by Troy Clem
Other Sigandar in the crowd began cutting themselves and—handfuls at a time, every few seconds, overlapping like a chorus singing in the round—the entire clan let out their war cries, collapsed, and leached their blood onto the ground. In unison, the handful of birds shot up out of sight above the canopy. After the entire clan had collapsed—and not until the last Sigandar hit the ground—purple fire erupted from the forest floor throughout the clearing, engulfing the entire clan. The flames were only a dozen yards away from Theo, Dak and Nagima at the closest point, and they could feel the warmth—but it was not as hot as one would expect for how close they were to the fire. The tips of the purple flames reached—and even appeared to pass through—the canopy, but the trees were unaffected by the fire. The clan rose from the ground one by one, with red bloodfire flames falling from their open wounds and mixing with the purple groundfire.
“Sisters and brothers,” Onqul announced, and the entire clan turned toward her with reverence. “Suffering we end forever. Crumble to the ground will the fortress, today!” She gave her loudest war cry yet, and the clan screamed to the sky with her. Their birds returned to them through the canopy, each one bursting into a vibrant purple phoenix as it entered the clearing. Blood and fire swirling around them, the clan ran from the clearing with weapons held above their heads
“For the cut-through they are heading,” Nagima said. She could feel Theo relax as the clan left, and she let go of his mouth. “Forever their power lasts not.”
As soon as the last of the clan had left the clearing, the purple flames died out and Theo’s heart returned to its normal resting rate. “They were feeling such powerful emotions,” Theo said, still held by Dak. “Such pain. Pain that I caused. I just couldn’t help but be drawn to them.”
“Death of us all you will be,” said Dak, practically pushing Theo away.
“Control himself Theo will,” Nagima said to Dak. She looked Theo deep in the eyes. “He must,” she said, not looking away until she felt Theo understood the importance of her words. She gave a quick nod, then turned back to Dak. “Trust in him as the Mother has.”
“Away from here either way we must be,” said Dak. “Out for blood Onqul is. Risk much to evoke powerful magics she has. Believe not I am saying this, but up the spine we must travel.”
“How will you manage?” Theo asked.
“For yourself you should be worried,” Dak replied.
“I’m just concerned—”
“We’re not friends, Theo,” said Dak. “I have enough reasons to fear for my life; don’t add to them.”
Blood and Fire
It was dark and Tess was cramped, huddling in the protective cocoon of Emmen’s magic cloak. She moved around and found she was most comfortable on her hands and knees. Her fingers felt where the cloak met the ground and she curiously slipped the tips out but immediately pulled them back. She was looking for anything to keep herself from thinking of Pasqual. “Ow,” she said, putting her fingers in her mouth to cool them quickly.
“Is the fire still raging?” asked Emmen.
“I only put my fingers out there,” said Tess. “I’m not riskin’ anythin’ else after that.”
Emmen opened the cloak that he’d been tightly gripping, just enough to push his head out to the bridge of his nose. When he pulled his head back in, his rich umber skin was flush, and sweat had already formed on his brow. “Take a deep breath and hold it,” he said as the cloak’s perfect temperature returned his normal complexion.
“Why?” Tess asked.
“The fuel that feeds the fire is the same that fuels us, so get as much as you can” Emmen said. “You will be without it for a moment.” Tess inhaled. Emmen whipped the cloak off, and, as it swirled around them, the flames in their immediate area extinguished—but the flames just outside their safe zone grew in size, strength, and heat.
Tess could feel her skin burning like she had spent all day in the summer sun. It was what Tess imagined the inside of an oven would be like. Sweat formed instantly all over her body. Emmen grabbed Tess’s arm and they walked forward. Their safe zone moved with them as they walked down the crumbling steps and out of the fire.
“You can breathe,” Emmen said once they were a few feet away from the flames.
