Cradle of Sea and Soil Page 24

“Kisari, it’s me,” he cried, then, into her mind, shouted, It’s Narune!

  She froze within his grasp, gulping for air, and looked over her shoulder with a frown. Narune let her go when he was certain she had calmed, and watched her smooth out her hair and sarong. A frown flickered across her face and she reached up to pluck free some crumpled flowers and leaves from the green tendrils flowing through her hair.

  She winced as she plucked a few more, but her glare remained focus on Ixchel.

  His other friend laughed, let out a long breath, and rose onto her feet before dusting herself off. She had some small scratches across her body, but nothing that would leave a worthy scar.

  “I guess it was only a matter of time before she went wild too,” Ixchel said, laughing at Kisari’s glare and Narune’s confused look.

  “I didn’t hit you because the screams told me to,” Kisari snapped. “I did it because you deserved it.”

  “Oh? Whatever for?”

  Kisari gave Ixchel such a look that she flinched, and Narune, who wasn’t even the target, flinched with her. I’ve never seen her like this.

  “You let them hurt Narune!” Kisari accused.

  “So? He’s a warrior, and it’s not like I hurt Narune.”

  “You might as well have!” Kisari spat back, and she was screaming. She turned to all of the youths and they flinched too. “How could you? Is this what the honor of warriors looks like? Of spiritseers?” She laughed. “What a jest that you think there’s something dark waiting to emerge from us when you’re all already monsters.”

  “Oi,” Ixchel said, stepping close to Kisari who didn’t budge. The youths around them looked away uneasily. “You don’t know me.”

  “Yes. I. Do.” Kisari said, her own face moving closer with each word. “No one has spent more time with you than Narune and I, other than maybe your fathers, but we all know that our parents will never be the same as our friends.” Her face began to soften. “I’ve held your heads on my lap on dark days. I’ve struggled over meals just to make you smile and treated your wounds when you sparred too hard. I still have every single necklace and bracelet you and Naru have ever made for me, but looking at them only makes me cry now.”

  Ixchel backed away now, obviously uncomfortable, and looked at the others as if they could somehow help. Her gaze eventually settled on Narune, but he only gave her a shrug, even though his own heart throbbed.

  Ixchel finally sighed and faced Kisari once more. “Look, that was before I knew—”

  “Knew what? That it was easier to be cruel than kind? That everything you know about us is worth nothing compared to what strangers say to you?” Kisari was almost in tears now. “I know what I am, which is why I just nod my head when people treat me exactly like how they should treat Halfborn, and that’s hard enough.” She waved a hand wildly at Narune. “But Narune and his mother try to be more than just Halfborn in spite of everything, and you have no idea how much it burdens them.” She hugged herself. “Or the kind of things that are asked of them in spite of that.”

  Ixchel glanced between them with confusion, but Kisari didn’t clarify and instead stomped off toward his bohío. He hesitated, glancing back at Ixchel, who stood frowning, then rushed after Kisari.

  “Kisari—”

  She jerked her arm away when he reached out to grab her and whirled to face him, finger thrusting at his bare chest. “Leave me alone.”

  “But why?”

  “Because I’m upset with you too.” When she saw his expression, she huffed and added, “Narune, she didn’t hand back our friendship with a sad face and a broken heart; she cut it and laughed before and after the knife fell, then turned her back on our pain. Many Cycles of our love, countless memories together, and the knowledge that she was one of the precious few people we had in our lives, all thrown away, and she doesn’t care.” Her voice had grown loud by the end, loud enough that he knew Ixchel and all the others could hear, but she didn’t seem to notice. Kisari turned away. “But you and I still do. We still love her, and you keep reminding me of that stupid, painful truth because exactly because you refuse to hate her—even after what Ixchel let them do to you. That’s why I’m angry at you.”

  He stood speechless while she continued toward his bohío. Kisari didn’t look back even once.

  I… He didn’t think he was in danger of losing both his friends, but …

  Narune sighed.

  “Shouldn’t you go after her before she starts weeping like a sproutling?” Ixchel asked. When he turned to glare at her, he realized the words had sounded hollow and that her expression mismatched them.

