by Deck Davis
“Bander, I need-”
Ethan stopped talking. When he looked at Bander, floods of panic overtook him. Bander’s face looked fleshy and healthy, his color returned to him. But that was not the only thing that returned; Bander had two arms again.
Doors slammed behind Ethan. Zewn moved closer to him, so they stood side by side.
Bander stood up. He didn’t wear his guild shirt now; instead, he wore a black metal chestpiece, with a shape imprinted on it; a red flame.
Recruits followed suit, standing from their tables, all of them revealing the same chest pieces, and the same flame.
What did it mean? He’d seen the flame before, but shock gripped his mind, and he couldn’t force the memory to stir. Come on…think.
The acolytes. He’d seen the flames printed on their robes.
“You could have joined us, Ethan,” said Bander. “I gave you every chance.”
“Joined what?”
“The Brotherhood. You could have been part of his ascension, like us. Infirna would have welcomed you, if you hadn’t been so stubborn.”
Yart stood up from a table. His cat was sitting on his shoulder, its claws out. “What’s going on, Bander?”
Bander smiled at him. “Yart, my boy. Come here.”
Yart walked over to Bander, his steps uncertain. “What’s happening?”
As Yart approached him, Bander drew a sword, this time a normal iron sword, from his sheath. In one swift motion, he cleaved Yart’s head from his neck.
Ethan’s legs threatened to collapse. He gripped Artifax tight.
Bander pointed at Yart’s head, which had rolled to a stop. “What’s wrong, Ethan? You should be happy. The boy did kill you, after all?”
“Then that really happened?”
“We found you on the guild grounds, mangled beyond anything I have ever seen. But the we fixed you, boy. We submerged you, and after bathing in Infirna’s lifeblood you emerged alive, and better than before.”
Ethan backed away. This wasn’t the Bander he knew; this man was insane. What did he mean? Infirna’s blood? Was it something to do with the boys in the barrels? Had he done the same to Ethan?
“Kill them,” said Bander, his voice changed, his kind tones replaced by sternness.
The recruits drew swords, daggers, axes. They faced Ethan and Zewn, and he could read in their expressions that they would follow Bander’s order.
He gripped Artifax in his palm. The sword’s gem stayed dull, and he didn’t speak.
As the recruits advanced on them, the doors behind Ethan flew open. He turned to see Lillian stood there, his scepter glowing red, his robe flowing to the ground.
“This way. Come on, you slow-arsed runts. We need to leave the mountain.”
Trust Lillian, or stay in the common room? There was no choice. He grabbed Zewn and ran out into the atrium. Lillian strode ahead of them, leading out of the guild, where Glen and Yart waited outside.
Ethan stared at their clothes, expecting to see them wearing black chainmail with flames printed on. Instead, Glen wore a cream shirt splattered with blood. Yart looked at him nervously.
“Ethan…I’m sorry. About everything.”
“No time,” said Lillian.
Boots pounded behind them. Ethan turned to see the recruits rushing their way, weapons raised, Bander charging behind.
Lillian led them through the training yard and into the forest, where the trees smothered the light, and fallen logs lay strewn on the ground. Animals called to each other, their cries and grunts broken only by Lillian’s soft steps, followed by the crunch of the recruits’ boots as they trampled twigs and branches.
So many questions flood Ethan’s brain, but he cast them out. He let adrenaline drown him, he let his pulse thunder inside. He was dimly aware of Zewn leaping over fallen logs beside him as they ran, and Yart lagging behind, huffing and panting.
Despite his age, Lillian pushed on ahead, stopping for a moment, choosing a path, then charging on.
In the distance, over his shoulder, came the sound of dozens of boots trampling the forest floor, and Bander shouting words Ethan couldn’t make out.
It was dizzying. How had it come to this? What was this, anyway? Bander had betrayed them, that was clear, but to what end? How had his arm grown back? Who were the boys in the barrels?
A shape sprung from the shadows, crashing into Zewn and knocking him to the ground. The boy grunted, straining to push away the slick shape that tore at him. More shapes slithered out from hidden places, surrounding them.
