Shackles of Light (The Mal'Ak Cycle Book 2)

by Christopher A. Nooner

  There were five quills altogether, and he was grateful each time the second point snapped into place with the quill still in one piece.

  He felt he had to move up the torso of the effigy, since he started at the back end. That led him to the meteor stone.

  He rotated the salamander to its back and examined the cavity in the stomach.

  There weren’t any obvious holes or areas to catch, but he knew the stone had to snap in snug enough to stay.

  Again, he braced the carving with his stub and placed the rock over the cavity. It wasn’t the right shape.

  He looked the stone over, and realized it wasn’t perfectly round, so he rotated it over the opening until it covered completely. He scrunched his face and pushed on it with his thumb.

  It snapped into place. He nudged it with his thumb to make sure it was snug.

  He placed the salamander back down on the dresser. It wobbled a little on its round belly.

  The eye was an easier fit. There was a pin on its back, rounded and slightly bulbous. That in turn corresponded with a hole in the back of the socket. It fit into place without much effort.

  Last of all was the walnut. He held it reverently. There was a part of him that didn’t want to attach it at all.

  It felt right that the shell should face down and the meat up. He aligned it with the indentation on the salamander’s skull and pressed down with gentle but firm force until it clicked into place.

  He left his hand on it for a moment. This was his legacy. This was what was left to him. He hoped he would be capable, and worthy of it.

  Something wiggled beneath his fingers. He snatched his arm up and looked down.

  The salamander wiggled, its brown and red swirled skin shimmered briefly.

  It was alive. Gone were the smaller totems. They had been covered and replaced by skin.

  Joseph stepped back, frightened. What had he done? What had the thing become?

  The creature blinked. Its clear inner eyelid turned its pupil milky blue. It wiggled again, swishing its tail across the dresser, and then it faded. Hardened back to polished stone, but smooth. There was no trace of the other pieces.

  Joseph stared at it for a minute, afraid that it would come back to life.

  When it did not, he picked it up by its leather band, took a deep breath and slipped it over his head.

  He straightened. It was time to go. Time to get back to work.

  He turned to walk out of the room when the leather band snapped tight around his neck. It cut off his wind, even though he was still stone.

  Then the pain began. His body shook, his joints popped, his stone skin cracked.

  He fell to his knees, and his weight and the force of his fall sent him through the floor to the earth below.

  He knew he was screaming, but that seemed like the least of his worries.

  Eli stumbled, the gnarled roots of the old growth intent on seeing him fall on his face.

  He snarled in weary defiance and trudged on.

  Tomtum escorted him to the Strawberry River in the woods, south below the Way Hut, just as he promised, but retreated as soon as he could after a mumbled excuse.

  It didn’t matter to Eli. He was glad to be rid of the little manipulator.

  He knew he should be used to it by now, but each time someone used him for their own gain, or tried to, it hurt. It seemed that knowing it was coming didn’t soften the blow.

  Perhaps he should be grateful. They did save his life, and maybe he was just paying off that debt. He’d certainly paid more for less than his life.

  He sighed as his thoughts wandered to what he should do next, and he didn’t like what he came up with. Mamat, the king of all manipulators.

  Eli hated the idea of going to see the pile of bones, but he needed answers, and direction. Answers he was sure the little beast had.

  Like it or not, he needed him.

  He shifted his energy to the hike and tried his best to ignore the pain and exhaustion of his protesting body. He didn’t dare listen too hard, he knew if he stopped to take inventory of his injuries they would cripple him.

  Then again, he could just be the world’s biggest crybaby.

  What was Gideon always saying?

  “Suck it up buttercup.” The man was droll, Eli had to admit. Their companions didn’t find him as amusing, judging by their scowls.

  They were certainly motley; the Indian, the trapper, the Frenchman, and the Redcoat.

  Honore covered his mouth and nose with his billowy sleeve, his eyes squinted against the haze of dust and sand that blew over them, while Ewart stiffened his back and raised his chin as if he could stop the howling wind with the sheer strength of his disdain for it.

  The desert stretched in front of them, although they couldn’t see it through the storm.

  If his estimate was correct, they were twenty miles from the base of Wi’kchsawa. Maybe this time they would get lucky and find Lamech’s grave.

  They had explored two other ranges that matched the description of the Mahan’s resting place with no luck.

  Their hunt had cost them two companions so far, and he was almost certain that Gideon caught Honore trying to flee in the night, then shamed him into staying.

  That had been weeks ago, though, so whatever the big man said had stuck with the Frenchman.

  Somewhere behind them Kish followed with the Medjay, an elite branch of the Hatak Haski, intent on stopping their search and killing them, if possible.

  Eli spat to clear his mouth of the damned dust and sand that pushed its way through, no matter how tight he pressed his lips.

  Eli woke coughing. Crumbled leaves clung to his sticky cheek.

  He sat up and hung his head while his lungs tried desperately to expel whatever it was he had breathed in.

  When the fit subsided, he stood. The world spun, forcing him to lean against a dogwood until the blackness receded and his vision was once again clear.

  Light was dim under the thick canopy and the air was heavy with moisture.

