Bloodlust

by Nicole Zoltack

  Her mother.

  Ivy swallowed several times, although it did nothing to alleviate her dry mouth. The ghostly apparition of her mother stole her breath away, and pressure mounted within her chest.

  "My daughter. You have finally come to visit me." The white form of her mother through the gray mist tilted her head to the side. "Although that is not the purpose of your trek through the Realm, is it?"

  Unable to respond vocally, Ivy shook her head.

  "Still unclaimed, I see." Her mother lifted a transparent arm to point at Ivy's barren wrist.

  Unlike humans, barbarians did not exchange rings on their wedding day. Barbarians, instead, bequeathed each other metal bracelets they entwined by sheer force. The more elaborate the design, the greater the layers, the stronger the love was said to be. Most bracelets were rather simple and plain. Ivy was not the sole barbarian to ignore the softer emotions, like love and devotion.

  "I did not come here to be lectured." Ivy stared at the swirling skirt of her armored dress. A wind descended throughout the mist, increasing the chill in the air.

  Her mother's form wavered, perhaps in response to the gust. "Have you even thought of your future at all, child?"

  Ivy bristled at her mother's sharp, condescending tone. Even though her body was in spirit form, her voice was every bit as stern and harsh as when she had still breathed. "Of course I have."

  "Your future. Who shall rule after you? Do you want the barbarians to resort to civil war like those useless humans?"

  The barbarian-princess marched around her mother, but seemingly without moving, the former barbaroness blocked her path.

  "What of Pierce? Vane? Or even Lance?"

  Ivy grinned savagely. "All dead."

  Her mother was not deterred. "Katar? Helm? Glaive? Steel would make a strong barbaron. Too strong. A poor choice."

  The barbarian-princess glanced over her shoulder.

  "Looking for someone?"

  Yes, actually, but Ivy would die and join her mother here in this place of eternal unrest before revealing who she could not find. Had this been Lukor's plan all along?

  No matter. It would be a difficult task to venture forth from the Spirit Realm without her guide, but perhaps her mother could lend her aid.

  "Or mayhap any of the guards," her mother continued. "All loyal barbarians. Anyone would make a fine replacement for your father once the time comes."

  "Do you so wish for me to be barbaroness? Father would have to die first."

  "I do know that. Of course I do." Her mother averted her cold red eyes.

  The notion that her mother wished for her husband to join her in this awful place crossed Ivy's mind, but she dismissed it. Her mother had showed no signs of love to her father, or her daughter. None, that is, under she found a troll spy lingering near their grounds. She had followed the troll to a trap. Killed every last troll but paid the ultimate price in the battle that had been her last.

  To die in battle was every barbarian's dream.

  Which made Ivy question for a moment why her mother had not passed on. Perhaps this truly was all there was after life.

  "None of the guards have captured your heart?"

  The teasing tone in her mother's voice startled Ivy. "None."

  Perhaps no one ever would. But she did have to marry and produce an heir, and soon. With war coming, who knew how much longer her father would still breathe?

  As soon as the coldness of the mist surrounded him, Lukor drank in every inch of the Spirit Realm. One soul he longed to see, but although he saw souls of every race, age, and creed, he saw not the one he sought.

  In fact, 'twas she who found him first.

  Her soft voice teased him. Lukor took a step forward, into the Realm. Belatedly, he realized he had dropped the barbarian's hand. He did not care. Nothing else mattered.

  "Lucia," he called out, still not able to locate her.

  "Lukor," she repeated, her voice stronger this time, louder. Before she had merely whispered his name, so faintly he feared he'd imagined it.

  The goliath whipped around to see his sister standing before him. To see her like this was not much better than the last time he saw her: bloodied, face down, hacked nearly into pieces. Such savagery could only have been accomplished by a barbarian. Indeed, a scrap of their clothing with that blasted silvery purple hilt upon it had been clenched in her hand.

  Her light green even lighter than Lukor’s but her dark green far darker, only two inches shorter than he was, Lucia held out her hand to him, her eyes bright and her smile wide. "How I have missed you."