“Klizerds,” said Ethan.
Lilian raised his scepter, casting a wall of fire that held the klizerds back. The reptile grunted, spit drooling from their mouths, hate burning in their eyes.
Behind, the recruits’ steps grew louder. This was no good. Surrounded by klizerds, and with the recruits tearing after them.
He raised Artifax. He kicked the klizerd off Zewn, and was about to strike, when he stopped.
Wait. He stared into the klizerds eyes, and it stared back, neither of them moving. They held each other’s gazes for what seemed to be an eternity.
And then the klizerd sprang to its feet. It faced its clan mates and chirped at them, urgent squeaks that they seemed to understand. And then, the creatures departed.
He understood now. He remembered. Back on his first day in the guild, what seemed like years ago, he’d helped a baby klizerds get free from a log. Good deeds get their rewards.
The klizerds rushed at the recruits now, meeting them amidst a fury of chirps and growls.
“Don’t waste time,” said Lillian.
Ethen pulled Zewn to his feet, and they crashed through the forest, away from the recruits, away from the guild.
“Where are we going?” said Ethan.
Lillian looked over his shoulder. “Wolfpine. I need to meet a friend. Zaemira can’t wait for long.”
Artifax felt hot in Ethan’s grip. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“Or what? You’ll kill me?”
Ethan took a deep, angry breath.
“You won’t kill me, boy. If I wasn’t keeping Bander in check, you and your friends would have been killed long ago. But he had to be careful when I was around. He never trusted me, and he was right not to. But you…boy…need to learn.”
“I’ll never trust you.”
“Then you’ll never see your brother again.”
“What have you done to Dantis?”
“Not me, Ethan. Zaemira.”
“Who?”
“You’ve seen him, you know. Your brother was closer than you thought.”
“Just cut the shit and tell me where he is.”
“Don’t you remember in the dungeon? I know he was there; I could sense him. Maybe not in his true form, but as something else.”
Not in his true form? What the hell did he mean?
And then images flashed before him. The illusory lava…the glowing moss poem on the walls…and the golem. Was that Dantis? Had he killed his own brother?
“I think you are starting to understand,” said Lillian.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Dantis
I am Tula. I am vupyr.
The words crashed in his mind, swirling in the chaos that filled him. He wasn’t Dantis, anymore. A deeper knowledge filled him now, a higher self. He felt it when he left Yutula-na, when he walked from the obsidian rocks.
Screams filled his head. They were his mother’s; maddening, shrill, echoing insanity into his soul.
He stopped in front of the tree. The tree that had stood for so long in the barrens, watching, helping.
He knew the tree deserved his reward. He wanted to thank it, but it couldn’t see him. He was not of this world now, and only those he showed himself to would understand what he was. I am Tula. I am vupyr.
With a deep breath, he sucked time from the tree and then watched as it became smaller until it was just a sapling. With another breath the tree became a man; a young man, pale faced, wi
th curly hair like his mage sister. The man lifted his hands to his face, and his eyes widened. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. And then the shock overtook him, and he collapsed onto the ground.
Overhead, the sky rumbled. Not with thunder, but with something much worse. There was no time. Tula knew it. Dantis knew it. Every being of Yutula-na, swirling in his cosmic chasm, knew it. He took to the sky.
Dantis descended upon Wolfpine, a cosmic shadow, a hulking beast of light and galaxies. I am Tula. I am vupyr.
Beyond the city, the Blackrock of Wolfpine had risen from the ground, a dagger pointed at the sky. It was a conduit; an obsidian link of mayhem and power, its lifeforce entwined with the rocks of Yutula-na. That was why the Nevergods had chosen Wolfpine, then. If they appeared here they had only the conduit in their way.
Chaos flooded in him, hot like blood, echoes of mayhem mixing with his mother’s screams. He could feel it now. He could feel the madness of what he had done, how something had changed inside him that night. A force had pressed on him, a yearning darkness had made him feed on those who cared for him.
