The Black Breath

BOOK 2 OF THE CHRONICLES OF TORGEIR

At least they’ll have one less mouth to feed.

She retracted her death sense and continued toward the sound of tumbling water. A howling wind rushed down the mountainside and through the pines, whipping the tails of her thick leather coat around her legs. Fashioned to accommodate the spikes along her spine, the brown coat didn’t quite reach as far down her calf as it had last year.

Darkness preserve me, I thought I’d finished growing.

Following the soft rumble of water, she skirted around a steep spur and gazed upon her crystalline prize. A gentle stream tumbled down the moss-covered cliff side, pouring into a wide pool rimmed by tall pines.

She lay her pack on a flat rock by the water, leaned her spear against a tree, unslung her bow, and unhooked her quiver from her belt. Peeling off her heavy leather coat, she carefully folded it and set it on her pack. Next came her pants and shirt, each folded with equal care and placed on her coat. Free from its woolen confine, her necklace of shadow cat claws clacked against her scaled chest. Flexing her taloned fingers, she still felt the two that had been bitten off by the same cat.

Naked, she stood before the pond and looked at her reflection. She rather liked the coloration of her scales. They weren’t flamboyantly blue or yellow like some in her brood, or muted brown like her all of her fathers. She’d taken after one of her, though Xi’Tslna’s green outer scales shimmered like a butterfly wings under the sun. Four old scars ran along her side, marring the cream scales on her belly and under her chin.

As with other mancers, the mane running down the back of her head and spine had turned white when she came into her abilities. According to grandfather Xi’Tlys, it had happened far too early, but that was no cause to leave the city and ban her from the dark arts.

Try to ban me, she corrected.

They couldn’t stop her from scribbling skemata on her slate pads while she hunted, or keep her from finding old bones for practice. A bone golem, or better yet, a reanimated wolf pack could have saved her fingers and gotten her thrown into the Light Tank for a week.

If I was lucky.

Far from incriminating eyes, Xi’Tslna reached out with her death sense, finding small bones from rodents and birds, but nothing large enough to hold the simplest skema. Later, she’d sense for something large enough to scribe a mancer’s torch, but for now…

She waded into the pristine pool, digging her clawed feet into its sandy bottom. Apparently human feet were so fragile, they need special clothing just to walk. She kicked up sand and wriggled, exfoliating between her scales. After a gentle scrub, she swam to deeper water to shake the sand free from under her scales.

Darkness forsake me, that feels so good.

With a deep breath, she closed her transparent eyelids and plunged to the bottom of the pool. Beams of light danced through the water, refracted by the hypnotic surface high above. Swaddled within the cool depths, she closed her opaque, outer eyelids and let the constant grumble of water wash her mind clear.

After Darkness knew how long, burning lungs awoke her from her bliss. She kicked off the rocky bottom and swam to shore. She shivered from the water, the crisp autumn air washing over her scales. Ignoring the angry sky, she slipped into her clothes and rummaged through her backpack, hoping to find a lost morsel of dried fruit or meat. Rope, blanket, bandages, flint, cotton, knife, and a change of clothes, but nothing to eat.

Gathering her things, her heart choked, gripped by the hard realization she’d never visit this place again. If what her grandfather said was true, once she joined the Grand Armada she might never see Sati again. She set off, determined to make De’h’larka by morning. Following the trail up the mountainside would be grueling, but the view at the pass always stole her heart, especially at sunset, which she could still make.

Thoughts of wandering through the city tamped her anger, fueling her steps. She’d finally learn the secrets of her powers from the world’s leading scholars, and her people would honor her as a living symbol of Death. Ignoring the grub vendors, she’d lose herself in markets brimming with fruits and vegetables, and, most importantly, bone-tech. So much bone-tech. Autocarts and trolleys to whisk A’anxil down streets. Small curriers—chests with numerous short bone legs—scuttled down sidewalks to deliver precious goods and important messages. Abacuses etched with skemata to solve mathematical equations.

Sure, once she joined the Grand Armada, they would cram her on a ship with Darkness knew how many other people, but she would have the freedom to live her true life, and they would honor her for it. More important, if what Grandfather Zs’Erasz said was true, she’d be sailing to discover where humans went.

