Hykos and Issa were Keeper’s Blades, trusted by Lady Callista Vinaus herself. If they brought word of the Gatherer’s location, they could muster a swarm of Indomitables and Keeper’s Blades to descend upon the Crypts. The Gatherers would be eliminated once and for all and Briana would no longer have to worry about her safety. She could focus on uncovering the secrets in her father’s journal—and helping Aisha find a way to control her powers and diminish the negative effects of the Whispering Lily. Kodyn would be free to work with Evren to get into the Vault of Ancients and steal the relics. The threat against their lives could end here, tonight.
Aisha was about to turn and slip back the way she’d come when she caught sight of movement within the Crypts, just north of her position. She froze, eyes locked onto the shadows.
A moment later, a dark figure emerged from between a pair of tall headstones. He was a shabby-looking man, shifty-eyed, with the slim build and nervous wariness of a thief. An Ybrazhe thief.
The nearest Gatherers reacted with alacrity, leaping to their feet and reaching for weapons.
“It’s me!” came the cry, and the man held up empty hands. “I’ve a message from Annat.”
Ice ran down Aisha’s spine. Message?
The Gatherers, seeming to recognize the man, relaxed their posture and released their grip on their blades. With visible relief, the little thief hurried forward and delivered his message in a low voice.
Aisha was too far away to overhear his words, but she feared she could guess its contents. Their suspicion that the Ybrazhe was working with the Gatherers had proven true. Evren had spotted someone watching the house. If it had been the Syndicate, the thief was now telling the Gatherers where to find Briana.
But why? Chaos whirled in her mind. Why would they want Briana now that her father’s dead? It didn’t make sense, but right now, she couldn’t worry about that. She had to get back to the house and warn the others.
Silent as a leopard stalking its prey, she spun away from the Gatherers and turned east, intending to cut back through the tombs until she reached the road that led her up to the Artisan’s Tier.
Yet she hadn’t taken two steps when she was confronted by a solid wall of blue-white light. Hundreds of spirits—men, women, children, old and young—clustered in front of her. She stopped in her tracks, unwilling to pass through the barrier for fear that they would all absorb into her. Already, she struggled to retain control over the three Kish’aa within her. Against such a throng, she would be helpless, her body jerked around like a marionette on a string.
But she couldn’t retreat; the only avenue of escape was west, straight into the heart of the Gatherers. The direction the spirits of the dead wanted her to go.
Vengeance! A hundred throats cried out in her mind. Vengeance!
Justice! Hundreds more echoed, a silent chant that only she could hear. Justice!
The force of those cries staggered Aisha. Her head felt ready to explode from the humming, which grew louder as the spirits drew closer.
You want vengeance? She shouted silently, trying to push back against the pressure mounting within her skull. Your only hope is to let me pass!
Vengeance! Eldesse and Osirath’s twin sparks sizzled up her arms, like burning trails of fire through her veins. Once again, images and sensations flooded her mind unbidden.
Sharp pain, cold steel, driven into the base of Osirath’s spine. Hard stone beneath his face, tears streaming from his eyes as he watched the Gatherers open Eldesse’s throat in front of him.
Horror, anguish, loss—emotions that tore through Eldesse just as the Gatherers’ blade punched through her husband’s back, beneath his armor. Her mouth, opened to scream, suddenly covered by a strong, unyielding hand. A quick flash of pain across her throat, and she joined her husband on the floor.
Hands reaching for each other, fingers intertwining as darkness and silence claimed them.
Aisha gasped, struggling for breath just as Eldesse had. Her legs wobbled, weak, as if her spine had been severed by the Gatherer’s dagger and she collapsed to the hard stone. She felt every twinge of pain, every twisting emotion that roiled through husband and wife as they died, eyes locked on each other.
She needed vengeance against the ones that had killed her. No, not her—them, Eldesse and Osirath. She felt that driving ache to avenge them. In that moment, she couldn’t tell where her thoughts ended and those of the spirits began. Everything was a jumble, a distorted mess, and it seemed her mind hung between reality and the realm of the dead.
