Eight Will Fall, page 22
The rage.
The vine of corpses spidered across the ceiling before disappearing into the cracks.
Otheil Kyran had threaded himself throughout the Reach. These limbs were connected to him.
“We need to get her out of here, now!” Larkin cried.
Amias shook himself out of his stupor, grabbing Jacque’s other arm. The three of them stumbled forward, and Larkin led them around the breathing sea, explaining that Kyran was conjuring and destroying through the twisted masses above. “The tangled corpses above are a part of him. He’s transforming the soldiers slowly enough to torture them. If we don’t get out of here—”
“You can’t let him take me!” Jacque groaned in agony.
Seaside Port. Jacque’s station. Second in rank, right of the lieutenant. Her status. Kyran knew it. He’d been listening in with ears and eyes that once belonged to others, using stolen limbs to sense and siphon and project, just like he was projecting onto Jacque. He was going to kill her, and Larkin didn’t know if she could stop it from happening.
But she would put up a fight.
Larkin pressed forward. “Amias, Elf, keep up with me!”
Unlike before, there were no crystals, and no glowing lichen. Her torch did next to nothing to illuminate the passage, but as they hiked, Larkin spotted the creeping shadows above that indicated Kyran’s presence.
They couldn’t backtrack. Jacque wouldn’t survive, and Larkin couldn’t remember seeing any other passage branching off the river.
Larkin siphoned their agony into herself and projected, gore raining down on them. If she had to destroy every single one of his limbs, she would.
Silently, Kyran reacted, and Jacque screamed again.
Larkin spun around, the others several feet behind her. She was close enough to see the material of Jacque’s tunic shift on its own.
Amias dragged Jacque to a vacant part of the floor and laid her down, and as Larkin reached her, Jacque lifted her shirt to reveal the shape of a hand pressing against her stomach from the inside, as if something was trying to claw its way out of her.
The quartermaster, the mutations. The thousands of bodies surrounding them, all soldiers, all turning into monsters.
Kyran wasn’t trying to kill Jacque. He was claiming her as his own.
Jacque grabbed Larkin’s collar, pulling her close. “You have to kill me, Larkin. You can’t let me become a monster like them.”
The soldier’s eyes rolled back as fingers pushed through the muscle of her abdomen and stretched toward Larkin.
“You can’t kill her,” Amias pleaded.
“Like hells I will,” Larkin growled. Her eyes stung in anger. “I wouldn’t do that to Risa. You’ll be at your wedding even if I have to carry you to the Surface myself, Jacque. Jacque!” Larkin slapped the soldier’s cheek; Jacque’s skin felt cold and clammy.
What would Jacque do if Larkin had been the one writhing in agony? She’d do the same thing she’d done all along.
Move forward.
A burst of energy filled Larkin, and she flung the soldier’s arm over her shoulder. “Wake up, Jacque!” Larkin cried as Amias took Jacque’s other arm. The soldier groaned once, but nothing more. She was deadweight.
Larkin clambered to her feet, heaving Jacque with her. Elf guided them over the piled bodies, Larkin and Amias stumbling after her as quickly as they could. Forward, forward, forward, she chanted to herself. She felt Jacque’s body convulse.
“There is an opening up ahead!” Elf cried.
“Come on.” Larkin tugged on the soldier. “We can make it.”
Jacque whispered Larkin’s name, a quiet moan. Elf reached the tunnel entrance and stopped.
No.
Larkin handed Jacque off to Amias and ran to Elf, skidding to a halt when she realized why the girl had stopped.
They stood at the edge of a cliff, their torch a pinprick of light at the mouth of a yawning abyss.
Larkin scoured the surrounding space for another path, then panicked. She couldn’t see in the dark.
Jacque sank to the ground, agony escaping her in small gasps. Amias knelt next to her, nervously lifting Jacque’s tunic.
“Gods,” he breathed.
Larkin hurried to them, spotting an arch of rotting hands twisting along the ledge above them. Jacque wasn’t safe.
