Chaos: Book Five of the Lost Gods
May. 7th, 2007 02:48 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrLast story, here we go ^__^
Prologue
"What’s your name, boy?" The old healer asked gently as he finished washing his hands, drying them off on an old rag which he then laid neatly on an old, scuffed table. He looked the boy up and down.
He had to look up quite a bit, for all that the boy was young he didn’t lack height. Must be halfway to adulthood, all that awkward gangliness, hunching his shoulders to hide his height, which had no doubt come sooner than the boy liked. He had shoulder-length hair that was so rich and deep a red it looked like a dark fire. As if the gods had that theme in mind when they molded the boy, his eyes burned dark amber, a rich orange-tinged yellow that made it hard to look away. With age the directness of that gaze would prove lethal. Right now they only looked scared.
Which he probably was. Because the boy, as hard as he was obviously trying, was obviously nobility. "Have you got a tongue, lad?" The healer teased gently, winking one old, pale blue eye. "I’m Master Faddey."
The boy nodded. "My…my old nurse talks about you. That’s why I came. My name is…Sasha."
Faddey nodded. He doubted that was the boy’s name, but it would do. "What can I do for you?"
"I thought maybe you could tell me what was wrong with me," Sasha said. Faddey was struck by something he had not noticed before, too taken by the boy’s appearance.
He wasn’t moving. Not twitching or shifting, fidgeting or looking anxiously around. He held perfectly still, calm and patient despite the anxiety written so plainly in his face. If he kept that poise throughout his life, combined with his looks and obvious breeding – the boy would go far.
On top of the rest, ‘Sasha’ was obviously intelligent. If he was fifteen, or close, and Faddey figured that was about his age, and was aware enough to know that to go to a classier healer would be to tell his secret to everyone, then obviously he had brains on top of everything else.
Faddey was intrigued, but he put his curiosity aside to deal with what mattered. "Well, come on in and tell me what’s wrong, eh? Would you like some tea?"
Sasha hesitated, obviously faltering.
"I’ll put some on," Faddey said with a smile. He motioned the boy to the old chairs and table at the back of his small cabin. "Sugar? I’ve got a bit of cream left, I think…"
"Plain, please," Sasha said quietly, sitting as still as he’d stood before.
Faddey nodded and took the opposite seat, waiting for the water to heat. "So what’s troubling you, Sasha? It must be bad, if you’ve come all the way out here. Surely someone back in the capital will be missing you."
Sasha shook his head, seemingly unfazed that Faddey had obviously figured out what Sasha was struggling to hide. "I go out riding all the time. They won’t miss me until well after dark."
"Then tell me what’s wrong."
"I feel weak all the time," Sasha said quietly, eyes fastened on Faddey, gaze steady, unfaltering. "No matter what I do. I exercise, I don’t eat rich foods, and I avoid the strong drink my friends are always stealing from their parents. It doesn’t seem to matter – always I feel tired, strained. Sometimes my chest feels strange, like my heart is struggling."
Faddey frowned. He’d expected something of the sort young boys always got upset over, something that even this remarkably composed boy would find embarrassing. This however…this sounded like a problem. Standing up, Faddey moved to Sasha and motioned for him to stand. "Open your shirt lad."
Nodding, Sasha obeyed. When he’d bared his chest, Faddey placed the palm of his hand over Sasha’s heart, letting his eyes fall closed, listening and feeling as his mother had taught him so many years ago he no longer bothered to count them.
Wrong.
The rhythm wasn’t true.
"Tell me, lad, did your mother have troubles with you as a baby?" Faddey dropped his hand and moved to make the tea, setting a chipped mug full of black tea in front of Sasha once the boy had reassembled his clothes and taken his seat again.
"She complained I was weak and slow," Sasha said, and though he still did not move, his tone of voice changed ever so slightly, a hint of pain slipping into it.
Faddey nodded. "You’ve a weak heart, I think. Mayhap it’s too small for your body. If you’ve been doing things all boys your age do and haven’t felt more than tired, I think you’ll be all right, lad. But don’t push yourself too hard, hear me? Nothing too strenuous – you’re fine now, because you’re young. As you get older, it’ll get harder. Take it easy on the hunting…" Faddey paused. "As well as the swordplay. No doubt you’re doing marksmanship as well. That should be all right. But too much stress and you’ll wind up worse than tired and weak."
The boy nodded. "Is there anything I can do to help it?"
"You can be careful," Faddey said, trying to make it clear to a young, active boy that being active was the worst thing for him. "If it gets too bad, boy, you come back to me. I’ve got powders I can give you to help it, but they can be dangerous. When the pain starts, or you get to be too tired, you come to me. Otherwise, cut back the hunting and swordplay."
"Yes, sir," Sasha replied. "Thank you for the tea, and the advice."
Faddey smiled. "You’re welcome, lad."
"What do I owe you?"
Tea and talking wasn’t anything to charge for, not really, but Faddey could see pride in those eyes. "A silver, lad."
"Yes, sir," Sasha said and stood, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a single silver piece. "Have a good day."
"And you lad – take it easy on that ride home. If you ever cause that heart too much strain, you’ll fall over dead. A boy like you? Will be a great man someday, even these old eyes can see that. Take care of your heart."
"I will. Thank you again." Sasha retrieved his cloak from the hook where Faddey had bid him hang it, tugging up the hood before slipping outside into the fading evening light.
Nine Gods created the world.
The Dragons of the Three Storms, gods of wind and water, closest to chaos.
The Firebird, god of fire and rebirth.
The Basilisk, god of stone and death.
The Faerie Queen and Guardians, gods of earth and life.
Licht, god of light, closest to order.
When the world was created, the gods looked upon what they had wrought and could not bear to be apart from it. So, rather than remain aloft with the full power of their divinity, the nine gods gave up the greater part of their power and chose to live among their children.
They descended to live among their creations, demi-gods rather than beings of full power and divinity. This made them prone to the same weaknesses and faults as the beings they had created, tempered only by their age and wisdom.
So the gods lived, for centuries upon centuries.
Over time, however, the happiness began to fade.
Licht, God of Light, closest to order, looked upon the pain and suffering that leaving his children to make their own decisions caused. Time and again he tried to guide them, set their path, to ease the hard lives they made for themselves.
Despair turned to bitterness, turned to hate, and Licht descended into desperate madness. When his brothers would not listen, Licht took things into his own hands and attempted to set the world upon the path of Order, to reduce the suffering of his children.
His brothers slew him, and Licht vanished from the world.
In rage and blind hate, Teufel, the beloved and sacred Shadow of Licht, spread Licht’s feelings across the world on binding threads of fate, forcing the world onto a path of dark destiny.
So the gods and their creations fell victim, unable to escape the wrath of Teufel.
In the Land of Storms, a priest grew envious of the love bestowed by a dragon upon his brother and the position of power and trust that love brought with it. In that envy he killed his brother and bound the Storm Dragons, stealing their power and making himself ruler in their place.
In the Land of Fire, the people rose up against the callousness of their Sacred Firebird, first using and then slaughtering his priests before breaking their god into a thousand pieces, that he might never return to rule over them again.
Deep in the Land of Stone, the people emerged from the destruction that had altered the landscape of their country forever to find that their god, the Basilisk, lord of Death, had killed himself for reasons unknown. In the dark of his cavern temple they buried him, and carried on ever wondering if his death had been to save them, or because he had been trying to destroy them.
Far away in the mountainous lands of the Faerie Queen and Guardians, the people waited in vain for their gods to save them from the destruction and terror descending upon the world, only to discover that their beloved gods had, in the middle of a sacred Ceremony, slain one another and forced the land of Verde into a cycle of unending tragedy.
Sealing the Land of Light off from the rest of the world, Teufel inflicted his rage and hate upon the people for whom Licht had tried to do so much, for whom he had risked everything only to be slain by his brothers. The Land of Light became the Land of Shadow, its people locked into a life of terror and agony, trapped in the dark for as long Teufel exists to inflict his bitter hate upon them.
One
"It’s cold out here."
"It’s snowing."
"Yes, I noticed."
"Hey, you started stating the obvious first."
"Shut up, Stefan."
Laughing, Stefan reached out and lightly cuffed his companion upside the head. "Come on, Killian, you’ve dealt with worse than this."
"I didn’t like that either," Killian grumbled. "How much further, you think?"
Stefan shrugged. "Not too much. I recognize this hill, yeah? Village should be two more over." He laughed and suddenly bolted up the hill, more leaping than walking as he fought the deep drifts. "Come on, slow po—" He abruptly halted and stumbled back, losing his balance and toppling back down the hill.
Killian snorted. "You look like a giant snow ball."
"Quiet!" Stefan hissed. "I saw a baby Sent."
Abruptly Killian shut his mouth and knelt beside Stefan. Neither made any move to brush the snow off him, both holding absolutely still as they waited to see if they would live or die.
With larger Sentinels, running away was sometimes possible. Adults and some of the older teens preferred food that was easier to catch, and didn’t bother hunting down straying people if they were moving too fast.
Babies and children though…they liked the chase. Playing. The only way to avoid them was to hold still until they grew bored.
Stefan finally released a pent up breath. "I think we’re good – but keep close and a sharp eye out. Let’s move quick, yeah?"
"Yeah," Killian said quietly. He was only just recently turned fifteen but his eyes were as old as those of the village elders – all but the youngest children had eyes like that. Stefan was only eighteen and most days he felt like the village elders must feel.
Especially times like these, when they had to risk a journey to the neighboring village in hopes they had the medicine the Chief’s wife needed. If not…
Well, then that was the way fate intended things to be. The Will of Teufel.
Briskly Stefan stood up and began to shake snow from his heavy winter cloak, his pants and tunic. Resettling his snow shoes, he made his way clumsily back up the hill and retrieved the scarf – thankfully not wet, it was just too cold – that he’d had wrapped around his head to help fight off the worst of the chill. "Come on, hurry up. You’re so slow!"
Killian snorted softly but obediently followed along as they crested the hill and two more before finally spilling down into the little valley where the village of Swallowtail lay. Smoke curled from chimneys, the smell of wood smoke mingling with the sharp bite of winter, the wind carrying hints of roast and stew.
Stefan’s stomach growled. "Oh, I hope they’re willing to share."
"They always share," Killian replied, rolling his eyes. "Especially with you."
"Yeah, yeah," Stefan said, making a face. The women loved pinching his cheeks and stuff, even though he was way too old for that now. "Let’s go." He began to trudge his way down the hill and across the small field to the gate entrance.
"Hail!" the town sentry called, waving as they approached. He beamed as the boys drew close. "I thought I recognized you, Stefan. Killian, I see he conned you into coming along. What brings the two of you here on such a miserable day?"
Stefan grinned. "Adam, hail! It’s cold enough to freeze the balls off a Sent, eh?"
Killian rolled his eyes. "We’re here for medicine – hoping you had some shade tonic or the makings of it."
"Shade tonic?" Adam repeated, his levity fading. "Ach, lads. Who got bitten?"
"Maja," Stefan said grimly. "She was out getting wood. There was a newborn hiding in it, probably chasing after the cats…"
Adam nodded and motioned them inside. "Speak with Kora," he said, meaning the wife of the Chief of Swallowtail. "Even if we don’t have it, you both could use something hot and filling."
"Thanks, Adam," Stefan said with a smile. "Come on, Killian." Grabbing his wrist, Stefan dragged the younger boy into the village and all the way to the far end – stopping to chat here and there, waving and smiling, showing none of their anxiety. At the far end of the village was the Chief’s house, his wife – delicate looking but Stefan knew she had an iron core – waiting in the doorway. "Kora!"
She kissed their cheeks as they drew up. "Stefan. Killian. Always good to see you, lads. Come in, come in. You look frozen near to death. It’s too cold for boys to be traveling. Whatever was Reimund thinking?" Reimund was the Chief of Stefan’s village, Oak Hill.
Bustling them inside, she immediately started helping them strip out of their heavy, sodden winter gear, hanging it all up on hooks by the fire, setting their boots close by before urging them to do the same. Stefan obeyed, unbuckling his sword and looping the belt over the back of a chair before sitting down before the fire.
Before Stefan could begin to answer her barrage of questions, half a dozen men came spilling into the cabin, talking and grumbling, shaking snow everywhere as Kora shrieked in outrage. "Ewald. I just cleaned these floors, you miscreant! Are you aiming to sleep with the horses tonight?"
"Of course not, my dove," Ewald said with a grin as he kissed his wife’s cheek. "Something smells wonderful."