Halfway up the trail, the entire valley she’d called home for the past twenty-one years spread below her. Smoke from her broodhome curled above a forest ripe with autumn. In the mountains north of the painted forest, sparkles caught her eyes from the small lake where she’d lost her fingers.

Xi’Tslna halted, cursing her luck. Before her was a wide span of mountainside that had fallen, taking the trail with it. Backtracking around the other side would set her back a day, but what choice did she have?

The creeping sensation of death shivered her back spikes, stealing her thoughts. She set her spear down and nocked an arrow, listening to the unnatural silence draped over the mountains. The sensation drew her gaze to a large hole at the base of the recently fallen slope.

A cave?

At least twice her height, the mouth of the cave looked too purposeful, too perfectly round to be natural. Maybe it had been some ancient human burial ground from thousands of years ago. Curiosity returned her arrow to its quiver. After unstringing her bow and strapping her spear to her back, she pulled her rope from her pack and tied it around a young pine. Clawing footholds into the soft cliffside, she scaled down the slope. The shiver in her spine spikes increased as she drew closer to the cave, her senses heavy with death. The slope dumped onto a wide ledge protruding from the mouth of the cave. Countless bones littered the ledge. Old bones, pale with age, without a speck of rotted flesh or marrow—perfect for bone-tek. Bird bones, shadow cats, wolves, deer, rodents—every type of creature in the forest. Even a dragon tooth, dulled with age, lay among the pile. But not a single bone was inside the cave. None that she could see.

She yipped into the cave, and her voice echoed down its walls, fading deep in the darkness. Grabbing a long bone, she checked for whatever invisible barrier had kept the animals out—the type of barrier humans were said to have made with their strange magic. If the remnants of the Bowl were any measure, they’d wielded far more power than any mancer could hope to possess.

Enough to form a crater hundreds of miles wide.

Oh, to have seen humans in their glory. They’d possessed all that power, and yet, none had roamed Sati for over three millennia. Not since Sze’t’kha’atsu, the Awakening, when her people drowned them in the sea. So says history, but if that was true, why send the Grand Armada to investigate where they went?

With a quick prayer to Qi’k’krasz, the Dark, she tossed the bone into the cave. It clattered to the ground. Cringing, she stretched her arm out, waiting for her hand to burn, or for a bolt to strike her, or…

She opened her eyes, her arm well past the line of bones.

She released a sigh of relief, her arm dropping to her side. At least I won’t die out here like the rest of these creatures.

Shaking the nerves from her hands, she grabbed a femur bone large enough to hold skema for a mancer’s torch. Her death sense connected to the bone, impressing a faded sense of the deer’s last pain-filled moments, before it had died of starvation, after being driven here by an insatiable longing.

Curious, she thought, grabbing another bone. A bear, driven here by the same insatiable longing, also dead from starvation. Every bone told the same morbid tale—animal after animal, driven by insatiable desire. She peered at the dragon tooth, ignoring the rumbles of thunder and tiny patters of rain on her nose. More sentient than the other beasts of the land, a dragon should give her a clearer impression of what had brought it here to die.

She connected with the tooth and was soaring over Sati. She flew through mountainous crags and valleys, fiery spittle dripping from her powerful jaws, igniting brushfires on dried plains and forests. A single urge obliterated the dragon’s mind, overwhelming the ravenous hunger in her belly. It was the same urge that had led animals to their death.

The Light.

Xi’Tslna recoiled from the unholy power, dropping the tooth. As proven by this graveyard, Na’n’khi, God of Light, feigned goodness while threatening to consume the land. Each animal had been driven here by the promise of the Light’s power, and they’d all starved.

She fished out another femur, slipped her macer’s nail over her finger, and etched the skema for a torch set to activate on command. Reaching into the well of darkness within her soul, she infused the skema with the spark of unlife and uttered her chosen command.

“Ksra.”

The lines of the skema glowed sky blue, the holy color of Qi’k’krasz, blue flames flickering down the length of bone. As always, the heatless fire licked her hand, mesmerizing her with the sensation of feeling no heat from the dancing flames.

