Echoes of light, p.9
Echoes of Light, page 9
Koren lowered his sword. Valentina emerged around the column too and gasped. She looked over her shoulder. "Healers! We need healers! Batya, we need you!"
They waited with the orphans for an agonizingly long time. Three were well enough to stand, and one girl even clutched a brick as a weapon. But the others could only lie in the rubble. One boy's belly was pierced, a hint of entrails pushing at the wound; he lay breathing raggedly, moments from death. Another child was burnt, half her face gone. Crows circled above, waiting for the feast.
You'll have to go hungry, crows, Koren thought when the healers finally arrived. Two were medici—healers of the legions. In Aelar's military, only the medici were allowed to grow beards, signifying their wisdom. They knelt by the wounded children and opened kits, revealing the tools of their trade: scalpels, vials, and bandages. Batya rushed forth with them. The gray-haired lumer had once served the cruel governor of Elania, bearing his bucket of meat for ravens. Now the aging Zoharite knelt above the children, kindled her reserves of lume, and placed her glowing hands upon the wounds.
Koren stood a few paces back, watching with bated breath. Yet hard as she tried, Batya could not heal the child with the slit belly. Finally the lumer gave up and moved to another child. A medicus replaced her, pushed the seeping entrails back inside, then stitched the cut. The child screamed all the while, and it took two legionaries to hold him down.
Koren turned away, sickened. He walked away from the ruins. His head felt too light.
"How could men do such a thing?" he said softly, speaking to himself.
A voice answered from nearby. "How could men fight the evil of the Empire? Quite easily, it seems."
Koren started, nearly falling in the rubble. He realized that Avia had stood near him all this time, blending into one of the walls that still stood. She stepped closer, smiling.
"Where were you when Valentina called for healers?" Koren said, not bothering to mask the harshness in his voice. "You know Luminosity. You could have helped the children. You can still help."
Avia raised her eyebrows. "Can I? No, Koren. I'm no healer. I do not use the light of Luminosity." She stepped closer, leaned toward him, and grinned savagely, exposing her canines. "I use the shadows. I do not heal. I hurt."
Koren shook his head sadly. "You grin with bloodlust as children lie dying. Fighting the Empire? These are innocents."
She scoffed. "Aelarian children. In a few years, they'll be old enough to join the legions, to pillage and rape and burn and destroy. If you truly cared about defeating the Empire, why didn't you kill them? When you stumbled across the cowering children, if you cared for life, you'd have slit their throats."
He grabbed her arms, glaring. She only smiled sweetly in return.
"How is killing children caring for life?"
Honey dripped from Avia's smile. "You'd be saving all those they'll kill in a few years, if our quest to destroy the Empire fails. Look around you, Koren of Zohar. Look at the ruins, the charred skeletons, the ghosts of a dead town. Do you think Zohar looks any different now? This is victory. This is conquest. This is what Aelar, a city of a million monsters, will look like if we're to save our home."
Koren released her. He looked away. "Is Zohar even a home to you? You're only half-Zoharite. Your mother is from Berenia."
"Another nation the Empire destroyed," said the dark lumer. "Another nation I will avenge. Come now, Koren. The precious children of our enemy have been tended to. Let us continue south, so that we may butcher all their countrymen."
"We won't have to butcher anyone," Koren said. "We're marching to restore the Republic, not to conquer and burn."
She patted his cheek. "Whatever lets you sleep at night, sweet prince of lions."
As she walked away, Koren thought back to the legionaries he had slain—in Zohar and on the road to Denegar. He knew that their faces would always be with him, and that more would join them before the end.
They continued down the road: Koren, Valentina, two lumers, the wounded children, and thousands of legionaries. The ruined town gave way to a forest of pines, cork oaks, and cypress trees. After many days in the snowy north, Koren welcomed the sight. Gone were the elms and maple trees of the north, and gone was the snow. They were drawing near the southern coast now. Soon they would reach Aelar, the end of their journey.
But not the end of my journey, Koren thought. If we can truly take Aelar, I will then travel home to Zohar.
The thought chilled more than comforted him. He had been away from Zohar for nearly a year now. What would he find when he returned? Was Epher still alive and fighting? What about Mother and Maya? How would Koren tell them of Atalia drowning, of Ofeer sold into slavery? Did they even know that Father had died?
