The Serpent and the Shattered Sword, page 5
She finished the entry, only to be met with a stare from Zahra across the floor. Alira tucked the worn journal back inside the cloth pouch of her bag, for there was still much to read. More passages might further unveil the purpose behind Clerracia’s presence, so far removed in the northern parts of the world.
Teora pulled old records from the city shelves, piling them on the floor in the center. Every instinct in Alira told her to stop it–she was not one to burn books–but the evening chill had seeped through the building’s cracks, threatening the promise of rest. She wouldn’t steal it from her friends.
Emile and Flynn secured the passages out of the main hall, barring doors against intruders. The King took the upper floor, slamming doors and locking them with ancient ropes cut from draped flags. He tossed a violent flag down to Teora, who used it to spark kindling gathered from the archaic, hand-carved furniture.
With every exit sealed, the group gathered around the growing fire. They stacked the last scraps of hardtack, and smoked fish that Zahra hadn’t eaten, atop an old table, and shared it amongst them.
A storm of heat and ash was their dry fire.
“So, this is it, huh?” Emile asked, snapping off a corner of bread and soaking it in the small bit of water he’d left in the skin beneath his cloak.
None of the others answered, far too occupied with trying to gnaw through the militaristic delights to entertain any sort of conversation. He placed a piece of fish atop some hardtack he set aside for Zahra, and brought it to her at the back of the hall. She sat atop an old counter, arms wrapped around her legs, head resting on her knees.
Their conversation was brief, one-sided. He returned to the circle with the remainder of his food, unable to coax her energy back. Alira looked up at the dancing flames; sparks rose to the ceiling, accentuating the streaks of gold and silver in the glass. A brief reprieve from the desolation outside.
She stretched after her meal, delighting in the gentle warmth that tugged at her muscles. Teora and Flynn had already set out their bedrolls near the embers, ready to rest. There was little left to say; they had arrived late, and in the span of an hour, sunk half the storied city into the earth.
Outside, wind whipped past, rattling doors and carrying distant howls. Alira appreciated the fire’s warmth, certain it would be ages before her pursuer found a way into the center of the city.
“I’ll take first watch,” Emile whispered, leaning forward as he stared into the flames. In his eyes she saw the drawing from memory, and the processing of regret. The first watch was the best to be had, and it was he who needed the time before his mind could turn itself off. “Go check on your sister for me, would you? She had little to say when I asked. Hopefully, you can do better.”
She looked behind her as she rose, hand tracing the cool metal of Emile’s pauldron as she ascended the steps toward her sister’s perch. It remained high above, at the waning edge of the firelight that reflected in the diminished whites of her lost, wandering eyes.
“Would you care to join us?” Alira asked, reaching out to take her sister’s hand.
“I’m... fine,” she replied, noncommittal, and speaking in a tone that seemed sullen and remorseful. Her words dragged on, portraying a feigned desire to have the conversation and forcing the words out through her lips.
Alira sank beside her, resting her weary head on Zahra’s shoulder. The familiar weight of her sister’s presence did little to settle the ache in her chest, or the bruise on her gut. Her sister had stepped onto the land of her birth, yet the answers her heart craved remained out of reach. A hollow part of her mourned the family she’d never known. The warmth of their embrace, and a love she’d been denied.
The truths of Zahra’s past, Alira believed, must have lingered on her lips, heavy as chains. Keys to cages that had not yet been unlocked. She wanted Zahra to speak, to unburden herself, but the words faltered.
“How does it feel being here? After you discovered the place you once called home, even if you were too young to recall it. Her voice trembled slightly, the question hanging in the air between them.
Alira waited, but no response came.
Her chest tightened as a swirl of anger and sorrow wound through her, leaving a bitter taste at the back of her throat. She sat with Zahra in the quiet, letting the warmth of the fire at their feet try–and fail–to soothe the storm inside her. When she finally lifted her head, she felt lighter for the brief contact, yet heavier for the questions left unanswered. She rose and returned to her own place near the fire, her fingers brushing the warmth as if it would anchor her unsettled heart.