  He tried to touch her hand but felt only ice where her hand should be. "I have... missed you as well."

  Her smile lessened. "What is it, my brother?"

  His tongue felt awkward within his mouth and refused to cooperate. Words failed him. He had so much to tell her, but where to start?

  "Do not frown. It makes you look so much older."

  Lukor's laugh died swiftly. Lucia would never age another day. At eighteen, she'd been murdered long before her timeline should've expired.

  "Twenty-two now," she continued. "I'm so proud of you."

  Proud? What had he done to make her proud?

  "You always looked out for me." She reached out as if to hug him.

  He stepped back even though she couldn't touch him. "If I had, you would not be in here."

  "Oh, is that why you're so grumpy? Come now, it isn't your fault I ran off."

  "I should have gone with you."

  "You were busy with Golic." She shrugged, her eyes brimming with tears at the name of her betrothed. "How... how is he? Good I hope. You'll find him a good goliatha, won't you?" Lucia's form dimmed for a long moment.

  "Do you want me to tell him anything?"

  "I relive our memories every day. Especially by the waterfall."

  The misty look in her eyes and the wide, wavering smile left him unable to ask for more specifics.

  She wiped some tears. "Do I wish I was still alive? Of course, but I loved to explore, you know that. Just like Darcia. How is our dear cousin? Still sneaking off?"

  "Yes." The word snapped out of his mouth. He smacked his lips together into a flat line, the tip of his tusks digging into his upper lip. Darcia running off as Lucia had months ago had been yet another reason why Lukor left Ordisium. Her trail had long grown cold before he had met up with Ivy.

  If a barbarian had crossed paths with Darcia and killed her too...

  "Which barbarian killed you?" Lukor demanded, his voice raspy and harsh.

  "You sound and look like one yourself." She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes to tiny slits.

  "Do you want me to avenge your death or not?" he growled. "Why else would you be trapped in this accursed place?"

  "Yes, this place is wretched, and yes, I hope to move on once my murder has been avenged..." Her bright aqua eyes dimmed to a dreary blue. "But you must swear to me you will not go after him."

  Lukor scoffed.

  Before he could defend himself, she continued, "At least not by yourself."

  "Do not worry. I have a plan to ensure that he, and all others, will not live much longer."

  Her sudden smile vanished almost as soon as it appeared. "I thought I saw you with a barbarian."

  "A means to enact that plan. Nothing more. Now, tell me what he looked like. I wish for his death to be particularly brutal."

  She lowered her gaze, and her form seemed to dim somewhat. It was hard to tell in the misty Realm. "I never did see his face. He attacked me from behind. I yanked at his clothes and tried to fight him off, but he was far too strong."

  The sound of her bitter tears was all that remained, long after her form departed.

  Every barbarian would pay. Male, female, child. The entire race would be blighted out of existence. Soon, the elves would be extinct as well, and no more of that vile union of human and elf would ever walk the face of the earth again.

  So Lukor swore.

  Iv
y picked at her fingernails. Her mother had rattled off the names of many of the guards. Although most of them still lived, Ivy had never thought of any of them as a good potential ruler of the barbarian throne. Indeed, any barbarian, including her, probably would never make a good and decent ruler. Too emotional, for one, too reckless and foolhardy and eager for battle. Even now, when she was trying so hard to keep her people from war, her ears ached with want to hear the cries of the fallen, her nose to smell spilled blood, her hand to wield a blade against a foe.

  "I'm surprised you have not yet mentioned Angar," Ivy eventually broke in.

  Her mother's face turned ashen until Ivy could no longer see it.

  "Mother, wait!" Ivy dashed forward, but her mother's form was gone.

  A sudden cold breeze from behind had Ivy slowly turning around to see an elf. With long pointed ears, the tips above his head, silver eyes, and a regal air about him, the elf held out his palms. "Ivy, the princess of the barbarians."

  "Yes, I am she."

  "Barbarian-Princess for not much longer."