I can’t! She tried to wield logic to drive back the upswell of emotions. There are too many. If I go, I will die, and there will be no one left to hear you.
Energy crackled through her arms up to her palms. Tears blurred her vision as she stared down at her hands. Sparks danced between her fingers, bright, hot, and with a burning intensity that set every nerve in her limbs ablaze.
Vengeance! Eldesse and Osirath, their voices accompanied by hundreds more. All their fear, hatred, sorrow, and anger was directed at the Gatherers behind her, the ones responsible for their deaths. Those feelings slammed into her with skull-shattering force, augmented and sharpened to crystal clarity by the Whispering Lily.
Aisha feared she’d drown beneath the torrent of whispering voices. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t so much as summon the energy to climb to her feet. The Kish’aa pressed in around her, eyes pleading, mouths begging to be avenged, ethereal hands reaching for her.
No! Aisha sucked in a ragged breath. Had she truly been drowning, she would have swum with every shred of her strength. Had she faced an enemy as implacable as the spirits around her, she would have fought until her arms gave out, her spear shattered, and her blood stained the floor.
She forced herself up to her knees, gritting her teeth. You want vengeance? She shouted silently at the spirits. You wish justice for your deaths?
Hundreds of ghostly eyes turned toward her, empty yet shining with that strange blue-white light. Their mouths opened in a silent, whispering scream in her mind.
YES!
Then you will have it, she roared in her mind, but my way!
The spirits retreated and suddenly Aisha could breathe, could control her limbs. She stood, shaky but unwavering.
I am Umoyahlebe, and I answer the call of the dead. She raised her clenched fists high. But I do not serve you. You will serve me!
Aisha focused on the twin sparks of Eldesse and Osirath sizzling up and down her arms. She imagined herself seizing the glowing embers in her fists, stopping them, then pushing them down toward her fingertips. Her breath came in ragged gasps, sweat streaming down her face, but she could feel the energy responding to her will. It heeded her commands, slipping from her biceps to her forearms, her wrists, her palms, and finally her fingers.
She stared down at her hands, watching the sparks dancing between her fingertips. The blue-white light obeyed her will—the will of a Spirit Whisperer.
Triumph surged within her, and she turned her eyes on the wall of Kish’aa. If you would have vengeance, give me your power, and I will seek out the guilty. You will be avenged through me!
For a moment, nothing happened. The spirits remained unmoving, their empty eyes fixed on her. Then one seemed to shimmer, as if blown on a summer zephyr, drifting toward her slowly. A woman, grey-haired, her skin covered by the strange blue blisters, her head twisted at a terrible angle. As her spirit flowed and merged with Aisha, an image slammed into Aisha’s mind: starving, in agony, yet struggling with every shred of defiance as strong hands closed around her neck. Hands that bore the tattooed mark of the Gatherers.
Another spirit floated forward, then another, and still more. Five, ten, twenty, each bringing their own memory of death. Some had succumbed to illness, like Thimara, yet their cries for vengeance echoed with no less intensity than those murdered by men and women bearing the mark of the death-worshipping cult. Aisha couldn’t understand each of them—many of their deaths seemed senseless, unconne
cted to the Gatherers in any way she could discern—but their enmity for the cultists burned as hot and bright as Eldesse and Osirath.
Energy sizzled within her hands, and it took all her concentration to keep the power from surging through every fiber of her being. Finally, she felt as if her skin would burst into flames from the crackling force of the spirits she had absorbed.
Enough! She staggered back, her clenched fists lowering to her sides. You will have your vengeance.
For a moment, she feared the Kish’aa would ignore her command. She couldn’t take any more—already, too much power crackled through her body.
Yet the wall of spirits made no move toward her. They fixed determined eyes on her, and their voices echoed in her mind one last time.
Vengeance!
Slowly, like mist carried away by a morning breeze, they dispersed until Aisha stood alone in the Keeper’s Crypts.
No, not alone. Within the core of her being, she could feel the dozens of spirits she had absorbed. Feel their emotions, their burning desire for vengeance. The dead would have what they desired.
