Senka had to bite her cheeks to prevent herself from saying something she might regret. “We all want to get back,” she said, her voice croaking. “Do you know the way to the nearest port? Do you know how you got here? We drifted ashore…”

  They quieted as they flowed out through the tunnel leading to the gates. Along with them came scores of dead bodies, both men and Tigerian alike, thudding against the polished stone walls of the hallway. There were so many bodies, so much debris that she thought it might have eventually been enough to clog the enormous archway. The water abruptly fanned out beyond the gates and her feet once again touched the earth, her toes pressing into sand that felt dense as stone.

  The water fell from their bodies, rolling along the plains outside of the gate. The gates they were swept through was a mirror image of the set they had entered earlier, though now littered with all manner of debris. It felt strange to be able to walk again, her legs heavy with wet. She missed the coolness of the water as the sun’s oppressive heat beat down against her back. The sun never rested here.

  “I know the way,” Greyson said as they all started to walk. “I’ll show you the way I came. It’s not far, I think. Get me to a boat, and I can get us home. Sailing was a hobby of mine.”

  “Alright. Let’s get home, Prince Greyson,” Senka said, making the decision for the group. No one objected, and they all knew they’d need a sailor regardless of their opinions about the King’s actions. Maybe Greyson was lying, but it was a chance worth risking. What other options did they have? Even if they happened upon a boat, their chances of bringing it home were slim to none. None of them could manage a boat, and they knew it.

  He was convincing. There was something about men with sharp tongues that always made her weary. It was the right thing to do, despite Midgaard’s absent betrayal during the Shadow War. Many perished in Midgaard’s name, namely those of the Midgaard Falcon. She resolved to honor the fallen, make sure he lived for them. It was the least she could do. She thought of General Stokes and the sacrifice of his men on the Tower’s bridge, remembered them braving the ravages of the Death Spawn horde. She wouldn’t let the sacrifice of their service to the King go in vain. Maybe his words were true. She watched him gazing out at the trackless plains, his face burned, cut, scraped, but steeled with resolve. Maybe there was more to him than just another spineless noble. She imagined she’d find out eventually.

  “You better not be a mistake,” Isa said, echoing her thoughts.

  “Not to worry. You won’t regret your decision, and thank you for taking me with you.” Greyson nodded at him.

  “Don’t thank me,” Isa crossed his arms. “Thank her.” He nodded at Senka. “If she weren’t here, I might have just ended you quick and been done with it. Tired of your sniveling. Pay no heed to princes, princesses, kings, nor queens.” Isa put his hands on his hips, scanning the debris tumbling around them, likely searching for items of use.

  Greyson regarded her with a half-smile and gave a quick nod, his eyes an angry red. “Sorry I’ve been such a bother,” he muttered.

  “Not like there was much of a choice to take you.” Juzo raised his chains to show them connected to Greyson’s wrist.

  “I guess there is that.” Greyson heavily sighed.

  “Could always just tear your hands off.” Juzo snickered then eyed Senka.

  Greyson’s eyes bulged. “I’d prefer to keep them, if you didn’t mind. Juzo, was it?”

  Juzo grunted and offered his hand. “Juzo Pulling of Breden, Sid-Ho trainee, Blood Eater, so you saw.”

  “Yes. It appears we’ll be connected for a time—”

  “A short time.” Juzo strained, had either end of a length of chain between his hands and was trying to pull it apart. His muscles shook with the force of it, hands streaming blood.

  “That’s not going to… oh. Oh, my.” Greyson raised his hand over his mouth.

  Senka grinned. “Stronger than he looks. Especially after eating. What happened to the others?”

  Metal pinged, Juzo grunted, and bits of chain soared through the air. “There we are,” Juzo said with a pleased smile. “We’ll have to get the manacles off later. Least I can have a shit without you beside me for once.”

  “The things you take for granted.” Greyson tilted his head back and gathered his shock of red hair into a bunch, slicking it back with his fingers.

  Juzo peered back at the tunnel after the gates. “The others…” He looked at her with his bright red eye. “When Isa cut his chains, it left the three of us bonded. Not sure what…”

  Senka saw what Juzo saw then. She let out a long, steadying breath. Water gurgled out of the tunnel carrying at least eight chained bodies tumbling in a mess of limbs. Their skin was ashen. Some eyes were opened but not seeing, having moved onto the Shadow Realm. There were so many faces, jaws hanging slack, mouths weeping water.

  Isa waded towards the rushing water, started probing the sides of their throats for the subtle throb of life. “Help me!” he threw over his shoulder.