  "For I will be amongst those here soon?" Or her father? For her to become barbaroness meant he had first died.

  "The time for the barbarians will soon come to an end."

  As she feared. Those children. She would do anything for them, to give them a safe and happy future. If it 'twere possible for barbarians to experience such an existence.

  "Are you a soothteller?" Could she believe his words? Or had he been living within the mist so long he no longer knew what he was saying? Although he did know her by name...

  "The time for the barbarians will soon come to an end," he repeated. "And a new race will be spawned in its stead."

  A new race? Shoving her curiosity aside, she demanded, "Surely there is something that can be done to save the barbarians. After all, you elves have lasted for so long despite your far fewer numbers."

  "True, but we are not driven by emotions, but by reason and the light."

  "So, what makes us barbarians will be our undoing."

  "Ah, a reasonable statement. I feared none of your race even knew what reason was. Too much of your human side clouds your judgment."

  Perhaps her human side accounted for her burning need to save her people.

  "Tell me, elf," she demanded, "if a barbarian lives in seclusion and never gives into Bloodlust, would she or he live as long as your race?"

  Some elves lived for centuries. That is, if they did not die in battle or chose to sleep eternally. Those elves were said to voluntarily pass on to the Spirit Realm, to join their brethren before them.

  "A barbarian cannot live in seclusion. Solitude is not in your nature."

  "But if they avoided a death by blade?" she persisted.

  He tilted his head to the side. "Theoretically, it might be possible. The oldest a barbarian has reached is forty-three. The eldest a human — one hundred and twenty. The eldest an elf — three hundred and thirty-three. A goliath—"

  "Much longer than barbarians, I get the point." Ivy glanced away. When her gaze returned to the elf, he was gone.

  "A new race will be spawned in its stead," his invisible body said.

  Not if she had any say in the matter. If there was one thing Ivy knew, it was to never aggravate a barbarian. Especially not her.

  Ivy took only one step forward when something cold touched her. Even more frigid than the air surrounding her. Her skin burned at the contact. A slight gasp escaped her lips, and she pulled away.

  Suddenly, the mist parted and hundreds of souls surrounded her. All of them unfamiliar. All of them sharing hatred in their eyes. Every last one reached out toward her. Although she could not physically feel their blows, her body jostled as if punched, kicked, and bit, bruises and swelling appearing all over her body. Unable to stand, she fell to the ground. She struggled against them, fighting back, but considering she could not touch them, there was nothing she could do to stop the assault.

  A hand — this one surprisingly warm — grabbed her and yanked her to her feet. Her eyes so swollen she couldn't see, she stumbled along for what felt like hours. Her feet ached, and she couldn't walk straight. A few times, she almost fell. At first, the souls continued their attack, but the farther they traveled, the less they made contact. Soon, even their insults and hisses vanished, no longer mentally battering her. Despite the relief, her chest grew tight, and she struggled to swallow enough air. Her vision darkened, and she stumbled once more out of the person's grasp.

  Her face landed in dirt. She was no longer within the confines of the Spirit Realm.

  Now that her mind was somewhat clearer, she gazed at her helper through swollen eyelids. Lukor of course. Her mind had been too addled to recognize him earlier.

  "Thank you," she struggled to say through her split lip.

  "Come on. Let's go on a little farther before stopping to rest." He held out his hand again.

  He had to be jesting. Continue on? In her condition?

  "They nearly killed me!" she protested. "Moreover, it's dark. No one will venture this close to the Realm. We'll be safe here."

  Lukor yanked on her elbow and forced her to march beside them. Her pride refused to allow him to drag her, so she matched his pace. By the time the moon reached its pinnacle, Lukor thrust her past a holly maple tree to a small pond.

  "Go on. Look at yourself."

  Ready to collapse, envious of the elves and their ability to pass on at any moment they felt the urge to, she sank into a puddle. After a long moment in which she battled sleep, she leaned across the aqua water.

  Her reflection was whole and fresh and perfect.

