“Fuck that!” Jayden snatched the battle hammer from the ground. “I’m seeing this to the end.”
Arwan looked the seeker in his eyes. “Zanya needs you. She loves you. Go with her, and keep her and the others safe…please.”
Jayden carefully lowered his weapon and looked back at the house.
“She’s losing the baby,” Arwan continued. “I can’t imagine what she’s going through right now, and I’m not with her.” Arwan’s throat ached as he spoke. “But having you beside her would help her through.”
The tree purged hundreds of roots from the underworld, tearing an even wider crater in the earth.
Jayden tightened his jaw, clearly wrestling with his choice. After a moment, he exhaled and tossed Arwan the battle hammer. “Be careful.” He ran toward the house.
Arwan readied the blood-stained weapon.
The petrified ground trembled and cracked beneath his feet until the putrid stink of the underworld once again flooded his nostrils.
The air shook with dark magic, and the shadow of the king rose from the realm below.
Arwan shifted his weight, terror gripping his heart.
He’d never been truly scared of battle. Never doubted his capabilities, or considered the possibility he wouldn’t live to see another day.
Not until he stood his ground, against all odds, and against the one deity who overpowered him in almost every way.
His father, the king.
The broken earth sent a thick cloud of stone dust into the air. As the haze slowly settled, his foe was revealed.
Arwan narrowed his eyes and blinked through the fog.
Something wasn’t right.
The king’s back faced him, but he seemed…unclothed, exposing mocha skin—wrinkled and deformed.
Arwan stepped forward, straining to get a better look.
Could it be Houn, keeper of underworld souls? No. Houn was not as stout as the figure in front of him.
When the dust fully settled, the figure came into focus.
Arwan leapt back, his hands shaking and his skin prickled with revelation.
The king turned to face him, showing dark hair splayed over his forehead.
Hair that did not belong.
Hair that was not his.
Arwan dropped his weapon and fell to his knees, staring at the king…wearing Renato’s skin.
It was a tradition Arwan had only read about—a common practice in the ancient Mayan civilization among clashing tribes.
Once a rival was captured, his death was guaranteed. If he were a formable adversary, his skin would likely be worn by the victor as a means of drawing strength from the fallen warrior’s remains.
But to see his mentor’s flesh splayed out like a processed deer was too much to handle.
Arwan vomited on the ground, his stomach clenching in twisted knots.
The king stretched out his arms, displaying the full shape of hanging, wet flesh draped over his body. “The sacrificed Riyata was a brilliant choice. His strength ran deep.”
The king’s baritone voice was muffled in Arwan’s ears. He heaved again, but there was nothing left to purge.
“Stand, son.” The king stepped forward. “Stand and fight.” As the king walked toward him, his boot crushed petrified Mayan villagers and underworlders alike. “Fight, or die on your knees like a coward.”
Arwan wiped his mouth and clenched his eyes shut, working to gather his wits. The horrific display was just that—a display, designed to intimidate and confuse him. He couldn’t allow the tactic to work. Not if he wanted to come out of this battle alive.
He gathered his strength and reached for Hawa’s weapon. “A fight is what you want.” Arwan stood, his focus trained on the king. “A fight is what you’ll get.”
The king peeled the fleshy remains off and cast them to the ground. Blood matted the king’s hair. Renato’s blood. Arwan could smell it now, and it made the hairs on his arms stand on end.
The king unwound a flaming whip from his belt and cracked it in the air. “Very well, son. So it begins.”
Arwan nodded. “So it begins.”
He charged forward, his weapon poised to strike. Before he could get close, he was met with paralyzing pain of a molten whip across his chest. Arwan skidded and clutched his searing flesh. There was no agony more intense than to have one’s skin split open with a blazing weapon.
“You could have taken the throne if you were not so weak and attached to the middleworld mortals.” When the king lashed out again, Arwan dodged the attack and leapt forward, striking the king with the battle hammer.
