Blood of the Lost: The Darkness Within Saga: Book 2

by JD Franx

  Her voice confirmed his suspicions though. “Where did you find those?” she asked, almost snapping at him. A genuine anger accompanied her words.

  “In... Jasala Vyshaan’s tower, why?” As he watched her reaction to his response, Kael wasn’t sure if she was going to faint or run into the dark forest, screaming with disbelief.

  When she managed to stop gasping, she put her hand to her forehead. “Gods, Kael.” She paused long enough to shake her head. “Why in all the Nine Hells would you ever take something from that place? By Mylla’s holy grace, that festering hole of dark magic has never had anything good come from it, do you not know that? Those bottles are probably full of some putrid death poison, or the gods only know what else, Fae’s Dreamwalk is a very powerful Fae spell that can be made in no bottle, I assure you. The other, I have never heard of before, but the word purge has a pretty clear meaning,” she said. Each of the words, she spoke slowly so he would understand. “She was the worst of all the DeathWizards to ever walk this world. The most vile monster we were ever taught about in our lessons. The Dead Sisters worship her like a god, like some twisted dark hero, for what she did. That should tell you all you need to know,” she finished, abruptly. Shocked by her outburst, he wasn’t sure what to say.

  “I...” he began, but she cut him off before he got started, so he turned away. The tugging on his hair began again as she spoke.

  “I am sorry... I did not mean... Just...” She took a deep breath, cleared her throat and tried again. “You must see, Kael, that you are not like most of your kind. People fear you—wizards like you, I mean—for very good reasons. By the blessed Mother Mylla, you even scare the Nine Hells out of me sometimes. I...”

  Taking another second to steady herself, she continued. “I love you, Kael. I really do, but your kind are capable of things you shouldn’t be. You move unlike anyone I have ever seen and when you surrender to your anger, the compassion in your heart, and even your very soul, is gone, like the flame blown from a candle. During our training, my sisters and I were taught all that the Dead Sisters know about the DeathWizards from the past. You are not at all like the ones we were taught about, but I see them in you. Jasala was one of, if not the worst, of all them. The common people of Talohna call your kind what they do, because of the death your kind usually bring in their wake.”

  “I know, but I can’t change that, and no one would listen to me, even if I tried.” Her hand slid around his chin and cheek, turning his face back to hers. She kissed him softly.

  “I know this, Kael, but you must remember these things when you are some place where one of these monsters from the past has walked. The smallest thing could awaken such a creature inside you. I could not bear it if that happened,” she said. Standing, she stepped around and knelt before him by the fire. “Do you understand that?”

  Kael nodded, as she leaned against him and cuddled closer. He opened his cloak and she turned, nestling in against his chest. Telling her about the other things he found would only upset her more, so he sat back against the cave wall and said nothing as they shared their warmth.

  She looked up at him and smiled. “Your hair is done. It will be more manageable now. You can shave in the morning. Both grow fast, so it will not take long for your hair to grow out straight and you can get rid of the Northman style if you want.”

  Kael grabbed one of the spun braids and stared at it. “Definitely grows faster here than on my world.”

  Kyah smiled up at him. “Magic has that effect on things.”

  Kael nodded. Kissing her forehead, he leaned back against the cave wall and tried to sleep. Kyah stayed inside the cloak with him for a few minutes before she returned to the cave’s entrance to watch for threats. Twenty minutes of silence passed and still the calm of the dreamworld refused to grant him entry.

  “Kyah?”

  “Yes, Kael,” she answered, still at the cave’s entrance.

  “Where’s the closest city from here that’s on our way to the Dwarven Mountains?” He yawned, but still couldn’t sleep.

  “Dasal, our destination is the closest. It is a port city beyond Yusat in the Free Lands. There are some smaller towns, but out of our way. If I remember right,” she explained.

  “If you remember, right? I thought I was the one with a concussion,” he baited.

  “You were the one with the concussion, before I healed you. You were trying to walk face first into a sand dune, remember?” She chuckled, making him smile. “I have never been here, Kael. The Sisters made us study maps of both the Bloods and the Southern Kingdoms for when we were to leave with them, but I remember not all the towns of this area,” she pointed out.

