Storm of Chaos

by Andy Peloquin

  The two groups had used the death of Aterallis, the man the people had called “Child of Secrets, Child of Spirits, Child of Gold” and “Hallar Reborn”, to incite the crowds to anger. Their peaceful protest at his execution had turned ugly after the Ybrazhe and Hallar’s Warriors armed angry Earaqi youths with their passion, the promise of power, and sharp steel.

  Issa didn’t know if they had acted in cohesion or on their own—at that moment, it mattered little. Nothing mattered beyond finding her Saba and Savta, hopefully alive and safe on the Defender’s Tier.

  Her steps led west, toward the towering sandstone cliff that served as Shalandra’s western border. With Death Row a seething mass of violence and bloodshed, her only hope of reaching her grandparents would be through the pathways of the Keeper’s Crypts.

  The Keeper’s Crypts served as the final resting place of all Shalandrans, from the Pharus to the lowest Mahjuri. The tombs were hallowed ground, a place reserved for the revered dead. Superstitious Shalandrans avoided the tombs—better to leave their deceased loved ones to rest in peace.

  The Gatherers, a cult of bloodthirsty death-worshippers that split off from the established priesthood of the Long Keeper, had used the tombs as a hideout. But according to Lady Callista, there had been no sign of activity after she, Hykos, and her Indomitables had raided the tombs.

  Golden sandstone cliffs loomed large in her view. The western cliff served as the city’s border, and the façade to conceal the tombs, sarcophagi, and monuments to the dead within the hollowed-out mountain beneath.

  The crowds grew thicker as she approached the Path of Sepulture, the broad avenue that ran alongside the Crypts. Angry shouts, terrified screams, and chants of “Bring on the judgement foretold!” echoed loud on all sides. Mahjuri and Kabili broke down the doors of Earaqi that had little more than they, stealing whatever they could carry and leaving weeping, broken, or dead men and women in their wake.

  Few paid Issa any heed; a single Earaqi girl meant little, not with the vast riches that lay hidden behind the neat, square walls of the homes bordering the streets. To the wretched Mahjuri and enslaved Kabili, the meager belongings of the hard-working Earaqi seemed a vast fortune.

  Dread froze the blood in Issa’s veins as she came in sight of the Keeper’s Crypt.

  No! The huge sandstone gates stood shut, barring entrance to the tombs.

  Never in her memory had that entrance been sealed. Even during the Fifty-Day Revolt, the last upheaval to scourge Shalandra’s tiers, the gates had remained open. All of the rioters had been given free access to the Crypts to lay their fallen comrades, family, and enemies to rest.

  Closing the gates made sense—the Gatherers had used the Keeper’s Crypts to hide out and to traverse the city unseen, so Lady Callista had likely done it to prevent the rioters from flooding the tombs and attacking the Defender’s Tier and Keeper’s Tier from within.

  But that left Issa trapped on the lower tiers. With the Keeper’s Crypt closed, she had no way to reach the Defender’s Tier. Her simple Earaqi clothing and red cloth headband concealed her identity as a Keeper’s Blade from the raging mob, but the embattled Indomitables would only see her as one more rioter out for their blood. The soldiers would cut her down without a second thought.

  Panic sank icy fingers into her brain and set her heart thundering. Her breath caught, her mouth going suddenly dry. Issa swallowed and struggled to stave off the instinctive fear. If she couldn’t get out of the Cultivator’s Tier, she’d never be able to find her grandparents.

  Gritting her teeth, she drew in a deep breath, then another. I’ve got to find another way!

  One hope remained to her. A face sprang to her mind—sharp-eyed, with strong features, and framed by a thick black beard and short-cropped hair.

  Killian! Her breath came easier as her mind clung to the prospect. Killian might know how I can get through. Somehow, he knows everything.

  The blacksmith had been the one to reveal the secret way into the Hall of the Beyond, the temple of the Keeper’s Priests where she had battled in the Crucible to be chosen as a Keeper’s Blade. He was far more than just a simple smith—he’d proven that daily as he taught her how to fight like a true warrior of the Long Keeper.

