Tempest of Bravoure Read online

  Luky sang a long wow dotted with an impromptu, “But why?”

  “To be fair, nobody is really sure about the why. The how, though, you can ask a blood mage if you want the entire lecture. Something about the Code of Life and all that.”

  “Blood mage? That sounds nasty.”

  “Blood magic can be a little nasty.” Ahna’s smile turned into a cheeky smirk and a twitch of the nose.

  Luky’s attention had slipped again. He gazed up to the stars he could see beyond the tree branches. Ahna joined him in contemplation. Faraway Sols that watched over them.

  “Tears of the gods, souls of the dead,” she whispered.

  The boy-lynx’s ear twitched in curiosity. “Is that a prayer?” he asked.

  “It’s something my mother used to say,” Ahna replied, her voice fading. “Souls travel the river of stars on their way to the Heavens. The stars we see are their remnant image. They are so far away that their light still shines for us.”

  Luky stretched his arms and yawned. He was officially tired and made it very clear to Ahna. Still yawning, he leaned back and let himself sink into the warm ground. He blinked a few times, still gaping at the stars with waning yellow eyes.

  “Do you have more stories?” he wondered, though it sounded more like a request.

  Ahna was not really the storytelling type. Not like her mother, at least. But she could talk endlessly about magic and everything she had learned throughout years and years of studying. She could tell Luky about the thesis that had earned her the title of Archmage of Bravoure, though that was not really a topic for a child. She could talk about elemental magic and how—

  Her thoughts interrupted themselves. How could she talk about magic when hers was gone? Because that was precisely what she felt when she thought about the arcane, its absence. The only thing that made sense to her, that was consistent, logical, was gone. She felt a hole dug deep into her soul. Its absence felt like a theft.

  “Tell him about the Resistance,” that soft and melodious voice spoke.

  Ahna halted her breath. “What?” she compulsively blurted out.

  “Do you have more stories?” Luky repeated his question as if Ahna’s had been directed at him. He yawned at the same time.

  “That’s what he likes to hear.”

  Ahna hesitated. She mumbled some unclear syllables that Luky did not even notice. That voice, that chime that had been with her since the moon, had manifested itself again.

  The elf cleared her throat. She would listen to and heed that voice. “When I met the heroes of the Resistance for the very first time, I admired them.” Ahna paused to check on Luky—he was all ears and tufts. She smiled and continued. “Their courage, but most of all, their ideals. Acceptance and unity of all. Even in their darkest times, they never lost their sense of duty and hope.”

  “Who was your favorite?” Luky asked.

  “I didn’t have a favorite,” Ahna replied with a surprised laugh.

  “You talk like you had one.”

  Ahna yielded. “Well, there were a few. Kairen, who was like a little sister to me. David, her husband.” The elf distanced herself, seeing her dear ones’ faces and facing the fact that she would never see them again. “Diego, Lynn, even Jules!”

  Luky laughed. “Jules can’t be your favorite.”

  “Well, why not?”

  “Because he stinks!”

  Ahna joined in on the laughter. But something held her back from fully letting the mood take flight—someone she had not mentioned but who was definitely all over her thoughts.

  Of course, it was Cedric. But she could not talk about him. She would not. And it was not entirely because of the ache she felt, but it was also because Luky had closed his eyes, and tiny snores escaped his little nostrils and slid on his twinkling whiskers.

  Jules grunted, handing Cayne the note he had found in his room. The piece of rough paper rustled as he clenched it firmly. Cayne squinted to read the sindur cub’s poor handwriting. Luky was well-versed in Common, but writing was not his forte.

  “He went to Mokvar with Ahna,” Jules uttered, practically in one syllable. “I’m going to skin his little furry ass when he comes home.”

  Cayne motioned for Jules to remain calm. “Hold on, don’t get too drastic.”

  “He could get killed,” Jules carved the air.

  “Your friend is a powerful archmage,” Cayne reassured. “She can protect him.”

