Karin was so engrossed in the sight that he nearly leapt down too late.
“Iyana!” he shouted. She whirled, and the nearest of the beasts let out an inhuman screech that was a mix of pain and anguish and charged. Ceth move faster than any Ember could, and the first of the horrors—no, the first line of them—were cut down, bursting like boils to expose the flesh and shattered bone beneath as the Landkist used his very fists for clubs.
Karin landed with a heavy thud and rolled. Iyana looked to be in shock, but he knew she was tapped into her power, her eyes shining with a brightness that had nothing to do with the light in the chamber. She stepped toward him as Ceth grunted, and Karin rose and drew his blade—just a short length of steel to hold back the coming tide that Ceth broke like a spur.
And it was a tide.
The pale men streamed from the shadows, scrambled over the stalagmites and melted mounds. They screamed over the great rumble that sounded from the ground below their feet and ignored the great wall of white spray the jagged, glowing scar along the ruby wall made as it released its torrent up into the heights.
Karin darted in front of Iyana and took the hand from one as Ceth turned in with a kick that blasted another to break among the stones and shadows behind them. He carried the spin into a backhand that took the head from one and bent the body along with it in a sickening pull and snap.
Karin did not have time to marvel at the Landkist’s speed and overwhelming force except to notice that Ceth moved like an Ember, only more deliberate. He set his feet and planted, seeming to focus on single strikes rather than on many, and each one he landed split a pale man or crushed him in place. Most fell with looks that showed no recognition of their dying.
Those Karin felled were not as lucky. He was an accomplished killer—most in the Valley were—but Karin had always favored speed and stealth over direct confrontation. His cuts and slashes were deadly, but he aimed for the bloody highways that fed all living things, and so the men fell before him, or slipped in the growing slick his blade helped make.
He stayed behind Ceth and used the man’s swaying gray sash as cover for his strikes, but there were too many. One got around him and Karin cried out for Iyana. And then Ceth was there, leaping high and twisting before landing atop the pale horror with a weight like a hurled boulder, crushing its skull beneath his boot.
It was all Karin could do to defend himself as the throng pressed forward under the weight of their rage and dying. He noticed the smell even in the midst of the chaos: scorched hair and skin, a sweetness like rot and pus. He was pressed back, and back he fell. He feared there was no escape for them and could not take heart that they would kill many—that Ceth would kill most—before they were buried beneath the sands that could have been their home.
“Back!” Ceth yelled and Iyana echoed him. Karin darted back, half-expecting to meet resistance in the form of the pair behind him, but they were not there. He spared a glance behind and saw that the two had made their way to the southern edge of the chamber, where the light of the liquid fire that bubbled from the cracks below and shone from the obsidian glass wall lost its battle with the dark’s many mounds and half-formed pillars.
Ceth’s eyes widened and Karin turned back, gasping and falling back as a human hand with angled claws scored a burning gash in his chest through his thin cotton shirt. Karin fell and scrambled, nearly losing his knife in the process. He looked down and felt a stab of panic as he saw the pale arm and bloody hand, thinking the creature had fallen atop him. He only realized its body had been blown apart by Ceth’s wall of motion and violence when Iyana reached down and yanked it free. She pulled him up and together they edged back as the northern Landkist fought like a cornered wolf.
“Back!” Iyana said again. “Karin!”
He took a step forward, meaning to prevent Ceth from being encircled completely, but even those who sought to streak past him were launched or stopped in place with well-timed strikes even the greatest fighters of the Valley couldn’t hope to match without a blade in hand.
Iyana gripped him by the elbow and pulled him back, and Karin whirled on her and followed her pointing finger as she jutted it toward the back wall. He squinted and tried to focus above the constant screeching and the sounds of cracking as Ceth did his work, and there, in the corner, he saw what looked to be the opening of a side tunnel among the glittering crowd of earthen growth.