She stepped over the piled up line of bones and gasped. Not a hint of death tingled her spine spikes—not even from her manced femur, though blue flames still flickered over the bone. She spun around and saw nothing had changed outside the cave. Bones were still piled near the entrance, with the painted valley far below. Nothing but her death-sense had changed.

Can I still mance?

Panicked, she stepped outside into the heavy rain. Breathing a sigh of relief when her death sense returned, she hopped back into the dry shelter of the cave. She entertained the idea of mancing a small golem from the bones outside, but the process would carry her well into the night. Swallowing her unease, she flexed her mangled hand and headed into the dark depths.

Blue light from her bone-tech torch flickered along tall stalagmites, rising from the floor, stretching to meet its stalactite mate. She maneuvered around thick columns, marveling at how long it would have taken for them to form—hundreds of thousands of years, if not over a million, long before A’anxil or humans roamed the land.

The ancient cave bore into the mountainside like a giant shaft, as if bored with a massive screw.

Or a god.

The rough floor of the cave ended with a sharp line that poured into replete darkness. She held up her torch. Holy blue light danced up the cave walls and across its dripping ceiling, but it wouldn’t pierce the darkness beyond. Maybe it was a portal to Qi’k’krasz’s realm.

She yipped again, and her voice faded into the void. She held the torch over the sharp line, and the darkness didn’t eat her arm. The cave simply ended as though cleaved. She tossed a small rock and was surprised to discover that it struck an invisible floor. A sharp snap that reverberated across its endless surface.

Like rocks on an icy lake.

She crouched and laid her torch down. It seemed to float in the darkness, the surface drinking in the flickering blue light. She pressed her hand on the impossibly smooth floor. Cool to the touch, it felt as solid as marble, her slap sending the same reverberating waves across its surface.

Before she could change her mind, she stepped forward, and her foot found purchase. As if she’d stepped through a waterfall, shivers coursed down her scales, her toeclaws clicking on the ground.

“Death’s embrace,” she whispered, almost dropping the torch. She dared another step. The darkness swallowed her holy light.

She took another step, and another, looking back over her shoulder to make sure she could still see the timeworn cave. Ahead, in the distance, reflected glints of blue light hinted at shapes. She continued forward, making out three statues standing around a pile of melted rubble. Carved with immaculate care and detail, the statues sagged as if melted by an intense heat. One statue was A’a’nxil, its spine spikes drooping against its back. Another statue looked as human as any Xi’Tslna sketches she’d seen in records, while the third looked like no species she’d read about. Shorter than the human statue, its long melted ears drooped against its shoulders.

They all appeared to be protecting the crumbled remains in the center, but from what? Based on the pile of bones outside, no other creature could enter the cave, and yet something, or someone, had destroyed whatever the statues had been guarding.

She looked at the statues again, at how they surrounded the rubble, the hard expressions carved into their features, the strain etched on their brow, the weight pressing on their shoulders.

They hadn’t been protecting the crumbled statue. They’d kept it imprisoned.

But why?

She touched the pile of rubble, and a pain consumed her mind. In some distant reality, her mancer’s torch clattered on the floor. Agony stole her breath, her body stiff with pain. Bright cerulean power, the holy power of Qi’k’krasz, licked up her arm and seeped into her chest. Blue tendrils stretched toward her heart, promising sweet release.

See…

The voice in her head was both hers and not, both ancient and young.

Open your eyes…

The Dark’s blessed power enveloped her heart, and her pain evaporated. Expecting to find a necrotic limb, she breathed a sigh of relief when she found her arm whole.

Know the truth…

A sparkle on her arm caught her eyes. She lifted her sleeve and swelled with pride. Between her scales, her skin shimmered the same sky blue as the fire on her mancer’s torch, the holy color of Qi’k’krasz.

“What is this?” The strange voice echoed through the darkness.

Startled Xi’Tslna, reached for her bow and nocked an arrow. “Astsna,” she whispered, activating the bone-tech. Skemata etched into the bones lining the edges of her bow glowed blue, and she drew the string with no effort.

From the darkness, the warm light of an oil torch drew toward her.