“Go find another route,” she ordered Amias.
Amias hesitated, his dread flaring.
“Do this,” Larkin whispered. “For Jacque. For Risa.”
Amias gritted his teeth and stood, and Larkin sensed the swirling embers of courage. He ran toward the breathing sea.
Please let him find a way, Larkin thought, turning back to Jacque. Elf knelt next to her. The soldier’s skin was gray and slicked with sweat. The hand was no longer amorphous, each of its digits visible, with its broken nails and bulging knuckles.
“Gods, let me die,” Jacque whimpered. “Please.”
“We could buy ourselves time and destroy it,” Larkin suggested. It would hurt Jacque, but she couldn’t think of another way to fight Kyran.
“She’ll bleed out unless I heal her.” Elf hovered her hands over Jacque’s abdomen. Her face crumpled. “I can’t conjure here.”
Without warning, Jacque heaved herself up and pushed Elf out of the way. Elf skidded backward, and Jacque drew her sword, the edge hovering at Larkin’s throat.
Slowly, Larkin lifted her hands. Terror flashed across Jacque’s eyes and through Larkin before Jacque buried it.
“I’ll do it myself,” Jacque hissed.
Larkin made a fist, and the sword disintegrated.
Jacque was quick to react, rolling over to her stomach. The invading hand scrambled against the ground to find purchase, the chilling sight distracting Larkin for a moment too long.
Larkin lunged, grabbing on to Jacque’s foot. Jacque kicked her in the chest and Larkin fell back, gasping for air.
Jacque dragged herself up and hobbled toward the cliffside.
“Elf!” Where in the hells was she?
Larkin launched herself at Jacque, knocking the soldier over. Then she rolled across the ground and back to her feet.
Jacque released a piercing shriek, falling limp. The growing hand was debilitating her, buying Larkin more time. She made to lunge for the soldier again, but Elf held her back.
Larkin whirled around. “We need to get her away from that ledge, or she’s going to kill herself!” A sob escaped her. Kyran had killed the others so quickly; this grief was different. Her companion was going to die, and Larkin had no choice but to watch it happen.
“Look at me, Larkin.” Elf’s skeletal wings fanned outward, tears streaking her cheeks. “I think I can save her, but I need to conjure. I need you to help me.”
Behind Larkin, Jacque groaned. The soldier would come to at any moment now.
“Please,” Elf pleaded.
How? How could Larkin give Elf what she needed to conjure when it felt like she would never feel happiness again? “I can’t.”
“You have to.”
Larkin shut her eyes, and Elf wrapped her arms around Larkin, holding her.
“You have to,” she repeated.
Larkin nodded and closed her eyes tightly, concentrating. She rested her head on Elf’s shoulder. At first, dread was all that filled her. But love …
Jacque had pressed the splinters into Elf’s hands, telling them about Risa and their forbidden ceremony. The rings, the flowers in their hair.
The farther they fell from the Surface, the more their hearts ached for home, and those left there.
* * *
The day Larkin’s mother came home from the mines with a broken leg, her father set the bones in their bedroom.
Her mother’s misery did not stem from the pain.
“We won’t be able to feed them, Jallus,” she wept. “Not if I can’t work.”
Outside the room, Larkin sat against the wall with Garran’s head in her lap. She combed her fingers through his hair, listening. Larkin wasn’t worried for herself. She only wanted her mother to know that this wasn’t her fault.
Her father had trudged from the room, haggard and drained of hope. He didn’t notice them as he walked down the narrow stairs. Garran had fallen asleep in Larkin’s lap. She eased him off and stood, sneaking into her parents’ room. As Larkin scooted onto the bed, her mother winced and opened her eyes. Her mother’s leg was wrapped in a makeshift cast of blankets. Her waxy face shone with sweat, her anguish deeper than Larkin had ever felt.
Her mother whispered her name.
Larkin took her face in her hands. “I’m going to take care of you.”
* * *
Larkin opened her eyes as Elf began to destroy, harvesting material for the conjurations. Above, the arch of limbs disintegrated, the matter drifting to the ground like ash.
