Death of the Immortal King

by Sarah McCarthy

  Jedren used the opportunity to get back on his feet, narrowly dodging another blow from the man on his left. He could hear the man on his right coming up, trying to get behind him. Another rock sailed through the air.

  “Yqtos, girl, give it a rest,” the captain shouted.

  Jedren gripped his blade with both hands, wishing there had been someone, anyone, to teach him how to use it. He’d watched others, tried to mimic their movements, but this was something else entirely. It was so fast, there were too many of—

  “Jedren!” An agonized shriek came from behind him. He started to turn, but that’s when something hit him from behind. He stumbled, thinking he’d been kicked, but something tugged at him as he moved. He looked down and saw the sword point extending from his chest. He struggled, tried to get away, felt the sword slide out. He started to turn, his breath hitching, the blood pouring down his front.

  He saw Kallia, her face white, a mask of horror and despair, running towards him. He gripped his sword more tightly, turned to face his attackers. He saw them standing together, watching him. Waiting. He struck out wildly, but the captain knocked his blade away. Jedren fell to his knees, gasping for breath. No. He wasn’t going to give up. He wasn’t going to let them take her.

  Gasping, he pushed himself back up, stumbled forward again. They backed away, watching him, the man on the right looked bored. He’s waiting for me to die. Well, he wasn’t going to. He was fine. Kallia needed him.

  He tripped again, his legs sluggish and uncoordinated, and fell to his knees. No. He pushed against the rocky ground. His hands slipped. Why was the ground so slippery? It hadn’t rained. His fingers were sticky, wet. He looked up and saw a surprised respect in the captain’s eyes.

  “You had more in there than I thought,” he said. His words were muddled in Jedren’s mind, coming as if from far away.

  “No, no, Jedren, no.” Kallia’s hands were on his back, on his cheeks; she forced him to look up into her agonized face. “Don’t go. Please. Don’t go.” Tears streamed down her face. “I’m sorry,” she gasped. She pulled the sword out of Jedren’s hands, turned, swinging it at the nearest man. He knocked the blade aside, grabbed her, and yanked the sword out of her hands. She fell, sobbing to the ground.

  Jedren had to get up. He had to go to her. He had to. But he couldn’t.

  Everything melted away into darkness. He floated, timelessly. Aware, but detached. Somewhere in front of him, in that endless darkness, there appeared a silver gate. Across the gateway poured a bright waterfall sending off droplets, like sparks of light in the darkness. A vague sense of familiarity washed over him as he approached. That water would wash everything away. All this…blood. Why am I covered in blood? He looked down, but all he could see were faint silvery outlines of legs. His legs. He’d had a thought about them, hadn’t he? What was it? He strained his memory, but then a voice spoke.

  “Well, you’re a mess, aren’t you?”

  There, through the water, on the other side of the gate: a gaunt face. Old, with ancient, glowing eyes. It was a man, or something that looked like a man.

  “Where am I?”

  The old face sighed. “That’s the one downside of these things.” He tapped the silver gate. “You know how many times I’ve had to explain that now?”

  Jedren blinked, trying to focus on the man’s face through the water.

  “It’s a lot. More than you could wrap your tiny mind around.” The creature ran its gaze down Jedren’s form. “I can see that there is something you want. Something you’ve left unfinished up there.”

  This sounded right. If only Jedren could remember what it was.

  “I was watching. And I can give you exactly what you want.”

  Kallia. Oh gods, Kallia. He was dead. And now she was going back, to her father, to the rest of her life.

  “Yep, there you go.”

  Jedren’s gaze snapped up. “Please help me. I need to get back to her. I need to help her.”

  “Indeed,” the creature said, smiling. “I think we can be of service to one another. I can in fact send you back.”

  Yes. That was all he needed. One more try.

  The creature rolled its eyes. “No, no. If I just send you up again, you’ll be back here in ten seconds, and then you’ll really be no good to me. I can send you back exactly once. But I like the confidence. And I can give you the strength to back it up.”

