Child of a Dead God Read online

  “Now we wait,” he said.

  Leesil stumbled closer. “How long? For what?”

  Sgäile only shook his head.

  They stood there so long that Chap wanted to collapse from the heat. But he feared he might not rise again. Then he heard a soft scraping.

  Like metal upon stone, it carried faintly across the half-cavern plateau. Chap looked out beyond Leesil, searching. The plateau’s edge was a dark silhouette against the gorge’s burning light.

  A tiny part of that dark jagged line bulged and moved.

  Leesil desperately wanted out of this place, and even more so when he glanced at Magiere.

  Eyes half-closed, she gasped for air, and she hardly perspired at all— which was a bad sign. And Chap appeared about to drop with all four legs quaking.

  Leesil was furious with himself for ever agreeing to let Sgäile bring them here. Whatever Brot’an and his mother wanted didn’t matter anymore. He took a step toward Magiere.

  In the stillness, a faint scrape carried along the walls, like a blade scratching stone. Chap lifted his head to stare, and Leesil swung about, hands fumbling for his winged blades.

  His gaze lighted first upon Sgäile, who held no weapons but straightened with an effort and looked off toward the glowing fissure’s right end.

  “Sgäile?” Leesil said.

  “Keep . . . your weapons . . . sheathed,” Sgäile managed to say.

  Magiere stumbled in next to Leesil, hand on her falchion’s hilt.

  A bulge grew at the precipice’s edge, taking form in movement.

  At first it was no more than a rippling smudge backlit by red-orange air. Small and blacker than the stone, it crawled up onto the plateau from out of the red depths. Leesil barely made out a pair of thin, spindly arms as it crept forward, dragging something behind.

  Its size was difficult to gauge, but by the way the little black shadow hunkered, Leesil guessed it wouldn’t be much taller than Chap, if it stood up. And then twin horizontal slits opened in its blotch of a head.

  Two eyes, like white-hot coals in the dark, fixed on Leesil.

  It crawled a little farther, dragging the bulk of a sack half its size. The charcoal-colored woolly baggage shimmered as if laced with fibers of black metal or glass. Thin smoke rose from the bundle to dissipate in the gorge’s heat-rippled air.

  “What is—?” Magiere began.

  “Chein’âs,” Sgäile cut in. “The Burning Ones.”

  But there was only one, and the little thing fumbled with its sack. It paused, turning searing eyes upslope, and a small maw opened beneath them.

  A grinding shriek erupted across the stone plateau.

  Leesil cringed as the sound pierced his ears. His skull and bones seemed to vibrate sharply in his flesh.

  “Go!” Sgäile ordered, hands pressed over his ears. “Whatever it has . . . is for you, Léshil.”

  Chap rumbled and took a few shaky steps forward, and Magiere clutched at Leesil’s arm.

  “It’s all right,” he whispered, peeling off her fingers.

  Magiere trembled but didn’t try to grab him again.

  Leesil crept down the plateau, closing on the black little thing with lantern eyes. As he drew nearer, its form became clearer.

  No larger than a naked child of six or seven years, it squatted there with its scrawny arms and legs folded. The whole of its body was covered in ebony-toned leathery skin. Thin digits sprouting from splayed hands ended in short obsidian claws. Its oversized head was featureless except for the slit mouth, the vertical cuts of small nostrils, and its glowing eyes. Instead of ears, it bore two small depressions on the sides of its skull.

  Leesil was still well beyond reach when it began to shiver.

  It cringed away from him, clutching itself like a deformed and naked child caught in a frigid winter wind. The closer Leesil tried to get, the more the little thing quivered—as if he were the source of cold. Leesil stopped and crouched, waiting.

  With a shudder, it uttered a soft hiss like water thrown on a griddle. Both of its clawed hands reached into the charcoal-colored bag, and Leesil caught a glint of metal inside turning red in the fissure’s light. The little one chucked two long pieces of curved metal across the plateau floor.

  Leesil quickly scooted back as they clanged across the stone before him. Focusing sharply as the objects settled, he stared in shock.

