The Sting of Victory

by S D Simper

  Shaking, Flowridia’s arms wrapped around her body, and she shrieked when strong hands grabbed her. But it was merely Thalmus, who pulled her into a protective hold, his face etched with shock and fury.

  The two watched as Ayla leapt up and gripped the top of the cave. Who could say how she balanced, but with Flowridia’s blood on her fingers, she began to paint a symbol at the top of the entrance.

  It spoke of a legend, one her mother once told, of the ancient monster who chilled the blood of every creature – The Endless Night. Living in the deep recesses of the underground shadows, stories said it could be summoned and turned upon one’s enemies by writing the symbol upon their door.

  And there, in Flowridia’s blood, Ayla drew that ancient rune, large enough for all to see. Once completed, she landed on the ground with nimble feet and inspected her work, casually licking her fingers clean as she did. Flowridia watched as she stopped and grinned, tongue twirling languidly against her forefinger.

  Ayla turned. “Stay to watch the show, darling. You’ll see me at the next sunset,” she said, and with a coy wink she blew a kiss towards Flowridia.

  Ayla disappeared inside the cave.

  In the ensuing silence, Flowridia’s head grew light. Hands trembling, she let the ear drop to her chest. The rose shook her in hand.

  “What is that?” Thalmus’ voice rumbled.

  “‘The Endless Night,’” Flowridia said. “My mother said it was an ancient being who dwelled in the deepest parts of caves.”

  “It isn’t only an underground legend,” Sora whispered. “The elves called it ‘The Scourge.’ It was the story every child was told to keep them in their beds, but it hasn’t been heard from in centuries.”

  “Flowers!”

  With Thalmus supporting her, Flowridia jumped at the sudden exclamation. Etolié stumbled toward them, her borrowed dress splattered with dwarven blood. She looked near collapsing; Sora ran to steady her. “What the fuck was all that?! Why is Ayla here?”

  Flowridia held the ear up from where it dangled freely at her neck. “This is a gift from Imperator Casvir,” she whispered, “after the death of the Theocracy’s diplomats.” She stared entranced at the mouth of the cave, at the symbol written in her blood. “Marielle entrusted it to me.”

  “Oh, did she? Funny that the rest of us hadn’t heard of this-” Etolié’s sudden coughing fit interrupted her rage, droplets of blood falling to the earth. Sora’s grip tightened as she pulled the Celestial against her body for support. After a few painful heaves, Etolié managed to say, “Whatever it all means, Flowers, we’re not sticking around to find out.”

  “Ayla said I should stay-”

  “Ayla wrote an ancient demon symbol on the wall with your blood, so her opinion is invalid-” Again, Etolié’s words were stolen by violent coughs.

  Sora helped guide her to the floor. “With due respect, Magister Etolié, you’re in no position to travel. If you’re able to last, I can run and send word-”

  “It took us a week on horseback to get here,” Etolié interrupted, holding her head in her trembling hands. “But you can make it to the carriage. My mirror is there, in my bag. Dig it out, then go beyond the bounds of this non-magic void. You can contact Lara; she’ll send help.”

  “Of course.” Sora stood immediately, and with an affirming nod to Etolié, ran off into the night.

  From within the insect mound, faint cries of terror were heard.

  Thalmus knelt down beside Flowridia, inspecting the wounds on her arm. “Not too deep, but let me at least stop the bleeding.” He tore off the ruined sleeves and, with what remained of the bandages for Etolié, tentatively wrapped her upper arms.

  Flowridia said nothing, silent as she stared at the mouth of the cave. A gaping maw, screaming faintly – soon, blood would spill forth in droves.

  Once done, Thalmus stood. “I’m going to check the camp for survivors,” he said gravely, stepping out to inspect the mutilated bodies.

  Flowridia’s lip trembled, and she managed a nod, unable to say anything more. In slow movements, she turned and moved to follow Thalmus, who inspected each bloodied figure scattered about the bonfire.

  With her bare feet, Flowridia stepped carefully. To think of treading on spilled organs or mutilated flesh made her queasy. She lifted her skirts, knowing full-well that bloodstains never quite faded.

