Jak knew he was not the only one who felt the sword’s unnatural call. More than once he had seen Kevik in this room, staring down on the sleeping figure and the object it held. On those occasions, Kevik’s face had displayed the same mixture of curiosity and revulsion that Jak felt now.
With a bit of effort, he pulled himself away. Eager to get clear of the moaning, he set off in search of Rodrik.
Father and son were surrounded by well-wishers at the cider tables. Kevik saw Jak and immediately waved him over, even brushing a few others out of the way to make room. He and Jak had been back on better terms ever since the day of the confession, although their time together had been dramatically cut back given Kevik’s understandable preoccupation with Calla. Rodrik and her father Henrik were likewise seen together with greater frequency. Everyone was conspicuously pleased that the match was finally reaching fruition.
Jak hurried to get his message across to the two men before they were pulled back into the excited revelry. With no small relief he passed his concerns on to them, and with them his responsibility.
Rodrik listened with a frown. “I don’t understand what is wrong with the man. Perhaps a disease of some kind.” He looked earnestly at the two younger men. “You boys are meant to celebrate today. I will take care of this. Jak, thank you for bringing this to my attention.” The pat on his shoulder was an uncharacteristic display of appreciation to which Jak did not know how to respond. But he felt calmer, confident that the emergency was in better hands.
Then Rodrik smiled at Kevik. “I will see you at the wedding.” The smile on his face as he left them had never been wider.
Jak told himself how good it was that everyone was so pleased with the match. He convinced himself that he was, too—Calla was exactly what Kevik needed to get back to the man he was capable of being.
“What are those?” Kevik asked. Then laughed. “Why are you walking around with a pile of cloaks?”
Jak blushed. He had forgotten that he was carrying them. “Oh! The others are waiting for these. I’m sorry, Kevik, I need to run.”
His friend smiled, much more like the Kevik of old than the impostor of this autumn. Things would be different when he and Calla were married, Jak knew, but for the first time in a while, he could reassure himself that the new normal would be all right.
Pikkel played the pipes beautifully. A handsome, friendly youngster from one of the smaller communities in the valley, Jak never saw him without the melodious instrument. The pipes were often used as accompaniment for the fiddle or drums, but in Pikkel’s hands they functioned magnificently on their own. The boy could play a mournful dirge or frenetic jig with equal fluency, and often went from one to the other and back again, showing off his ability to control his listeners’ emotions. He entertained grandiose dreams of performing in Darleaux, the cultural center of the Empire, and Jak had no doubt the prodigy would someday achieve just that.
The quick passing of dusk brought a coldness to the air, and many of the festival’s attendees danced to keep themselves warm. Pikkel helped by playing up-tempo, his shoulders swinging about while his lips blew with deceptive ease. The laughing and shouting of the crowd blended into one continuous, contagious din. It was impossible to not feel happy with people like this, and Jak’s spirits soared on musical winds. He might have worries again on the morrow, but tonight was a time for gaiety.
“We’ll be beginning soon,” Kevik said to Jak. The two of them were dressed in their heaviest fineries—Jak’s a gift from the man beside him—and waiting with Kurtis and Rodder in the latter’s home, not far from the village center where the ceremony would occur. According to tradition, Calla would be introduced first, so there was nothing for the men to do but wait.
Jak thought Kevik looked uncharacteristically nervous. He bounced back and forth from one leg to the other, as if needing to relieve himself. The behavior was so atypical that Jak found it amusing, although he did his best to reassure his friend. “Don’t worry. You’ll do fine.”
Kevik shook his head. “It isn’t that. I thought Da would be here.”
“I’m sure he will be.”
“I hope so.”
A minute later, Kevik turned to Jak in earnest. “I’m going to go get him.”
“Are you serious? You can’t leave your own wedding.”
Kevik shrugged. “They can’t start without me, Jak.” But he took a second to consider. “Do me a favor, will you? Find Calla and Kleo. Tell them not to start for another ten minutes.”
“If you say so.”
