Journey Into Nyx Page 8

  “Treachery!” she yelled and rushed onto the combat ground. But she was too late. The Rageblood lifted the king into the air with one hand. With his other hand, he drove his blade into the king’s stomach. It pierced Anax’s body completely, and the sword tip emerged through his back. The minotaur dropped the king, who tumbled to the ground in a heap. Infused with Mogis’s boon, the minotaur swung his blade down at the motionless king. The power of the blow would cleave the man in two.

  But Elspeth managed to lunge forward and redirect the killing strike with the point of her spear-blade. Her unexpected presence caught the Rageblood by surprise and he stumbled away from her. She positioned herself between the minotaur and the injured king. The minotaur paused for an instant while he evaluated his diminutive female opponent. His red eyes assessed her blade, and then he charged her before she could cast any battle spells. With his bulk barreling at her, she immediately understood the merit of Anax’s strategy. Outweighed by several hundred pounds, Elspeth would be barreled over if she tried to meet any frontal attack. Like her king, she sidestepped around the attack at the last second. But her target wasn’t the extremities—it was his eyes. She spun to the left and jabbed her spear-blade while still in motion. The tip punctured the Rageblood’s right eye and mutilated the flesh. The minotaur howled in surprise.

  Elspeth spun left again and positioned herself directly behind her opponent. She aimed her spear-blade for the flesh just below his rib cage. With terrifying speed, the minotaur whirled around and swung his blade level at her neck to decapitate her. Her spear-blade was traveling in the wrong direction to parry. The best she could do was bring the spear-blade perpendicular to the ground and pray to Heliod for the strength to block the Rageblood’s powerful strike.

  The edge of his bloody sword slammed against the glowing orbs of her spear-blade. When the two weapons clashed, white energy spiraled from Elspeth’s weapon. The shock wave from the impact threw both the opponents backward beyond the boundaries of the temenos. At the sight of the fallen Rageblood, the minotaurs flung open the gate of their fortification and surged out onto the flatland. In response, the Meletian general shouted for his own army to charge ahead and meet their enemies in battle. In Nyx, Mogis felt the first volleys of war, and he roared with pleasure.

  “Anthousa!” Elspeth screamed.

  The Setessans were already at the gate. In one coordinated motion, they rushed forward and closed the gate, crushing several minotaurs between the boards. The king’s guards joined them as they struggled to hold the gate closed. The planks shook with the fury of the trapped minotaurs. A searing bolt of lightning streaked across the sky and blasted into the gorge.

  Mogis launched his divine sarissa into the heart of the storm, but Keranos was like a mist and could not be damaged. Mogis’s weapon merely passed through him. The God of Storms funneled his power into the gorge. There was a wailing, explosive sound, and the river rose up into the sky. But Keranos wasn’t content to just raise the river. Under his power, it transformed into an elemental creature, slender like a serpent but with the head of a dragon. Its core was Nyxborn but its essence was the raging child of Keranos and Cymede. The elemental creature whipped through the heart of the minotaurs’ fortification. It scalded the skin from their bones even as it flung them into the watery abyss. Cymede stood at the top of the gorge and watched as the corpses were consumed by the flames and searing mists below.

  Seeing the destruction of his kin with his one eye, the Rageblood gaped as the river elemental made a second strike against the minotaurs. It swept the flatland clear of any trace of the fortification. As it passed, the Rageblood flung himself into the steaming deluge and was swept away. Elspeth knew that such a creature would rather die than be defeated and captured by humans.

  When the storm had passed, Akros’s walls were pristine and sparkling. The sky above the city was so clear that not even the oracles could see what had become of Mogis in Nyx.

  As the final crest of water fell back into the gorge, Cymede came to rest on the opposite side. She fell to her knees as the river elemental vanished into the bubbling water. Daxos shouted joyfully, but Cymede stayed motionless with a defeated posture. Above Cymede, the storm clouds were blowing away. With his god-sight, Daxos glimpsed the face of Keranos in the clouds. His eyes were fixed on the queen. He had longed for her, and now she had offered herself to him. He was ready to claim the oracle that he had so long desired. Daxos saw the look of sorrowful recognition on the queen’s face.

