Once those members leave Sylvantia, they don’t come back. They spend the rest of their lives living as one of them, planting themselves into what little society still exists under the rule ofimmortal monsters. Their sacrifices are necessary for Sylvantia’s safety, but I wouldn’t wish that fate on anyone.
“If you slit your throat, you’d just rise again. They don’t call it the Kingdom of the Undying for nothing.”
A shiver runs through Thomas at the thought. “At least I wouldn’t have Marks then. They don’t have to hide themselves any longer.”
I shrug. I’d rather have my Marks, but I don’t argue with him. He recognizes my lack of response for what it is. Exhaustion. “Well, let’s get you a bit of food and that bath. One of the men took down a deer this morning, so you should be well fed.”
Chapter 3
When the lost learns to find, the bones will find new warmth. When the path that was once straight diverges, an old light will breathe again. When death seeks love, the blade that should never have been forged shall find her instead. And the bones shall fade forever. With them, Nyth shall follow.
~Saelira’s Unspoken Prophecies
Fiona
I lay in the steaming water, my daggers, armor, and clothes laying within easy reach, and my body relaxes for the first time since I left Stormhaven six weeks ago. The bath inside the guest house for traveling government officials is a far cry from the luxury of Stormhaven, but it’s still a bath. There’s still a bed rather than a hidden patch of bare ground. I’ll have a hot meal instead of salt beef and stale bread.
I don’t have to worry about whether I’ll be attacked any time I close my eyes. There’s no planning to do. I don’t have to worryabout what comes next. All that’s left is an easy two-week walk through inner Sylvantia. I’ll stay at inns and enjoy hot meals most nights.
I’ll stop at a few strongholds to share what I know about Averna’s news. All information is valuable, and since travel in and out of the Kingdom of the Undying is so limited, it’s important that I share what I’ve learned.
But that’s so much easier than the month I spent in Averna where every moment I could be attacked just because I was human.
I lean back and let the steaming water convince my muscles to give in to the truth. I’m safe. I was successful.
It feels like it’s only been seconds before I hear the shouts. “Mindless! Mindless! Get the children!”
I’m out of the water in an instant. I don’t have time to strap on my armor. The Mindless won’t wait for me to get dressed, and Thomas will want help even if he wouldn’t normally have it.
I throw my tunic on and pull my pants on, not willing to let the villagers see my Marks. The Order’s secrets are more valuable than any life, even my own. I pull my cloak over my head and pick up my daggers before rushing out of the barracks shoeless.
The screams of battle have already started. Thomas stands behind the night guard, ten fully armored men who stand just beyond the first cottage. They don’t hold a shield wall—there aren’t enough of them. Thomas carries two short swords, just like Rhaskar would.
And in front of them, in the field I walked through this afternoon, are thirty men, women, and children wearing bloody rags. Their eyes glow silver, the most obvious sign of a Mindless, a human whohas come back from death too many times and lost their sanity. They crave violence, and all semblance of humanity has left them. They’re closer to wild beasts than humans anymore. Each of them carries a weapon. Some are proper weapons like swords or axes, but others are pieces of wood or kitchen knives.
Their bodies are clothed in the rags they last died in, tattered and torn. Leaves and brambles are caught in their hair while blood from their previous victims has left bits of their skin stained crimson. Cuts and bruises cover their bodies from previous assaults on the living.
Seeing a child among them is hard, but that creature isn’t human any longer. Only by dying outside of Averna will they ever find peace, and I’m confident that is exactly what is about to happen.
As a group, they rush the soldiers. I immediately drink down my Infusion of the Boar and follow it with an Infusion of the Bear. Strength and naturally armored skin are the most important things I need for this fight. It’s going to be absolute chaos, and I wish I had a Cat left.
My skin becomes harder, thicker, and covered in rough fur from the Boar. It won’t protect me from a clean sword cut, but it’ll keep glancing blows from debilitating me. The muscles I’ve built throughout life grow, becoming thicker and harder from the Bear. I can already feel the anger surge inside me, its typically unwanted side-effect.
Thomas doesn’t seem changed at all. He hasn’t taken an Infusion? I race toward the mob of thoughtless creatures about to throw themselves at the soldiers. My Bear-enhanced legs turn mymovement into long bounds rather than a typical run, and Thomas still hasn’t left the safety of the soldiers.
That isn’t how a Priest fights. Why isn’t he using his Marks? Why isn’t he standing in front of the soldiers? He isn’t some sorcerer under Ravess’s control. He’s a damned Priest. I slide my daggers into their sheaths before leaping over the armored men, and when I land, my hands are splayed in front of me. The Mark of the Phoenix over my breast burns bright red as I send a blast of fire into the crowd.
Eight of the thirty are caught in the blast, and the dragonfire turns their flesh to ash in an instant wherever it directly contacts. The rest of their bodies explode in flames, and they let out pained shrieks. Mindless may not have any conscious thought, but pain is an instinct, and they’re still affected by it.
The rest of them don’t stop as they trample the ones on fire to get to the soldiers and the rest of the village, each of them consumed with the possibility of violence.
It takes a moment for me to call upon the Mark of the Spear that crosses just under my collarbone in bright gold. I can only use it once before it fades for days, but if the remaining twenty-two Mindless get to those soldiers, there will be casualties. Thomas obviously won’t be much help.
I focus on the girl in the center. She’s probably only ten years old. Blood cakes her lips and chin, where she’s fed on some innocent human. There is nothing but bloodlust in those silver eyes. I feel the Mark tingling, burning, and finally, the rush of power pours from me. From my chest, a lightning bolt rushes from me to theMindless child. It strikes her squarely in the face, and more, smaller bolts run from her to the others.
The scent of burning flesh is overwhelming. Another twelve Mindless drop to the ground, some of them twitching and others laying still. Charred entry and exit holes show the path the lightning traveled. Still, ten are almost within arm’s reach. Instead of pulling my daggers from their sheaths, I grab the nearest one, a grown man with a gruesome scar across his face, one eye socket empty.
He tries to swing the mace he’s carrying at me, but the Bear lets me catch it. I spin, pulling him from his feet, and like someone hurling a sack of flour, I swing him into the group, knocking half of them down. The soldiers see their chance and rush the ones that have been downed.
