Kunas
The deeper Kunas went, the more he thought about abandoning his course altogether. But every time that thought would pop up in his mind, he would feel Zhala’s presence and she would snuff it out like a candle. She was compelling him to move forward, to pursue the matriarch deep in Ghal Thurái, against his will. Only her will was becoming his will. He was no longer safe in his own thoughts; he had a permanent houseguest—and the houseguest was quickly becoming the owner.
This deep underground, the bowels of the Mouth of the Deep were quiet and cold. Kunas could hear the distant drip of water somewhere up ahead, the only occasional break in the silence. The muted sounds of battle droned on behind him like the memory of a fading thought: he knew it was there, but it meant nothing to him. His compulsion, his urge, his need, drove him deeper, away from the distractions of the world.
Although some part of him knew that it wasn’t his to begin with.
But it was becoming his.
He felt the power behind her thoughts—and the power before him, in the matriarch—and smiled.
Duna
The army had gathered outside the subentrances to Ghal Thurái and accounted for their losses. They were minor, but Duna reminded herself that her troops were not replaceable like the Chovathi were. She noted that the Xua’al had not felt the need to retreat like she had, and wondered if she had indeed made the right decision. She thought that maybe they had been able to sense danger, the way that some animals seem to be able to predict a natural disaster. Either way, the fact that she would be reinforcing her sister’s army made the decision to call for the retreat that much easier to digest.
Captain LaVince approached.
“General,” he said, “our forces have all made their way back to the surface. We are ready to storm the gates.”
Duna nodded. “Then we move.”
LaVince, behind her, signaled the departure, and they once again moved as a single force toward the entrance of Ghal Thurái.
Just as they rounded the ridge that gave them a view of the front gates, still a good distance away, they caught the tail end of the Sharian army doing exactly what Duna had feared they would do: descending into the Mouth of the Deep to pursue the Chovathi scourge.
Kunas
Deeper he moved—so deep that there were no longer steps that the Thurians had carved into the rock of their underground city. In the heart of the earth, Kunas found himself surrounded by the naturally occurring caverns and rock formations that were prevalent this deep down. There was a coolness to the air that was unlike the chill of Khala Val’ur; it was different somehow, devoid of substance. It was an emptiness that spread its arms and worked its way into the rock around him.
And in that emptiness, a fire burned.
He was close.
Like the beating heart of a man which gives life, so was the Chovathi matriarch the heart of Ghal Thurái, encased in the rock that surrounded all of them. Her presence flowed through the mountain and beyond, reaching out like tree roots and slowly becoming one with whatever she touched.
He knew that, since she had bonded with these walls only recently, she would not be as deeply ingrained as Zhala was in her nest. He knew this because Zhala had told him; he now knew many things thanks to her: she was showering him with new knowledge, new sensations, new dreams. It was almost overwhelming at times, like trying to drink from a rushing river, but Kunas was thirsty and had no desire to stop.
He loved the feeling that the power brought him. Vaguely he recalled his own Breaking, when he had opened himself up to the power of the Otherworld, its conduit and repository for nigh-unimaginable power—power, and pain. The pain that every Khyth experiences after their Breaking, paid as a price for power. Yet, the moment he had embraced Zhala, the pain had stopped.
He had not protested.
He continued down, toward the burning heart of the Chovathi.
***
You are close, Zhala said.
I know, Kunas answered. It was like stepping into a stream and being pulled by the current. What do I do when I find it?
I will show you, Zhala replied. Do not fear.
And he did not. He simply followed and obeyed.
***
The more he followed the fire, the more he understood the fundamental nature of the Chovathi. The thoughts came unbidden to him as he let Zhala in more and more.
They were living beings, the Chovathi, but they were more like a fungus or a parasite than an animal; it was one of the reasons they were able to divide and reproduce the way they did: it was easy for a spore to make copies of itself. The sweet, delicious knowledge she imparted to him was like honey on his lips, and he didn’t want it to stop. So he didn’t try. She was filling him up, and he embraced it.
He walked on, drinking in the power.
He saw flashes of the other broodlings that were inside the mountain. Flashes of the Xua’al. Flashes of the others. Flashes of . . .
Flashes . . .
They were . . .
Yes, came the affirmation from Zhala.
. . . the same.
Now you see, she said in a soothing and motherly tone. They are all my children.
The room that Kunas stepped into was enormously tall, just like the one that Zhala occupied in the nest of the Xua’al. But instead of the matriarch he expected to find, it was nothing but blank, jagged stone.