  A tiny whisper of misgiving came into Jedren’s mind. But it didn’t matter. He had to protect Kallia.

  “I can give you the instinct for death. My instinct. A lesser form, of course.”

  “And what is it you want in return?” Numenos, please let it be something I can do.

  The creature grimaced. “She is unlikely to help you in this matter.”

  That was a bad sign.

  “Regardless, I ask only three things. The first isn’t even a favor.”

  “What is it?”

  “In order to keep my instinct, you must kill one man or woman every day.”

  Jedren’s ghostly insides twisted. He’d never killed anything, to his knowledge. Except mosquitos.

  “It’s more fun than you’d think.”

  Jedren grimaced, pulling back from the gate, only now realizing how close he’d gotten. The gate, or the creature, was slowly drawing him nearer.

  “The second contingency is that you must kill every dark-eyed person you encounter.” A vision appeared in the water, of a pair of eyes, blue but clouded with grey, and another pair, black as night.

  Jedren thought back, trying to remember if he’d ever seen a dark-eyed person. The only eyes that mattered to him were a light, airy green.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does to me.”

  “You may not even meet one. They have offended me.”

  “How?”

  “It is not your place to ask.”

  Jedren frowned, but there were bad people in the world. There were criminals executed all the time. There were murderers and people who hurt other people. He could find them. And maybe he would never meet a dark-eyed person.

  “What’s the third request?”

  “You must destroy every temple to every god that is not me.”

  The instinct for death. “Yqtos,” he breathed.

  The creature bowed. And a chill ran through Jedren’s spirit.

  There were few stories told of the god of death. The only one Jedren could recall was the story of creation, and that was mostly about Numenos. About how she left to protect the world from destruction, leaving Yqtos and their children to care for it. He shook, dropping his gaze to the inky void below them. How did one speak to a god? And not just any god, the god. The father of all the other gods and goddesses. If this was Yqtos, truly Yqtos, why was he asking Jedren to destroy the temples?

  “Why would you have me destroy the temples of your children?”

  “Again, it is not your place to ask.”

  Yqtos eyed him, then waved one hand. “If you need some heroic reason, I’ll give you a reason. You seemed desperate enough to not need one. Perhaps I was wrong. It’s been a while since I talked to a human, I’ll admit. I forget exactly how you work.”

  “I can’t just go around destroying temples. There will be guards and soldiers. People will try to stop me.”

  The god of death grinned a sharp, lethal grin. “Let’s see how that goes for them.”

  Jedren looked down at his own glowing form, saw tendrils of mist drifting away from himself, into that shimmering waterfall. If he tried and failed, at least he would have saved Kallia. He could do that first. Rescue her, and once she was safe, then he could do what the god demanded. Or he could die. It wouldn’t matter then. Even if he didn’t do anything the god required as payment.

  “True, true,” Yqtos said, his words echoing in Jedren’s mind. “Do we have a deal?”

  Jedren nodded. “Yes.” I’m coming, Kallia.

  That sharp smile wi
dened. “Enjoy.” A clawed hand reached through the waterfall, into Jedren’s spectral chest. It clenched into a black fist around Jedren’s heart, and black lines began to worm their way out of the lump, wending along through Jedren’s veins, a blackness spreading through him. Before Jedren could regret his choice, pain shot through his whole body.

  He had a body. He was lying, scraped and bruised, in a slippery puddle of drying blood. The wind lifted his hair as he looked up, his vision clearing, his eyes focusing despite the blinding pain. He could still feel the god of death’s fist clenched around his heart as he struggled to take a deep breath. The sharp air filled his lungs as he stood, pushing himself to his feet.

  His legs shook underneath him, his heart pumping; his blood felt heavy and sluggish in his veins. He picked the rusty, bloodstained sword from the ground, wiping it off on his pants before pulling those, too, back on, and tying them on with the remaining length of rope. He poked a finger through the hole in his shirt, sticky and caked with brown stains. The skin beneath was a black, festering wound. Like a bruise or something rotten. It ached with a dull, throbbing pain, but at least it wasn’t bleeding anymore.

