The Lightless Tree

by J. A. Comley

  “Mukori is not an Outcast,” he stated calmly, eyes flicking briefly to the group as one there hissed.

  Valana took full advantage of the tiny distraction and he only just managed to block the blade that would have gutted him. Her other sword bit through the bracer on his arm.

  Something about his voice and fighting style pulled at her mind, but she kept herself in the void, where things like that were unimportant and getting distracted by them would just get her killed.

  The smell of fresh blood bloomed in the air as he retreated a few steps, shaking his head against the pain.

  Valana felt a strange urge to laugh. He was not within the killing calm as she was. The urge bubbled and disappeared against her own void.

  Rookie mistake, she mused. A part of her mind knew that she had sustained a small cut to her thigh, where the tip of his great sword had pierced through her leathers, but within the void, nothing like that mattered. Here, nothing mattered but her blades and his mistakes. Besides, Nightstalkers healed fast. The magic in her blood would seal the wound in minutes.

  Valana feinted to the right and lunged. He jumped back a few paces.

  Perfect.

  She let herself smile, wanting him to realise his error. He could no longer back away. The chasm was directly behind him and the ground to either side in danger of crumbling. He would have to surrender or charge through her.

  His silver eyes darted to her thigh then back up to her face. He drew in a deep breath and smiled too. Just the slightest upturning of one corner of his mouth.

  Even wrapped in the void, Valana felt a moment of confusion at the look on the half of his face she could see.

  He didn't look defeated. He looked pleased and slightly apologetic.

  He straightened from his defensive crouch and sheathed his greatsword across his back.

  Valana's confusion grew, threatening the stability of the void. No Nightstalker would sheathe their blade with an enemy bearing down on them. To surrender, he should have thrown his blade at her feet. Was he welcoming death, then?

  Then she felt it, finally breaking through the Killing Calm. A heaviness seeped through her blood, sapping her strength and clouding her senses. Now that she knew what she was looking for, she could just detect the faint, sweet scent of laricori bark.

  Snarling in defiance, she lunged again, her ears laid flat against her hair. He cursed loudly as one blade found purchase even as he took the other from her grasp. Then it, too, was gone.

  Weaponless, she felt her knees buckle. Her eyes seemed to be fogging over, her ears stuffed with rags. Vaguely, she felt herself collapse into a seated position but the impact felt wrong, too soft through her numb muscles.

  The Nightstalker hovered over her, his form growing less and less distinct as the fog seemed to darken. He seemed to have pulled back his hood, but the mask still obscured most of his face.

  She tried to throw him a filthy look, but she couldn't feel the muscles in her face well enough to know if it had worked. He smiled without humour and reached for her arm. She couldn't really feel his fingers as they brushed over her Champion's bracelet.

  Cowardly Outcast, she thought, chiding herself for not having expected it. Outcasts had no honour, therefore using poison to cheat in battle was not beneath them.

  She doubted the amount of poison on the blade would be enough to kill her, but it would certainly knock her out for several hours, leaving him more than enough time to kill her another way. Or for his leader to.

  She stubbornly fought the drag of the poison, trying to get her sluggish mind to discover why they were waiting to kill her. Several grim possibilities flashed through her mind and she fought harder, clinging to sound and smell as her vision faded. A spicy scent seemed closest, and she felt the gentle tug of memory again, but it slipped through her poison-addled mind.

  “Fetch her shield,” the Nightstalker said, his deep voice the only one she could hear clearly enough to understand the words, crouched as he was over her where she sat.

  Bashed to death with my own shield. Not how I ever envisioned dying.

  She felt her final strength fading and couldn't understand the next thing the deep voice said, even as she raised a hand in defense. She turned her thoughts to Terana. She would be joining her on the winds soon, having failed not only her blood-sister, but her blood-niece and blood-nephew, too. How long would they wait for someone to return from the battle? Where would the elders decide to go with no warriors to hunt and guard? Would Karicha let them lead, or would her inexperience splinter what was left of the Kazori?

  Valana felt her eyes slide shut and her body sagged, depositing her sideways in the blood and ashes.

  I am so sorry, Karicha.

  3

  After the Fire

  Karicha had been right about her knowledge of her village being to her benefit. Although she still had to twice dodge a shadow on the outskirts of the houses, she had made it to her Chief's mirri while the voice of the woman still barked orders so vile Karicha tried hard not to hear.

  It had been a risk to come here instead of just fleeing straight into the night, but this animal was her only hope of catching up with Valana in time.

  At least the Makhi seems to be on the other side of the village, with the woman.

  The mirri was anxious, twitching in her pen, large, pale eyes wide and riveted on the burning houses.

  Karicha tried hard not to think of what else was burning as a much more cloying, sweet scent swept over her on the back of another cast spell.

  “Shhh, Senna. It’s okay, girl,” she whispered to the startled creature, patting her long, scaled neck.

  Twice, the screams of pain and fear made Karicha turn back, her small hands clutched around Valana's gifted dagger.

  Win a fight through intelligence, not strength. Shows of mere strength are for the empty-headed brutes that never win the Games. True Victors use more than just their muscles. Figure out what you have that your opponent does not and use it.