  Jules sighed and shook his head. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Maybe you’re right.”

  But Jules was not going to give up that easily. He spun on his heels, his blond hair following him, and seized a firm grip around the scabbard of a shortsword that rested on the nearest table. He strapped it to his belt and headed for the door. Jules topped his beige linen shirt with the brown reinforced leather cuirass hung on a hook that had been hammered into the wood long ago.

  Cayne observed him move back and forth like a hen in a hurry. She crossed her arms, skeptical, knowing exactly what Jules was about to do.

  “Don’t tell me you’re going after them,” she inferred and judged.

  Jules pointed at her. “You’re not going to dissuade me.”

  Cayne scoffed, but then she smiled. “I know.”

  “It’s only a night’s gallop with Arrow,” Jules still argued his case. Arrow was his horse. A brown Gaelisi desert free-roamer he had owned for what felt like ages. “I’ll be back in a lightning flash.”

  Cayne raised her arms in the air as a sign of capitulation. “You don’t have to convince me, Jules. But make sure you stay safe.” She paused as Jules scooped his satchel from the floor and filled it with random items. “Guess what I’ve heard.”

  “Hm?” Jules was too focused on collecting his things.

  “We might have a chance after all. Some Wolves are on their way from the other cities. Seems like the threat of war is a more compelling argument than the greater good.”

  Jules turned around, looping his satchel over his shoulder. He cast a quick glance at Cayne and gave her a brief nod. “Sorry to leave like this.”

  Cayne shook her head. “Screw you, Halcyon.”

  “Hey!” he shouted, his voice covering a compulsive laugh. He pointed at her. “Watch it, Falco.”

  Cayne gave the man a fraternal shove in the arm. “Come back before they get here, will you?”

  Jules signaled his promise with a military salute. He then checked his belt to see if his scabbard was still there, peeked into his satchel one last time, and headed out of the door. Cayne tailed behind him until the end of the tunnel, where she headed right, toward the speakeasy, and Jules headed left, toward the northern exit of the sewers.

  5

  Mort

  It did not take long for Ahna and Luky to reach the darkness. A few hours of walking through Antaris Wood, and the delicate light of the morning, when passerine birds chirped singsongs, shapeshifted into a shadowy atmosphere of silence and stillness. The echo of nothingness lingered. It was night again, but this night felt wrong. Out of place. Like it did not belong. Like it was an error that urgently needed to be rectified.

  Luky feigned the howl of fear. “Ooo, I think there are ghosts here!”

  Ahna hushed him with her hand. “Let’s not stray too much further. The ruins aren’t far.”

  “What are we looking for?” Luky whispered back a question.

  “Anything that can explain—”

  Crack.

  The split of branches reached Ahna’s pointy ears. Luky’s twitched too. Ahna peered over her shoulder to check the source of the noise.

  A sense of déjà vu spread through her veins. Images of the shadows that still haunted her rushed by. Visions from back on the moon, in the darkness of the far side, in a similar setting. Ahna needed to keep her head straight.

  She dared to look closer, further between the branches. Her vision adjusted, and she saw something that made her heart stop.

  Out there, ahead in the woods, s
tood a dark figure. And it stared back at her through the night. Its eyes were white. She could see their color, even in the dark, as if they captured every bit of light possible and reflected it back at her.

  Ahna held an arm in front of Luky to stop him from walking further. She wanted to keep looking. She knew she should not, but something compelled her to.

  “There’s something there,” Ahna whispered, then she pointed at whatever lurked in the shadows out there, ahead in the woods.

  Luky veered his head in the figure’s direction. His yellow eyes rounded, and his pupils narrowed into a vertical slit. The creature, standing on two legs, ambled toward the two. That is when Ahna heard it, another crack of branches, followed by multiple more. A handful of these humanoid-like restless shadows approached them, encircled them. They hummed low and guttural growls that were barely audible.

  “Creepy...” Luky muttered.