Tess took a breath of relief and turned around to survey the hellscape she’d just escaped from. The roof of the wood stand that had so decadently provided them with shade was creaking and groaning, and then suddenly collapsed, tossing hot embers into the air and making the flames that engulfed the structure rage up twice as tall temporarily. An ember bounced off Tess’s cheek and singed her skin. She winced, but didn’t cry. The thought of crying made her think of Pasqual and all the arrow-pierced citizens piled on the ground around them.
Emmen pulled Tess’s arm. “This way, lass,” he said, using her for balance. “Stay close and let my cloak protect you.”
“We gotta look for Squally,” Tess said, looking around. “‘E’s gotta be close.”
Emmen kept hold of Tess’s arm. “We have to move quickly. I must get you to safety.”
Tess kept scanning around for her cousin as Emmen tugged on her arm. “A’wright,” Tess snapped. “We’ll just leave ‘im ‘ere!” A tear came out despite her best efforts.
While bodies were everywhere, the gaps between the now on-fire wooden stands—where spectators had funneled in to watch the contest—were completely blocked by massive heaps of corpses. Piled in front of Tess alone were dozens of people at least, killed by arrows as they tried to escape the arena—each one adding to the height as they attempted to climb over the fallen, making the journey harder for the next. Emmen started to remove his coat.
“What’re ya doin’?” asked Tess.
“I won’t have the strength to climb this mountain,” replied Emmen. “But you can make it, lass.”
“If I’m climbin’ a mountain of dead people I’m not doin’ it alone.”
“Don’t be foolish—”
“Don’t pretend I’m the one actin’ foolish when you’re just makin’ excuses ta die. No one else dies today, a’wright?”
Emmen stopped removing his cloak. Tess was piercing through him with her stare. “Alright, lass,” Emmen acquiesced. “Help me up.”
Tess climbed up a few feet and let down her hand. Emmen grabbed her outstretched arm and managed to find a foothold. They moved up a few feet at a time, trying not to think about what they were gripping. When they got to the top it felt as victorious as climbing any mountain, allowing them to forget the brutality of their situation for a fleeting second. They surveyed the field of death in front of them, the dread immediately returning.
The several hundred feet of field between them and the closed fortress doors was full of at least as many bodies as all the piles between the stands, but spread out across the acres of land. Bodies of warriors in red leather and soldiers in silver armor were sprinkled between thousands of innocent residents who’d lost their lives trying to flee the chaos.
Tess tried to help Emmen down the mountain of death but it was harder than the climb up. As the late-day sun baked the field, the awful smell of blood and guts filled the air and penetrated their noses. Emmen slipped and pulled Tess down with him. They slid all the way down the morbid mountain, and tumbled over each other at the bottom.
“I”m going to need a rest, lass. Go on without me and I’ll make my way in a bit.”
“No way old man,” Tess replied. “Get yer ass up and walk. I’m not leavin’ anyone else out ‘ere.” Again, her thoughts flashed to Pasqual and she had to shake off her sadness. “Come on,” she said pulling Emmen up.
Tess was holding Emmen’s arm and pulling him toward the fortress. Emmen stumbled as he struggled to keep up the pace, but he let Tess lead and tried his best. As they got closer to the doors, wooden shutters high above—disguised in the rock face of the mountain—swung open and cannon barrels crept out, firing at Tess and Emmen.
“They must think we’re Sigandar,”
said Emmen.
“Oh yeah, what made ya think that?” mocked Tess. “Tell me this cloak can ‘andle those?” She tucked in close to Emmen and pulled the cloak around both of them as best she could while still tugging him along.
“I’ve never been in a situation to find out,” replied Emmen. “I’d prefer not to know for sure.”
They could only move as fast as Emmen’s laggard pace, but the cannons were poorly aimed and reloading slowly. They closed in on the sealed doors, hoping the soldiers might realize they were not Sigandar foes and open up. But the doors stayed closed and more cannons materialized to join the second barrage of fire, one ball missing them by only a few feet. Yet more cannons popped out of more semi-hidden windows and fired for a third barrage—reminding Tess of a flock of birds taking to the sky together. Emmen stopped to raise the cloak over them, but Tess kept running and they both fell to the ground, tangled in the cloak. The cannonballs flew well over their heads, drawing Emmen’s eyes back, finally revealing their true target—dozens of Sigandar warriors sprinting up behind them. “Run, lass,” Emmen said with a sad smile. “Don’t wait up for me. It’s time to listen now.”
