14. That is How You Die
That is How You Die
Faren
You will do exactly as I say,” Mariana said, quickly descending the spiral stairs. Her sword was lit, leading the way into the darkness below. “When we exit the tower, you will run east. You will not waver. Do you understand?”
Faren felt vaguely sick. Just a glimpse of the Morta from atop the tower had made his palms clammy and his stomach sour.
It was huge. Grotesque. Humanoid, but disturbingly stretched, with claw-tipped arms that were too long, and legs bent backward like a dog’s.
Its gray skin appeared to be rotting, torn around its joints to expose white tendons and sharp bone.
Twisted antlers protruded from its head. Red eyes glowed above black fangs.
Faren had studied the drawings and read the reports, but those paltry renderings had not prepared him for seeing the atrocity in the flesh. The Morta was an unthinkable horror. A curse against nature.
As Faren followed Mariana down the stairs, he kept his eyes on his feet, focusing on not tripping down the narrow stone slabs. The stairwell was not made for a man of his size—or any man wearing armor, it seemed. Ahead of him, Mariana moved nimbly, confidently.
Mere minutes ago, their conversation had been almost…amiable. Easy. Then, with the topic of Yar, she’d returned to her usual frostiness. The sight of the monster had transformed her expression from chilly to blank.
“Are we not going to kill it?” Faren whispered.
“I am. You are going to run.”
The danger of her sentence struck him in a way it hadn’t before. The idea of Mariana—all five feet, two inches of her—facing a Morta on her own was undeniably impressive. Faren also hated the thought. She didn’t need to do this alone. Not with a highly trained Mighty Knight around.
“I can help,” he said.
“It’s better for you to go,” she whispered curtly.
“Would it not be better to outnumber it?” he argued.
Her gait remained steady on the stairs, resolute. “I assure you, I can—and will—kill the Morta on my own while you collect our gear and find safety.”
Faren did not like feeling useless. “Protecting the realm is part of my duty, too.”
When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she turned to face him. “You can’t save the world if you’re dead, Faren.”
She stood barely up to his sternum, but her posture was formidable, like she knew she could take him in a fight if she had to. After seeing the monster outside—not to mention the past few mornings sparring with her—he knew it, too.
“Morta are not like the monsters we’ve faced so far,” she went on tersely. “They are ruthless and terrible, and it is extremely dangerous to face one if you don’t know what you’re doing. Your lack of experience would put both of us in danger. Do not try to be a hero.”
This wasn’t a matter of ego or glory—she was underestimating him.
She’d underestimated him ever since their first day on this journey.
They might’ve had an easy moment at the top of the tower, but when it came down to it, Mariana did not believe in his capability.
She did not respect him, and that bothered Faren.
But arguing with her was futile, so he only gritted his teeth. “Fine.”
Mariana went to the door and carefully removed the drawbar. “Wait for me in the grove outside of town,” she said. “You know the one I mean?”
Faren nodded once, despising the plan.
Upon his confirmation, Mariana burst through the door without farewell.
The Morta was a straight shot from the bell tower, lumbering away from them toward the town square.
Mariana ran directly for it, her sword flashing in a blue blur.
Faren started eastward as he promised, but with each step, a sense of wrongness in his gut grew.
Running away from the action made him feel like a coward, but it also felt antithetical to his Oath.
Faren’s whole life revolved around doing the right thing, and leaving Mariana to face a Morta by herself did not feel right.
Faren was as accustomed to following orders, and he knew the importance of sticking to a plan.
But Mariana was wrong about him—he wasn’t a mindless gold brute, nor was he her enemy.
His Order might’ve stood for law while hers was comprised of lawless folk, but they were more than the stereotypes of their Orders.
He was a dedicated protector of the realm, and so was she.
Faren wanted to prove to her that he could be an ally.
Fates, he wanted to prove to her that the realm wasn’t as cruel and lonely and terrible as she thought.
It didn’t matter that she was a criminal, that she got under his skin, that she was constantly berating and questioning his character.
Oderin had encouraged Faren to use his morals as a compass on this mission, and this was his chance to show Mariana that, just because she could fight a Morta on her own, didn’t mean she had to.
When an alleyway opened up, Faren didn’t overthink it—he hooked south, racing parallel to where Mariana was headed.
As he ran, he reached for the scabbards strapped to his back, smoothly drawing both shortswords but keeping the red flames at bay; he wanted to take the creature by surprise.
When Faren reached the town square, he stopped short, using the narrow walls of the alley as cover as he peered out at the scene unfolding.
It was a sight to behold.
Mariana was already engaged in the fight, swinging her sword in a bright flourish before the monster’s menacing form.
The Morta was a shadow double Mariana’s size.
Illuminated in the pale glow of her weapon, its skin—webbed with black veins—took on a sickly pallor.
Venom dripped from its teeth, its leech-like tongue darting in and out. Red eyes tracked Mariana’s every move.
But she was fast—and clever.
Similar to how she sparred with Faren, Mariana was not afraid to get close to her foe.
The creature struggled to strike her, its considerable reach made clumsy in close proximity.
She sliced at its ankles, knees, elbows—vulnerable places that had it stumbling sideways.
Black blood sprayed, sizzling on the cobblestones.
The Morta screeched, a discordant note that was both guttural and high pitched.
The sound made the hairs on the back of Faren’s neck stand up. A blend of horror and awe stole his breath. He watched on with his heart thudding in his throat, unable to move.
Mariana was a storm cloud wielding her sword like lightning, full of rage and power without repression.
A symphony of grim sounds filled the abandoned town square: Mariana’s grunts and shouts, the monster’s screeches and growls, the clatter of claws on stone, the dull slice of steel through flesh.
Faren recognized the movements from Mariana’s morning exercises, now utilized in swift succession.
