Chapter 5 Death from Above #2
Like a ghost, she stalked through the saplings until she was mere inches from her remaining prey.
They moved with frantic energy, their blades hacking at the vegetation that seemed to resist every stroke.
She waited, patient as death itself, as the first two passed her hidden position.
When the third came within reach, her hand shot out with terrible purpose, yanking him backward onto her waiting blade.
Her other hand clamped over his mouth, muffling his final breath.
“What was that?” One of the remaining soldiers spun around, eyes widening at the empty space where their companion had stood. “Where did Cedric go?”
“Melrose, report?” Hoss’s voice trembled with barely contained terror.
The silence that followed was heavy with understanding. Lark snuck toward them, her movements silent as falling snow.
“Did you hear that?” The dark-haired woman’s whisper wavered, her scarred face taut with tension.
“It’s a Southern magus, isn’t it? She’s taking us down one at a time. Coming out of nowhere like a rimeshade,” her companion replied, fear lacing his voice.
“Shh,” the woman hissed. “It’s no rimeshade or magus. Just a woman. A highly trained soldier.”
Just a woman, Lark thought, the words echoing through the hollow spaces where her memories should be. Slowly, she drew Gordon’s axe, raising it with infinite care.
“Did you see something move?” the woman asked, her sword probing the spaces between trees.
“No.”
“Just there,” she breathed, the tip of her blade parting the branches near Lark’s position.
The gap she created was all Lark needed.
Her dagger and axe moved in perfect harmony, guided by the same mysterious force reawakened within her.
Both weapons found their marks with surgical precision, and two more bodies crumpled to the forest floor, their final breaths lost among the whispering pines.
“Crass, Hopa, report?” Hoss called.
Lark emerged from the thicket like an avenging spirit. Hoss’s eyes widened with a recognition, his sword arm falling limp at his side.
“You? Death from above—” His words ended in a gurgle as her dagger found his throat.
Lark wished time would slow as she caught him, lowering his massive frame to the forest floor. “Wait, what were you saying?” Urgency colored her voice as she recognized something in his fading gaze.
His eyes blinked rapidly, his tongue working as if trying to free trapped words. Finding them, he whispered through blood-stained lips, “Oh, is that what it feels like?”
“Do you know me?”
“I…”
“Who am I?” The question tore from her throat. In futile desperation, she shook his shoulders. But Hoss’s head only lolled lifelessly. His secrets died with him as his eyes grew distant, then empty.
Lark dropped to her knees, exhausted. Six Northern soldiers lay dead by her hand. Not once had she hesitated, not once had she questioned the lethal dance her body seemed to know by heart. Just as with the harvesters, she had let instinct guide her hand, and death had followed.
Her link to the past, to who she was and why she could move like death itself, felt as fragile as spring frost before the sun. The pendant’s warmth faded. And darkness engulfed her.
In sleep’s embrace, she found herself soaring through endless skies.
The dream felt more real than memory. She sat astride a massive dragon, its scales dark as midnight, while wind whipped through her umber hair.
The landscape below was a tapestry of brown grass and jagged mountains, but her attention was fixed on another dragon and rider fleeing before her.
She felt an ocean of energy held back by the flimsiest of dams, begging to be released, to be shaped by her will.
A spell formed on her lips. Light erupted from her outstretched hand to illuminate the space between her and her victim.
But as the magic cascaded forth, dread bloomed in her chest. A chilling certainty that something had gone terribly wrong.
She awoke with a gasp, heart thundering against her ribs. The ground was solid beneath her. The whispering pines offered a stark contrast to the endless sky of her dream. Nearby in the woods lay the six bodies.
Who am I?
The question echoed through the hollow spaces in her mind.
Her time with Paq remained clear: helping out around his family’s farm, the harvesting of fire wheat, the simple peace of having a purpose.
But everything before remained shrouded, save for that one clear moment with the striking elf, his emerald eyes wide as she held the orb.
The uncomfortable weight of the Hyalite pressed against her hip.
“Paq,” she whispered his name like a prayer, fear for his safety driving her to her feet.
She dropped Gordon’s axe, leaving it in the dirt near its owner.
With the Hyalite and her few belongings secure, she ran for the road.
Moonlight illuminated the path in shades of silver, exposing fresh scars in the earth where a large cavalry force had passed.
Her heart clenched, realizing the extent of her exhaustion allowed her to sleep through the rumbling of galloping horses nearby.