  Ahna unsheathed her sword and brandished it close to her. Luky did the same with the rusted iron dagger he had just summoned. Everything around them stopped. Movement, sounds, breathing. Even the lifeless figures.

  “Why have they stopped?” Luky asked.

  But at that moment, their aimless march recommenced. Ahna felt her fear rise. Something bad was going to happen—she could definitely sense it. The creatures came closer. Glued back to back, Ahna and Luky watched them approach.

  “They’re not harmful, you know,” a woman’s voice resonated. “You could almost call them watchdogs.”

  Ahna shifted her body to face a woman that stood right beside her. She lowered her sword when their eyes met. The woman had long braided black hair, and a fur shawl covered her shoulders. She held a scepter made of twigs and bones. Her wide smile looked crazed. Her ghostly blue eyes pierced through the air like spears made of ice.

  Ahna could see her clearly, but it was not from any source of light. It was as though the woman emanated her own.

  “Who...are you?” Ahna stuttered.

  The creatures around them had stopped walking. The woman had appeared out of nowhere, and she held her toxic smile like it was attached to her face.

  “The better question is, who are you, dokkalfar?” the woman retorted. “Aren’t you all supposed to be dead or banished?”

  Her solemn voice echoed like a sermon through the dark-lit forest. Ahna let out the breath she realized she still held. Only then did she notice the necklace the woman bore around her long pale neck. A brass medallion of a blackskull moth, the moth that feasts on carrion flesh. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Ahna recognized that symbol. But the thought had not yet reached her consciousness.

  “You’re a priestess,” Ahna conjectured, and the woman gave her a single morbid nod. “But you’re not—”

  It was impossible, but the woman smiled wider. “Not a regular priestess?” She paused. “That’s right, dokkalfar, I’m not Varkadian, or any of the titans for that matter, far from it.”

  Ahna felt a chill spread from the nape of her neck. The air had suddenly gotten colder. She briefly looked over her shoulder to check on Luky. The boy-lynx held his dagger firmly but was frozen like ice.

  “So,” the priestess sang, dragging Ahna’s attention back to her. “What are you doing here?”

  It would be pointless to lie or to make up some excuse. Something was mesmerizing about the woman’s allure. Like she could see right through someone’s soul.

  “I’ve come to see this place for myself,” Ahna declared.

  “Isn’t that foolish of you?” the priestess countered. “You’ve probably heard what people say about the eternal night.”

  Ahna showed no emotion. She held her stance and guard. “Are your watchdogs undead?” she asked in a mocking tone that concealed her fear.

  The priestess nodded. “But they are harmless. As long as I tell them to be.”

  The blackskull moth. The bone scepter. A name started to morph into existence in Ahna’s mind.

  “What kind of priestess are you?” she asked even though she now knew.

  “I believe you already know the answer.”

  Before Ahna could respond, she heard footsteps behind her. She turned around, only to see two men with hooded faces. They halted their march right behind her and Luky.

  “Come,” the priestess said. “These two will watch over your catling while you walk with me.”

  Ahna shook her head. “There’s no way I’m leaving him here.”

  “You don’t really have a choice,” the priestess said. Her crooked teeth started to show.

  She motioned for the two men to approach. They did not speak. As silent as the night, they came to stand beside Luky and seized his shoulders.

  Ahna’s instinct took over. She turned around and flailed her sword.

  “Don’t you dare touch him!” she shouted.

  The two men dashed back. They pulled daggers out of scabbards under their cloaks and adopted a fighting stance. Ahna caught sight of the brass medallions hanging on their neck.

  “Now, now,” the priestess soothed. “No need to get agitated. You know as well as I how this will end if you take one more step.” There was a glacial threat engraved in her words.

  Ahna also knew how this would end if she left Luky behind. She faced the priestess again and stared her down.

  “Tell me everything that’s going on, or you will have to fight me,” she commanded.

  The lifeless creatures had also come closer, so close that Ahna could finally see them in the woman’s glow. And she could smell them. The stench was horrid. It pushed through her nose all the way into her stomach, forcing it to churn on itself.