  He began to walk in the direction of the road, back towards town. To his surprise, his strength returned, his feet were sure underneath him. There was only the slightest of protests from his muscles as he broke into a jog. Once he reached the hard-packed earth of the road, he sped up, breaking into a run. The more he ran, the better and more alive he felt. He had never felt this way. Like he could run for days and days.

  After only a few minutes he crested a rise, and there in a valley below him were the four soldiers. Kallia, her head and shoulders slumped, her hands bound, was being led behind the captain’s horse, the rope tied to the pommel of his saddle.

  Jedren sped up even more, drawing his sword in an exhilarating rush as he pounded towards the men. They heard him coming and turned. The captain’s eyes widened in disbelief, but despite his surprise his sword was out and in his hand in less than a second. He yanked hard on the reigns, pulling the horse’s head around so it whirled in a tight circle, pawing the ground and stamping. Kallia stood, frozen, her face unbelieving, like she thought she had gone mad. Jedren’s blade was through the rope that bound her hands in an instant. He shot her a quick look; her eyes were blazing, red-rimmed. She looked hollowed-out, but a hectic color rose in her cheeks. Her mouth opened and shut, but before she could find words, Jedren had spun to face the captain.

  The captain’s blade was already swinging for his head, but Jedren dove in, grabbed the man’s shirt, and pulled him from his horse. They landed together hard, the captain on top. The man made a confused gurgle, and something wet hit Jedren’s face. He pushed the man off, readying his sword for another blow, but it wasn’t needed. The man had fallen on his own blade.

  “I hope—” the man gasped. “I’m only as…as dead… as… you were.”

  His eyes closed, and a thick wave of heat washed through Jedren. Yqtos was right, it did feel good. He looked down and saw the veins standing out on his hands were black, like they were filled with ink.

  The other three were right behind him. He sensed their sudden fear, the quickening of their hearts. He whirled around, lunged in, his blade finding that first heart. Again, that rush of heat, that pulse of power hit him as he ripped his sword from the man’s chest. He ducked as another’s blade whirled over his head, kicking out with one foot, and connecting with a man’s shin. Another sword lanced in, aiming for Jedren’s belly, but Jedren knocked it away so hard it flew out of the man’s hand, clattering to the ground. He drove his sword into the man, leaving it and grabbing the captain’s far superior blade. In one swift motion he executed the last of the soldiers, twisting the blade slightly.

  A sudden silence descended. Jedren stood, gasping in the middle of the road. The horses, all trained war horses, stood still, watching, a few feet away. A gull called as it wheeled overhead. And Jedren looked down at the bodies. The fist that clenched in his heart loosened; his veins slowly settled back into his skin. What… what did I do? His hands shook, but there was still that heat running through him. His stomach lurched.

  He turned to see Kallia, pale and wide-eyed, staring at him like he was some monster. He dropped the sword.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, approaching her hesitantly. She tensed, but when his hands only gently untied the knots that bound her, she relaxed. She pushed her dark hair out of her face and stared at the bodies. “How… I…”

  Jedren swallowed. How do I explain?

  She reached out and fingered the hole in his threadbare shirt. “A miracle,” she whispered. She looked up at him, her eyes wide. “The gods spared you.”

  He nodded. “I… I met… them. In the realm of death.”

  “But why?”

  He took her hands in his. “I asked to protect you. They agreed.”

  She stared at the blood on his hands. His blood. And the blood of those men. His heartbeat quickened at the thought of killing again, but he shook off the thought in disgust.

  “Just that?” she asked. “And… do you have to… go back?”

  “No.” He couldn’t quite bring himself to give her the full answer. “I’m not going anywhere.” He kissed her.

  She laid her head on his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his torso. Again, she examined the hole in his tunic. Wonderingly, she looked at the skin underneath. “It’s perfect. As good as new,” she said. He glanced down, saw the pulsing darkness under her fingertips.

  “A miracle,” she continued, almost to herself. “A gift from the gods.”