  Twin winged blades lay in the dark before him, so much like the ones he carried strapped to his thighs. A matched set, mirrored opposites but alike in make.

  His own blades had been assembled by a master weaponer in Bela, made from sketches he’d drawn himself. But these were not steel. Even in the dark and the chasm’s unnatural light, they shimmered too cleanly. They glinted like silver mirrors—like the sheer perfect doors to this cavern—like the stilettos of the Anmaglâhk.

  Their wings would stretch down the outside of his forearms, but unlike his, these turned slightly outward at the back end, slender and graceful. The spades extending in front of their grips were thin and fiercely pointed, perhaps slightly longer than his own.

  The oval grips hadn’t yet been wrapped in leather.

  Partway down each wing, half-circles sprouted sideways. Round in shape rather than flat and sharp, they might brace around his forearm and steady the weapons in his grips.

  Leesil raised his eyes to the shuddering little creature. His mother had never seen his weapons closely, especially not while in use. The only other who had—who knew that Leesil would come here—was Brot’an.

  Leesil’s anger began to eat at his insides.

  “Take them!” Sgäile hissed from upslope.

  Leesil glanced over his shoulder at Sgäile’s shocked and lost expression. It was plain the man had expected something else—perhaps stilettos like his own. Then Leesil saw Magiere watching him as she knelt beside Chap.

  He had to get her out of here.

  He snatched up both blades with one hand, nearly dropping them from the heat in their metal, and then tucked them under his arm as he stumbled upslope. He grabbed Magiere’s arm.

  Sgäile held out both hands toward the small being down the plateau. He began speaking softly in Elvish, his words filled with strange reverence.

  Chap was already limping toward the stairway as Leesil hauled Magiere up. Sgäile backed slowly and turned to follow.

  Another metallic screech tore at Leesil’s ears.

  Chap went deaf for an instant.

  He wheeled about, nearly toppling beside Sgäile, and looked down the plateau. The small creature’s sound still rang in his head, and he could not help barking at it to stop.

  “What now?” Leesil shouted.

  Sgäile just stared toward the fissure’s edge in silence.

  The black visitor seemed somehow familiar to Chap, but heat made his mind hazy. Perhaps the memory of this small being was something else the Fay had taken from him at his birth—or was it something he had seen since walking this mortal world? He could recall nothing regarding these “burning” beings—these Chein’âs.

  The creature hunched again over its bag, becoming a lumped silhouette, and then its forelimb lashed up and out.

  A metallic object flickered with red light as it tumbled from the creature’s pointed digits. It fell to clatter and clang across stone. Before Chap could try to make out what it was, the creature’s hand shot out again.

  This time the sound was thicker—heavy and dull—and the second object did not glint like the first.

  “What now?” Leesil repeated, releasing Magiere to head downslope.

  Sgäile shook his head, his expression anxious, even wary. “I do not understand.”

  The creature threw its head back, eyes closing as its maw opened. Another shriek echoed off the half-cavern walls and through Chap’s bones. His ears still rang as the creature raised a clawed hand, hissing like fire consuming water.

  It reached out and gouged downward, seeming to claw the air toward itself. The gesture was aimed
at Chap’s charges.

  Leesil had tried to return, but the dark little one responded in denial. Its call was not for him.

  Chap looked fearfully at Magiere. What did it want with her?

  Sgäile had only been ordered to bring Leesil. Whatever Brot’an’s scheme, he could not have known Magiere would bully her way into this side journey. What had the black visitor thrown out upon the plateau?

  The creature clutched the air again, its gesture aimed at Magiere.

  Magiere felt chilled inside, though the air was hot in her lungs. The clash of sensations left her dizzy and weak.

  Sgäile stumbled a few steps downslope, shaking his head. But when he looked back at her, his sweat-glistened face twisted in a grimace.

  Magiere had seen that look before, the first time Sgäile had watched her crawl under a blanket next to Leesil, and the day he’d looked into her eyes when she’d lost all self-control in Nein’a’s clearing.

  The small, dark being from the fissure’s depths called to her . . . waited for her.