Kora sniffed and started ordering the men on where to put their things, then shuffled them off to the fireplace.
"Stefan!" Ewald crowed. "I heard a rumor you and Killian were here. What brings you here? The snow is treacherous and I’ve seen more than a few baby Sents out to play."
Ewald and his companions were all much alike, built for the hard life that came with living at the base of the Haunted Mountain. Their faces were all but hidden behind thick beards, melting snow and ice beading in them, shining in the light of the fire. All of them had violet eyes, though they ranged in shade from Ewald’s dark violet to his own pale lavender.
Stefan envied them their massive builds, the sheer mass. He wasn’t skinny, his shoulders were broad and he was finally filling out – but he’d always be slender compared to the majority of the mountain folk. For whatever reason, he simply did not have their bulk. It chafed, because he was finally eighteen – a proper adult – and still everyone treated him like a kid.
He broke from his thoughts as Kora pressed a bowl into his hands. "Venison," she said with a smile, then handed him a small roll stuffed with bits of dried apple. "Eat up; it’s going to be a hard walk back."
"Aye," Ewald agreed, looking them over critically. Stefan tried to keep nonchalant, but he really hated the way everyone treated him for not being as large as the rest. By the time Ewald was his age, so it was said, he already had most of his bear-like build. Stefan had height, he was one of the tallest in his village…but he still felt like a twig. "Mayhap you boys should spend the night, leave in the morning. Temperature is going to keep dropping; it’ll be a might warmer tomorrow."
Kora clucked as she fed her husband and the other men – the Chief’s assistants, advisors. If they were all piling in here, they must have been out scouting or dealing with some problem that would have to be further discussed.
Stefan wondered if he’d be kicked out like a kid. Swallowtail business wasn’t his, but if the problem was one that could spill over to Oak Hill then he and Killian should by all rights be allowed to listen in.
"Why are you here, lads?"
"Maja was bitten by a newborn Sent," Stefan said, staring at his bowl of venison stew. "Happened early this morning when she went to fetch more firewood."
Kora drew a sharp breath and drew her fingers to form a star over her heart in the ancient symbol of Licht. "Mercy of the lost light," she said. "Not poor Maja. At least it is a newborn; the poison will take weeks…" She turned abruptly away and bustled off to get more food and hot ale.
No one stopped or asked if she was okay. Kora and Maja were cousins, had grown up together in the fields of Swallowtail.
"We came hoping you had some shade tonic, or the makings of it," Stefan said quietly.
Ewald set his tankard down. "Ach, lad. I wish we did. Whole crop of night roses went sour though. We used the last of what we had just last week."
Stefan nodded, swallowing hard. It was the usual case; they’d known it was a long shot. Night roses were notoriously hard to grow – harder still to find in the wild because Sentinels hated the things and destroyed them whenever they found a patch.
Even thinking about Sentinels made him feel colder than the worst winter ever could.
Sentinels were the fearsome watchdogs of Lord Teufel. Wild shadow wyverns that began life as newborns equal in size to a full grown snake. Babies grew to be up to twenty feet long, scales dark and glistening, as though carved from black ice. Adolescents acquired legs and the nubs that would eventually become the great and terrible wings of adult Sentinels.
Most of the time, newborns to adolescents were all villagers had to contend with. That was more than enough – that young, the poison Sentinels generally preferred to use was slow acting but incredibly painful. Intended the keep the victim still while the Sentinel devoured it slowly.
Adults seldom used their poison – they had claws and teeth and a handful of other nasty tricks that were infinitely more amusing than poison. No one had encountered an adult and lived to tell the tale in a long time.
Stefan’s parents hadn’t. His was only one of many such tales, though.
"Ah, well," he finally said. "We knew it was probably no good, but we had to try anyway."
A grizzled older man sitting next to Ewald stroked his beard in thought. "Deer Run might have some to offer – I know they’re usually better able to guard such things, and that one lad has a talent for growing finicky plants."
"Too dangerous this time of year," Ewald said firmly.
Sentinels loved the cold – it didn’t bother them but made their prey slower and weaker. Deer Run was a larger village about five days away, meaning it would be ten days, if not more, total. The poison of newborns usually took about three to four weeks to work, so it was possible… "We could do it," he said. "Assuming we could get supplies, but that would only be a quick trip home, then off again. By morning we’d be on our wa—"
"No," Ewald cut in. "Far too dangerous. The last time scouts were out that way, they found the tracks of at least two adults."
The man beside Ewald snorted. "Yes, and what did we find not five hours ago?"
"Be quiet," Ewald hissed. "For all we know those two could have killed each other."
Another man scoffed. "Come off it. Those were sword marks. Something cut right through the scales. That’s not Sentinel work. They kill everything except each other."
"It’s been known to happen," Ewald said coldly.
Stefan exchanged a look with Killian, who shook his head in confusion and went back to his stew.
"What happened?" Stefan asked. "Is something wrong?"
The men fell silent.
"What?" Stefan repeated.
"We’re not sure, lad," Ewald finally replied, looking discomfited – something Stefan could not ever remember the Chief of Swallowtail being. "Looks like a couple of adults killed each other."
"They were at least a mile apart!" One of the men snapped. "Come off it, Ewald. This isn’t like you. You know what happened, just say it!’
Ewald glared. "I won’t say it because it’s impossible. No one could kill an adult Sentinel with just a blade. If it were possible, don’t you think we’d have fewer men and women buried in our graveyards after falling victim? Six good swordsmen I’ve lost in the last eight years! No man could have killed two adult sentinels. They must have killed each other."
The men fell to muttering, and Stefan could catch no more than the occasional word – ‘rumor’ and ‘heard of this in Black Hill’.
"Someone is killing Sentinels? That’s impossible."
"Ay, lad," Ewald said, nodding approvingly. "That’s what I’ve trying to tell these idiots. They listen to too much wives’ gossip and peddler talk."
"Oh, really?" Kora asked, planting her hands on her hips.
Ewald smiled at her. "My wife speaks only truth and wisdom."
"See that you remember it," she said tartly, refilling his ale before taking Stefan’s bowl and ladling in more stew. "Eat, you. Need to put more meat on those bones…though you are shaping up plenty handsome as you are…" She patted his cheek fondly and went back to work, humming softly.
Stefan flushed and ate in an effort to drown his mortification as the men all chuckled. "So what happened to the Sentinels, exactly?" he asked in a desperate attempt to get the conversation away from him.
Ewald grimaced. "Strangest thing I ever saw."
The man beside him snorted. "You’re going senile. Strange, nothing. It was sword work." He looked at Stefan. "Someone cut the Sent up good. Sliced right through the scales. Looks like he bled it out a bit before finally getting to its throat." He made a slicing motion right beneath his jaw. "The field is soaked in blood – just beyond the creek. We found a second one a mile more up the way. Killed same as the first."
"Impossible," Killian said flatly. "No sword can hack through adult scales. They’re harder than stone or steel. Harder than Stefan’s head."
"Ach!" Stefan protested, and pretended to upend his soup bowl over Killian’s head as the men laughed. "So what really did it?"
"No idea," another man said. "Heard rumors of similar happenings a couple of villages over, when a peddler came through here a few weeks ago."
The man closest to Stefan shifted restlessly in his seat. "They say some wild thing with fiery hair, drenched in Sent blood, passed through asking for food and supplies, over yonder in Black Hill."
"Rumors," Ewald said curtly. "Darkness of winter going straight to the heads of fools. No one can kill a Sent with just a sword. Especially not by himself. I thought I had wise men helping me, not idiots who listen to winter tales spun by cabin fevers."
Grumbling, the men nevertheless subsided into silence, the cabin filled only with the sounds of eating, the clinking and scuffling as Kora tided up.
"You boys should stay the night, head back in the morning," Kora said when they were done eating. "Bed down here."
Stefan shook his head. "We’re going to Deer Run,’ he said. "So we’ll have to head back tonight to make ready for the trip. We can’t waste any more time than necessary – thank you for the food and chance to warm up, though."
"You’re not going to Deer Run. It’s too far and too dangerous. I would say you were stupid to come here this time of year, but I can hardly fault your reasons. Maja wouldn’t want you risking yourselves, and what will the village do if they wind up short two strong boys when it comes time for planting and harvesting?"
"We’ll be back in time," Stefan said stubbornly, flushing at being called a boy. He’d killed Sents – only a couple of babies, but still. He’d watched people die from Sent venom. Why did everyone insist on treating him like a kid? "I’ve gone to Deer Run dozens of times." In the summer, when it was safest. Still, he knew how to travel through snow and ice, and how to avoid Sents. Killian too. That was why they’d been the ones to go to Swallowtail for the medicine.
Ewald snorted. "I said no."
"You’re not my Chief," Stefan said quietly, hating to be defiant because Ewald and Kora were always so good to him, everyone was even though he never really did anything to deserve it. "I can’t just give up; Maja’s been like a mother to me."
The group fell silent at that. Everyone loved Maja; that she’d practically raised Stefan was much of the reason everyone also loved him, or at least it seemed to him.
"It’s a dangerous journey," Ewald said heavily when he finally spoke again. "We can give you supplies, and I wish I could send—"
"No," Killian said. "We’ll be fine. Stefan and I always work together. We’re fast, even in the cold. Stefan knows all the safe spots."
Ewald sighed and nodded. "All right. We’ll supply you and send someone to Oak Hill to tell them what you’re doing. Just…come back alive, lads. Too many are dead already, and the grief will kill Maja faster than the venom could."
"We’ll be careful," Stefan said. "I don’t play with Sents." Usually, the phrase was a way of saying ‘I’m not stupid’ but here it also was meant to be taken quite literally. "It’s five days there, if we travel hard. The same back."
"Get as much of the shade tonic as you can," Ewald said. "We’ll give you goods to trade for it, aye? Now – have a slice of that wonderful pie my wife is cutting up and we’ll get everything together for you. Should be a few hours of daylight left, that’ll take you to the first stopping point."
The first safe spot was a cave that Swallowtail and Oak Hill kept ruthlessly clear of critters and anything that might draw a Sentinel.
Stefan wolfed down the cherry pie Kora gave him. "You make the best pie in the country, Kora. Honest."
"I bet you say the same thing to all the women who feed you," Kora said with a wink. "Thanks all the same."
"Do not," Stefan said, grinning as he stood up and began the laborious process of putting on his winter gear – layers upon layers, all of it then followed by his heavy cloak, the wrap for his head and face as extra buffering against the wind. "C’mon, Killian."
"Coming, master," Killian retorted.
Ignoring him, Stefan accepted the packs handed to him and nodded obediently at the advice of the group of men.
Kora came up and hugged them both, tugging affectionately at a stray bit of Stefan’s short hair. "You boys take care. We don’t want to read your rites for another hundred years, understand?"
"We’ll be back in two weeks," Stefan said, then led the way out before he could be halted. Daylight was wasting. This late in the year, dark fell hard and fast. Outside, he strapped on his snow shoes and led the way back through the village, calling a farewell to Adam before they turned northeast, away from home and toward the distant Deer Run.
Two and a half hours later he was sorely wishing the trip wasn’t so necessary – for Maja he would do anything, of course, but he wished she’d gotten bitten in the summer.
At least it was quiet. Stifling a yawn, Stefan settled his pack again and trudged onward, too tired to feel like starting up a conversation.
He heard the crunch of something heavy walking in the snow, but his tired mind caught on too late – it was only the cold slice of fear that ran down his spine that tipped him to the presence.
Killian hissed in panic at the same time, and they scrambled for cover – far too late.
"We should have been paying attention," Killian said.
Stefan nodded in agreement. "Didn’t even make it to the first safe spot. Depressing." He hugged Killian tight as the adult Sentinel appeared at the top of the rise they’d recently come down themselves like the monstrous shadow it was.
Its wings were folded to resist the chill wind that blew, its midnight scales glistening in the weak light of the setting sun. Fear racked Stefan’s body, an effect of being so close to the terrible Sentinel. Its eyes were dark pools; on closer inspection they were supposed to be violet but anyone who could confirm that never lived to do so.
The Sentinel’s breath steamed in the chill air as it slinked toward them.
"We have to run, Stefan."
"Yeah," Stefan replied. Neither moved. The fear induced by Sentinels was too strong. Besides, it looked hungry. That meant it would probably chase if they did try to flee. Often, adults preferred not to have to chase – most of the time they didn’t need to – but if they were hungry enough, they would.