Home, Kunas found himself saying.
Home, Zhala agreed.
Kunas approached the wall and reached out his hand, pressing the tips of his fingers into the cold stone. He reached into his pocket to find his dagger—the one he had used in order to call Khaz, the one he had raked across his palm to make the blood oath with Zhala. He took it once again and raised it to his hand. He felt the cold steel against his skin and slowly dragged it across.
His actions were no longer his own, he realized, and it was like staring at his reflection in a pond. He felt nothing. He was detached from himself, from his body. He did not feel the pain of the dagger when it drew his blood—he had Zhala to thank for that—and he smiled a distant smile of appreciation, like a drunkard who has found another flagon of wine.
Put your hand to the stone, she said, even though he knew she didn’t need to. He would have done it anyway. But she was letting him know that he still had some semblance of control, of choice. She was so kind. So giving. So . . . loving.
Kunas pressed his hand against the wall, and he felt the warmth as his blood began to seep into it.
Home, Zhala repeated as her essence flowed into the walls of Ghal Thurái, into its ancient and familiar corpse that was being slowly brought back to life.
Kunas could feel her joy at being reunited. It was the only way to start anew, to merge the blood of men with the stone of earth and the will of the Chovathi. To make something more, something greater.
Something new.
But this is not the end for you, she said to him.
Visions of Khala Val’ur flooded his mind, of Haidan Shar. Of Théas. Of other cities whose names and faces he did not know. Yet he knew what awaited them; this was only the beginning. He smiled. He was so grateful to be a part of Zhala’s brood. She would guide him. She would protect him. She would love him.
And as the walls of Ghal Thurái came crashing down around the ant-like humans who infested it, he felt the suffocating blackness as it embraced him, just as Zhala had promised she would do.
Home, he thought with a smile.
And he felt pain no more.
Benjin
The pounding in Benj’s head was unbearable, and everything around him was dark. He couldn’t move. It felt like a mountain had been dropped on him.
He tried to breathe, and was terrified to find that he couldn’t.
And then he realized: it was because he didn’t need to.
A thousand sensations came flooding in all at once.
He felt . . . blood? Skin? He felt the earth. And he felt Glamrhys next to him, that burning light of salvation that comforted him now.
He heard a voice and felt the weight shift on top of him. Something was tearing away at the rocks and rubble that lay on top of him.
“Boy,”—he now heard the voice clearly—“are you alright?”
He knew the voice, but wasn’t sure how.
He saw sunlight peek through and saw a hand reach down and grab his own. He was pulled up, gently, and looked into the gray eyes of someone he knew.
Venn, they had called him. Cortus Venn.
The Stoneborn.
Benj looked up at the man who regarded him coolly.
A smile cracked his lips. “That’s the blade of a Stoneborn, boy,” he said.
Benj looked down and saw the glowing metal that he held in his hands and lifted it up to look at it, confused, and then looked at Venn, who placed a hand on his shoulder.
“I’m sorry you had to find out this way, but there is much to tell you.”
The sound of hoofbeats approached from behind them, but Benj didn’t turn to see who it was.
A voice called out to them—a woman’s voice.
“Venn,” she said, “what happened? I . . . I saw—”
“Yes,” he said, cutting her off. “I’m sorry, Duna, but your city is lost.”
There was silence.
She added softly, “Then so is the army of Haidan Shar.”
Venn took his hand off Benj’s shoulder and nodded grimly.
“But why? How?”
“I can’t say for certain, but I know that the Chovathi matriarch is behind it.”
“There is no way anything could have—”
“Survived?” Venn said, cutting her off. “No, and I’m afraid that was the point. It was what she intended all along, only I didn’t realize it until it was too late. She has consolidated her strength, drawing it all into herself, with the weight of Ghal Thurái. But she is there, buried under the rock, gathering her strength and spreading, seeping into the stone and shaping it to her will. She has returned to the heart of the Chovathi, where they were first formed, to finish what she started.”
Duna was silent again as she looked out over the rubble. The once-mighty mountain had collapsed onto itself, filling the cavernous spaces, Benj somehow knew, with rock and stone and earth. Now all that was left was a mound, a gravesite for the city that humans had only briefly managed to reclaim from the Chovathi.
A reclamation that had literally come crashing down.
“Is there anything we can do to stop it?” Duna finally asked.
Venn crossed his arms and shifted his weight to one leg. “We’re going to need more Stoneborn—a lot more,” he answered.
Duna looked at him, her expression blank. “And how do we do that?”
Venn smiled.
“I’ll show you.”