Xi’Tslna released a guttural warning, but the wavering flame still advanced. She aimed  “Stop, or I’ll loose. I said s—”

A figure materialized from the darkness, and Xi’Tslna’s mouth fell open. Her arms fell to her side, her bow clattering to the floor.

A human!

“Statues?” the man mused, as if neither seeing nor hearing her. Taller than her, he lacked the glorious mane she’d seen in sketches. Wisps of hair cupped the back of his head, his bald pate glistening. Curious, the blue light from her mancer’s torch didn’t touch the human’s red cheeks and sand-colored hair or his drab, well-worn clothes.

It must be a vision from the Dark.

Xi’Tslna followed the human’s gaze to the statues. Gone were the melted wounds, their features now sharp and defined. As she’d imagined, the statue of the unknown species bore long ears that stretched past the back of her head, her long fingers ending in talons similar to Xi’Tslna’s. Also, as she’d suspected, a statue stood in place of the melted pile of rubble. It stood head and shoulders above the others, but bore no more detail than feminine curves. In front of it, a ball of purest white light sparkled beneath a dome that swirled with unholy light.

“Yes,” the human said. Eyes glazed, he fell to his knees before the dome. “Yes, show me. Give me your power!” He reached out, touching the dome, and the unholy surface shattered with a violent crack. Bursting from the broken dome, the ball of light slammed into the tall feminine statue. The statue bulged, leaking sparkles of its bright prisoner until it exploded in a violent shower of sparks.

Xi’Tslna’s spine spikes tingled as the ball of light hovered over the melted remains of the statue, radiating a familiar power.

The human spread his arms, and the holy power of Qi’k’krasz soaked into his being.

Nilam Fronth leaned against the deck railing, savoring the salty sea air. The sound of crashing waves rumbled beneath squawking seagulls. He never thought he’d be happy to see those pestering birds, but also he’d never been at sea.

His stomach heaved, but, as usual, there was nothing left to offer the sea. The sailors’ surety that the sickness would fade as soon as they saw land did little to comfort his soil stomach.

Nilam heaved again.

“Still sick?”

“Dear gods!” Nilam exclaimed, startling at the youthful voice.

Egan flinched, his disheveled blond hair swaying in the wind. Their voyage seemed to have pulled more freckles across the boy's skin, not that anyone could see much past the grime.

“You nearly scared the Light out of me,” Nilam grumbled, rubbing his aching shoulder. And I’ll be a terrentor’s meal if he didn’t grow two inches.

“I’m sorry,” Egan said, ducking his head. His large brown eyes went wide, and he pointed, hopping from foot to foot. “Look! Shore!”

“And not a moment too soon,” Nilam said, stretching. His back and neck popped and crackled. “The sea has been as kind to these old bones as it has been to my stomach.”

Egan wrinkled his nose. “Maybe if you washed, you wouldn’t feel so bad?”

Nilam raised an eyebrow. “Have you looked at yourself lately?”

Egan folded his arms. “At least I swam with the sailors. You haven’t touched a bath since…since forever.”

Nilam chuckled at Egan’s blissful innocence. “The light shines brightest within the darkness.”

“I don’t know what any of that has to do with the smell,” Egan said, wrinkling his nose.

Nilam ignored the boy’s innocent remark, and he gestured to the shoreline and the town growing on the horizon. “Tell me what you see.”

Egan’s brow scrunched and he shrugged. “I see Toliane, right? And a beach, and the waves. I love the way the ship sways, but I can’t wait—”

Nilam raised a finger, and Egan flinched. Thankfully, it hadn’t taken the boy long to learn proper respect for his elders. “I see darkness, Egan. Thousands upon thousands of our brothers and sisters living in darkness.”

“You mean Phaerians!” Egan said, and flinched again. The child opened one eye. When Nilam’s hand didn’t strike, he opened the other and offered a weak smile.

Nilam pushed the offense to the back of his mind. He would wait to deal with the interruption and flinching until after they’d made shore. “So close to the shadow of the empire,” he continued, gesturing to the town, “news of the Light has yet to reach them. That is the darkness I speak of.”

Egan’s lips trembled with a comment.

“What is it?”

“That’s why we’re here!” he said, his eyes brimming with hope. “To bring them out of darkness.”

“That’s why I am here,” Nilam reminded him.