The king’s arm popped out of place and he shouted, then wheeled his whip in his other hand, slashing at Arwan’s back.
Arwan ground his teeth and scrambled away, moving out of the weapon’s range.
The king forced his joint back into its socket with another audible pop. “You cannot defeat me.” He rolled his shoulder, as if it had already healed. Perhaps the king had more abilities than Arwan was aware of. He could heal, in or out of his native realm. “We are both made of the same darkness, as you are made from me.” The king’s mouth contorted. “Yet you dare betray me—your own flesh and blood. Your family. Your sire!” The king worked his whip, but Arwan had observed the weapon in action enough to learn its capabilities—and weaknesses. If he were to get close enough to the king to kill him, he’d have to first disable his hellish tool.
When the whip struck, Arwan extended the battle hammer, and the lash coiled around his weapon. Arwan yanked as hard as he could, tearing it from the king’s grasp.
Once out of its wielder’s possession, the flames fizzled and died. Arwan kicked it away and broadened his stance.
“You believe you stand a chance to leave here alive?” The king glared. “You forsake your realm—your bloodlines.” He fisted his massive hands. “You enter into an agreement with me, the King of the Underworld, and think you can transgress the conditions with no repercussions?” The king’s gaze moved to the home behind Arwan.
The home where Zanya slept.
The home Arwan would defend with his life.
“I will take everything you love before I take your life. I will smother the admiration you have for these meddling mortals. Then—only then—will I allow you to perish.” The king raised his hands, cuing the ground to slither with roots. The layer of petrified remains broke and crumbled as Yaxche reached from the underworld. “You will watch them die!” The king clenched his fist, guiding the roots to coil around the home and begin to pull it apart.
Screams sounded from inside the home.
The king would drag the home down in its entirety if he weren’t stopped.
Arwan leapt forward, striking the king in his head with the hammer and knocking him to the ground.
The king’s face contorted while he held the side of his head. Dark, murky blood leaked from the gash in his skull, coating his hair and hand.
Arwan raised the weapon to bludgeon him a second time.
The king showed a hideous grin, blood coating his teeth. “You are as I have always pictured you, my son. So dark. So beautiful.”
Arwan snarled.
“It is a shame you will not live to take my throne.” The king pulled a weapon from his belt and drove it into Arwan’s gut. The blade scraped against his ribs as the king pushed it inside, stealing the air from Arwan’s lungs.
Arwan leapt back and gripped the handle.
The king pushed to his feet, the wound in his head healed. “I will tear your heart out!”
Arwan stumbled back and collapsed onto the ground. His cheek settled on the jungle floor as he struggled to pull in a breath. The king had surely sliced one of his lungs, causing it to collapse. His vision blurred.
The king walked toward him, his boots now the only thing in Arwan’s blurred line of sight.
Warmth and life seeped from Arwan’s body, pooling below him on the ground.
“It seems, son, your Riyata friend was sacrificed in
vain. You will die, regardless. What a waste.” The king knelt beside him and wound his fingers around the weapon, then tilted the blade inside him.
Arwan screamed and grasped onto the king’s forearm, desperate to make the pain stop.
“I warned you…” He dragged the knife down an inch, tearing deeper into Arwan’s abdomen. “Just like our ancestors, I will slice you open and reach inside of you, then tear out your still-beating heart.”
Arwan screamed, which turned into gurgles as blood poured down his throat. Arwan coughed and struggled to stay conscious, barely clinging to life. His eyes rolled back in his head.
While his consciousness slipped away, a familiar voice echoed in the distance.
It was not Zanya, nor his mentor, Renato.
It was Drina, the old priestess who had loved and protected him, and given him refuge since he was a young boy. It was her voice that called him back to life, repeating the same message she’d delivered before. “You are who you are, boy. You must be who you are.”
The king dragged the knife across his belly, splitting him open while he was still alive.
Arwan’s muscles tensed and his eyes shot open.