  “I figured as much,” he mumbled, and yawned a second time, fatigue starting to settle in.

  A couple minutes passed and still Kael couldn’t sleep. “Kyah, is there any chance we could get decent supplies in Dasal?”

  “Yes, if we had anything of value to barter or trade.”

  “Well, I guess we’ll be walking and freezing all the way then,” he scoffed.

  “We are still three weeks away by foot. Worry not about it now, handsome.”

  “Fair enough. Good night,” he yawned, closing his eyes.

  “Kael?”

  “Yes, Kyah?” he smiled. He found the reverse in questioning quite amusing. Proof he needed sleep, badly.

  “Your magic is getting stronger, is it not?” she asked, politely.

  “Yeah, it is. Yours?” Several minutes passed and still she hadn’t answered the question. “I can sense it. You know that, right? Your aura is brighter.”

  “The fact you can sense auras is disturbing enough, but yes, my magic is stronger. So was Galen’s. He should not have healed me so well back in the cave.”

  “You almost died. I wouldn’t call that well.”

  “Galen is not a trained healer. Besides stabilizing a patient, he has no further skill in healing. Closing my open wound so you could move me was incredible.”

  “I know,” Kael said. “He told me as much after he finished. What does it mean?” he asked, not sure if he wanted to know the real answer.

  “Your magic will continue to grow stronger the more you use it or the more you understand it. This is normal. But other magic is getting stronger too. I know not why, unless Kalmar was right, and the Fae have returned to Talohna. We must be careful. When magic changes, it can change many things.” She smiled, but he could tell she was guessing.

  “All right, careful it is.”

  “Kyah?” He chuckled as the back and forth carried on.

  She smiled and turned from keeping watch. “Yes, Kael?”

  With a more serious expression, he asked, “What is a shadow-walk?” He didn’t need to see her face to know it darkened with concern.

  “The shadow-walk spell is magic that was very rare in its time and was lost many thousands of years before the Cataclysm, or so we were taught. It is among many others that have been lost from that era. Because DeathWizards used the spell as well, I know only what the Dead Sisters told us.”

  “Which is?”

  “It is supposed to be a mix of Fae and Demon magic, used mostly by assassins during ancient times. The Sisters claim that your kind, the Kai’Sar, mastered this magic and that, when strong enough, you can fade from view and reappear short distances away, often trailing black smoke or shadows. When a DeathWizard uses this magic, people cannot see them because they move too fast,” she stated. Shrugging her shoulders, she added, “When you killed that Mahala in the cave after he cut my stomach, I saw you... You were fifteen feet away. I blinked when he cut me, and you were behind him. I did not see you move.” Kael shook his head as he searched her eyes for the truth in what she said. There was pity there, but no signs of exaggeration.

  “How is that possible? I didn’t realize... Is it instinct, you think?” he asked, the idea starting to unnerve him.

  “I know not. The same happened today when you killed Grodin’s men. You moved so fast that all I s
aw were black shadows as I felt you pass by. It is terrifying to see. Your enemy can stand no chance when you do such a thing. They cannot even see you move. I saw nothing and have been watching for it since it happened in the cavern under Tazammor Mountain. It must be what Giddeon meant by you shadow-walking, though it is clearly not the same spell used by ancient assassins. These are terrifying powers, Kael. Your mind control of Grodin is another of these ghastly magics your kind are feared for. There is a very good reason for this fear, and I am sorry for that, because you are not the DeathWizard from legends.” He could see her watching closely from across the fire and knew his face was a mask of dark thoughts and fears, but he had nothing to offer her. Finally, her eyes shifted back out into the night as a sound echoed from somewhere in the forest.

  “It hardly matters what people think of me now, I guess,” he whispered, curling his right hand around the engraved handle from one of the strange weapons they found far below Arkum Zul, should the noise in the forest become a threat.

