And she slaps me. Pretty fucking hard.
“Idiot,” she snaps. There’s no malice in her face, just frustration. “I told you not to fight him. There’s no point. You’re just like the others, and now you’ve wasted one of our cycles. We can’t have much time left.”
“I’m a warrior, a mercenary,” I offer lamely.
“You’re a donkey. Stop thinking with your sword.” Her eyes flash, daring me to disagree.
I rub my smarting cheek. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” She knows her realm and her curse better than anyone.
Kumiko’s mouth is open, already arguing. It snaps shut when she realizes what I said.
Glad I can surprise her. I wonder how many aspirants have made it here before me, how many times they died pointlessly trying to fight that thing instead of listening to her.
“Well...good,” she says. “I don’t want you to die again.”
“How do you know I did?” My pride makes me say it.
She rolls her eyes and points to her ears. “I heard it.”
Right.
Kumiko’s eyes widen, and she backs away a step, spins a quick circle.
“Why is this happening?”
“Because I spurned him long ago. But Fenrir’s hunger to possess can’t be reasoned with or denied.”
“He can’t take my, body but my soul?” I can tell by the way she shivers which would be preferable.
The shadows gather.
She leans back to me, gives me a quick kiss to the cheek. “It was gallant. Even if was stupid.”
“Thanks?”
“Did you do anything with the orb?” she asks urgently.
“The what?”
“Oh Heijl and all the gods. The orb I gave you? The orb!”
Then she’s gone, so quickly I can still smell her earthy sweet scent when she disappears around a corner far ahead.
I can still feel her lips. Still see the fierce courage in her eyes.
My revenge, my hatred, is still a burning core in my heart, but I’d have to help her even if she wasn’t an artifact. These incredible women are so much more than a means to an end.
The shadows deepen, form.
Time to go.
I don’t wait around for Fenrir, this time. I scramble back into the ruins before he coalesces. The pounding of his paws shakes the ground, like an elemental force of nature.
Kumiko’s orb was a dull colorless marble when she gave it to me. Now it glows warm and green like summer grass. What do I do with it? Where does it belong?
I search the camp, taking rapid stock of everything. I poke my head into the tent, but I can’t see anything helpful; camp bed, writing table, some old leathers. Desperate, I peek beneath the cot.
Nothing.
Outside, cast about. In the distance their flight and destruction play out. They must be at least a mile away by now, but silt falls from the walls. Gods.
Then I see it. I can read it now.
Sound of a storm,
Kiss of a goddess
Breath of a fish,
Roots of a mountain,
Spit of hell,
Thread of the delivered
The wall inscription is decipherable. It glows with fey energy, green save one line that stands out in gold light:
Kiss of a goddess.
Kumiko’s marble? I pull it out. It still glows green. There’s a connection here.
It must be a riddle, or a series of clues, but without context they’re useless. Could be a spell to resurrect the artifact, or a potion recipe erectile dysfunction. At the moment, it’s about as helpful as the latter.
Tagan would say I need to do what a good general would do in a bad situation. I have to get the lay of the land. At the forest’s edge is a stand of massive pine, one larger than its brothers. The rocky outcropping behind it forms a natural set of rough stone steps. Perfect.
The horse prances at my approach, eager. His aversion to the chaos and his need to run are palpable.
Works for me.
I mount, spur it toward the outcropping. It’s not far, but I let the horse gallop anyway. Every second counts, now. I palm the astratempus, the wind trying to rip it from my grasp.
Its arrow has slipped inside the dark pinks of sunset. I have maybe an hour to solve this puzzle.
I vault from the horse, hurtle and land with a grunt. Climb like a monkey the Tiger Mountain monks kept as a pet.
The pine is a long stretch from the rocks, further than I realized at a distance.
I don’t slow, fear and adrenaline powering my legs. I hit the edge and leap, hanging a long moment in midair.
From the ruins comes a scream.
Fuck.