Elf’s wings splayed wide. Muscles and ligaments painted the bones, and when they were coated, Elf forged veins and tissue and flesh. The ash layered onto her skin in dove-white feathers.
Elf’s grip on her loosened, and Larkin pulled away, sensing the tremor of Elf’s fear. But the fear, she realized, was only a part of her courage.
“He will not win.” Elf stood, and began to run.
Larkin scrambled for the torch and lifted it above her head just in time to see Elf race toward Jacque, grab hold of her, and launch into the abyss.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Larkin sprinted to the edge, screaming Elf’s name until she tasted blood. As she slammed her fist into the ground, someone grabbed her shoulder and yanked her backward.
Larkin took a swing at Amias, missing. He pulled her close and held her as she fought back. They slid to the ground and she clutched him, every part of her shaking.
He waited, silent, and she sensed his compassion.
But she didn’t want his compassion. She wanted her companions. Her family.
“They’re gone.” Larkin’s voice was hollow. “Elf took Jacque off the edge. They’re … they’re dead.”
“You don’t know that.” He stroked her hair, and she pressed against the weight of his hand.
“She doesn’t know how to fly, Amias. She was desperate.” Stupid, thought Larkin. How could Elf be so stupid?
Larkin’s grief was overpowered by hate. Hate for Melay, hate for Kyran and his twisted games. Hate for herself for letting Elf coax emotion out of her.
For not finding a way to save Jacque.
Kyran had made sure that there was no hope this deep within the Reach. They could wait here until Kyran decided to claim them as he’d tried to claim Jacque, or they could press on without their party, without hope.
Choice.
Just like they could choose to continue, she could choose to be honest with Amias.
“I’m afraid of losing you.”
He pulled back, and she found comfort in the fact that he wasn’t surprised. She reached up and touched his cheek, tracing upward and through his short hair. His determination solidified inside her.
“Then we need to keep going,” he said.
Larkin nodded. It was time to share with Amias what she had seen. They needed every advantage now to survive. Which meant she could no longer keep her secret.
“I have to tell you something. Before Tamsyn and Casseem died, Kyran visited me.”
Amias furrowed his brow. “What are you—”
“He came to me. Appeared out of nowhere. He told me that I wouldn’t survive without making choices. I killed him, Amias, but he isn’t dead. Whoever it was looked like him, and carried a message from him, but it wasn’t actually Kyran.”
“Choices,” Amias repeated. His eyes flickered back and forth as he thought. “What does that mean?”
“It means that I choose to keep going,” Larkin said firmly. “Did you find another path?”
“No.” Amias looked over, his eyes widening in surprise. “But it looks like we can continue forward after all.”
Confused, Larkin stood, turning back toward the abyss. Beyond their light, a stone path jutted from the cliff they stood on and arced into the void.
“This wasn’t here when we arrived,” Amias said.
Larkin shivered, looking up. She couldn’t see Kyran, but a piece of him was there, lurking beyond the blackness. He’d created this path for them when they were distracted.
Did she have a choice? Or was Kyran in control of everything she did and everywhere she went?
Larkin patted her trousers. Her waterskin was half empty, a remaining torch hanging from her belt. She carried a few drops of oil in the vial within her pocket.
It had to be enough.
Larkin walked toward the path’s edge.
“I’m right behind you,” said Amias.
Larkin stepped onto the bridge, wondering if it would disintegrate under her feet. Kyran had that power. Her pulse sped. He was the one with a choice, not her. He could choose to let her fall or let her find him.
When she looked down, her stomach dropped.
It was like Elf and Jacque had fallen to the center of the world. She couldn’t let what happened to them distract her, not now.
Her flame illuminated the far side of the chasm. As Larkin stepped onto the platform, she halted, struck with awe.
A portcullis sat within stone, the gate half open and baring its teeth. The surrounding rock face curved outward, smooth, etched like limestone brick. Striking purple flags cascaded over the stonework, swords clashing beneath a gemstone. Demura’s seal.