  Senka swallowed and followed after him, water blasting against her knees as it roared near the tunnel’s exit. She jammed her daggers into her pockets, knowing it a pernicious place for them. She grabbed his wrist, and he angrily snatched it back. “Isa,” she said softly. “They’re gone.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “Someone. There has to be someone still alive,” he growled and made an effort at dragging the mess of bodies, but not moving them an inch. Juzo came over to his side, then Greyson. Senka knew it was a moot effort, but joined them anyway, despite the pain and blood streaming from her hands. The four of them worked to drag the tangled corpses away from the worst of the water’s onslaught towards the edge of Ashrath’s looming walls.

  Juzo put his hands on his hips and shook his head at the bodies, his lips pressed into a line. His hair was dark with wet, the tendrils curling down and obscuring his face.

  “May the Phoenix take them and the Dragon protect them,” Greyson muttered behind hands covering his nose and mouth.

  “Damn it!” Isa frantically worked, feeling for pulses. He growled louder with each body he confirmed dead.

  Senka could only stare, feeling their empty expressions molding themselves into her nightmares. She reached down to Isa and put a hand on his shoulder, but he swatted it away. “Stop,” he snapped. “Stop!” He flashed her a look of hate and strode to the wall. It was carved with hundreds of ornately detailed murals depicting Tigerians doing all manner of things. Some knelt and looked to be worshiping an orb that could only be the sun. Others marched in lines, their heads raised with an odd sense of formality.

  Isa raised his fist at the wall as if to punch it, arm shaking, and let out a feral scream. He smashed the wall with his elbow instead, thumping and making a tiny piece of a carving pop off. “All dead.” He leaned against the wall with both arms, his body sagging with defeat.

  To leave him or go to him? She wasn’t sure what to do, so she did nothing.

  “Those snakes. The Shadow snakes. What are we going to do? Think we should try to root them out of the city?” Juzo stared back at the tunnel as at least a thousand lemons and plums spilled out on the rushing water.

  “No.” Senka felt a pit form in her gut. “The city is lost. Infected.”

  “I agree with Senka. We should get as far from here as possible,” Greyson said, rapidly nodding.

  “Did you see how fast those snakes were moving?” Senka asked. “They’ve likely already bit
ten hundreds, and the only way we’d know if they were afflicted is if they developed boils.”

  Isa turned away from the wall to face them. “We have to go. She’s right, we’d only die in there. We need the Tower’s help. Tower needs to know what happened here. The Arch Wizard will know what to do.”

  “The Arch Wizard,” Greyson repeated, narrowing his brows as he stared up at the walls. He pointed up. “There’s something moving there.”

  They all looked up. Senka saw figures running along the top of the wall. Would this madness ever end?

  “Slaves! They’re escaping! Don’t let my captives escape!” a figure shouted, something shining like a star on his arm. Senka almost choked at noticing the color of his coat, a faded red, the color of Scab’s coat. “Why won’t he stay dead?”

  “Run!” Isa barked. “Grab what you can. I think we have about thirty seconds ‘til the arrows come.”

  Sixteen

  The Dread Temple

  “Everything rusts and fades away in the ravages of time.” – The diaries of Nyset Camfield

  A series of four blood red banners sagged against the walls of Ashrath, draped over the battlements and twitching in the wind. Emblazoned in the center was a white outline of a Tigerian head, its expression hard and staring out at the plains. Tigerians fanned between protective merlons, raising what could only be bows, drawing what could only be arrows.

  Isa couldn’t believe his eyes. After all the damage, all the dead, all the mess, the Tigerian guards followed Scab’s command rather than trying to aid their fallen brethren. It never ceased to amaze him how a bag of gold could warp man’s behavior

  He heard the distinctive creak of drawing bowstrings. A Tigerian coughed, another snorted. They were so very human-like. Could they not see how similar they were? A warm breeze swept against his back, coursing through his torn pants and ragged shirt.

  His eyes traced the thousands of objects on the ground, looking for something useful. He saw a noble’s muddy hat, a bittermelon, a broken plank, shattered bits of jars, a pile of gravel, a Tigerian whose head had been crushed. He saw a pair of waterskins whose straps had been twisted together and snatched them up, draping them over his shoulder. Next, he grabbed a lemon and a bit of string beside it, stuffed the bittermelon in his mouth, holding it with his teeth. He eyed a rust-pitted sword standing half out of its sheath. He slapped it back in and slipped it over his shoulder.