Ashe cursed under her breath but followed anyway because it’s not like she had any choice. Her path led straight to that temple. What was in there, she didn’t know, but the Seal in her makeshift belt was a beacon being pulled in that direction.
There was no direct route into the canyon, but Ruane seemed to have found a way down regardless. A series of step-like outcroppings of sandstone no bigger than half of Ashe’s foot. It wouldn’t be an easy route, especially with her injured knee, but they had no other choice as there were gobs of soldiers ringing the entirety of the canyon opposite. All of Gargantua it seemed. Her father had really gotten into the Fallen’s head.
Ashe leaned over the lip and whistled. “This isn’t going to be fun.”
“Don’t be such a Scurred Hatch.”
“A what?”
“Just be careful, you little whelping. I don’t want your father angry that you’ve been bruised more than an apple kicked miles down the road.”
“After you.” Ashe waved her hand over the nearly vertical route to the bottom.
Step after careful, agonizing step, they descended. Well, careful and agonizing for Ashe because the drakken made the descent look awfully easy. The drakken probably could have gone down, up, and down again at least five times before Ashe would make the bottom once. Her knee gave out the last few feet and she slid down, rocks crumbling underneath.
Ruane hissed at her while crouched behind a boulder. “Quiet, humir.”
“Sorry?”
“Let’s move.”
“Yes, boss.”
“If Emre Benld survives this, I’m going to kill him just for making me promise to watch you all the way to Kalderim. I’m of a mind to let the Fallen have you.”
Ashe crossed her arms. “I’ll do just fine without you.” The drakken mumbled something in draconem-speak as she slithered from the protection of the boulder, heading toward the temple. “Crybaby.”
The odd pairing of humir and drakken skulked about the rear of the temple grounds. Thick columns ran in rows from end to end, all supporting statues. Ashe wondered if this temple was in honor of Mother Marrow. Either way, the temple became the ‘Temple’ in her mind. A little honor toward the Pentax might do her some good at a time like this.
As they neared the Temple, soldiers of the Imperium appeared amongst the artwork. All faced inward, and there were far too many for it to be anything but an enclosing circle meant to capture or contain, clearly for her father. The mist quirked again with the crackle of aether, a voice almost lingering about the fog. Could it be the Fallen?
They were nearing the Temple’s twenty-foot-tall porch when two figures emerged from within. A short woman and a burly man began to descend the stair. She recognized the aetheurgist Solanine on sight, she’d never forget those all-onyx eyes and heart-shaped face. But the bigger man took her a second longer to realize who he was. Zenith’s cock, he didn’t…
The aethuergist’s voice carried over the spanning distance, “Bring me the girl alive. The Fallen awaits her while he deals with her father. And don’t forget the Seal of Terris.”
A gaggle of Imperium soldiers nearby turned toward the aetheurgist’s words, then saw Ashe and Ruane. Weapons came upright, swords and rifles. Forward they came.
“Brynn?”
Ashe’s lips convexed into a frown as she bolted toward the row of soldiers and summoned the mist around her, a slit opening in the world of Life as she hacked something globby. It felt of Death. Of murder and revulsion. A stink of the Pit itself.
The gateway came, mist glowing like a billion fireflies coming to life all at once. The non-stone walls of the canyon in the Meadows shimmered, translucent. The wails of the dead along with, their ghastly shrieks deafening. How she summoned the Meadows without memorizing the path or having an anchor, she didn’t know. It just came alive with her need.
But in the Meadows, the mortals of the real world were frozen in place as time stopped. Blades in midair. Stirred sand hung pendulous.
A tug on the mist, the world of the dead strumming. She coughed hard. Blood coated her mouth. Pulmo tore apart her innards. Then she was dumped back into the world of Life as if she was no longer welcome on the other side of the living, time speeding back up.
A dozen Imperium soldiers rushed toward her with swords raised, prepared for close combat. Ruane leapt into the swathe of soldiers, stabbing with longknife, cracking her powerful tail like a club, snapping at humir flesh with her jaws.
“No!” Ashe screaked, throwing her voice toward the oncoming soldiers with a laced blast of aether. Her scream sent most toppling, tossing the drakken from her feet unintentionally. Ashe sought to control the aether within her veins, begging for it to stop. Her left arm coruscated with burning runes, the bangle and the diamond alight.
The drakken scrambled back to her feet, glaring at her from across the grounds before returning to the fight. Scores of others resumed their hunt in her direction. Solanine and Evander still stood motionless upon the Temple’s stair. What were they waiting for? And where was Lu Har? And her father?
Ashe was drained from her aetheurgy. Tired from the crash. Zenith’s cock, she was tired. And, truth told, she needed a drink.
Despite it all, Ashe drew the dagger she confiscated from Quick Fingers Cyrus’ dead fingers, and the mist around her feet darkened within anticipation. The front-most soldier brought his blade down in an arc toward her with the intent to maim and she slid to one knee, expecting where his momentum would take him, and brought her own steel upward into the man’s stomach, cutting as she passed. She met the next man with a downward slice. Both fell to the ground in agony.
She wobbled back to her feet, having had forgotten about her wounded knee. It still held, but she’d wrenched it in her stupid attempt to appear dangerous.
Two more soldiers—clearly not the most advanced lot of murderers—came at her from the side and she glided between them, cutting with her dagger at their legs. The men’s swords clattered to the ground as they clutched at their wounds. Meat for the carrion birds.
Facing the others, Ashe slowly backed away, stepping over the fallen men. She bent down with a grimace and grabbed the nearest wounded bastard by the drake scaled gorget. Smiling, Ashe cut the man’s throat as the mist awakened in glee around her. She felt the man’s essence cross the veil. Pleasure and yearning soared. Building her body in strength she wouldn’t have otherwise possessed. Her own soul swelling with the quietus.
The other soldiers fell back.
A warning in the back of her mind sprung to life. This isn’t right, it repeated over and over. Killing to kill was not her.
The ground trembled as a massive explosion blew through the black mist, but that’s not what drew her attention, no, it was the after tremors. So many of them, as if something tunneled underfoot.
Could it be?
Her gaze sought out Solanine. On the Temple’s stair stood the aetheurgist and Ashe’s former thievery companion. Them, the urging was for. Solanine’s face turned upward toward Evander, words spoken, then the aetheurgist was gone, the big man as well. Disappeared into the void.
She screamed as she ran to where they had stood, a deathly wail. Taking to the stair of the Temple, Ashe scanned the porch, searching for them. Ashe skidded to a stop between the soaring columns, her dagger dripping blood as she lowered it. In the single beat of her heart, the mist parted, and a hand reached for her throat, grabbing it with aetheurgy-enhanced strength borne of the Pit.
“Hail, Snow Eyes.”