  Helpless, Daxos watched as Cymede transformed into a pillar of fire and crimson light that trailed upward to Nyx, then dispersed into nothing but the wind.

  The red sunset bled across the horizon as the victory celebration began. In front of the gates of Akros, the minotaurs’ fortifications had been washed away, and in their place there was a sea of colorful tents that housed the soldiers from Meletis and Setessa. The venerable walls of the city were draped with Akroan banners that rippled majestically in the wind. An enormous bonfire burned just outside of King’s Gate. Near the fire there was a makeshift platform where musicians were tuning their instruments. The king’s personal chefs from the fortress were hard at work on a feast for the revelers. Even though he was gravely wounded, Anax expected the celebration to continue without him.

  Weary from her battle with the Rageblood, Elspeth didn’t want to join the revelers. She was with Nikka and Anthousa inside their blue canvas tent near the edge of the encampment. It was a sturdy two-room arrangement with wooden doors and oak furniture that had been brought from inside the Kolophon. To Elspeth it felt as if she were staying in a well-furnished house, not a makeshift dwelling.

  “The battle is over,” Nikka snapped. “You can set your weapon down.”

  Nikka pried Elspeth’s blade from her stiff fingers and set it aside on a wooden table. Elspeth winced as Anthousa helped her unstrap her armor and lift it over her head.

  “Your injuries are not so bad,” Anthousa said as she inspected the bruises and cuts on Elspeth’s back.

  Nikka looked for herself. “Yeah, if you don’t mind bones poking through your shoulder.”

  Elspeth craned her neck around as if she could see her own back. She winced in pain.

  “Sit still,” Anthousa said, giving Nikka an annoyed look. “The Rageblood never took your back. Where are these from?”

  “One of the minotaurs who escaped the fortification,” Elspeth said. “I was watching Keranos and not my back.”

  Anthousa made a disapproving sound. “I can fix it,” she said.

  Elspeth was accustomed to healing magic that was quiet and passive. Anthousa’s spell made her feel as though she was being shaken, the muscles stretched and tied in knots, and the bones jammed back together. And at the end, it felt as though Anthousa punched her to close the wound.

  “All better,” Anthousa said.

  “Uh, thank you,” Elspeth said. She still ached, but she could handle that level of pain. She reached for her armor plate, and Nikka smacked her hand.

  “Good gods, woman, leave the metal for once,” she said. She tossed Elspeth a bundle of soft material. Inside was an Akroan-style dress with a long white skirt and crimson along the edges.

  Elspeth stepped behind the changing screen. The canvas door of the tent opened, and she peered around the edge. Daxos balanced two platters of food, which he carried into the back room where there were couches arranged in a circle around a blazing brazier. Elspeth hurriedly finished dressing. The clothes seemed ridiculously tight to Elspeth and she had nothing to tie her hair back. But she was starving and wasn’t about to put back on her filthy clothes from the battle.

  “They’re celebrating even with Anax injured?” Elspeth asked as she entered the pleasant warmth of the back room. Her friends had begun preparing souvlaki. Meat and vegetables on skewers sizzled over the brazier. Everyone in the room stopped and stared at Elspeth when she appeared.

  “What?” Elspeth asked defensively.

  Anthousa shrugged
and turned back to the food. “You look different with your hair down,” she said.

  Embarrassed, Elspeth plopped down beside Nikka on one of the couches. She fiddled with one of the silver metal skewers, which had a tiny winged horse on the end of it. Meletians put the symbol of Heliod on everything, even their cooking utensils. Daxos handed her a platter of food.

  “Where did you put my armor?” Elspeth asked Nikka.

  “Okay, first, I’m not your squire,” Nikka snapped. “Second, it’s on the table by your stupid spear. Third, if you put it back on, I will kill you myself.”

  There was a stunned silence, and then the three adults burst out laughing. Even Elspeth, who had been thinking about doing precisely that.

  “And since I’m not your squire, make your own souvlaki,” Nikka said with a faint smile.

  “It looks pretty self-evident,” Elspeth said. “I think I can handle it.”