  Without hesitation, Issa turned her steps northward, up the Path of Sepulture toward the Artisan’s Tier. Killian’s smithy stood far to the east, beyond thick crowds of raging, violent men and women. Earaqi, Mahjuri, and Kabili rampaged through the upper tier, taking out their outrage at harsh treatment, starvation, and thirst on those that styled themselves “betters”. The turmoil on the Artisan’s Tier would be worse than anything on the lower tiers.

  Yet Issa had no choice. The lives of her grandparents hung in the balance.

  Chapter Two

  Nothing Kodyn had experienced in his seventeen years had prepared him for the murderous frenzy permeating the Temple District.

  The sun rose on a scene of fury and death. All around him, rioters attacked the temples of the thirteen gods. Warrior Priests of Derelana fought to protect the healers of the Sanctuary, while Swordsman Adepts gave their lives in defense of the black stone obelisk to the god of heroes.

  Yet it all paled compared to the violence at the Temple of Whispers. Hundreds of rioters crowded around the vault-like temple, roaring their rage and hatred at the dozen brown-robed Secret Keepers fighting to hold the doorway. Five more priests struggled to haul the massive steel door closed—their only hope of survival in the face of such a massive throng out for their blood.

  Kodyn’s eyes flashed to the group of young men in red Earaqi headbands that had secured ropes to the door’s exterior handle. Within seconds, they would wrest it from the Secret Keepers’ control and, once open, nothing would stop the mob from flooding into the Temple of Whispers.

  No way they can survive that!

  The bloodied, battered Secret Keepers had managed to repel the crowds, but Kodyn could see them tiring. Nothing would stem the tide of homicidal men and women angry at the Zadii-caste priests. Hunger, thirst, disease, and the whispers of treacherous agitators had whipped them into a frenzy. It didn’t matter that their hate was directed at the Indomitables that mistreated them, the Necroseti that lived lavishly while they suffered in misery. Their wrath had been unleashed and the rising surge of resentment, hate, and indignation would destroy everyone in their path.

  Including his friends. Briana, the Shalandran girl he’d rescued from bloodthirsty cultists in Praamis, was trapped within that temple. She had lost her father to the machinations of evil men; now, she would lose her life, too. Hailen, the young boy with the blood of the Serenii, would be crushed beside her.

  Anger surged hot and bright within Kodyn—not directed at the mindless crowd, but at the hateful minds that directed their ire at the innocent. Once again, his friends would suffer because of greed, fanatical belief, and a lust for power.

  He’d nearly lost Sid, a young Hawk apprentice he’d taken under his wing, to the Gatherers in Praamis. They had been a heartbeat away from killing the boy, his body paralyzed by poison as they carved their foul mark into his chest. Arch-Guardian Suroth, Briana’s father, had died protecting the Keeper’s Council, the very same men that had hired the assassins that cut him down. Now Briana and Hailen would die because of avaricious men grasping for power.

  I’ll be damned if I let that happen!

  But what could he do? Aisha, his Ghandian companion and fierce warrior, stood at his side, along with Evren, a fellow thief and apprentice to the Hunter of Voramis. Yet alone, the three of them couldn’t fight off the crowd. They’d be torn apart in seconds.

  The Earaqi, Mahjuri, and Kabili lashed out at the Zadii and Intaji because they were angry—angry over being starved, beaten, and mistreated their entire lives. Yet their deep-rooted hatred was aimed at those truly responsible for their misery: the Dhukari, with their opulence and greed, and the Alqati Indomitables.

  That’s it!

  “Indomitables!” Kodyn sho
uted over the roar of the crowd. “The Indomitables are attacking from the rear!” He seized a Mahjuri shoving toward the Temple of Whispers and hauled him backward. “Get to the Sanctuary, help repel the oppressors.”

  The man snarled a wordless curse, but Kodyn was already tugging on another rioter. He couldn’t stop them from attacking—his only hope lay in diverting their attention by offering them an enemy they wanted to hurt even more.

  Evren and Aisha took up the call as well, wading into the crowd and shoving, pushing, and hauling people to get their attention. Though their efforts earned glares and shouted insults, the rioters were too consumed by their uproar to notice Kodyn’s light skin. He kept moving, never stopping, rushing from person to person, dragging them back.