On top of that… "Besides, where would we run? Canyon, remember? Safe spot is back in the hollow at the end of it. Right now we either learn to fly or bolt for the safe spot – and we’ll never make it that far before he gets us. Darkness take it! We should have been paying more attention!"
He tried to still his shaking as the Sentinel drew close, feeling every beat of his heart, every rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. He let go of Killian to draw his sword – stupid, pointless, but he wouldn’t just stand here and let it eat him; his parents had gone down fighting and so—
Crack.
The sound jolted through him.
Crack.
The Sentinel roared with pain and whipped around – only to rear back, screaming in pain as blood poured from its nose at the fall of another crack.
Stefan stared wide-eyed.
A man stood behind the Sentinel, though now it faced him. He was tall, so tall Stefan felt short and he’d always been proud of his five ten stature. Slender, even beneath his cumbersome clothes – which still weren’t as cumbersome as what Stefan and Killian wore.
His arm lashed out, and something long and sinuous and snakelike caught Stefan’s eye – then that crack sound filled the air again. The Sentinel again snarled in pain and threw itself in a rage at the tall figure.
"What—who is that?" Killian demanded. "What is he doing? Is he mad?"
Stefan didn’t reply, too captivated by what was happening. Distantly he noted Killian was dragging them to safety, but he wouldn’t let himself be taken completely away. He wanted to see…
The stranger showed no fear as the Sentinel bore down upon him, merely lunging away and Stefan though he laughed as the Sentinel’s head wound up buried in snow. Steel flashed in the fading sunlight and suddenly dark, black-red blood splashed across the snow. Roaring in a pure, mindless rage that made Stefan shake with fear, the Sentinel attacked again, massive claws glinting, wings snapping before settling close to its back again. The tail moved like a blur, but met only with another of those sharp cracks and more blood poured upon the snow.
Still more, as the stranger bolted around the Sentinel, always just ahead of it, sword nothing but a flash as he sliced another wound.
Sliced right through the scales. Looks like he bled it out a bit before finally getting to its throat.
Were…were the rumors true?
The Sentinel’s tail moved again, and this time the man didn’t quite dodge it, but went down hard in the snow, his cloak flying the other way. Curses filled the field, but the wind snatched away the actual words, leaving only the angry sounds.
Stefan gasped as the man stood up and started running to dodge the Sentinel’s next attack.
Red. His hair was red. Stefan hadn’t known hair could be that color. It was like…fire. Not bright, but like the deepest flames that came when a fire was settled, crackling steadily, warm and comforting. It spilled across his shoulders, sticking where the snow had melted into it. More curses spilled into the field as the man shifted his grip on his sword, bracing himself as the Sentinel came at him, steel clashing against teeth before metal flashed again and black-red blood poured with the strength of a small waterfall from the Sent’s throat.
Roaring in anger and disbelief, the Sentinel reared its head up, thrashing back and forth, raining blood down upon the field, smearing the white with its thick, dark blood.
The stranger seemed oblivious to the screaming and falling blood, merely carefully dodging the claws and thrashing head to duck beneath the Sentinel, his movement barely discernable as he sliced open the Sentinel’s gut before quickly sprinting away. Moving at a dead run, he snatched up his cloak and then went back up the hill from which Stefan assumed he’d come.
He turned around briefly, eyes landing on Stefan and Killian, then as suddenly as he’d come the stranger was gone.
Two
"He—he—he killed a Sentinel! An adult Sent. How did he do that?" Killian sounded almost offended.
Stefan snorted in amusement, though only distantly. He was still too awed by the fight, the stranger. He’d made it look so easy…no one had ever killed an adult. No sword could cut through the hard scales…yet the stranger’s had sliced through as though the scales were nothing but flesh. What was the strange other thing he’d used? "Who was that?" he finally asked.
"Oh, you sound like the girls when they talk about Lambert after a hunt," Killian said in disgust. He clasped his hands and made a show of batting his eyes as he spoke in a breathless, adoring tone. "Oh, Lambert. What a fine kill. However did you do it? You’re such a magnificent hunter."
"Shut up!" Stefan said hotly, feeling his cheeks burn. "I do not! When was the last time you saw someone kill an adult Sent? Never! It isn’t done! No sword should be able to do that, never mind that other thing he had. Darkness take it, everyone has tried. It never works. How did he do it?"
Killian frowned. "Yeah, what was that strange weapon he had? Nothing like it here, though it sort of reminds me of the herding crops the farmers use."
"Yeah, now that you mention it…" Stefan frowned up at the hill. "I wonder where he went…do you suppose he went to Swallowtail?"
"Ugh, you really do sound like the girls." Killian stood up and brushed snow from his clothes. "Come on, you can go starry over your new love after we get to safety."
Stefan glared. "Shut up!" he hissed. "I am not going starry! We barely saw him!"
"Whatever. Wipe the drool off your face." Killian smirked. "Is this why I’ve gotten more kisses than you?" He turned and started walking away from their hiding spot and further down the canyon toward the safe spot.
"You have not!" Stefan bellowed, feeling stupid for fighting with a fifteen year-old when he was eighteen. Feeling dumber because it was probably true. All the girls, even a couple of the older ones, thought Killian was the most handsome thing ever.
"Five kisses as of yesterday. How many do you have, hmm?" Killian asked.
Stefan flushed. "Shut up," he muttered.
Killian snickered and jabbed him in the ribs – or tried. Through the layers of fabric, Stefan barely felt it. "Maybe you should ask Mr. Hair’s on Fire for your first kiss, hmm?" He clasped his hands and spoke as he had earlier. "Oh, Mr. Hair’s on Fire, you looked so big and strong killing that Senti—Oof!"
"Stop it!" Stefan howled, scooping up snow to throw it on Killian as he struggled to get up from the bank into which Stefan had shoved him. He turned and ran as Killian bellowed in outrage, bolting for the safe spot that wasn’t more than a dozen yards away.
Killian tackled him just shy of it, the two going down in a fit of laughter, wrestling and tumbling in the snow.
"Come on, we’re going to freeze to death," Stefan said at last. "Maja will kill me if I get her precious little Killian frostbitten."
Snorting, Killian obeyed and clambered up, leading the way down the narrow tunnel of rock that led to a cave well stocked with food, fire stuffs, and other necessaries. "I’ll get a fire going," he said. "You get out the furs and food."
"Yes, master," Stefan retorted, but cheerfully obeyed, stripping out of his wet clothes and hanging them on special racks made for just that purpose, shivering a bit as he opened up a chest and dragged out heavy furs and quilts, laying them out before going to another chest and pulling out dried fruit, jerky, and a special flat bread. He sat down on the blankets and sighed. "Nice fire."
Killian sniffed. "Of course it is. I’m the best fire builder in the village." He grinned. "That’s how I got kisses two and five."
Stefan rolled his eyes, refusing to be goaded. So a fifteen year old was better at that sort of thing than him. Whatever. Kisses and all the rest weren’t that big a deal anyway, right? "Here, eat so you’ll shut up."
Silence fell for a few minutes. "So how do you think he did it?" Stefan finally asked.
Killian rolled his eyes. "If we ever see him again, we’ll have to ask. Otherwise, who knows? Maybe we were seeing things. I’ve never heard of men with fire for hair or swords that could cut through Sentinel scales."
"He did not have fire for hair, you dim-brains. It was just the color of fire."
"Oh, my mistake," Killian said. "I really thought he had fire for hair. You’re the dim-brains. The love struck dim-brains."
"Am not," Stefan muttered. "We barely saw him. How many times do I have to say it? I was just stunned that he made killing that adult Sent look so easy…" He trailed off, recalling the memories of the fight to mind, the effortless way the man had moved – even after being knocked down. The Sent had been right there, its jaws blocked only by a sword and the man’s strength and the man hadn’t hesitated – just pulled a knife and slit its throat.
Like the Sent was nothing.
Killian chortled softly and poked idly at the fire. "So we’ve got a long five days ahead of us. I hope we don’t run into any more Sents. Mr. Hair’s on Fire probably won’t be around to save us a second time."
Stefan swallowed a bite of bread and stared off into the shadows beyond the fire as he thought. Five days, through land that was largely wild – far too many chances to be ambushed. It was truly amazing that Ewald had given in so easily. Though if his village was also short shadow tonic…and he wasn’t risking his own people to get it… Grimacing, Stefan shoved the cynical thought away and attacked a piece of venison jerky. Not the greatest foodstuffs ever, but certainly better than nothing.
Besides, Ewald had given them more than enough coin and trade goods for tonic. Enough he’d told them to be certain they ate properly and got proper beds for a night’s rest. They could make it up to him at harvest time – which Stefan was always more than willing to do.
Finishing his food, Stefan returned what was left to the chest, then burrowed under the blankets with a yawn. "Don’t let me sleep," he said, already half gone.
Killian snorted softly as he joined Stefan under the blankets. He was far better at waking early. "I won’t, never fear."
Stefan tried to nod, but his head was too heavy and his eyes refused to open to check that all was truly well and safe. He thought distantly that it seemed peaceful, rather than fearful, for once, but fell asleep before he finished the thought, mind turning instead to a flashing sword and brilliant red hair.
"It’s cold."
Stefan rolled his eyes. "And snowing."
"Oh, shut up," Killian groused. He finished drinking his tea, then cleaned and packed the cup away before putting out their little campfire. "Two days and I can sleep in a nice, warm bed."
Though he said nothing, too busy packing up their things, Stefan wholeheartedly agreed. He much preferred this journey in the spring and summer, when the air smelled sweet and the nights were neither too hot nor too cool.
Still, there were a few things to brighten the day. "We should be camping at the old temple tonight," he said with a smile. "I wonder what it will be like in winter."
"Cold," Killian replied, then slung his pack onto his back and strode from camp.
Rolling his eyes, Stefan settled his own pack and followed after him. "At least the temple will be better than a cave floor."
"Not by much."
"You’re in a fine mood today," Stefan said with a frown. "What bug crawled into your blankets?"
Killian made a face. "Just tired and on edge, you know? I’ve only done this once before, and that with a lot more people."
Stefan nodded. Killian was still young – only by three years, but that was enough so far as journeys went. The village only made a couple of trips a year to the larger Deer Run and only about ten were chosen to go – five adults, and five youths old enough and strong enough to begin learning the route. This would make Stefan’s seventh trip, and the only time he’d gone solo.
He’d be scared out of his mind if he allowed himself to think about it too much.
They fell into a silence as they walked in the hazy gray of early morning, yawning blearily and barely awake enough to notice as the sun came up dimly behind the clouds.
Full sunlight never happened, not really. There was always just enough they managed a reasonable crop every year, but not the full sunlight of a clear sky.
No…that sort of thing was a myth. The sky only cleared a bit at night, for the moon to shine, and even then there were still plenty of clouds. The Chief had an old book that showed faded pictures of a clear blue sky filled with a blazing sun shining down upon a brilliant white palace…but it was a legend. If the castle and the blue sky had ever existed, Stefan had been told over and over, it was long gone now. The world was ruled by the Will of Teufel, and the sun would not shine until his Will said it might.
Stefan had always wondered what a clear sky looked like. He tilted his head up to look at the gray clouds, the tiny shreds of sun peeking through them. What would it be like, he wondered for the millionth time, if a picture were to come to life?
Snorting at the line of his thoughts, Stefan forced them away. He was eighteen now – old enough that come summer he would have to start thinking of a home of his own, and stop living in the Chief’s spare room.
In a few more years, he’d be expected to take a wife, contribute to the village that way…though he couldn’t even begin to imagine that. Everyone teased him mercilessly for having his head high up in the clouds even as he worked hard with the planting, the harvesting, storing for winter, building, repairing. They liked to say ‘his body did the work while his head traveled.’ Stefan couldn’t help it, though.
He liked being out here, as frightening as it was if he thought about it too much. It was different, even exciting, to be doing something different, to be seeing new things. All right, so the route wasn’t exactly new – he’d never traveled it in winter, that sort of made it new right?
Anyway, he would always be there to help…even if sometimes he wished he wasn’t. No one ever had to know that but him.
"This place is a lot more interesting when it’s not covered by snow and I’m not freezing to death," Killian said into the silence.
"I don’t know," Stefan said with a grin. "Freezing to death keeps you quieter than usual. Otherwise…the snow is pretty, but I think you’re right about it being not as interesting. Oh, look! White! Oh, look there. More white!"
Killian snorted. "Exactly."
"So what shall we eat when we finally reach Deer Run?"
"How about deer?"
