Coil of Worlds

After they all agreed, the priest stood up and prowled the room. He stopped several times before shaking his head and pacing again.

Finally impatient with the priest’s hesitation, Skye growled, “God’s teeth! Tell us what we need to know.”

Settling his hands on his hips, the young man said, “The magic is spreading.”

Not certain what he meant, Lara asked, “What do you mean it’s spreading?”

“The magic is becoming stronger. As time passes, it strengthens. And when it does, it spreads outward.”

Looking at the others in consternation, Lara again spoke for them all, “Okay, what does that have to do with us?”

Restlessness struck the priest again, and he rolled back onto the heels of his feet. “It means that what was harmless centuries ago is now a death trap.” He waved his hand toward the stream. “Something as innocuous as water is now a death sentence for anyone who touches it. It’s why we carry all our foodstuff in the packs. We dare not eat or drink anything that grows in the House.”

Chion asked, What else should we be aware of?

Ticking off his fingers, he started in, “Don’t drink or eat any foods that grow in the House. Only take your rest in designated places. Do not draw blood. Use as little Tal’Ai magic as possible.”

Eiren’s ears swiveled, and her bondmate parroted her words, “The rules are easy enough to follow.” The statement drew a disbelieving laugh from the priest. He shook his head at their naiveté.

Sensing something for the first time from the priest, Lara blurted, “You are afraid. No, you’re terrified.” The testimony startled him, and he looked strangely at her. “Why did you become a priest if you fear for your life?”

“Tal’Ai, you mistake my fear,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m afraid, but not for me. I’ve given my life to the God and Goddess. I do their work. It is enough. When it is my time, I will go to the God and Goddess in the afterlife satisfied with the work I’ve done. I fear for the four of you. The length of time we must be inside the House is alarming in and of itself. Because all of you have faced numerous trials in the recent past, it is even more treacherous. Though you have all agreed to the necessity of your quest, you don’t truly appreciate the reality of the danger you face within these halls.”

Skye’s soft voice cut through the tension. “We have no choice but to complete our quest. Either here or somewhere else, our journey is perilous. The risks may be different, but the level of danger is similar no matter where we are.”

Thinking back to what they’d faced already, Lara had to agree. She tested her shield again. The murky brown meant something based on the priest’s comments. No one broke the silence that fell between them. Lara spread her blanket on the ground. There was enough room for both her and Chion. She thought the unknown would keep her awake worrying long after the others fell asleep.

She was wrong.

Lara awoke to a long, drawn out wail that slithered through the halls and into their room. Skye’s arm landed across her upper chest before she could fully sit up and pushed her back down. Another moan drifted in, its weeping tugging at her soul. A choked cry reached the cave, where it reverberated around them before sliding away.

A soul-wrenching sob escaped her before she could stop it. Lara shared the nameless cries’ pain. Her sobs woke the others, and Chion’s steadfast calm slammed into her, releasing the grip the soulful cries had around her heart. Their pain still clutched at her, and she struggled to remove the emotion as it stuck to her like tiny burrs.

Suddenly, the priest leaned over her. Clasping onto both sides of her face, he recited an ancient prayer. As seconds turned into minutes, Lara felt a minute shift and light spread into the dark corners of her soul. She breathed out a sigh of relief.

He stopped in mid-prayer to smile down at her, worry darkening the blue irises. “You have rejoined us at last.”

Lara moved to sit up, and everyone moved back from where they hovered. Wiping the tears from her face, she asked, “What happened?”

“We heard the sounds of people mourning,” Skye said, looking toward the doorway.

As if mentioning it invited the sounds, another moan drifted to them. Eiren hissed in silent reaction.

The young priest scrubbed his fingers beneath his eyes. “I was afraid this might happen,” he nodded toward Lara. “Your magic makes you susceptible to the emotions the magic has strengthened over the centuries.”

Lara searched inward. Jesus, her shield had dropped while she slept. Lara hurled it back up, wrapping it around her like a coat. Immediately, the sorrow was pushed to the other side of the barrier. “I’m sorry. I haven’t learned how to maintain the barrier while I’m asleep.” She looked over to the priest. “Don’t worry. I can maintain it while I’m awake.”

Skye scratched at his beard for a moment. “We should set a guard when we stop. We can’t sleep without a watch. We do not know how this place will affect the rest of us. We were foolishly lax in our safety tonight.”