  Then again, you’d have to be a halja to not have felt Kisari’s bite, may Ixchel’s day remain stormless.

  Narune’s gaze panned across Ixchel and the crowd of youths, some still had their Blades awakened. They had wounded his pride and trust, wounds deeper than flesh, and he couldn’t lie about the fact that it had been cruel, but somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to hate them.

  Narune felt like a fool for that, but shouldn’t he?

  “Kisari is right, you know,” he slowly said to Ixchel. “I wish you wouldn’t have let a moment of weakness drown everything you know about us.”

  Ixchel gave him a tired look. “Narune… it’s not like I want to be cruel. You Halfborn were almost the reason we almost lost the war and the reason the Primordial Wound’s infection was able to spread further. What’s the point if we don’t learn from our mistakes?”

  Mistakes. Narune winced. It was a word his mother had heard all her life, one she despised. “I didn’t have a choice about how I was born. Believe me, if it were so easy as cutting off my ears and tail then I’d have done it, but it’s not. Instead, I’m trying to change what I end up becoming. What can’t you understand about that?”

  Ixchel’s eyes narrowed. She parted her mouth, and he could tell she meant to bite rather than nip, but she never got the chance. The words died on her tongue, her head snapped toward the forest, and she drew her Flowing Blade while shrieking out a warning—

  The distant edges of the Jurakán had also been throbbing in warning, but Narune was so used to ignoring it that he hadn’t noticed.

  Gray cords thundered through the air. They looked like liquid, sinuous spears made of a single material. They were faster than any arrow and plunged into the crowded youths, gouging through bodies before bursting out the other side. Gore sprayed and a chorus of pained screams filled the air.

  More than one had been meant for him, but a flash of amber deflected several of the cords mid-air and sent them off course. They streaked away and over him. The others just barely missed when Ixchel shoved him behind her, her body dripping with Amberflow.

  It was almost impossible to steal initiative from the wind, and the disturbed air from a predator springing into motion or a spear being drawn back would be enough to alert even an Amberflow novice like her. Still, Narune marveled at her control over her spells.

  But not all of the others had fared as well.

  Narune stared around in horror. Blood gushed onto the grass from around the cords still impaling some novices, and there were already several limp bodies hanging from them. Most of the Ixchel’s fellow novices remained standing though, eyes wide in shock. Fewer had their Blades ready before them.

  “Focus!” Ixchel snapped. “There won’t be enough of us to fight back if everyone fucking dies.” Her amber Blade was pointed toward the forest.

  The spike-like cords slowly retracted, dropping their victims to the ground with a dull, meaty thud. Narune followed them back to the gloomy forest line.

  Halja that were the hollow reflections of jakuru tigers, moss wolves, and boars spilled out in startling numbers. With them were five greater halja, two Empty Fury and three of a breed he had only ever heard of—Empty Hunt.

  The Hunts were giants, towering over the two Fury, and they lumbered toward the group with a careless gait. Their torsos and legs were thin, but their calves widened out to end in massive
hooves and their arms, shoulders, and hands were oversized, bulbous things. It was into these arms that the liquid cords retreated, spooling into three openings where their hands should have been.

  The cords melted into a suspended gray mass visible through the lattice that made up the bodies of all halja. Their heads were domes, stretched from one bulky shoulder to the other, and at the center something like an exaggerated single eye moved with a wild lack of focus.

  Those still standing stared at the halja swarm with open shock—there was only ever supposed to be this many at the Primordial Wound. A novices even fled, and Narune couldn’t help but feel a pang of searing anger. Cowards.

  Ixchel scowled at their backs, seemingly just as enraged. “You won’t make it!” A few halted, and she desperately waved them back. “Each one of you that leaves weakens us.” Her words reached some, but some of her supposed friends gave her apologetic looks before sprinting toward the village.

  One of the youths with a blue poncho formed water spheres and leaped onto one, soaring upward with clumsy haste. She didn’t get far before all six of an Empty Hunt’s spikes plunged through her.

