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POSSIBLE TRIGGER WARNING: GORE.
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35
THE RECKONING
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Darkness, dust, aching muscles, bruised knees, and the constant cuts and scrapes from the uneven surface beneath him encroached on Ember’s mind, blotting out all other sensations save the rhythmic reach-grab-pull-repeat of his forward movements. He had begun to fear that he would be forced to crawl until he died of exhaustion, and he thought it encouraging (for something was changing) when the air grew noticeably colder and a dampness seeped through the stone. The trinkets beneath him grew slimy to the touch as the treasure mound dwindled.
A muffled tremor shook the walls, and he hesitated as dust and bits of shattered stone fell down around him. If it was not the sirens, then it was surely something else he did not wish to meet.
Faster, Ember.
By the time he had room to shuffle along at an awkward crouch, the tremors had become a steady vibration, and everything around him rattled and bounced.
He staggered, briefly resting his hand against the slick wall, and then set foot on uncovered stone.
A single coin rolled away from the pile, disappearing into the black void of the room beyond. Ember gathered himself, readied his spear, and held out the stone-light. It barely pierced the darkness and he guessed—too late—that it had been dimmed by the siren’s call to the shadow-birds.
Light, he commanded hoarsely, unable to hear the sound of his own voice. Give me light!
But the stone remained inert, and he clenched it angrily, stepping into the darkness. More crumbles pelted the floor before him and he swayed as another tremor shook the ground.
The shadows before him shifted slightly, and he knew he was not alone.
Instinct and reason collided in his mind.
Ember threw the stone.
It whipped toward those phantom shapes; he couldn’t wander in blind, and holding onto the only source of light became more dangerous with each passing second. The glow bounced silently off a rocky wall and landed in a puddle with a visible splash, sending out ripples of amber light…
The siren crouched above it, his cowl torn asunder. Fishbiter lay abandoned at his feet, gleaming in the shallow water. His lips peeled back in a snarl, baring two massive fangs, one of which had been broken off at the tip.
Ky balanced precariously on an outcropping of sheer rock far above. Fresh claw marks mangled the surface below her, and one hand was lifted, mouth open in a scream. Dark liquid dripped from her fingertips and spattered the side of her face. Her jerkin had been torn at the collarbone, revealing a gaping wound across her chest.
The siren’s head turned slowly to acknowledge the glowing stone at his feet, some of the vibrations ceasing as his jaw snapped shut. Then his single eye fixed on Ember.
Ember glowered, the spear shaking in his hand.
A smirk curled the siren’s mouth, but as he began to speak, Ember unleashed the most gut-wrenching yell he could muster—it didn’t mattered that his voice possessed not even the faintest hint of magic, only that it caused enough disturbance to fracture his spell.
Ky’s head jerked up and her eyes widened.
The siren’s face contorted and a growl thrummed through the floor, but Ember did not give him a chance to refocus his efforts; he ran, spear lifted, shouting wild oaths.
Undaunted, it snatched up the grimy sword with a bloodthirsty grin, flinging water from the blade, and met him halfway in three quick bounds. Fishbiter sliced the air between them, bearing down on Ember with such speed and force as could cleave a man’s skull in two. No time to think, dodge, or strike.
The blade flashed, blue light rippling across the hammered metal.
It never touched him.
The monster unleashed a soundless howl as Fishbiter rebounded, wrenching his fingers apart and whirling backwards with shocking velocity. Several of those bony fingers remained bent at odd angles.
They faced each other, equally stunned—and Ember ran him through.
It happened too quickly to comprehend more than a brief tug and sickening give as the spear pierced the siren’s muscular body. He plunged it as deep as it would go, until a full hands-width of the pole was buried in pale flesh. While the creature stood gasping with the spear between its ribs, Ember let go and leaped away, sprinting for the sword, arms flailing, head pounding.
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The silence was harrowing.
Don’t look back, don’t look back.
When less than three strides remained between himself and the fallen weapon, Ember dove across rough stone, reaching, fingers grazing the hilt. He skinned his knuckles—grasped it—and scrambled to his feet.
His adversary had only just turned to face him, jaw slack, a trickle of black blood oozing from the corner of its mouth. Then it let out a gaping, wordless screech, and Ember reeled sideways as the stone shook underfoot. Powdery rock fell like rain, but Fishbiter grew warm in his hand and he clung to it, courage swelling in his chest.
He had done it—bested it—slain it!
