Chains of Mist (41 page)

It was then that the
Dar’katal
found his voice. Twisting madly in his earthy fetters, he bellowed out his rage, calling amidst a torrent of expletives for the Traika
Dar’katal
to face him in combat. His flint-bladed sword hewed at the vines, flickering like lightning in the night.

The shamans paused in their chanting, eyes of frozen obsidian swiveling to regard the Belayas
Dar’katal
. Their faces bore no emotion, no reaction at all to Ulkar’s shower of curses. For a moment, they were silent, and Austin knew somehow that they were communicating telepathically amongst themselves. The Traika warriors looked on, greed and malice in their eyes, eager to see what devilry their wizards would next unleash.

Then one of the shamans stepped forward—an old woman, stooped and frail, her body ravaged by the years. Yet Austin could practically feel the power that emanated from her spare form, rolling over him like the beat of a drum. Perched on her shoulder was a huge bird with feathers blacker than the darkness of space and bright orange eyes that glittered with bestial malice. The bird opened its beak and let out a sound that froze Austin’s blood—a cry that echoed with alien cruelty, with raw, unbridled malice.

The old woman raised her right hand, bony fingers pointed at Ulkar, and spoke a single word of power.

Ulkar’s bonds dissolved into dust, but he remained hovering in the air, held aloft by invisible hands. His sword shattered, shards of rock exploding everywhere; Austin felt something whip past his face, and when he put his hand to his cheek it came away bloody. Still shrieking curses, Ulkar slowly drifted towards the shamans. The Belayas
Dar’katal
struggled like a wild animal to free himself, but the bonds that now held him could not be broken by mere physical force. An arcane wind began to swirl, with Ulkar at its center. The air howled, and a sudden blast of arctic frost swept over them. The Traika warriors began to beat their weapons against the ground, their faces manic with gleeful anticipation; clearly, this was a spell they had seen before. They knew what was about to happen, and they were reveling in it. The wind whipped faster, churning the ground beneath it, whipping the very earth into motion.

The shaman leader, her opal eyes alight with power, spoke a second word of magic.

The
Dar’katal
’s skin ignited, engulfing his entire body in flames, and he screamed. The acrid smell of charred flesh swept across Austin, and he fought to keep from retching. Ulkar hung there for a moment, his tortured cries echoing from inside his infernal prison.

The fire died, and a rain of dust fell to the ground, all that remained of
Dar’katal
Ulkar of the Belayas.

The shamans were silent for a moment, admiring their leader’s handiwork. Then their eyes turned—

Towards Austin.

Terror swept over him. He scrambled to his feet and dove headfirst over the wall. He was conscious of the eyes of the Belayas warriors, following him as he fled, and knew that if he were to turn he would see stunned betrayal mirrored in every gaze. He knew that he had abandoned them in their darkest hour, left them to a terrible fate from which they could not hope to escape.

All this he knew—but he did not care. His fear outweighed all else, banishing all notions of bravery and honor and comradeship. He had seen many horrible sights in his life, fought many enemies on many worlds, but this…this was different. This was an enemy that he could not fight, an enemy that waged war on a plane of existence that was beyond his understanding. The terrible sight of Ulkar, hanging helpless as his blood boiled and his skin melted, dominated Austin’s thoughts, so much so that even though Nembane Mountain loomed less than a kilometer past the Traika village Austin didn’t even think to flee towards it. Instead, his feet sought the familiarity of the path that had taken him there, carrying him with reckless speed away from that place of horror.

The sounds of screaming chased him as he ran.

Austin crashed with wild abandon through the forest. Even though the Traika village was now far behind him, and he had heard no sounds of pursuit, still he ran as if the hounds of hell itself were on his trail. Try as he might, he could not shake the image of Ulkar disintegrating before his very eyes, nor could he avoid the fear that he was next.

The Traika
wanted
us to come. They
wanted
us to attack them in their territory. They wanted war, total war—and they will leave no survivors.

Austin burst through the last line of trees, and saw his worst fears realized. The Traika, with their greater speed and superior knowledge of the forest, had gotten there first.

The Belayas village was burning.

Austin skidded to a halt, staring in horror at the destruction before him. Screams erupted from inside the conflagration. Tiny pillars of flame detached themselves from the inferno, screeching pyres of Human flesh that made it only a short ways before they collapsed. If there had been a battle for the Belayas village—if the few remaining warriors and elders had been able to muster
any
kind of defense against the attack—it was long over. What remained was no longer a village.

It was a bonfire.

Barely ten hours ago, this clearing had housed a place of happiness, a place of peace. Its inhabitants had calmly gone about their days, talking and eating, laughing and singing, scarcely suspecting that before the sun next rose their lives would be destroyed forever.
Reduced to ashes and dust. How did it come to this? How could cruel fate shatter so many dreams, so many destinies?

And now the Belayas people were suffering the same fate as their
Dar’katal
. His mind still fresh with the horrors he had seen at the Traika village, Austin’s first instinct was to flee, to turn tail and run and hope that they couldn’t catch him. The fate of the Belayas tribe was sealed; he could do nothing to aid them now.

But something stopped him, some remnant of a thought buried deep in his mind, and he froze in mid-step. He listened, focusing amidst the chaos around him, and heard a voice in his head, cold and contemptuous.
Coward! You flee while there might still be life within that inferno? While you might still save their lives? Elders, children, left to burn alive—because you are afraid? Coward! If they could see you now, they would be ashamed—Elena and Jordin would be ashamed!

And that thought twisted like a dagger, straight into Austin’s heart, awakening something white-hot within him that roared out and consumed his fear. He had to get to the village, to see if there was anyone still alive, to save those he could—

Well, don’t just
think
about it! Move, you damn fool!

