Fire forged, p.19
Fire Forged, page 19
Gaiana simply trembled.
“Kneel.” Shasta kept her eyes locked on Gaiana, willing her to do this with dignity.
“Please.” Gaiana’s voice was just barely loud enough to reach Shasta’s ears.
A single tear escaped Shasta’s eye, leaving a cold trail as it rolled down her cheek. “I’m sorry.” Before she could waver, she let go of the siren’s arm and kicked the back of her leg.
Gaiana fell to her knees.
Shasta stepped in front of her, her sword heavy in her hands. Tonight she was justice. Justice couldn’t see the terror in Gaiana’s eyes. Justice couldn’t care that she was surrounded by Gaiana’s loved ones. All justice saw was the dead wereshark, the dead fishermen, and the lives that would be forever changed by their loss.
She tightened her grip on her sword and inhaled. “Gaiana of Sirenum, you have participated in the murders of multiple shifters and humans. You have plotted against your own kind and unborn young. You are sentenced to death.”
Before she could think, before she could feel, before Gaiana could react, Shasta slashed the sword through the air and across Gaiana’s neck. It went through her flesh with hardly any resistance, sending a fine spray of blood across Shasta.
Gaiana’s hands started to reach for her neck, but the slice had been clean and deep. She fell to the ground and her eyes fluttered closed. Blood continued to spurt from her throat, bubbling as her body struggled to breathe. A harsh gurgle filled the silence. After an eternity, time returned to normal and Gaiana was still.
The cooling blood on Shasta’s skin felt like the tears she couldn’t afford to shed. She looked at the sirens with what she hoped were hard, unforgiving eyes. She wanted them to look at her, bloody and with one of their own dead at her feet, and decide to carry out their own justice. She wanted them to police themselves so she didn’t have to be this again. “Find the rest of the rot or I will.”
She forced herself to stand tall, but she let her eyes focus on the night sky, sparing herself the myriad of emotions the sirens would have. She spared herself Cord’s judgment and what would undoubtedly be a new fracture in their relationship. She couldn’t stop herself from remembering Gaiana’s last plea and the fear in her eyes.
She hoped the memory would fade soon, but she had doubts. Unlike her previous kills, this hadn’t been in battle. It had been an execution, pure and simple. Even though it had been justified and well-reasoned, she felt like it would stain her soul.
Raised voices pulled her back to the present. She blinked the world into focus. Cord was by her side, sword in hand, shoulders tight, and a grim set to his mouth. The sirens had broken off into groups, arguing fiercely between themselves.
“It was deserved.” Agatha’s voice rose above the crowd. “Had we been doing our jobs properly, it might not have needed to happen. Now we must find her coconspirators and bring them to justice.”
“How is killing them justice?” a siren shouted.
Shasta pivoted until she spotted Agatha, Sappho at her side, surrounded by a group of around thirty sirens.
Agatha fixed the offender with a look that clearly said how little intelligence that siren possessed. “If a wereshark or fisherman killed one of us, what type of justice would you demand? We can offer no less in return.”
The island shuddered under them, making Shasta sway and bump shoulders with Cord. The protesters quieted as they struggled to stay on their feet. A rumble reached Shasta’s ears, and a moment later it was echoed by the ground under her feet, vibrating all the way up her skeleton. Lava, a yellow so pale it was almost white with heat, sputtered out of the side of the volcano. On the downhill side, the cooling lava darkened as it pooled together and formed a stream.
Shasta stayed crouched next to Cord, eyes locked on the red and orange flow working its way down the volcano. With everything in her, she wanted to pray to the earth, ask it to help her, but this earth felt nothing for her.
Ligia struggled to her feet, rising above the still-disoriented sirens. “This is your fault,” she hissed at Agatha. “We should’ve stuck to the old ways. We were once sirens, feared by everyone who sailed past our homes. We were powerful and respected. Here we are shadows. We play at being human. Sirenum demanded sacrifice. I made sure it got it. Now that you’ve stopped that practice, it’s angry.”
Shasta kept as still as possible, afraid that the wrong move could escalate the situation. She and Cord were strangers here, the very type of strangers that Ligia wished were still under thrall to the sirens.