  They were four of them. Their flesh looked burned. Veins of a greenish color grew through their limbs. Their bones poked through the shreds of their fingers, forming sharp claws that could tear deep through skin.

  Luky compulsively let go of his dagger and covered his nose. He could not take the smell any longer. His yelps and cries drew the creatures’ attention.

  “There’s been an awakening,” the priestess declared, her voice muted, as though she was standing further away. “A god returned.”

  Ahna cocked her head in the woman’s direction. “What are you talking about?” she asked, frowning, afraid of what she would hear next.

  Because the blackskull moth and the woman’s words had finally brought a memory back. An image of a page Ahna had once held in her hands. Even though religion was not the magi’s favorite subject, there were numerous teachings on the legends of dragon-gods. Stories of the titans that had shaped Terra millennia ago. And there were citations from the Scriptures of the Old that spoke of other, lesser gods, devas. Divinities that had been born in the shadows of titans. Bravoure was renowned for its golden statues of the draconic pantheon, but deva worship was more present in some lands. Lands like Iskala.

  “Don’t you know by now?” the priestess prodded. “Haven’t the legends reached your pointy ears, dark elf? The legends of He whom the night follows?”

  Ahna did not respond. She wanted the priestess to say more.

  The priestess took a step back and knocked her scepter once on the cold hard ground. “Bravoure’s hour of reckoning has come, and the Avatar of Mort will rise again.”

  Mort.

  The Baron of Death.

  Ahna dashed to the side and parried the clash of a dagger. One of the cloaked men had attempted to strike her. The other caught a grip of Luky and held a knife to his neck. Luky struggled with all he had, and when he was able to uncover the man’s wrist, he took the most furious of bites.

  The man howled in pain. His scream distracted the other, and Ahna was able to kick him in the stomach so he would fall. But the trouble was not over. One of the restless creatures slashes its bony claws at Ahna, almost touching her skin. She jumped back, attempting to anchor her feet again, but the next creature came behind her, just in her reach. Its decaying hand made its way around her neck. Upon its touch, her skin burned.

  “Run!” Ahna was able to scream
in Luky’s direction.

  Luky rolled on the floor to dodge being hit by the other man’s dagger. He jumped back to his feet, but he would not run. He would not leave Ahna behind. Two of the undead reached for him.

  The creature’s grasp around Ahna’s neck tightened. The pain increased and forced her to drop her sword. Panic rose. The priestess remained standing still. Her eyes glowed white. She held some kind of control over these lifeless creatures.

  Now was the perfect occasion to release something Ahna had kept buried all this time. The aching force she continually repressed. The fright that spread through her veins awoke it for good.

  Ahna closed her eyes and let go. One shattering blast resonated in the dark forest in a roar of rushing and scorched air.

  * * *

  It started with a spark in her left hand, and it evolved into a shockwave brighter than the light of Sol. A white, crystalline light engulfed her arm and connected with her chest, with the pulse of her heart. If she let it go further, it would submerge her entire body.

  The two cloaked men fell to the ground, covering their hollow eyes, which had burst and leaked out of their sockets. The light was enough to keep them forever scarred and blinded. And it was enough to instantly vaporize the undead creature that held Ahna. Its skin sizzled sharply as it disintegrated into the air. The other creatures, obviously afraid of the pure light that now radiated through the woods, cowered away to protect themselves. It was as though the sun blazed again over this part of the forest.

  The priestess stood with her mouth agape, but she had not moved. Her eyes had returned to their icy blue color, and she stared at Ahna like she stared at something she could not explain.

  “Wow, cool!” Luky exclaimed, half-covering his eyes.

  Ahna reached for the other weapon strapped to her belt. She pulled the arcane pistol out of its holster and pointed it at the priestess. A surge pulsed loudly from arcane energy loading into the barrel.

  “Tell me what’s going on!” Ahna ordered. “What is the Avatar of Mort, and why in Hell are we in eternal night?”