by Matthew Wolf
Faye laughed and then looked to Ayva. “So it was yours then.”
“All of us decided,” Ayva agreed, emphasizing the words.
“And you?” she asked looking to Darius. “You were glad to leave a nearly dead woman in the middle of the desert?”
“Don’t look at me like that,” Darius said. “We both know you can handle yourself beaten and bruised better than most men can on a good day.”
“Compliments. Strange to leave me out to die, and then shower me with praise.”
“It was the truth. That’s all,” Darius said stubbornly.
“I see you four have a past,” Victasys interrupted. “But if you haven’t noticed, there are more important things at hand than such childish bickering. We need to work together or we will fail separately.”
“What he said,” Zane added, stepping forward. “So if you don’t mind, either help me or shut up. I’d appreciate it—because, as I see it, this woman is our only chance.”
Gray touched Ayva’s shoulder. “Zane’s right. What other option do we have?”
Zane grabbed a sheath from the wall, then rammed the blade home, and stood tall. “It’s my sister—I say she goes.”
Faye gave a nod. “I appreciate your trust.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t trust you,” Zane admitted. Gray still saw Zane shaking. “But it seems you’re our only option. If you betray us, I will find you, and I will kill you.”
Faye laughed. “That’s one way to treat someone who is risking her life for you.”
Zane’s ire wavered. “Please… Save her. I will be in your debt.”
Lightly, Faye dipped her head. “I will do my best.”
“Then who will go to save Ezrah with me?” Gray said.
“You cannot enter the Citadel without the mark of a Devari,” Victasys replied.
Gray pulled back his sleeve. “I bear the mark.”
Victasys eyes narrowed.
He swallowed. “Do you know me? That is, who I once was? I might have gone by the name Kirin.”
All but Ayva and Darius seemed shocked by his question.
“Kirin?” Faye questioned coolly from her seat, looking intensely interested.
“Who you were? What kind of man are you?” Zane asked.
A lost man, Kirin said, laughing in the back of his mind. But Gray ignored them both, eyeing the Devari. Victasys uttered at last, “I do not know you, or the name Kirin. But you’re not a Devari, so how do you bear the mark?”
“Another life,” he said simply.
“Well,” Zane voiced. “If I cannot go to save Hannah, for it is certain death, then it seems I’ll join you, Gray, to save your grandfather and repay at least one of my debts.” He glanced to Victasys, and Gray saw the copper-eyed man was hoping to repay more than just Ezrah’s debt. “My sword is yours.”
Victasys sighed. “Were you not listening? You must have the mark.”
Zane pulled back his sleeve, exposing a sinuous black mark. “I do not know where I got it, but I’ve had it as long as I can remember.”
“Mysteries upon mysteries,” the Devari breathed.
“Indeed,” Faye said.
Gray turned to Victasys. “Well? You said my grandfather saved your life, this is your chance to repay that favor.”
“You two may bear the mark, but you have neither the memories nor the skills of our kind. I will be surprised if we make it past the entry. Beyond that, I am not even a Devari myself any longer. I was banished and disgraced.”
“You still move like one, and that’s enough for me,” Zane said.
“How many know of your banishment?” Gray asked.
“Few, I suspect,” Victasys admitted. “But Zane does not even possess the cloak.”
Faye moved, opening a door to a tall chest. She grabbed something and tossed it through the air. Zane snatched it, and Gray glimpsed twin crossed swords.
“How did you get that?” Victasys questioned threateningly.
“Relax, Devari. It was a gift,” Faye said genuinely. Zane swiftly shed his tattered shroud, replacing it with the Devari’s mantle. “It suits you nicely,” she observed.
“Now, what was that you said?” Zane asked, standing smugly at Gray’s side.
The Devari growled. “You two don’t know the first thing about being a Devari.”
Zane smiled thinly. “I’m a quick study.”
And Gray sheathed Morrowil with a nod. “Time is running out. It seems a short lecture will have to suffice.” At the same time, Zane moved to the wall of weapons. He sheathed a dozen daggers up his sleeves and in his leather belt.
