“Goodbye, pale moon, for I am alone,” she sang, removing her hand and grinning at it. Magic poured out of her. The blood stiffened, took shape, and flew. Seven hardened balls shredded the dagger thrower’s face and punched out the back of his skull. Only one left before she faced Karnryk.
“Goodbye, burning sun, see me no more.” The final fell to his knees and begged for mercy. Tessanna tilted her head, as if confused. Tears ran down this man’s face as he groveled like a dog, unable to bear the sight of his companion’s brutal deaths. The girl answered him with another lyric.
“Goodbye, night birds, dirt fills my ears.”
She cast her spell. His eyes blasted out his body by a great surge of blood, and his body shriveled and curled in obscene ways. She ended her song, smiling at the beautiful sight of death she had created.
“Goodbye, grave man, cover me in the morn.”
The sound of movement made her turn. She felt no worry. Pure euphoria swirled inside her head. She was a goddess among mortals. None would dare strike her.
Karnryk was a furious warrior, proud and arrogant. He had no respect for goddesses. As Tessanna stared incredulously, he shoved his greatsword through her stomach. The tip tore out her back, the blade soaked in gore. She gasped as her blood poured out.
“Where’s your magical armor now, bitch?” he asked, spitting on her face.
“Gone, as is your life,” Qurrah said from behind. Karnryk turned, his blood chilling. Surrounding the necromancer in strange orbits were the bones of his dead hirelings, numbering in the hundreds. With but a thought, they assaulted. His eyes cold, Qurrah watched as Karnryk staggered about, surrounded by a tornado of bone that shredded his flesh, stabbed his eyes, and bruised every bit of exposed skin. Down he fell, unable to withstand the torture. Still the bones struck, faster and faster, their chalky white turning red. Qurrah was not satisfied.
“You struck her,” he said, his voice a low, seething sound. “Suffer for your sins!”
The pieces of bone dug deeper into his eyes. Sharp rib bones broke through his teeth and poured down his innards. When the necromancer approached, the remaining bones parted for him. He yanked Karnryk’s bloody mess of a face by the hair and whispered into his ear.
“I will torture you, even after death,” he said. “You will yearn for the abyss, and you will not be granted its reprieve.”
He shoved his fingers deep into Karnryk’s eye sockets. The bones lodged there pushed farther in, deep into nerve tissue. Spasms wracked his body, and for the only time he screamed.
“Hemorrhage!” Qurrah hissed. Dark magic poured into the remnants of the half-orc’s body. Qurrah yanked his hand free as a great explosion of blood and brain burst from where Karnryk’s face had been. When the body collapsed to the ground, Karnryk was already on his way to the abyss.
“Qurrah,” Tessanna said, the sword still through her waist. She lay on her side, her legs paralyzed. The sword had shifted when its point touched dirt, grinding against her spine. Qurrah rushed to her, kneeling down and grabbing her hands.
“Tessanna, I’m so sorry,” he said. “I should have acted sooner, I should have-”
“Shut up,” Tessanna said, her face pale and cold. “I hear the singing again…”
Those were her only words. Overcome with grief, he placed his hands on the giant hilt and apologized before yanking the sword free. Holding in a sob, he wrapped his arms around the painfully light body of his lover.
“Don’t die on me,” he said. “You can’t die.”
The lack of breath and heartbeat insisted otherwise, but Qurrah would not accept it.
“Delysia can heal you,” he said, staggering south with her in his arms. Each step sent more blood dribbling across his knees. Everything was strange. It seemed the stars had shifted and the warmth of summer seemed lost into autumn.
The trek south through the woods was the longest, darkest time Qurrah had ever experienced.
No cloud dimmed the light of a single star. The Eschaton mercenaries had just eliminated a troublesome band of thieves with delusions of creating a new guild. Haern had given them the choice of death or surrender. Their leader had drawn his weapons. The rest surrendered when they saw how quickly he died.
“Nothing like a job well done,” Tarlak said after depositing the thieves at the prison.
“This place always depresses me,” Delysia said, pulling her robe tight about her. “Let’s go home.”
All glanced to Aurelia, who frowned at them.