But his elation subsided as the hideous creature remained upright, lean muscles rippling with strength and rage. The dead eye flickered with the last vestiges of a long-forgotten spell, and froth flew as it shook its head, slavering and gnashing its teeth.
Ember raised Fishbiter yet again, becoming more attuned to the weight and balance of it even as his courage faltered. It no longer felt so heavy in his hands…
The siren advanced like a wingless bird of prey, hulking, stilted, one hand curled around the spear where it entered his torso. He snarled and snapped it off as if it were merely a twig, barely stumbling.
Blood trailed after him, staining the cracked stone.
The worst of his slow advance was that Ember had time. Time to think, to feel. He tightened his grip on the sword and it shimmered gleefully, humming in his hands. His empty stomach and recent exertion made his head light and limbs shaky.
Don’t faint, he thought desperately.
He circled his otherworldly opponent, consciously slowing his breath to calm his racing heart.
The mangled siren curled its tongue in a hiss, and as Ember’s perspective shifted he noticed Ky out the corner of his eye, still hugging the wall. Her lips moved slowly, each word dredged up from someplace deep within, and her eyes were scarcely open.
That fleeting glimpse lent him a grim strength, and when he was close enough, Ember took a wild chance with Fishbiter. Its flashing blade bit through the monster’s chest and nicked his wrist, leaving dark trickle of blood behind.
The siren retreated, spewing a stream of unheard curses.
Before Ember could take advantage of the opening, it lunged again, shifting their skirmish to the edge of the stone’s glow. He stumbled away, careful not to stray too far from the circle of light—for in the darkness he was as good as dead.
Again he swung.
Again, the siren retreated and advanced.
Slowed by the spear, it moved at the speed of a tired but relentless human, giving Ember a chance to think on his feet and combat its attacks, but never enough of a pause to dart past its bony claws and land the killing stroke.
It would not stop…
Would not die…
It came, and came, and came.
And no matter how he hacked and slashed, no matter how many hits he scored, it kept coming.
Die! Terror and loathing screamed in his mind, twisting toward hysteria. Just die! I’ve killed you! I’ve killed you!
But he hadn’t, and it didn’t.
The moment Ember felt his back scuff up against the rocky wall was the moment he knew their fight was finished. He had delayed too long, put off risking the fatal blow in favor of defending himself, and now he was cornered.
Wet, irregular stone bruised his shoulders as he swung again and again, Fishbiter glittering joyously each time he struck blood. But with every miss, the battered siren edged closer, muttering and grumbling and snatching with its claws. He dealt it a grievous wound in the arm, further crippling it, but it hardly seemed to notice. Its entire body was an ancient weapon, its tongue a powerful and deadly poison.
Ember had one weapon only, which he hardly knew how to use; barehanded, he would have no chance at all.
The siren’s dead eye flared brighter as its speech grew more exaggerated. It was regenerating its wounded body, he realized—if not fully healing itself, then certainly using its strange chant to dull the pain somehow.
He could never win against such tactics, for his own body was growing clumsy, his muscles weary, and his sense of balance fading. Fishbiter began to feel heavy again, and at last something gave with a shocking crack in his right shoulder. He cried out in anguish and frustration, crumpling over and jerkily dragging at Fishbiter’s hilt.
The swordpoint skimmed across stone.
The cowled siren opened its mouth in a roar of triumph and snatched Ember’s arm, single eye burning with a sickly green light—
FLASH.
Ember yelped, nearly dropping the sword as the nightmarish vision drowned in a blaze of golden light. He buried his face in the crook of his elbow, blinded. When his eyes began to adjust he squinted into the glow.
The unmistakable figure of a woman crouched in the middle of the twisting hall, holding something out in one hand. For a moment he thought he saw a tangle of blonde hair and a flashing blue gaze, and so dazzled was he by the brilliance that for a moment he believed the lady of the oracles had returned to him—and then clawed fingers clamped around the luminous object, and he recognized Ky’s shadow.
She covered her eyes, head turned away.
Stone-light.
It blazed in her palm, bright as the midday sun.
The flash, which stymied Ember, had done something far worse to the monstrous siren…
It stumbled away, palms pressed to its eye and empty socket, shrieking. A rift cracked open the stone floor beneath its feet, tiny fissures branching up the nearest wall, and Ember’s bloody ears stabbed him anew as the air shivered.
When it ran out of breath, it yanked its hands away from its face, hissing and spluttering, eye flickering wildly here and there—blinded by the light.
Gathering up what remained of his strength, Ember hefted the sword one final time and lunged, driving Fishbiter above the broken spear-haft where he thought the creature’s heart should be.