Fire of Ages (The Powers of Amur Book 6)

by J. S. Bangs

  The defenders ran.

  They fled through the Uluriya district, past empty estates and darkened bhilami, curtains opened, lamps extinguished. The dead body of a city. The Devoured would have it now. The white-painted homes of the Uluriya district blurred past. A bhilami, abandoned. Out of the Uluriya district, past the temple of Chaludra.

  And then, ahead of them, on the road toward the River District where they would cross the Maudhu, he saw stragglers. Huddled, hurrying shapes, and among them a white-clad figure. He turned and saw the men approaching.

  “Navran-dar!” the man called out. Bhudman.

  “Run, fools!” Navran shouted. “We have—”

  “I have the sacred water,” he said. He stood his ground in the middle of the street, clutching a large jar and holding a bundle of ephedra at his waist.

  Ah, yes. He had nearly forgotten what he had asked Bhudman to do before he fled to the walls. Kushma Ulaur might save us, he thought with a shiver.

  “The Devoured are following,” he said. The men around him slowed, including Amabhu, and Navran waved them on. “Who is still in the city?”

  “Veshta’s household,” the old saghada said, pointing behind him at the group slowly receding down the road. “They’re the last I’ve seen. Others are ahead of us.”

  Navran pointed down at the stones. “Bless the road. Give them time to cross the Maudhu. The rest of you move on and protect them!”

  Raksham repeated Navran’s order with a bellow, and the soldiers began to move past them, surrounding the last of those evacuating. Amabhu slowed and stood next to Navran.

  “Let me stay,” Amabhu said. “Caupana is with the ones fleeing, I need to—”

  He spied the Devoured at the end of the street. “Hurry!” he said.

  Bhudman cast aside the lid of the jar and thrust the ephedra into it. He splashed the street with the sacred water, covering every stone, drops of the tincture flying in every direction.

  Navran gripped his sword and prepared to strike. “If this doesn’t work…” he said. A glance back showed Veshta’s fleeing household had continued out of sight. Amabhu clenched his fists.

  The Devoured came.

  The first of them hit the stones that Bhudman had blessed. A bellow of pain sounded from them. They skittered back as if they had walked onto burning coals, then crouched, looking at the three men across the way suspiciously.

  “The stars upon us—” Bhudman said.

  But they only had a moment’s reprieve. “Go around,” sounded a hissing murmur among the Devoured. “Must be another way.” He saw those in the rear ranks scatter down side streets, looking for an undefended path to the river. Those near the front crept forward again, touched the blessed stones, and retreated, jaws clenched and eyes burning with anger. They were pained but not harmed, Navran realized—and they were learning it.

  “Go,” Navran said. He grabbed Bhudman by the shoulder and shoved him toward the river. “You have helped—now get out.”

  The saghada stumbled for a second, then righted himself and ran down the narrow street. Navran held his sword up and backed away. Amabhu matched his pace as they backed down the street.

  And with a howl of pain and fury, the Devoured forced themselves past the sacred barrier.

  Navran swatted one aside with a sword, but there was no point trying to fight them off. “Run!” he screamed. He sprinted with Amabhu beside him.

  Hands clawed at his back. Amabhu slowed. He reached for the Devoured man following Navran, and in a moment both of them tumbled to the ground. Navran felt the heat of flame.

  Amabhu and the Devoured man lay tangled together, fire wrapped around the attacker’s limbs, the smell of burning hair and flesh filling the air. Another Devoured leaped onto them. Amabhu let loose with gouts of fire.

  Navran turned and hacked at them, cutting useless gouges into their flesh. More were coming.

  “Get away,” Amabhu said. A Devoured man began to choke him. Amabhu pressed flame-wreathed hands against the man’s chest, but the fire sputtered and died. Little flowers of fire bloomed on his fingers, but they died as quickly as they sprang up.

  Two more Devoured fell on him. One snarled at Navran and shoved him a pace back before returning to the struggling thikratta. For a heartbeat, Navran was torn.

  He could not save Amabhu.

  He turned and ran.

  Behind, he heard the crackle of flames, and then a final choking gasp.