  When Kyah clucked her tongue and shook her head, he relaxed. “Maybe we’ll find some answers in the mountains. Ones that don’t involve the twisted beliefs based on the Dead Sisters’ reverence of my kind or the paranoid solution of death sentences handed out by everyone else.”

  Kyah smiled as she glanced back over her shoulder. “Perhaps. I certainly hope so. But for now, sleep well. I will wake you in four hours.”

  Kael was finally able to sleep, his dreams plagued with images of shadow-walking assassins. Of killing and tearing innocent people limb from limb. Deep within the dreamworld, it warmed his soul with a morbid excitement. The terror of it shook him from sleep kicking and screaming. Kyah was at his side before he understood he just woke from a dream.

  “Calm, Kael. Breathe, listen to me all right.”

  “Aw, Christ,” he sighed.

  “Nightmares again?” He nodded as she held him tight.

  “They won’t stop. I’m afraid to sleep, but I’m so tired all the time.”

  “I know, love. Relax. Breathe and close your eyes.” He did as she asked, forcing himself to calm down and relax. Minutes passed and he felt himself slipping back into the realm of nightmares. His heart jumped, beating faster as adrenaline flooded his body once more. He heard Kyah’s voice as if it were a mile away.

  “Easy, my love. Relax. Just breathe.” His body calmed as her voice finally reached him. A soft musical hum followed her gentle words, and it took several seconds before he realized it was her. His body relaxed further, and he felt sleep edge closer. Words slowly mixed with the gentle hum as he felt her stroke his hair.

  “Kaisaney Savanomin,” she whispered within her humming as her eyes flared with power, lighting the cave in a silver glow.

  Kael eased into a restful sleep for the first time since he woke in Talohna almost six months ago.

  Chapter Eight

  “For several thousand years now, when I have found the time, I have searched for the mythical blades forged for the strongest of DeathWizards to wield. Few of the Guardian Pact remain, and though I was present during the creation of our kind, my DeathWizard was not strong enough to handle the mighty weapons. None of them were, and they were granted to those who helped create them. They were tasked with hiding them from the world until a true Kai’Sar was born and the weapons accepted him or her as their owner.

  Forged in the fire’s of Pantheon Island, the double-bladed scythes can only be mastered by the strongest wizards with two crua. The depth of the weapon’s powers is not known, and although only a true Kai’Sar can unlock their full potential, this will likely never happen. The DeathWizard’s true magic has always been broken. It will remain broken forever. Lost long before the Battle of Six, the Vai’Karth haven’t been seen in many millennia. My new DeathWizard has tasked me with finding them in the hopes they can be used to grant her the full power of her birthright.”

  Author and date unknown From pages found

  in the Library of the Arcane, in DormaSai in 5006pc

  WILDLANDS NORTHERN FOREST

  The main tribe of the Taktala headed just west of due north, travelling by horseback for two days before stopping and setting up their full main camp. Ember and Yrlissa had become fully integrated into the tribe’s daily routine. They were both helping the other slaves now when the chief’s daughter, Nyrta, had no real need for them. The novelty of something new had worn off. Yrlissa had been sent to help with washing clothes in the small river that ran past the camp, less than a hundred yards downstream from the main camp. Ember was with the younger slaves, who did the majority of the communal meal preparation. Both women were still being watched at all times.

  With Takma away escorting friends of the tribe, his second, Nohkta, was the acting Bala. Ember had come to learn that a Bala was a type of war leader, and in times of peace, a lead hunter and tracker. Her understanding of the language was getting more complete every day.

  Around camp, Takma always had a smile or a nod for any slave he crossed paths with, but Nohkta was a very different man. He never took his eyes off Ember or Yrlissa when he was in camp and always had a guard watching over them both. When the tribe had been threatened by a large pack of hungry Wildland wolves the night before their arrival at the new camp sight, the guards used sleep darts on both women instead of risking their escape in the confusion. Nyrta told Ember those orders came from Nohkta, and until Bala Takma returned, any risk of their flight would be handled the same way. It made for a long day suffering the side effect of a day-long headache that always followed being darted.