  She fought back the tears of anger, fear, and loss as she hurriedly threw a bridle strap on Senna, her Mentor's words looping in her head.

  She was only eleven and Bound. All she had that her enemies didn't was a sure knowledge of her people's land and Senna.

  A child's thin scream rent the air as Karicha led Senna through the thick smoke, focusing her mind only on the terrain she had memorised through hundreds of Blind Hunter games with Valana.

  As soon as they hit the flats, she gave Senna her head, then gasped, clutching on until her knuckles felt like they would crack from the strain. She had never ridden a mirri at full speed before and it was as exhilarating as it was terrifying. Mirri, long-limbed, scaled reptiles, were more commonly known among the Tribes as sandswimmers. Their ability to go weeks with out water and cross the sands of the Great Expanse at speeds that only an Unbound Nightstalker could match made them excellent steeds for travelling between Tribes. As such, each Chief had their own and a small pack for breeding purposes. When the pack became too big, they would trade with other Tribes or sell the mirri to men in Hipotarali, who raced them at the Circuit.

  Karicha felt her heart breaking into tiny pieces as Senna flew through the sands, putting more and more distance between them and their burning home. She let the tears slide freely. She knew her grandmother was dead, and all the elders who had defended themselves were likely dead, too. She cried out to the ancestors as the winds rushed past her. Surely the strange woman wouldn't kill children. Nulto and the others would be safe.

  She looked backwards only once. The escarpment rose high on the horizon, but even so, a smudge of black could be seen above it, starkly contrasted against the white of the setting moon, exclaiming that evil had been done this night.

  Choking on a sob, Karicha tried to still her mind the way Nightstalkers were taught from the moment their powers came in around three years of age. She focused to clear it of everything but that which was most important. She knew Valana and the others would want to
know as much about the people who attacked the Ever-Spring as possible. With intermittent success, Karicha directed her mind to bring back only the details of the attackers, not their actual attack, nor the screams of fear and death. Who were they?

  All wore dark cloaks allowing them to hide in the shadows of the bright night. They were only four and wore masks. They hadn't come to claim the Ever-Spring.

  Karicha cringed as the thoughts scattered, remembering the woman's claim that as she would be dead soon, their intentions didn't matter.

  She began again, stilling her mind.

  They were led by a woman. She was the only one that spoke. Her voice held two worlds within it. She had clearly been part of a Tribe long enough to speak as we did, but she fluctuated between that and the speak of the City. Perhaps she was an Outcast.

  It was well known that many Outcasts made it into Hipotarali's underbelly, despite the biannual Questioning that the Conclave usually held to expose and expel any Outcasts. Of course, the Conclave hadn't performed a Questioning in more than a century, so Outcasts could easily live in the city now. The Kazori hadn't had an Outcast in centuries so they had to be of another Tribe. She brought up a memory of the last time a representative from each tribe had come to the Ever-Spring. The Gathering had been held despite the growing tensions, an attempt to unify the Tribes, to strengthen bonds of friendship. She had met many young warriors there, all with slight ticks in their accents that gave away their tribe.

  I would guess Cyrali. They were more prone to swallowing their vowels than the others. But she would still be an Outcast. That could be the only explanation for her dishonourable behaviour. No one in the tribes would attack, let alone kill, non-warriors. She had to regather her thoughts as her grandmother's death played in her mind, shattering the relative detachment she had managed to gain.

  Reigning in her aching heart took many attempts, her eyes burning from too many tears shed.

  There was a Makhi in their group. A Makhi who wore a white robe of the Order rather than the gold vest of Aurelia's Makhi. Why would Galatia's Makhi get involved in honourless slaughter?

  She shook the pointless question away. She knew very little of the other planets.

  Anything else? Smells? Dust, a strange perfume (probably some flower they grow in the greenhouses of Hipotarali), burning wood and pelts as the house exploded, the metallic tang of blood, that sweet, cloying scent on the smoky wind—

  Karicha stopped thinking, cutting the thought off abruptly before her imagination could torture her with horrors. Still clinging desperately to the scaly neck of the sandswimmer, she let herself focus only on the pull and release of the muscles in the creature's back, the steady pounding of its four strong legs against the ground. Slowly, the repetitive sounds and motions lulled her into a state of oblivion, where her aching heart and burning tears were lost in another world. In this one, there was nothing.

  ***

  “Everything is burned,” said the Makhi she had brought with her. Her dark cloak had been thrown back to reveal the white robe and lack of Aurelian feline-like ears, marking her for what she was… a Galatian Makhi. “The Ever-Spring is tainted, as ordered.”

  She smiled. It had been a long night, but, it seemed, a successful one. “Good. Then it is time to leave. Do you have the Guiding Stone?” She kept her eyes on the slowly darkening sky as the moon set.

  “Yes.”

  She pulled a carved, grey stone from her robes as the male warriors joined them, completing their small group.

  “Good. You know what to do.”

