Storm

by Lauren L. Garcia

  What were they doing here? Beacon and Rook were supposed to be dead, while the twins should have been long gone. Why had they not left?

  Come Elan, Tor said again, more urgently. Come home. Come now.

  “We’ll have to make our own way.”

  Moments later, a massive thud shook the door, making even the stone floor tremble. Another thud, and another; the wooden door creaked and groaned.

  Was it truly his squad, or a trick of his weary, weakened mind? Stonewall squeezed his eyes shut; if only he could think clearly!

  My son.

  Stonewall looked into the golden eyes, which were starting to fade. His throat was tight, his eyes burned, but all of that was impossible for a dead man. Right?

  Come with me, Tor said.

  “Hang on, Stonewall,” Milo cried from behind the door. “We’ll be right…” His words trailed off into another thud, sending splinters drifting to the floor.

  “Wait,” Stonewall said to his patron god. “I have to know…” If his friends were truly here, perhaps they could all cross the river together, maybe even step into their next lives together.

  But the golden-eyed god faded into the shadows and the warm-blanket feeling slipped away, leaving Stonewall cold and empty as his namesake. The door flew open and Beacon and Milo stumbled into the room, light pouring in behind them, Flint and Rook on their heels. Stonewall twisted his head up—he could not find the strength to do more—and watched his squad mates kneel beside him.

  “Stonewall,” Beacon said, pressing a calloused palm to his cheek. “Look at me.”

  “He’s breathing,” said Flint, who knelt by Stonewall’s feet. “Here.”

  “Thanks.” Beacon accepted something from the younger woman.

  Rook’s voice drifted from the door. “Someone’s coming.”

  “Shit.” Flint leaped up and joined Rook, and the shadows descended upon the room once more.

  Milo dropped to Stonewall’s side and grabbed his hand. “Hang on. It’s all right.”

  “I saw him,” Stonewall whispered. “I saw Tor. He spoke to me. He called me by my birthname. We can go with him, relah. We can go home.”

  Milo squeezed Stonewall’s hand harder. “Beacon? What’s he talking about?”

  “He’s delirious.” Beacon lifted a cup to Stonewall’s lips. “Drink up, sarge. You’re not going anywhere just yet.”

  *

  Raw power surged through Talon’s body. The feeling would have shattered a lesser woman, but she was iron and stone; she would not bend. She would keep her father safe and she would show Argent that she was a force to be reckoned with.

  She did not remember waking from her burn, nor the worst parts of hematite ingestion. She did not remember putting on her armor, gathering her weapons, or leaving her quarters. After, she made her way through the quiet barracks and past the infirmary, heading towards the detention area, alone but for the furious lash of her heart. A pause by each room to listen confirmed her worst fears: although many still lived, she was the only sentinel fit for duty. Even the stalwart Captain Cobalt was nowhere to be found. Guilt tore through her heart at the thought of the three doses she’d consumed; that hematite could have saved lives. Talon clenched her jaw. Her brothers’ and sisters’ sacrifices would not be in vain. She withdrew her sword, relishing its heft, and continued.

  Silence blanketed the garrison like a snowstorm, muting Talon’s steps and quickened breath. Only a few torches were lit. Their shadows danced at the edges of her vision, but she ignored them as a byproduct of so much hematite. In great amounts, hematite was known to toy with a sentinel’s mind; to turn harmless shadows into enemies waiting to ambush. There was no danger for her now, but there would be soon. Talon descended the stairs that led to the detention area.

  All the torches had gone out here, so she met only darkness. No matter; she didn’t need light to find the mage who had poisoned her bastion. The fire burning through her veins heightened every sense and sensation. Each breath brought salty sweat mingling with the acrid tang of fear. Halcyon’s frantic heartbeat seemed to reverberate through Talon’s body as she mentally calculated the distance to the mage’s cell, which she’d crossed so many times. Every stone of this garrison was ingrained in her mind like the lines around Foley’s eyes. This was their home. Argent would not take it from her. Halcyon had to die.

  As her eyes adjusted, harried voices reached her; frightened men and women speaking in Sufa.

