8. Chapter 8
Chapter 8
Caelan
“ C ome, Brother,” sneered Tanead Tajawl. “Dance with me."
Tajawl launched at me and I slashed with both swords. He dipped inside my guard and brought his fist down on my hand. His sword dropped from my grip and into his. He slashed the scale covering my legs with quickness and savagery. I was back on the defensive.
It was natural to dip into Arbaaz’ mind. Over our cycles together, it had become a habit to soothe myself with the touch of his simpler mind and the flow of air beneath his wings. It was only after I was in him, looking down at myself and the demon, that I realized he’d reached me. He could help.
But if he did, who would see?
Tajawl launched a fresh barrage and I took a shallow cut on my upper arm and only barely managed to dodge a killing swipe at my neck. I had no idea if the blade that had sliced my arm was poisoned. I had no choice but to use every weapon I had left.
I pulled in Arbaaz' wings and initiated a dive. His curved beak was sharp as a dagger. I aimed it for the demon’s eyes.
Tajawl heard him coming and raised his sword. I couldn’t have that.
I launched my own attack to coincide with the eagle’s. As one, we came at the demon. He could not escape us both.
The bird, evidently, made for the more intimidating opponent. The prince turned his back to me to dodge Arbaaz’ beak. My blade slashed across his hamstrings as Arbaaz' beak tore messily at the back of his neck. Crying out, he fell. Rolled. Tried to get back up.
Arbaaz was climbing, wings flapping laboriously as he gained height to make another pass. But he’d done what I needed him to do. My sword was at the demon’s throat and I wasted no time kicking his sword from his hand. It skittered across the glass and out of reach.
My blood soared in triumph, thinking of what my father would say when I brought the Heir of Los back as a prize.
With satisfaction, I brought the pommel of my sword down on his head and knocked him out. Wasting no time, I ripped fabric from the bottom of his tunic to tie his hands.
“Joab,” I called. “Joab, talk to me.”
No answer.
I finished with the ties around the demon’s wrists and rushed to Joab’s side. But I knew before I knelt beside him that he was dead. His blood could not soak into the glass so it lay beneath him in a pool. Most of it had come from a slash across his inner thigh. I knew the spot—a cut there would make a man bleed to death in a few heartbeats.
But it was far from his only wound. He’d been stabbed through the shoulder and had a shallow cut on his cheek. He’d been slashed across the back of his calves and across the gut. The damned demons seemed to have cut him on every patch of his skin not protected by scale.
How many attacks on me had he turned back before he fell? I was sure he was the reason I lived. And I was the reason he was dead.
“Fuck, Joab,” I said. My words rang in the still-red sky, echoing in the emptiness. Joab’s eyes were open, staring straight at Jupe and the eclipse.
I wanted to say I was sorry. I wanted to say thank you. I wanted to shake him and tell him to wake up. Cycles of practice in the yards and on raids had not prepared me for what I felt now that my shadow had died for me. I wanted to speak words that would properly honor his sacrifice, but all I could come up with reflected my bitter fears that I wasn’t worth such a sacrifice.
I reached out to close his eyes instead and stood wearily. The triumph that had flooded me at the end of my fight had left me.
When I returned to my father with news of the Rebirth, he would have no choice but to call his banners and go to war with Los. In offering him the prince of Los, I’d proved myself capable in the field and too valuable to be wasted in the temple. I’d achieved my ambition. But at what cost?
I was lost in such thoughts when I noticed a woman watching me from the edge of my glass island.
She was dressed like them, but she wasn’t one of them. Her face was unwrapped, revealing olive skin that spoke of southern Vaharilaran blood. No horns rose from her scalp. Waves of hair fell over her chest. The hair was dragonstone black and must have blue in it, for it lit up purple in the red light of the sky. Her figure was lithe, practically fragile. But none of this was as captivating as her eyes.
They were hypnotic pools of emerald green. They glowed brighter than the night’s stars. She was Touched.
The lift of her chin spoke of bravery, as did the square of her shoulders. She faced me head on. She did not look afraid, but eager. I felt cold as this thought took me. The space between us was charged and electric. It crackled with tension and possibilities.
