by Jake Stone
“Your demise,” he answers in a snake-like hiss.
I step back, mouth falling agape, as his blade begins to glow a searing red, smoke lifting from the edge as if freshly yanked from the forge. It’s cursed, I realize, fortified with some ancient evil that screams when the swordsman twirls the blade.
Is this one of the blades Azafalia was forging in his cavern? Why he was performing the ritual of steel? My questions quickly flee as I watch the swordsman marching toward me, his cursed blade rising high above his head as he prepares to strike me down.
He’s only a few feet away, when suddenly, from somewhere off, a blast of energy flies through the air and tears through his chest, killing him instantly.
Dead, his body falls to the ground, motionless. Glancing over my shoulder, looking up at one of the cliffs, I see Chun Hei peering through the scope of her rifle at me.
Chapter Twenty-Five
We sprint through the tunnels of the mountain, ducking behind a large boulder, as a pack of hellion soldiers carrying torches races past us. They’re hunting me, searching through the winding passages for any sign of where I went. Chun Hei and I lean back against the boulder, quiet as mice as the demons eventually rush past us.
“Are you okay?” she signs to me.
I nod, but my thoughts are still inside the temple with Galail and the other women. What Galail had said was true: Bantha needs them alive and untouched. But there are other ways he can hurt them without spoiling their flesh.
“They got Atia,” I sign, handing Chun Hei the collapsible spear I was able to retrieve from Tulgit’s armory.
“No,” she signs. “She’s fine, waiting with the rest of them.”
Her words fill me with a relief that I didn’t know was possible, and I’m able to take in a deep calming breath. Thank God.
“How did you find me?” I ask.
“Atia posted me as a look out before she left with the others. If I saw you, I was to return to the cavern where they would be waiting for us.”
“And Tora?” I ask.
“Safe,” she replies.
“Good,” I sign. “I found her sister, along with the rest of the women. Really wanted to let her know that she’s okay.”
“I’m sure she’ll be happy to hear that,” she signs. “But we must hurry. The Republic Army will be marching soon.”
“Agreed,” I say. “If I’m not mistaken, Bantha and his minions should already be preparing for the sacrifices.”
We wait quietly in the dark, listening as the sound of hurried footsteps dies down in the distance. After a while, when we’re sure that the hellions are gone, Chun Hei leads me back into the tunnel, where we quickly set off again.
When we reach the cavern, I find the women crowded around a dim ball of light that Zorel has created. They leap up at the sight of me, hurrying to greet me as I hobble in. Petronelous crashes into me, nearly knocking me out as she wraps her arms around me. “I thought you were dead.”
“Me too,” I say, blearily.
Zorel cradles my face in her hands and plants a kiss on my lips. “I’m gonna give you the best blow job you’ve ever had when we get out of this shit.”
“Great,” I say. “I could use it.”
Atia is more subdued in her joy. Though, I spot a look of relief on her face. “Good to see that you’re back.”
“Me too,” I say. “I almost didn’t make it with what I had to face right now.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Bantha. It appears that he’s developing a new type of hellion, a master swordsman of some sort using a cursed blade.”
“One of the blades from Azafalia’s forge?”
“I believe so, yes.”
“More bad news for the Republic,” she says. “Damn him and his evil works.”
“I brought you something,” I say, handing her the cylinder from my back.
She takes it in her hands, the blades shooting out at both ends, and gives it a scrutinizing stare. “I though I’d lost it in the tunnels. Thank you.”
“How’d it happen?” I ask with a frown. Atia’s the best warrior I’ve ever seen. It’s weird that she would’ve lost it so carelessly.
“By saving her.” She nudges her chin at Tora who’s barely returning to cavern. “One of the hellions was about to get her, so I had to toss my spear like a javelin to save her. It went right through his eye, killing not only him, but the two trailing after.”
“You gave up your spear for her?” I ask.
She gives a begrudging shrug, her eyes rolling in her head. “I know how much the young woman means to you.”