Stefan rolled his eyes. "I’m ignoring you now; obviously the cold has frozen what little brain you have."
"Well it’s already gotten to my hands, my feet, legs, arms…my head was bound to be next."
"Unfortunately not your mouth."
Killian made a face. "Fine, I’ll be quiet. How long have we been walking?"
Stefan shrugged and looked up at the sky. "Maybe a couple of hours now? We’ve got quite a few more before we reach the old temple." He brightened as he thought of it.
The old temple was easily his favorite part of the journey. The one time they’d made the trip and rain had gotten them stuck there for an extra day had been his absolute favorite. It was situated in a massive field just beyond the forest they would be entering in another hour or so. A small stretch of the forest that grew thicker further up, but this way was largely thinned out. Just beyond it was the large stretch of field in the center of which was an ancient Temple of Light.
Some of the older folks said that the ancestors had once called it the Temple of Sunrise, and that once upon a time the region had stretched from the foot of the Haunted Mountains to the Black Hills that gave the town there its name. They were headed toward Deer Run, which was built in a different stretch of forest than the one they’d travel through.
The Temple of Sunrise was surrounded by water – a wide, deep moat filled with colorful fish that never seemed to die or even change. No one knew what kind of fish they were, and so far as Stefan knew never had anyone been willing to try and catch them. Some said they were sacred, others said they were as cursed as everything else that had once been blessed by the Lost Licht.
Over the moat stretched a bridge of gold-brown stone that, like the fish, never seemed to age over time. The temple itself was built of the same material, towering up three stories. No one had ever gone beyond the first floor, though not for lack of trying. All the doors save the entrance were sealed shut, as if the temple had been closed up but someone forgot to lock the last door.
Still, that one room was beautiful. A great table stood on a dais, made of bright white stone flecked with gold. The wall behind the table looked as if something had once hung there, but no one knew what. A thousand times Stefan had tried to guess, dreaming up all manner of things – paintings or carvings of the sun, perhaps images of Lost Licht himself.
No one else ever wanted to discuss it. It made them nervous even staying in the temple – but there was nowhere else to go except open ground, and an only idiot risked that. Stefan loved the temple, though. If only he could explore more of it…
Oh, this was the perfect opportunity to try it! Except that they couldn’t waste time, not with Maja sick. He couldn’t, wouldn’t act like the boy everyone still thought him to be when Maja’s life was at stake.
Even thinking about it made him feel ashamed. He should be focusing, not letting his foolish thoughts get the better of him. Properly chastened, Stefan increased his pace slightly, as if walking faster would leave his errant thoughts far behind in the snow.
They walked on in silence, neither boy in the mood to speak and both used to the other in a way that the silence was comfortable rather than awkward. The silence continued even when they stopped for lunch, broken only by a few brief comments on the weather, the journey.
A few times Stefan considered saying something, but his thoughts were going in too many directions for him to feel like focusing them. He was torn between his daydreams, worrying about Maja, the temple that was now only a couple of hours away, Deer Run a day’s travel more beyond that…and at the back of his mind, the fight from a few days ago. If he were honest, it was a lot closer than the back of his mind.
He wished he’d gotten to speak with the stranger, to ask how he did it…get a closer look at the hair that seemed as though it were made of fire.
Stefan was jerked from his thoughts by a gut-wrenching roar, and a wave of cold fear hit him so hard he stumbled to his knees and gasped for breath. Killian was no better, kneeling beside him, eyes wide as he stared ahead at the forest they were just about to enter.
"That…that roar…"
It came again and Stefan shuddered, barely noticing that the snow was freezing his hands.
Killian licked his lips. "That…it can’t be…"
"It is," Stefan whispered.
He’d only heard it once before, on the day he’d turned fourteen. The Chief had taken him up to the Great Peak and shown him the landscape of Schatten – the Dark City far off in the distance, barely visible…and the much closer Great Wall, and the terrible Great Sentinel which guarded it.
No one ever went in or out of the Great Wall. It was said Twelve Great Sentinels guarded it, and that another roamed the lands, and that only with the permission of the thirteen could anyone pass beyond the Great Wall itself.
They were easily the size of a small house, with wings that spanned three times that. Monstrous and terrible – it was said all those who got too close did not live to tell the tale. There was always a small chance of getting away from adult Sentinels – for they did not like to chase, and often preferred easy prey. Great Sentinels let no one get away. If you got too close, you were dead.
If you could hear one, you were too close.
"What…what is it doing here?" Stefan finally asked.
"The Wanderer," Killian said softly. Then all of a sudden he stood and bolted, running for the woods as though his life depended on it, leaving his pack forgotten on the ground.
"Killian!" Stefan bellowed, staring in disbelief as his friend vanished into the trees. "Killian…" Shaking his head, muttering soft curses, he shrugged off his own pack, then grabbed them both and ran toward the woods. Once there, he hid them as best he could in the roots of a great tree, then chased after his friend, whom he could just see by the movement of his winter cloak.
They ran for what seemed like ages, until Stefan’s chest burned from the effort and sucking in the cold winter air. Drawing a breath positively ached when he finally spilled out of the forest and into the field, crashing into Killian and knocking them both down into a snow drift.
He clambered up, eyes going wide at what he saw.
The red-haired stranger.
Fighting…fighting…he couldn’t make the thought form, it was too overwhelming. He rubbed his eyes, certain they were deceiving him, but when he looked again the sight before him had not changed.
The stranger was fighting a Great Sentinel.
Gone was his cloak – all his winter gear. He wore nothing but breeches and boots that came to his thighs, a shirt that was wet from the snow. His hair was tied loosely back, but remarkably bright against the white snow and the nigh-dark Sentinel.
It truly was the size of a house, its awful wings flared out, breath clouding in the air as it threw its head forward at the stranger, who merely leaped out the way.
Crack. Crack. Crack.
They happened so fast, Stefan could not follow – one moment the Sentinel was attacking, the next it gave another fear-inducing roar and pulled back, blood pouring from its nose and one eye.
Crack
This time the Sentinel screamed and Stefan hoped suddenly, fervently, that he never again heard such an awful sound. He stared in awe as he realized that now the Sentinel was completely blind – the man had managed to destroy both its eyes.
Desperate, pained and angry and it was a Great Sentinel how was it even possible, the gigantic beast began to thrash wildly, mindlessly, snarling and roaring enough that Stefan wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to stand again. He shook with fear, unable to still his trembling – but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the gruesome fight either.
Weak sunlight flashed on snow-wet metal as the stranger dodged the wild thrashings and struck at the Great Sentinel’s forelegs. If the shattering screams bothered him, he gave no sign, merely moved from one leg to the other, dodging and lunging as the Sent struggled to fight back.
Then he danced back, away, moving far enough from the Great Sentinel that he could assess the situation.
Suddenly the Sentinel whirled; its massive tail a black blur of motion, lashing out in a deadly radius to try and catch the attacker the Sentinel could no longer see.
The man attempted to get out of the way, but didn’t quite, and Stefan cried out in dismay as the end of the Sentinel’s tail caught him, sent him flying back across the snow – toward Stefan and Killian. He fell just a few feet short of them, and for a moment lay still.
Drawing a sharp breath, Stefan tried to stand – but the paralyzing fear induced by the Great Sentinel still held him fast. "Are—are you—"
Groaning, the man lifted himself, braced on his hands and knees. He looked dazedly at them, blinking slowly until awareness came back into his face.
Stefan stared.
His eyes were gold. The strangest gold Stefan had ever seen – a rich, dark yellow that almost seemed to have hints of orange in it. And his hair…it truly was red, rich and dark and glistening where the snow had melted into it. It clung to his cheeks and neck.
Then the moment shattered, as the man shoved himself to his feet and turned to bolt back down to where the Sentinel was still shrieking and attempting to find its attacker.
Dodging the blind, flailing Sentinel, the stranger managed to retrieve his sword and the strange weapon Stefan wished he had a name for. It cracked out, drawing more blood from the Great Sentinel at various points, until the snow turned dark red all around the combatants.
Suddenly the Great Sentinel stopped trying to attack, and instead threw its head up toward the sky, opening its mouth and keening a long, low, eerie roar that seemed to echo everywhere, reverberating in Stefan’s bones, making him cover his ears – and he wanted badly to close his eyes against the terrible sight, but his gaze would not, could not, leave the red-haired man who so boldly faced down one of the creatures the people of Schatten feared above all but Lord Teufel himself.
He knew suddenly what the Great Sentinel was doing – calling other Sentinels. How he knew that, he didn’t know, but it would make sense. If it were him, he’d call for help too – because it was obvious the stranger was winning.
Above the eerie cry, Stefan heard the stranger shout something he couldn’t make out. It sounded like nothing he’d ever heard before. Then he lifted his left hand, and something flashed bright – then the wounds of the Great Sentinel, from his eyes all down his neck, the few scattered over his massive body – burst into flame.
The eerie call turned into a ground-shaking cry of pain and fear. The stranger spoke again, then another one of those silvery flashes, and the flames increased in strength, spreading out, consuming the Sentinel.
It collapsed beneath the flames and its badly injured forelegs, head dropping as it attempted to regain some sort of balance. Wet metal flashed, and impossible amounts of blood poured from its sliced throat to cover the stranger before he could get completely away – then the Great Sentinel thrashed wildly, madly, before collapsing in a convulsing heap.
After what seemed like ages, it went still.
Stefan could only gawk.
He was jolted from his paralysis by movement, as the stranger began to move – stumble – toward them. He looked up toward them, started to speak – then collapsed.
Stefan stood frozen for a moment, everything too much for him to take.
"What just…how…" Killian stared.
"Come on," Stefan said, Killian’s voice finally jarring him into movement. "We have to help him!"
Chaos
To defeat Teufel, the Shadow of Licht, would take a person of Chaos. Someone who can change, who wills himself to change, and instead of succumbing to those who would instill Order – changes them.
~Zhar Ptitka
~Zhar Ptitka
Prologue
"What’s your name, boy?" The old healer asked gently as he finished washing his hands, drying them off on an old rag which he then laid neatly on an old, scuffed table. He looked the boy up and down.
He had to look up quite a bit, for all that the boy was young he didn’t lack height. Must be halfway to adulthood, all that awkward gangliness, hunching his shoulders to hide his height, which had no doubt come sooner than the boy liked. He had shoulder-length hair that was so rich and deep a red it looked like a dark fire. As if the gods had that theme in mind when they molded the boy, his eyes burned dark amber, a rich orange-tinged yellow that made it hard to look away. With age the directness of that gaze would prove lethal. Right now they only looked scared.
Which he probably was. Because the boy, as hard as he was obviously trying, was obviously nobility. "Have you got a tongue, lad?" The healer teased gently, winking one old, pale blue eye. "I’m Master Faddey."
The boy nodded. "My…my old nurse talks about you. That’s why I came. My name is…Sasha."
Faddey nodded. He doubted that was the boy’s name, but it would do. "What can I do for you?"
"I thought maybe you could tell me what was wrong with me," Sasha said. Faddey was struck by something he had not noticed before, too taken by the boy’s appearance.
He wasn’t moving. Not twitching or shifting, fidgeting or looking anxiously around. He held perfectly still, calm and patient despite the anxiety written so plainly in his face. If he kept that poise throughout his life, combined with his looks and obvious breeding – the boy would go far.
On top of the rest, ‘Sasha’ was obviously intelligent. If he was fifteen, or close, and Faddey figured that was about his age, and was aware enough to know that to go to a classier healer would be to tell his secret to everyone, then obviously he had brains on top of everything else.
Faddey was intrigued, but he put his curiosity aside to deal with what mattered. "Well, come on in and tell me what’s wrong, eh? Would you like some tea?"
Sasha hesitated, obviously faltering.
"I’ll put some on," Faddey said with a smile. He motioned the boy to the old chairs and table at the back of his small cabin. "Sugar? I’ve got a bit of cream left, I think…"
"Plain, please," Sasha said quietly, sitting as still as he’d stood before.
Faddey nodded and took the opposite seat, waiting for the water to heat. "So what’s troubling you, Sasha? It must be bad, if you’ve come all the way out here. Surely someone back in the capital will be missing you."
Sasha shook his head, seemingly unfazed that Faddey had obviously figured out what Sasha was struggling to hide. "I go out riding all the time. They won’t miss me until well after dark."
"Then tell me what’s wrong."
"I feel weak all the time," Sasha said quietly, eyes fastened on Faddey, gaze steady, unfaltering. "No matter what I do. I exercise, I don’t eat rich foods, and I avoid the strong drink my friends are always stealing from their parents. It doesn’t seem to matter – always I feel tired, strained. Sometimes my chest feels strange, like my heart is struggling."
