84

Marcus

There’s an explosion inside the palace. “What’s happening in there?” It sounds like the earth is tearing apart.

“Look out,” Piper cries. Mounted troops rally. Behind them march foot soldiers four abreast. When the tower bells peal, my horse rears. I whip my arm around behind me, pressing Tyche into my back. “Hold on!” I call out as the mare’s front hooves slam down on the hardpacked ground. Dozens of troops break off from the main squadrons and head into the palace.

“Look there!” Tyche shouts in a high-pitched voice.

The south window explodes as a woman in white furs dives through it. She hits the ground in an easy roll and leaps to her feet, hands on her hips, facing back the way she came. The splinters in her hair make it sparkle as the setting sun breaks through the clouds. “For Tutapa!” she shouts.

Tutapa? That’s Kaylin’s battle cry.

Salila! De’ral bellows inside my head, rattling me further.

“Salila?” I call to her but don’t think she hears me.

“De’ral! Tell the ex-heir to forget his doubts and let you rise. I could use both of you right now.” For a second, she turns my way and catches my eyes.

Heat rushes through me. “What are you doing attacking Asyleen?” Is she insane?

Not Asyleen, De’ral booms through me. She attacks the red-robe. He has your whistle bones.

Salila’s eyes linger on mine while my phantom speaks. “And I have a score to settle.” She says it to De’ral but I hear her clearly now.

“What score?”

Before she answers, my horse starts to buck. Tyche grips me like a possum, and I take the reins in two hands, keeping the horse’s head up. “Steady now,” I command all while De’ral slams against the walls of my mind.

Help Salila. His voice is thunder in my head.

I look at her, glorious in the midst of chaos, undaunted by the gathering troops and whatever is behind that shattered glass. “Of course we’re going to help her!”

As I say it, another blast comes from the palace. Tiles fall from the rooftops, hitting the courtyard like rocks in an avalanche. The jagged edges of the window tremble, then explode outward with a resounding boom. The horses rear and bolt as the entire south wall of the palace sprays out with the blast.

“Salila!” I shout as I fly out of the saddle and hit the hard ice, Tyche right behind me. The girl rolls to her feet, but I’ve landed on my shoulder, again. Hot pain shoots through it and down my side.

“Tell Marcus to stop playing about and get over here.” Salila sounds exasperated.

“I can hear you, and I’m on my way!”

People pour out of the palace like ants from a burning nest and with them comes the smell of freshly turned earth. I kick-jump up, pulling Tyche close to me. A shock wave of stone and demolished furniture, along with a writhing, twisting tentacle, flies out from the broken window. It reaches for Salila who evades so fast I can’t follow her motion.

“Well, ex-heir?”

I jump out of my skin, finding her standing right next to me.

“Are you going to help me, or not?”

We’re helping! De’ral speaks before I can get my heart out of my throat.

“It’s Atikis,” Piper shouts. “He’s coming!”

Samsen confirms it as the Gollnarian savant, red robe streaming behind him, strides out of the rubble, searching until he spots Salila in the whirl of madness. The red-robe’s phantom undulates in and out of the ground, arcing through the air and diving back down, taking the now familiar shape of galloping warriors.

“Distract him, will you?” Salila says. “I’m going after the phantom.” In a blink, she’s gone.

Distract him?

Meanwhile, Salila is launching herself toward one of the grotesque phantom riders as it erupts from the earth. Its black mane is slick with mud and ice, the fanged teeth gnashing.

“Raise your phantoms!” I command my company and myself. “Tyche, be ready to call the whistle bone.”

“Mummy Wheat?”

I nod. The instant I kneel, fissures crack in front of me and De’ral busts into dusky light, bellowing a war cry.

“Help Salila with the phantom. I’ll distract the red-robe!” It’s her plan, so I doubt he will fight me on this. Seems her word is law, unlike my own. Half my mind rips away, flowing into my phantom’s perspective. “And don’t trample her while you do.” It’s mayhem and we are square in the middle of it.

“Baiseen troops are headed here, at the gallop,” Samsen says as his phantom eagle gains height. “The Shearwater rides!”

This is impossible, but I know his phantom can spot the Shearwater flag from miles away. “Are you sure?”

“A full two-hundred ride, archers mostly. More follow from the south.”

I hear them! Baiseen’s battle horns rise on the wind. There are no other trumpets like them in Amassia. What in dark thunder is Petén thinking?

We’re about to be trapped between Sierrak and Baiseen, not to mention the red-robe’s phantom. I turn to Samsen. “Hold back, and guard Tyche so she can call the bone.” The arrogant man wears it around his neck, a decision he’s about to regret. I wave Piper up. “You’re with me.”

She matches my pace as we run.

De’ral leaps ahead, sweeps up a sword, and tosses it to Salila. The last thing I see is him ripping a wrought iron post from the ground and hefting it like a spear. The red-robe’s phantom tightens its circle around them.

But it’s not so simple for me and Piper. The way to Atikis is quickly blocked by enemy troops, among them callers from other realms, driven forward by Sierrak savants.

