Valley of Embers (The Landkist Saga Book 1) (35 page)

It seemed that not all of the Dark Kind were massed before the walls of Hearth. Some were here, and if there were Dark Kind, there could be Sentinels. Kole could not help but think of his own battle with the Sentinel, both beneath the roots and in the realm of nightmare. It had taken all his willpower and the help of two of the most potent Faeykin of the Valley to stop the change. Most were not so fortunate.

“Easy,” Misha whispered from behind him.

Kole looked up. No more than a few strides ahead, there was a pile. Kole’s stomach churned.

The Embers moved forward cautiously.

“I know you’re a hunter and all,” Misha whispered. “You Lakemen all are, but don’t let what’s in front of you get lost in what’s below.”

“Linn was always the hunter,” Kole said. “I just followed along.”

An odd mix of relief and horror flooded Kole as they reached the pile of bodies. The forms at their feet belonged to Corrupted, their skins newly-acquired and not yet near to flaking in the mud, though the pools were stained dark around them.

“They don’t look like Rivermen,” Misha said.

“Hard to tell. Could be Faey.”

“They took their chances in the woods,” Misha said a little disdainfully

“It’s not like we made them feel entirely welcome.”

“Speak for yourself, Reyna,” Misha said, lifting one of their heads with her boot before letting it settle back down. “This happened too quickly for us to send out warnings or for the Faey to heed them. Besides, they’ve always fared well in the Dark Months. Better than us some years.”

Kole only half heard her. It was strange, looking down at the mangled forms at his feet, their bodies twisted as if a great weight had come against them, pressing them into the mud. Misha put a hand on his shoulder and turned him around.

“This isn’t all on you, Reyna,” she said, her tone—if it were possible—empathetic.

She moved off, and after a few awkward, blinking moments, Kole followed.

The black peaks loomed out of the ever-present dusk ahead, their caps lost to the swirling skies. Now, packs of gray disturbed the black in the clouds, and they could just glimpse the faint orange hues of the sun in the north. The light had the tinge of blood to Kole, and he found himself relieved when the mass of stones ahead blotted it out and sank them back into the gloom they had come to know so well.

They were in the Deep Lands now, cracks in the earth expanding into crevices. These took chaotic, nonsensical routes until they came together to form the bottomless trenches that gave the land its name. These wounds were eternal, and all who crossed them knew they would never close or fill. Kole had grown up with tales of the Night Lords stalking their depths. He doubted they were true, but could not help but wonder how the true generals of the World Apart would stack up to the sick imitations of ape and worm he had battled these last weeks.

The further they moved, the more apparent it was that desperation had forced the Rivermen this way, a desperation that Kole hoped was fueled by the promise that lay at its end.

With the scarred earth, the path of the refugees was becoming more difficult to follow. The memories of violence done to the land here in the titanic clash between the Sages discouraged growth, and the soil morphed into a thick clay that harbored no tracks. In the place of grass and weeds, only moss and the occasional scrub brush sprouted. Soon enough, the Embers followed intuition more than sense, following the path of least resistance over and around the gaps and plateaus.

A gray-black mass of stone rose before them to mark the base of the Lower Steps. Kole had never been here, though it was not so very far from home. The Steps marked the beginnings of a place out of memories that should not have been his, a place where Kole had lost much.

“Reyna.”

Kole was standing still.

“Sorry,” he said, making to move off, but Misha hooked his arm and yanked him back roughly.

“Wait,” she hissed, eyes wild.

They stood on a steel-colored slab that narrowed to a point ahead. At its tip, just a few strides away, a larger mass of bodies was tangled together on the edge.

“Listen,” Misha whispered, and Kole did, attempting to sift through the wind and rain.

There was a faint scratching sound, and his eyes adjusted to the haze, picking out hints of shadows ahead. They worked at something on the opposite ledge. There were no sounds of struggle, and as the Embers split off in opposite, circuitous routes, Kole saw that this pile did not contain Corrupted alone.