Faddey frowned. He’d expected something of the sort young boys always got upset over, something that even this remarkably composed boy would find embarrassing. This however…this sounded like a problem. Standing up, Faddey moved to Sasha and motioned for him to stand. "Open your shirt lad."
Nodding, Sasha obeyed. When he’d bared his chest, Faddey placed the palm of his hand over Sasha’s heart, letting his eyes fall closed, listening and feeling as his mother had taught him so many years ago he no longer bothered to count them.
Wrong.
The rhythm wasn’t true.
"Tell me, lad, did your mother have troubles with you as a baby?" Faddey dropped his hand and moved to make the tea, setting a chipped mug full of black tea in front of Sasha once the boy had reassembled his clothes and taken his seat again.
"She complained I was weak and slow," Sasha said, and though he still did not move, his tone of voice changed ever so slightly, a hint of pain slipping into it.
Faddey nodded. "You’ve a weak heart, I think. Mayhap it’s too small for your body. If you’ve been doing things all boys your age do and haven’t felt more than tired, I think you’ll be all right, lad. But don’t push yourself too hard, hear me? Nothing too strenuous – you’re fine now, because you’re young. As you get older, it’ll get harder. Take it easy on the hunting…" Faddey paused. "As well as the swordplay. No doubt you’re doing marksmanship as well. That should be all right. But too much stress and you’ll wind up worse than tired and weak."
The boy nodded. "Is there anything I can do to help it?"
"You can be careful," Faddey said, trying to make it clear to a young, active boy that being active was the worst thing for him. "If it gets too bad, boy, you come back to me. I’ve got powders I can give you to help it, but they can be dangerous. When the pain starts, or you get to be too tired, you come to me. Otherwise, cut back the hunting and swordplay."
"Yes, sir," Sasha replied. "Thank you for the tea, and the advice."
Faddey smiled. "You’re welcome, lad."
"What do I owe you?"
Tea and talking wasn’t anything to charge for, not really, but Faddey could see pride in those eyes. "A silver, lad."
"Yes, sir," Sasha said and stood, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a single silver piece. "Have a good day."
"And you lad – take it easy on that ride home. If you ever cause that heart too much strain, you’ll fall over dead. A boy like you? Will be a great man someday, even these old eyes can see that. Take care of your heart."
"I will. Thank you again." Sasha retrieved his cloak from the hook where Faddey had bid him hang it, tugging up the hood before slipping outside into the fading evening light.
Nine Gods created the world.
The Dragons of the Three Storms, gods of wind and water, closest to chaos.
The Firebird, god of fire and rebirth.
The Basilisk, god of stone and death.
The Faerie Queen and Guardians, gods of earth and life.
Licht, god of light, closest to order.
When the world was created, the gods looked upon what they had wrought and could not bear to be apart from it. So, rather than remain aloft with the full power of their divinity, the nine gods gave up the greater part of their power and chose to live among their children.
They descended to live among their creations, demi-gods rather than beings of full power and divinity. This made them prone to the same weaknesses and faults as the beings they had created, tempered only by their age and wisdom.
So the gods lived, for centuries upon centuries.
Over time, however, the happiness began to fade.
Licht, God of Light, closest to order, looked upon the pain and suffering that leaving his children to make their own decisions caused. Time and again he tried to guide them, set their path, to ease the hard lives they made for themselves.
Despair turned to bitterness, turned to hate, and Licht descended into desperate madness. When his brothers would not listen, Licht took things into his own hands and attempted to set the world upon the path of Order, to reduce the suffering of his children.
His brothers slew him, and Licht vanished from the world.
In rage and blind hate, Teufel, the beloved and sacred Shadow of Licht, spread Licht’s feelings across the world on binding threads of fate, forcing the world onto a path of dark destiny.
So the gods and their creations fell victim, unable to escape the wrath of Teufel.
In the Land of Storms, a priest grew envious of the love bestowed by a dragon upon his brother and the position of power and trust that love brought with it. In that envy he killed his brother and bound the Storm Dragons, stealing their power and making himself ruler in their place.
In the Land of Fire, the people rose up against the callousness of their Sacred Firebird, first using and then slaughtering his priests before breaking their god into a thousand pieces, that he might never return to rule over them again.
Deep in the Land of Stone, the people emerged from the destruction that had altered the landscape of their country forever to find that their god, the Basilisk, lord of Death, had killed himself for reasons unknown. In the dark of his cavern temple they buried him, and carried on ever wondering if his death had been to save them, or because he had been trying to destroy them.
Far away in the mountainous lands of the Faerie Queen and Guardians, the people waited in vain for their gods to save them from the destruction and terror descending upon the world, only to discover that their beloved gods had, in the middle of a sacred Ceremony, slain one another and forced the land of Verde into a cycle of unending tragedy.
Sealing the Land of Light off from the rest of the world, Teufel inflicted his rage and hate upon the people for whom Licht had tried to do so much, for whom he had risked everything only to be slain by his brothers. The Land of Light became the Land of Shadow, its people locked into a life of terror and agony, trapped in the dark for as long Teufel exists to inflict his bitter hate upon them.
Part One
Without light, shadows are nothing more than darkness
~Words of Licht
Without light, shadows are nothing more than darkness
~Words of Licht
One
"It’s cold out here."
"It’s snowing."
"Yes, I noticed."
"Hey, you started stating the obvious first."
"Shut up, Stefan."
Laughing, Stefan reached out and lightly cuffed his companion upside the head. "Come on, Killian, you’ve dealt with worse than this."
"I didn’t like that either," Killian grumbled. "How much further, you think?"
Stefan shrugged. "Not too much. I recognize this hill, yeah? Village should be two more over." He laughed and suddenly bolted up the hill, more leaping than walking as he fought the deep drifts. "Come on, slow po—" He abruptly halted and stumbled back, losing his balance and toppling back down the hill.
Killian snorted. "You look like a giant snow ball."
"Quiet!" Stefan hissed. "I saw a baby Sent."
Abruptly Killian shut his mouth and knelt beside Stefan. Neither made any move to brush the snow off him, both holding absolutely still as they waited to see if they would live or die.
With larger Sentinels, running away was sometimes possible. Adults and some of the older teens preferred food that was easier to catch, and didn’t bother hunting down straying people if they were moving too fast.
Babies and children though…they liked the chase. Playing. The only way to avoid them was to hold still until they grew bored.
Stefan finally released a pent up breath. "I think we’re good – but keep close and a sharp eye out. Let’s move quick, yeah?"
"Yeah," Killian said quietly. He was only just recently turned fifteen but his eyes were as old as those of the village elders – all but the youngest children had eyes like that. Stefan was only eighteen and most days he felt like the village elders must feel.
Especially times like these, when they had to risk a journey to the neighboring village in hopes they had the medicine the Chief’s wife needed. If not…
Well, then that was the way fate intended things to be. The Will of Teufel.
Briskly Stefan stood up and began to shake snow from his heavy winter cloak, his pants and tunic. Resettling his snow shoes, he made his way clumsily back up the hill and retrieved the scarf – thankfully not wet, it was just too cold – that he’d had wrapped around his head to help fight off the worst of the chill. "Come on, hurry up. You’re so slow!"
Killian snorted softly but obediently followed along as they crested the hill and two more before finally spilling down into the little valley where the village of Swallowtail lay. Smoke curled from chimneys, the smell of wood smoke mingling with the sharp bite of winter, the wind carrying hints of roast and stew.
Stefan’s stomach growled. "Oh, I hope they’re willing to share."
"They always share," Killian replied, rolling his eyes. "Especially with you."
"Yeah, yeah," Stefan said, making a face. The women loved pinching his cheeks and stuff, even though he was way too old for that now. "Let’s go." He began to trudge his way down the hill and across the small field to the gate entrance.
"Hail!" the town sentry called, waving as they approached. He beamed as the boys drew close. "I thought I recognized you, Stefan. Killian, I see he conned you into coming along. What brings the two of you here on such a miserable day?"
Stefan grinned. "Adam, hail! It’s cold enough to freeze the balls off a Sent, eh?"
Killian rolled his eyes. "We’re here for medicine – hoping you had some shade tonic or the makings of it."
"Shade tonic?" Adam repeated, his levity fading. "Ach, lads. Who got bitten?"
"Maja," Stefan said grimly. "She was out getting wood. There was a newborn hiding in it, probably chasing after the cats…"
Adam nodded and motioned them inside. "Speak with Kora," he said, meaning the wife of the Chief of Swallowtail. "Even if we don’t have it, you both could use something hot and filling."
"Thanks, Adam," Stefan said with a smile. "Come on, Killian." Grabbing his wrist, Stefan dragged the younger boy into the village and all the way to the far end – stopping to chat here and there, waving and smiling, showing none of their anxiety. At the far end of the village was the Chief’s house, his wife – delicate looking but Stefan knew she had an iron core – waiting in the doorway. "Kora!"
She kissed their cheeks as they drew up. "Stefan. Killian. Always good to see you, lads. Come in, come in. You look frozen near to death. It’s too cold for boys to be traveling. Whatever was Reimund thinking?" Reimund was the Chief of Stefan’s village, Oak Hill.
Bustling them inside, she immediately started helping them strip out of their heavy, sodden winter gear, hanging it all up on hooks by the fire, setting their boots close by before urging them to do the same. Stefan obeyed, unbuckling his sword and looping the belt over the back of a chair before sitting down before the fire.
Before Stefan could begin to answer her barrage of questions, half a dozen men came spilling into the cabin, talking and grumbling, shaking snow everywhere as Kora shrieked in outrage. "Ewald. I just cleaned these floors, you miscreant! Are you aiming to sleep with the horses tonight?"
"Of course not, my dove," Ewald said with a grin as he kissed his wife’s cheek. "Something smells wonderful."
Kora sniffed and started ordering the men on where to put their things, then shuffled them off to the fireplace.
"Stefan!" Ewald crowed. "I heard a rumor you and Killian were here. What brings you here? The snow is treacherous and I’ve seen more than a few baby Sents out to play."
Ewald and his companions were all much alike, built for the hard life that came with living at the base of the Haunted Mountain. Their faces were all but hidden behind thick beards, melting snow and ice beading in them, shining in the light of the fire. All of them had violet eyes, though they ranged in shade from Ewald’s dark violet to his own pale lavender.
Stefan envied them their massive builds, the sheer mass. He wasn’t skinny, his shoulders were broad and he was finally filling out – but he’d always be slender compared to the majority of the mountain folk. For whatever reason, he simply did not have their bulk. It chafed, because he was finally eighteen – a proper adult – and still everyone treated him like a kid.
He broke from his thoughts as Kora pressed a bowl into his hands. "Venison," she said with a smile, then handed him a small roll stuffed with bits of dried apple. "Eat up; it’s going to be a hard walk back."
"Aye," Ewald agreed, looking them over critically. Stefan tried to keep nonchalant, but he really hated the way everyone treated him for not being as large as the rest. By the time Ewald was his age, so it was said, he already had most of his bear-like build. Stefan had height, he was one of the tallest in his village…but he still felt like a twig. "Mayhap you boys should spend the night, leave in the morning. Temperature is going to keep dropping; it’ll be a might warmer tomorrow."
Kora clucked as she fed her husband and the other men – the Chief’s assistants, advisors. If they were all piling in here, they must have been out scouting or dealing with some problem that would have to be further discussed.
Stefan wondered if he’d be kicked out like a kid. Swallowtail business wasn’t his, but if the problem was one that could spill over to Oak Hill then he and Killian should by all rights be allowed to listen in.
"Why are you here, lads?"
"Maja was bitten by a newborn Sent," Stefan said, staring at his bowl of venison stew. "Happened early this morning when she went to fetch more firewood."
Kora drew a sharp breath and drew her fingers to form a star over her heart in the ancient symbol of Licht. "Mercy of the lost light," she said. "Not poor Maja. At least it is a newborn; the poison will take weeks…" She turned abruptly away and bustled off to get more food and hot ale.
No one stopped or asked if she was okay. Kora and Maja were cousins, had grown up together in the fields of Swallowtail.
"We came hoping you had some shade tonic, or the makings of it," Stefan said quietly.
Ewald set his tankard down. "Ach, lad. I wish we did. Whole crop of night roses went sour though. We used the last of what we had just last week."