Koren lowered his head as he walked. Whatever home awaited him in Zohar, it was not the home of his youth. The memories of the villa on Pine Hill, of his family gathered around the table, joyous, lighting candles and singing—those would remain merely memories. If that villa still stood, it would be full of ghosts now, forever the place where Father had died.
A bird hooted in the forest, pulling Koren back to the present. He looked toward the trees, seeking the animal. Another bird called out, even louder, from the other side of the road.
Thousands of whistles filled the air.
Koren froze and looked upward.
"Arrows!" he shouted. "Shields up!"
He raised his scutum shield—a gift from the legions, painted red and gold and fringed with bronze. Arrows slammed into it. From under the semicylindrical shield, he glimpsed more arrows peppering the forces. Valentina knelt at his side under her own shield. There were not the simple, functional Aelarian arrows. These arrows were carved like birds and dragons and painted blue and red, each one a work of fierce art.
The last arrow slammed into a shield. The air erupted with countless howls, and Koren peeked around his shield to see a horde charging through the trees toward the road.
He leaped to his feet, drew his sword, and moved closer to Valentina.
The barbarians ran from both sides, thousands of them—warriors of Gael. Brutish men, the largest Koren had ever seen, roared and waved clubs and swords and spears. Their beards flowed down to their waists, the colors of dawn, strewn with bones and beads. Women ran with them, shrieking, their blond hair braided, their faces painted green and red. The barbarians wore patches of armor over fur and leather, and they moved with no units, no discipline—a mob pouring from the forest and roaring for death.
Koren raised sword and shield. "Stay near me, Valentina."
She did not draw her sword. She held open hands to the sky. "Gael!" Valentina shouted. "Gael, lower your weapons! We mean you no harm! Speak to us!"
Yet the horde ignored her. A Gaelian charged toward Koren, grinning, swinging a sword in one hand and an axe in the other. She was a towering woman, as tall as Koren, wider and probably stronger. Iron rings pierced her nose and ears, tattoos coiled across the shaved sides of her head, and death danced in her eyes.
Koren raised his shield, catching the axe's blow, and parried with his gladius. The barbarian shrieked, spun, and lashed her blades again. Koren fell to one knee, catching the assault on his shield. The axe cracked the wood, emerging by his face, nearly close enough to shave his beard.
Koren rose with a howl, shoving the Gaelian back—by God, the woman was strong—and thrust his gladius over the bronze rim of his shield. The barbarian knocked his blade aside and swung her axe again, cracking the scutum's bronze lining. Koren shoved forward his crumbling shield, slamming the iron bulb in its center against the Gaelian. The woman fell back, and Koren drove the shield forward again, smashing her face. He thrust his sword. It sank through the furs coating the Gaelian. Blood spurted and the woman fell.
From the corner of his eye, he caught another blade swinging his way. He raised his shield—what was left, at least—and caught the blow. A chunk of shield fell off, revealing a towering Gaelian with a bushy beard. The man dwarfed Koren, and it took several thrusts of his blade to shove the man into a crowd of legionaries. Their gladius swords did the rest.
The battle raged across the road and forest. The Gaelians kept swarming, thousands emerging from between the trees, trapping the legionaries in a gauntlet. The Aelarians were skilled in open battlefields. On the forest road, they hunkered together, shields raised, a frightened centipede beset by countless biting ants. Every moment, another legionary fell to the onslaught.
"Kill them, they're just fucking barbarians!" shouted an officer before a shieldmaiden's axe cracked open his skull.
Koren fought wildly, but for every barbarian he killed, more emerged from the trees.
"Off the road!" Koren shouted. "Valentina, we have to fight them in the forest! We're getting killed here."
She nodded. She pointed her blade toward the trees. "Legio XVI! Into the forest! Off the road. Legio XVII, take the other side!" She coned a hand around her mouth. "Gaelians, hear me! I mean you no harm. We come in peace!"