  He squinted into a view of a cloudy sky that seeped here and there between limbs that would soon be free of their colorful foliage.

  He cursed his weakness and wondered how long he had lain there. Time was not his friend, but neither was his body. He twisted and stretched with futile effort; his muscles and joints just wouldn’t release the pain and stiffness.

  He hobbled over a hundred paces at least before his knee stopped popping and was mostly ache free.

  Doubt, real doubt, crept into his mind; not just disgruntled whining.

  There was no safety net now that his body was virtually destroyed and refusing to heal. He felt like there wasn’t much left of the man he had been only days earlier. He was like the husk left by cicada, it looked fierce, but gently pulling it from the tree could crush it.

  Suck it up, buttercup. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth and pushed him on.

  He was covered in sweat and ticks by the time he reached the top of the ridge south of the Way Hut.

  He spent enough time there to catch his breath and send ten or twelve vampiric arachnids to their deaths.

  His approach led him past the spot where Marks and the Rugaru had taken Keezie. He could see the scorch marks his feet had left in the forest floor, as well as the larger area he had lain in after he passed out.

  He snarled at the memory, and then grinned. Maybe he had an anger problem he should deal with, he mused.

  An odd sound caught his attention a quarter mile later. He slowed and crouched down to lower his profile. He bit his lip as his knee popped, sending a sharp stab up his leg.

  He leaned against a massive tree, shut his eyes, and listened to the forest.

  First, was the wind; it was the baseline of the forest sounds; the way it sighed around the trees, the rustle of leaves, the creak and flex of the towering giants. Second was life, birdsong and wings, squirrels chattering, deer and chipmunk moving through the brush. Third, was thunder, its yet distant rumble rol
led through the woods like the casual promise of lovers soon to meet.

  He let the sounds transform for him. They transformed into music, its syncopated beat measured by the inner thuds of his heart drum.

  He let his mind dance as it absorbed the information, until he found the noise that defied the natural rhythm of the forest.

  He focused on that and let the forest noise fade into the background.

  It was sporadic but came just often enough to stand out. He searched his memory to find a sound that compared. It was the sound of rocks being tossed one on top of another. The heavy smack of stone on stone. Each stone sounding as the hollow pulse transferred from one to the other until the earth absorbed it and it melted to nothing.

  Beyond was a voice; it followed the sound of the rocks by a fraction of a second. The voice was low and strong but only said one word. “Work.”

  That was the rhythm. Clink, clink, clink. Work.

  Eli’s eyes snapped open. Someone was at the Way Hut.

  He pushed his body as much as he could in the darkening woods. His pain faded, replaced by an adrenaline-fueled surge, but his muscles still refused to respond normally.

  Lightning lit up the forest floor, and thunder shook leaves from the drowsy trees.

  Eli wiped his forehead. He could feel the rain coming, and he had a feeling he wasn’t going to find cover before it started.

  He was right. The Way Hut barely showed through the trees when the storm unleashed.

  Sheets of warm rain washed over him, hiding the world outside a three-foot radius.

  All the hair on his body stood up. He grimaced and lowered his profile as far as he could, feeling the strike before it came.

  Lightning exploded and seared a tree not far from him. The thunder that followed was so loud he was sure his eardrums had exploded.

  Eli rocked back on his heels and steadied his head while the ringing subsided. He tried to shake free of the muted sound but sent himself sprawling on the wet ground instead.

  This was not his best week.

  He pushed himself back onto his feet with the help of a neighborly sweet gum.

  The rain died off enough for him to see the Hut, so he pushed himself to move forward.

  Wet ground made it much more difficult to stay silent and keep his balance while soft stepping through impromptu streams of water.

  It soaked his hair and coursed down his face. He could feel the weight of his braids increase as they soaked up the heavy rain.

  He slowed as he struggled to breathe, his lungs burning with the effort of circulating air.

  If this is punishment for all I’ve done, he thought, it’s less than I deserve.

  Eli cleared his eyes and crept to the back of the Way Hut.

  He paused to calm the rise and fall of his chest, and the beat of his heart, before peeking around the corner to survey the situation.

  He eased his eyes past the shield of the hut on the East side toward King’s Seat and found himself looking at the back of a slim Hatak Haski. The man leaned against the far end of the hut, a pistol at his side and short sword strapped to his back.

  “Work!” the man yelled through the rain.

  Eli couldn’t see who he was yelling at without exposing himself more, but decided it was worth the risk. He had to know what he was dealing with, and what they were doing here.

  He slid around the corner and stood to his full height to see over the smaller man’s shoulder.

  He almost cried out. He had to hold himself from lunging forward.

  There were at least three badly emaciated men, probably slaves, removing the carefully placed rocks that made up the entrance to the ways. It was almost completely destroyed.

  His hopes of speaking to Mamat were gone.

  He drew his sword, let out a wild cry, and before the Hatak Haski could turn to meet him, Eli removed the man’s head from his body.

  He kicked the headless body to accelerate its fall and stepped into the spot the man had just occupied by the side of the hut.

  “Go!” he yelled at the slaves.