In a panic she sprinted back toward the village, each step carrying her closer to a truth she already feared.
As she rounded the final bend, the sight drove her to her knees.
“No.” The word fell from her lips in disbelief.
The wooded hollow that had cradled Paq’s village was now a graveyard of shattered dreams. Smoke rose from the ruins. Tears carved clean paths through the soot on her cheeks as she searched desperately for any sign of life.
“Paq!” Her voice rang through the village remains, each repetition more desperate than the last. But try as she might, she discovered no signs of death, just destruction. The livestock had vanished, too, as if the entire community had been spirited away before the torch was put to their homes.
Paq was able to warn them in time, she hoped.
“Paq!” she called into the surrounding forest, to no avail. The cavalry’s passing had obliterated any tracks that might have told her where they fled.
Lark looked into her pack and stared at the Hyalite.
Its blue glow thudding in time with her racing heart.
This mystic orb had shattered the fragile peace she’d briefly enjoyed and had destroyed in moments what a few days of patient work had created.
She had wistfully hoped to forge a new life without the burden of her past.
The pendant seemed to scream with heat now, protesting her actions as she removed the Hyalite from her pack. The orb’s inner glow surged as if feeding off her rage. This supposed gift from the gods was nothing but a curse, a poison that destroyed everything it touched.
“If they want this ashing thing, then they can have it!” The words tore from her throat as she hurled the Hyalite down the road with all her strength.
Lark turned her back, choosing a direction that felt right and started out.
But each step away from the village and the abandoned orb felt wrong.
A chilling regret tugged at her, urging her to return.
The Hyalite called to her. She glanced back, its light no longer pulsing, but instead the orb burned dull against the dirt road.
Without warning, her necklace sent a sensation through her chest, warming in the same way it had when she was in the forest. Sparks materialized beside her to coalesce into a small woman of living flame.
The fire fae danced through the air, singing a sweet song, completely captivating Lark’s attention.
It flew circles around her head, showering her with harmless sparks as the warm tones of her song lulled Lark into a trance.
Soon, she found herself walking back toward the village.
“What are you doing?” Lark said, shaking herself free of the fae’s siren song. “I’m not going back there.”
The fire fae responded by singing louder, gesturing toward the Hyalite.
She flew in spirals around her, showering Lark with sparks and a warmth that blurred her focus.
The soothing, coordinated sensation the fae and the necklace had over her pulled her back into the trance.
Her limbs grew heavy with artificial peace as the creature’s spell took hold.
She started following the fae again, drawn by her hypnotic song and dance.
A section of the village that continued to burn caught her eye, shocking her back to the here and now.
Lark was almost through the village now, heading toward the Hyalite.
“No!” she said, stopping herself and trying to shoo the flaming woman away.
But the fire fae was relentless in its purpose. Again and again, it led her back with its hypnotic song. Each attempt to abandon the orb ended in failure. After what felt like hours of futile resistance, Lark finally surrendered to the inevitable.
“Fine, I’ll take the Hyalite,” she said, bending to retrieve the orb. Its surface was warm against her palms, almost alive.
The fire fae celebrated her decision with an aerial dance of pure joy. Her flames burned brighter with approval.
“You really want me to have this?”
“Yes,” she hummed, smiling as she twirled, flaring her red dress of flame.
“You can sing, and you can talk?” Lark asked.
“To those who can see me,” she replied.
“If I’m going to be saddled with this burden… what’s your name?” Lark addressed the fae while carefully returning the Hyalite to her pack.
“Nix.”
“Like a phoenix?” Lark asked, startling herself with how she was able to remember the creature who could be reborn by fire.
Nix nodded.
“Well, if I’m going to do this, I won’t be keeping the Hyalite forever. I’ll do what Paq insisted and take it to the Vermillion Keep.”
“Yes,” Nix said, as she flew in excited patterns, each circle growing more elaborate than the last.
“I’m not doing this for you,” Lark snapped at the flame-wrought being. “I’m doing this for Paq.”
“Come,” Nix said, humming as she flitted off, leading Lark away from the village.
“Is this the way to Astral City?” Lark asked.
“This is the way,” the fae said, humming her song again. The tones were warm and inviting like the heat she emitted. She flew through the air, leading Lark on.
“Show me the way, little fae,” Lark said as she reluctantly followed.