  The images of corpses, torn apart and ruined, were hardly an oddity, not to her. Shredded flesh and crushed organs littered the area. Bits of bone threatened to sliver into her feet; Each gouged eye stared up to the night sky. Flowridia let her gaze linger at each one.

  “Clean up this mess, Flower Child.” Mother pointed at the floor, then returned to the cutting board, the ‘slunk’ of her knife against the wood and flesh sickening to Flowridia’s stomach. “Use the mop to push what’s left into the swamp.”

  Suddenly queasy, Flowridia stumbled out of the circle of carnage and shut her eyes. Deep breaths filled her lungs, yet the scene of fresh blood seemed inescapable.

  Thalmus’ gentle voice cut through her sickness. “Flowra, Prince Falrir is dead.”

  Her mind thought, ‘good riddance,’ but still her heart ached.

  Thalmus stepped toward the captive Skalmites, all of whom stared in abject horror at the scene. They cowered in Thalmus’ presence, gathering together at the center of their cage.

  Metal sheared and cracked. Thalmus ripped the door aside, then let them be.

  Flowridia stepped out of the ruined camp. Rose in hand, she stared at the mouth of the cave, letting every faint scream caress and sing at her senses. A penance. Flowridia shut her eyes.

  She knew not how long she waited before the cries in the cave grew suddenly louder. A group of dwarves burst from the shadowed entrance, all of them bleeding, limping, and with eyes wider than saucers. One by one, they ran, each more desperate than the last.

  From the darkness, a white claw swiped out and grabbed the straggler. A quick cry, a sickening squish, then silence. Blood seeped from the darkness.

  Not Ayla’s claw. Too large to be Ayla’s.

  The dwarves – there were only five – stopped once they reached what remained of their camp. Ignoring Flowridia and Etolié, they set to work patching their wounds.

  Thus began the pattern of the night. Every few hours, dwarves ran from the cave, all of them damaged, bleeding, some mutilated beyond what even magic could repair. Most of them escaped the cave and ran into the wilds, but others, those with injured companions, remained behind, tending to their wounded and keeping their distance.

  Sunlight flickered above the horizon. Thalmus, at Flowridia’s admonition, slept, and Etolié lay with her head on Flowridia’s thigh, not asleep but resting. She coughed, and blood stained Flowridia’s skirts.

  Demitri sniffed the ground within arm’s reach of Flowridia. Though exhaustion pulled at Flowridia’s eyelids, to shut her eyes meant to see white fangs glinting in the darkness.

  Instead, she watched each group as it fled the cave, flinching if claws grabbed the last few.

  Around midday, a group of Skalmites appeared.

  Seeing the insect-like creatures caused Flowridia to freeze, but then she realized that they, too, were damaged and bleeding. Green liquid seeped from deep wounds, and Flowridia felt Etolié shuffle and sit up.

  “I assume attacking our bug friends wasn’t part of the agreement?” A hint of sardonic ire seeped into her voice, exhausted as she was.

  “I didn’t ask for that,” Flowridia whispered. “I asked for her to protect the crystal.” Realization clenched her gut. “I only wished for her to protect the crystal.”

  Guilt brought tears to her eyes, but Flowridia forced them back, tentative as she approached the wounded Skalmites. They had joined with those formerly caged, the ones Thalmus had freed, and though they visibly languished in the sun, Flowridia saw joy at their reunion.

  With careful steps and open palms – the universal sign for peace – she approached the group. They
eyed her with suspicion, pincers snapping as a threat. Flowridia nearly forgot her crippled magic, daring to summon a bit of light-

  Only to have it fizzle with a spark.

  Apparently her good intentions were conveyed, because while the Skalmites remained visibly wary, their aggression lowered to a mere simmer, then finally ceased.

  Keeping careful watch on the healthy ones, Flowridia knelt beside one whose limbs seeped viscous, green liquid. She tore a strip of cloth from her skirt and offered it forward. When it showed no aggression, Flowridia hesitantly moved to wrap the cloth around the exoskeletal wound, wondering if it would do any good at all.

  Skalmites had an entirely foreign anatomy, but pressure did stop the seeping liquid. When the Skalmite offered another injured extremity, Flowridia reasoned she had done something right. She smiled gently, not showing her teeth in case it indicated aggression, and tore another strip from her long skirt.