“So be it,” Victasys said with a heavy breath. “Then it is decided. Zane, Gray, and I will save Ezrah, while Faye and you two will go to save Zane’s sister.”
“How the… How did I get wrapped up in this?” Darius replied.
Faye snorted. “I don’t need them. They’ll just get in my way.”
“We’re coming,” Ayva insisted.
“And how exactly are you supposed to get past the guards without the mark?” she asked.
Ayva’s eyes were like blue daggers, as if waiting for her moment to strike. She held up the metal manacles, chain rattling. “You said Hannah will be in the prisons, did you not?”
Darius made a strangled sound. “Dice, I don’t like where this is going…”
Faye laughed. “You would willingly shackle yourselves? Put yourself in my hands? Why?”
“If it saves a life, gladly,” Ayva said.
“Do we really need two prisoners?” Darius asked. “Isn’t one enough?”
“Besides,” Ayva said, ignoring the rogue, “I don’t believe you’ll be able to trick those guards, not without a cover that is believable. And what’s more believable than this? Also, if it comes down to a fight, you won’t be able to handle Darkeye alone.”
“If it comes down to a fight, we’ll all be dead,” Faye replied.
“Then trust that it won’t,” Ayva said.
“Fine,” Faye conceded with a twist of her lips. “Together.” She made the word sound like a curse.
“Uh… Do I get a say in any of this?” Darius voiced.
“Do you really want to leave two women alone and defenseless, Darius?” Gray asked, smiling.
“These two? Defenseless?” he scoffed. “As much as a badger in a corner is defenseless.”
Ayva lifted a brow and Faye smirked.
Darius grumbled, “If you’re trying to guilt me with those looks, it won’t work. You all go play the fool heroes, but I’m staying right here!” he said, flopping down upon the rumpled bed and crossing his arms.
“Did I mention that I put scorpions in my bed incase intruders ever returned?” Faye mentioned.
Darius yelped, leaping to his feet and brushing down his body furiously.
Faye picked up a scorpion from the ground letting it scuttle across her finger.
The rogue growled, looking to Gray. “Defenseless? Really?”
Gray shrugged, hiding a grin. Victasys’ expression was humorless, but Zane looked amused.
“Alright, fine,” Darius griped, “But if we’re going to do this, let’s get it over with. No use waiting around.”
Faye cleared her throat and followed as Darius threw open the door.
“You best leave your sword here, rogue,” she said.
Darius grumbled. “My sword goes where I go.” Snatching a sheet from the bed, Darius shook it, and a few loose scorpions fell to the dirty ground. Deftly, he wrapped the sheathed sword, strapping it low upon his back to hide the handle. All done, he placed his hands upon his hips, looking satisfied with himself. “Better?”
Faye lifted a brow with a sigh but didn’t object, and Darius headed for the door without waiting for an answer. Gray followed, squinting from the sun as they walked out into the light of day.
* * *
Gray waited with the others, exchanging plans while Faye was inside. She had to change clothes, she had said. Just then, the door s
wung open and she stepped out. Gray swallowed just to keep his jaw from dropping.
Faye now wore a wholly different outfit. A large pauldron sat on one shoulder with layered plates, each of which came to a sharp point. The dark metal looked like dragon’s scales. The top plate’s spike rose high enough to shield her cheek. More dark-plated metal covered her chest, flaring at the collar. Deep brown leather adorned the rest of her, molded to her body like a second skin, accented with dark silver lines. Heavy metal vambraces were cuffed onto her slender arms. She wore a black cloak as well, its pointed hood pulled far forward, hiding her scarlet hair. Her eyes were now darkened, a smoky black shadow encircling them, making them appear like light brown lanterns staring out from the shadows of her hood. Lastly, weapons decked her body, maces, swords, daggers, and more.
All in all, the effect was truly menacing.
The woman looked ready for a war all by herself.
Faye moved into the desert street, hips swaying—the tight leather and plate armor accentuating her alluring curves. Gray hid the desire to turn away when her gaze passed over him, flashing a seductive smile. She joined the other two.
“What are you preparing for?” Ayva asked.
