The Eternal Kingdom (The Children Trilogy Book 3)

by Ben Peek

  Eidan sagged against Heast so heavily that the Captain of Refuge almost stumbled. The blow he had taken across his head appeared to be the worst, but there was no real way to tell, given the dirty state of his clothes. Once Heast adjusted to the weight of the other man, he led him away from the edge, past where Qiyala and the others had staked out the god-touched, to Anemone. At the sight of the god-touched, however, Eidan whispered and the ground spoke again.

  ‘LEERANS,’ the giant head said. ‘YOUR GOD IS DEAD. AELA REN’S SOLDIERS HAVE FALLEN.’

  ‘You’re not going to keep saying that, are you?’ Heast asked as he pulled the man along. ‘It will disturb the focus of my soldiers as much as it’ll demoralize the Leerans.’

  Eidan laughed roughly. ‘No,’ he said, his voice staggered with pain, ‘but you have to shout to be heard when the enemy blocks its ears.’

  The Captain of Refuge grunted in agreement. Before him, the fighting had resumed and, with a shout, he called out to Anemone. As he did, Heast saw two lines of fire flare within the broken crown of the cathedral, the sudden light illuminating not just the faint shadows of people in the ruins, but a green-cloaked man two floors below.

  He was on the left-hand side of the cathedral, the most damaged side. The broken frame was like an exposed ribcage on a body, and the cloak a flickering hint of something emerging. Behind it, Heast saw two shapes, the first larger than the other. They were nothing more than shadows until the first grabbed a piece of the cathedral’s frame and used it to swing outwards like a giant gorilla. Its misshapen body – a body Heast had seen the likes of before – landed ahead of the green cloak, but the man it landed in front of ducked and darted forwards, his sword cutting a bright line through the dark of the cathedral.

  ‘Jae’le,’ Eidan whispered.

  The creature’s arm shot out and grabbed the man, but as it dragged him into the night sky, Jae’le drove his sword into the misshapen head. As the creature roared, he grabbed the broken edges of the cathedral above him and swung out into the open. The creature’s grip remained tight, but Jae’le’s boot slammed down on his sword and the creature’s grip failed. A second later, he swung backwards and then inwards and landed in the darkness of the cathedral, unarmed.

  Next to Heast, Eidan’s breath caught, and he whispered, ‘Brother,’ but Jae’le appeared to be oblivious to the shadow waiting for him. He turned towards it and was struck twice, both times in the chest as the shadow bore him to the ground.

  Jae’le jammed his knee into the groin of his attacker and, with a burst of strength, flipped him off the cathedral.

  Eidan’s grip was tight on Heast, but the Captain of Refuge pulled his arm free and pushed him not towards Anemone, but towards Sergeant Qiyala. The ledge Jae’le had lain on was empty, but Heast barely noticed. He shouted again, but this time he shouted for Anemone and Isaap. He ordered them forwards, away from the injured, and towards Kye Taaira’s side.

  There, the ancestor who had fallen burst through the line of Leerans.

  3.

  Ayae came forwards, her burning blade leading in arcs, slicing through the air on either side of Aela Ren, forcing him to the left, then the right, to dodge the cuts, rather than raise his own weapons to block. Around her, the broken floor of the cathedral was illuminated by the moon’s light, and Ayae was conscious that the two of them moved around a huge hole. To fall through it was to fall to the centre of the earth, where a world of nightmares and horrors awaited on the other side.

  Ren’s sword caught Ayae’s, turned it aside while his broken-tipped dagger cut up, held in a slashing position, tried to slice through her chest, her chin. As she leaned back, his right foot lashed out, kicking her left, forcing her to readjust her stance and put more weight on her wounded right side as she brought her burning sword between them in a wild arc. With her other blade, she pushed Ren’s dagger away, then cut back, and pushed him backwards, and pressed forwards on her left leg again. The flames of her swords pushed the Innocent backwards, forced him to back onto the thin strip of the broken floor.

  Ayae pressed the attack, but as she did, the cathedral began to shake. It took her a moment to realize that it was not the building breaking apart, but the ground beneath it.