  To her surprise, another Skalmite removed the fraying, make-shift bandage from its companion, then, from its odd, proboscis-like mouth, spat on the wound. A murky, gelatinous substance covered the injury.

  It used the cloth to wipe away green liquid from another cut on the Skalmite and spat again. Flowridia followed its lead, helping to clean Skalmite wounds before another came to seal them shut.

  And so, she spent her afternoon aiding the wounded Skalmites and steadily drowning in the guilt of knowing it was she who had caused them this pain.

  The day progressed. More survivors left the dark cave. The screams never stopped; not entirely.

  Night fell, and perhaps a hundred total Skalmites camped around them. The bonfire still burned, casting insectoid shadows across the dark landscape and illuminating the few dwarves who remained.

  Loud cries echoed through the cave, a sign that more survivors might soon emerge. A group of dwarves ran from the cave entrance. One, two, three-

  Something grabbed the last and pulled it back. A slight ‘thud’ echoed across the silent night. The decapitated body rolled from the cave entrance.

  A slight clink of claws on rock, and a monster slowly emerged, nearly as tall as the mouth of the cave. Flowridia shrank as it turned its glowing eyes upon her. Vivid blue, the same shade as Ayla’s, but the creature facing them was elongated, twisted, limbs too long as it skittered forward on all fours. Its skeletal face held a nightmarish mouth of endless depth, fanged and stained with blood. A burn covered half its face, raw and meaty, with exposed bone and muscle quivering as the jaw hung slack.

  Flowridia slowly stood, gripping her gifted rose in her hand as she stared up at the beast. “Ayla?”

  The creature stepped forward, and the grin spreading across its face was one and the same.

  It leapt. Flowridia gasped, falling to the ground as the monstrosity flew toward her. She shut her eyes, only to hear bone crunch. Thalmus stood above her, his axe meeting the monster’s chest and batting it away.

  The creature rose, twice taller than Thalmus. A grotesque roar, wet and guttural, ripped from its throat. Again, Thalmus swung, smashing its ribs to bits. Flowridia watched in horror as the creature toppled but immediately leapt to its feet. Bone visibly shifted inside its form, knitting back together.

  Flowridia stood up as Thalmus moved to swing again. The creature dodged and bolted forward, tackling Thalmus to the ground and screeching in his face, guttural and shrill all at once, before looking up at the trembling Skalmites and grinning with palpable glee.

  “Ayla, stop!” Flowridia screamed, vocal chords tearing at the force.

  To her surprise and horror, it listened. It stepped off Thalmus and stared at her with glowing, pupil-less eyes. Petrified, Flowridia quivered as she came forward. “Ayla, please,” she begged, and she offered a hand. “The wish is fulfilled. The crystal is safe. Please, let everyone go.”

  A curious gaze matched her own. Unmistakable, that grin. It reached out a clawed hand, one that matched her own body in size. They touched-

  Light suddenly blinded them. Etolié approached, wings aloft, her entire form lit from within.

  The monster shrieked at the approaching combatant. Claws gripped Flowridia’s body. Nails shredded the skin of her stomach and chest as the monster threw her aside, her form ripped from base to neck. Flowridia landed sprawled, searing pain radiating across her skin. Blood seeped from beneath her ruined dress.

  Though darkness threatened to steal her consciousness, Flowridia watched as Etolié’s form twisted and grew. In her hand, a summoned quarterstaff appeared, and Etolié – but not Etolié, morphed together with her god – dodged what might have been a killing blow to the neck.

  The monster leapt. Light burst from the staff. Bombarded by an otherworldly source, the monster screamed, thrown aside like a ragdoll. Etolié’s eyes held the same vibrant glow as the monster’s, pupil-less and ominous. No playful banter this time. Bathed in ethereal, holy light, she raised a hand. Stars fell from the sky, pelting the creature, tearing through those thin, elongated limbs.

  A shriek filled the night. The monster reared onto its hind legs, mouth wide as it screamed. It leapt.

  In a single sweep, Etolié’s quarterstaff ripped through the monster’s neck. The light burned through. A headless monstrosity fell to the ground.