  “For Shalandra!” Kodyn shouted and waved his fist. “Fight the Alqati and free your families from their evil!”

  One voice echoed his call, then another, then five more. Soon, half of the crowd rushing the Temple of Whispers had begun to turn, like the prow of a great sailing ship. It was slow going, and Kodyn’s throat grew ragged from shouting, his arms and legs aching from pulling people away. Yet the mob acted like a giant herd—moving out of inertia and following those around them.

  Kodyn’s heart leapt as the press around the Temple of Whispers thinned. A hundred attackers dwindled to fifty, thirty, twenty. He kept shoving, kept shouting, Aisha and Evren beside him. One step at a time, closer and closer, until he was a mere three paces from the enormous vault door.

  A man suddenly loomed in front of Kodyn, a snarl on his face. “What are you saying?”

  Kodyn’s eyes took in the man in an instant.

  His clothing fit too poorly on his broad, muscled frame. The weapon in his hand appeared better-preserved than those wielded by the crowd. And he alone among the throng lacked the fire of unleashed passions burning in his eyes. This man had to be one of the instigators Evren had mentioned. His expression was calculating, wary, and he had singled out Kodyn as being an opposing force to his rallying of the mob.

  This was one of the men responsible for the chaos and death. This man, with the others of his ilk, had stirred up the people into a frenzied mob and unleashed them like a hurricane of flesh and blood.

  “There are no Indomitables atta—“

  With a roar of rage, Kodyn drove his fist into the man’s face. Fury lit a fire in his belly, propelled his blow with devastating force. His punch shattered teeth, burst the man’s lips, and snapped his head around. The instigator sagged, his legs wobbling, and hit the ground hard.

  Time slowed and froze. The swirling chaos and shouts of “Bring on the Final Destruction!” faded around him until nothing remained but Kodyn and the senseless man lying at his feet. Kodyn’s hands clenched; he wanted to drive his fists into the bastard’s face over and over, turn his head into a bloody mess of pulped bone and ruined flesh.

  Evren’s words in the tunnel pierced his fury. “We might have stopped Blackfinger’s Ybrazhe, but there could be more Syndicate out there stirring up the mob. Or Hallar’s Warriors. Whoever they are, they’re the ones that are causing all this trouble. They’re the ones leading this crowd.”

  Suddenly, Kodyn once more stood in the Temple District, amid a seething, raging crowd of Shalandrans out for Zadii blood. Yet through the rush of anger and the blood pounding in his ears, an idea slammed into his brain.

  He’s leading the crowd!

  Stooping, he reached for the unconscious man’s arms, but had to spring backward just in time to avoid being trampled by a knot of charging Earaqi. As he struggled against the tide of people, he scanned the crowd for any sign of his friends.

  There! They stood two steps away from him, still calling out the fake attack from the rear.

  “Evren! Aisha!” he shouted. “Help me!”

  Two pairs of eyes snapped toward him.

  The shouting of the crowd nearly drowned out his voice. “I’ve got one!”

  The two began pushing toward him, shoving through the press of people clustered in front of the Temple. Aisha reached him first.

  “Help me with him!” Kodyn said.

  Without hesitation, the Ghandian warrior bent and seized one of the man’s arms.

  Kodyn grabbed the other. “To the temple!” he shouted.

  Evren abandoned his ruse and leapt toward the last of the throng crowded around the Temple’s entrance. His fists and daggers flew, whirling, striking down the rioters from behind. He hamstrung one, slammed his pommel into the back of another’s skull, and shattered the knee of a third with a vicious kick. The one man who turned toward them earned a jab that shattered his nose. He fell to his knees, blood gushing.

  But Evren didn’t stop. He brought down the last two rioters with quick slashes of his dagger. Then they were through the crush of people and facing the Secret Keepers.

  One of the brown-robed priests lashed out at Evren, who barely managed to dodge the vicious open-handed strike aimed to crush his throat. Before the Secret Keeper could strike again, another of his fellows seized his arm and spun him around.

  “Friend!” the priest’s fingers said in the silent hand language. Kodyn recognized him as the man that had guarded the door every time they came and went.