I hit the tree, hands grasping at a thick branch even as Fenrir cries his rage across the land. It echoes from the trees, sending a panicked ink stain of birds into the air nearby.
I cling to the branch and wait to reset. How can I ever make progress like this?
Long moments pass. I don’t disappear, don’t pop into existence with Kumiko.
Interesting.
As long as I don’t die, I don’t reset with everything else?
Things are looking less desperate.
I clamber up the tree, the smell of the forest and pine reaching through my memory, pulling things forward I don’t want to remember, don’t have time for. The scent reminds me of my youth, running through the woods on our estates with my brother, playing knight and highwayman, or swearing allegiance to the King of the Forest, an oak hundreds of years older than the trees that surrounded it. He would lift me onto his shoulders so I could climb the King, and then I’d pull him up and we’d spend hours up there, laughing and making grand proclamations about things; how many pies on a feast day, who could piss further, and who would marry Marin Corbitt. Things that seem terrifically important when you’re ten.
My throat closes, tears blur my vision. Taran is dead, and that forest is burned, along with our estates.
Sacrifico.
And I will kill the people responsible.
I climb faster.
Kumiko has just restarted her run, a sleek white line far below, moving so fast that I lose her against the road before spotting her as she darts between a copse of trees.
Fenrir comes on, but when he hits the trees he doesn’t dart or lunge. He simply goes through them.
Enough gaping. I climb well above the forest’s crown. I get my bearings, setting landmarks in my mind as quick as I can.
The bowl below is roughly circular and cupped by mountains on all sides, peaks that fade into low, tree-topped cliffs close to the camp. To the west all that seems to bear the weight of the mountains is a lattice of roots from trees I can’t name, the likes of which I’ve never seen. Their roots jut through cliff walls, fingers reaching through the earth to find moisture below.
The camp is south. I know this part of the realm. The pillars, high as the cliff tops should be visible from anywhere. North swirls a small lake fed by a roaring waterfall. This cut in the rock is the only thing remotely like an exit and the lake has no outflow.
I might have found this fascinating, days ago. Now, it’s just another common impossibly.
There’s nothing else noteworthy, aside from the path. It curves in places, not a perfect circle. It reminds me of the royal racetrack at the capital, where men the size of children ride horses that have never seen war and the rich froth and throw money at each other. A rise here, a hairpin there. Not especially unique.
Okay. Temple, south. Cliff with exposed roots, west. Pond north. I have no idea if the directions are true in this world, and don’t care. I slide down the tree bouncing branch to branch, nimble, and drop the last ten feet. At the apex of my roll a hidden rock scrapes a path up my exposed arm. I suck a breath through my teeth. The wound will slow me down.
Instead, it knits closed.
Yes! Thank you, Freya.
Throwing myself into the saddle I realize I have no idea where to go. The land, unnatural as it
is in ways, gave me no ideas. It looks like a simple, pristine oasis of life and nature. Gorgeous trees, sparkling water, verdant forest. Nothing out of the ordinary.
The inscription. That has to be it.
My horse dashes with a tap from my boot heel.
A scream rings over the fields, Fenrir catching his prey. I wince, urge the horse faster. Judging by the last two times she was caught, there’s three minutes between runs. Incredible, considering how fast they run what must be several miles. And horrifying. I can’t imagine how many times this has repeated, how many times she’s been pierced
The words and are unchanged, glowing faintly in midday sun. The language plain. Whoever carved this didn’t bother to couch it in flowery language or poetry; they wanted to get their point across. And quickly. Obviously.
But the clues mean nothing to me. It’s pretty obvious what most of them mean, but how I’m supposed to use them, what I’m supposed to do, eludes me. Sound of a Storm has to be wind, but I have no idea how that helps me. What am I supposed to do, wait for a stiff breeze?
There’s something I’m missing. I put my hand to the inscription, and though its faintly warm, there’s nothing otherwise special about it. I run my finger along its length. Still nothing.
When I step away I kick an odd-shaped rock resting against the wall. It bounces, and something rolls out.