She was so practiced, so heartbreakingly good at this thankless duty.
But the Morta was vicious and formidable.
Its body might’ve appeared lumbering and gangly, but it was surprisingly quick.
It swiped at Mariana with claws as long as her forearms, managing to clip her on the breastplate.
The magically repellant metal deflected the Morta’s hit with a shower of sparks.
The strike might not have cut, but it was enough to send Mariana stumbling backward—into a more comfortable range for the creature’s long arms.
It lashed out, but she deflected, leaping sideways.
The Morta advanced, snarling and slobbering caustic venom.
With a primal yell, Mariana lunged for the creature, hacking off one of the centipede-like limbs protruding from its ribs.
It squealed, spraying black blood in an arc as it reared back.
Mariana ducked her head under the splatter, and Faren felt the phantom sting on his own face, his welts prickling with the pain of empathy.
Retreating from the spray, Mariana tripped, landing on her ass on the hard cobblestones.
Faren heard the clink of glass, probably a loose bottle among the surrounding the wreckage.
With her non-sword-wielding hand, Mariana fiddled with something on the ground—a dagger she’d dropped?
—but time was running out. The Morta crept forward, hissing a promise of death.
With the creature distracted and Mariana fumbling, Faren raced into the town square with his swords alight.
“Hey, fucker!” Faren shouted, brandishing his weapons.
The flames illuminated the Morta in red as it turned. Backdropped by the ruined town, the creature was the embodiment of destruction and death. Faren knew he would never forget this sight; it would haunt his sleep for the rest of his life.
“Show me what you’ve got,” Faren taunted.
“Fucking Fates,” Mariana shouted, coming to her feet. “I told you to run.”
“You’re lucky I didn’t.” The heat of his own swords blazed across his cheeks as he advanced on the Morta, still swinging his weapons in menacing circles.
“I had it well in hand!”
“Didn’t appear that way.”
The Morta leapt at Faren, interrupting their argument. Faren parried the creature’s strike, slicing its pale wrist with a sizzle of flame and caustic blood. A rotten, burning scent accosted his nostrils. Yuck.
“You don’t know what you’re doing,” Mariana shouted.
Faren struck again, slicing into the Morta’s thigh. “I seem to be doing fine so far.”
“Don’t.” Her protest was strained.
“I’m here”—another slice—“to help.”
The Morta lowered its antlered head to his level and screamed, spraying hot venom across Faren’s breastplate and shirtsleeves.
He wheeled backward—not out of fear, but disgust as the saliva soaked into the fabric and stung his skin.
The creature snatched at him. Faren crossed his swords in an X, catching the Morta’s arm between the blades—then he opened his arms wide, slicing deep into its forearm with a satisfying crunch.
“See?” Faren called out smugly. “I’m plenty capable of—”
Something collided with Faren’s shoulder, tearing a wound in his upper arm and knocking him sideways. He collided roughly with the cobblestones, his head smacking on the ground. His vision went momentarily black.
“Grinnick!” Mariana screamed, panic shredding her voice.
In his dazed state, Faren wondered who that could be.
Faren grunted, trying to blink away his dizziness but seeing only purple spots. All around him, he heard the sounds of the ensuing fight. Mariana’s furious and primal cry, the clatter of claws on metal, the whoosh of her sword’s fire.
Swords. Where were his swords?
Faren blinked again, the cobblestones coming into focus. His head swam. A terrible stinging heat radiated through the new gash on his arm; his touch magic could sense the poison already leeching into his blood. The sensation made him feel nauseous—or maybe that was from his fall?
Gritting his teeth, trying to get ahold of himself, Faren used his magic to dull the pain in his arm and temples. When his vision finally firmed up, he saw the Morta creeping toward him on all fours, teeth bared.
Faren knew his Fate. He was not supposed die like this, but now he feared the Mirror of Death had gotten it wrong.
Still slumped on the ground, Faren braced himself as the Morta charged.
But then Mariana was between Faren and the monster, deflecting it with a powerful swing of her weapon. Two more of the creature’s small abdominal limbs thudded wetly onto the ground. It wailed, rearing up on its hind legs, high, high above their heads.
Mariana stood her ground, her stance wide and confident. “Don’t ever disobey my orders again,” she scolded Faren over her shoulder, her voice surprisingly hoarse. “That is how you die.”
“But my Mirror—”
“Monsters warp Fate,” she said. “Mirror visions are meaningless out here.”
He stared past her slight form at the ten-foot-tall abomination looming closer. If he couldn’t take solace in the certainty of his Fate, what sort of bravery was left? “Fuck,” he choked out.
“Now you get it,” she bit out.
Then she was advancing, barreling toward the creature with everything she had.
It staggered backward, cowering from her onslaught while bleeding its black ooze.
Maiden Morta Killer, Lee had called her.
Now, Faren understood why the nickname stuck.
But before she could slay the monster, it turned abruptly away from her.
Like a frightened animal, it loped out the square, its whines carrying into the night.
Mariana rested the tip of her sword on the cobblestones as she watched it go, her empty fist balled tight.
Faren rose on shaky legs. Retrieved his weapons from where they’d fallen. Approached Mariana’s back. Her hair was tangled. Her body rocked with her panting breaths. The heat of her exhales curled up toward the moon.
“Mariana—” he began.
She ignited her sword—burning off the caustic blood—then shoved her sword into its scabbard and turned to face him. Her scowl was deep, but there was a glimmer in her eye, a hint of lingering fear. Not for the creature itself, but for…him? Or perhaps the name she’d shouted in place of his?
“Let’s go,” she said, striding past him, heading east.
He needed to apologize for disobeying her orders. “Mariana—” he began again.
“Let’s. Go.” Her statement did not invite further conversation.