  Save one man.

  “I don’t know,” Drake was saying. “She’s not responding.”

  Another man spoke in a thick Sufani accent. “You’re sure her heart still beats?”

  “Aye,” the mage replied grimly. “But–”

  A Sufani woman interrupted, hissing a command in her native tongue, and the others fell silent. The only sounds were soft, hiccupping sobs trickling from Halcyon’s cell. At last, the renegade mage said, “Who’s there?”

  Talon ignored him as she came to the cell door, unlocked it, and pushed it open. By now her eyes had adjusted, so she spotted the two mages huddled together in the corner. Once the renegade realized who she was, he shifted so that his bulky frame formed a barrier between Talon and Halcyon.

  “What do you want now?” he growled.

  “Get away from Halcyon. She’ll be Nox’s problem, soon.”

  Drake staggered to his feet and into a sloppy fighting stance “Over my dead body.”

  Talon could not help herself and laughed aloud. “Certainly, if you wish.”

  “Go fuck yourself, hemie bitch,” the first Sufani woman called. A chorus of similar insults followed, in both Sufa and Aredian, but Talon paid them little mind. Even the infant’s wail and the clinking chains and fists pounding the stone walls did not distract her as she entered the cell sword-first. Even cuffed and collared, mages were still dangerous creatures. Halcyon curled against the wall behind the renegade, face hidden by her dark hair, murmuring too softly for Talon to hear.

  Hematite made her reckless and curiosity took over. “What was that, Halcyon?”

  “Let us go,” Halcyon snarled, but the voice was not one Talon had heard before. It had a deeper, ethereal resonance, as if the words came from many throats and from far away. The otherworldly speech sent a thrill of terror through Talon’s veins; a harsh sound that rolled through her like the first crack of thunder. Suddenly she was a child again, trembling beneath her bed during a summer storm.

  No. She was strong, she was right, and the gods were with her. Talon swallowed her fear. Faster than a breath, she struck the renegade mage’s temple with her sword pommel, knocking him breathless to the floor. Talon seized the advantage and grabbed the binders around Halcyon’s wrists so she could jerk the other woman to her feet. The little mage cried out and stumbled, but came along as Talon dragged her out of the cell.

  “No,” Drake shouted as he scrambled upright.

  His chains rattled as he lunged for Talon, but she and Halcyon were beyond his reach. Talon threw Halcyon to the stone floor and pressed a booted foot upon her chest to hold her down. But Halcyon did not go quietly. She clawed at Talon’s leg, twisting and struggling beneath her, and glared up at the sentinel commander with eyes that shone like stars. A spine-tingling shriek resonated off the walls.

  “You will never kill us.” That thunder-voice rolled again, making the hairs on Talon’s neck stand upright. The air felt heavy and thick, and it was difficult to take a proper breath.

  Then Halcyon shook her head, her entire body shifting with the movement; her voice was frail and human now, barely a whisper. “Please, let me go.”

  Talon ignored the sound as if it were no more than a crow’s caw and pressed her foot down harder to hold the writhing mage in place. Halcyon was a little thing, after all, and Talon had undergone years of physical training. She gripped her sword hilt and angled the blade at those star-bright eyes.

  By the One’s will, with Tor’s aid, she would extinguish this demon light. She would bring order ba
ck to her world.

  *

  The fire started in Stonewall’s heart and bloomed out, lashing each vein and muscle, squeezing his lungs so he could not catch his breath. Waves of nausea swept through him, stronger than he’d ever known. He had nothing to purge but heaved anyway and almost fell back to the floor.

  Almost.

  A pair of strong arms caught him, held him upright. “Easy, easy,” a man’s voice said. Dimly, Stonewall recognized the speaker, but his thoughts swam with hematite. Someone pressed a flask to his lips and he greedily sucked down the rest of the cool, faintly metallic water that trickled down his throat and into his empty belly.

  As he drank, the arms that held him eased him back, propping him against the wall. Gradually, the insidious chill that had seeped into his bones began to recede. His head cleared and he was able to get his bearings. He was still in his quarters, but now his squad-mates all knelt around him; sheltering him while he came back to himself.