Stefan nodded, swallowing hard. It was the usual case; they’d known it was a long shot. Night roses were notoriously hard to grow – harder still to find in the wild because Sentinels hated the things and destroyed them whenever they found a patch.
Even thinking about Sentinels made him feel colder than the worst winter ever could.
Sentinels were the fearsome watchdogs of Lord Teufel. Wild shadow wyverns that began life as newborns equal in size to a full grown snake. Babies grew to be up to twenty feet long, scales dark and glistening, as though carved from black ice. Adolescents acquired legs and the nubs that would eventually become the great and terrible wings of adult Sentinels.
Most of the time, newborns to adolescents were all villagers had to contend with. That was more than enough – that young, the poison Sentinels generally preferred to use was slow acting but incredibly painful. Intended the keep the victim still while the Sentinel devoured it slowly.
Adults seldom used their poison – they had claws and teeth and a handful of other nasty tricks that were infinitely more amusing than poison. No one had encountered an adult and lived to tell the tale in a long time.
Stefan’s parents hadn’t. His was only one of many such tales, though.
"Ah, well," he finally said. "We knew it was probably no good, but we had to try anyway."
A grizzled older man sitting next to Ewald stroked his beard in thought. "Deer Run might have some to offer – I know they’re usually better able to guard such things, and that one lad has a talent for growing finicky plants."
"Too dangerous this time of year," Ewald said firmly.
Sentinels loved the cold – it didn’t bother them but made their prey slower and weaker. Deer Run was a larger village about five days away, meaning it would be ten days, if not more, total. The poison of newborns usually took about three to four weeks to work, so it was possible… "We could do it," he said. "Assuming we could get supplies, but that would only be a quick trip home, then off again. By morning we’d be on our wa—"
"No," Ewald cut in. "Far too dangerous. The last time scouts were out that way, they found the tracks of at least two adults."
The man beside Ewald snorted. "Yes, and what did we find not five hours ago?"
"Be quiet," Ewald hissed. "For all we know those two could have killed each other."
Another man scoffed. "Come off it. Those were sword marks. Something cut right through the scales. That’s not Sentinel work. They kill everything except each other."
"It’s been known to happen," Ewald said coldly.
Stefan exchanged a look with Killian, who shook his head in confusion and went back to his stew.
"What happened?" Stefan asked. "Is something wrong?"
The men fell silent.
"What?" Stefan repeated.
"We’re not sure, lad," Ewald finally replied, looking discomfited – something Stefan could not ever remember the Chief of Swallowtail being. "Looks like a couple of adults killed each other."
"They were at least a mile apart!" One of the men snapped. "Come off it, Ewald. This isn’t like you. You know what happened, just say it!’
Ewald glared. "I won’t say it because it’s impossible. No one could kill an adult Sentinel with just a blade. If it were possible, don’t you think we’d have fewer men and women buried in our graveyards after falling victim? Six good swordsmen I’ve lost in the last eight years! No man could have killed two adult sentinels. They must have killed each other."
The men fell to muttering, and Stefan could catch no more than the occasional word – ‘rumor’ and ‘heard of this in Black Hill’.
"Someone is killing Sentinels? That’s impossible."
"Ay, lad," Ewald said, nodding approvingly. "That’s what I’ve trying to tell these idiots. They listen to too much wives’ gossip and peddler talk."
"Oh, really?" Kora asked, planting her hands on her hips.
Ewald smiled at her. "My wife speaks only truth and wisdom."
"See that you remember it," she said tartly, refilling his ale before taking Stefan’s bowl and ladling in more stew. "Eat, you. Need to put more meat on those bones…though you are shaping up plenty handsome as you are…" She patted his cheek fondly and went back to work, humming softly.
Stefan flushed and ate in an effort to drown his mortification as the men all chuckled. "So what happened to the Sentinels, exactly?" he asked in a desperate attempt to get the conversation away from him.
Ewald grimaced. "Strangest thing I ever saw."
The man beside him snorted. "You’re going senile. Strange, nothing. It was sword work." He looked at Stefan. "Someone cut the Sent up good. Sliced right through the scales. Looks like he bled it out a bit before finally getting to its throat." He made a slicing motion right beneath his jaw. "The field is soaked in blood – just beyond the creek. We found a second one a mile more up the way. Killed same as the first."
"Impossible," Killian said flatly. "No sword can hack through adult scales. They’re harder than stone or steel. Harder than Stefan’s head."
"Ach!" Stefan protested, and pretended to upend his soup bowl over Killian’s head as the men laughed. "So what really did it?"
"No idea," another man said. "Heard rumors of similar happenings a couple of villages over, when a peddler came through here a few weeks ago."
The man closest to Stefan shifted restlessly in his seat. "They say some wild thing with fiery hair, drenched in Sent blood, passed through asking for food and supplies, over yonder in Black Hill."
"Rumors," Ewald said curtly. "Darkness of winter going straight to the heads of fools. No one can kill a Sent with just a sword. Especially not by himself. I thought I had wise men helping me, not idiots who listen to winter tales spun by cabin fevers."
Grumbling, the men nevertheless subsided into silence, the cabin filled only with the sounds of eating, the clinking and scuffling as Kora tided up.
"You boys should stay the night, head back in the morning," Kora said when they were done eating. "Bed down here."
Stefan shook his head. "We’re going to Deer Run,’ he said. "So we’ll have to head back tonight to make ready for the trip. We can’t waste any more time than necessary – thank you for the food and chance to warm up, though."
"You’re not going to Deer Run. It’s too far and too dangerous. I would say you were stupid to come here this time of year, but I can hardly fault your reasons. Maja wouldn’t want you risking yourselves, and what will the village do if they wind up short two strong boys when it comes time for planting and harvesting?"
"We’ll be back in time," Stefan said stubbornly, flushing at being called a boy. He’d killed Sents – only a couple of babies, but still. He’d watched people die from Sent venom. Why did everyone insist on treating him like a kid? "I’ve gone to Deer Run dozens of times." In the summer, when it was safest. Still, he knew how to travel through snow and ice, and how to avoid Sents. Killian too. That was why they’d been the ones to go to Swallowtail for the medicine.
Ewald snorted. "I said no."
"You’re not my Chief," Stefan said quietly, hating to be defiant because Ewald and Kora were always so good to him, everyone was even though he never really did anything to deserve it. "I can’t just give up; Maja’s been like a mother to me."
The group fell silent at that. Everyone loved Maja; that she’d practically raised Stefan was much of the reason everyone also loved him, or at least it seemed to him.
"It’s a dangerous journey," Ewald said heavily when he finally spoke again. "We can give you supplies, and I wish I could send—"
"No," Killian said. "We’ll be fine. Stefan and I always work together. We’re fast, even in the cold. Stefan knows all the safe spots."
Ewald sighed and nodded. "All right. We’ll supply you and send someone to Oak Hill to tell them what you’re doing. Just…come back alive, lads. Too many are dead already, and the grief will kill Maja faster than the venom could."
"We’ll be careful," Stefan said. "I don’t play with Sents." Usually, the phrase was a way of saying ‘I’m not stupid’ but here it also was meant to be taken quite literally. "It’s five days there, if we travel hard. The same back."
"Get as much of the shade tonic as you can," Ewald said. "We’ll give you goods to trade for it, aye? Now – have a slice of that wonderful pie my wife is cutting up and we’ll get everything together for you. Should be a few hours of daylight left, that’ll take you to the first stopping point."
The first safe spot was a cave that Swallowtail and Oak Hill kept ruthlessly clear of critters and anything that might draw a Sentinel.
Stefan wolfed down the cherry pie Kora gave him. "You make the best pie in the country, Kora. Honest."
"I bet you say the same thing to all the women who feed you," Kora said with a wink. "Thanks all the same."
"Do not," Stefan said, grinning as he stood up and began the laborious process of putting on his winter gear – layers upon layers, all of it then followed by his heavy cloak, the wrap for his head and face as extra buffering against the wind. "C’mon, Killian."
"Coming, master," Killian retorted.
Ignoring him, Stefan accepted the packs handed to him and nodded obediently at the advice of the group of men.
Kora came up and hugged them both, tugging affectionately at a stray bit of Stefan’s short hair. "You boys take care. We don’t want to read your rites for another hundred years, understand?"
"We’ll be back in two weeks," Stefan said, then led the way out before he could be halted. Daylight was wasting. This late in the year, dark fell hard and fast. Outside, he strapped on his snow shoes and led the way back through the village, calling a farewell to Adam before they turned northeast, away from home and toward the distant Deer Run.
Two and a half hours later he was sorely wishing the trip wasn’t so necessary – for Maja he would do anything, of course, but he wished she’d gotten bitten in the summer.
At least it was quiet. Stifling a yawn, Stefan settled his pack again and trudged onward, too tired to feel like starting up a conversation.
He heard the crunch of something heavy walking in the snow, but his tired mind caught on too late – it was only the cold slice of fear that ran down his spine that tipped him to the presence.
Killian hissed in panic at the same time, and they scrambled for cover – far too late.
"We should have been paying attention," Killian said.
Stefan nodded in agreement. "Didn’t even make it to the first safe spot. Depressing." He hugged Killian tight as the adult Sentinel appeared at the top of the rise they’d recently come down themselves like the monstrous shadow it was.
Its wings were folded to resist the chill wind that blew, its midnight scales glistening in the weak light of the setting sun. Fear racked Stefan’s body, an effect of being so close to the terrible Sentinel. Its eyes were dark pools; on closer inspection they were supposed to be violet but anyone who could confirm that never lived to do so.
The Sentinel’s breath steamed in the chill air as it slinked toward them.
"We have to run, Stefan."
"Yeah," Stefan replied. Neither moved. The fear induced by Sentinels was too strong. Besides, it looked hungry. That meant it would probably chase if they did try to flee. Often, adults preferred not to have to chase – most of the time they didn’t need to – but if they were hungry enough, they would.
On top of that… "Besides, where would we run? Canyon, remember? Safe spot is back in the hollow at the end of it. Right now we either learn to fly or bolt for the safe spot – and we’ll never make it that far before he gets us. Darkness take it! We should have been paying more attention!"
He tried to still his shaking as the Sentinel drew close, feeling every beat of his heart, every rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. He let go of Killian to draw his sword – stupid, pointless, but he wouldn’t just stand here and let it eat him; his parents had gone down fighting and so—
Crack.
The sound jolted through him.
Crack.
The Sentinel roared with pain and whipped around – only to rear back, screaming in pain as blood poured from its nose at the fall of another crack.
Stefan stared wide-eyed.
A man stood behind the Sentinel, though now it faced him. He was tall, so tall Stefan felt short and he’d always been proud of his five ten stature. Slender, even beneath his cumbersome clothes – which still weren’t as cumbersome as what Stefan and Killian wore.
His arm lashed out, and something long and sinuous and snakelike caught Stefan’s eye – then that crack sound filled the air again. The Sentinel again snarled in pain and threw itself in a rage at the tall figure.
"What—who is that?" Killian demanded. "What is he doing? Is he mad?"
Stefan didn’t reply, too captivated by what was happening. Distantly he noted Killian was dragging them to safety, but he wouldn’t let himself be taken completely away. He wanted to see…
The stranger showed no fear as the Sentinel bore down upon him, merely lunging away and Stefan though he laughed as the Sentinel’s head wound up buried in snow. Steel flashed in the fading sunlight and suddenly dark, black-red blood splashed across the snow. Roaring in a pure, mindless rage that made Stefan shake with fear, the Sentinel attacked again, massive claws glinting, wings snapping before settling close to its back again. The tail moved like a blur, but met only with another of those sharp cracks and more blood poured upon the snow.
Still more, as the stranger bolted around the Sentinel, always just ahead of it, sword nothing but a flash as he sliced another wound.
Sliced right through the scales. Looks like he bled it out a bit before finally getting to its throat.
Were…were the rumors true?
The Sentinel’s tail moved again, and this time the man didn’t quite dodge it, but went down hard in the snow, his cloak flying the other way. Curses filled the field, but the wind snatched away the actual words, leaving only the angry sounds.
Stefan gasped as the man stood up and started running to dodge the Sentinel’s next attack.
Red. His hair was red. Stefan hadn’t known hair could be that color. It was like…fire. Not bright, but like the deepest flames that came when a fire was settled, crackling steadily, warm and comforting. It spilled across his shoulders, sticking where the snow had melted into it. More curses spilled into the field as the man shifted his grip on his sword, bracing himself as the Sentinel came at him, steel clashing against teeth before metal flashed again and black-red blood poured with the strength of a small waterfall from the Sent’s throat.