The rock is a bowl, and inside...marbles?
It occurs that when I went stomping through the camp on arrival and stumbling around like an idiot after Fenrir’s appearance, I probably knocked the bowl over. If I’d kept my head, this whole thing might have been a lot simpler.
I gather all five in my palm. They’re beautifully simple, each a different color; milky white, a burnished red, chalky black, deep blue, and a brown the color of dark cedar. They roll gently in my hand, and though they look somewhat drab there’s an energy. Something about them feels alive.
Now what? I have a child’s rhyme, five pretty marbles, a load of questions, and no time to ask them.
I run out to the trail. Kumiko is crouched, ready to bolt.
“Lir! Tell me you did something with the orb!” She can’t see me yet, but she’s heard me coming.
“I did! I mean, I don’t know. I found these.” I hold out the marbles. “I don’t know what inscription means.”
Kumiko scrunches her nose, squinting toward the camp. She’s stunning, exotic, and a fierce intelligence sparkles in her gaze. Her lips thin, her face firming. She’s come to a decision. “Let’s go.”
“But won’t you…” I gesture to where the shadows gather.
“Yes. He’ll follow me anywhere, catch me. But we have a few moments.” She pushes me back toward the wall, the camp. “Let’s not waste a moment.” She takes my hand, tugs me along.
We dash into the ruin, me flopping along behind like a child on shorter legs. She’s preternaturally fast. Kumiko skids to a stop in front of the inscription and her eyes dance over it.
“Elements, obviously. No idea what Thread of the delivered means, but the others…”
“Right!” I want to kick myself for not thinking of it. “Sound of the storm is wind. Breath of a fish is water maybe?”
“Roots of a mountain.” She laughs. “Easy. I’ve spent too much time here. The ironwood.”
“Those massive fucking trees?”
“Yes.” Her eyes dart, above, panicked. I can hear it, inside my head, this close. The roar. Fenrir.
“Okay, okay. Spit of hell. Fire, obviously.”
She nods, takes my hand that’s holding the marbles. She grabs the red one, and before I realize what she’s about to do, she throws it into the fire.
“Wait! Shouldn’t we…” I take a step forward, my words forgotten. Within the fire, like a tiny star, the red marble begins to glow. It shudders as it heats, as the light within it begins to emerge, and with a flash that makes me wince, light erupts from it, casting dark shadows behind us. It glows like the one she gave me.
Kumiko shrugs. “I had to try. We’re running out of time.”
I pull the astratempus from my pocket. She’s right. The arrow has moved into orange. Too close to the inky dark of night. I’m not exactly sure how much time we have, but it must be less than thirty minutes.
Fenrir crouches on the path, pulling lungfuls of air as he sniffs. His nightmare head turns, rotates, eyes locked on Kumiko. He doesn’t leap, doesn’t rend her apart, as if he doesn’t understand why she isn’t running, trying to elude him.
She backs away, step by step, eyes wide. “Lir…” She doesn’t finish, just whimpers.
Fenrir growls, takes a step the into the camp. Every muscle coils, ready to spring, his attention entirely on her.
Shite. I have to do something, anything. My blades are pointless, but maybe something else? I lean to the fire and pull a burning branch from the flames. One motion: stand and throw.
Fenrir darts, batting the flame from the air. It arcs back, and I fall on my ass.
Super heroic.
But I’ve broken the spell, whatever gave the massive wolf pause. Even has he leaps forward, I fall, the astratempus popping from my sweating fingers. Kumiko screams, Fenrir so close that the hot breath of his roar blowing her hair and ears back.
The astratempus bounces off the stones. I scramble up, reaching for the timekeeper, reaching for my blade.
I stop, gape.
Sparks hang in the air. They flicker but don’t drift. Spittle stretches in a perpetual thread from Fenrir’s jaws.
He’s suspended mid leap, an eruption of stone and gravel on the air behind him.
Kumiko’s hands shield her face, a vain attempt. caught mid-breath. The fear, and horror, on her face is heartbreaking. Her foot is raised, her body slightly canted, on the verge of darting, fleeing.