My scimitar was on the ground and I didn’t retrieve it. The daggers she clenched in white-knuckled fists meant little to me. Not when her body weighed about as much as my arm. They were unusual, though. Dragonstone blades, immeasurably rare.
How long had she been watching me? She might have seen me command Arbaaz. She might know I was an altayr. I hated killing innocents, but it would be dangerous to let her go. Killing her must be done but I didn’t want to do it.
“Run,” I told her instead.
She did nothing, only blinked eyes the color of sparkling jewels.
“Do you understand me? You need to run.”
She startled me when she spoke back with an accent that was almost noble, though a little off. “I’m finished running.”
The scrape as she struck her twin blades against each other was background accompaniment to her words.
I felt shame at my relief. This woman was no innocent. She was with the demons after all, and determined to fight me. She must desire the return of the Heir.
Along with this relief came a flood of distracting thoughts. Her voice was husky and rich, seductive without trying to be. It made me picture her body beneath the loose red tunic and pants she wore. In my mind, her emerald eyes blinked lazily in the moments after sex. Her delicate fingers twirled a length of my hair.
But they did no such thing. Her legs launched her into a run. Only a few steps and she’d reach me. And I’d left my fucking blade on the ground. Swearing, I drew a fresh dagger. One of mine against two of hers. If only she were a man, and four times larger, it might be a fair fight.
She was quick, though. I’d give her that. Quick and fresher than I was. My dagger had barely sung free before she was on me, twin daggers whirling with a speed and precision that spoke of her comfort with them. If her blades landed just right against my own, the dragonstone could shatter my steel. It could also cut the scale armor I wore. I wasn’t used to being so vulnerable.
I also wasn’t used to fighting against twin daggers. They lacked the reach of a scimitar, and so the woman had to fight close. Her feet landed between mine as we stepped and spun. I heard her measured breathing over the clash of our weapons.
She fought with space between her blades, bringing them in for attacks at different angles and heights so I could only block one at a time. I was left to dodge the other, which she made difficult by deliberately cutting off the most obvious escape.
I needed my sword.
As soon as I was able, I brought the fight to my scimitar. She raised a foot to kick it away, but before she could, I ducked to retrieve it. I swept out with it as I came up and she instantly had to retreat. With its long range, I could now keep her far enough away from me that her daggers would be useless. She’d have to find a way inside my guard. The fight had turned.
I grinned. My enjoyment of the dance had temporarily banished my grief and reluctance. The world became simpler.
“You’re quite skilled,” I said. “Where did you train?”
I could toy with her now, for she was on the defensive. With every swipe of my scimitar, I backed her closer to the island’s edge. She gritted her teeth and blocked. I could tell from the angles of her blocks that she was trying to shatter my sword. I’d have to be sure she didn’t.
“You’ve never fought a woman before today, have you, Slayer?” She was breathing heavily and seemed to be tiring. It must be difficult for her to block each of my blows. I put my whole strength into them, hoping to make her crumble. If she dropped one of those blades, she’d be finished.
“I’ve fought women.”
“You’ve killed them, I’m sure. But I mean a real fight.”
“Is that what you’d call this?”
As she glowered, I saw my opening. She was at the edge of the island. I forced her to block and turn in a direction of my choosing. My dagger was there to greet her.
It slashed her stomach, leaving a long but shallow cut.
She cried out, her hand going automatically to her stomach. She didn’t drop her dagger, but clutched it to her as if it were a child. Her back was bent slightly; her eyes were surprised. She hadn’t been in many real fights, I thought, or she’d have gotten over the surprise of injury.
In moments, she straightened. It had to hurt when she pulled the wound open, but she didn’t grimace or cry out again. Through the cut fabric of her tunic, I could see the bare skin of her belly. Blood leaked down her skin like tears on cheeks.
She brought up her daggers. She wasn’t good at masking her intentions—she was going to come at me hard and fast, to make a last stand before she was too weakened by her injury. But this fight was already over.