He felt the familiar warmth seeping into his blood from the white-hot core that all Embers carried. He sent it down into his legs, the sinews there flexing and pulsing. His armor creaked and groaned in protest as the heat built, black scales sliding over one another to expose tiny gaps that hissed like kettles.

There were close to a dozen of the creatures clustered across the gap. They were huddled on a narrow ledge with their backs to the Embers, and they scratched at a man-sized slab of stone that stood out fresh against the darker rock surrounding it.

Kole’s experience with the Rivermen was limited to Baas Taldis. But he knew the Rockbled’s way with the earth. It should have come as no surprise that his people would have had a way into the mountains in case of a mass exodus.

The thought of Baas reminded him of Kaya, Larren, Nathen, Jenk … and Linn. The tangle of bodies on the ledge swelled up in his mind’s eye.

Some part of him saw the colored tassels of Misha’s spear spinning to his left, attempting to signal him, but his blood was up. With a lunge, he was airborne, hands flashing to the Everwood blades across his back. He timed his draw with his landing, carving two of the creatures down the lengths of their spines on impact and ignition. Their flesh bubbled and sealed under the scorching blades, and they died with hisses that rang like the screams of demons to his ears.

The others fell on him.

Kole heard Misha shouting, but his concentration was forward, twisting and turning, deflecting and scoring as they came for him with a hunger.

“Jump!”

And Kole sprang back, the ghouls following in suit, several to their own demise. As he landed, skidding across the smooth surface of the slab, the beasts readied themselves as cats would and leapt across only to meet the fires of Misha Ve’Gah.

Her furious press sent another tumbling in short order, while those remaining ducked and darted like jackals. Kole was on them an instant late, allowing Misha to skewer one while he took the next under the ribs. On they came and down they fell, Misha’s whirling attack forcing them into non-action while Kole skirted the edges of her blaze like a wolf at slaughter. They left the Corrupted in smoldering ruins, extinguishing their flames before the last of them had finished dying.

“That was bold,” Misha said, scarcely out of breath as she adjusted a strap.

Kole did not respond. His blood would be a long time cooling. He leapt back across the gap to inspect the makeshift door and Misha followed after.

“Bluestone,” Misha said, running her hand along the once-smooth slate where the Dark Kind had scored gouges into the surface. The stone was hewn in the rough shape of a door, and it stood nearly half again as tall as Misha’s spear. The rain was breaking and a sliver of moonlight poked through the clouds. In the faint light, the door shone with a silvery blue shimmer that was entrancing, if conspicuous.

“It’s the lightest stone in the Valley,” Misha said.

“Doesn’t seem it,” Kole said, testing the give with his shoulder. It didn’t budge. Judging by its proportions compared to the gap they had just crossed, it was only now serving as a door because its use as a bridge had run its course. Kole could still make out the muddy boot prints on its face.

“It’s slightly ajar,” Kole said, noticing a child-sized gap on the lower edge that betrayed a hasty retreat.

“Grab a handhold,” Misha said, and Kole rewarded her with a blank stare before she nodded toward her spear.

“Really?”

“Really. Unless you want to call up that power you used before the gates and shatter the stone yourself.”

Kole looked back at the stone. He ran his fingers along the lichen-choked face and over the grooves left by the Dark Kind. He closed his eyes and sought out the fire. He did not know if it would be there, but it assailed his mind with a sudden ferocity that had him spinning.

Something that felt like a pane of glass broke in his mind, and the door shattered in a stinging shower of blue-white dust. Misha yelped and Kole reached back reflexively, grabbing the Ember by the wrist as she fought to regain her balance, face ashen.

“Sorry,” Kole said as Misha sat and dangled her legs over the chasm, panting. Her face was pale and covered in the dust that had made up the door moments before.

“I’m not sure I was serious,” she said.

“That makes two of us.”