“Go, Iyana,” he said, meaning to take another step toward Ceth. The stream of pale men was only growing thicker, and Karin thought he could see some of the painted men and women at the back, the Bloody Screamers spurring them on from the northern tunnel and prodding them from behind. Her grip tightened enough to hurt, and Karin turned on her and was taken aback by the bright glow in her eyes.
“You’re fastest,” she said, releasing him. “The way leads to the lake. You need to warn the others.” Karin thought to argue, but her look was enough to silence him. “The children, Karin.” She stepped around him and dodged his desperate grasp as she moved toward the melee. “I’ll hold them.”
Something stopped Karin in his tracks. It wasn’t fear, but rather a compulsion. He thought to reach out, to grab her by the crook of the arm and drag her kicking and screaming down the narrow tunnel at the back. Only the thought was fleeting and unclear, forming and disappearing faster than he could put it back together. He tried to step forward but found himself teetering back.
Ahead, Ceth disentangled himself from the press, the slick and bloody shelf around him steaming as the red blood turned to syrup. It stank worse than rot. The Landkist turned, eyes widening as he took in Iyana’s approach. She stopped not far from him.
“Back!” she yelled, and he frowned, one of the pale men shattering like an upended sack of raw meat as he tried to cross the Northman’s circle of death.
“Come, Ceth,” Karin said. “We can hold them in the narrows.” He hated to say it, but Iyana wouldn’t have it any other way. “Iyana …” He drew it out and she spared a bright green glare his way, the look softening for an instant.
“I’ll follow,” she said.
Ceth shook his head and leapt back, and the throng surged forward as if he had been a breaker against a storm of rage and flesh and the screaming masters that spurred it on. He streaked past Karin and Karin meant to follow, only he couldn’t. He sighed as the throng focused on Iyana and hesitated only the briefest of moments before making for her. He gritted his teeth and fought the war his body waged with his mind, trying to break through the barrier.
“Back!” Iyana’s voice echoed throughout the chamber as the jagged, glowing scar sent forth another jet of steam that burned up the pale men too foolish to avoid it. And the line stopped before her as if frozen in time. Karin’s breath was taken as his own spell seemed broken. He took a step toward Iyana and then looked at the frozen mass of horror that shook and quivered before her.
The pale men were caught between beats, frozen in mid-reach. Even the painted warriors at the back wore frozen looks that exposed their red teeth, and Iyana stood before them all like a ward. She held one pale hand out, fingers splayed, the other balled into a fist at her side. Karin saw blood leaking from the palm, so tightly did she grip, and the green light of her eyes was visible from behind, even in the wash of red and gold and yellow.
Karin thought he saw fear on the faces of those pale men who still had faces close to human. Now that they were still, he saw that their bodies bore more than burns and mottled dripping; they also carried scars, fresh and pink, like bites. Their necks were littered with them. They looked thin, brittle to the touch, though Karin knew no man could break them apart like the Landkist behind him.
“Karin!” Ceth called. “Iyana! Come!”
Iyana took a halting step back as Karin took one toward her.
“Go!” she yelled, tears streaming, but whether through effort, fear or some mix of the two along with the revulsion that came with what she did, Karin could not say. He cursed and charged to the ba
ck of the chamber, leaping over the lower mounds and ducking beneath the dripping cones and stalactites until he came to the place where Ceth stood rooted. He took a step into the tunnel and then turned, watching as Iyana moved toward them with backward steps slow as agony. With each one, her whole body seemed to shake and buzz in a way that was not unlike the strange aura that pulsed from Ceth as he stood with his hands clenched into blurry fists. There was a buzzing that sounded like wasps or the distant build of thunder, and Karin thought he could see the hint of a white glow coming off the man’s body in the darkness, as if he moved faster than was possible even as he appeared to stand still.
The only sounds in the chamber—apart from Ceth’s buzzing as his weight and presence shifted at his command—were the low drone and bubble of the molten river that must move below the place. The shrieks and screams had all but ceased, though Karin could hear a steady hiss building from the back of the pale wave of limbs and the bloody teeth behind them.