  "I don't understand." She touched her lip, felt its swollenness, the cut. Saw the bruises on her arms and legs, knowing more had to be on her ribs. Her breathing remained hitched. Perhaps her lungs had been punctured.

  "They couldn't touch you." The goliath knelt beside her and cupped water. Some trickled through his thick fingers as he held his joined hands to her mouth.

  She drank the cool, refreshing water, and a shiver traveled down her body. "But the pain. My lip, my ribs, the bruises..."

  "They can't touch you physically," he clarified.

  But mentally, they could.

  The goliath cupped more water but brought it over her head so many times she didn't bother to keep count. With each pass, she felt some of the pain receding, as if washing away. Finally, her aches diminished enough she dared to believe Lukor was right, and instantly, the rest of her pain melted away.

  Unable, or unwilling, to stop touching him, Ivy climbed to her feet while holding his hand and stared at the sky.

  "Two and a half days," he said.

  That short a time? It had felt like years.

  "You should rest."

  Ivy shook her head. "I don't think we should stop. Besides, didn't you just say we should press on?"

  Lukor shook his head. "You're impossible, you do know that."

  "Yes." Ivy swept past him, feeling more and more like her strong self with each step. Over her shoulder, she added, "Thank you."

  Never before would she have expected to feel gratitude toward a goliath, let alone express it. But she did mean it. She wore her scars from battles proudly, but the pain from the spirits had been unlike any she'd experienced from an earthly blade.

  "Thank you," she repeated in the faintest of whispers.

  A barbarian showing appreciation for someone who had not killed someone else? Lukor suppressed a snort but could not help feeling pleased he had humbled her. Maybe even that he had helped her too. But only because he needed her to ensure his plan of dual-race war against the barbarians. No other reason. "Think not of it," he finally said, his tone a little sardonic, with a trace of sincerity.

  They marched on for an hour before Lukor insisted they rest.

  "If not for your sake, then for mine." Even his body needed sleep to refuel. Few goliaths could outlast him. His endurance, his strength — Lucia had compared him to a barbarian during their you
th. She'd meant it as a compliment. How naive she had been then. Never outgrew it. Running off to explore constantly. Their mother had always feared it would be the end of her. And it had.

  Not bothering to see if the barbarian stopped, Lukor rested his head on top of a holly maple's root and closed his eyes. Visions of his sister's bloodied body haunted him in his dreams. Only when he rolled her over, he saw Ivy's ashen face. A harsh sorrow filled him at the sight — not the giddy happiness he expected. Ivy clutched a white cloth with a ring of dead roses surrounding a skull embroidered upon it. The trolls' emblem.

  A sound behind him forced Lukor to whirl around. Without thought, he launched his axe into the air. Double blades over handle, it twirled and landed within Ivy's killer.

  Only the axe embedded itself into Lucia. A shocked expression crossed her face. Blood trickled out of the corner of her lips. Swaying on her feet, she collapsed, falling on top of Ivy, even though she'd been feet away from the dead barbarian a moment prior.

  Lukor opened his mouth to let out a fierce bellow. A vulture flew out of his mouth and encircled the dead women. It cawed, its eyes glowing, daunting Lukor, but he ignored the bird and sank beside his sister and Ivy.

  "I'm so sorry," he murmured over and over until his voice failed him.

  His sister's body rolled toward him. At first he thought she still lived, but it was Ivy who opened her eyes. Her hand touched his cheek. His heart raced. She leaned closer. He did not back away.

  "Lukor. Lukor!"

  He opened his eyes and woke up with a start. His cheek was stinging. Ivy's hand was raised.

  "Did you smack me?" His hand reached for his knife.

  "You were screaming." She crossed her arms and moved her head with attitude. "Mares of the night plaguing you?"

  "Leave me be." He closed his eyes again and returned to slumber. This time, he dreamt of nothing important and woke strangely cold, as if missing something.

  Sleep eluded Ivy for a long time. Eventually slumber did greet her, but only after she'd woken Lukor to stop his thrashing about. His wails had pierced her heart. Something vicious was attacking him. No wonder she couldn't rest with him being so loud.