“Kyran has created a palace for himself,” Larkin breathed. “Just like Melay’s.”
Amias took her hand. “It’s identical.”
A mirror world, she thought in awe. Kyran hadn’t simply created a lair beneath the capital. He had created a second palace, for himself.
They had arrived.
I will kill him, she had sworn to Amias. But all the anger propelling her forward vanished as she stared into the portcullis’s hinged mouth.
“I’m scared too,” Amias whispered.
She squeezed his hand, and they continued through the open gate.
Their torchlight flooded the palace’s empty courtyard, the fountain dry, the gardens barren. An omen, she thought. Kyran was showing her the Demura he wanted.
They crossed a mock bridge made of stone, the large double doors left ajar. As they entered, their world burst into color.
The palace’s parlor was made of crystal. Two staircases spun up the walls, gleaming bright rainbow rays against the torchlight. Stunned, Larkin wondered what this meant. Did Kyran mean to keep all this for himself while the outside world remained desolate? What use did he have for such beauty?
Maybe this was only a distraction. She had to focus. “We need to find the throne room.”
Amias pointed to the door between the staircases. “There.”
His confidence surprised her, but she didn’t question him. Larkin stepped forward, and she saw her haggard face reflected a thousand times within the crystals’ facets. It reminded her of the mirrored tunnel where she had seen Kyran’s messenger.
Releasing Amias’s hand, Larkin approached the throne room and stepped through the doors.
Death hung acrid in the stagnant air, the space before her dark and vast. Larkin saw nothing, heard nothing but the rattle of her own breath. To find Kyran—to know what lay ahead—she’d have to go deeper.
Larkin walked forward, wetness squelching beneath her boot. She looked down, and her torch snuffed out.
She let out a cry and spun around, slamming face-first into a wall that hadn’t been there before. Larkin frantically patted down the wall to find where she’d entered from, but there was nothing. No crevice, no path.
“AMIAS!” Her voice echoed around the ancient space, the utter darkness. A resounding exhale rushed through the chamber, the noise of breath leaving a thousand sets of lungs. The sound made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. The chamber fell to silence again, and she stood still, listening.
Amias screamed.
Larkin yelled out his name and began sprinting through the chamber, searching for his emotions, but felt nothing.
The same thing had happened with Brielle. With Tamsyn.
“No,” she cried. “No, no, no…”
A damp breath curtained her neck, and every part of her body tensed.
Welcome home.
Pain sliced into Larkin’s left shoulder. She clutched her arm as warm blood began trickling down. Then her other shoulder split apart.
Destruction magic. Kyran was going to tear her limb from limb.
She clamped down on the slickness of blood and torn flesh, and took off running into the dark. At the break in the rock, she turned right and down the new passageway.
Larkin tripped and fell, her arms skating across hot, sticky ground. She heard the voice again, but it was only a rumble—indecipherable at first. Vibrations of terror struck her heart.
I can taste your fear.
She scrambled backward, tucking herself within a corner. She clapped her palms over her mouth to quiet her breathing, then yelped when the back of her hands began to burn. She felt the skin beginning to peel back.
“What do you want?” she yelled.
The darkness didn’t respond.
She tried again, louder, but her voice hoarsened quickly. She grew dizzy as the blood drained from her. Larkin’s head dipped, and she yanked it up again, conscious of every one of her muscles—the way they clenched, how they submitted to the loss of blood. It wouldn’t take her long to die this way.
Is this how Otheil Kyran wanted her to die? After all this?
He could have made her bleed out during her first hours within the Reach. Unless the sole purpose of this entire journey was so that he could see her suffer.
Do you want to see me? Kyran asked.
Her heart clenched in fear. “Yes,” she whispered, weakening. She was going to pass out soon.
Then Larkin let out a hiss. Her skin burned with conjuration magic; Kyran was closing her wounds.
Dull light blanketed the room. She looked up to a spattering of crystals just bright enough to make out her surroundings.