“Prisoners,” Piper says. “Some from Aku.” Her double-headed snake tightens around her neck, hissing as blue tongues scent the air.

I grind my teeth. That means Tann has been here and that we didn’t speculate on his path as well as we should have. Where is he now? Where is Ash? I clear my head, and fight.

Piper and I block, cut and strike through every obstacle. Our rampage is relentless, the ferocity I feel exhilarating. When I shift my awareness to De’ral, I find him doing the same: uprooting the enemy phantoms and tossing them skyward as Salila, at a speed unimaginable, slices them to bits. The carousel of grotesque horses are flayed, De’ral hurling the bleeding chunks over the wall and into the woods. They work in a rhythm and grace I only wish I could achieve with my phantom. How is she doing this? I pull my focus back and carry on.

When we break through another wall of troops, he stands before us.

“Call Mummy Wheat!” I yell to Tyche, but nothing happens, my voice lost in the chaos of battle.

Atikis, seemingly undaunted by us, is calm. “You, again.” He laughs. “They send a pup to track the Bear of Gollnar, but sadly, he is no match.”

“I think you underestimate the pup, and his companions.” My head tilts toward the slaughter going on behind me while my eyes stay glued on his. That’s when I see he wears three whistle bones around his neck, not one.

Atikis shrugs as if it is of no concern. His red robes are spotless save for mud at the hem, and splotches of melted snow. He takes no phantom wounds. So he leaves the fight with Salila and De’ral up to his phantom, not entering its perspective? He must have no idea she is Mar. How could he? Unless he has faced Mar before and they are no match. I don’t think so. Even I’m not sure what the sea people are capable of in a fight. From the little I’ve seen, tooth by claw they are formidable.

“That’s an understatement, ex-heir.” Salila’s laugh rings through De’ral to me and my heart skips a beat. “Still, keep him busy, will you, lovely?”

Keep him busy. Right…

Piper and I stand just out of each other’s kill circles. Atikis draws another curved blade and lifts his brow. He’s a cool summer breeze. I nod imperceptibly at my healer and she lunges first. I move a fraction of a second later, my sword singing through the air as I release a war cry. Piper’s blade swipes toward his neck, mine dives straight for his chest. At the same moment, a distant call drifts across the battlefield and one of the whistle bones lifts. It strains against the chain and then flies off his neck.

Tyche has Mummy Wheat! But she needs to know there are two others.

Atikis grimaces and swings his curved blades, blocking the double attack in a blur of speed. Steel strikes steel and the reverberation jars me as if lightning cracked through my arms. We attack again, and again, until Piper’s sword flies out of her hands, ousted by approaching phantoms.

Piper’s snake rears and launches from her neck, giving her time to roll away from the red-robe’s blow. Atikis’s next swing slices the snake phantom in half. It instantly goes to ground.

I spin to check Piper, hoping she jumped out of phantom perspective in time. She’s safe, sweeping up a full body shield and sword to face the ouster, leaving Atikis to me.

I keep a small part of my awareness with De’ral. “Sierrak archers,” I shout at him.

From my phantom’s perspective, I note the mounted troops filling the courtyard below, drawing their bows, taking aim. But even these precision-trained riders can’t hold their horses within twenty lengths of the phantom battle. The animals rear and bolt, throwing riders from the saddle, arrows firing wide. De’ral turns to sweep the toppled soldiers aside. They skid like empty bottles across the ice. Salila cheers to De’ral, and my perspective falls deeper. I catch her eye as we fight. Nothing has ever felt like this before. My whole body is alive, on fire without burning.

I feel I could do anything.

And then, Atikis’s phantom, in the form of a giant De’ral, strikes at Salila, but his pounding fists can’t break the whirling speed of her blade as she shreds it to slivers. “The red-robe, Marcus?” Salila’s voice is calm, almost sultry, but it snaps me back to my body where Atikis’s blade collides with mine.

“Who is distracting who?” Atikis asks, his voice condescending as we parry back and forth.

I don’t waste time on a response, but hold the blade in both hands, guard position, drawing up strength from my core. In that moment, I study the two remaining bones, confirming which they are. Then energy, phantom enhanced, bursts from the tip of my sword as I lunge, dropping to one knee. I roll the edge of the blade side-on and cut low, sweeping in a circle a foot above the ground. I feel the slice across his shins as the weapon completes its arc, coming away wet, flinging blood in arcs. As the momentum of the swing pulls me upright, his hot blood spatters my face.

“Whom,” I answer finally. It’s something Ash would say, and I’m not even sure it’s right, but I have cut him deep. The red-robe’s arrogance slips.

Sword high overhead, I push the advantage, my weapon slicing toward him.

He evades, and I only nick his forearm, but I see it! Small to start, but certain, bright red blooms across his chest. Phantom wounds, finally. “Now!” I shout to both De’ral and Salila.

But Atikis is already responding.

The horsed riders rush skyward and alter into thick, writhing tentacles, feeling blindly through the air. Salila tilts her head back to track them. With a mighty swing, she hacks them off at the ground. They reform into mammoth raptors with razor sharp talons, but just as fast she mows the monsters down.