“What am I, your wagon?” she asked. “The night is peaceful. We can walk, unless someone else is capable of opening a portal home.”
“What about your kid?” Brug asked. “You should get home, not safe and all… right?”
Another frown. “Nice try. Aullienna’s fine. Bunch of whiners, all of you.”
They left town, traveling across the beaten path west. Harruq and Aurelia walked hand in hand, smiling as the wind blew against their faces. Haern let down his hood, shaking free his golden hair. Tarlak led the way, babbling to the assassin about the idiocy of common thuggery in Veldaren.
When they reached the tower, everything changed.
“Someone awaits us,” Haern whispered, seeing a deviation in the shadows at the door. Aurelia’s keener eyes widened as she saw what waited there.
“It’s Qurrah,” she said. When Harruq heard, he ran ahead, a smile spreading across his face.
“Qurrah!” he shouted as he neared. “Qurrah!”
His smile faded when he was close enough to see.
“Brother?” he asked. Qurrah looked up, and to Harruq’s great surprise, he saw tears. He held the pale body of Tessanna in his arms. Her limbs hung limp, her eyes closed. Blood soaked her clothes, which were ripped and torn. Harruq took a shocked step forward as his brother spoke.
“Please,” Qurrah said. “I need help. Please, help me.”
More and more tears rolled, along his cheek, past his thin lips, down the gray of his chin, and then falling, falling, until breaking atop the dead face of the girl with blackest of eyes.
20
What happened?” Harruq asked. He saw blood everywhere, and Tessanna’s face was a deathly white.
“Just help me,” Qurrah shrieked. Everything inside him broke. He buried his face in her hair and cried. The rest of the Eschaton mercenaries arrived, stunned and confused.
“Let me see her,” Delysia said, rushing past the others. She put a hand on Qurrah, only to have him shove her away. When he looked up his eyes were a bloody red. The priestess saw the wound on Tessanna’s stomach and gasped.
“Help her,” Qurrah said, realizing who it was. “Please, I know you, what you do. Please, help her.”
Delysia put her hand on Tessanna’s neck, and another on her breast. For a quiet moment, she closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, her look contained only sorrow.
“She is dead, Qurrah,” she said. “Her heart is still. Her breath is gone. I’m sorry.”
“She’s not dead,” he cried, staggering to his feet. He held Tessanna’s body close. “You have healing spells. Cast them on her!”
“Qurrah, it will do no good.”
“Do it,” Harruq said, his face solemn. “Please, just do it, anyway.”
Delysia glanced to him, and then to her brother. Tarlak nodded his approval.
“Very well. Qurrah, give her body to Harruq. We need to get her inside.”
Qurrah reluctantly obeyed. Harruq lifted her in his arms, grunting at how light she was, and he shuddered at the strange ways her tightened muscles resisted movement. He laid her body on the long table inside. Everyone gathered about, watching in silence, except Tarlak, who moved to Qurrah’s side.
“Who did this?” he asked.
“A giant half-orc,” Qurrah said. “He wielded a greatsword, and had many men with him.”
“Karnryk,” the wizard said. “He posted a bounty for your whereabouts months ago. What did you ever do to him?”
“About a
year back,” he said, watching Delysia preparing her healing rituals. “When Dieredon came to speak with Aurelia. They were sneaking through the forest toward the tower. Their intentions were ill, so we struck them. Only Karnryk survived, somehow…”
Tarlak nodded, stroking his beard in thought. Suddenly he stopped.
“A year ago?” he asked. Qurrah gave him a quizzical look, but Tarlak shook his head. He would inquire about it later. Pure white light enveloped Delysia’s hands. She put them across Tessanna’s chest, letting the healing magic flow into her body. Nothing happened. She cast another spell, plunging the light deep into her wounds. Nothing happened. She cast a third spell, a fourth. Nothing happened.
“She’s not dead,” Qurrah said, watching her. “Please, keep trying.”
Delysia glanced up, her eyes filled with pity.
“I will try, for you,” she said. Sweat covered her brow, and her head hung heavy. All were silent as she worked. Every spell of healing she could cast, she did. When finished, and still no change had taken place, she rest her arms on the table and gasped for air.