As she reached the bottom of the staircase, she turned back, hearing what she thought was a pained whimper from her sister. There was no trace of grief on Zahra’s face, only the pull of her earthen eyes that beckoned Alira back. She leaned against the metal rail running amidst the flight as her sister’s words trapped her in the pull of their gravity.
“I thought...it’d be bigger,” Zahra said, offering an errant smirk. Her coy joke earned a break of laughter from Alira, and she couldn’t help but match her sister’s smile to the best of her ability.
“All we’ve seen today, and that’s what you comment on?”
She clenched her hands tighter, freeing her fingers to their outer limits, and testing the limits of her grip. Zahra rubbed her hands together, hoping for the warm reward of coming friction.
“What else can I say? Clerracia was a lost city, and I’m unsure if I thought we’d find some sprawling metropolis teeming with abundance and life. Or,” she looked up into the dome on the ceiling and into the night. “A grave.”
“I suppose,” Alira said, nestling her arms into their pits beneath her shoulders, “that the one thing we can take away from this is that it’s real.”
Zahra scoffed at the notion, as easily as if it were some consolation. Her sister kicked off the rail and retook her seat by the broken banister.
“I’m serious. Our books only ever spoke of this place as a legend. Some myth that was born equally of rumor and shadow.” She picked up a piece of broken wood that was strewn about beneath her. With her sister’s hand in her own, she placed the earthen sliver into her palm. “Someone brought this here and used it to build this incredible place.”
Her hands gyrated, pointing her sister to the carved-out hollows that separated the ceiling from the walls, the painted glass, and the ornate tapestries. She even tapped her hand against the floor–a demonstration that where they were seated was concrete and tangible.
“And yet a home remains absent of life. Of love.” Zahra reminded her, lifting herself down from the ledge of optimism her sister had placed her on. “I stand here, at the place of my birth, knowing I will never find the answers I seek. My mother. My father. A past that’s lost, reclaimed by the snow and ice. It is a tale now that only a flame could tell. But that would mean the very undoing of this place.”
“The one thing we’re trying to prevent.” Alira pressed her hand to her chest, digesting the anguish of their conversation. Though she’d tried to keep it light, her hope was dashed by crushing reality. She’d already been through the unimaginable these past weeks since the fall of Astera. There was no reason to entertain pessimism.
“I digress. I’m sorry, Alira. This is a remarkable moment, and I’ve soured it.” She took her sister’s hand, giving it a light squeeze. Through the coldness, there was warmth, even if it were only the reflection of flames dancing in her eyes. “But it’s helped me realize that home isn’t a place. It’s a person. Home, Alira, is you.”
Maybe it was the moments before–soured, as she put it–but when Zahra wrapped her arm around her sister’s shoulders, the home she thought of was leagues southward, driving an enemy far away from the shores of the continent.
Home was a person, and it was Zahra, once. At least, her sister was the construct of the home she remembered. But ever since their parting, the light, and life of that home belonged to another. For now, having Zahra back was enough. She was given that refuge, a shelter from her own storm, even if another was sacrificed to get it.
It’ll all be over soon, Alira thought, finding a comfortable rest against her sister’s shoulder. Our fight...This war...And all of this sacrifice will have meant something.
But today, this is enough.
The warmth on her face drew her eyes open as sunlight streamed through the glass above. Alira stretched, savoring the heat of the last embers. The bedroll beneath her wasn’t perfect, but it separated her back from the cold stone enough to grant a night’s rest.
The doors of the hall were thrown open, and no other Fate greeted her like the dawn. They’d already set off into the building’s far reaches, leaving their beds and packs scattered behind. It wasn’t being left alone that bothered her. It was an untended chaos.
She dragged herself upright, bones creaking as her body adjusted to the morning chill. Sunlight helped, but it couldn’t erase the years of armor, battle, and stiff joints that made every movement ache. Getting up each day was a trial. Only when the inner voice acknowledged her awakening did the spark of purpose return.