Roaring in anger and disbelief, the Sentinel reared its head up, thrashing back and forth, raining blood down upon the field, smearing the white with its thick, dark blood.
The stranger seemed oblivious to the screaming and falling blood, merely carefully dodging the claws and thrashing head to duck beneath the Sentinel, his movement barely discernable as he sliced open the Sentinel’s gut before quickly sprinting away. Moving at a dead run, he snatched up his cloak and then went back up the hill from which Stefan assumed he’d come.
He turned around briefly, eyes landing on Stefan and Killian, then as suddenly as he’d come the stranger was gone.
Two
"He—he—he killed a Sentinel! An adult Sent. How did he do that?" Killian sounded almost offended.
Stefan snorted in amusement, though only distantly. He was still too awed by the fight, the stranger. He’d made it look so easy…no one had ever killed an adult. No sword could cut through the hard scales…yet the stranger’s had sliced through as though the scales were nothing but flesh. What was the strange other thing he’d used? "Who was that?" he finally asked.
"Oh, you sound like the girls when they talk about Lambert after a hunt," Killian said in disgust. He clasped his hands and made a show of batting his eyes as he spoke in a breathless, adoring tone. "Oh, Lambert. What a fine kill. However did you do it? You’re such a magnificent hunter."
"Shut up!" Stefan said hotly, feeling his cheeks burn. "I do not! When was the last time you saw someone kill an adult Sent? Never! It isn’t done! No sword should be able to do that, never mind that other thing he had. Darkness take it, everyone has tried. It never works. How did he do it?"
Killian frowned. "Yeah, what was that strange weapon he had? Nothing like it here, though it sort of reminds me of the herding crops the farmers use."
"Yeah, now that you mention it…" Stefan frowned up at the hill. "I wonder where he went…do you suppose he went to Swallowtail?"
"Ugh, you really do sound like the girls." Killian stood up and brushed snow from his clothes. "Come on, you can go starry over your new love after we get to safety."
Stefan glared. "Shut up!" he hissed. "I am not going starry! We barely saw him!"
"Whatever. Wipe the drool off your face." Killian smirked. "Is this why I’ve gotten more kisses than you?" He turned and started walking away from their hiding spot and further down the canyon toward the safe spot.
"You have not!" Stefan bellowed, feeling stupid for fighting with a fifteen year-old when he was eighteen. Feeling dumber because it was probably true. All the girls, even a couple of the older ones, thought Killian was the most handsome thing ever.
"Five kisses as of yesterday. How many do you have, hmm?" Killian asked.
Stefan flushed. "Shut up," he muttered.
Killian snickered and jabbed him in the ribs – or tried. Through the layers of fabric, Stefan barely felt it. "Maybe you should ask Mr. Hair’s on Fire for your first kiss, hmm?" He clasped his hands and spoke as he had earlier. "Oh, Mr. Hair’s on Fire, you looked so big and strong killing that Senti—Oof!"
"Stop it!" Stefan howled, scooping up snow to throw it on Killian as he struggled to get up from the bank into which Stefan had shoved him. He turned and ran as Killian bellowed in outrage, bolting for the safe spot that wasn’t more than a dozen yards away.
Killian tackled him just shy of it, the two going down in a fit of laughter, wrestling and tumbling in the snow.
"Come on, we’re going to freeze to death," Stefan said at last. "Maja will kill me if I get her precious little Killian frostbitten."
Snorting, Killian obeyed and clambered up, leading the way down the narrow tunnel of rock that led to a cave well stocked with food, fire stuffs, and other necessaries. "I’ll get a fire going," he said. "You get out the furs and food."
"Yes, master," Stefan retorted, but cheerfully obeyed, stripping out of his wet clothes and hanging them on special racks made for just that purpose, shivering a bit as he opened up a chest and dragged out heavy furs and quilts, laying them out before going to another chest and pulling out dried fruit, jerky, and a special flat bread. He sat down on the blankets and sighed. "Nice fire."
Killian sniffed. "Of course it is. I’m the best fire builder in the village." He grinned. "That’s how I got kisses two and five."
Stefan rolled his eyes, refusing to be goaded. So a fifteen year old was better at that sort of thing than him. Whatever. Kisses and all the rest weren’t that big a deal anyway, right? "Here, eat so you’ll shut up."
Silence fell for a few minutes. "So how do you think he did it?" Stefan finally asked.
Killian rolled his eyes. "If we ever see him again, we’ll have to ask. Otherwise, who knows? Maybe we were seeing things. I’ve never heard of men with fire for hair or swords that could cut through Sentinel scales."
"He did not have fire for hair, you dim-brains. It was just the color of fire."
"Oh, my mistake," Killian said. "I really thought he had fire for hair. You’re the dim-brains. The love struck dim-brains."
"Am not," Stefan muttered. "We barely saw him. How many times do I have to say it? I was just stunned that he made killing that adult Sent look so easy…" He trailed off, recalling the memories of the fight to mind, the effortless way the man had moved – even after being knocked down. The Sent had been right there, its jaws blocked only by a sword and the man’s strength and the man hadn’t hesitated – just pulled a knife and slit its throat.
Like the Sent was nothing.
Killian chortled softly and poked idly at the fire. "So we’ve got a long five days ahead of us. I hope we don’t run into any more Sents. Mr. Hair’s on Fire probably won’t be around to save us a second time."
Stefan swallowed a bite of bread and stared off into the shadows beyond the fire as he thought. Five days, through land that was largely wild – far too many chances to be ambushed. It was truly amazing that Ewald had given in so easily. Though if his village was also short shadow tonic…and he wasn’t risking his own people to get it… Grimacing, Stefan shoved the cynical thought away and attacked a piece of venison jerky. Not the greatest foodstuffs ever, but certainly better than nothing.
Besides, Ewald had given them more than enough coin and trade goods for tonic. Enough he’d told them to be certain they ate properly and got proper beds for a night’s rest. They could make it up to him at harvest time – which Stefan was always more than willing to do.
Finishing his food, Stefan returned what was left to the chest, then burrowed under the blankets with a yawn. "Don’t let me sleep," he said, already half gone.
Killian snorted softly as he joined Stefan under the blankets. He was far better at waking early. "I won’t, never fear."
Stefan tried to nod, but his head was too heavy and his eyes refused to open to check that all was truly well and safe. He thought distantly that it seemed peaceful, rather than fearful, for once, but fell asleep before he finished the thought, mind turning instead to a flashing sword and brilliant red hair.
"It’s cold."
Stefan rolled his eyes. "And snowing."
"Oh, shut up," Killian groused. He finished drinking his tea, then cleaned and packed the cup away before putting out their little campfire. "Two days and I can sleep in a nice, warm bed."
Though he said nothing, too busy packing up their things, Stefan wholeheartedly agreed. He much preferred this journey in the spring and summer, when the air smelled sweet and the nights were neither too hot nor too cool.
Still, there were a few things to brighten the day. "We should be camping at the old temple tonight," he said with a smile. "I wonder what it will be like in winter."
"Cold," Killian replied, then slung his pack onto his back and strode from camp.
Rolling his eyes, Stefan settled his own pack and followed after him. "At least the temple will be better than a cave floor."
"Not by much."
"You’re in a fine mood today," Stefan said with a frown. "What bug crawled into your blankets?"
Killian made a face. "Just tired and on edge, you know? I’ve only done this once before, and that with a lot more people."
Stefan nodded. Killian was still young – only by three years, but that was enough so far as journeys went. The village only made a couple of trips a year to the larger Deer Run and only about ten were chosen to go – five adults, and five youths old enough and strong enough to begin learning the route. This would make Stefan’s seventh trip, and the only time he’d gone solo.
He’d be scared out of his mind if he allowed himself to think about it too much.
They fell into a silence as they walked in the hazy gray of early morning, yawning blearily and barely awake enough to notice as the sun came up dimly behind the clouds.
Full sunlight never happened, not really. There was always just enough they managed a reasonable crop every year, but not the full sunlight of a clear sky.
No…that sort of thing was a myth. The sky only cleared a bit at night, for the moon to shine, and even then there were still plenty of clouds. The Chief had an old book that showed faded pictures of a clear blue sky filled with a blazing sun shining down upon a brilliant white palace…but it was a legend. If the castle and the blue sky had ever existed, Stefan had been told over and over, it was long gone now. The world was ruled by the Will of Teufel, and the sun would not shine until his Will said it might.
Stefan had always wondered what a clear sky looked like. He tilted his head up to look at the gray clouds, the tiny shreds of sun peeking through them. What would it be like, he wondered for the millionth time, if a picture were to come to life?
Snorting at the line of his thoughts, Stefan forced them away. He was eighteen now – old enough that come summer he would have to start thinking of a home of his own, and stop living in the Chief’s spare room.
In a few more years, he’d be expected to take a wife, contribute to the village that way…though he couldn’t even begin to imagine that. Everyone teased him mercilessly for having his head high up in the clouds even as he worked hard with the planting, the harvesting, storing for winter, building, repairing. They liked to say ‘his body did the work while his head traveled.’ Stefan couldn’t help it, though.
He liked being out here, as frightening as it was if he thought about it too much. It was different, even exciting, to be doing something different, to be seeing new things. All right, so the route wasn’t exactly new – he’d never traveled it in winter, that sort of made it new right?
Anyway, he would always be there to help…even if sometimes he wished he wasn’t. No one ever had to know that but him.
"This place is a lot more interesting when it’s not covered by snow and I’m not freezing to death," Killian said into the silence.
"I don’t know," Stefan said with a grin. "Freezing to death keeps you quieter than usual. Otherwise…the snow is pretty, but I think you’re right about it being not as interesting. Oh, look! White! Oh, look there. More white!"
Killian snorted. "Exactly."
"So what shall we eat when we finally reach Deer Run?"
"How about deer?"
Stefan rolled his eyes. "I’m ignoring you now; obviously the cold has frozen what little brain you have."
"Well it’s already gotten to my hands, my feet, legs, arms…my head was bound to be next."
"Unfortunately not your mouth."
Killian made a face. "Fine, I’ll be quiet. How long have we been walking?"
Stefan shrugged and looked up at the sky. "Maybe a couple of hours now? We’ve got quite a few more before we reach the old temple." He brightened as he thought of it.
The old temple was easily his favorite part of the journey. The one time they’d made the trip and rain had gotten them stuck there for an extra day had been his absolute favorite. It was situated in a massive field just beyond the forest they would be entering in another hour or so. A small stretch of the forest that grew thicker further up, but this way was largely thinned out. Just beyond it was the large stretch of field in the center of which was an ancient Temple of Light.
Some of the older folks said that the ancestors had once called it the Temple of Sunrise, and that once upon a time the region had stretched from the foot of the Haunted Mountains to the Black Hills that gave the town there its name. They were headed toward Deer Run, which was built in a different stretch of forest than the one they’d travel through.
The Temple of Sunrise was surrounded by water – a wide, deep moat filled with colorful fish that never seemed to die or even change. No one knew what kind of fish they were, and so far as Stefan knew never had anyone been willing to try and catch them. Some said they were sacred, others said they were as cursed as everything else that had once been blessed by the Lost Licht.
Over the moat stretched a bridge of gold-brown stone that, like the fish, never seemed to age over time. The temple itself was built of the same material, towering up three stories. No one had ever gone beyond the first floor, though not for lack of trying. All the doors save the entrance were sealed shut, as if the temple had been closed up but someone forgot to lock the last door.
Still, that one room was beautiful. A great table stood on a dais, made of bright white stone flecked with gold. The wall behind the table looked as if something had once hung there, but no one knew what. A thousand times Stefan had tried to guess, dreaming up all manner of things – paintings or carvings of the sun, perhaps images of Lost Licht himself.
No one else ever wanted to discuss it. It made them nervous even staying in the temple – but there was nowhere else to go except open ground, and an only idiot risked that. Stefan loved the temple, though. If only he could explore more of it…
Oh, this was the perfect opportunity to try it! Except that they couldn’t waste time, not with Maja sick. He couldn’t, wouldn’t act like the boy everyone still thought him to be when Maja’s life was at stake.
Even thinking about it made him feel ashamed. He should be focusing, not letting his foolish thoughts get the better of him. Properly chastened, Stefan increased his pace slightly, as if walking faster would leave his errant thoughts far behind in the snow.
They walked on in silence, neither boy in the mood to speak and both used to the other in a way that the silence was comfortable rather than awkward. The silence continued even when they stopped for lunch, broken only by a few brief comments on the weather, the journey.