Iyana heard it too, her head twitching as she bumped into the first of the mounds, her lead hand shaking as she held it out before her like a green torch, the pale skin reflecting the thrown light from her eyes. Karin wondered how she did it and cursed himself a fool for caring in the moment. Perhaps she had gathered all their tethers and threads and frozen them, or held them fast, like a spider moving on invisible currents.
There was another sound, now. Ceth cursed when he heard it and Karin looked askance at him. He looked frightened, now, for the first time. He looked scared in a way he hadn’t while fighting a hellish swarm of men formed more of the stuff of nightmare than even the Dark Kind Karin had spent the better part of a generation fighting.
“What is it?” Karin asked.
“The Blood Seers,” he said through grit teeth. He looked as if he might charge the throng all over again, but then he spun and looked up the tunnel, as if the sound was a portent.
Now Karin heard it clearer. He did not know if it was the cause or if Iyana’s hold was beginning to slacken, but as she neared them, backing away slowly and carefully through the maze of squat stone towers and sickles, the pale men began to edge forward once more. It was a hum that soon picked up a dreadful melody, and in a moment of horror he couldn’t quite stave off, Karin was brought back to the sandy bowl to the east. He remembered the whistle on the wind that became a keening wail, and he remembered the savages that had come for him with their bleached bones and bloody teeth, their well-worn fangs and too-long nails. It was a witch’s song, like those the children of Last Lake grew up fearing even above the true horrors of their corner of the World, and it rode on currents that had nothing to do with wind, water or all the paths men were wont to tread. It thrummed from the stone around them and infected the heart more than the ears, threading its way into his very sinew.
The effect was compounded on Iyana. By the time she reached them, she shook enough that Karin feared she might drop, her face locked into a horrible grimace. He stepped forward and made as if to touch her, but Ceth held out a warning hand. He saw her face as she edged past them, and in the place of a look of fear he saw a mask of determination that could only be that mythic Ve’Ran stone her sister wore so well.
How many battles was she fighting at once? One with each of the wild wills that came for them out of the gloom of the north, and one with the witch’s song that rode its dark currents and spread its dark designs. It was a song of ending, and Karin took heart from Iyana’s look that she would make them earn it. That they all would.
“Iyana,” he said, careful not to startle her. Her eyes glowed so bright he doubted if she could see anything of her true surroundings. He did not know much of the ways of the Faey, but he knew enough to fear losing her completely to that other realm lest her body drop like a puppet with cut strings.
“They come again,” Ceth said, his words seeming almost comical in their deadpan delivery.
Karin watched the wall of pale men. Their feet remained rooted, but their heads twitched, mouths contorting and fingers clasping and unclasping as they listened to one song and fought against the other. Already the red-toothed tribesmen at their backs had won back control, though they still moved as if wading through a deep swamp of thick, stagnant growth.
“I will hold them here,” Ceth said, and while Karin thought to argue, he knew he would only be doing so out of some sense of honor that the circumstances might call on him to abandon. He was First Runner, after all. Running was what he was good at. But Iyana was not. Karin did not know the way back to the lake, but he hoped that it was close; given the state she would soon find herself in, he did not relish the thought of guiding Iyana with such a pack on their heels.
“You will die,” Karin said. He laid a hand on Iyana’s shoulder. A trickle of blood had started from one nostril and her eyelids twitched. She was trying to come back to them, her lead hand quivering and beginning to drop. The light of her eyes dulled from sunny emerald to jade, and as the first of the pale men won back its steps, the chamber roared with another expulsion of steam that shook the unseen pathways above their heads.
Ceth smiled. “No,” he said. “But many will.”
Karin gave Iyana a shake. “How far is the lake?” he asked Ceth.
“Not far,” the Landkist answered, stepping before them as more of the pale men regained their steps. Some of them opened their maws and let out howls and screams, the sounds charging the others in their own fights against Iyana’s bondage. “Take the path that feels coolest. Away from the Mother’s Heart.”