  Stonewall scrubbed a hand over his face; his eyes were crusted and he dearly needed to shave. “I’m not dead,” he managed. “Right?”

  Flint snorted. “You should be.” Milo shot her a chiding look and she sighed, adding, “We all thought you’d be ashes by now.”

  “Welcome back,” Beacon said wryly, although his gaze was assessing.

  Stonewall swallowed, and for once the action didn’t feel like he had gravel stuck in his throat. “Glad to be here.”

  “How do you feel?”

  “Better. Thank you for...” The words died on his tongue as a cold wave of terror crashed over him. Mortal fear; the sort that pinned a body in place and stole one’s breath. But it was not his own fear. It was Kali’s. He hadn’t reached out to her; the feeling had come to him on its own.

  “Stonewall?”

  He looked up into his squad-mates faces. “Kali’s in trouble,” he said without thinking how it would sound to them. “I must help her at once.”

  Flint frowned. “How do you know that?”

  “Talon’s had it out for her,” Rook replied from her place near the door. “Not too much of a stretch to think she’ll act now.”

  Milo rose. “Then we still have work to do.”

  He and Beacon helped Stonewall to his feet. Stonewall’s head swam at the movement, his limbs tingling as his body adjusted to being upright, but the feelings faded quickly. Once standing, he glanced around for his gear, but none of his armor or weapons were in his room; he’d been quite literally stripped of all his sentinel trappings before being tossed in here to rot. Seeing his dismay, Milo unbuckled his sword belt and handed it over. He looked older than Stonewall remembered. “Don’t worry,” Milo said. “I’ve still got my daggers.”

  Stonewall ducked his head and murmured his thanks. But as his fingers closed around the weapon, doubt needled at his heart. Would he be useless against this foe?

  “We’re with you, Stonewall,” Milo said softly.

  With that, Stonewall rushed for the door, his squad-mates on his heels. They tore through the corridors until they reached the winding staircase that led down to the bowels of the garrison A faint light shone from the open door at the bottom, and a thrall’s shriek split the air.

  “Ea’s tits,” Rook swore as they descended.

  Stonewall’s gut lurched. Were they too late? He all but flew down the stairs to the open door. He shoved through just in time to see Talon, sword in hand, pressing one boot to Kali’s chest. Kali’s dark eyes intermittently flashed like stars as she tried to struggle out of the sentinel commander’s control. The detention area was dark except for that ghastly light gleaming on the clean length of the commander’s blade.

  “Stop her,” Stonewall cried, and launched himself at Talon.

  With a curse, Talon swung her sword his way, but Stonewall blocked the blow. The force of it made his arm ache. That and the fevered gleam in the commander’s eyes gave away her secret: hematite. How much had she taken? Stonewall had no time to think beyond that as the commander lunged at him again. He parried the thrust and got in one of his own as Milo tossed Rook a set of keys before he and Flint joined Stonewall, hemming Talon in on all sides as best they could in the limited space. Moments later, Beacon, Rook, and a freed Drake surrounded the commander while Talon glared between them, her dark gaze landing on Stonewall.

  He hovered his sword over her throat. “You’re done, Commander.”

  Talon spat at his feet. “Traitor.”

  “You’d know better than most.” Stonewall risked a glanced at Kali. She still lay on the floor, eyes closed, and he couldn’t make out her face in the darkness. Rook lit a nearby torch with a few strikes from her tinderbox. Now Stonewall could see that Kali was pale as bone; only the rise and fall of her chest and her pulsing, frantic fear told him she was alive.

  It took the entire squad and Drake to wrest Talon’s weapons away and hold her in place. “We’ve got her,” Milo said, although the words came out as a grunt as Talon struggled to free herself. “Help Mage Halcyon.”

  Heart in his throat, Stonewall sheathed Milo’s sword and knelt beside Kali. Flickering torchlight revealed how the pulse at her neck beat too quickly and how her face contorted with pain. Tears streaked through the dirt on her face. When he touched her, she shrieked again in that unholy way, and tried to twist away from him. The thrall’s voice sent chills across his skin.