She whirled back toward the Gatherers’ camp, but stopped as she caught sight of figures moving through the tombstones up the hill. To any mortal eyes, they would be invisible in their black cloaks, but the blue-white light of the Kish’aa outlined them clearly for her to see. They were too far away for her to get an accurate count, but they had nearly reached the level of the Artisan’s Tier and the way out of the Keeper’s Crypts.
Briana and Kodyn!
Her mind raced. She had no idea how long she had been trapped in her discourse with the dead, but somehow the Gatherers had mobilized and gotten a head start on her. She had to get back to warn the others.
The spirits protested as she turned eastward, away from the huddled Gatherers, but Aisha gritted her teeth against the pull on her limbs. We do it my way! she growled silently. That means protecting my friends from the ones who killed you.
After a moment of struggle, the tension suddenly snapped and she could move freely once more. Her eyes sought the Gatherers up the hill but they had moved beyond her line of sight.
Fear gripped her stomach. She had to get to her friends in time to warn them of the danger.
Please, let me be in time!
The thought rang in her head as she staggered upright and stumbled forward on numb legs. Her feet were leaden, her muscles suddenly drained, yet she pushed on. She would fight on until her last breath.
She scanned the Crypts for any sign of an Indomitable patrol to send after the Gatherers or bring word to Briana. But the Crypts stood empty, silent, the darkness broken only by the blue-white glow of the Kish’aa and the myriad of solemn stone faces watching the shadows.
Aisha’s stumbling gait quickened to walk, then a jog, then finally a full-on run. Faster and faster, her strides lengthening under her long legs ate up the ground. She released her grip on a fraction of the fire crackling within her and allowed it to flow through her body. A gasp burst from her lips as energy coursed in her veins, a surge of lightning that set every muscle in her body ablaze and burned away all traces of exhaustion.
Suddenly, she could run free and unencumbered by such mortal things as fatigue. The power of the Kish’aa flowed through her. She had answered the call of the spirits and this was how they kept their end of the bargain.
She fairly flew up the steep incline toward the Artisan’s Tier. Yet even as she raced out of the Keeper’s Crypt and down the Artificer’s Courseway, she knew she’d never overtake the Gatherers before they reached Briana. She had to hope Kodyn and the others could hold out until she reached them.
Energy crackled through her as she raced past the Sanctuary. The spirits of the dead cried out to her but she ran on, ignoring their pleas. She could take no more power—already, she felt as if she would burn alive from the inside out—yet there was no denying the breathtaking might that coursed through her.
Her gut clenched as she saw the figures locked in furious combat around the house. Dozens of shadowy figures fought in the streets, a swirling mass of glinting blades and swirling cloaks.
A savage war cry burst from her lips as she drew her assegai spear and charged the nearest enemy.
The Gatherer turned toward her, stunned, and managed a half-hearted swipe of his sword. Aisha danced out of the path of his blow and drove the head of her short-handled spear into his gut. The power of the Kish’aa drove her arm forward hard enough to punch through his leather armor and the flesh beneath. Blood and bile spilled onto the cobblestones as she ripped the assegai free and spun toward her next enemy.
Two more Gatherers charged her, and suddenly the spirits within her flared to life of their own accord. Aisha thrust out her hands as she had in Briana’s bedroom and ten blue-white sparks shot out of her fingers. The lights leapt through the darkness and flew straight toward the men. Aisha’s jaw dropped as the two Gatherers hurtled through the air, slamming into the side of Briana’s house. Bone crunched and the smell of burning flesh filled the night as the dead had their vengeance upon their killers.
Hands seized her from behind, and Aisha whirled, her fist lashing out. The man screamed as his flesh sizzled and he was hurled backward like a ragdoll in a tornado.
Dagger in her left hand, assegai in her right, she danced through the Gatherers, a whirlwind of spinning blades and striking wood. Two more cultists fell in seconds, and she found herself fighting beside Archateros Hykos and his enormous sword. A sword that now bore a blue-white glow of those he had killed, a glow only she could see.
Aisha’s eyes followed the swinging blade, mesmerized. It seemed to strike with more force than regular steel, each blow backed by the power of the spirits clinging to its length. Just like her attacks. Somehow, the swords could actually absorb and use the power of the Kish’aa.
