Chapter 3
When the lost learns to find, the bones will find new warmth. When the path that was once straight diverges, an old light will breathe again. When death seeks love, the blade that should never have been forged shall find her instead. And the bones shall fade forever. With them, Nyth shall follow.
~Saelira’s Unspoken Prophecies
Fiona
I lay in the steaming water, my daggers, armor, and clothes laying within easy reach, and my body relaxes for the first time since I left Stormhaven six weeks ago.
The bath inside the guest house for traveling government officials is a far cry from the luxury of Stormhaven, but it’s still a bath.
There’s still a bed rather than a hidden patch of bare ground.
I’ll have a hot meal instead of salt beef and stale bread.
I don’t have to worry about whether I’ll be attacked any time I close my eyes. There’s no planning to do. I don’t have to worry about what comes next. All that’s left is an easy two-week walk through inner Sylvantia. I’ll stay at inns and enjoy hot meals most nights.
I’ll stop at a few strongholds to share what I know about Averna’s news. All information is valuable, and since travel in and out of the Kingdom of the Undying is so limited, it’s important that I share what I’ve learned.
But that’s so much easier than the month I spent in Averna where every moment I could be attacked just because I was human.
I lean back and let the steaming water convince my muscles to give in to the truth. I’m safe. I was successful.
It feels like it’s only been seconds before I hear the shouts. “Mindless! Mindless! Get the children!”
I’m out of the water in an instant. I don’t have time to strap on my armor. The Mindless won’t wait for me to get dressed, and Thomas will want help even if he wouldn’t normally have it.
I throw my tunic on and pull my pants on, not willing to let the villagers see my Marks. The Order’s secrets are more valuable than any life, even my own. I pull my cloak over my head and pick up my daggers before rushing out of the barracks shoeless.
The screams of battle have already started. Thomas stands behind the night guard, ten fully armored men who stand just beyond the first cottage. They don’t hold a shield wall—there aren’t enough of them. Thomas carries two short swords, just like Rhaskar would.
And in front of them, in the field I walked through this afternoon, are thirty men, women, and children wearing bloody rags.
Their eyes glow silver, the most obvious sign of a Mindless, a human who has come back from death too many times and lost their sanity.
They crave violence, and all semblance of humanity has left them.
They’re closer to wild beasts than humans anymore.
Each of them carries a weapon. Some are proper weapons like swords or axes, but others are pieces of wood or kitchen knives.
Their bodies are clothed in the rags they last died in, tattered and torn. Leaves and brambles are caught in their hair while blood from their previous victims has left bits of their skin stained crimson. Cuts and bruises cover their bodies from previous assaults on the living.
Seeing a child among them is hard, but that creature isn’t human any longer. Only by dying outside of Averna will they ever find peace, and I’m confident that is exactly what is about to happen.
As a group, they rush the soldiers. I immediately drink down my Infusion of the Boar and follow it with an Infusion of the Bear. Strength and naturally armored skin are the most important things I need for this fight. It’s going to be absolute chaos, and I wish I had a Cat left.
My skin becomes harder, thicker, and covered in rough fur from the Boar.
It won’t protect me from a clean sword cut, but it’ll keep glancing blows from debilitating me.
The muscles I’ve built throughout life grow, becoming thicker and harder from the Bear.
I can already feel the anger surge inside me, its typically unwanted side-effect.
Thomas doesn’t seem changed at all. He hasn’t taken an Infusion? I race toward the mob of thoughtless creatures about to throw themselves at the soldiers. My Bear-enhanced legs turn my movement into long bounds rather than a typical run, and Thomas still hasn’t left the safety of the soldiers.
That isn’t how a Priest fights. Why isn’t he using his Marks?
Why isn’t he standing in front of the soldiers?
He isn’t some sorcerer under Ravess’s control.
He’s a damned Priest. I slide my daggers into their sheaths before leaping over the armored men, and when I land, my hands are splayed in front of me.
The Mark of the Phoenix over my breast burns bright red as I send a blast of fire into the crowd.
Eight of the thirty are caught in the blast, and the dragonfire turns their flesh to ash in an instant wherever it directly contacts.