  Here were the stairs which descended from the River District to the wharves. Bhudman was at the bottom of the stairs, preparing to cross to the river. He glimpsed across the water: dozens of huddled black shapes hurried down the road to the south, hoping they would escape the fury of the Devoured.

  The river itself was a shriveled husk, but by an irony of geography it was now bigger than the Amsadhu. The deep mountain springs that fed the Maudhu still flowed despite the years of drought, and the heart of the river was a channel six feet deep and twenty feet wide, black, clear, and fast-moving. Navran had constructed a floating bridge across it, five boats tied end-to-end, with planks lying across them to support those fleeing.

  He knew the plan: Cross the river, then destroy the bridge. And hope the Devoured couldn’t swim.

  The last of the evacuees waited at the near side of the river, going cautiously across the uneven, wobbling bridge. For a moment Navran lost sight of them as he rushed through the warehouses of the wharves. Then he burst out on the docks, down into the dried bed of the river.

  The channel with its floating bridge was just ahead of him. Why weren’t they crossing faster? Navran reached the edge of the crowd.

  “—faster!” Raksham shouted. “They’re right behind us.”

  “Only one or two people at a time on the bridge and it bucks,” he heard Veshta respond. “Knocks you into the water.” He was looking about in a panic, gripping his daughter’s hand tightly.

  Navran glanced at the ones waiting. Caupana and Veshta’s family. Caupana looked at Navran with heavy eyes. He didn’t ask about Amabhu, but Navran was sure he knew.

  He looked back at the city. He saw Devoured on the top of the stairs descending toward the river.

  “Form a line!” he shouted to Raksham and the soldiers. “Hold them back while the last people cross! And hurry!”

  Srithi started to walk cautiously across the shifting plank bridge. Navran turned to face the attackers.

  The Devoured were coming. Raksham and the soldiers formed a cordon. The first attacker reached them. Navran stabbed and kicked the man backward with his foot. The man staggered and fell, but a moment later he was back, clawing at the defenders.

  “Hurry!”

  His warning was cut short as another Devoured man staggered into him. Navran hacked at the man’s wrists, unable to quite cut them off, and he hurled the man to the ground. The defenders drew together. Navran saw the Devoured streaming down the stairs.

  “Get across the river!” he heard someone command. A glance over his shoulder. Everyone had crossed except Veshta, Gapthi, and Amashi, who stepped cautiously onto the planks and advanced one terrified step at a time clutching the girl’s hand. What was wrong with that woman? Why didn’t she move?

  Navran was bowled back. A Devoured man was atop him. He knocked the man to the side and scrambled to his feet. The soldiers were pushed back on every side. Half of them had abandoned the battle and scrambled across the bridge. They weren’t cowards, Navran thought: cross now, or the Devoured would get them all.

  “Cross!” he screamed. And he bolted for the boats.

  Veshta waited at the beginning of the bridge. Navran grabbed him by the elbow. “Get going!” He stepped onto the planks and pulled Veshta after him.

  “But my mother—” Veshta began.

  The plank bridge rocked as retreating soldiers crossed it. Amashi huddled in the middle, motionless in panic. She held the wailing toddler Gapthi in her arms, her face a rigid expression of terror, while the fleeing soldiers rushed past her.


  Navran pulled Veshta forward onto the bridge. “We’ll carry her across if we have to,” he said.

  And then Veshta’s hand was jerked from Navran’s grasp.

  Amashi screamed. A man’s screams mixed with hers. Navran looked over his shoulder. The Devoured had Veshta in their grasp. One withdrew a knife from his belt and clawed at Veshta. The knife plunged into Veshta’s gut.

  Veshta screamed. The knife tore through his lungs. His screams became choked. Blood spurted from his mouth.

  “My son!” Amashi screamed. And then Navran saw her turn back, running across the wobbling planks toward Veshta.

  “No, Amashi!” Navran shouted. “Come!”

  He ran toward her, wrapping her and the child in his arms. She fought against him, but he pulled her back. The planks of the bridge wobbled beneath them. He nearly lost his balance and fell. Amashi struggled in his grasp.

  Devoured leaped over Veshta’s body and onto the bridge. He dragged her across.