“Look out!” Hykos shouted, and leapt toward Aisha. The flame-shaped blade passed a finger’s breath from her side, almost close enough to slice her clothing. Energy danced between her skin and the sword’s surface like burning cinders kicked up by a breeze.
A quiet “Hurrrgh” sounded behind her, accompanied by a weak cough and a clatter of steel on stone. She whipped around and came face to face with a Gatherer. His face was twisted into a mask of pain, his fanatical expression marred by the blood trickling from his mouth. His hands clutched at the black blade of Hykos’ sword buried in his chest. The sword gave a quiet hiss as Hykos pulled it free. The Gatherer fell back without a sound, mouth agape and eyes fixed on the sky.
“Thank you,” Aisha told the Blade.
For answer, Hykos saluted with his sword and turned to continue fighting. Aisha took in the battle scene at a glance. She followed Kodyn as he dashed toward the door, broke through the Gatherers, and turned to take up defensive position beside Rothin. Her eyes snapped toward Issa and the others beside her. The two Blades—two?—and the Indomitable patrol had managed to drive a group of fifteen Gatherers away from the house and were now locked in a furious combat. The cultists fought with zeal and the ferocity of madmen, but they faced opponents in heavy armor and wielding longer swords. They had the situation under control.
Aisha almost turned back toward the door to go help Kodyn, but caught a hint of movement in the corner of her eye. One of the Gatherers had broken off from the pack or hung back, and now slipped through the shadows in an attempt to escape. Yet one obstacle barred his path to freedom: Issa, fighting two Gatherers a few steps in front of her patrol.
Moonlight glimmered on a short sword, and Aisha watched as the cultist raised his sword to attack. Issa was so focused on the enemies in front of her that she failed to see the one coming at her from the side.
Aisha’s right arm moved of its own accord, driven by the power of the spirits still within her. She whipped her spear up, back, and forward, her fingers releasing it at the perfect point, as she’d trained to do a thousand times. The short-handled spear lacked the heft and balance of the buffalo spears used by Ghandian hunter
s, but it flew straight and true. Blue-white energy crackled along its length as the last of the Kish’aa sought vengeance for their deaths. The forearm-length blade buried into the man’s side and the force of the throw hurled him away from Issa. He collapsed, gasping for air as blood gushed from his sliced lungs. Yet he could not cry out—smoke rose from his mouth as the sizzling, crackling energy burned him alive.
Issa finished off her two enemies with a powerful horizontal chop that severed a head and carved through ribs. Even as she kicked the dying Gatherers off her blade, she glanced to the side and down at the dying man. Her head snapped up, eyes locking on Aisha.
Aisha gave her a smile and a nod. “You’re welcome!” she called over the clash of blades.
She had no time to see Issa’s response, for a cry from Kodyn brought her head whipping around toward the door. The young Praamian stood defiant in the entrance to the house, his swords flashing, yet Aisha could see that he was about to be overwhelmed by the three Gatherers attacking him. One actually looked ready to rush in and throw himself on Kodyn’s blades to make way for the others.
Aisha took that one down first. She crossed the distance to the Gatherers in three steps and drove her dagger into the man’s back. The blade slipped along the right side of the Gatherer’s spine, tearing a gaping hole in the large vein near his kidney. A weak gasp and a grunt of pain escaped the man’s lips even as blood gushed from the wound. Aisha spun, twisting her body and bending the man backward over her knee. The Gatherer fell to the street, his head striking stones with a dull crunch. He didn’t get back up.
The last two Gatherers died moments later. Kodyn’s sword took one in the chest, and Hykos brought his huge two-handed blade around in a powerful blow that chopped through skin, muscle, organs, and spine. They flopped to the ground, their arms thrashing, bleeding out in a matter of seconds.
A final clash of steel on steel rang out on the street, accompanied by a wet thud of a blade striking home. Issa snarled as she ripped her flammard free of the Gatherer’s chest. Even as the man sagged, the Keeper’s Blade hurried toward them.
Crucible of Fortune: An Epic Fantasy Young Adult Adventure (Heirs of Destiny Book 2) Page 31