The rest of their bodies explode in flames, and they let out pained shrieks.
Mindless may not have any conscious thought, but pain is an instinct, and they’re still affected by it.
The rest of them don’t stop as they trample the ones on fire to get to the soldiers and the rest of the village, each of them consumed with the possibility of violence.
It takes a moment for me to call upon the Mark of the Spear that crosses just under my collarbone in bright gold. I can only use it once before it fades for days, but if the remaining twenty-two Mindless get to those soldiers, there will be casualties. Thomas obviously won’t be much help.
I focus on the girl in the center. She’s probably only ten years old.
Blood cakes her lips and chin, where she’s fed on some innocent human.
There is nothing but bloodlust in those silver eyes.
I feel the Mark tingling, burning, and finally, the rush of power pours from me.
From my chest, a lightning bolt rushes from me to the Mindless child.
It strikes her squarely in the face, and more, smaller bolts run from her to the others.
The scent of burning flesh is overwhelming.
Another twelve Mindless drop to the ground, some of them twitching and others laying still.
Charred entry and exit holes show the path the lightning traveled.
Still, ten are almost within arm’s reach.
Instead of pulling my daggers from their sheaths, I grab the nearest one, a grown man with a gruesome scar across his face, one eye socket empty.
He tries to swing the mace he’s carrying at me, but the Bear lets me catch it. I spin, pulling him from his feet, and like someone hurling a sack of flour, I swing him into the group, knocking half of them down. The soldiers see their chance and rush the ones that have been downed.
But the movement leaves me open. I feel the familiar sting of a blade against my back and fall forward from the momentum of the attack.
Hitting the ground in a roll, I come up with my back toward the soldiers.
A woman who looks like she could be someone’s maid or cook smiles at me with blood-stained teeth.
The hatchet she carries drips crimson, and I snarl at her.
Four left. I could walk away now, and the soldiers would finish them, but that isn’t the way I was trained.
The woman with the hatchet runs toward me, weapon raised above her head, and suddenly, Thomas glides behind her, a short sword swinging smoothly enough to cut through the Mindless’s neck in a single strike.
Her body keeps running while her head rolls cleanly off with a soft thud.
Only then does the body fall, the hatchet still gripped tightly.
He dances behind the last of the charging Mindless, his blades killing each of them in a single strike.
As the last one falls, I gaze upon the destruction.
Charred and broken bodies lay like a trail of death to the hill I walked over this afternoon.
Around me, bloody silver-eyed faces are unmoving, yet so many are frozen into crimson smiles.
In just a few hours, what was once a beautiful sight reminding me of life had turned into something brutal and terrifying. It’s only then that I realize I’m having trouble raising my left arm. I wince as I try to look behind me.
“It didn’t cut a Mark,” Thomas says callously as he walks over to me. “The Boar probably protected you against most of it, but that was a risky move.”
I blink at the man who’d hidden behind his soldiers, something Priests aren’t supposed to do.
We’re the ones who protect humans, not the other way around.
“Risky? Why weren’t you standing beside me using your own Marks to protect your soldiers?
You waited until the battle was nearly over before you even moved. ”
His jaw tightens at my criticism, and he looks like he’s going to say something reflexively. Instead, he stops himself and stands a little taller. “A Priest is worth a hundred trained soldiers. Only a Priest can stop the nightmares that lay in wait on the darkest nights.”
It’s a commonly referenced passage from Book One of the Priests, the first book a Priest in training receives before they earn their first Mark.
It’s true. I could have fought and killed all thirty of these Mindless without being hurt if I weren’t worried about them getting to the soldiers and villagers.
The ten men in plate armor would have died along with every person in the village if Thomas and I hadn’t been here.
Instead of arguing with him, I quote an excerpt from the Third Book of the Priest, given to second Degree Priests.
“Every soldier we protect is a soldier who will let us rest. Protect them so they can protect you.” I pause for a moment to let the words sink in.
“We stand on the front lines, Thomas. We are the shelter from the storm. Soldiers are there to back us up or to fight when we cannot, when we have spent our resources. They are not a wall for you to hide behind.”