  They ate and chatted, carefully avoiding talk of the battle. But as the music grew louder outside, Nikka became gloomier. She glared at the walls of the tent as if blaming them for not keeping the noise out. Daxos had whispered Cymede’s fate to Elspeth and Anthousa, but they had kept the news from Nikka. Even Elspeth agreed that more bad news right away might put her in a dangerous state of mind.

  “This is stupid,” Nikka said, dropping her half-cooked food beside the platter. “Why are we celebrating?”

  “Anax ordered his people to celebrate,” Daxos said.

  “Celebrate his gutting?” Nikka snarled. “Celebrate the deaths of all the wandering soldiers?”

  “Honor the gods for your success with a revel, or else they might not give you victory in the future,” Daxos said. “Celebrate the living and honor the dead.”

  Elspeth recognized the phrase from her studies in Meletis. It was a teaching of Heliod’s, and apparently Iroas’s as well. Elspeth knew Daxos meant well, but it sounded trite in the face of Nikka’s turmoil.

  “Will the king live?” Anthousa asked.

  “I healed him as much as I could, and then his own people took over,” Elspeth said. “I think he’ll survive.”

  “People died!” Nikka practically shouted. “My father’s estate was burned to the ground.”

  “Where is your father?” Anthousa asked.

  “Meeting with advisors,” Nikka said. “He’s too busy for me tonight.”

  “He said he’d come for you first thing tomorrow,” Elspeth assured her. “You don’t have to go to the celebration. Just stay in here with us.”

  Nikka glared first at Elspeth and then at Daxos. “Yeah, right,” she said. “Like I want to stay here.”

  There was an awkward silence, and then Anthousa changed the subject. “What is the state of the gods?” she asked.

  “From what I can feel, the Silence isn’t over,” Daxos said. “Mogis broke it, as did Keranos. But I still can’t hear the other gods. I hear something strange, but it isn’t the gods.”

  “What does it sound like?” Elspeth asked.

  “There’s a noise like the crackle and rush of fire,” Daxos said. “Maybe it’s an echo from Keranos’s power. I’m not sure. I’ve never heard anything like it.”

  There was a loud crash outside, and everyone jumped. Uproarious laughter could be heard coming from the area near the bonfire.

  “Something is wrong,” Nikka blurted. “Everything just feels wrong. Can you feel it in the air? I can’t hear that sound, Daxos. But the air feels like needles against my skin.”

  Elspeth laid her hand on Nikka’s arm. “What do you mean?”

  But Nikka was having none of her sympathy. She shook off Elspeth’s arm and stalked into the entry room.

  “Where are you going?” Elspeth called to Nikka. She looked at Daxos and Anthousa. “Should we follow her?”

  “I’m going for a walk!” Nikka screamed back.

  Anthousa shook her head. “Let her be. In Setessa we would put a difficult adolescent to work or send her on a very arduous errand in the forest. Maybe you should consider that tomorrow.”

  “Is it safe?” Elspeth asked Anthousa.

  “I’ll take something to protect me,” shouted Nikka, who had been eavesdropping from the other room. “Leave me alone!”

  “There’s not an enemy for miles,” Anthousa said.

  “She’s all right,” Daxos whispered. “I think her father’s inattention hurt her most of all.”

  There was a thud as Nikka fumbled with something heavy. She tried valiantly to slam the canvas door of the tent. And then she was gone.

  “It’s the sense of letdown after a battle,” Anthousa said. “Young people have a harder time with the pendulum of emotions.”

  “She’ll probably stroll by the dancers and end up having fun,” Daxos said.

  “Speaking of dancing,” Anthousa said. She was suddenly in a hurry to leave. “I have a deep fondness for Akroan pipes and lyres. If you’ll excuse me …”

  As soon as Anthousa left, Daxos came and sat beside Elspeth. They’d barely had any time to talk since he’d returned from the gorge with the sad news of Cymede. She leaned against him, and he put his arm around her shoulders.

  “Did I tell you I’m glad you’re alive?” he said.

  “I was going to say the same thing to you,” she replied.

  “Do you want to go out there?” he asked. “Dance to the pipes?”

  “Not really,” she said. “I can hear the music fine from here.”