  They readied for departure. Just before they left she found her eyes drawn to the ground, to the litter of charred wood and bones. The Breaking had indeed sown the seeds for chaos, but it was acts like this that would make it grow into a choking vine that would strangle the worlds until they were ready to listen. It would have been better for everyone if they had just listened to reason straight away. Now, the price was going to be high.

  The dim twilight of a new day was brightened briefly by a blinding flash of white light as the Guiding Stone was activated. Pulling her eyes from a small, staring skull, she stepped through the portal, followed by the others who had come with her.

  ***

  Senna jerked suddenly and skittered to a halt, nearly launching a numb Karicha from her back. The mirri whined softly, a plaintive sound that pierced the empty day.

  Karicha looked around, her ears twitching in fear as they sought the cause of Senna's distress. Had her enemies somehow followed her? Was a Makhi levelling his staff at her, even now? Her eyes scanned the rocky terrain, every outcrop potentially hiding enemies. With a trembling hand, she patted Senna's neck, muttering nonsense in a soft voice to sooth the creature. Then the wind shifted again and Karicha could smell it, too. Blood. Lots of blood.

  The air here was filled with ash instead of smoke, but the tang of blood was nearly overpowering.

  She strained her ears, suddenly worried that the battle would not yet be over and no-one would be free to come and save her village.

  Nothing. Surely if hundreds of warriors were doing battle even a Bound Nightstalker would be able to hear the noise? Stilling her pounding heart, she urged Senna back into motion, following the tang of blood through the ashen air.

  The mirri whined again and suddenly leapt forwards before crashing to the ground, keening an unbroken note of sorrow. Karicha got down from the creature and backed away from the edge of a new nightmare. Chief Nizara was lying on the ground beside Senna, her head several feet away. Karicha felt her own head begin to spin and clutched her long dagger as if it would somehow save her from the reality around her.

  Voices caught her attention and she spun on her heel, terror clearing her mind of everything but the possibility of an imminent attack. Her ears flicked, zeroing in on the voices. One was distinctly that of Hipotarali. The rest were each tainted by some other accent, but one of them stood out. This one had the same strange mix of accents as the woman who had attacked their village. She stepped cautiously through the bodies, staying low and trying to make out more of the shadows in the ash.

  They were standing loosely around someone crouched on the ground beside a body. She felt growing fear as she noted their dark cloaks. Then the one who was talking very loudly, complaining about doing errands, stepped closer to the group and handed something to the one who was crouched in the sand.

  It was a Kazori shield. Karicha felt her heart stop, then break into a sprint that seemed sure to crack her ribs. She tore her eyes from the looming cloaked figures and finally focused on the body. It twitched, trying to raising a hand in defence as the figure beside it raised the shield. Karicha felt a sudden fire break out across her body as she spotted Valana's Champion's bracelet on the wrist of the feebly twitching hand as it collapsed to the ground. Other details became clear as she grabbed her dagger and held it properly, like a weapon, for the first time since it had been given to her. Valana's midnight-blue hair spilled loosely around her head. Her dual swords were held safely away from her by one of the cloaked fiends.

  Screaming the war cry of her people, Karicha launched herself from her hiding place. The startled shadows all looked up, except the one who was crouched, intent on his prey. She darted around the first, then swung her blade upwards at the second as it gained purchase on her sleeve. There was a shouted oath and the hand on her arm fell away. Then, point angled for his gut, she dove at the man crouched over her blood-aunt.

  In her hate-filled, adrenaline-fuelled mind, only one thing mattered. Whoever these cloaked devils were, they were not going to get Valana, too. Not while she breathed.

  ***

  Hapira took off her cloak and rubbed her temples. She hated travelling by Guiding Stone. It always made her feel sick.

  She pulled the sheaf of documents from the cloak before discarding it on the floor. Her servant would clean it up in the morning. Hopefully, she was skilled enough to get the blood out of it.

  Sighing, she dropped the shea
f on her desk. The information she had gained was good, vital to her cause. Sometimes, she wished people would just listen. Then things wouldn't have to cost so much. Those who had accompanied her had all departed for their own homes, now. No doubt they felt as weary as she did, especially the Makhi.

  She shook her head and picked at her clothes distastefully. They had small spatters of blood and reeked of burning.

  Peeling off the layers, she headed for the bathroom, dumping the fouled clothes as she went.

  Perhaps I have been in Hipotarali too long. I seem to have forgotten how brutal the tribal lands can be.

  Stepping under the warm stream of water, she cleansed herself of the weeks of travel. With only one Guiding Stone, she had thought it best to keep it in case they had to leave in a hurry. So they had travelled along the Wheel for many weeks to reach their destination.

  She gave a long, contented sigh. It was good to be back among the comforts that had become home. Briefly, she remembered her life as Chief of the Cyrali. It had been a good life. She had enjoyed it. But the work she did now was so much more important. If she could just get the Conclave's undivided attention, she knew she could finally get them to listen. The documents on her desk would certainly help, although she regretted the price. She hoped it wouldn't be too high, in the end.

  Smiling at her victory, she let the water wash away the grime of travel and her floral soap soon removed the scent of burning and blood.

  ***

  “No!” Karicha screeched, twisting, kicking, and biting, but the strong arms that held her would not yield.