I slammed my scimitar’s blade into one of her daggers. The force was enough to make her drop it. She was weaker now.
I let her swing at me with the other one while I stepped behind her. I moved in close and closed my hand over hers. With a tug, I took the dagger from her and made it my own. She cried out in fury and spun to face me. She was practically cradled inside my arms—too close for me to use any of the three weapons I held.
She brought her arm back and then chopped out with it, landing the flat of her hand against the front of my neck.
Fuck! I bent forward, coughing and choking.
I dropped my blades. If that’s how she wanted it…with a single punch to her stomach, I knocked her off her feet. She fell on her back, heaving. I had her blood on my fist.
She tried to stand, but before she could, I dropped to a knee before her and closed my hand around the front of her neck. She leaned up into it, arching her back, her lips moving as they reached for my ear.
Without thinking about it, I leaned down to hear. Her hot breath on my neck made gooseflesh rise.
“Do it,” she said. The hatred that corrupted that sultry voice shocked me.
She was right. I should do it. It wasn’t even a question. I should simply shift my grip a little and snap the delicate neck I held in my hand. Or I could pick up a dagger and thrust it through her unprotected chest.
And yet, I did not.
“What’s the matter with you?” She was angry. Perhaps her bravery was leaving her and she didn’t want to die afraid. I’d seen it before.
"You're an altayr," she added.
Fuck.
"You hid it from the others but I'll tell. I'll tell every soul in two kingdoms." Her eyes flashed with satisfaction. She was sure I'd kill her now, which only made me want to do it less.
“I could cut out your tongue so you could not speak my secrets,” I said.
“Losians use a sign language and they taught it to me. You must cut off my hands as well.”
I sighed in frustration. “Why are you trying to die?”
“Because it is preferable to accepting mercy from you, Slayer.”
I shook my head and stood. It was tedious to squat for so long in heat and sweat and armor. I collected up all the weapons so that I could not be surprised. The woman tried to stand, but the more she moved, the more she bled. She wasn’t going anywhere.
For that matter, neither was I. The once-smooth land had fractured into islands of jagged glass surrounded by red sands. The settling land still shifted. The sands swallowed a nearby piece of glass whole. I was caught in a trap. And I was alone, truly alone. My gaze drifted back to Joab before I tugged it away.
I wasn’t alone, actually. I was with enemies.
But Ufuk was still with me. He carried a full jug of fresh water and some dried rations. I had my weapons and my armor, plus those of the woman and the demon.
I retrieved my bedroll, for it was the least useful of the resources remaining to me. I threw it into the sand beyond my glass island and watched it sink. If I stepped into this sand, I’d be swallowed, too.
I had to find my way home. All my efforts and Joab’s sacrifice (not to mention the others who might have been lost today) would be for nothing if I couldn’t report on the Rebirth to my father. The empire must ready itself for war.
Even if the sands were not a monster’s open mouth, I could not simply step off the glass. My island had risen above the surrounding sands. I would have to climb down the jagged sides. And then what? The land was a trap.
I considered the Touched woman. She lay still with her hand flat on her wound. She didn’t gasp or squint or struggle against the pain. Her face was strangely peaceful. Had she died?
No. She took quiet, measured breaths, her eyes closed in concentration.
“You look almost comfortable,” I said.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
“Why would that disappoint me?”
She laughed cruelly. “You are a Slayer, are you not? You enjoy causing pain. They say you do it to hear the screams. But I will not scream for you.”
I could make you scream for me, I thought. My cock jumped as possibilities suggested themselves.
“Touched can see a world that most cannot. You climbed up here after the land moved. You know how to get safely through the sands, don’t you?”
She did not deny it. She did not speak at all.
I went to her and bent at her side. She shuffled away from me until I grabbed her arm gently to stop her. “You’re going to bleed out. I have to wrap the wound.”
“I can do it,” she said. Her voice was rough, edged with pain, as her shaking fingers tore off the ripped lower half of her tunic.
The expanse of her bare stomach was smeared with blood. The starkness of the red made me glance at the sky. It was lightening. A sliver of Ksafa peeked out from behind the red eye of Jupe.