Even if she just wanted it all to be over.
“Where is everyone?” Siblina asked, projecting a stretch of her own into Alira’s mind.
Gone, she thought, looking around the open forum.
Alira stopped to listen for the sound of footsteps or echoing voices, but her ears found nothing more than the calm silence of an undisturbed morning. Guess their curiosity got the better of them. After what we’ve given to find this place, I don’t blame them. She placed a hand over her mouth, trying in vain to hold back the yawn that stretched her jaws.
“What’s that sound?”
I’m getting old, Siblina. That’s what happens to–
“Quiet. Listen.”
It was the sound of scraping. A quiet shuffle of scratching, as though an unseen creature crept along the floor. Her ears perked up at the click as she stood, fingers tracing down her side to the blade strapped to her waist.
The delicate hair on her neck stood to attention as her eyes met the door leading into the plaza before the command building. She stared on, horrified to find it cracked open.
Something let itself in.
A stiff breeze blowing in from the devastated courtyard cascaded down in white wisps, forming a layer of fog and frost as it crept toward her.
That’s when it came.
It alerted her to the echo of its steps against the stone. Closer, and louder its breath grew, overtaking the place it invited itself into, the one place she thought she’d be safe. But it wasn’t a something. It was a someone, coming to claim what was theirs. Blood desired.
A meal unfinished.
There was everywhere to run, but nowhere to hide. He’d pursued her across the glacier, in the most unimaginable conditions. He wanted her and wouldn’t rest until he took what was his. She wrapped her fingers around Tempest’s hilt, tearing it from its sheath. Heart thundering, Alira spun around on trembling legs. Blinking the sweat from her stinging eyes, she pointed the blade toward Craven, finding him calm and seated by their fire.
Human, and tamed.
The form of the wolf was set aside, and he sat before her as she saw him in the Cauldron. Sandy skin, like that of her sister, stretched over the curvature of a muscular frame and punctuated by a piercing set of sanguine eyes.
“We should talk,” he said, inviting her back to a place on her bedroll. She held out the blade of her sword, shivering in fear, and trying her best to pay no attention to the burning sensation in her neck.
“There’s nothing I have to say that you won’t come to know through the sting of cold steel.” She replied, her voice spitting the venom swirling in her heart. Rage and contempt held together by an unwavering poise. He’d had his way with her twice. And the third was the last–for either of them.
“You have come to my home,” Craven told her, adjusting the position of his legs to cross over one another. “You’ve destroyed half my city with your trinkets. Memories that I’ve held onto now lie in the dark places of the world. You will listen to what I have to say if you want to survive.”
Does he...not intend to kill me?
“Maintain your guard,” Siblina ordered her, leaving the front of Alira’s mind tingling as she endeavored to hold up her Fate’s edge.
“If I wanted to kill you,” he told her, reaching out a hand toward her neck, and dragging the searing venom toward the surface of her skin, “I’d have forced it upon you in the quiet hours of the morning...when you let me in.”
She recoiled, stumbling back and dropping Tempest from her hand with a metal clang on the floor. Siblina tried to plead with Alira to hold her ground, but was drowned out by the thundering realization in her mind. Had she been the one to open the door and scatter the other Fates to the corners of the building? No, this was a trick. She needed it to be.
“If you question whether or not it was you... you have my assurance that it wasn’t a decision you made, but one that was forced upon you.” Craven rose to his feet, towering above her. He did so in a motion so swift it was a blur, exerting no force. He shaped his form to his desire.
“But...how?” She asked, stumbling backward over the step rising behind her, catching an unaware boot heel, and driving her to the ground. She hadn’t noticed the abrupt fall. Adrenaline coursed through her, dulling the pain of the cold ground as she fixed her gaze upon her tormentor.
“Do you remember our first encounter?” He asked, pacing around the outside of the smoldering pit of embers. He walked away from her, not needing to remain close as the depth of his voice boomed through the atrium’s acoustics. “I tasted something in you that spared you from the curse of my venom.” He curled his hand tight, his claws sinking into his skin as his rage turned to pain. “It was the reason you didn’t pass soon after, and weren’t born again. But I escaped that cesspool, as you did. Your friends were...a diversion, but they won’t come between us now. The way it must be.”