“I am sorry,” she said. “I can do no more. She is gone, Qurrah, beyond all that I can do.”
“No, you must, you must keep--”
“She is dead, Qurrah!” Delysia shouted, her exhaustion overruling her kindness. “You are no fool. You know this, just as well as I.”
The two glared at one another, neither backing down.
“Um, guys,” Harruq said, drawing their attention to the body. “What’s going on?”
A tiny light hovered above Tessanna’s breast, shining a myriad of faint colors. The room darkened, as if the tiny ball of color sucked in all available light. The seven were lost to bewilderment as feminine voices filled their ears, singing softly. Faster the colors changed, pulsing with an eerie power. Louder grew the singing, an ominous throng tinged with triumph and victory.
The singing ended. The light plunged into her chest. The darkness of the room faded.
Tessanna coughed.
“Tess,” Qurrah said, rushing to her side. He latched onto her hand and kissed her face. Delysia stared at the woman’s waist, where the vicious wound was all but gone.
“Thank you,” the half-orc said, his face pressed against his lover’s as tears streamed down his cheeks. Delysia turned to Tarlak, who stared at her in wonder.
“What did you do?” he asked.
“That was not me,” she said. “Whatever that was, I do not understand. Not my work, Tar, not my miracle.”
“We should find out,” Tarlak said, wrapping an arm around his sister as he watched Tessanna stir as if from a long slumber. “Riddles are interesting only when people are not involved.”
Tarlak placed a cot in his room, reluctantly agreeing to let Delysia sleep there. Their two guests slept in his sister’s room.
“As long as she behaves, she can stay,” the wizard told Qurrah. The half-orc stayed by Tessanna’s side long after she sank into sleep. When he felt certain the rest of the tower slept, he crept down the stairs. Harruq, however, waited for him at the bottom, leaning against the door.
“Where you going?” he asked.
“Outside,” Qurrah said. “What is it you want?”
“Just to talk to my brother,” he said. “Haven’t seen you in forever.”
“I would hardly call a month forever,” he replied. His voice ached with exhaustion, his ragged whisper painful to hear. Harruq crossed his arms and blocked the way when Qurrah tried to leave.
“A month?” he asked. “Try eighteen. Aullienna is almost two. You didn’t even come to celebrate her birth.”
Harruq was not ready for the shock that came over his brother’s face.
“Eighteen months,” he said. His eyes grew distant as he remembered the magic that had encapsulated them. What was it the Center had said? Even time itself would protect her. “Could it be that long?” he wondered aloud.
“What now?” Harruq asked.
“Time,” Qurrah said, dismissing the thoughts with a shake of his head. “It is amazing how fast it moves when you least expect it. My apologies for our separation.” He beckoned to the door. “May I leave, or am I held prisoner?”
“Only tonight,” Harruq said. “You look like you can barely stand. Go to bed. Do whatever you want to do after a good night’s rest.”
“Ever the protector,” Qurrah said, a smile growing against his will. “I guess I will submit, this time. Good night, Harruq.”
“Nighters, Qurrah.”
The half-orc slunk back up the stairs, into Delysia’s room, and under the covers next to Tessanna. He wrapped his arms around her waist, relishing the soft feel of her flesh. Succumbing to sleep, his last parting thought was how he could still feel the blood drying on his hands.
When he awoke, the night was deep, and a single candle lit the room. His arms were empty.
“Tess?” he asked, rising on one elbow. The girl sat at the edge of the bed, blankets huddled about her.
“I hurt you, didn’t I?” she asked. Her shoulders trembled, and Qurrah thought he heard crying. “I always do. Always.”
Qurrah rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked at the length of her hair. “You did not hurt me, Tessanna. You protected me. Come, lie down.”
She glanced back, her eyes voids unfilled in the dark. Tears ran from them. “Are you sure? Really sure?”
The half-orc threw off his blanket and stepped on the cold stone floor. He groggily walked before Tessanna, who looked away. His hand took her chin and forced her to face him.
“I would go to the abyss and back for you,” he said. “And then do it once more to ensure peace in your mind.”