Karin nodded, though Ceth did not turn to see him.
“You’ll fight them all?” he asked. Iyana nearly faltered and he held her up.
“Enough to start a pile,” Ceth said. “Enough to slow the rest.”
It was a ghastly image, but Karin did not doubt the Landkist had it in mind exactly how he’d do it.
“Good luck.”
Iyana let loose a gasp that sounded like a swimmer resurfacing after too long spent in the depths, escaping the clutches of whatever horrors lurked there. The green light did not fade so much as blink away, and in its place her eyes seemed murky, like algae on top of still water.
“Karin,” she said, breathless. She nearly tripped as she went to move back. He caught her arms and steadied her, and she blinked at him. He feared that she had gone blind until a bit of the former glow returned, and then she sighed and almost smiled. Until the screams redoubled, pain and fear giving way to a wave of rage.
“Go,” Ceth said.
They did, Karin taking Iyana by the hand and pulling her along. The way was dark, with only the slightest pores in the rock above admitting night’s dim glow. Iyana grunted as she banged against the sides that narrowed and then widened at chaotic intervals, and Karin let go of her, trusting that she would follow. He blinked long and slow, testing the air and its slight currents until he felt the cool kiss and pleasant, metallic tang that tasted like water on the air.
“This way!” he said, and Iyana could only breathe some response that was lost in the confines as they raced away from the site of Ceth’s battle.
The screams and howls echoed behind them, ripping off the walls with a sharpness that split the air, but Karin heard more than a few cut short. He heard a rhythmic pounding like drums, though the witch’s haunting song had passed away, and he knew this to be the song Ceth’s fists and feet made as they warred with the sorry flesh of his enemies, the echoes and retorts the feeble resistance put forth by the bone beneath.
“He can’t win,” Iyana managed between breaths. She had fallen behind, and Karin waited for her as the ground leveled off at a cross-section. A part of him feared a random blast of steam from the deep furnace might incinerate them on the spot, but he trusted Ceth not to have pointed them toward such a fate.
“He doesn’t mean to,” Karin said, twisting as he explored the newest options. “He’ll be along. Hopefully not soon—”
Another scream echoed, and this one was followed by a called warning. Karin
cursed. They had forced their way in already, which meant Ceth was in full retreat. He chose the way that seemed brightest and pulled Iyana along behind him, hoping her legs wouldn’t give out before they reached the lake.
The tunnels dipped and had them slipping and splashing as often as running. Karin could hear the trickle of water and caught glimpses of dark pools gathered in their ancient chambers and spillways. They were close, now.
“There!” Iyana yelled, pulling back to halt his momentum. Karin skidded to a halt and looked in the direction she pointed. The way was wet, the water rising above knee height, but he could see the walls widen further in.
Iyana led and he followed, tossing a forbidding look at the tunnel they’d come from. He thought he caught a glimpse of silver-gray as he left it behind, plunging into the slow-moving water. It would not do to be caught here, but the lake might slow their pursuers some.
As they moved, the tunnel opened into a larger network of chambers with deep dips and shallow shelves, alcoves and split pillars that exposed parallel paths. It was brighter here, and Karin thought he heard the sharp trill of birds ahead, though it was still too late for them to be active in their nests.
Bright light shone like a star underground, and Karin’s heart leapt as he recognized the curved arches and half-submerged bridges that made up the subterranean lake. They splashed to the shore and stopped, each of them casting about.
“There!” Iyana said, sounding excited before she gasped, a sound like horror dawning. Karin followed her look.
The white pillar and all its crystals flashed, a blinding flare. It dimmed back to its usual moon glow, and Karin’s heart nearly froze in his chest as he saw the battle on the shore. He recognized the source of the flash as none other than an Ember at work, his Everwood blade only rivaled by the curved length of silver that shone like a lancing star where it wasn’t red.
The Midnight Dunes (The Landkist Saga Book 3) Page 27