“For anything,” Faye replied.
Ayva’s lips made a tight line, but she said no more.
Gray eyed Ayva and Darius standing beside Faye in the dirt street. He felt suddenly strange splitting from them. They’d spent so much time together that to part now felt somehow wrenching.
“We’ll see you soon,” Ayva said firmly.
“Soon,” he agreed.
“And after you’ve rescued Hannah, we’ll meet back here,” Victasys stated.
“So be it,” Faye agreed. “As you know, even if we don’t run into any obstacles it’ll take us a full day to make it into The Lair of the Beast. I know how you worry, but don’t lose any sleep over me,” she said with a wink.
“I’ll try not to,” Victasys replied.
As always, Gray couldn’t tell if the man was joking or not. His face was a bluff rock. He shrugged it off, eyeing Darius. Stay safe, he urged his friend inwardly. Darius looked to Gray and nodded. You too. Then the rogue shook his head, looking confused at what just happened. Did I just…? Gray questioned, as a memory flashed through him of the Ronin talking to one another without talking.
But before he could question the strange knot in the back of his mind where Darius’ voice had rang, the three said their goodbyes and Faye dragged them off towards The Lair of the Beast.
“You ready?” Zane asked, looking to Gray.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he said.
Gray felt peculiar. Less than an hour ago both these men were complete strangers. Now they were going to risk their lives together. Fate, he thought with a sour feeling. Would he ever have any control over his life? And yet the rest of him felt at peace, as if Zane and the Devari’s presence were familiar and right, even.
“Stay close and follow me then,” Victasys said, leading them into the increasingly crowded desert streets. The Citadel loomed, waiting in the distance. Gray eyed the dark spires jutting high above the buildings like black gloved fingers on a huge hand.
Home, Kirin voiced.
Lucky
WHERE IS IT? LUCKY THOUGHT IN rising terror.
He held back a whimper, feeling for his small dagger. With his hands bound behind his back, it wasn’t easy. He felt nothing. The rough rope chaffed at his small wrists. It’s gone, he realized. They took his blade.
He took a deep breath, trying to not let panic take over. He knew how easily such a thing could happen. When he was alone, in the dark, waiting for big men to grab him and kill him for stealing their coin or food, the panic was always heavy. He breathed in and out, slowly, just as he would back then. But still his heart was loud, pounding, slapping against his ribcage. It didn’t help that he heard the others’ fearful breaths.
He glanced right and left and saw boys his age, some younger, some older in a long row. Most were softly sniveling while tugging on their bindings. Some were openly crying. Lucky felt a flash of pride—he wasn’t crying. Not yet at least.
Lucky tried to calm himself by taking in his surroundings.
He was in a darkened courtyard. Grass cushioned his knees. Above his head, through a mesh of Silveroot branches, he made out a sliver of a moon. A thief’s moon. It was a pickpocket’s best friend. Normally, he felt comforted by the dark, but now the darkness felt different. Lucky was scared.
He felt something sharp in his pocket. He shifted upon his knees, but he almost fell to his face. He forgot his feet were bound too. What is it? he wondered, feeling the small, sharp object digging into his side.
The statue.
The one he’d stolen from Shade.
He looked up, eyeing the men who watched them— dark brutes with muscles that gleamed in the faint moonlight.
“What do they want of us?” a boy whispered to his left.
“I don’t know, but I’m scared,” said another, tears streaming down his dirty face.
“Where are we?” asked a third with a quivering voice.
“The Citadel,” Lucky answered in a low breath.
“How are we going to get out?” asked a little girl, Vitsu, with a woven cap tugged to the brim of her eyes. Vitsu had been a Lost One he’d seen a lot. Shade favored her. She was nice, always helping others. Lucky grimaced in memory, feeling jealous still. But why was she here? Strange when all the others were boys.
Just then, at the glowing entry to the courtyard, a figure appeared. Lucky stiffened. Help, he thought, gaining a flicker of hope. Maybe it was a Reaver or a Devari. He’d avoided both like a disease in the streets of Farbs, but surely they would see a bunch of boys and save them from these men.