  The rest of the spike-cords fired toward Narune, Ixchel, and those standing with them, but Ixchel and the others worked together to deflect the spikes.

  Several Empty Tigers and Wolves broke off toward the few novices still racing toward the village, closing the gap with ease, and Ixchel swore.

  “The towers watch the tree line near the village,” Ikenna muttered, moving to Narune’s left with an amber Blade like Ixchel’s. Narune could tell he was struggling to simply control his Channeling, but couldn’t fault him—Ikenna’s training had come late because of Narune. “Not sure if they’ll notice, but I doubt they’d reach us in time even if they did.

  “Pick up your spear,” Ixchel screamed to Narune from his right. She hesitated for a moment, and turned to face him. “And don’t go wild on me, even to save us. I’d rather you die like a warrior than a beast.”

  Narune said nothing as he reached down to pick up his spear. He knew he wouldn’t use it for long, if at all, and though he feared the battle before them far more, Narune began to also fear what survival would mean. He touched the hidden Blade at his hip and took a slow breath.

  The lesser halja drew closer and some of the youths tried their ranged spells. Some of the wolves, tigers, and boars fell, but too many of the attacks missed. The spiritseers were panicking, their Channeling flawed, their control imperfect. Narune didn’t even bother trying; his Thousandth Sun was still difficult for him to control at a distance, so it was probably a better idea to wait until the halja drew closer.

  Narune glanced beyond the beast-halja as the extra arms and drums on the backs of the two Empty Fury began a furious beat, then looked even further where the Empty Hunts were lumbering toward them. The Hunts slowed to a halt and liquid spikes oozed out from their hands, joining together to form long, massive clubs with bulbous ends. The three halja then slammed them down onto the ground and a plume of debris and soil erupted up into the air, obscuring them.

  “Call out if you see them,” Ixchel said, raising her voice to be heard over all the quickened breaths.

  Narune nodded. Human senses slipped off an Empty Hunt like stormwater on stone if you didn’t stay directly focused on them—they had to be found by accident, usually while paying attention to something else, and then they could be pointed out.

  Narune eyed the Furies and licked his lips. Easier said than done. This couldn’t be anything other than Peacemaker’s work.

  That meant the halja weren’t coming for Ixchel or the others—they were coming for him.

  Chapter 23

  Indecision jolted through Narune for a single heartbeat. The Jurakán vibrated with power, its rage swelling as he watched the approaching halja. But as enticing as it was, he feared giving into it, feared losing control, feared dying without being himself, or knowing if he had even made a difference. Maybe that was cowardly of him, but he didn’t care. Then again, maybe I won’t even have a choice in the end. His thoughts went to the Duels and he shivered.

  Another, deeper thought somewhere in his chest whispered that they wouldn’t leave at all, no matter what he did.

  Ixchel was screaming orders beside him and the spiritseers beside her obeyed without question. They moved forward, away from the blood-soaked grass, muddied soil, and the cries of their mortally wounded friends. Ixchel didn’t even acknowledge the spiritseers further away, who had tried to run instead of stay and fight. A few were still alive and desperately fighting against countless beast-halja.

  “Form a rake, then push forward! Together! Focus on killing the two Furies!” Ixchel cried. “Or else those Empty Hunts will fuck us.”

  Narune glanced away from her, watching the warrior discipline and many Cycles of training take over. They moved into a loose formation, with space enough between to let the charging halja pass, and their weapons to swing without hurting the others. Their battlefield was a good, clear stretch of grass, the beach and sea at their backs, the tree line up the slope ahead of them. Flowing Blades surged to life—

  —and then the lesser beast-halja crashed into them like a tsunami.

  Narune made his choice. He jabbed his spear into an Empty Boar, felt the muscles in his arms bulge as he turned it over and let its momentum slide him back, and then drew his Flowing Blade. The Carrion Flow came to him, rushing through him and to his Blade. A curved sliver spilled out from the hilt of his weapon, like liquid shadow, and eyes flicked toward him in confusion and open shock.