Kevik grinned. “Don’t worry so much, Jak.” He turned to the door.
Jak sighed and explained what was happening to the other two boys. Both were so inebriated already, he doubted they heard.
He knew to find Calla in her father’s small house, and expected to see Henrik and Kleo with her, but was surprised to also find Kluber and his housethrall Riff present. The five of them made the modest home’s main room excessively cramped, especially because the skirts of Calla’s gown—a willowy dress the shade of peaches, decorated with fragrant wildflowers from the nearby woods—occupied a wide portion in the center. As her attending maiden, Kleo persistently rearranged the loose folds each time the bride turned, more than once forcefully guiding the clumsy men out of her way. As Jak came in, she flashed him a look of warning so intense that he backed into a corner of the room to deliver the message.
Her mood as radiant as her appearance, Calla greeted Jak’s arrival with a warm smile. Crowning her head was a circlet of flowers matching those on her dress, common yet beautiful—just like Calla.
She took the news that they would wait a few more minutes in stride. Nor was she perturbed by Kleo’s constant overattention. Kluber, on the other hand, was outwardly annoyed. Always an impatient young man, the irritable comments directed toward Riff increased in number and volume. They rolled off the thrall without notice, leading Jak to wonder whether the lad had already buoyed his mood with a few mugs of mead. Certainly the red blemishes that covered the hairless cheeks gleamed brighter than usual.
Between Kluber’s petulance and Kleo’s snappiness, it was a relief that Henrik’s good cheer kept things positive. Jak would have hated for Calla to get dragged down into the peevishness of others on her special day. The smiles she exchanged with her father clearly showed that was not happening. Jak knew how very close the two of them were. She had lost her mother to the flames several years earlier, but Henrik’s love had simply grown to fill the void. Once again witnessing their bond filled Jak’s heart with serenity, even as he felt a second force squeezing it painfully, like an unseen hand reaching into his chest to crush the emotion out.
“She’s taken, you fool. It’s time to look elsewhere.”
The words were softly spoken, and Jak almost did not realize they were meant for him, but he turned to see Kleo’s blue eyes peering up at him with an expression of surprising sympathy on her face. It was an unusual look for her, one that somehow made him even more uncomfortable.
He let out a nervous laugh and shook his head. “Oh, nay, I don’t think—”
“It’s stuffy in here,” Calla exclaimed. “Let’s move outside.”
“You all go,” Henrik said. “I’ll join you in a minute.” The injury from his tumble down the stairs still bothered him, and Jak knew he disliked displaying his limp to others.
A slow awkward procession began moving toward the thin wooden door Riff held open. Jak looked back at Kleo, who was still staring at him. She finally looked away with a comfortingly familiar expression of annoyance.
He watched the others file out. Of all things, his mind began comparing the relative warmth of the men’s clothing with that of the ornamentally pretty, but functionally useless, women’s dresses. Here was proof that men ran the empire. He thought of the first legend he and Calla had read, about how they were all descendants of a servile race governed by childish emotion, and had no business ruling themselves. What did that make him, a servant of a servant?
He smiled to himself as he followed the others out.
Some of the revelers were crowding around the bridal party, Kleo looking like she wanted a sword to keep some of the more oblivious amongst them from stepping on Calla’s dress. The sight was comical, and Kluber laughed as Calla admonished the other girl not to worry.
Smiling as genuinely as he had in days, Jak looked up at the sky. The moon shone brightly, nearly a full circle in its current phase. He did not understand why its shape constantly changed, but was getting used to not understanding things.
Then he stopped, and frowned. Oddly, something was beginning to obscure the luminous orb. A strange occurrence, because there were no visible clouds in the sky, nor had there been all day. Yet the moon was rapidly diminishing, as though a shroud was being pulled across it. The sight plucked an ominous chord inside his heart.
Jak glanced at those around. Smiles and laughter. No one else was watching the steady dimming of moonlight.