  “Veshta!” she shouted, then squirmed out of his grasp. He heard Gapthi, the toddler in Amashi’s arms, crying and wailing. The bridge rocked.

  Amashi tottered. The boat beneath her tipped. And she and Gapthi tumbled into the river.

  “No!” Navran threw himself after them, one hand gripping the rope that held the bridge together. He thrust a hand into the water.

  For a moment Amashi’s flailing form broke the surface, and a gurgled cry sounded in the water. Navran reached for her.

  But the swift current had already carried her away. She broke the surface again, three yards downstream from the bridge. No sign of Gapthi. Then she fell beneath the black water. She didn’t break the water again.

  He didn’t have a heartbeat to spare for regret. Devoured were on the bridge. He hauled himself forward by the rope joining the boats together until he reached the shore.

  “Cut it!” he shouted, but the soldiers already knew. They slashed through the ropes that fixed the bridge to the pegs on the shore. The current took the boats and doubled them back toward Virnas. The first Devoured on the bridge leaped forward, but he fell into the water short of the shore and disappeared into the rippling current.

  For a moment Navran sat with breath heaving. A woman wept.

  He looked up. Srithi stood nearby, hugging the infant Pashman to her chest, shuddering with sobs. Veshta’s body lay bloody on the far shore. There was no sign of Amashi and Gapthi in the black waters of the Maudhu.

  But the swift current was the only thing that protected them from the Devoured on the far shore. They prowled and stared at the swirling channel, not quite daring to cross.

  He rose to his feet and put his arm around Srithi. She shook and pushed him away.

  “We’re going,” Navran said. He gripped her shoulders firmly and pulled her along the road. There would be time for pity and mourning later. They had to put as much distance between themselves and the Devoured as possible.

  Srithi continued to shudder with sobs, but she didn’t fight against Navran’s pull. He led her away from Veshta’s body and the swirling current.

  He looked back one time. Virnas hulked on the bluffs above the river, a dead place filled with the undying. The red star burned over the walls, and the Devoured stood on the riverbank.

  “To Patakshar,” he whispered. The last refuge. Once they reached Patakshar, they had nowhere else to run.

  Vapathi

  Vapathi heaved an armful of cut seaweed onto the drying rack and spread the leaves over the poles. She pulled the stray bits of green from her hair and wiped her arms free of slime.

  “Nasty stuff, no?” Aryaji asked. She had the bowl of salt in her hands, and she took a big handful of it and started rubbing it against the leaves.

  “Beats going hungry,” Vapathi said. “Didn’t you used to eat this in Davrakhanda, though?”

  “Yes,” Aryaji said, “and it’s fine once it dries. But the wet stuff….” She made a face.

  “So you’re fine with the eating, just not with the work.”

  Aryaji giggled. “Of course.”

  Vapathi didn’t care much about the food either way. She had never eaten seaweed in Majasravi, but she was not picky. But she felt the opposite of Aryaji: she blessed the chance to do honest, tiring work and nothing else. She had spent her whole life doing work for her masters. At the time it had been, well, work, but in contrast with the horror of the last two years she looked back on it with fondness.

  This work was simpler yet. Carry harvested plants to the drying racks. Spread the leaves. Rub them with salt. Don’t think about Kirshta. Wear out your arms. Work your hands raw. Fall asleep the moment you go to bed. Sleep too soundly for nightmares.

  It was the best work she’d ever done.

  She scooped up the other pot of salt, grabbed a palm full into her fist, and began rubbing down the leaves. For a few moments there was a simple quiet between her and Aryaji. The sound of the seaweed dripping into the dry mud, the scrape of salt over the leaves. The breeze stirred the dense forest at the edge of the beach. The sun was beginning to sink into the west, long shadows from the trees stretching across the mud and sand.

  Aryaji stopped and looked into the forest for a moment. Her forehead wrinkled.

  “Tired already?” Vapathi asked.

  “No…” Aryaji said. She looked toward the tents of the Uluriya, on the north. “I think….”

  The blast of a horn sounded from the forest.

  Vapathi stiffened. “Those were the sentries.”

  “They’re too late—” Aryaji began, but she had no time to finish.

  The Devoured came pouring out of the woods. Aryaji screamed, and Vapathi ran.