“To us,” I say.
“It’s no big deal,” Atia says, turning around and walking away. “I get my spear back and you get the girl.”
“Xander!” Tora’s sandals slap against the ground as she leaps into my arms, the scent of her dark hair filling my senses with notes of earth and sweat. The smell is intoxicating. And I find myself pressing my face into hers as I seek to take her in. “Thank the corfew you survived!”
I set her down and she looks up at me, face beaming with joy.
“Tora,” I say soberly, holding her hands. “I found her.”
“Galail?”
I nod.
Tora’s breath catches in her throat, as if anticipating the worst, and she can barely mutter her next few words. “Is she still alive?”
“Yes.”
Her breath floods out in a rush, eyes filling with tears as she begins to cough out a laugh. Zorel shares in her joy by wrapping an arm around the young woman’s shoulders. “This is truly a miracle.”
“But we have to move soon,” I tell her. “The ritual will begin in a couple of hours and there’s a lot more demons than we thought.”
“How many?” Petronelous asks.
“Hundreds,” I answer. “A tiny army to protect their lord and master, Bantha.”
“You saw him?” Atia asks.
“I was his dinner guest.”
“A dinner guest?” Zorel’s brow creases. “And what did you eat?”
I shake my head. “You don’t want to know. He’s a shit host. Anyway, we need to get in there and save those woman.”
“How?” Atia asks. “Bantha will surely be expecting you now that you’ve escaped. We might as well tell him the exact time our attack is to happen.”
“Maybe,” I say. “Or maybe he won’t.”
“What do you mean?” Petronelous asks.
“Demons are arrogant, right? Well, maybe he believes that I’d be crazy to attack now that I’ve barely escaped with my own life.”
“Or maybe he believes that you’ll return with your friends to stop him,” Atia replies. “In the end, we can’t know for sure. Besides, every entrance will surely be guarded, even the ones Tora knows about.”
“Maybe not all of them,” Tora says, drawing our attention.
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
“There’s one other entrance,” she says. “One that even Galail doesn’t know about. I found it when I was much younger, when I was hiding from her one day. I never told her about it, because I always wanted to keep it a secret in case I wanted to surprise her.”
“And where’s that?” Zorel asks, her ball of energy trailing behind her as she draws closer.
“On the roof,” she says.
Atia’s snort is loud enough to be a laugh. “You expect us to climb the roof of the cavern and jump onto the roof?”
“No,” she says. “That would never work. But climbing is definitely involved.”
“Speak plainly,” Petronelous demands.
“If we were able to get close enough to the temple, we could climb along its towers and enter through the roof. It would be hard, I know, but—”
“Hard?” Atia asks. “Killing our way through an ambush at the bottom of the temple is hard. What you’re asking for is impossible. The first second we walk onto the bridge, the hellion guards will notify Bantha and we’ll be faced wi
th an entire army along with a demon lord who’s un-killable.”
“Not necessarily,” I say, raising a finger. “What if we went under the bridge?”
“Under the bridge?” Zorel asks in stark confusion.
“Think about it. If we crawled under the bridge, where no one could see us. Couldn’t we do it then?” I ask, turning to Tora.
She cups her chin as she thinks. “Yes. That’s possible, but it would require strong individuals who could make it the entire way.”
I spread out my arms, motioning to the women at my side. “You’re talking to a couple of Battle Saints here.”
“True,” Tora says. “But I’m no Battle Saint. My hands are barely strong enough to climb down the side of a ridge. There’s no way I could do it across a quarter of a mile.”
My eyes shift to Petronelous, who quickly steps forward.
“I could cary you,” she says. “But I don’t know how strong the rock is.”
“It should hold,” Tora says.
“And if it doesn’t?” Atia asks, turning to the group as a whole.
“Then we die,” Zorel responds.
“The hellions aren’t the problem,” Petronelous says. “It’s Bantha. No one’s ever seen him, much less defeated him.”