What does he want from me? What can he take he hasn’t already, aside from the last vestige of my life?
“I tracked you across the glacier, frenzied by your blood. But it was with purpose, and not lust. I needed you to feel my venom, so you would answer to me when the time came. You are hunted. Stalked. But not by me. I mean only to save you from what awaits. What hides among you. A charlatan.”
“He’s lying to you. We can’t trust him.” Siblina tried her best to inject herself between Craven’s words and Alira’s thoughts, but fell on deaf ears as her Fate was taken by the wolf’s revelation.
“But my wolves chased it off, and the rest with it, keeping them aside so that you and I might speak. I needed all of you to believe I wanted you dead so that I could lead you here. But, in truth, I only needed you.”
She straightened, her spine snapping to attention as she dusted herself off, reacquainting her fingers with Tempest’s grip. Alira restored the weapon to its sheath, keeping the three-fingered grasp of her left hand on its guard–ready to re-draw it at a moment’s notice.
Though Craven wandered about the open forum, he never strayed so far that he couldn’t close it in a bound, keeping enough distance to lull Alira into a sense of safety, but not so far as to lose her panic.
As the minutes ticked by, he regaled her with stories of Clerracia, and how it had existed hundreds of years ago, with its cultural magnificence and militaristic splendor. “The people of this city would pack the streets for the grandest of parades. The air, filled with the pounding of drums and the brass crashing of trumpets–beating the memory of us into the story of this world.”
“Then why is it nothing but a shell of its former self? Why are there but two who carry the pure blood of Clerracian lines?”
“You’ll find all the answers you seek in that book.” He pointed to the journal peering out of the cloak folded on the floor that she’d used for a pillow. “It was meant for someone like you to find. And I’m glad it was.”
“Someone like...me?” Alira asked, failing to understand why he’d believed it would’ve been written with the intent of her finding it.
A noble? A Nemesian? A Fate?
“But why? How would you know its purpose?”
Craven looked back over his shoulder, his crimson eyes illuminated by the sun’s glow. “Because it was written by my hand over one hundred years ago.” Craven’s attention shifted, not elaborating further. His ears twitched, picking up the sound of shuffling on the floor above. Hair of the wolf sprang from his arm, growing into stiff, brisk fur. The claws on his fingers lengthened into points. His voice’s tone fell through the floor as he transformed into the menace that Alira’s next had since become acquainted with.
“But why me? I don’t understand!” Alira drew Tempest, anticipating an attack, though she found herself conflicted. The moist grasp of her hand fumbled the steel pummel.
“Because I was trying to protect you, and my venom was the only way to force you to listen.” His body neared the completion of his transformation, and no longer was he the man he’d presented himself as. Snout long, maw agape, his eyes looked up toward a shadow in a blur of movement on the balcony.
“Protect me from what?”
“Not what,” he told her, crouching, bringing his hands to his face. “Who”
A shadow leapt from the balcony above. Illuminated by light bursting in through the glass ceiling, Zahra brought Aetherion’s blade down onto Craven. Its steel clashed with his claws, grinding. Metal pitted against bone. The beast wouldn’t yield to her assault and threw his shoulder into her chest, ramming Zahra into a slide on the floor.
“Her.”
Craven charged his attacker, catching her face with the swipe of his claw. The point nicked her skin, drawing a droplet of black blood down against her cheek. With the claw at his eyes, Craven turned his hand to Alira and flicked the gob of skin onto a broken stone.
Zahra turned, her raven hair shielding Alira from the worst of the sight. “Have at him, sister! Even one of the lycanthea is no match for two swords.” She brought Aetherion down, clanging steel against claw, then shoved her boot hard into Craven’s gut. The two locked together, blade and paw, teeth and metal, while Alira watched. Helpless to join.