  It jolted, and Ayae felt herself rise, suddenly. To her left, she saw the battle of Ranan shrink, the lines of streets turning thin, the fires in them pale, and the soldiers fighting within it nothing but a vague sense of motion. The motion stopped as dramatically as it had begun, and in that pause, she heard an awful voice speak.

  ‘LEERANS,’ it said. ‘YOUR GOD IS DEAD.’

  ‘Eidan,’ she whispered, more to herself than to the scarred man before her.

  ‘Jae’le arrived with the whole family?’ Ren shook his head. ‘He will die here. Likely they all will, but I know Eidan will. There is no fate that Se’Saera has seen where he does not.’

  She could see the painting, hear the god’s words in Yeflam. ‘LEERANS,’ the awful voice said before she could speak. ‘YOUR GOD IS DEAD. AELA REN’S SOLDIERS HAVE FALLEN.’

  ‘No.’ The Innocent sounded startled, the confidence he had just spoken with suddenly gone. ‘It cannot—’

  Ayae darted forwards. The flames from her swords cut left, then right, illuminating the broken tower of the cathedral as she closed in on him. It was the scars on his face that they caught mostly, illuminating the wounds that, the more Ayae saw them, the more they began to appear as if they held him together, as if all that defined him were the horrors that had been done to him, both physical and mental.

  Aela Ren’s sword thrust low and forced her to present her right side towards him. With a startling burst of speed, his fist – wrapped around the hilt of his dagger – punched her wounded hip. The Innocent did not try to stab or cut, but rather crowded Ayae’s space to work the injury. In response, she cut down with her sword, a short jab without much power, but one that gave her enough time to turn her elbow to his head. Her arm hardened and she hit Ren hard in the temple. The weight of the blow caught him by surprise and it allowed her to shuffle her right hip out of his range and bring both her swords around. But, even stunned, his sword and dagger were there to block. He took two steps to back out of her slashes and on the third, he pressed her, his blades snapping out in tightly controlled thrusts.

  The first got through her defence, cut along the edge of her armour, tore it open with an ease that surprised her. The second glanced off her sword, the third slipped through, caught more of her armour, while his dagger turned from a slashing angle to a thrusting position held low in his hand, the broken end aimed with all its ugly violence at her. With it, Ren turned Ayae’s thrusts and slashes into blocks and parries and she found herself turned once again. But this time, she was not turned towards the cathedral, but towards the damaged edge of the building, where dim images of battle could be seen. As she was pushed towards it, Ayae heard faint shouts and screams, but not the clash of swords, or sounds of fighting. She tried to slow her push, but every move she made to go forwards was one that Aela Ren rewarded with a cut through her armour, a slice along her arms, none of them deep enough to stop her, each blow feeling as if it scraped against something hard beneath her skin, but nonetheless drew blood—

  Ayae’s heel slipped over the broken edge of the cathedral, into the emptiness of the sky.

  Frantic, Ayae spun, her foot coming up and around, pushed by a current of air, and suddenly weighted like a heavy stone. She slammed into the Innocent’s left arm, broke his grip on his dagger, and thrust her swords forwards.

  He parried, but she saw surprise in his eyes. Pushing herself towards him, her swords lanced, then turned into a burning arc to push him backwards. Unbalanced from the kick, he twisted and turned, but he was not quick enough to dodge Ayae’s attacks, not fast enough to avoid her blades, or the raw burst of speed that pushed her towards him, past his defences, and across the side of his face.

  She left two long cuts on his face. The first ran along the left side of his c
hin, the second above his eye, slicing through the top of his ear.

  Before her, Aela Ren reached up to his wounds, as if surprised. First he touched his chin, and then the side of his scalp.

  ‘No.’ He lowered his bloody hand and met her gaze. ‘No,’ he repeated, a fury erupting from his voice. ‘What Eidan said cannot be true.’

  Ayae took a step backwards.

  ‘You are nothing!’ Aela Ren’s voice was thick with anger as he rounded on her. ‘You are not a design! My master did not make you! You have not been buried in fate to kill me.’ He spat to his left, into the broken floor. ‘I will not die here.’