“Well, I’ve seen him,” I say. “So that’s half the battle.”
“Before we make a decision,” Atia says. “Understand this. If we go in there, we die.”
“What choice do we have?” I ask. “Bantha’s going to use the witch to destroy the Republic army, so either way we’re fucked. Might as well die stoping him.”
“Very well,” Atia says. “Let us prepare.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
The temple of the dead overlooks the stony bridge from its rising towers, detecting even the smallest of rodents as it scurries past the feet of the hellion soldiers who guard its entrance.
Bantha, as Atia had suspected, has taken no risks with the security of his ritual. He’s positioned guards at every known entrance, making sure that nothing can get in or out. Sneaking in will be nearly impossible, and fighting our way through, would only attract attention. No. Our way is through the rock underneath and under the bridge.
I squint as I duck my head under some jutted rock, worming my way through a tunnel barely large enough for me to fit. It’s cramped and muggy, accompanied by the steady rumble of the boiling lava swirling dangerously below us. Everything about this situation sucks. But we have no choice.
Up ahead, Tora continues to move, crawling on her hands and knees, scraping them with every inch of advancement. But she doesn’t care. Her sister’s still alive, and she’s going to do everything she can to save her.
I don’t blame her.
If Rachel was one of the women about to be sacrificed, I’d crawl through this thing naked.
Lifting my head, I spot a haze of flare shimmering just ahead of us. It beckons me like a glimmer of hope, promising me that this will all be over soon.
Behind me, the others trail. They struggle clumsily as they crawl over the rocky ground in their thick armor, doing their best to remain silent. But they fail gloriously. Apparently, being a Battle Saint, for all of its physical gifts, doesn’t necessarily mean that we’re quiet.
I hear the the sound of rock snapping behind me, and I just know that it’s Petronelous. “Sorry,” she whispers, her voice a delicate contriteness that makes me nearly laugh.
“It’s fine,” I whisper back. “Just keep going.”
When we reach the end of the tunnel, Tora crawls out onto a tiny ledge overlooking the lava swirling below us. She stands to the side, allowing me a space barely large enough for my metal boots. The heat is like a hammer. It slams against my face and turns my stomach to sludge, causing me to squint and look away. At least in the tunnels, we were shielded by the thick layers of rock. Out here, we’re unprotected.
“Don’t think about it.”
I feel a hand on my face, coaxing me to open my eyes. Tora glares up at me with a reassuring smile, her dark eyes smoldering in the shimmering heat that rises all around us.
“Where do we go from here?” I ask.
My question is answered as her gaze lifts to the bridge above us, giving me pause as I feel my worry grow. We’re not trained for climbing. Every second at the monastery was devoted to combat and strategy. Expecting us to climb a rock wall, then crawl under a long bridge is ludicrous. But we have to try.
I nearly fall off the ledge, as I feel something poking the back of my calf. Glancing downward, I spot Atia peaking through the hole, her statuesque face marked with sweat, her sparking blue eyes filled with annoyance. “Are you going to move?” she asks me.
“There’s no room,” I say, waving a hand at the small ledge.
“Well get moving then,” she orders. “We don’t have much time.”
The climb is a difficult one. We dig our bare hands into the porous rock, foregoing the mechanical gauntlets that would pulverize the crags into dust, using our genetically enhanced strength to bare the weight of our armor. We move slowly. But steadily.
As we reach the bridge, we lift ourselves onto the bottom edge, where we do our best to stay out of the tower’s view. Because of the small ledge, Tora wasn’t able to wait for Petronelous as we’d planned. Instead, she wraps her arms around my neck, our faces only inches away. Hand over hand we begin to swing forward, no different than children on a jungle gym.
“You must be angry at me,” she says with a lowered gaze. “Having to bare my weight along with yours. I was never a good climber, even when I was younger and lighter. Galail could always beat me.”
“At least you have a good body,” I say, wincing as I hear myself.