  He growled in frustration as they kept at their work. He stepped forward and waved his hands. “Go! You’re free!” He ran toward the bare edge where the rock wheel had been.

  One of the men finally looked up. There was barely a flicker of life left in his dull eyes. When realization did come upon him, he didn’t run, didn’t flee the work, he simply sank to the ground and sat, heedless of the rain and mud. Rest, not freedom, was the release his worn soul desired.

  Eli’s shoulders slumped as his energy dissipated. A wave of exhaustion pummeled him.

  What was left? What was he to do now?

  The questions ricocheted off his half empty skull with no ready answers.

  He knew one thing though. There was nothing for him here. Not until he could rebuild and relink the wheel to the ways, and there was no time for that.

  That wasn’t exactly true he told himself. He had a crock of fully aged Black Drink that he could make use of. It might kill him, but it would at least wash the exhaustion away until he was good and dead.

  He put on a grim smile and headed into the Hut.

  The house exploded and pounded the forest with shrapnel. Keezie barely made it behind the cover of a large tree before the rain of fragments reached her.

  Joseph! She covered her mouth and prayed he was wearing his stone skin.

  A roar followed on the heel of the projectiles. It was the sound of the earth opening to swallow continents. When the noise faded, the screams of Hatak Haski filled the void as slivers of wood and spears of pipe eviscerated their bodies.

  Iron and lumber crashed through the trees, cutting down saplings and ramming giant splinters into the thick barked wood.

  She waited as pebbles of debris hammered the dry leaves of the forest floor.

  She waited until she heard feet pounding on the drive as soldiers ran toward the house to help their comrades. Only then did she peer back through the trees and dust to see if Ammonih had weathered the danger.

  His small wave provided more relief than she expected. She pushed down thoughts of Eli and peeked around her tree.

  A hazy brown cloud covered the open area of the yard making it impossible to see what the state of the house and people were, but she could hear frantic calls as Hatak Haski searched blindly for their companions.

  It was infuriating, but there was nothing to do but wait and listen until the dust settled.

  She looked in Ammonih’s direction again but couldn’t see him. She bit her lip and closed her eyes.

  The tree pressed into her back, its rough bark creating organic designs in her skin. She used the uncomfortableness of it to distract her from the worry and stress toward which her mind naturally gravitated.

  She knew she would obsess over scenarios where more of her friends would be lost if she allowed herself to think about it. The worry was a gnawing ache that she was, unfortunately, used to. She hated it about herself, but nothing ever helped.

  A soft cooing cut through her introspection. It was odd because the sound fit in with the forest sounds, but it sliced, unnaturally, through the calls of frightened men into the silence of the surrounding trees.

  It wafted through the air with the fine flecks that casually reached her from the yard.

  Hesitantly, she looked for the source, hoping against hope that it wasn’t a harbinger of more disaster.

  She let out a breath when she saw Ammonih with his hands cupped around his mouth. She responded with a quick wave. He jabbed a finger in the direction of Kaga’s and gestured with his head when she failed to follow his direction.

  The dirt cloud had mostly settled around the house, but a ripple-like ring moved lazily outward from ground zero coating the grass with a fine sheen of brown.

  At the center stood a massive beast. She thought, at first, it was a mound of rock pushed up from the space where the house used to sit, but then it moved. A huge boulder fist swung in pursuit of one of the
remaining Hatak Haski.

  The creature rose up to tower over the frantic men, easily two or three stories tall.

  Dread niggled at the corners of her mind. A quick scan revealed bodies strewn helter-skelter around the yard, but there was no sign of Joseph, and even from a distance his size should make him stand out.

  She jumped as an odd whisper surprised her, but relaxed when she realized it was Ammonih’s bow. She marveled at how quiet and efficient he was. He moved like a shadow, silent and just beyond a person’s thought to care he was there.

  The Nvnehi nocked another arrow with a smoothed practiced hand and sent it through the neck of a Hatak Haski.

  “I think that thing is Joseph,” he stated flatly.

  “What?” she asked, confused.

  “The arms. One is shorter than the other.”

  She squinted as she looked. He was right, but she didn’t know that she agreed with his logic.

  Another Hatak Haski fell under the car sized fist of the creature. That unlucky victim was the last.

  Ammonih shouldered his bow, and cautiously made his way out of the woods. Keezie thought he was being a little hasty but followed at a distance.

  The mountainous beast bellowed and stomped the earth. The force of it sent her stumbling and waving her arms wildly to keep her balance. It swung side to side looking for more hapless men to crush.

  It was not just rock, she realized, it was an amalgam of stone and earth and wood. An earthen copy of a man. Its dark eyes flashed red, illuminated by some inner fire, and reminded her of something from her college days of Dungeons and Dragons.

  Her heart pounded with flashbacks of the mantis creature mangling Eli and had to bite her lip to keep an errant sob from escaping.

  The stain growled at her perceived weakness and sent an electric burst of disapproval through her.

  She yelped. I am going to destroy you, she promised the inky thing inside her.

  “Keezie!” Ammonih’s warning was almost too late.

  Her outcry called the creatures attention to her. She had just enough time to dive out of the path of the monster’s stone paw.