  No. Kali was not lost. Not if he could help it. Stonewall forced himself to think through his fear. He had stood at the edge of Nox’s river, but he had not crossed. He had spoken with a god, but had come back to this life, nonetheless. Why else if not for love or destiny?

  In Tor’s name, he had to get her out of here, had to get her away from Talon, away from this sodding prison, but that same thundering wave of fear overtook him again when he brushed her cheek with a trembling hand. “Kali? Are you–”

  His words faltered as Kali’s opened and he stared into starlight.

  Twenty-Nine

  Sweet blood. Sweet magic. Give it to us. Now.

  “Let me go!” Kali’s voice was not her own; the words escaped as a thrall’s shriek. A dull pain throbbed through her skull, tailbone, and shoulder blades, but the memory of the sentinel commander slinging her to the floor was distant. Something pressed upon her chest, hard and unyielding as stone. It was dark all around and she was alone, but for the Fata.

  Her unseen captors clutched her with invisible, searching hands as they murmured into her mind. Sweet blood. Sweet magic. Give it to us. Now. Kali tried to wrench away from them, but there were too many and she was too weak. At last she sagged in their grip.

  “Please, stop,” she whispered. The weight on her chest increased and pushed the air from her lungs. The shadows swam and her head seemed to disconnect from her body.

  The Fata did not stop their litany, but once Kali surrendered, she caught more voices, more words, spoken somehow alongside those she had already come to know too well. Before, the Fata’s voices had been like single notes, but now, Kali heard an entire orchestra. Kali could not begin to estimate the Fata’s numbers, but their song filled every bone, vein, and particle of her being, merging with her own thoughts and memories. The Fata’s song was too vast to contain. It was like standing atop a mountain and craning her head back to see every star, with the whole sky rushing down to meet her. Their song would destroy everything.

  A shadow blots the sky, obscuring our sun, binding our world with shadows and a deep, strange roaring sound. A thunderhead? But this storm is like none we have ever seen. This storm will destroy us. We seek shelter beneath the surface, where the black water flows, where nothing can find us. But the shadow draws closer to our world, to the very ground we cower beneath. So we flee again, deeper, farther. Into the void.

  They spoke to me again last night: stories of greed and jealousy, and fear. So much fear. I asked the trees for answers, but they had only questions. “Why have they come?”

  We destroyed you once; we will do so again.

 
“No,” she whispered as hot tears streaked down her cheeks. She stared into shining starlight. Kali was fading, leaving only the thrall behind, and she couldn’t fight any longer. There were so many Fata and she was so tired; she was ready to surrender.

  Then the weight upon her chest lifted and Kali gasped, sucking in musty air.

  “Kali?”

  The shape of her name was distant, surely a byproduct of her exhaustion and fear. But before she could react, the Fata’s anger swelled, sharpening upon this new presence. Kali tried to force her eyes closed—anything to drown that demon light—but the Fata’s emotions overtook her again, blinding her with their anger, their vengeance, their hunger for magic. That hunger burned; was this what hematite felt like? Fire in her blood and a need so great she thought she would shatter.

  “Kali.” It was a man’s voice, familiar. As with the Fata, she felt the tremors of his terror through his own words. “Kali, look at me.”

  Was it some Fata trick? She couldn’t think, could hardly breathe. The weight was gone, but the Fata had stormed the barriers of her whole self. All that was Kali was slipping away like grains of sand held in a hurricane.

  “Kali,” the man said again. “Kali, look at me! Kali, come back!”

  Back? Back to what? There was no one here but herself and the Fata. Had there ever been anyone else? Kali tried to put a face to the voice, but the instant her focus slipped away from the Fata, their words returned in full force: Sweet blood. Sweet magic. Give it to us.

  Now.

  Someone lifted her upright. Someone wrapped her within something solid and warm. The Fata? It must be, for she was their prisoner in body, mind, and spirit. A renewed flare of hopeless terror filled her and she struggled again, desperate to get out of their grip, even if only for a moment.