She looks at me, bemused. “And what’s that supposed to mean, huh?”
I blush. “I mean, at least you’re not heavy.”
“Oh,” she says, brow arched as she remains staring at me.
The rocks are sharp against my hands. They scratch at my palms, tear at my skin, plunging into my muscles like knives. But that’s not the worst of it. My hands are getting sweaty and my grip is loosening. If I’m not careful, my hands might actually slip on one of these crags, and I’ll fall to my death, taking Tora along with me.
I’m about to reach for the next crag, when the rock I’m anchored to suddenly breaks. It snaps at the base, coming off completely, nearly dropping Tora and I from the bridge. As fast as I can, I reach for the next one, barely able to cling to it with the tips of my fingers.
Heart racing, dangling by one hand, I stare down at the boiling lava below, stomach clenched in fear.
“Don’t look down,” Tora whispers, her eyes wide in the glowing red.
I nod in response, too frightened to speak, and continue.
The rest of the way is marked by silence, as we continue hand over hand, trying to cut the distance without attracting the attention of the hellion guards standing right above us.
Hands trembling, I’m filled with a sense of relief as we reach the end of the bridge. Reaching out for the wall of the opposing cliff, I lift Tora and I up the crags that ladder us to the top. Still our journey is not over.
Now, we must move along the wall until we’re past the view of the hellions guarding the bridge. The way is short and easy, especially since we can use our feet to dig into the open crevices. Soon, we’re out of sight, and free to climb to the top.
Rushing toward the temple, we hide behind one of the great pillars, waiting for the other women to join us.
“By the corfew,” Zorel says. “I thought I was going to die for sure.”
“We all did,” Atia says. “But now we must focus on the task at hand. Tora, show us this entrance.”
Tora peaks around the pillar, her head angling up at the temple. “It’s just up there, above one of the roofs.”
“A window?” Atia asks dumbfounded.
“Into the unholy shrine,” she says.
“Unholy shrine?” I ask with a frown.
&nb
sp; “An evil place,” Tora answers. “The room where the body of the witch still lays.”
The women and I exchange a long glance, our silence pregnant with worry and consternation.
“The witch’s ... resting place?” Atia asks.
“No one dares visit it out of fear of desecration,” Tora says. “It should be empty. Safe.”
“Safe, she says,” Zorel mutters beneath her breath. “Well, sounds good to me.”
“But how do we get past the guards?” Petronelous asks.
Chun Hei draws the sniper rifle from her back, and moves up to the edge of the pillar, assessing the situation. With a hand, she shows us two fingers.
“Any canisaurs?” Petronelous asks.
Chun shakes her head.
“That could work,” Atia says. “But the sound of their bodies falling could be enough to attract the others’ attention. We need to get close enough to catch their bodies after they’re killed.”
“I’ll go,” Petronelous says. “With a quick twist, I could snap their necks.”
“At the same time?” Zorel asks, to which Petronelous says nothing.
“I’ll go,” I say.
“You?” Atia nearly laughs.
“What?” I say. “You don’t think I can do it?”
“It’s not the killing I’m worried about,” she says. “It’s the silent part. Out of everyone here, you’re the loudest.”
“That’s not true,” I say, turning to the others for support, only to find them responding with apologetic shrugs.
“Sorry, Sexy,” Zorel says, “but you’re kind of clumsy.”
“Fine,” I say. “Who then?”
“Chun Hei’s the lightest amongst us,” Atia decides. “Use your blade,” she signs to the sniper.
“And the other?” I ask.
“I’ll go,” Tora says, drawing looks of confusion from us all.
“Cute,” Atia says in dismissal.
“Why?” she says. “Because I’m not a Battle Saint? Look, I’ve survived here longer than most using my brains and cunning. Besides, I’m not hampered by your bulky armor and metal boots. I can take off my sandals and sneak up behind any of these rat-faced demons. Just give me a blade and let me go.”