Egan’s excitement wavered. “Right. You’re the Voice. I’m just… Why am I here?”

Nilam squeezed the boy’s tiny shoulder. Eagan was still so young and innocent. Maybe that was why Nilam’s power had no effect on him. Unlike the sailors, obedient servants of the Light, Eagan seemed immune to the Voice.

“Because you’re blessed by the Light,” Nilam told the young boy. “Chosen by our Radiance. You’re divine.”

Egan shuffled his foot and picked at the ship’s railing. “I don’t feel divine.”

“How do you feel?”

“Bored,” Egan mumbled, leaning over the railing to watch his spit fall into the sea.

“Enjoy that feeling,” Nilam said, earning a confused look. “Soon enough, you’ll wish to be bored.”

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Cool air cut through Aglia’s drab Phaerian garb. She grabbed another dirty shirt from the pile and tossed it in the washbasin. Hands long since numb in the cold water, she scrubbed the shirt against the washboard. Lady Maelly Boriou, her mistress, might be light-handed, but her guard wasn’t, and the Lady never mentioned anything about asking one of her Vrath to warm the water in the washbasin.

Aglia’s stomach growled and cramped, complaining about the measly breakfast she’d received. She risked a glance at the bucket of water and nu’food on the table—slagsticks, nu’cheese, nu’biscuits, and a too-sweet paste that was supposed to be strawberry jam. Uncovered and exposed to the elements, a patina of dust coated the food.

“Why waste a perfectly clean towel?” Lady Maelly had asked after Aglia suggested covering the food. “It’s still better than anything in Alduos, right?”

She might be a sympathizer, but she was still a blasted Founder.

Aglia wrung the newly washed shirt, whipped it in the air a few times, and hung it on one of the yellow-tinted ropes of force Lady Maelly had shaped. Aglia’s skin crawled every time she draped a garment on those thin, straight lines. Her former master hadn’t been as kind as Lady Maelly. He’d told her Phlem didn’t deserve to be so pretty, right before he beat her unconscious. Day after day, she’d endured his heavy fists and adroit shaping. At least he’d left most of the teeth on the right side of her mouth. She had enough to chew meat and bread, but, short of shaping, she’d never get her teeth back, her crooked nose would always whistle when she breathed, and what remained of her wispy hair would forever stay dark and curly.

“Ugly, like Phaerians should be,” Lady Maelly had said the day she’d bought Aglia and given her that ridiculous name.

An ugly name for an ugly Phlem.

Aglia grabbed another dirty shirt and scrubbed hard against the washboard, letting her pain overwhelm those terrible memories, before her thoughts drifted to him. Her vision watered, and still she scrubbed. Sweat beaded trickled down her brow, her legs shook from the pain, and still she scrubbed. Sharp agony consumed her and she collapsed to the ground, crying, clutching her bleeding hand.

A muffled curse startled her, and she stood, pretending to pick up something from the ground. Captain Gwndril limped past the crates stacked beside Lady Maelly’s trio of wagons. He grumbled at his jeering men before joining them at the campfire.

Lady Maelly poked her head up from her latest trench, one of the dozens snaking through her dig site. A silky ponytail of ruby-red hair draped down her back. She dragged her hand over her forehead, smearing a line of dirt on her alabaster-white skin. Not for the first time, Aglia wondered what Lady Maelly would have looked like without all the shaping. Had she been born with eyes so vibrant and green, or had they been dark like Aglia’s? What tone had the Currents washed from her skin?

“Aglia,” Lady Maelly said, waving her over. “I hate to admit it, but I think Jilsen was right. I think we’re in the wrong spot. Maybe we should move closer to the Prus Ruins.”

Aglia grabbed a towel-covered bucket of water from under the table and set it where her master could reach. “In your defense, M’Lady, according to the Lady Jilsen, every dig site was a bad site.”

Dressed in hardy trousers, a long-sleeve blouse, and a light jacket lined with pockets, Lady Maelly pulled back the towel and guzzled a ladle of water. “True,” she said, dipping the ladle again. “You never have to ask her opinion, do you?”

“I would never dare ask, M’Lady.”