The legions spread out, leaving the road and marching between the trees. Koren ran with them, but he quickly saw the flaw of this approach too. The Aelarian legions trained for meticulous formations, shields locked together, blades thrusting out from the enclosure, forming impenetrable walls. In the dense forest, trees, shrubs, and boulders broke their formations, segmenting the units into individual men. Meanwhile, the Gaelians moved like ghosts. Shrieking, they leaped from trees, swung from branches, and vaulted over boulders, unburdened by cumbersome armor.
They were raised in the forest, Koren thought, parrying a blow from a one-eyed brute. They will slaughter us all.
He hacked the one-eyed man's legs, then turned around, panting, seeking Valentina. He could not see her, only hear her in the distance. The battle spread all around, and the road was lost.
He spotted Avia sitting in a tree, dangling her legs and whistling a tune. She laughed as a Gaelian below clove a legionary's helmet, scalping the man. Koren ran, cut down a Gaelian, and reached the tree where Avia sat on a branch. He glared up at the dark lumer. She was drinking wine and snacking on nuts as she watched the battle.
"Avia!" he shouted. "Avia, for fuck's sake. Do something!"
She looked down at him and waved. "I am! I'm enjoying a splendid performance."
He grunted, grabbed her foot, and yanked her off the branch. She landed before him, and a scowl replaced her smile.
"You made me spill my wine."
"These Gaelians will spill our fucking brains unless you help." Koren grabbed her shoulder. "Do that thing! With . . . the ice demon! Whatever you did back north."
Avia ducked as a Gaelian thrust a spear. Koren cursed, kicked dirt onto the man, and ran him through. He looked back at Avia.
She shrugged. "There's no ice here."
"Then do something else!" Koren shook her. "Summon some other creature. Use your dark magic."
She chewed her lip. "I think . . . not. The Aelarians have been butchering our people, Koren. They've been slaughtering Zoharites across the world. I quite enjoy seeing them being slaughtered."
"We need these Aelarians to restore the Republic!" Koren said. "To let Valentina rebuild the Senate! You want to help whatever's left of Zohar? Make sure Valentina makes it to Aelar."
Avia rolled her eyes and sighed. "I don't have much lume left. I haven't been to Zohar since this whole messy war began. You do know that lumers need to visit home once in a while to restock, right?"
"Use whatever lume you have," Koren said. "Do whatever you need to do, just stop those bloody Gaelians."
The dark lumer nodded. "Watch over me."
She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and raised her chin. Around them, the battle still raged. The legionaries tried to form smaller formations, to lock shields together, but could barely move in the rough terrain, and the Gaelians kept leaping and running everywhere, cutting them down.
Better hurry, Avia, Koren thought, tapping his foot. He stood by her with a raised sword. He tossed down his cracked shield and grabbed another one from a corpse. When he glanced at Avia, he saw the first hints of light weave around her fingers, barely perceptible.
Howling, a Gaelian charged toward them, swinging a massive mace, its iron head shaped like a horned skull. The barbarian's eyes were mad, his beard stained with blood, and Koren grimaced.
"Avia . . ." he muttered, but the dark lumer still stood with closed eyes, breathing deeply.
The Gaelian bellowed. Koren cringed and raised his shield. The mace slammed into the wood, shattering it into a thousand pieces, nearly snapping Koren's arm. Koren fell to his knee. The Gaelian raised his mace again, and Koren rolled aside. The iron skull hit a rock on the ground, cracking it. Koren lashed his sword and nicked the brute's arm.
"Avia, hurry!" he shouted.
The Gaelian raised his mace again, grinning at Koren, and spoke in a foreign language. Koren didn't need to understand Gaelian to know the brute wasn't wishing him well. The mace swung, and Koren leaped back, hit a tree, then leaped sideways when the mace cracked the trunk. He thrust his sword again, slicing the barbarian's side.
"I am the son of Jerael Sela, the grandson of King Rahamyah!" Koren dodged another blow. "I learned swordplay from the best masters in Zohar." He grunted as the mace glanced off his vambrace, denting the metal. "But you still fucking terrify me!"
The Gaelian swung the mace down again, and Koren caught the blow on his arm, screaming as the iron vambrace cracked. He drove his sword forward, plunging the blade into the Gaelian's neck, then shoving, shoving it deeper, shoving with all his strength, shouting as he drove the blade deeper until it emerged from the other side. He pulled the sword free, then stumbled back, struggling not to gag, not to faint.