  This turn of events sickened Sgäile as much as it stunned him. Suddenly, he waved her on.

  “Go . . . now!” he snapped.

  “I’ll take you,” Leesil whispered to her.

  “No!” Sgäile commanded and swallowed dryly. “She must go on her own.”

  Chap pushed in against Magiere’s legs. She settled a hand on his back and felt him quivering. As he advanced, she followed his lead. Sgäile took two unstable steps, but as always, he balked at interfering with a majay-hì.

  Magiere burrowed her fingers in the scruff of Chap’s neck. As he led her onward, she fixed upon a shimmer of red light on the plateau’s stone. In one final step, her boot toe planted before it. She collapsed to her knees and felt along the stone.

  When her fingers touched the bright spot, she snatched them back from its uncomfortable heat. Then she saw the object more clearly through her blurry sight.

  The dagger was as long as her forearm, its base above the guard wider than a clenched fist. The tang sprouting below the guard, where a hilt would be affixed, was bare of wood or wrapped leather. That piece of narrow metal ran straight to the round pommel. The blade was two-thirds the length of a shortsword—a war blade. From its fine tapering edges to its point, its pure finished metal gleamed silver-white and perfect . . . like the doors Sgäile had opened in the upper cavern . . . like his stiletto.

  Chap hacked and swallowed, and Magiere looked up, her eyes itching as they dried in the heat. The dog padded slowly to the second object, and lowered his muzzle. Magiere crawled forward on her hands and knees.

  Beside Chap lay a circlet of ruddy golden metal, too red for brass and too dark for gold. Thick and heavy looking, the circumference was larger than a helmet, and it had strange markings upon it that Magiere couldn’t see clearly. About a fourth of its circle appeared to be missing, and Magiere willed her sight to clear.

  The circlet wasn’t broken. That gap was part of its making. Small knobs protruded inward from its open ends, pointing straight across the break from one to the other.

  Magiere wobbled on all fours and tried to lift her head.

  The black leathery being watched her, and then suddenly raised a clawed hand to the side of its earless head. Long fingers traced down its skull, as if combing through hair it didn’t have. The gesture pulled a memory into Magiere’s thoughts.

  One winged, frail female—a silf—not much larger than this thing, had appeared at her trial before the council of the an’Cróan. And that feathered being had run delicate taloned fingers through Magiere’s hair.

  A crackling hiss leaked from the black creature’s lipless mouth, and its phosphorescent eyes rolled closed. It threw back its head, covering its flat face with both hands. The hands slipped downward, exposing its mouth gaping in a face stretched by anguish.

  A mournful bellow rose from its convulsing chest, like a horn blown rough and weak.

  The sound vibrated in the stone beneath Magiere’s hands and knees, making her nauseated. As her arms buckled, the last thing she saw was its gaping mouth.

  In place of teeth were opposing dark ridges, the shade of dull iron.

  Somewhere, she’d seen such before, and the familiarity made her shrivel inside.

  Chap watched the tiny visitor lift its face upward, away from Magiere, and bellow in grief.

  This creature recognized Magiere, or knew of her.

  Why else would it have brought her tokens—a weapon and a broken hoop of mysterious metal? Neither Brot’an nor Nein’a could have known Magiere would come here. These gifts had come directly from the Chein’âs.

  But the sight of Magiere seemed to wound this one from within, and then she collapsed.

  “Magiere!” Leesil called out.

  Before Chap could scramble to her side, the visitor wailed again. As the echo faded and Chap shook off the pain in his head, it dashed toward the plateau’s edge.

  Chap froze as it leaped out over the massive fissure.

  The small being did not plummet; it appeared to float upon the air. Red light engulfed the spindly black form as it swirled upon the rising heat, like an insect in a desert whirlwind. It began to tumble downward.

  Chap lunged to the plateau’s edge before it vanished, reaching for any memories he might catch.

  Fire erupted in his mind.

  It burned through Chap until he felt only stinging pain, and the cavern vanished before his eyes in a flash of searing white.

  Leesil scrambled toward Magiere as Chap’s piercing yelp struck his ears.