He looked back up. The moon was nearly gone, and now others became aware of it, too. From the corner of his eye—he did not want to look away from the moon again, riveted by what he was observing—he saw arms begin pointing up at the unexpected phenomenon.
The first familiar flushes of his recurring headache began to form, but Jak ignored them. He had a feeling they were suddenly the least of his concerns.
Just before the moon completely disappeared—forever, as far as Everdawn was concerned—he discerned movement within the cloud. It was alive.
Others must have seen it as well, for more than a few shouts erupted as a deeper darkness settled over the festivities.
Jak attempted to swallow, but his mouth had no moisture.
The music ceased, and with it the shouting. Only murmurs remained.
Please be nothing.
He continued staring up, searching for clues. For an identity as to what lurked above this fragile village. His eyes were adjusting, but not well enough. Not yet.
“What is it, Jak?” Kleo asked from beside him. Still wearing a smile, but the tension in her voice was evident. She was now unaware, or unconcerned, that the fidgeting crowd was trampling the bottom of Calla’s dress.
He shook his head. He did not know what caused the eclipse, but knew it was wrong. His eyes strained, trying to give form to his mounting fears. Whether by instinct or subconscious knowledge, he was terrified.
Then he saw it, coming from above directly toward the village. Not an it—them. Shadows in the impenetrable darkness. What had seemed one enormous amorphous thing now resolved into hundreds, if not thousands, of man-sized shapes.
At first glance, they looked like bats. Giant, twisted, misshapen bats. And they were ravenous. With shrieking fury, they began attacking the village. Shadows became reality, and celebration became nightmare.
The first few swooped down faster than his eye could follow. Before his mind could register the danger, an older woman—a face he did not know—crashed down to the dirt right in front of Jak. One of the creatures was on her back, its bobbing head biting into her shoulder, trying to get at her neck while she flailed about in an attempt to escape. Its great leather wing brushed against Jak’s leg, and he reflexively jumped back. He wanted to help, but his limbs had stopped listening to his panicked mind. Then the vicious maw found its target and her neck turned red. The struggling ceased.
Not of his village, the woman had come to Everdawn for the celebration. Instead, she had found death.
Jak gasped, and the creature heard him. Its head turned, and the bloody face—far too human-looking for a bat’s—stared back for an instant. Then it bobbed back down for another bite of its victim.
The scene was repeating itself throughout the village streets. Pandemonium reigned as the people screamed and pressed against one another, the strong pushing down the weak, parents clinging to children. Above it all, the creatures circled in dense packs, breaking off one at a time to swoop down on a selected target, knocking their prey down before feeding.
Demons. Monsters straight from childhood nightmares.
“Jak!” Kleo’s voice brought him back to his senses. He had a responsibility to her and the others, which gave him something to focus on besides the terror.
She was squeezing his forearm. He looked into her hysterical eyes, then nodded and squeezed her hand. Not far away were Calla, Kluber, and Riff.
He watched as Calla started to run—directly away from him, toward the open streets. But there were people standing on the skirts of her dress, and instead of fleeing she lost her balance and tumbled to the ground. Another man tumbled beside her, and she tried to pull her dress out from under his unmoving body as his blood began to stain it. The fabric soaked with thick red liquid as quickly as a sponge.
Then Jak was beside her, ripping the gown apart at the skirt. “Hurry!” she admonished him, and he nodded and tore again. There were several layers to get through, and he cursed the foolishness of its design, which was going to get them both killed.
Then she was free, and he yanked her to her feet. He saw Kleo beside them, and with one in each hand he pulled the two back toward the house.
The door flew open. Henrik rushed out, straight toward them, and helped Jak get everyone inside. As soon as Riff passed through the portal, Henrik slammed the thin door shut. A moment later, a loud thump pounded against it.
“Open it!” Kleo cried. “Someone wants in!”
Henrik shook his head vehemently. “Not someone. Something.”