As if that thought had unfrozen his feet, Austin began to sprint across the field, blade holstered across his back. He could still hear screams emanating from within the fires—
someone
was alive in there. As he reached the village, a wave of heat forced him back a step, and he instinctively shielded his face from the blaze. Only now, as he stood on the verge of the inferno, did he hesitate. Rushing headlong into a roaring fire without the proper equipment was the virtual definition of suicide; his clothes were supposedly flame-retardant, but his skin definitely wasn’t. He had a breathing mask in his rucksack, but that was inside the village and thus out of his reach. The smoke and heat could very well kill him before he could help anyone. He lingered, uncertain, staring mesmerized into the flames.

Another scream echoed from inside the village, and his hesitation dissolved into dust.

He leapt into the heart of the fire.

* * * *

The heat hit Austin like a giant’s fist, painful and intense. The ground before his eyes shimmered and plumes of smoke forced him to cough and cover his eyes. Squinting through tears, he saw that most of the ground was actually clear of flames, the grass having already burned to char. The buildings, however, blazed like pyres; apparently the dried mud of which they were built was partly grass or straw. Lit piles of grain and other foodstuffs completed the inferno, and the air sizzled as stores of water boiled away.

Already, Austin could feel his skin beginning to burn, and he forced himself to sprint through the pillars of flame and smoke. Tongues of fire licked out from the buildings towards his feet, but he ignored them. He had only a few minutes to look for survivors and get out—he was already feeling lightheaded from the smoke fumes.
Damn, but I wish I had that breathing mask right now.

The screams were very loud now, very close. Austin rounded a corner and saw a single building in his path. A building that…he
knew
. He recognized it from his few brief forays through the village. It was…it was…

The home of
Sho’nal
Taralen.

The screaming was coming from inside.

Katrina…

Austin ducked his head and dashed towards the sound.

* * * *

Sho’nal
Taralen lay on ground stained black with blood and ash, his body a mass of burns and charred flesh. His chest still rose and fell, but only barely, and Austin knew that the man was gasping his final breaths. His eyes stared, unseeing, at the blazing rooftop above him, mouth moving soundlessly. Katrina crouched over his inert form, crying and screaming. She tugged at his arms, begging him to stand. Taralen’s limbs twitched, trying to comply, but his muscles had not the strength to obey. He coughed, a terrible wracking sound, and his mouth formed a single word. A word that Austin had learned in his brief time with the Belayas, and so understood even without the translator.

Go.

But Katrina would not go; she would not leave him. She was frozen in place, fear and terror forcing her to cling to the one remaining symbol of certainty in a world that had just been set aflame. Taralen’s arms moved weakly, trying to push her away, but to no avail. He coughed again, spitting up phlegm and blood, his breath a wheezing gasp rattling from ruptured lungs. His mouth again formed the word:
GO
, and then, as that simple exertion drained his last dregs of energy, his head suddenly sagged. His eyelids drooped, his breath growing more ragged.

Austin was not aware of moving, but suddenly he was on the ground, crouching over the dying man. Katrina saw him and began yelling at him to
do
something, but her words sounded far away, mere echoes in his ears. Out of instinct, his hands grabbed for Taralen’s wrist, searching for a pulse, searching for a sign of hope that he knew was not there. He had come too late; there was nothing he could do for Taralen now.

The
Sho’nal
’s eyes fluttered open. His weak gaze found Austin’s face. His mouth moved, a final gasp of air forming his dying words: “
Watch over her…
”

Austin nodded. Choking past the sudden knot that had formed in his throat, he replied, “I will, sir.”

A smile tugged at the corners of the
Sho’nal
’s mouth. He held Austin’s gaze for a moment longer. Then the light went out of his eyes for good as
Sho’nal
Taralen of the Belayas died.

Katrina let out a wail of anguish, throwing herself on her father’s limp form, her tears soaking into his scorched clothes. Words flowed from her mouth, too jumbled for Austin to comprehend. But he could well guess, and a pang of sorrow lanced through his heart. Unbidden, an image leapt to his mind’s eye, a copy of the one before his eyes, except it was Austin crying, and the lifeless bodies were those of his wife and son, and they would never again get up.
Never again. Never again. Never—

The air suddenly crackled with sparks, and a section of the roof collapsed, the charred remnants of wood and mud striking the ground barely a meter from where they crouched. Austin grabbed the girl’s shoulders, yelling at her that they had to go; she shook off his grasp, and so he was forced to tear her, shrieking, away from her father’s still form. He lifted her and began to run, cradling her in the hollow of his chest, where she would be most shielded from the flames. Her small fists beat at him, screaming at him to put her down, screaming for her father, but there was no time for an argument. Ignoring her cries, he dashed from the flaming building. The air outside felt almost solid, and he coughed, his eyes stinging from the smoke. There was no time to get back to the entrance; they would have to go over the walls.

No,
over
is a bad idea,
thought Austin, remembering the spires of wood that jutted from the walls. Even in Espir’s lower gravity, he wasn’t sure that he would be able to throw Katrina to safety, and he himself would never make it.
Over won’t work…but maybe
through
. I have to try, or we’ll both die.
He reached the wall and, mouthing a silent prayer, kicked at it—

It crumbled beneath his foot. Feeling his lungs constricting, he kicked again, and a third time, trying to forge an opening large enough for them to pass through.

A rush of flame seared his back, and he knew that he had run out of time. It was now, or never. Lowering his head, he charged. Jagged points of wood and needle-sharp juraa
thorns jabbed into his skin, but he ignored the pain, hoping, praying—