Cool air caressed areas of his body never meant to see the light of day.
Deep, raw parts of himself—flesh and bone, buried beneath muscle.
The king leaned down and hovered his lips beside Arwan’s ear. “Travel well into the underworld, my son. I will meet you there, but not as royalty. As my prisoner.”
Drina’s face wavered, her eyes coming into focus. “You are who you are, boy. You must be who you are.”
Arwan lifted his shaking hands, nearly void of strength.
The king had forgotten one key element to Arwan’s existence.
He was not only darkness, but also half-light.
He clutched both sides of the king’s head and grabbed handfuls of his matted hair. “You may be my father,” he muttered, choking on blood, “but I am my mother’s son.”
Arwan pushed his father back and called on his ability to form a bubble of rippling waves.
He would not be able to hold the timebend for long—if even for a few moments. And once inside, he would hardly be able to move.
There would be no oxygen.
No way to escape.
He would have to do his bidding quickly if he were to change history.
The timebend formed and pressed against his skin, freezing him in place.
A fraction of a second had passed before Arwan closed the bend, and in the blink of an eye, he was back.
A flash of light took over his vision, and before Arwan could ground himself, he found himself in the heat of battle with underworlders surrounding them.
Chapter Forty-One
Arwan
Arwan clung to his glaive with strands of blood-soaked hair sticking to his cheeks and neck.
He turned to see Zanya, obviously struggling to fight through her fatigue.
More underworlders and hellhounds poured from the hole in the earth.
He’d gone back. Not far. Just an hour or so—just long enough to make things right.
The enemy closed in around them.
Bodies of the fallen villagers were being consumed by Yaxche. Vines and roots coiled around their bodies, dragging them under until they were nothing more than a bloodstain.
Hawa screamed and stumbled back when a hound leapt on top of her.
Arwan parted his lips. Hawa. She was still alive.
He sprinted toward her and killed the beast before it could tear into her gut.
He spun and pointed to the second one charging Jayden. “To your right!”
His warning caught Eadith’s attention, and she threw a fireball at the hound before it plowed into the seeker.
He turned to Zanya, who was now on her knees, too weak to fight.
Hawa sprinted in front of Arwan and kicked an underworlder back. “Hey, snap out of it!”
Arwan blinked and looked at Hawa.
“We have to retreat,” she said. “Get the others out of the house and let’s get out of here, or we’ll all die!”
He waited, shifting his weight. Zanya would petrify everything in just a few seconds…she had to…
“Come on!” Hawa yanked his arm. “Now!”
What had he done?
By going back and saving Hawa, Zanya no longer had the motivation she needed to petrify the army. She would simply succumb to her fatigue and they would all fall victim to the underworld attack.
Unless he gave her a reason…
First, he turned to the battlefield and waved Beigarth back. The Viking nodded and sliced through several enemies to carve his path back to the safety of the already petrified ground.
Arwan ran to Zanya’s side. Her face was drained of color and her eyes were glossed with exhaustion. He grabbed her and shook her, jolting her back to awareness. “You have to listen to me.” He cupped her cheek. “Zanya, I need you to be strong right now. We all need you.”
She mumbled and grabbed his hand, swaying from side to side. “I can’t…”
“You have to.” He looked behind him at the others, who were still fighting their way back. “We are all going to die without your help.”
She swallowed, shaking her head. “I’m too weak.”
“If you don’t help us…” His stomach went queasy. What he was about to do was wrong on more than one level, but he had no other choice. “If you don’t, you’ll lose the baby. You’ll lose me. Everyone will die. I’ve seen it.” He pulled her closer. “I came back.”
Her eyes widened. “Back?”
He nodded. “I’ve seen it, and you’ll lose everything. Everyone.”
Zanya pulled away, horror streaking her features.
But it wasn’t enough.
“You’ll bleed out, right here on the stone floor.”
Zanya cupped her hand over her mouth.