  The second morning after arriving at the Taktala’s new site, Ember could see that Bala Nohkta was in an extremely irritated mood. It didn’t take her long to understand that one of his scouts had not reported in yet, and a second scout told him about sighting a young northern couple in the forest, whom he could not follow or keep track of, only getting a glimpse here and there. Nohkta was livid that a scout had lost track of two people in their own forest. As far as Ember could tell, it was unheard of and the backhand to the mouth the scout received let the whole camp know it was unacceptable.

  As the acting Bala, the camp’s safety was Nohkta’s sole responsibility. Ember smiled as he accused his scouts of getting into the ta-sor. The fermented alcohol often made men see things when they had drunk too much of it. Ember knew that with Takma away, the scout who had not checked in yet would wish he had stayed out in the forest to sleep off its effects, especially after Nohkta got his hands on him.

  The sun had been up for an hour, the night’s fast had been broken, and still the second scout had not shown up for the morning report. The other slaves warned Ember that Nohkta was on the verge of losing his dangerous temper. The scout’s actions made the scout leader look like a fool in front of the whole tribe. With Chief Vattis and his two guards out hunting, the acting Bala couldn’t afford to look weak in front of the tribe. Ember saw him cursing to himself as she walked his way so she put her head down, and covered by a hood, she could not see him that well. Her arms were full of pots from the meal. She never saw him coming.

  Clearly in the mood to vent his anger, he gave her a good shove as she walked by. Her feet tangled together and on instinct alone, she threw her hands out to catch herself. The top pot, used to cook the porridge based meal landed upside down on his head. Slaves and tribe members alike burst out laughing as Nohkta pulled the pot from his head and swung it full force at Ember’s face. Knowing it would bust her skull like a melon, she ducked, and Nohkta’s follow-through tumbled him into the large central fire. Reflexes born of a lifelong warrior saved him from serious burns as he rolled through the flames and out the other side.

  Ember knew it would not save her, though. Peeking out from under her hood, she swallowed hard when she saw the rage in his eyes.

  It took mere seconds for Nohkta to cross back over the fire, his agile frame cleared the spit cage over the fire at the same time as Ember dropped to the ground and curled up in the foetal position with her ar
ms around her head and face. Lost in his anger and embarrassment, he pummelled her with his fists and feet, finally stomping on her head.

  Losing consciousness was not good enough, as he grabbed the metal rod for the fire’s roasting spit and struck her across the back and chest with the hot metal. Ember’s torn clothes smoked with each impact, flaring up and starting on fire. Four Taktala warriors jumped to restrain the scout leader, but not before several solid blows bounced off the back of her head. If she died, the elders would remove both his hands, the punishment for murdering a slave. For a warrior of Nohkta’s ability, it would also be a death sentence as the tribe would carry no one. Several of the other slave girls smothered the fire and quickly dragged Ember to the tribe healer’s tent in the middle of the very southern edge of the oblong circle-shaped camp used by the Taktala.

  Yrlissa had been granted permission to return to the camp to see if she could help with the meal clean-up, when one of the slave girls ran to inform her of what happened. Though her magic was still restricted by the Poghana, and the tribe would not let her use it anyway, they had come to respect her knowledge of healing plants and poultices, so under heavy guard she was walked back to camp in the hopes that she could help.

  “The inability to communicate has started more wars than any other misunderstanding in history. But when handled by skilled diplomats, the same can form the foundation for the strongest peace.”

  Dyrranai Elvehn proverb

  Author and date unknown

  Yrlissa entered the north end of the camp on her way to help Ember when she saw a young couple walk into the camp from the south end. From Ember’s description and their many talks, she recognized the young man immediately. It was Kael. The young woman with him wore a white hood so Yrlissa couldn’t see her face, but her aura was a confusing, throbbing mess of red and white. White was usually seen in a healer, but the swirling waves of red caused by hatred were never seen in any healer. With the exception of the strange throbbing pulse she’d never seen before, Yrlissa knew instantly what the colours meant. The girl was a slave, even if she was now free, the marks of hatred had eaten into her aura and marked her soul.