  ‘Everyone dies.’ She held her burning swords in front of her. ‘Even you.’

  ‘Master!’ His voice was guttural, almost inhumane. ‘Wehwe!’ He raised his head and shouted through the broken roof, out into the dark sky. ‘I will not be sacrificed here! I do not deserve that!’

  Aela Ren’s anger, Ayae realized, came from a contradiction within him. Despite what he had said to her, he did not accept what the gods had done.

  In the broken crown of the cathedral, she had a vision of him thousands of years ago, a man without scars and without a sword. He was a simple man who had been given the task of speaking the words of a god to people around him. Ren offered himself wholly and fully to the task Wehwe had given him. The words of his god might have been difficult for him to understand, might have made no sense to his mind, and might even have contradicted what had been said before, but Aela Ren accepted that. He stood before those who waited on the words of a god and relayed what was said to them. He did it as precisely as he could, always conscious of his responsibilities. His work was holy, a blessing, and he had lost that during the War of the Gods. Once the war finished, he was left in a newfound loneliness, one that was more than the loneliness of flesh, one which defined the world he lived in.

  He would gather to him those who shared his experience. He would forge a bond with them that was based on a despair that no other person could understand, but it would not be a friendship. Ayae could see that clearly. The god-touched would not be friends. They could not be. They would speak to each other in short conversations, would repeat to themselves that the gods could not be understood, an attempt to soothe the pain they felt. Each of them would say it again and again until it had become a polished belief, but it would be one forever tested. They would hold duels. They would tempt fate to kill them. And perhaps, in quiet moments, they told each other that they would be happy to die in such a duel, for it meant that the gods were still alive, that somehow, they were not entirely abandoned. But the truth was otherwise. To learn that Ren could die – to learn that any of them could – was to open the unhealed wounds of abandonment, to rekindle the bitterness in him that stemmed from the fact that Aela Ren believed in one simple and very human emotion. He believed he should have been treated with respect. He had been a loyal servant. He was the first of the Faithful. He deserved to be taken into confidence, not pushed aside, and kept in silence, like a child.

  Aela Ren charged her.

  He came in anger, but where another swordsman might forget his skill or craft, Ren did not. His old sword sliced through the air in tight, controlled slashes. Ayae’s burning blades were forced to block above her head, down by her left side, at her right arm, and then at head height with both her swords. Ren held her swords there, pressing down on them with his considerable strength. She could match him for that, however, and just as Ayae thought she could slide out of the attack, he turned and spun, his sword aimed at Ayae’s neck. Her sword deflected the blow, but she resumed moving backwards, fire trailing to her left and to her right, lines of smoke snaking the cathedral to map the path she took to its edge.

  A step before the edge, the blade of her left sword snapped, broken by the sheer force of Ren’s blow. Her right sword caught his blade as it came towards her, and her broken, burning hilt slashed across the old leather armour that he wore. It was an act of desperation, but it worked. Her full blade came slicing back, forcing Aela Ren to duck beneath it. He cut upwards with his sword. As he did, he caught the wrist of her hand holding the broken blade and twisted violently, aiming to break the bone, but found himself unable to do so, no matter his strength. Realizing that, he released his grip and drove his elbow into her face, into her chin, before bringing his sword around in a blistering arc that she had to block frantically. As she did, his hand hit her in the chest, pushing her back to the edge, to the massive drop into the city below.

  Ayae hit out with her own empty hand, striking Ren in the chest hard enough to force him back. In that gap, her burning sword cut an X that he blocked, but which allowed her to leave the edge. Ayae wanted as much room as she could get. She needed as much room as she could get. Her next blow was caught by Ren’s blade, however, and he sliced his sword down to the hilt, allowing him to step within her guard and punch her hip. Ayae felt the pain run through her, felt it so badly that she stepped back, but as she did, Ren punched her in the face. His knuckles cut on her teeth. She tasted blood in her mouth. He hit her again, and again, rocking her so hard that she dropped her guard and allowed Ren’s sword to come racing down at her head.

  Ayae’s deflection dragged the Innocent’s sword along her left arm and opened a long gash that tore through armour and skin, but she was lucky. She knew that, even as her feet came to the edge, again.