“And the king will cut my heart out in front of you.”
Her hands shook.
“Then the tree will consume the house with everyone inside.”
Zanya clenched her stomach and scooted back, the fear too raw and harsh for her to react.
He searched for a way to push her over the edge. He would have to be savage. Cruel, even. It tore into him, but it was the only way.
He glared down at her. “I should have known you’d fail.” He fisted his hands. “I should have known you’d ruin your chance at being the guardian. At being…” The foul taste of his words coated his tongue. “At being a mother.”
Zanya froze, and her eyes narrowed. “I am not a failure.”
“You’ve given up. But not just on us. On her!” He pointed at her stomach. “Just like your mother gave up on—” A bolt of energy crashed into his chest, knocking him back into the defending group of Riyata.
He stood upright and looked at Zanya, whose skin pulsed with electricity.
“I will never give up on her!” Zanya screamed and punched the ground, sending a wave of petrification over the land. It crawled over the jungle and froze every underworlder in sight—this time missing Beigarth.
When it was over, Arwan scanned the silent battlefield.
Zanya clenched her belly and contorted in pain. “Something’s wrong!”
Peter ran to her side. His face drained of color. “The baby.”
Zanya stared up at Arwan, her lips shaky and parted. “You said I would lose the baby if I didn’t stop them. What have you done?”
He had lied to her, and forced her to do the impossible. To make the decision between one life, or the life of all humanity. There was no other way.
Peter and Hawa hauled Zanya to her feet. Zanya clenched her legs and buckled over, groaning under the ultimate loss. “My daughter. Something’s wrong. Something—” She choked on a sob.
“Is she…?” Jayden approached from behind. “Is she going to be okay?”
Arwan turned to the seeker. It was a relief to know he wouldn’t lose Hawa. He needed her—t
hat much was clear. But now, Arwan would ask them all to go inside the house so he could finish what had been started with the king. “I don’t know. But you have to watch over her. Will you do that?”
Eleuia approached and stood behind the seeker, underworld blood streaked across her cheek. “Of course we will.” She pushed hair out of her face. “We’ll do everything we can.”
“Go inside, and don’t come out—no matter what.”
As Arwan walked past them, Eleuia caught his arm. “What are you going to do?”
“Like you said.” Arwan stripped off his shirt and tossed it to the ground. “I’m going to beast it up.”
***
Zanya
Pain streaked through her stomach and up her back, making her legs quiver. Hawa and Peter hauled her up the stairs and into her bedroom, where they laid her over the mattress. Tara was already in the room, throwing pillows off the bed to give her space to lie down.
Zanya screamed at a sharp spike of heat that tore her womb. She curled into a ball on the mattress. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Peter washed his hands in the bathroom, then ran back and sat beside her. “You should be healing. The baby must be taking too much of your energy. Let me see what I can do. But you have to lie flat for me so I can see your stomach. Can you do that?”
She nodded and forced herself to roll onto her back. “I swear I didn’t know this would happen. I had no idea—”
“Shhh.” Tara sat beside her and stroked her hair. “We know. This isn’t your fault.”
Peter slid his hand under the hem of her shirt. His brows turned down, and he felt around a bit more, pressing lightly in some spots, while simply pausing over others. “You’re bleeding…a lot. But…” He looked at Zanya. “I’m sorry, I can’t do anything to help you. I’m not an obstetrician and I don’t have any tools here. No ultrasound, and no way to check and see if the baby is okay. You’re too early for me to listen with a stethoscope.” He lifted his hands from her skin. “So…you have a choice to make.”
Zanya nodded, indicating she was listening.
“If I try to heal you, I’m pretty sure your body will do what any woman’s body would—choose your own health over the life of the baby. But if I don’t heal you, you’ll keep hemorrhaging, and if you lose too much blood…” He pursed his lips. “We could lose you both.”
Birthright (The Stone Legacy Series Book 5) Page 25