  The body turned to blackened dust, raining upon the ground and sweeping away in the wind. Flowridia’s eyes closed, finally succumbing to darkness.

  Flowridia awoke to daylight and a relieved cry. “Thalmus, she’s awake!”

  Sunlight burned her sensitive eyes, but as Flowridia blinked into consciousness, she saw the outline of Sora’s face staring down at her. Pain shot through her as she tried to sit up. Lithe hands pushed down on her shoulders. “You need to stay down.”

  Flowridia managed to nod as Thalmus’ shadow blocked the sun completely. His finger moved to stroke her hair. “How are you feeling?” he asked gently.

  A wet tongue on Flowridia’s cheek made her smile. Demitri nudged her hair. “What’s going on?”

  Clicking from above stole her attention. She turned and saw a Skalmite casually stare, then dare to approach. “I had nothing to stitch you up with,” she heard Thalmus say. “But they stepped in to save you.”

  The Skalmite in question leaned in close to her chest, and Flowridia followed its gaze, realizing that the same murky, gooey substance they had used to bind their own wounds now formed a trail from her sternum to her hips. The blood-stained gown hardly held together, the dress having torn along the same line as the searing wound.

  Before she could sit up, Thalmus held her shoulders, just as Sora had. “You’re fine. You’re safe,” he soothed. “You gave us a scare, but the wound is shallow.”

  The Skalmite continued clicking over her, reminding Flowridia of a mother hen to its chicks. Still, the news of her continued survival did little to soothe her, not with the memory of leering teeth behind her eyelids. But with it came the image of the headless monstrosity.

  “I’m fine, if a little bruised. I’m not sure about Etolié.”

  Panic coursed through Flowridia. “What’s wrong with Etolié?”

  “She called upon Eionei. However . . .” He looked over, frowning at some sight in the distance.

  Flowridia turned her head and saw Etolié bent over by the cave. Retching could be heard, but instead of vomit, blood spilled from her mouth. Sora stood at arm’s length, stiffly patting her back.

  “Something tore inside of her, channeling that much power through her body. She won’t let me look at her, says she’s fine.” Thalmus grit his teeth. “She also hasn’t had a drink since the dwarves were slaughtered. Withdrawal hasn’t been kind to her.”

  “We need to get her to Staelash,” Flowridia said, trying again to sit up.

  But Thalmus kept her down and shook his head. “The empress’ people are on their way. Sora returned before sunrise. She says they’ve sent a carriage with medical supplies. Etolié refuses to leave without securing the crystal and looking for more Skalmite survivo
rs.” Thalmus surveyed the horizon, and Flowridia realized it would be evening soon. “The dwarves left, those that survived, at least.”

  Those that survived . . . Flowridia turned again toward the cave, her mind in a fog, and watched as Etolié struggled to walk, using the wall as a support.

  Above the cave entrance loomed the symbol of The Endless Night.

  Demitri appeared in her view, his inquisitive nose sniffing her face. His tongue licked her forehead, conveying what comfort he could.

  When he stepped away, he returned with a blood-stained rose between his teeth.

  * * *

  In the aftermath of so much blood, a little more did nothing to disturb her.

  As Flowridia tried to soothe the shrieking infant, it threatened to slip from her arms, still covered in fluids. She thought it looked more like a demon than a child. Yet, it pulled a tenderness from her she never expected.

  As Mother rested, she cleaned the baby of blood and other fluids and found pink, soft skin, each stroke of the wet cloth revealing something more and more human.

  She loved him, this odd little crying creature in her arms. Flowridia held her brother to her chest and soothed his scared soul.

  She wondered if Mother would keep him, or if he would be sent away like the rest of her children. Flowridia hoped he stayed.

  “Flower Child,” came the exhausted plea, “bring her over. She needs fed.”

  Flowridia obeyed and brought the infant over to the blood-soaked bed. “He,” Flowridia corrected. “He needs fed.”

  Mother’s pale face quirked an eyebrow. “You’re either being funny or idiotic.”

  With care, Flowridia held the cleaned infant forward, placing him gently into his mother’s arms. “Neither,” she said, offended at the remark. “This child is a boy.”

  “And so it is,” Mother replied as she held the baby in her arms. “I’ve never birthed a boy before.”