  “Go!” Kodyn shouted. He half-hauled, half-threw the unconscious instigator through the doorway. “Evren, the ropes!”

  Evren was already moving, his daggers flying. The sharp edges sliced through the thick cords tied to the enormous vault door’s handles. The rioters hauling on the door cried out and fell back. Before they could recover, the five Secret Keepers dragged the massive steel portal closed. The rest of the brown-robed priests flooded inside the temple, just in time for the vault door to boom shut behind the last of them.

  Kodyn gasped for breath, his lungs burning, every muscle in his body on fire. Pain flared along his left side, where someone had jostled him with bruising force as he shoved his way through the throng. Yet a triumphant laugh burst from his throat.

  We made it!

  He gasped for air, leaning on his knees. “Anyone else feel like we’ve done this before?”

  Evren and Aisha both managed to laugh through their heavy breathing. All around them, Secret Keepers slumped to the floor or sagged against the walls. Many cradled broken limbs or hunched over battered ribs. Yet naked relief shone on their usually stoic, somber faces. They had come within a heartbeat of death and they knew it.

  “Thank you,” the door guard signed. “That was bloody close!”

  Kodyn nodded, too out of breath to speak.

  The steel door suddenly shuddered, and loud thumps echoed from without. The mob had returned, their rage likely inflamed as they realized their prey had duped them and escaped to safety. He cast a worried glance at the entrance.

  The door guard seemed to understand his concern. “No need to worry,” his fingers said. “There’s no way they’re getting in, even with a battering ram.”

  Kodyn shot him a wry grin. “I’ll take your word for it.”

  As he recovered, he took in the interior of the temple for the first time. The bodies of men and women lay strewn across the chamber. Most wore the brown robes of the Secret Keepers—likely wounded priests pulled back from guarding the door. Yet a few wore the ragged tunics, knee-length shendyts, and red headbands of the rampaging Earaqi.

  In that instant, the sounds of battle from deeper within the temple reached his ears. He raced toward the blank stone wall and smashed his hand onto the black gemstone. The wall slid open to reveal the dark corridor that led from the entrance chamber to Briana’s room.

  Acid surged to his throat. Five unconscious rioters lay on the floor, and three more were locked in a struggle with the single brown-robed priest that guarded the passage. Through the open doorway, Kodyn caught a glimpse of two rioters bursting into Briana’s quarters.

  Horror froze Evren in place and turned his breath to ice in his lungs. He was too late. The rioters had somehow gotten into the temple.

  O
nce again, burning anger melted his horror. The moment snapped and suddenly he could move, and he broke into a mad dash.

  “Kodyn!” Aisha shouted behind him.

  He ignored her call and raced down the corridor. The twenty paces seemed like a thousand leagues. He could only watch, helpless, as the three rioters overwhelmed the Secret Keeper. The brown-robed priest fell to the onslaught, but not before snapping one’s neck and shattering a second’s wrist. He bled out with the last man’s dagger embedded in his throat.

  Kodyn didn’t slow as he slammed into the unwounded Earaqi. His long, straight blade punched the man’s back, between his ribs, and into his heart. The man fell forward with a weak gasp.

  Suddenly, a loud humming burst from within Briana’s room, accompanied by a flash of light so brilliant it blinded Kodyn for a heartbeat. He burst into the chamber, fists swinging despite the sparks that clouded his vision.

  Yet as his eyes recovered and he drank in the scene, his hands fell limp by his side. Briana stood in the rear corner of the room, terror written on her face yet a dagger gripped firmly in her hand. In front of her, Hailen crouched in a defensive stance, his right hand outstretched before him. Fear shone in his eyes yet his jaw was set, determined.

  In his hand he held the long, cylindrical artifact he’d found in Suroth’s office. No longer black, inert stone, but its entire length gleamed a brilliant blue. Power crackled from it with such force that it staggered Kodyn.

  He nearly stumbled over the body beside him. No, bodies. The two rioters lay still, their eyes wide, faces twisted in a rictus of pain. Black scorch marks dotted their simple clothing, a dozen finger-thick holes punching clear through their chests, shoulders, and heads.

  Keeper’s teeth! Kodyn sucked in a breath as he turned back to Hailen and Briana.