  “Do you want to talk?” he asked. His hand rested lightly on the back of her neck. She turned to him, and he grinned at her. It was an anything-is-okay-with-me grin. She took a deep breath and smiled back. Suddenly, it was like everything in the world made sense.

  “I don’t want to talk,” Elspeth said. “Not even a little bit.”

  She was the one who reached for him.

  Outside the noise of the revel grew louder and louder. It sounded oddly systematic, almost as if it had a heartbeat of its own. The ebb and flow of raucous laughter sounded contrived, but Elspeth couldn’t pinpoint how, or why. Through a cacophony of wails and twisted laughter, her surroundings came into gradual focus. Daxos was beside her, asleep. They lay tangled together on the couch. The hour seemed late. It had been early evening when Nikka had stormed out of the tent, but now it felt like the darkest hour before dawn.

  She wondered if she should sit up, but she didn’t have the will to do so. She tried to shake Daxos, but her touch was like a kitten’s whiskers against his arm. The air was tinged with spellcasting. Someone had affected her and Daxos with powerful magic. Had Nikka done another sleep spell like that disastrous day on the caravan? The girl had been upset and angry, but why would she do something like this? Besides, a sleep spell wouldn’t control the music or the escalating thud of dancers’ feet. It was more powerful than Nikka, and whatever it was, it sounded frantic and unhinged. Beside her, Daxos stirred and mumbled something. Elspeth tried to inch closer to hear him.

  “Will you stay with me?” he whispered. His lips barely moved.

  She wanted to answer. She wanted to say: Forever. I’ll stay with you forever. But something was wrong. Elspeth felt as though she’d drunk a flask of wine, but she’d had nothing but water. Her face was pressed into the pillow, and it felt too heavy to lift. It was as if a second, invisible skin immobilized her in an ethereal cocoon. She heard the canvas door open, and someone entered the tent. The inability to move, or even to sit up and look around, made her panic. She wanted to flail, to thrash, to rip open the walls and flee into the night. But all she could manage was breathing. And those breaths were short, sharp, and desperate.

  Outside a woman screamed. It was an unearthly cry of pain. There was a growling sound, as if a beast prowled around the perimeter of the tent. Frantic shouts rang out in the distance, but sounds of music and dancing continued. The revelers must be oblivious to the threat of violence lurking on the edges of the shifting firelight.

  A shadow fell over Elspeth and Daxos.

  Elspeth m
oved then, not of her own will but as if invisible strings were attached to her shoulders. Under someone else’s control, she found herself sitting on the edge of the couch with Daxos still sprawled motionless behind her. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap with her chin lowered in enforced deference. Two people had entered the room, but she could see only their lower legs. One of them was a man, but the other had the hooves and crooked legs of a satyr. Whatever was controlling her forced her to raise her chin. And Elspeth saw the face of King Stranger, the prisoner that she’d talked to inside the Kolophon of Akros. Behind him was a man in a dark hooded cloak with gold trim. His face was obscured by shadows.

  “Elspeth,” the satyr said. “It’s time you know my real name …”

  “Xenagos,” she replied as he placed the information in her addled brain. The effect of his spell intensified, and her senses became hyperaware. The blue of the canvas walls stung her eyes, the wails from outside pierced her ears, and the smell of burning flesh made her nauseous. Xenagos forced her to look into his yellow eyes, and the slits of his pupils widened and expanded under her forced scrutiny. She could see the fingerprints in the red paint smeared on his chest. She could hear his raspy breath. She could sense the shard of metal lodged near his rapidly beating heart. It was an arrowhead. He, too, had been someone’s prey.

  Xenagos grabbed Elspeth’s wrist and yanked her nearly off the couch while she desperately tried to dispel his magic over her. Muddled by fear and disorientation, she couldn’t shake it. Her own spells kept slipping away from her mind, as unattainable as leaves swirling in a storm.

  “Where is Purphoros’s Sword?” Xenagos demanded. His minions were trashing everything as they looked for the blade. Her eyes flicked toward the wooden table where she had left it. From her vantage point on the couch, she could only see a corner of the table. But if her blade had been there, it would be clearly visible to everyone in the room.