Ligia pivoted sharply, skirt rippling in the air. “They are the problem.” A single taloned finger pointed at Shasta and Cord. “We must sacrifice them to restore the balance.” She leaped into the air, talons outstretched, aiming for Cord and Shasta.
Shasta fought through her shock, trying to get her sword up to a useful position. Before she could finish the move, Cord smashed his shoulder into her. She tumbled to the side, Cord slightly behind her. His hand closed over hers, forcing it to turn and dismiss her sword. Then he shoved her away from him, and they both hit the sand.
Air whooshed out of Shasta’s lungs. Beside her Cord let out a pained gasp. Shasta frantically sucked in air as she rolled to her hands and knees. Ligia landed only steps away. Other sirens were struggling to their feet, but they would never get to Ligia in time.
“Mannaz!”
Nothing happened.
Shasta racked her brain for another option. Air harden, protect us from harm. Shasta directed the plea and a twist of her magic and elven powers to the breeze.
Ligia thrust off the ground, claws extended, face twisted in sorrow. The air hardened. She hit it with a meaty thud and tumbled down.
Shasta struggled to her feet. Cord was still on the ground, taking in shallow breaths. Shasta summoned her sword and stepped between Cord and Ligia.
The barrier the wind had so kindly agreed to provide dissolved into nothing more substantial than motes of air. Shasta sent silent thanks to the element as she walked forward.
Ligia struggled into a kneeling position.
The cold, detached mantle of justice settled across Shasta once again. “Ligia of Sirenum, you are found guilty of murder. You are guilty of plotting against your own.” Before the siren could get to her feet, Shasta kicked her square in the chest.
Ligia sprawled across the sand. She lifted her head enough to look Shasta in the eye. “You will never find all of us.”
Shasta lifted her sword. “I will not leave until the rot is gone.” Her shoulders bunched as she brought the sword down.
Something crashed into her, pushing her away from Ligia. Her sword popped out of her hand, and she lost track of it as she tumbled through the air. She landed heavily, gasping for air, pain radiating from her shoulder. There was a heaviness on top of her. She forced her eyes open. Zosime was straddling her, clawed hand drawn back in preparation to strike.
Before Shasta could react, someone lifted Zosime off her and tossed the siren to the ground. Cord stood there, sword in one hand. Behind him, Ligia was leaping through the air.
“No,” Shasta croaked. Her hand curled as if to summon her sword, but it was already nearby, just not in her hand. Her eyes swept across the ground. There. It was only a few feet away. She gathered pure magic and twisted it into a levitation spell. The sword lifted up and rotated. It hung in the air, directly in Ligia’s path.
The siren shrieked as the sword pierced her chest. The sound forced tears from Shasta’s eyes. Ligia landed heavily, screaming again as her body convulsed around the steel.
Shasta pushed herself to her feet. One leg was tender from the impact, a little less steady than it normally would be. Her left shoulder ached and her arm was slow to move, but the injuries weren’t as bad as they could’ve been.
Zosime had stopped fighting and was now staring at Ligia. Cord kept his eyes moving, risking a glance at Ligia from time to time, but otherwise sweeping across the gathered sirens. He caught Shasta’s eye just long enough to nod. She bobbed her head in return. Whatever injuries he had, he was still up to the job.
Shasta walked around the sirens still on the ground, stopping with her back to Cord’s. The sirens she could see seemed frozen—with shock or surprise, she wasn’t sure. “It doesn’t have to be like this. I am not your enemy. Cord is not your enemy. Your actions have made you the enemy of your fellow sirens and of the elemental who created this island. This is not a fight you will win. If I am not the one who brings you to justice, it will be your fellow sirens, the elemental on this island, or the ocean itself. You will not escape. Your only choices are to suffer or to die with dignity.”
Wishing there was some way other than this to prove her point, Shasta took a deep, steadying breath. She walked toward Ligia, who was still whimpering, hands curled around the blade where it met her skin. Shasta set a foot against the siren’s hip, leaned down, and jerked the sword out of her.