  He wrapped his arms more tightly about her. She was safe. He could protect her. There wasn’t anything or anyone who could hurt her anymore. He wanted to give her everything. A castle. A mountain. The whole world. Whatever she wanted and whatever would make her happy. She sighed against his chest and a deep contentment washed over him, only the tiniest of uncertainties pricking against his conscience, the face of Yqtos still in his mind.

  5

  Elaine

  Year Eight Hundred and Ninety-Nine of the Reign of the Mandrevecchian.

  Kreiss. She was here. In Kreiss’ central square. Where the Mandrevecchian himself had first united Mimros. Elaine stared up at the bronze statue, three times as tall as a normal man. He held a sword aloft, gazing out into the city. Below the knees, the bronze had been polished clean by thousands of hands over the years. From his chest, the golden head of a woman burst forth, her arms extended, each hand cupping flames that flickered and burst; droplets of burning oil fell from her fingers, blackening the cobblestones below. On her face, a look of rage and power. The goddess Numenos, protecting her people. Wow.

  The day was bright, but windy, and Elaine wore her wool travelling wrap fastened over one shoulder with her gold Conolly crest. Her black hair was braided tightly, the braids pinned up at the nape of her neck. This was her first time out of Tarith, and she’d managed to convince her father’s servants to let her explore the city alone for an hour before the race. It was safe, she’d argued; it was a festival day. There were people everywhere. If fourteen was old enough to race, it was certainly old enough to wander alone through a festival while she waited for her father.

  Elaine scanned the edges of the square again. Her father was never late. She stood on the balls of her feet, craning to see over the heads of the people pressed around her.

  Where are you?

  The crowd jostled and pushed around her, laughing and chattering. Somewhere, a band struck up the anthem of Mimros. Leafy shade trees lined the edges of the square; the cobblestones had been worn down, like ground teeth, merging into one another.

  She frowned. Maybe she would just walk around a little before her father got here. Work must have taken longer than he’d thought. She could see the statue from anywhere in the square, and her father was tall, broad-shouldered, easy to pick out of a crowd.

  She passed little cafés and restaurants, their tables and chairs
spilling out into the commotion. How long had these been here? The square, she knew, was one of the oldest parts of Kreiss, still existing in close to its original form. Her mind ran through all the questions she wanted to ask her father. What was it like when you were here? Has it changed?

  She looked back at the statue, expecting to see her father striding through the crowd, smiling and apologetic. Nothing. A tremor of unease went through her. It wasn’t like him to be late, and when he was, he always sent word.

  Her eyes landed on a row of booths up ahead. A woman sitting in one of these looked up, her light eyes met Elaine’s, and she grinned in a knowing way. She gestured to the glass bottles in front of her, which contained brightly colored liquids. The woman lifted one, shimmering, into the light, and gestured conspiratorially to Elaine.

  “This one… this one will guarantee you are born to a wealthy family.” Her sharp eyes travelled down Elaine’s person, pausing briefly on the golden crest. “But I see that hasn’t been a problem for you.”

  Elaine’s stomach twisted uncomfortably.

  The woman leaned forward, a shrewd look on her face. Her shawl clinked as she moved; it was sewn with rows of opalescent shells. “No… perhaps that isn’t what you want after all. No, of course not. We never value what we have.” She tapped her lips, then smirked. “Maybe it’s talent you would like.”

  Elaine unsuccessfully attempted to suppress a scowl. “No, thank you,” she said. How can you sell this? Elaine wanted to ask her. You can’t really think this works. The woman’s light blue eyes watched her calculatingly. And you can’t know. Elaine attempted a polite nod, which the woman returned with a smirk, and moved quickly on.

  Past the woman, people were lining up at other booths, waiting to have artists sketch out who they had been in their past lives, invariably wealthy or important people, or to buy herbs that would let them dream of their future lives, so that they could prepare. Elaine shook her head. The gods gave them the lives they needed for the education of their souls. I’m not arrogant enough to think I know better than a god where I should be born.