“Lucky?” Vitsu voiced, louder.
“Hush,” Lucky said, “someone’s coming.”
The figure walked down the keep’s steps, heading toward them.
As he approached, Lucky felt his fear spike.
The man strode forward, bearing a strange blue orb in his hand. It crackled, lighting the darkened courtyard a scary blue. With each step, grass died, burning and turning to ash.
As he neared, Lucky’s heart darkened. Something prickled along his skin. It hurt, like a flame drawing closer and closer. With the man’s next step, the other orphans began to whimper and cry. Lucky stuffed down his terror, breathing evenly.
The man came to a stop.
He towered over them. With a long black coat and dark boots, the man blended with the night, save for his face. His hair was dark, too, and greasy, appearing like wriggling snakes smeared in oil. Lucky cringed eyeing his pale skin that sucked in the moon’s light. The man stood, judging them, muscled thugs at his side. Suddenly, looking at the man, Lucky saw an image of blood.
He clenched his eyes against the recent memory.
Sanctuary… under attack…
Blood and cries of Lost Ones. Men, women and children. Fire and chaos.
Lucky returned to the dark courtyard, trembling.
The blood still stained his hands. He tried to hold back the tears. He’d seen Father die. Father had been kind to him. Lucky never fit in with the Lost Ones, not really at least, but Father had given him food, water, shelter, and clothing. Father had trusted him when almost no one else did. He’d thought Lucky could change, stop thieving and become better. He was wrong, but Lucky had tried. That was more than anyone else had done. Lucky felt his throat tighten, anger rising inside of him. No, Father didn’t deserve it.
“Master Sithel,” the biggest of the brutes said in a voice like gravel.
Sithel’s gaze scanned over the whimpering boys. “Where did you gather this wretched lot?”
“It seems someone attacked the Sanctuary. We found these boys wandering, lost.”
“And do any have families?” Sithel questioned.
“No, all orphans, master.”
“Excellent,” Sithel breathed.
“Please d
on’t kill us,” a little boy cried.
Sithel loomed over the little boy with a cruel smile. “I have no intention of killing you, little one. Not unless the prophecy demands it.” Lucky shivered. This man was death.
“Then what do you want of us?” Vitsu asked in her small voice.
“To discover a truth, child.”
“What truth?” another little boy asked.
“You shall see,” Sithel said and raised the blue sphere. It pulsed an eerie light. It was beautiful. But above all, Lucky knew—it was evil. Pain shot through his limbs like a hundred needles. He tried to breathe but it was difficult. It was as if someone had just walloped him in the stomach, hard.
Others at his side cried out in pain too.
“Please stop!” several cried.
Holding the orb out, Sithel approached the first boy in the line. The boy cried out loudly. Please someone hear! With tears in his eyes, Lucky watched in horror as a strange face appeared in the air like a spirit. His dread rose. It glowed orange, like a mask of the boy. The boy’s cry pitched as the face was sucked out of him and into the evil, blue orb. The orb drank it in like a sponge, as if craving more. The orange essence flowed into the orb until the boy’s skin grew ashen. At last, Sithel pulled away.
“Not him,” he declared.
The other orphans were now all sobbing.
“What was that?” one whimpered.
“The spark,” Lucky breathed. He had seen a Reaver die. The man had keeled over like any other, and then a strange orange essence had fled from his body, rising into the air. It was the spark.
Sithel approached the next boy.
“Please… no,” he cried.
But Sithel merely smiled as the blue orb ate, and the boy’s spark fled, racing into the evil sphere. “So sorry, child…” he said, but his eyes held no remorse.
“Let me go, please,” said the little boy, his voice hoarse.
Sithel pulled away, if only for a moment, and the boy gasped a breath. “You will each seek forgiveness, but know that I cannot give it to you. For you see, we are all cogs fulfilling our roles, mine more grand than yours. But the truth remains that the prophecy is more important than us all. In the end, feel grateful that you play such an important role.” With that, he pushed the terrible orb forward, draining the orange essence and the boy fell forward, lifeless.