Chion nodded. Skye, you have an excellent solution. We can change watch throughout the night, giving everyone a chance to catch some rest.

“I would sleep better knowing someone stood watch,” Lara admitted.

“We might as well continue on our route.” The priest rolled to his feet with a sigh. “I doubt any of us will fall asleep with the wails.”

Chion’s deep voice asked, Who is it that cries?

“No one,” he explained as he rolled up his blanket and tied it to the pack. “The cries are the residual emotions from those who mourned long ago.”

Lara exclaimed in disbelief, “You’re saying that the House wails because someone cried a long time ago?”

The knowledge held within his knowing gaze aged him for a long second, silencing any further protests. There was no doubt he believed every word he said. When another cry reached them, she shivered. How much worse was it going to get?

“Come. We will reach the old priests’ house if we push forward.”

¤¤¤

Lukar slammed his hand down on the makeshift table, splitting the wood in half. As he watched the pieces of the table crash to the ground, he growled his displeasure. His army was behind schedule. His trap never materialized.

Ferer reached down and picked up the map from where it landed in a jumble. Without a word, he rolled it and stacked it with the other maps along the tent wall.

Without glancing at his men crowding the tent, Lukar turned with another growl. He surged through the flap and out into the night. He flowed through the camp, leaving whispers of wary awe in his wake. His guards kept pace in silence. With eyes betraying his tightly held temper, he approached the two Pyranni captives. In a single move, before anyone knew what was happening, he unsheathed his dagger and threw it.

The blade landed with a loud thud into the wooden beam holding both captives up. Louder whispers swept through the ranks like a tidal wave. The blade had passed through the captive’s skull, pinning his head to the beam behind him. He hung lifeless.

Lukar roared his fury; the fearsome sound echoed through the night. Without breaking stride, Lukar drew his second dagger from against his lower back. He carved the second captive into strips of bloody meat, easily slicing through bone. The Malirran King disregarded the screams of pain until they stopped after a few swipes of his blade. Even after the Pyranni was dead, he hacked the body into small chunks of meat. With his speed and strength, it didn’t take long.

Still, it was not enough.

He needed—no—craved another kill. Killing a swath through his enemies would appease his anger. When he stood, he was bathed in blood and gore, his hair dripping with the red substance. He yanked the dagger from the beam and stalked away.

Lukar left behind a stunned army kneeling in a circle, having watched the desecration of two bodies. Long after he left, they knelt in fear and awe. When the men finally stood up, they went back to their tasks in silence, afraid to be at the receiving end of their king’s wrath.

Lukar prowled the forest with his ever-present shadows, looking for more of the enemy. Despite his temper, he stretched out his senses for signs of the Pyranni warriors. They were nearby. He simply had to catch them.

His lips lifted into a silent snarl. There, to the right.

Lukar lifted his hands, halting his guards. Using hand signals to order them to hide, he hunted for a place to set a trap. Glancing up, the first smile of the day graced his thin lips, and his teeth glinted in the dark.

Jumping straight up, he grabbed ahold of the tree limb and rolled himself to the top of the branch. Peering through the tree foliage, a quiet whisper of cloth warned him someone approached.

Three blond-haired warriors loped out of the trees like wild animals. When the last warrior passed beneath him, Lukar unfurled his body from the branch and landed on the balls of his feet.

The warrior, feeling the air disturbance, whirled around, his arrow already notched and ready to fly. Lukar swiped the arrow with his sword, knocking it away like a pesky insect. Moving his body in the same direction as the sword swing, he slit the man’s throat with the dagger in his left hand. Thrumming with the power from Semnac, the man’s head was cut almost clear off. The commotion brought his guardsmen and the two Pyranni warriors into contact, and the ring of steel against steel filled the air. One man, the older, more seasoned warrior, ran his blade through one of his guard, and the tableau screeched to a shocked halt.

Curiosity got the better of Lukar, and he rasped out a command to his personal guard, “Stand down.”

The last two Pyranni warriors stepped back, appearing uncertain in what to do. The older man signaled for the other to retreat. Ah, so the man held a position of authority within the small contingency of Pyranni warriors. When one guard stepped forward to chase down the other, Lukar stopped him with a single glance.

The other Pyranni no longer mattered. He was a dead man, though he didn’t know it.