"Thanks for the help, Avia," he said, turning toward her.
When Koren saw the dark lumer again, he gasped. Light now crawled up her arms and glowed behind her closed eyelids. Her hair rose around her as if floating underwater. Slowly, Avia levitated. She hovered above the fallen pine needles. Her cloak billowed, and when she opened her eyes, they shone white. For an instant Koren lowered his sword, awed by the brilliance and wonder of Luminosity.
But Avia was a dark lumer. She cared not for this light.
Beneath her, shadows gathered.
When Avia raised her arms, the shadows spread out like serpents slithering across the forest floor. Avia's fingers uncurled, twisted, weaving the shadows. Fallen leaves rustled, wilted, crumbled. The shadows kept spreading across the ground, then grabbed the roots of trees, climbed trunks, and creaked along branches.
The forest wilted.
Creaking, mournful sounds rose from the boughs. Animals fled from the branches. The leaves crackled and curled as if burning, though Koren saw no fire. The trunks shriveled, twisted, and tilted. Hundreds of trees around Avia withered, then disintegrated.
The dark lumer gasped for air and fell to her knees, and the light fled from her.
Valentina stood across the wilted forest. She stared at Koren for an instant, then turned toward her men.
"Back into formations!" she shouted, raising a javelin overhead. "Wall formations! Now!"
Across the land, with the trees gone, the legionaries were able to quickly form their lines. They created tortoise formations, shells of shields closing them. Centuries now moved together with precision, shields locked into place, spears thrusting out from the enclosure. The Gaelians charged against them, but their weapons couldn't break through the shields, and they fell to the spears and swords. Aelarian chariots now charged from the road, free to maneuver through the clearings, and tore through the barbarian horde. Spinning scythes ripped through the legs of Gaelians. Still the shadows continued to spread like a fungus, withering tree by tree, leaving the Gaelians no places to hide. Their corpses piled up.
The sun was low when the battle ended and the final Gaelians fled.
Hundreds of legionaries had fallen, and their living comrades burned the corpses in great funeral pyres.
The survivors marched on in darkness, leaving the smoldering dead.
"More of those bastards await us in Aelar," Koren said to Valentina. They walked side by side under the moon.
Blood stained Valentina's breastplate and helmet. When she looked at him, he saw grief in her eyes.
"I was able to make peace with the Elanians," she said. "I failed here. Hundreds, maybe thousands died because of my war. All because they don't speak Aelarian." She lowered her head. "They died because of a misunderstanding. They thought I was calling for war when I was calling for peace."
Koren held her hand. "We'll have peace. When this is all over, when the dust settles, when the dead are mourned, when the Empire has fallen, we'll have peace."
Valentina looked at him with damp eyes. "Yet how many more will die before that day?"
He had no answer. Hundreds? Thousands? Millions?
"May these have been the last," he said, knowing those were hollow words, knowing that many more would fall before the end.
They walked on in darkness, heading south along the road to Aelar.
ATALIA
She lay awake in her cell on the eve of battle, unable to sleep.
Her chamber was comfortable enough. Atalia the Desert Lioness had won enough battles in the arena to earn some comforts. She still lived in a small chamber in the Ludus Magnus, the school of gladiators, and a barred door still trapped her at night. But the chamber was no longer bare stone and straw. A mattress topped her bed, stuffed with actual feathers. A jug of strong red wine stood on her table. Leyla, the school's domina, had even offered Atalia a slave to rub her feet, massage her back, and—if Atalia wished it—pleasure her in bed. Atalia lay on the downy mattress, and she had drunk most of the wine, but she had refused that last gift.
I want nobody but my husband by my side, she thought, gazing up at the ceiling.
She had loved men before. There had been a couple of boys in her youth, silly ones back in Gefen, one or two she had kissed on the beach. There had been Daor, her soldier, whom she had loved, whom she had left buried in Gael. But she had never known a love like with Berengar. She had hated him at first, true. Had fought him, sought to kill him. She had seen him as nothing but a beast, burly, brutish, all hair and scars and cruelty. And she had peeled back those layers. She had seen the noble, kind soul within. Now Atalia would have given anything to lie in his arms, to feel so small, so safe in his massive embrace.