She looked at him, eyes wide.

“Where?” she asked. “Where does such power come from?”

Kole swallowed.

“Rage, I would guess.”

Misha’s face worked through myriad emotions before settling on something Kole could not read.

“Hope there’s more where that came from,” and she was up and moving into the dust-choked doorway.

“Wait.”

Kole lit the edges of his blades with a faint blue outline, highlighting the passage in an iridescent glow. They were in a spherical antechamber made of the same bluestone as the entrance he had just destroyed. It seemed that the hard rock encasing most of the cliff was just a shell protecting a softer underbelly.

“I guess the Rivermen found the yolk in the mountains,” Misha said.

The chamber widened slightly ahead, and Kole had to blink as he noted what looked like stars winking at him from a faraway exit atop the rough-hewn stairs. Kole listened for the steady drip of water from stalactites, but the passage was dry as milled flour. The edges of the tunnel vanished into the deeper darkness, the tiny stars at the end twinkling with the reflected light of Kole’s blades.

The Embers encountered nothing untoward during their climb, which must have lasted half a mark. Kole kept expecting to trip over a tangle of bodies or to hear another pack scratching at a distant door, but there was nothing.

Soon enough, the blue-blackness and all its glittering stone faded, washed out in the pale light spilling in from above. They crested the top stair and found themselves shielding their eyes from the light of a moon they hadn’t seen in its full glory for weeks.

Before them, ringed on all its distant sides by sheer cliffs of black and gray rock was a dark green field infested with white daisies. In the distance, Kole could see the ruddy glow of campfires clustered at the base of a rise.

“We’re in the Steps,’ Misha said, nearly at a loss.

They both looked up at the sky, noting the way the black clouds and swirling grays had moved off to the south, leaving the fields before them clear and fresh.

Kole wondered if his mother, father and the other Runners of the Valley knew of this place. He had always known the Steps to be inhospitable—barren lands of ash and choking dust. But this one was a veritable paradise.

As they moved toward the camp, the darker peaks beyond loomed like angry giants.

D
espite Iyana’s help, it had still taken a day and more to reach what they hoped was the final in an unending series of tunnels beneath the peaks. They could just see the yellow rays bouncing off of the black, glass-like surfaces of the cavern walls ahead. The light sent pleasant lances into the backs of Linn’s eyes. Whatever was on the other side would have to waits its turn to disappoint her. For now, she was relieved, if not happy.

Linn knew the sun would do wonders for Jenk, but Nathen seemed almost overcome upon seeing it, his gaunt face lighting up. Their rations were gone, but it was the dark that had been killing them. As they rounded what must be the final bend, Nathen took hold of Linn’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” he said, water gathering in the corners of his eyes. Linn shared a smile with him. He looked young then and it sent a pang through her heart. Jenk smirked and moved off ahead.

“Now we can die in the sun,” the Ember said.

“We won’t be doing any dying,” Linn said. “Not now.”

The cave had rocked each of them to their core, but it had changed Jenk most of all. His usual easy confidence was laced with something darker, something full of intent that reminded her of Kole. He saw Kaya’s death in the reflections of the River F’Rust and heard it in the crackle of his own flames. If any of them was to have a true weapon remaining, she was glad that it was him.

As the tunnel brightened and the air grew fresher with every stride, Linn thought it funny that they had not entirely believed her about Iyana’s visit. To their credit—and for lack of any better ideas—they had followed her through sloping pathways that curved downward as often as up, Iyana having mapped the path in Linn’s mind as a series of impressions. Their collective mood had not begun to shift until they caught the scent of grass and soil, two things alien to the Deep Lands.

As she left the terrors of the tunnels behind her, Linn could not help but feel the anxiety attempting to renew its vice grip on her heart; how quickly one threat could replace another. She had not told them of Iyana’s warning. Foolishly, she still hoped against hope that the White Crest, if he truly lived, was not beyond salvation. Or redemption.