Lukar raked his gaze over the other man. The Pyranni stood with quiet confidence, holding his sword in a loose grip. The man’s hair was clasped at the nape, the ends blowing in the wind. Lukar shifted his weight. The Pyranni’s clothes were no better than the one he’d slain moments before. Perhaps he wasn’t the leader of these warriors, but he was well regarded nonetheless.

The man gave no precursor of his intent, going from standing to fluidity. Lukar lifted his sword in defense, almost not deflecting the death stroke in time. Semnac breathed life into his body, and his quickened reflexes allowed him to block the next powerful attack. His wicked grin was full of delight.

At last, a master swordsman on which he could practice his skill.

A whine of air before the guard on his right flew backward heralded new players to the drama unfolding around him. Lukar followed the arrow’s trajectory back to where it originated and threw his dagger. A soft, satisfying thwack reached his ears.

He glanced down. His guard was in the death throes, blood gurgling around the arrow. And he was surrounded with only one guardsman left.

He screamed, “Semnac,” needing her intervention. Lukar spat on the ground and bared his teeth. With a compulsion he was helpless against, he knelt beside the dying guard. He tried to lock his muscles, knowing it left him vulnerable, but his arm kept its downward motion until warm blood met his fingers.

“My King,” his man gurgled with his last breath. Though his conscience clamored at him, Lukar lifted his fingers to his mouth, sucking in the strength-giving fluid, greedy for the power it provided.

Disgust spread across the Pyrannis’ faces, and they each turned to the oldest warrior for guidance. Their hesitation cost them three men.

With a speed he had seldom used before, Lukar circled the clearing, sweeping through them, leaving behind the dead. By the time the first man dropped, he was already working on the second. The older warrior called out, but it was too late.

He left the master swordsman for last. Lukar’s sword snaked out to wound him, but it was met by the other’s sword. Their duel crossed the clearing, back and forth, around and around, and Lukar’s excitement soared. A master swordsman indeed. He dismissed the power Semnac gave him, content to wager his life on his rusty skills instead.

Lukar attacked, slipping through the man’s defense. He recognized his peril at the last second as a knife whipped past his head. Lukar turned his sword to block the Pyranni’s sword strike, his ears ringing from the sound. Using the momentum from his block, Lukar swept around in a tight circle, surprising his opponent with his burst of speed. His blade slid through the man’s wrist. The resulting scream filled the clearing.

With the Pyranni losing blood, the match slowed, and Lukar became bored with the inevitable. He drew on Semnac’s power and streaked in close, bypassing the sword that came up to ward him off. His dagger plunged upward into the soft skin just behind the jawline, driving into the brain until the hilt hit bone. Close enough to kiss the man’s lips, Lukar breathed in the man’s garbled moan, staring into eyes that reminded him of the ocean. The body slumped, and still he watched until the light faded from the man’s eyes.

Lukar twisted the head back and forth like a grotesque puppet, wriggling the dagger until it was no longer stuck in the skull. He grunted. The warm blood made it nigh impossible to maintain a good grip on the hilt. With his other hand, he grabbed the Pyranni’s neck, then wrenched the dagger out. Bringing the blade up for a taste, Lukar watched dispassionately as the master swordsman fell to the ground in a boneless heap.

His sole guard moved forward to stand watch as Lukar turned his attention to the two men who had died on his behalf. He knelt down by the first one and lowered his head. Lukar’s bloodied hand graced the dead man’s forehead.

“May you find the afterlife in Semnac’s bosom. Your oath you kept. I vow upon my forefathers and Semnac’s own blood it is so.”

At his words, a soft gasp escaped the remaining guard. Lukar moved to the other and repeated the words. The honor was one his men strove for from their king. It was the highest honor a Malirran king could bestow, vowing upon his soul and his forefathers’ that no better man could come to the attention of a god or goddess. When he stood, his gaze slid to his guard who stood with renewed determination to complete his duty to his king.

Lukar nodded in acknowledgement. News of his beneficence would spread, lighting a fire beneath the feet of his army.

Although the outcome was one he never expected, Lukar couldn’t help but smile down at the night’s bounty. For once, the craving for torture, blood, and death held second place to the thrill of the coming fight.

“I’ll send men to gather our dead as soon as we return,” Lukar commanded, already walking back to the camp.