Ligia’s scream filled the air, locking out any other sounds, twisting Shasta’s emotions, making her want to protect the siren. She shook her head, trying to clear away the siren’s last desperate attempt at enthralling her.
She gained enough of herself to stumble back, but another voice joined Ligia. It was half scream, half song. Between one heartbeat and the next, an unearthly voice drowned out Ligia’s screams. For Shasta, there was nothing but the song. It rose and fell, and with it she found herself turning around, her sword in the guard position.
Her eyes seemed oddly unwilling to focus on her opponent, but she could see the sword clearly enough. It was a heavier blade than her own, with a few more inches of reach. Something about it was familiar, and for a moment her eyes focused on pointed elven ears, much like her own.
The song shifted again, and the ears were lost in the haze that was everything other than the sword. Her opponent moved, the sword blurring as it swung into motion.
Her body reacted while her mind embraced the sounds flowing through her. Her opponent’s sword slid along her own as she parried. Then she was moving again, swinging around for an attack. She hardly felt the impact as it was blocked. The voice sounded like lightning, blinding her to everything else.
The fight, which should have been over quickly with the clouding of her mind impairing her ability to react, flowed into a rhythm her muscles knew. Block. Parry. Twist to the side. Lunge and quickly retreat.
Frustration began creeping into the voice. This wasn’t how it wanted the fight to go. Something else was supposed to be happening, something she didn’t understand. Shasta’s feet moved. Rather than parrying a thrust, she dodged it. The rhythm was off. Her body protested, but her feet kept moving. She twisted her torso, avoiding another blow. As she stumbled back, a single thought cut through the song. She was out of step. This wasn’t the exercise anymore.
The voice filled up that space, drowning out whatever else would have followed. At the song’s direction, Shasta stumbled back. The next note held a sense of anticipation, satisfaction.
She forced her sword up, but she couldn’t find her opponent’s blade. She twisted around, searching for it, but it wasn’t there. She took a step back. It had to be here somewhere. She had to keep fighting.
Shasta tried to move again, but her left leg didn’t want to work. As she turned to look down, pain cut through everything, including the song. Her vision cleared just enough for her to see five claws dug into her. Another wave of pain washed over her. Her legs buckled, and she went down with a defiant scream.
As she fell, a lock of raven hair and a familiar sneer came into focus just long enough for Shasta to recognize Ligia. There was still a hole in the siren’s torso, but rather than being curled in pain, there was a gleam in her eye as she tightened her fingers on Shasta’s calf.
Shasta screamed as the claws went deeper into her flesh. Just enough of her mind was left to recognize the sword slicing down toward her. Shasta forced her arms to move, getting her sword up just in time to block. The force of the blow vibrated through her arms, making her left shoulder throb.
Her enemy retreated, taking the sword with them. Shasta focused all her attention on Ligia as the song swelled, threatening to overwhelm her again. “I will not die to the likes of you.”
“My hand or your love’s,” Ligia wheezed. “Either will do.”
Suddenly the claws were gone from her leg. Shasta felt herself fold over, screaming. As wave after wave of pain washed over her, she forced her eyes open. Ligia was leaning over her, one clawed hand headed for her neck.
Her sword gone and weak from pain, Shasta reached out a tired arm. The back of her hand landed against the bare skin of Ligia’s shoulder. She forced her magic into Ligia’s body, dragging it through tissue until it touched her heart. She formed the power the same way she would if she was going to heal. Stop. Die.
Ligia’s heart stuttered, contracting once and then again before it stilled. It didn’t kill her, not right away. Ligia contorted, her hand falling limply against Shasta’s throat, leaving nothing more than three angry scratches.
Shasta pulled her power back into herself, directing it down to her leg. Stop the bleeding, close the wounds, reknit the flesh. She clenched her teeth against stabs of pain as weeks of healing happened in moments.
When she could suck in a breath again, she shoved Ligia off her. Shasta forced herself to her knees. The song was still there, drifting through the back of her mind. Most of the world was still a haze, but she could see her sword.