I am not of their flesh. I was never of their flesh. Ethan isn’t my brother; my only brother is madness, vupyr, the dark light that wards the evil of the Nevergods.
He understood it now; why Zaemira had chosen him. The ancient stone city was his home. Tula was his flesh-mate, and now they were one.
Fly, Dantis, Tula commanded, his ancient voice echoing in his mind.
Wolfpine lay below him, but not the Wolfpine he recognized. Flames engulfed buildings, orange waves of death licking over timber, spreading onto the shirts and coats of terror-stricken townsfolk as they rushed, desperate for somewhere to hide.
Above, the sky bled orange as the Nevergod Infirna shook from his shackles. Across the Fire Isles, his nevermates stirred too, thirty in number, thirty bringers of death.
The Brotherhood of Fire acolytes rampaged through the streets, spreading their hot death everywhere they went. Others joined them; teenagers wearing black chainmail with fire emblazoned on the front, led by the one they called Bander.
Bander. Dantis had known him in another life, in his other guise, before Tula had shown him the truth.
Wings flapped behind him. He looked to see his army of turnings, creatures of death, summoned from Zaemira’s tomb. Dantis was their master now. They went where he bade them, and now, he beckoned them downward, down to the horror on the streets of the once quaint town.
He landed softly on the street. Shops lined either side; bakeries, potion stores, taverns, armor stalls. Flames crackled on their timber, wood crashed to the ground. A sign post crumbled from its fixings, landing on the back of a woman as she tried to drag her child to safety.
He would have helped her once, but the madness forbade him. After what he had done to his parents, after who he had become, did it matter now?
Ahead of him, the chain mailed teens approached. Bander led them, his stare fixed on Dantis.
“Vupyr,” he said. “I know you…or what you were.”
Bander charged at him. With a swipe of an ethereal hand, Dantis passed through him, carving through him like butter, sizzling his organs. He cleaved him in half. No man of flesh could withstand the burning energy of a cosmic force.
He breathed in, sucking every essence of energy from the guildmaster, feeling it imbibe him. In one, deep gust, he sucked everything away from him, felt the man’s memories, his dreams, every word he had ever spoken, everything he had ever seen drench through him and add to his solar whirlwind, to his new form.
I am Tula. I am insane. Dantis, parent killer, vupyr, light in the darkness.
As the recruits rushed at him, swords aloft, flames glinting off their axes, Dantis spread his arms out, his sprectral form stretching forward, washing through them, draining them dry. It took just a second, and all thirty lay dead, their skin brittle, their souls mixed with his growing ether inside.
Life meant nothing to him now. What could it mean to a parent killer? To a vupyr? To the conduit of Tula and the spirits of Yutula-na?
There was only one thing left for him to do. He cast his spectral eyes around the town, seeing everything at once, thousands of images flooding through him. And it was in one of these, that he saw the boy. The one who had been his brother.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ethan
“Your brother is no more,” said the mage, her skin lit by the fire engulfing the town, ash drifting from the air and landing in her black curls.
Ethan held Artifax tight in his grip, the weight of the sword pressing his muscles. He circled around her, watching for the flick of her wrist that would indicate a spell. Watch the man, not the sword, Reck had told him, but that applied to swordsmen, not mages.
How had it come to this? Wolfpine in flames and fire acolytes spreading their flames of death everywhere, with families burning in their homes and others frozen in fear and staring at the sky above, which blazed orange despite that it was night.
Glen, Zewn and Lillian were gone, and he didn’t know where. They’d taken a route through the Leech Mounds to get to Wolfpine. It was dangerous, but it was the only way to lose the guild recruits. When the gates of Wolfpine had loomed close, Fire acolytes had charged them, separating them.
Flame arrows shot toward them, and Ethan dove behind a cart as they danced past, trails of fire spreading over anything they touched. One volley followed the next, seeming endless. Screams erupted beyond him, but he couldn’t tell who they came from.