A second slam and the wood visibly moved. Jak threw himself against the door, using his back to provide what little extra support he could. Henrik pressed with both hands, and Riff joined them. Jak stared at Kluber, whose mouth alternated between gaping open and closing to swallow nervously. Jak wanted to yell at him to help, but thralls did not yell at masters for fear of punishment. He concentrated instead on putting all his weight against the single inch shielding them from destruction.
The next slam shook Jak hard enough to lose his balance. He tumbled to the floor, biting his tongue as his jaw hit the hardwood, but scrambled back up to press his shoulder against the door from the height of Henrik’s knees. He closed his eyes and waited for the next blow, not letting up until Henrik finally stepped back. “I think it found easier prey. For now.”
Jak realized he was holding his breath. They were safe for the moment—but, if anything, he felt worse now that he had time to think. They were all going to die, that much was clear. He and everyone he ever knew and loved. And without quite understanding why, Jak knew it was somehow his fault.
He forced himself to take a new breath, then another.
“Are we safe?” Kluber asked.
Henrik snorted. Jak looked at Riff, who met his eyes. There was panic there, Jak could see. But not incapacitating. The boy would follow directions, at least.
“Are we safe?” Kluber repeated.
“Hush,” Kleo snapped. “Jak, what are we going to do?”
“We can’t stay here,” Henrik said. “That much is clear.”
Jak nodded, but Kluber disagreed. “Why not? The door held.”
Jak scanned the room. There were two small windows covered by thin curtains, blowing in gentle motions with each slight breeze. He went to the nearest and used one finger to create a tiny gap through which to look out. Refusing to let his mind dwell on the atrocities all about, he focused instead on any hint of a chance to flee.
“What about the Archives?” he asked aloud. It was one of the few buildings in Everdawn with a basement, and was located right across the street.
“Much better than here,” Henrik said.
Thank Theus the historian is with us. His presence took a lot of the pressure off Jak, so long as they could share the responsibility of decisions.
Getting into the basement was the best of many bad options. There would be only one way in or out. And the room already had a stockpile of lanterns and oil. There they could get through the night.
And then what? Daylight i
n this season was so weak and brief it hardly deserved the name. Could they rely on it to chase the demons away?
But anything was better than waiting in this house for the inevitable. “Everyone get ready to run when I give the word.”
“Do we have to?” Calla asked. They were all upset, but she was visibly the most distressed, her emotions having been hit the hardest. She had gone from expecting to marry to expecting to die in the span of a few terrible minutes.
“Aye,” her father said sternly, going to his daughter and taking her hand. She nodded, then sank her head into his chest, and his arm enveloped her. The quivering stopped, and Jak was even more thankful for his presence.
Jak looked then at Kleo, who was staring back. “Do we?” she asked in a much weaker voice, her tone indicating that she knew the answer. He nodded.
“Nay!” Kluber said. “We don’t.” He stepped forward and took Kleo’s hand. “Let them get eaten. We’re staying right here.”
Jak had a responsibility. He stood, overtaken by a powerful calmness, and approached the two of them. Kluber watched angrily, then opened his mouth to speak. Jak threw a fist violently into the other boy’s gut, and Kluber’s mouth closed as he doubled over. It was difficult to speak while fighting for breath, which was why Jak had done it. He wanted them listening, not talking.
He spoke down to the older boy, the disparity between their classes no longer seeming to matter. “You can kill yourself staying here if you want, but you will not kill her, too.”
Kluber put a hand to the floor to steady himself, struggling to find his breath. Jak did not like himself for what he had done, but the blow seemed to have settled the argument. No doubt it would haunt him later, but for the moment he was concerned with there being a later.
“Look,” Riff said, and Jak noticed that the other thrall had taken his place peering out the window. They switched places again, and Jak prepared his mind for the worst as he moved the curtain a finger’s width. He saw a strong glow of light on the outskirts of the village, its perimeter reaching nearly to the center, where the boarded platform for the wedding ceremony stood unused. The source of the light was outside Jak’s field of view, but he saw that it was stationary. They would have to go to it. The good news was that the demons avoided the light, which hinted at the promise of refuge.
Empire Asunder BoxSet Page 22