Wincing, she leaned over and snatched it off the ground. A hand clutched her pants. Shasta turned back to Ligia, only to see her gasping once more for air.
“My death will not stop this.”
Shasta hefted the sword up over her shoulder. “Maybe not, but the world is better off if you’re dead.” When she brought the sword down, it went through Ligia’s neck and into the sand. Blood gushed out of the wound. Unlike Gaiana’s death, this time Shasta felt nothing but gratitude that it was Ligia and not her bleeding out.
The song rose to a piercing pitch, slicing through every thought, obliterating them. Somehow Shasta found herself on her feet, her sword in high guard, watching blurry surroundings as that oh-so-familiar sword slowly moved toward her.
Her leg ached and couldn’t support her full weight. The parts of her that had been sluggish and sore before now protested fiercely. She tightened her grip on her sword. She wasn’t going to die on this island.
“Shasta? Can you hear me?” The words warred with the song.
She shook her head, trying to clear it so that she could think.
“Shasta? It’s Cord. I do not want to fight you.”
The voice was achingly familiar. It was one she should know, but she couldn’t place it.
“Shasta! Shasta, I love you. I won’t fight you unless you make me.”
Everything snapped back into focus. Cord was standing only feet from her, blood running down a shallow cut across his chest. Behind him groups of sirens battled, with multiple songs warring for dominance.
She lowered her sword until it rested on her shoulder. “Cord? Was I fighting you?”
He nodded. “We were fighting each other. Something in the song messed with my mind, yours too. I knew it wasn’t right, but I couldn’t stop myself. It was controlling my mind and body. When you screamed, it lost its hold.”
“Oh.” Shasta couldn’t help but see Ligia’s headless body. “Was it just her?”
“No.” Cord shook his head. “There was at least one more. I injured her, but she and a few other members of the fundamentalist movement are still alive.”
Shasta took a moment to gather herself. Her leg hurt, but it would be some time until the wounds fully healed. She had pulled something in her left shoulder, but other than being bruised from head to toe, she was in reasonably good shape. The same couldn’t be said for her heart. The song had affected both her and Cord.
She pushed the thought away and squared her shoulders. The earth and ocean had given her jobs, and hers wasn’t done. She moved her sword down to a relaxed low guard. “Take me to the other siren.”
Without a word, Cord nodded and headed off. It wasn’t very far away, but each step made her leg ache. It especially disliked climbing up the side of the sand dune. Finally, Cord stopped next to Zosime. There were deep slashes across the back of both her legs. The siren couldn’t walk.
Shasta looked at her sadly. “Why?”
“Because”— Zosime panted— “we were once fierce and feared. Now we are nothing more than fishermen and farmers.”
“I’ve known both fishermen and farmers who were fierce,” Cord mused. “I’ve known them to fight with vigor a warrior couldn’t match. Your people would be lucky to live up to their examples.”
“We were once thought of as the closest thing on earth to a goddess. It shames me to have fallen so far.” Zosime closed her eyes and tilted her head back. “End it.”
“Do you not feel regret?” Shasta limped in line with the siren’s neck and lifted her sword high.
Zosime opened her eyes, anger glittering in their depths. “Only that I’ve been bested when I was meant for so much more.”
“Shasta, let me.” Cord’s voice was tightly controlled.
She lifted her gaze to her partner. His lips were pressed firmly together, and his shoulders were rigid. Without saying a word, she shuffled back. His parents were both farmers. Wonderful elves, but they very much enjoyed their, according to Zosime, lesser life.
There was no hesitation in Cord as he lifted his sword and sliced clean through Zosime’s neck. This time Shasta felt nothing but relief that she hadn’t had to deliver the final blow.
She pivoted and looked down at the skirmishes. The songs were abating, with Sappho and Melissa the only ones still singing. Agatha was clawing fiercely at a siren Shasta only vaguely recognized.
Cord came up on her left and offered her his arm. “I don’t think our work is done yet.”
In the distance the sky was lightening with the very first hint of false dawn. The ocean sent gentle waves against the island, whose ground was still silent under her feet. But if the sirens were right, an elemental had stirred. “No, I don’t suppose it is.”