The only thing still moving is me.
Fuck slow time potion.
“Kumiko!” I grab her arm. The air around her warps. Her body vibrates, so violently that for a moment I think I’ve done something very wrong.
She stumbles back a step, and I hold her up, keep her from backing into the fire. “Kumiko!”
She shakes her head, turns to me. “What…Lir, what -”
I shove the marble into her hand. “Run! Just run!”
I hold up the astratempus. It ticks now with a sharp warning, the arrow flinching like its stuck. still ticking away the seconds of our salvation. “We’re almost out of time. Take it to the roots.”
She’s gone before I finish the last word.
Have to love a decisive woman. I rake the red marble from the coals. It’s cool.
I run from the camp.
Who knows how long we have. I tuck the marbles in my chest piece and mount my horse. He animates, bucks.
“Shh...just me. It’s just me.”
I expect him to fuss. He flies before I have the reins. North, the way I’d meant to go.
I’m a sound rider, which is fucking lucky because I need a free hand.
Grey.
Please, please let this work.
I hold the marble high, the wind from our breakneck pace streaming past. I raise it higher, praying to every god I can think of.
Nothing.
Fuck.
Storm….storm.
The pass.
I hold it up as we cross the bridge and align with the waterfall’s pass at least a mile off.
The stone vibrates in my grip. I almost lose it. Light bursts beneath its surface, turning it a milky translucent. somehow tinged with grey.
Yes! Three down.
I toss it back in my bag as we reach the trees. The horse slows, but not much, weaving between the ancient wood like its brought aspirants here a thousand times before. For all I know, it has.
But not like this. I’m not dying here.
Inside my armor the astratempus snaps. Time drags to a start. Starlings spring to life, winging low. The lake ahead laps gently.
Behind us, a roar, of rage so absolute that a tiny, an
imal part of my mind quails.
Please, please tell me Kumiko made it.
We draw up at the edge of the water, and I dismount, hand already in the bottomless bag.
Blue marble.
I kneel, hope, and dunk the marble.
Nothing.
“Come on, come on.” I repeat it like a prayer, shake the marble below the surface. Still nothing.
In the distance, I hear Fenrir.
The marble still doesn’t glow. Desperate, I cast about. There has to be a way. What was the clue?
Breath of a fish.
Shit. It’s not the water. It’s something in the water.
I wade deeper, trying to hurry without disturbing anything below the surface, chase it away.
Turns out I don’t have to worry about that. Fish swarm me. They’re as long as my arm, like eels, with strange white markings that pulse as they undulate around my legs.
They look like predators, dangerous. They froth around me, hugging my legs, and the pain is immediate. Not intense, but burning, and I wonder if they’re poisoning me. One bites, and another, shredding the flesh of my legs with wire teeth. The pain is intense, but I’m upright. Finna and Freya’s gifts fighting the toxin.
I’m afraid I’m going to lose a finger, or three, but I plunge the marble down regardless, desperate.
Bubbles created by the eels run across my fingers, the marble.
Blue flame and light, instant and incandescent.
That’s four.
Before I can pull the marble free a fish latches to my wrist. My body can’t keep up. Pain and poison buckle my knees. Grabbing it by the tail, I rip. It takes a chunk of my flesh but I’m free.
Or not.
Blood spattering against the water sends the others into a greater frenzy. They ripple around me, twist at my ankles. I try to run for the shore but can’t lift my legs. I throw the blue marble into my bag on the cusp of submerging.
No. Not when we’re so close.
My blade is in my hand, and I swing through the water in broad strokes. I halve the eel-fish in great swaths, and their blood is like ink, dying the water as they perish.
But it’s not enough. There are so many, and they pile over each other. Their teeth gnaw at my leathers, and the burning in my legs grows. Finna’s gift isn’t enough, not when it’s ten and then twenty, all pouring poison into my veins.
Temple of Cocidius - Book 2 Page 7