  She was lucky.

  But her luck could not last.

  4.

  Heast watched as Kye Taaira was pressed backwards by the misshapen creature who, having torn the sword from its head, swung in it vicious, violent arcs at him. His old sword met each blow, a strange light emanating from it, and on every third or fourth attack, the tribesman would use his defence to press forwards. Each time he did, the creature would dart around the Leerans who fought beside it. With its bloody head a hideous mask of violence, and the haunted a twisted, wretched thing caught inside it, it would further show its disregard for life by throwing the men and women before it as shields. Taaira met these attacks, but as he did, as he was forced to dodge, deflect or strike at the soldiers, the creature would dart out at him, its sword swinging in another wild arc, forcing Taaira to meet the blow.

  Two of the soldiers from Refuge who had been fighting beside the tribesman had fallen. As a result, the edge of the line that they and Taaira held had begun to fold inwards.

  ‘Isaap,’ Heast ordered as he walked towards the battle, Anemone beside him. ‘I need you to hold that side. Don’t let the creature start to flank us. Anemone and I will help out the tribesman.’

  The young mercenary nodded and, with a sharp whistle to his squad, began to run ahead.

  ‘I can hold the creature,’ the witch said, her exhaustion clear in her voice. ‘But not for long. Not like I have.’

  ‘We will only need a moment.’

  Heast turned his gaze back to Kye Taaira. He was aware, as he did, that he was not the only with one eye on the fight. He heard Lehana – ‘Strengthen our right!’ – but the battleground Refuge and the Brotherhood were spread over was ugly with debris and bodies. As the creature pushed the Hollow, the Leerans reinforced the back of their line, suggesting that Eidan’s words had not demoralized them. There was simply not enough space for Heast’s soldiers to change their focus and make a reinforcement without weakening another part. Essa and the Brotherhood could offer little more, either. Beyond Bliq’s still body, Heast could see the Brotherhood fighting between two streets. The Leerans had pushed there as well, and they were swarming over the buildings to try and bridge the gap between them and Taaira’s side.

  Ahead, Kye Taaira continued to be pressed by the creature and the Leerans around him. He held his sword in both hands and cut left and right and moved in both directions before he stepped back and around the creature’s wild strikes and the jabbing thrusts of the Leerans’ swords. As before, Heast was surprised by the way the tribesman fought. There was no give in him, no desire to retreat, but instead there was a
savage joy, an almost primal sense of release that filled him. Yet, Heast could not deny the skill and control with which Taaira fought.

  The Captain of Refuge watched as, after a desperate swing by the creature came crashing down to the ground, the Hollow spun on his heel and thrust between two Leerans, catching both their swords. Before they could react, his right hand dropped the blade and grabbed the front of one of the soldiers by their armour. With a surge, Taaira pulled him off balance and darted into the gap he made. He dragged his sword free as he did and, with the creature still of the belief that it was safe behind its human shields, Taaira plunged his sword into its ribcage.

  The blade erupted with an old white light, similar to the twisted haunt within the creature’s chest, and it burst through the creature as if it were rotten meat, creating a nimbus around Taaira.

  With a jerk, the Hollow pulled his sword out of the creature, and as he did, a blond man set upon him.

  With startling speed, he darted through the Leerans and leapt onto the tribesman’s back, a knife flashing out. Before Heast’s gaze, Taaira staggered, and the swords of the Leerans turned on him.

  But it was the man on his back, the blond man, Heast could not turn away from.

  His knife plunged into Kye Taaira’s face, but not one of the attacks resulted in blood. As that became apparent, the man grabbed the tribesman’s head and, with an inhuman strength, wrenched it around, snapping it.

  Heast drew his sword. Beside him, Anemone began to run forwards.

  But it was Isaap and his soldiers who were there first. The Corporal and his unit ran hard into the Leerans, screaming, trying to draw attention to themselves as Taaira fell to the ground. It was in vain, for he fell badly. Fell, Heast knew, dead.

  The blond man did not retreat as the creature had in the face of stronger force. Instead, he fell into a fighting stance and met Isaap and those with him.