  The dog fell twitching upon the stone. Chap’s prone form shuddered and writhed as if he were trying to thrash free of something.

  Leesil closed on Magiere and grabbed the back of her hauberk, but when he reached out for Chap, the dog lay too far off. He flipped Magiere over, put his ear close to her mouth, and heard her low breaths. She was alive, but Chap’s piercing whimpers continued. Leesil went for the dog, and a hand snatched his shoulder, jerking him back.

  “I will get him,” Sgäile shouted. “Gather Magiere’s gifts and take her out!”

  “What’s wrong with Chap?” Magiere whispered.

  Leesil swung around to find her eyes barely open.

  He didn’t mind that Sgäile told him what to do. He wasn’t even interested in the strange objects lying beside Magiere. All that mattered was getting her and Chap out of this place, before he collapsed from the heat as well.

  “I don’t know,” he answered, and snatched up the earthy golden loop and the hiltless blade. “Sgäile will bring him.”

  Leesil hooked the loop over one shoulder, holding the dagger along with his new blades under the same arm. He hoisted Magiere, slipping her arm around his neck, and wrapped his free hand around her waist. Neither of them looked back as they hobbled toward the passage and the stone steps.

  Sgäile dropped beside Chap’s whimpering form, and his knees ground harshly on the stone. He grabbed hold of the dog, whispering over and over, “Ancestors, protect him . . . I beg you!”

  Chap squirmed wildly, and he was heavier than anticipated. Twice Sgäile shifted his grip until he finally gathered the dog in his arms. The intense heat had no power against the pain of Sgäile’s guilt.

  He had brought outsiders before the Chein’âs. He had brought a pale-skinned predator to this place, and watched as she was “gifted” along with Léshil. And now Chap—who was touched with the ancient Spirit—had fallen in agony. And Sgäile could not fathom any of this.

  All because he could not refuse Brot’ân’duivé.

  Each day brought more confusion and cast him into impossible circumstances, until he could do little more than cling blindly to his faith. But he could not bear it if this ancient spirit died in his arms.

  “Please, be still,” Sgäile whispered in Chap’s ear, heaving the dog up and running for the passage.

  Chap’s bones became coals searing his flesh from within. All around, fire and glowing hot stone half-blinded h
im. Agony in his heart and mind rose from this stolen memory of the small black visitor from the chasm.

  He saw others of its kind who crawled and scampered among mounds of smoking stone surrounding a molten river. Some swam within the orange fluid, small blackened creatures in a wide sluggish stream almost too bright to look upon.

  Lost in the memory, Chap saw his own dark and leathery hands. Spindly fingers ended in glossy black claws that caressed the hot ledge on which he crouched.

  Please, be still.

  The words came like a whisper from somewhere inside of Chap, and his pain began to dwindle, until he felt only the pleasant heat under his black hands and feet.

  Then fear rose at the creatures’ metallic wails.

  Small ebony bodies raced and leaped about the chasm like rodents scattering along an alley to hide. The fissure’s charred and smoking walls undulated faintly, becoming roiling black. Soft points of light emerged and flowed across them. Chap lost focus as something new caught his eyes.

  It—he—floated in the heat-rippled air above the molten river. The air churned in whirling white-gray about the figure drifting forward.

  The surface of his long, hooded robe swirled like oil, and the molten river’s red light shimmered on the faint symbols scripted upon its folds. The upper half of the face within the hood was covered by a mask of aged leather that ended above a withered mouth and emaciated chin.

  The mask had no eye slits, but the decrepit figure twitched its head about, watching the small black ones flee in terror.

  Chap’s own memory overlaid the stolen one, and he tasted flesh and blood in his teeth.

  Ubâd, mad necromancer and engineer of Magiere’s birth, floated in an airy vessel made from his enslaved spirits. Pieces of that wispy gray-white globe peeled away in ribbons that dove and harried the fleeing figures. And one struck true.

  A small black body screeched in torment as one of Ubâd’s spirits passed through its gaunt chest. Ubâd descended and snatched it by the neck.