The warriors had blood dripping from their eyes and from deep cuts all over their arms. As the the blood fell away from their bodies, it turned to fire in the air. She got up and grabbed Emmen’s arm. “Come on,” she said. “Ya can pick it up.” She pulled Emmen up and dragged him into a run, but the Sigandar were gaining and Emmen was struggling. They heard the bang of a musket from behind them, startling Emmen and causing him to trip. Tess couldn’t hold on, and he fell to the ground. She stopped to help him. “We can make it old man. Yer not gonna die today!”
Another musket shot boomed, followed immediately by another, and another, and another. Tess turned back and saw six Royal Guard soldiers at the tree line beyond the Sigandar, firing at the invaders. Some men had armor with no helmets and others had no armor at all, but all of them looked filthy and exhausted. Five more haggard soldiers ran out from the tree line, took a kneeling position, and fired another round on the invading warriors. The soldiers at the tree line reloaded their muskets, ran forward past those kneeling, took aim, and fired another round. Tess pulled Emmen to his feet, and they kept moving to the doors.
The doors opened as they got close—as if to let them in—but a steady flow of Royal Guard, some on horses, poured out toward Tess and Emmen. “Get down!” Emmen said urgently, pulling the cloak over himself and Tess. They had very little time to react, and hit the ground hard. The guards and their horses trampled right over them. Tess felt the feet of the soldiers and hoofs of the horses softly on her back. The cloak kept her free from damage, but it was as if it was losing some of its rigidity.
When Tess emerged from the cloak, there was a battle all around. Fiery fist collided with metal armor. Bayonets sliced open wounds that dripped bloodfire. Emmen took his cloak off and put it on Tess. The cloak had nearly touched the ground when on Emmen, but, despite Tess being shorter than the old mage, it somehow fit her perfectly, still hanging the same half-inch from the ground as it did while Emmen was wearing it. Emmen reached inside the cloak after it was on Tess and pulled out several small corked glass bottles from a hidden pocket.
“This thing ‘as pockets?” Tess exclaimed. “What else is in ‘ere?” She reached into the same hidden pocket and examined one of the same small bottles Emmen had produced. Inside the bottle was a tiny corked glass vial of purple liquid floating in a clear gelatinous goop.
“This cloak is full of secrets,” Emmen replied. He aimed one of the corked bottles toward a group of Sigandar and threw it. “Now, run to the door.” Emmen snatched the bottle that Tess held in her hand. “I’ll give you all the help I can.”
The bottle only made it halfway to the warriors: Emmen had the arm strength one would expect of an old librarian. When the bottle hit the ground the vial inside shattered along with the bottle, and the two liquids mixed. The mixture sprayed far, and even though only a few drops hit the Sigandar, the liquid bubbled on their skin and melted their flesh and muscle to the bone in an instant. Their wails of pain only lasted a moment before they expired. The concoction continued to eat them away until they became nothing more than a puddle of purple ooze soaking into the ground. The grass and dirt melted a few inches down, but the liquid stopped bubbling after only a few catastrophic seconds, leaving a small purple-stained crater.
Tess was stunned, frozen in place by the sheer gruesomeness and incredible power of what she was seeing; looking at the purple craters it didn’t seem possible that those were people just seconds before.
Emmen threw another bottle, but it didn't get far either. The second bottle shattered and splattered the armor of several Royal Guard soldiers who were unfortunate enough to be between Emmen and his intended Sigandar targets. The guards had seen the fate of the Sigandar warriors near them, and immediately threw their armor to the ground. It took longer for the metal to be consumed, but the liquid was indiscriminate and unrelenting in its few seconds of volatile reaction.
“Ya carry that around with ya?” Tess stared at Emmen.
“The two liquids are harmless on their own,” Emmen countered.