“Best that you don’t,” Lady Maelly said. “Not around her. She’s too much of a traditionalist.” She returned the ladle to the bucket. “Now, go back and finish. I swear, you take twice as long as your predecessor to wash clothes.”

“Did she contend with a dust storm, too?” Aglia joked and immediately regretted it.

Lady Maelly raised her brow. “I may be sympathetic to your kind’s plight; I may even believe you are as human as any other citizen, but do not mistake my kindness for weakness, girl.” She leveled a threatening gaze. “I’m still a Founder, and you’re still a Phaerian. A couple of days without food will remind you of that.”

Aglia’s lip trembled, but she dared not cry. Tears would only prolong her days of famine. Lady Maelly expected her Phaerians to be as dispassionate as her research. Aglia gave obeisance, pressing her forehead to the ground to hide her trembling chin. “Thank you, M’Lady.”

“Jilsen would have taken your tongue for an outburst like that.” The Founder shook her finger at Aglia. “That, my dear Phaerian, is why I don’t take you around her.”

“Thank you, M’Lady.”

“Ah, forget it,” her master grumbled, pulling herself out of the trench. She dusted off her hands, and gave herself a quick look, sneering at the streaks of dirt in her clothes. “Oh, this will not do. Not at all.” Her clothes rippled as if from an unfelt breeze, and all the dust and grime sloughed to the ground. “So, much better. Well, don’t just stand there, Aglia. That laundry isn’t to wash itself. See me in my tent when you’re finished, and please, don’t take all day like yesterday. You know how I abhor how lazy your people are.” She tapped her chin. “I’ll tell you what—finish before supper, and you can have my scraps. It’s better than you deserve, but I’m nothing if not kind.”

“Too kind, M’Lady.” Aglia plastered on a wide smile and returned the bucket of water to its proper spot under the table of untouched nu’food. With a simple thought, Lady Maelly, Captain Gwndril, and the other Vrath in her retinue could clean every shirt, trouser, dress, undergarment, and towel in the pile of laundry, but, her master would rather occupy Aglia’s time with menial tasks. Never mind that the dust had already covered the laundry drying from the shaped lines. All that mattered was occupying Aglia’s time with some meaningless task.

She grabbed another shirt and set to scrubbing. As much as she hated the worthless task, she didn’t know if she could handle two days without sustenance, and she dared not try to sneak any of her untouched food. Shirt finished, she draped it with the others. Five more and she’d start on the pile of trousers, then the dresses, towels, socks, and undergarments.

The sun dipped over the horizon by the time she finished, the sky a medley of colors she’d once thought beautiful. Her stomach twisted, begging for her to rush to Lady Maelly’s tent and beg for her scraps, but she knew Lady Maelly would only make some excuse to not feed her. Besides, Aglia poured all her energy into the murky laundry basin.

Aglia ran her tongue over her empty gums, her hatred growing with memories of her previous master. He’d murdered everyone—her friends, family, everyone she’d ever loved. He’d only kept her because of her connection with…with him. All her torment, every punch, slap, choke, and worse, all done because of him.

Smoldering with rage, she staggered to rinse basins, and peeled off her clothes. At least the water didn’t smell. She gazed at her reflection. Thin, lifeless hair curled from her scalp. Her nose, swollen from all the breaks, leaned off center, and an angry scar drifted around her right eye. Bones, once hidden under supple curves and muscle, now stood proud on her emaciated frame, her thin skin riddled with scars and sores.

“I used to be beautiful,” she said, twirling a lock of her now-black hair. Hair that used to cascade down her back like a waterfall of honey. The scent from a cask of dried flowers sparked a memory of a sweet, floral smell. 

My smell, she thought, orange blossoms and jasmine drifting in her mind.

“Before he left me,” Aglia spat. Before he left them all to the whims of her former master.

A bright flash on the horizon caught her eyes, and she stared at a distant plume of smoke rising above the Alrynn Mountains. Tiny at such a distance, the smoke churned into a dark mushroom, while an invisible wave spread over the land. Moments later, the wave washed over Aglia with a loud crack.

Fear turned her legs to mush, and she fell to her knees.

Only one being could have caused that much destruction—the man who had left her.

That gads-damned Light of Prophecy.

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