“The eclipse is ending,” I noted.
The woman froze. Her eyes closed. Her breathing stilled even further. I had a strange sensation as I watched her that she was not even here with me anymore; her Sight had taken her somewhere else. Was this how I’d once looked when I entered Arbaaz, before Selim taught me to disguise it? I’d never seen anyone else use power that looked like mine before.
A frown creased her forehead. She huffed out in frustration and opened her eyes. She continued her work with the wrap as if whole breaths had not passed since she began.
“What did you see?”
Her eyes flicked to me, and then back to her own stomach. She wound the fabric tightly around her bleeding wound, compressing her gut. But her shaking hands couldn’t tie it off.
I reached to help her.
“Fuck you,” she said.
I ignored her and batted her hand away. I tied the fabric tight. Perhaps too tight. I wanted to make her groan, to throw back her head and flutter her eyelashes at the sudden stab of pain.
But she only took a deep, steadying breath. She fixed her eyes on me again but they were heavy-lidded and hazy. “The perfect solution has presented itself to you, Slayer. I will die here and you don’t even have to bother to kill me. Why wrap my wound and save my life?”
“Actually, I was thinking your death would be quite inconvenient, as I need you to guide me home.”
She laughed, coughed. “Why not seek the help of your bird? I am sure he can find you a path.”
I had to work to steady my breathing. She was reminding me that she knew my secret. She was still just trying to get me to kill her.
“My eagle cannot see below the sands. You can.”
“I will guide you only into the mouth of a beast.” Her energy was waning. The thread of her voice was like a candle reaching the end of its wick. “You will die in this land, Slayer.”
She smiled at that. She looked genuinely fucking happy, the bitch. She forced herself to her elbows and again, I bent so that she could whisper to me. Her lips were flames and I was the moth.
“You and all your kin. The Mother is coming for you.”
I’d be lying if I said her prophetic tone and emerald eyes didn’t combine to unsettle me. But I could not show her she’d hit her target.
“Are you a seer, Touched? Some of your kind are. They see the Threads of the future. I only ask because a seer makes for an even more valuable prisoner. I certainly won’t kill you now.”
Her forehead creased and she looked irritated, but slightly confused. She blinked as if her head were spinning.
I glanced at the ground below her to see how much blood she’d lost, but it had soaked into the red clothes she wore and it was hard to tell.
“I’m no seer. I see no Threads of the future. But I see how the Threads of the past have woven this moment. I see our names, woven together like destiny.”
“Oh? Then tell me your name, Touched.”
Her eyes had closed and her head had fallen back down to rest on the ground. She mumbled, her sentences running together. “Oh, can’t say my name. It’s secret, for only ravens and crows who pick at the dead to hear. Can’t say until you bleed out like me. You can’t know my name until you’re ready to die.”
I was very unsettled now. A warning buzzed beneath my skin. Kill her, it whispered. End her. But I couldn’t move.
“Why is that?” I asked instead of picking up a dagger and doing the smart thing.
“You’ll kill me. More dishonor,” she whispered.
“You wanted me to kill you. Tell me and get your wish.”
“Your wish.” Her words barely had sound. “You’ll wish you killed me.” Then she passed out, her muscles relaxing.
She lay before me, entirely at my mercy. A horde of weapons lay nearby. To kill her would be the easiest thing in the world. But a battle raged in me over the choice.
If I killed her, I might be swallowed by the broken lands of Los and never reach the River of Madness with my prize. But if I took her with me, she might reveal the secret I’d kept carefully hidden. I should at least cut out her tongue, for nobody in Vaharilar could read her sign language.
But to perform such a mutilation was distasteful to me. And it was an incomplete solution. She might write my secret down. The woman was an enemy, a Losian ally. She had made no secret of her hatred of Slayers. I did not need to know her name or her story to know these things.
In fact, the more I stacked up reasons, the more obvious it was that keeping her alive was not worth the risk. And yet I sat beside her all the same and pressed my hands to her wound to stop its bleeding. Maybe I just didn’t want to be alone.