“Not really the point,” Tess said. “We sure there ain’t anymore in this cloak?”
“Get moving to those doors, lass.”
“We stay together.”
The Sigandar were closing in and Emmen’s hands were shaking. He held his last bottle. “Let me do this,” he said.
“Stop tryin’ ta sacrifice yerself!” exasperated Tess as she snatched the bottle from Emmen’s frail grip. She waited for the right moment and threw the bottle just as the Sigandar warriors were seconds away from pummeling them with bloodfire fists. Some of the warriors realized what was happening and tried to retreat, but they just collided with the clueless warriors continuing forward behind them.
Tess whipped the cloak around to cover Emmen and herself. The bottle hit the ground, and the mixing liquid spread in every direction. It covered the Sigandar warriors and splattered all over the brown cloak, but Emmen and Tess remained protected underneath. The mixture bubbled on the enchanted cloth, making small holes, but didn’t destroy the garment entirely. The reaction was stifled by the cloak’s power, but in the end it was tattered and would probably never deflect an arrow again.
Faint Heartbeat
As the ground became rockier, the trees became more scarce. The small weeds that grew in the loose soil near the path were easily displaced as Nagima, Theo, and Dak tramped up the mountain. While Theo slipped constantly, and Nagima lost her balance a few times, Dak never looked uncomfortable or out of control. Their trail went up and down many hills. The incline on some was terrifyingly steep, while others were mild—but when they reached the top of a comparatively small hill, they descended into the deepest valley yet, and the grade of the descent was much steeper than it had appeared. Theo slipped on a large patch of loose gravel and Nagima instinctively tried to catch him, but there was no stopping his momentum. They both tumbled down.
Theo hit something hard at the bottom of the hill and yelped in pain, grabbing his elbow.
Dak skidded down after them in a controlled slide. “Everyone alright?” he asked, suavely stopping in front of them like a coach driver gently pulling on the reins of a well-trained horse.
Nagima had a few visible cuts and scratches on her cheek and forearm. “Fine I am. Superficial cuts are these.”
Theo grimaced. “My elbow is throbbing.” A large splinter was sticking out of his bleeding arm. Nagima grabbed the shard and swiftly pulled it out. Theo screamed, a guttural and extended aaaahhhhhhh escaping his lips.
“Treat this I can,” Nagima said, discarding the splinter and taking a green root from inside her cloak. She snapped the root; inside was a sticky orange sap that she rubbed onto Theo’s wound. It had a foul odor which made Theo wince and pull back.
Nagima grabbed Theo’s hair and pulled him forward. “Fidget you will not.” Sh
e took a large green leaf from her cloak and pressed it to Theo’s arm, covering the wound. It stuck easily to the orange sap.
Theo looked down at the wooden box into which he had collided. It seemed to have been partially dug out of the ground, opened, and emptied. “What is this?” He looked around and saw dozens more scattered along the valley floor. “They’re abundant.”
“Sigandar crates,” Dak answered. “Recognize them I can: enough I have made.”
“Keep moving we should,” Nagima said.
“Worried about this we should be,” Dak replied. “Onqul through here has been.”
“Moved past here Onqul has, we already know for certain,” said Nagima. “Seen her we have. Move forward we will.”
“Certain I am not,” Dak replied. “Over the hill she could have sent someone. Trapping us in this valley could be their plan. Dead we likely already are.”
“Happening just as it is all meant to, Dak,” said Nagima. “Planned exactly it was by the Mother.” Nagima put her hand on Dak’s shoulder, concern bending her eyebrows. “Question the Mother you usually do not.”
Dak pulled away. “Dead is the Mother,” he said with the solemn, quiet disappointment of an adult child who’s just lost a parent. “But question Her I do not. Question your interpretation of Her I do. An excuse you have made of the Mother for whatever you wish to do.”
“Onqul’s crusade you may join anytime you wish,” said Nagima, her concern turning to bitterness.
“Shown these visions only to you She has. Not to Onqul or Jaina or anyone else.” Dak asserted. “Similar visions even Danaje did not have.”