“Don’t stop now, Marcus!” she shouts at me.

I notice the use of my given name as I engage Atikis, zigzagging, dodging, and ducking until he is dripping with phantom wounds. He grunts and gasps. We both do. But he’s taking more and more injuries and all confidence is gone.

Salila grasps the remains of the red-robe’s alter and begins pulling it out of the ground by the roots. The transforming remnants struggle to escape her grip, desperate to return to their savant. She doesn’t let them. Salila’s eyes are hard as gems as she releases an ear-splitting war cry.

Atikis hesitates at the sound, as if he’s recognizing something long forgotten. It’s all I need. In a massive blow, I knock the sword from his right hand, taking a few of his fingers with it. “I’ll take the bones now, if you please.”

He double grips his remaining weapon, blood gushing down the hilt, but his eyes are on me, beseeching. “You have no idea what you are doing. The whistle bones aren’t–”

It’s no time to pause. I reverse my blade and slice him upward, sternum to chin. Blood, gore and finally the whistle bones fly into the sky, their chains cut free. “Tyche! Call Sierrak and Anon!” I let De’ral’s voice bleed into mine.

The whistle bones change trajectory, arcing toward her and Samsen. My opponent’s beseeching look turns to horror as I run Lord Atikis through, my sword plunging between his ribs and deep into his heart.

Salila is instantly next to me. Trails of blood drip off her fingers as her hands rest at her side, weapon tip pointing at the ground, but I don’t think she’s wounded. Nothing seems to have touched her, that I can tell.

“You’re good with a sword, ex-heir.” She doesn’t wait for a response but turns her attention to Atikis’s corpse. “You took Kaylin from his path,” she booms, her voice so strong it tumbles snow from the rooftops.

I nearly fall. “He what?”

But her eyes are not on me. “Goodbye, Atikis of Gollnar. May worms consume your tarnished soul.” Her words cut through the sound of charging warriors, enslaved callers, the horrified cries coming from onlookers and the battle still raging behind us at the gates. There is no mercy in her stance as she reaches out a slender arm toward Atikis and wraps fingers around his throat. Slowly, she lifts his body, tightening her grasp.

“Um, Salila? He’s dead.”

“Let’s make certain, shall we?” Her other hand grasps his hip. In a single motion she raises the corpse overhead. “In the name of the Ma’ata, your path is forfeited. Peace be it, or peace be it not.” Salila’s face is grim as she stretches his body until it rips clean in two.

Liquid sprays over the snow in a fountain of blood and gore. It spatters our faces, and then the ground of bodies, and churned earth. It splashes against the distant Sanctuary wall and the icy white snow of the rooftops. Salila finally drops the severed appendages and turns to the sea. “Fare thee well, Kaylin. Until we next meet along the path.”

An uncanny grief floods me. It washes from my heart, filling my chest and seeping into my limbs. It’s her grief, but somehow now it’s mine, too. I step beside her, shoulder to shoulder, the barest touch. But close enough, I hope, so that my presence might console her.

She turns to me, her face unguarded. Our eyes meet and something flows between us. No words are spoken, but something deeper. Something true. An understanding that turns grief to awe. We breathe in each other’s air and I lean forward. Closer to her, until our lips touch.

In the middle of Asyleen Sanctuary, blood, broken bodies and weapons underfoot, the sounds of battle retreat. Salila rests her hand on my face and melts into me, gives in to me… For an instant there is, what I can only imagine, the experience of An’awntia—the path complete. I am fire and ice, motion and stillness, powerful and powerless. I close my eyes to lose myself completely.

And then she stiffens. “I have to go.”

“Stay, Salila.” But she’s already bunching to run. “Wait!” My head clears. “What of Ash?”

An instant later, trumpets blare and the sounds of battle rush back into my awareness. Baiseen troops break through the main gates and the chant of our callers fills the air.

When I look back, Salila is gone.

Samsen catches up to me, panting. “Come on, and get your phantom out of here. We’re dead in the crosshairs.”

“The whistle bones?”

“Tyche has them. Piper’s rushing her into the woods to guard them. Let’s go.”

We’re too late. A wall of ousters appear, blocking our escape.

“De’ral, back to me!”

The enemy phantoms conjure an ouster wind that strips us of our weapons. My cloak is next and my yellow robes strain at the seams. My skin beads and starts to blister. I grab hold of my whistle bone pouch, ignoring the burn of my flesh, the blood oozing the backs of my hands.

In three bounds, De’ral is with me, arms flailing as if swimming through the snow. He blocks the ousters’ path, grabs the wrought iron gate, and impales the lot of them like shrimp on a skewer.

Samsen’s eagle dives in and out of our expanding circle, talons slicing through shoulders and throats.

A pile of bodies builds, soon to be crushed by De’ral as we defend our ground. Freed from their captors, the enslaved callers join Baiseen, turning the tide. It’s not long before the black-and-white streamers of truce are hoisted by Asyleen.

Victory! But somehow it’s shallow. When the enemy is completely contained, I gather the others to give them the news. “Kaylin is dead, peace be his path. I have no idea what has happened to Ash.”