She smiled, briefly.
“I heard the singing again,” she said, her tears continuing. “It was so beautiful. They were talking to me, and their voices so sweet, but the words, please, why did they have to say those words?”
“What words?” he asked, resting her face in the palm of his hand.
“They called me something. They called me daughter. They called me balance. And then…and then…”
She shrieked, tearing at her face with her fingernails. Qurrah grabbed her wrists, fighting her wild thrashing as blood flecked the white sheets. She clawed at her flesh, howling like an animal.
“Cease this!” Qurrah snarled. Thankfully, she did. She slumped into his arms and sobbed.
“They said I am broken so I may fix that which is breaking,” she whispered in between sobs. “They said I am to kill…but my purpose…my purpose…”
“Don’t talk, love,” Qurrah said, holding her tight. “Not if it pains you this much.”
“No,” she said, shuddering. “Please, let me say it so I may forget it. You remember it for me, alright?”
The half-orc nodded. “I will.”
“They kept singing, all these voices, did you hear them? Their voices were pretty, but they sang ugly things. Forgive me, my daughter. Forgive me, my child. Your path was done before you were born. Forgive me, for you are to destroy. All that is beautiful, you will ruin. All that is golden, you will tarnish. Shatter your reflection. Let the balance go on eternal.” Tears streamed down her face as she finished. “Forgive me, for your time was unkind, but all is how your mother decreed it be.”
She fell into silence. Qurrah pondered over the words as he held his love tight.
“You are not meant for such things,” he whispered to her. “You will not destroy. You will not bring ruin. The voices are wrong.”
“I don’t want to hurt people,” she whispered back. “Not those who are kind to me. I never mean to. I hurt them, I never know why, but now maybe I do know. Mother wants me to hurt them. I shouldn’t disappoint her.” Mad giggles interrupted her crying. Qurrah felt the hair on the back of his neck stand erect as her body shook with laughter.
“Mommy wants me to kill. I should be a good daughter and obey. Who does she want dead, though? Good daughters should obey without question, but I’m not that go
od. Who to kill? Who to kill?”
“Snap out of it, Tess,” the half-orc said.
“Perhaps, you? Perhaps, Tarlak? Your brother?”
She leapt from the bed and danced in the loose dress she wore. Dried blood still covered it, and there was a gaping hole in the cloth where Karnryk’s greatsword had punched through. “Is it Delysia? Ooh, I just felt my skin shiver. Maybe it is her. But no, someone else, mommy says it’s someone else. Someone just like me. Shatter my reflection, she said. I should obey. All good girls obey, right Qurrah?”
Qurrah stood, his fists clenching. Tessanna ignored him, turning to the simple dresser carved from stained oak. A small circular mirror hovered above it, held by twin supports carved in the shape of doves. The girl pranced over, cackling. She smashed it with her forehead, showering the dresser with bleeding shards. She smiled back at Qurrah, blood rolling down her face and around the corners of her lips.
“I did it,” she giggled. “And it felt good.”
The half-orc said nothing as he crossed the room. He put his left hand on her shoulder and held her firm.
“I love you, Tessanna,” he said.
“I love you too, Qurrah,” she said.
Qurrah struck her across the face. Hard. The girl slumped to the ground, unconscious. For a long while, he stood there, taking in great, shuddering breaths, as he prayed for his heart to slow.
“Forgive me,” he said to her, pulling her onto the bed. He covered her with blankets, tucked them in, and then retrieved a cloth and a bowl of water. Carefully, he removed the pieces of the mirror and cleaned the blood from her face. When finished, he kissed her forehead. Tired beyond reason, he sat on the bed, pondering what it meant for Tessanna to be a daughter of balance.
As all of Veldaren slept, a man slipped through the shadows. His torn clothes were stained and stunk of feces. He wore no shoes. His scabbed hands clutched the shutters of a window. His eyes gazed inside, seeing a small child. He smiled as he drew his dagger. In daylight, he was mocked and scorned. In daylight, his mind was a shattered, broken frailty. In the darkness, he was the reaper.
The Half-Orcs: Books 1-5 Page 43