Finally, the arrows stopped. When he emerged, everyone was gone; Lillian, Zewn, Yart, Glen, the acolytes.
“Find Zaemira,” Artifax told him, his hilt gem glowing for the first time in hours.
Ethan battled his way through the terror-stricken streets. Recruits, separated into packs now, ambushed him, but fury raged hot in his veins, and Artifax yearned for blood.
When he struck with the sword, his form was perfect, completely beyond what Reck’s training had taught him. The sword brought to him a talent that was not his own, one earned from every man who had held the blade before him, spanning back through generations of swordsmen.
He cleaved through black chainmail, stabbed deep into ribcages, lopped arms off at their shoulders, destroyed legs, dismembered hands, ears, feet. Always the sword drew him on, forward, Ethan. Forward. She awaits.
He caught sight of himself in the window of a blacksmith shop. Flames flickered in the glass, casting orange light on his reflection, and he saw what he was now; a killer, caked in blood and soot and chunks of flesh, wearing an insane expression that couldn’t have been his own.
And then he saw her. In the street ahead, where the Wolfpine justice halls waited, she was standing on the uppermost roof. It was the mage, her black robe melding into the night, and sparks of purple mana fizzing and crashing around her.
He sprinted into the justice halls and found his way up the stairs, passing the cells he and Dantis had once slept it. He climbed through the same window they had used in their escape attempt, crossed the same ledge, until he found her.
Here, on this sloping roof, he faced her. The mage. The woman Artifax ached to kill. A gust of wind took her robe, flapping it open, and on the inside, he saw an eye with a blood tear in the corner.
“Your brother is no more,” she repeated.
“Stop saying that.”
“Don’t fight, Ethan. You will understand soon.”
“Did you hurt him? Where is he? Wait – are you an acolyte?”
She laughed. “Oh, my child, if only you knew.”
She had hurt Dantis. He was sure of it. He wouldn’t let her live if she’d touched him. He charged at her, Artifax raised, ash and smoke clogging his throat.
A shape crashed into him, knocking him onto his back. He rolled down the roof, the slates jutting into his back with each turn, unable to stop himself heading to the edge. Just as he was about to plummet over the side, he hit the edge of hole where he’d once fallen through. He g
rabbed the sides, stopping himself.
The shape was a man. No, not a man. It looked like one, but he crawled on all fours, and his skin was pale and covered in scratches. His eyes were white and endless, like a creature that had lived in darkness and wasn’t used to the glow of the flames in the town around them.
“Turnling?” said Zaemira. She edged forward. “What are you doing here?”
The turnling pointed at the sky, where a figure flew in the darkness of night, looping beneath the growing orange light. It was a spirit of some sort; shaped like a man, but thirty feet in length, tapered where his feet should be. Stars twinkled from him, and rings of light lashed around him; red, green, purple, yellow.
“Ethan,” said Zaemira, worry edged in her voice. “Think carefully now. What I am going to say will sound strange.”
He didn’t give her chance to speak. He charged at her, Artifax’s blade pointed out. The turning lurched at him but he leapt over it, running until he met with Zaemira.
She held her hand out, casting a shield of mana in front of him. “Wait, Ethan. Do you see the sky? Do you know what comes? I am the only thing holding it back. If I die before your brother…”
“Where’s Dantis?”
He held Artifax in front of him, the blade pointed out. If needed to, just one lurch forward would kill her. But he couldn’t do that yet, not without knowing where Dantis was.
“Your brother is-”
A figure leapt onto Zaemira’s back, sending her sprawling forward, where she impaled herself on Artifax. The sword’s hilt gem glowed red as it stabbed through her chest, crunching her bones and severing her flesh.
Her eyes widened. She stared beyond Ethan now, blood trickling from her lips. She made no move to hurt him; no spells were cast, no powers summoned. She fell on her back, blood leaking from her neck and her stomach, and she choked out her last breath.
The figure behind her stood up. It was Dullzewn, his blue tribal marks meeting with bloodstains on his face.
“Are you okay?” he said.