A few times Stefan considered saying something, but his thoughts were going in too many directions for him to feel like focusing them. He was torn between his daydreams, worrying about Maja, the temple that was now only a couple of hours away, Deer Run a day’s travel more beyond that…and at the back of his mind, the fight from a few days ago. If he were honest, it was a lot closer than the back of his mind.
He wished he’d gotten to speak with the stranger, to ask how he did it…get a closer look at the hair that seemed as though it were made of fire.
Stefan was jerked from his thoughts by a gut-wrenching roar, and a wave of cold fear hit him so hard he stumbled to his knees and gasped for breath. Killian was no better, kneeling beside him, eyes wide as he stared ahead at the forest they were just about to enter.
"That…that roar…"
It came again and Stefan shuddered, barely noticing that the snow was freezing his hands.
Killian licked his lips. "That…it can’t be…"
"It is," Stefan whispered.
He’d only heard it once before, on the day he’d turned fourteen. The Chief had taken him up to the Great Peak and shown him the landscape of Schatten – the Dark City far off in the distance, barely visible…and the much closer Great Wall, and the terrible Great Sentinel which guarded it.
No one ever went in or out of the Great Wall. It was said Twelve Great Sentinels guarded it, and that another roamed the lands, and that only with the permission of the thirteen could anyone pass beyond the Great Wall itself.
They were easily the size of a small house, with wings that spanned three times that. Monstrous and terrible – it was said all those who got too close did not live to tell the tale. There was always a small chance of getting away from adult Sentinels – for they did not like to chase, and often preferred easy prey. Great Sentinels let no one get away. If you got too close, you were dead.
If you could hear one, you were too close.
"What…what is it doing here?" Stefan finally asked.
"The Wanderer," Killian said softly. Then all of a sudden he stood and bolted, running for the woods as though his life depended on it, leaving his pack forgotten on the ground.
"Killian!" Stefan bellowed, staring in disbelief as his friend vanished into the trees. "Killian…" Shaking his head, muttering soft curses, he shrugged off his own pack, then grabbed them both and ran toward the woods. Once there, he hid them as best he could in the roots of a great tree, then chased after his friend, whom he could just see by the movement of his winter cloak.
They ran for what seemed like ages, until Stefan’s chest burned from the effort and sucking in the cold winter air. Drawing a breath positively ached when he finally spilled out of the forest and into the field, crashing into Killian and knocking them both down into a snow drift.
He clambered up, eyes going wide at what he saw.
The red-haired stranger.
Fighting…fighting…he couldn’t make the thought form, it was too overwhelming. He rubbed his eyes, certain they were deceiving him, but when he looked again the sight before him had not changed.
The stranger was fighting a Great Sentinel.
Gone was his cloak – all his winter gear. He wore nothing but breeches and boots that came to his thighs, a shirt that was wet from the snow. His hair was tied loosely back, but remarkably bright against the white snow and the nigh-dark Sentinel.
It truly was the size of a house, its awful wings flared out, breath clouding in the air as it threw its head forward at the stranger, who merely leaped out the way.
Crack. Crack. Crack.
They happened so fast, Stefan could not follow – one moment the Sentinel was attacking, the next it gave another fear-inducing roar and pulled back, blood pouring from its nose and one eye.
Crack
This time the Sentinel screamed and Stefan hoped suddenly, fervently, that he never again heard such an awful sound. He stared in awe as he realized that now the Sentinel was completely blind – the man had managed to destroy both its eyes.
Desperate, pained and angry and it was a Great Sentinel how was it even possible, the gigantic beast began to thrash wildly, mindlessly, snarling and roaring enough that Stefan wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to stand again. He shook with fear, unable to still his trembling – but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the gruesome fight either.
Weak sunlight flashed on snow-wet metal as the stranger dodged the wild thrashings and struck at the Great Sentinel’s forelegs. If the shattering screams bothered him, he gave no sign, merely moved from one leg to the other, dodging and lunging as the Sent struggled to fight back.
Then he danced back, away, moving far enough from the Great Sentinel that he could assess the situation.
Suddenly the Sentinel whirled; its massive tail a black blur of motion, lashing out in a deadly radius to try and catch the attacker the Sentinel could no longer see.
The man attempted to get out of the way, but didn’t quite, and Stefan cried out in dismay as the end of the Sentinel’s tail caught him, sent him flying back across the snow – toward Stefan and Killian. He fell just a few feet short of them, and for a moment lay still.
Drawing a sharp breath, Stefan tried to stand – but the paralyzing fear induced by the Great Sentinel still held him fast. "Are—are you—"
Groaning, the man lifted himself, braced on his hands and knees. He looked dazedly at them, blinking slowly until awareness came back into his face.
Stefan stared.
His eyes were gold. The strangest gold Stefan had ever seen – a rich, dark yellow that almost seemed to have hints of orange in it. And his hair…it truly was red, rich and dark and glistening where the snow had melted into it. It clung to his cheeks and neck.
Then the moment shattered, as the man shoved himself to his feet and turned to bolt back down to where the Sentinel was still shrieking and attempting to find its attacker.
Dodging the blind, flailing Sentinel, the stranger managed to retrieve his sword and the strange weapon Stefan wished he had a name for. It cracked out, drawing more blood from the Great Sentinel at various points, until the snow turned dark red all around the combatants.
Suddenly the Great Sentinel stopped trying to attack, and instead threw its head up toward the sky, opening its mouth and keening a long, low, eerie roar that seemed to echo everywhere, reverberating in Stefan’s bones, making him cover his ears – and he wanted badly to close his eyes against the terrible sight, but his gaze would not, could not, leave the red-haired man who so boldly faced down one of the creatures the people of Schatten feared above all but Lord Teufel himself.
He knew suddenly what the Great Sentinel was doing – calling other Sentinels. How he knew that, he didn’t know, but it would make sense. If it were him, he’d call for help too – because it was obvious the stranger was winning.
Above the eerie cry, Stefan heard the stranger shout something he couldn’t make out. It sounded like nothing he’d ever heard before. Then he lifted his left hand, and something flashed bright – then the wounds of the Great Sentinel, from his eyes all down his neck, the few scattered over his massive body – burst into flame.
The eerie call turned into a ground-shaking cry of pain and fear. The stranger spoke again, then another one of those silvery flashes, and the flames increased in strength, spreading out, consuming the Sentinel.
It collapsed beneath the flames and its badly injured forelegs, head dropping as it attempted to regain some sort of balance. Wet metal flashed, and impossible amounts of blood poured from its sliced throat to cover the stranger before he could get completely away – then the Great Sentinel thrashed wildly, madly, before collapsing in a convulsing heap.
After what seemed like ages, it went still.
Stefan could only gawk.
He was jolted from his paralysis by movement, as the stranger began to move – stumble – toward them. He looked up toward them, started to speak – then collapsed.
Stefan stood frozen for a moment, everything too much for him to take.
"What just…how…" Killian stared.
"Come on," Stefan said, Killian’s voice finally jarring him into movement. "We have to help him!"
no subject
Date: 2007-05-07 07:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-07 08:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-07 08:37 am (UTC)*happy bounce*
i'm sorry that your insomnia contributes to my happyness, but there you are. agree that the battle scenes were cool, the david v. goliath thing was pretty apparent, especially when he thought to blind the big sentinel. props for thinking of that.
curious as to the mysterious stranger's affinity with fire, as well as stefan's mysterious background. oh yay for mysteriousness.
although when this does get revealed, there better be a damn good explanation on why this guy is so damn good. you've made these sentinels out to be pretty freakin' invincible and scary (rusienor exception kinda on the scary)....
thanks!
no subject
Date: 2007-05-07 10:42 am (UTC)Oh, I'm so intrigued! I can hardly wait for you to post more.
Much love!
no subject
Date: 2007-05-07 10:54 am (UTC)And I don't know if I asked yet: Why did you name the country Schatten and the Shadow of Licht Teufel?
no subject
Date: 2007-05-07 11:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-07 11:14 am (UTC)This is really damn good so far. The impatient kid in me is whining about wanting more and knowing who people are and what's going on andandandand... :D You are so awesome.
no subject
Date: 2007-05-07 12:24 pm (UTC)I'm sorry you're home sick, but thank you for posting this!
Now I'm going to whine until the rest of it goes up.
*headdesk*
no subject
Date: 2007-05-07 01:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-07 04:00 pm (UTC)I look forward to the next chapter. :)
no subject
Date: 2007-05-07 04:18 pm (UTC)*glomps you* ^______^
no subject
Date: 2007-05-07 04:25 pm (UTC)*hugs*
no subject
Date: 2007-05-07 04:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-07 04:31 pm (UTC)Stop taunting the readers, bratticus, or Priveleges will be Revoked.
no subject
Date: 2007-05-07 04:33 pm (UTC)suckerask nicely to catch all your myriad typos? *duck, run* ^___________^no subject
Date: 2007-05-07 08:05 pm (UTC)suckerspeople who would be willing to catch typos for a chance to see her stories early :)no subject
Date: 2007-05-07 04:30 pm (UTC)I can see you're going to be a troublemaker about this.
no subject
Date: 2007-05-07 04:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-07 04:24 pm (UTC)I can't wait to watch more of this unfold!!!
no subject
Date: 2007-05-07 04:44 pm (UTC)and not to be too forward, but i will most certainly catch typos if it means reading this even faster.
:D
no subject
Date: 2007-05-07 11:02 pm (UTC)I'm pretty sure that
no subject
Date: 2007-05-08 08:12 am (UTC)and besides, the by-play via commentary between the two is pretty amusing as well.
:D
no subject
Date: 2007-05-07 04:59 pm (UTC)*waits impatiently for Monday*
Also, I hope you get more sleep tonight! ^__^
no subject
Date: 2007-05-07 05:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-07 05:17 pm (UTC)Most definitely okay ^__^ Thankee for reading.
no subject
Date: 2007-05-07 06:33 pm (UTC)That will probably be the only thing that keeps me sane this week. but any way Love the story. ^-^
no subject
Date: 2007-05-07 06:36 pm (UTC)I am muchly intrigued! I can't wait to see where this goes.
no subject
Date: 2007-05-07 06:42 pm (UTC)If Sasha is the red-haired stranger then this begs the question of when he got over his little sickness. If he isn't, then I look forward to finding out who it is. I think I have a soft spot for Killian already, just based on the name. Anyways, thank you for the great chapter.
no subject
Date: 2007-05-07 07:53 pm (UTC)*snuggle glomps Stefan and Sasha*
<3333
Date: 2007-05-07 07:55 pm (UTC)Seriously. Monday once again has meaning, and I have something to wake up for!!! And as was the case with all the other Lost Gods stories...I am already head over heels for this!
no subject
Date: 2007-05-07 08:03 pm (UTC)Um yeah. Anyway, I can't wait until next week :)
no subject
Date: 2007-05-07 10:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-07 09:26 pm (UTC)Hope you sleep well tonight. But I'm sure your mental health day was good for you!
no subject
Date: 2007-05-07 10:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-07 10:31 pm (UTC)Have to say I had forgotten about Licht. XD; Shame on me. Can't wait to see what happens next. Is it monday yet?
no subject
Date: 2007-05-08 10:27 am (UTC)Mmmm, red-heads. I admit to having way too much fun with Sasha.
Not yet ^^;;
Dude, is that Jin from Champloo? When did he get that hot? I so need to finish that series.
no subject
Date: 2007-05-08 10:11 pm (UTC)Wargh!
Yup! Sometime around epiode 23 - 26 (I am right in thinking it's a 26 episode series...?). He is way hot without the glasses. And his hair grows! :drools: Half nekkidness always helps.
no subject
Date: 2007-05-08 03:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-08 10:27 am (UTC)Awww, I'm always impressed anyone remembers him.
Oh. My. God. I have found my OTP. This calls for rum.
Date: 2007-05-08 10:04 am (UTC)...Sasha is the sex and stefan needs hugs. <3
Re: Oh. My. God. I have found my OTP. This calls for rum.
Date: 2007-05-08 10:25 am (UTC)And what, precisely, it hitting our OTP button?
Re: Oh. My. God. I have found my OTP. This calls for rum.
Date: 2007-05-08 10:32 am (UTC)Also, i now need to look through burning bright.
Re: Oh. My. God. I have found my OTP. This calls for rum.
Date: 2007-05-11 12:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-08 02:22 pm (UTC)It's a great story, thanks for sharing it.