  His was the only black Blade between the other spiritseers. Narune let out a long breath, shoving the Jurakán hard, and calmed himself with the trance-like effort it took to Channel. He stepped over the crumbling Boar and swung his weapon into the maw of a Wolf as it leaped for him.

  The Empty Wolf’s jaws continued back along its sides, so when they parted the Wolf’s entire body also split open. Within was a messy sea of fangs.

  Narune’s Blade passed through it like a knife through water. It separated into halves and crumbled before falling to the ground. Gasping, Narune leaped back as another Wolf stumbled toward him. The halja rebalanced itself at the last moment, then leaped and crashed into him.

  He fought back panic and made his blade insubstantial as he tumbled with the monster and landed on hard, thin grass.

  Narune slashed wildly behind him at the Wolf, then held his Blade point-first in front of him as an Empty Boar charged a heartbeat later.

  The dismembered hindquarters of a Wolf pressed against his cheek while Narune struggled from the ground, arms aching from the force of the Boar’s charge. The Boar fought against the Blade impaling it, shimmering with a faint gray light, its tusks leaving shallow gouges along Narune’s face and shoulders.

  Its own frantic movements helped his Blade unmake it from the inside, and then it crumbled to dust and spilled over him, clouding the air.

  Narune coughed and spat as he scrambled to his feet, feeling grass on his knees and hands. There were screams—more than before? Close, far? He couldn’t tell. He glanced around but the air was filled with the dust of unmade halja, so thick that it swallowed sunlight and obscured spiritseer Blades.

  Wind blew, thinning the cloud—just enough for him to see an Empty Hunt firing its liquid spear-cords, which also dispelled its camouflage.

  Narune’s arms jerked of their own accord. He twisted and deflected one of the three cords that had been fired at him, while stumbling back. The other rushed by, gouging his belly in a spray of blood that would leave a beautiful scar if he survived this.

  The third impaled a spiritseer Narune hadn’t noticed beside him, but the girl merely cut through it with her umber-colored blade, using the Deep Flow of the world beneath their feet to reinforce herself, making her as immovable as any boulder.

  A Wolf leaped at her before Narune could cry out a warning. The Wolf was halted by her body as if she were a cliff face, unable to knock her down�
��its fangs still managed to tear apart her arm in a spray of blood, but then she slammed her weapon down onto the halja like a club and it burst apart into dust.

  Narune rose and pressed a hand against his belly as the wounded spiritseer, gasping but determined, moved deeper into the fight. Narune’s eyes darted across the battlefield for the Empty Hunt, scowling.

  There was blood everywhere, crumbling halja, bodies on the floor—spiritseers in need of help or already gone?—and the air was again thick with gray dust. The Empty Hunt had already vanished.

  “Forward!” Ixchel cried from somewhere to his right, and he was relieved to hear it. “Here come the—” Her voice cut off with a grunt.

  Narune sprinted through a thick plume of dust to look for another opponent. An Empty Tiger turned from the mouthful of intestines it had been tearing free. Narune reflexively swung at it, only to have the Tiger gracefully leap over the attack, flip, and then launch off his upper body.

  The force threw him back and down onto the muddied grass—the Tiger landed nimbly and then darted forward with eerie speed, fangs ready for the kill.

  Narune opened himself and pushed his Channeling hard, then he cast Hunger’s Ward. Black lines immediately traced his veins and arteries and a deep hunger settled into his belly.

  He caught a bite on his arm and felt a distant jolt of pain. Instead of his tendons and blood being ripped free, the Tiger’s wild jerk didn’t even pierce his skin and instead smeared away the lines near where it had bitten him.

  The Tiger leaped back, wary, but Narune sprang forward onto his feet. The Empty Tiger tried pouncing again, but this time Narune spun his Blade back behind him, then cast Devour as the black, inky tail of his weapon followed. The spell widened as the Empty Tiger lunged and caught it midair—the halja thudded against it and then fell like a rock.

  Narune’s Blade was already sweeping down on it in a brutal chop. The curved black edge slammed against sinew, found brief resistance as a gray shimmer rippled across the Tiger, then burst through. Black lines spread across the Empty Tiger, thicker around where his Blade had cut it.