  They both sprinted for the tents of the Uluriya, about fifty yards farther down the beach. And from there to the boats—the evacuation had been planned by Jasthi, and everyone knew their task. The dhows were kept ready to sail. At the sound of the sentry’s trumpet, everyone was to flee to the boats on the shore, climb aboard, and row to the dhows. And from there they would sail.

  But they were coming too fast. Vapathi didn’t understand how they ran so quickly. Shouldn’t the sentries have given them more warning? Already a few of them had reached the Uluriya camp, tearing apart tents. She glanced back and saw Aryaji following as quickly as her legs would carry her, her naked feet scattering sand behind her. A Devoured woman chased them.

  The Uluriya swarmed like ants between their tents. She heard cries of warning and panic sounding over the beach. A few people had already reached the boats on the shore. Several of the Kaleksha had emerged with weapons and were attempting to beat back the Devoured long enough to give the rest a chance to escape.

  She reached the first of the Uluriya tents. A cry behind her. She looked back. Aryaji had fallen.

  The Devoured woman leaped atop Aryaji and wrapped her hands around the girl’s neck. Vapathi turned back. In a heartbeat she had her hands in the Devoured woman’s hair, and she jerked her head back so hard she thought her neck might snap.

  The woman cackled and began to claw at Vapathi. Aryaji squirmed away. As soon as she was free she jumped on the Devoured woman’s back and began beating her with her fists.

  “Leave her!” Vapathi shouted. She threw the woman to the side and started scrambling toward the boats again. “Just get out.”

  A sudden strike from her left. Her vision blurred, and her shoulder jarred against the ground.

  “That one!” a hoarse male voice sounded. “The Queen!”

  The Devoured man was atop her, pinning her wrists to the ground. She struggled uselessly. Aryaji’s cries sounded next to her. She kicked and managed to make his hands pull free for a moment, but a moment later the man collapsed atop her again.

  “Be careful,” someone said. “The Empress wants her alive.”

  “What about this one?” a woman asked.

  “Kill her.”

  “No!” Vapathi screamed. “Don’t or I’ll—”

  But she didn’t have time to
finish her sentence. A pale blurred form came through the Devoured, slashing furiously with its sword, severing necks and cutting through tendons. The man atop Vapathi stepped back, and Vapathi wriggled away.

  Aryaji was free as well. Vapathi grabbed her hand. She heard someone shouting and recognized Mandhi’s voice.

  “Come!” Mandhi shouted. “Run!”

  Vapathi pulled at Aryaji’s hand. They sprinted a few paces and met up with Mandhi, and she heard Kest’s panting behind them with the pounding feet of the Devoured. Kest roared and swatted at the Devoured with some weapon, but he could not hold them back.

  A body slammed into her. For a moment the world spun. She tasted sand in her mouth. Then she was on her back, a Devoured woman atop her holding up a blunt copper knife ready to stab her in the face.

  “Stop!” she called out. She, Mandhi, and Aryaji had been tackled and lay in the sand beneath the Devoured. She wasn’t about to let them get killed for her sake. Her voice was frantic and wavered on the edge of a sob. “The Queen of Slaves commands you to stop!”

  The Devoured stopped. The woman atop Vapathi still held the knife aloft, but she looked down with her lips pressed together and a cautious expression on her face.

  “The Empress of the Devoured wants to see you,” a male voice said.

  “I know,” Vapathi said. “But let everyone else go, and I’ll go with you.”

  “No,” the woman atop Mandhi said.

  “Let them live,” Vapathi repeated, “or I’ll kill myself and the Empress will never have me.”

  “And how will you do that?” the man repeated, his voice mocking.

  “Try me,” Vapathi said, and her tone was so fierce that the woman atop her recoiled. “Now let me stand up.”

  The Devoured woman stood, and Vapathi rose. A few feet away, Aryaji and Mandhi sat in the sand, surrounded by Devoured. Kest was pinned to the ground, but Mandhi saw no sign of blood. His chest still moved.

  “Let my husband go,” Mandhi said.

  The Devoured woman smacked Mandhi with her open fist. “Be quiet.”

  “You let them go,” Vapathi said. “They’re fleeing, can’t you see?”