Forest of Demons (25 page)

Aryan turned and walked out of the mess hall. It was only when he reached the small cabin he shared with his Hand that he realized he had completely forgotten about his supper.

He was in a longboat rowing to shore. He blinked in shock, but his arms kept with the rhythm. His heart pounded in his chest in panic. He had slept, but he didn’t recall waking, and he didn’t recall boarding the longboat.

What was wrong with him?

He glanced about to see several other longboats sailing beside his. Behind them in the distance the five Conquest ships could be seen, anchored and waiting for their return. Before them was the new isle, but something was amiss. Where only yesterday it had been balmy and warm, today the air had bite, and the sky was gray.

Could the season have changed so suddenly?

He searched for his Hand, finding the back of Fen’s head and Cadoc’s profile. Bojan must be behind him.

He turned to the warrior to his right. “Brother, what are our orders on landing?”

The warrior beside him swiveled to look at him, and this time Aryan did lose his rhythm, for the warrior eyes were as white as milk, his expression as blank as paper. “Kill,” he said.

Aryan recoiled, and then he was slashing down with his sword, cleaving a man in two. He stumbled back in horror as blood splattered across his furs and stung his hands. There was something on his face, heavy and warm. He reached up and touched smooth leather. A mask?

Around him warriors wearing monstrous masks decimated the town they had entered, a town, a civilized town with buildings and a market. These were not savages. The coast was behind him, the sea in the distance. People screamed. The frost was stained crimson. He had to find Bojan, Fen and Cadoc. Something wasn’t right, something . . .

He opened his eyes on a low moan, a moan that came from within. The woman under him laid very still, her throat a slash of crimson, eyes glassy.

He backpedaled, pulling his shaft from her, turning his head to the side and vomiting the contents of his stomach.

He looked around, frantic. He was in a hut, someone’s home. He looked back at the dark-haired, brown-skinned woman’s body. She was young, younger than Mia. He covered his mouth to stifle the keening sound that was coming from it. A child, she was only a child. How could he have done this? How could he?

The hut door slammed open and a warrior stood framed in the doorway, his face obscured by his mask. He looked from the girl to Aryan. He pointed to something on the ground. Aryan followed the direction to see another mask, his mask, lying there. The warrior waited. Aryan swallowed the bile in his throat, crawling over the dead girl to retrieve his mask. She must have torn it off his face as he was . . . He slipped the mask over his head and turned to face the warrior. The warrior nodded slowly before spinning on his heel and vanishing out the door.

Aryan got shakily to his feet.

This wasn’t him. Something was making him do this. Something had control of him and the others; they were not themselves. He had to do something, wake them up somehow.

Not yet. Not yet. Need time.

What? That voice. He knew that voice.

“Hey, Chief, if you’re not going to eat that then I will,” Cadoc said.

Aryan blinked and looked down at his hands. A bowl, warm and filled with some kind of stew. The sky was dark, lit by the moon and stars and several campfires.

“Where are we?”

Cadoc frowned. “You serious? We’re in the mountains. Headed to our next assignment.”

His mouth felt funny, acidic, and then he remembered. The girl, the dead girl he had . . . .no! He gagged, and Cadoc was at his side immediately, patting him on the back. Aryan retched, and dry heaved.

“You need to eat, Chief. You’ll make yourself sick if you don’t.”

Maybe that was it. Maybe he’d been sick. Maybe he’d had some kind of fever, and everything he had seen, everything he thought he’d done, was a fever dream. Yes, that’s what it was.

Laughter filled his ears and he swatted at them like a hound with an itch.

Cadoc was staring at him strangely. “Maybe I should speak to the commander.”

At the mention of her title, Aryan immediately sobered. No. That was bad—he knew that was bad. “I’m fine, Cadoc.”

Cadoc didn’t look completely convinced. Aryan offered him a tired smile, which served to persuade him somewhat, although he continued to watch Aryan warily.

Aryan raised the bowl to his lips and sipped at the stew. As the thick sauce hit the back of his tongue, his body cried out with hunger. Tilting back his head, he gobbled up the hunks of meat, chewing and swallowing quickly, concerned only with filling his stomach. Once the bowl had been licked clean, he sat back and sighed.

Cadoc chuckled, the wariness gone from his face. “That’s more like it.”

Aryan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The food may have filled the hole in his belly, but the one in his mind still gaped like an open wound. He needed to know what had happened, but he needed to be careful how he worded the inquiry. “So, the landing went well.”

Cadoc’s face smoothed out and then he smiled. “Yes. We took down those primitives, quick and easy. Savages, feasting on flesh and fornicating with their kin. It was disgusting. I have to admit, I was a little worried at first, killing is . . . it’s not something I enjoy, not like some of the other warriors. But The Divine was right—we are working to cleanse this land. The small troop left at the shore will watch over the ships until we return, and in truth, I do not think it will be long before we have taken control of this primitive isle.”

There was conviction in his eyes. Cadoc believed what he was saying, believed every word. Aryan looked about him at the warriors laughing and drinking and eating, all at ease with what they had just done. So what
had
Aryan seen? What was real, the truth of one, or that of many?

He waited for it to happen again. He waited to lose time. As they traveled through the mountains, frozen and filled with sharp edges and steep drops, they were forced to be extra vigilant. This was new terrain, so different from the flat lands they were accustomed to. He noticed the sun change hue in the afternoon, becoming a ball of blood in the sky. It brought with it the coldest temperatures, and if not for their Borean blood, they would have frozen.

He spotted the commander from time to time, her inky hair coiled atop her head and bound by a thick scarf. Her eyes seemed to watch everyone at some point, ever still but always moving.

He felt her eyes on him on more than one occasion but pretended not to notice. He laughed with his warrior brothers, affecting a nonchalant attitude, and waited, for he knew the moment would come, it would happen again. He would lose himself, and it would either confirm his insanity or that of the group’s.

He felt it this time; a tickle at the base of his skull, and then something hit him, taking him down. He rolled back on to his feet, years of training maneuvering his body on instinct. The smell of charred meat hit his nostrils. Screams painted the air with images of distress. He saw a woman, her eyes as blue as twilight. Her expression captivated him, for it was one of menace not fear.

Something growled. He turned to face a beast, raising his sword as it attacked, bringing the steel down to cut through its tough hide again and again. The world exploded in booms. The beast shrieked and died. When he turned to look for the woman, she was gone.

If a race has no history, if it has no worthwhile tradition, it becomes a negligible factor in the thought of the world, and it stands in danger of being exterminated.

Carter G. Woodson

No right can come by conquest, unless there were a right of making that conquest.

Algernon Sidney

There was no sense of time or direction. There was only movement. The crunch of their boots on the frozen earth, the huff of their breath as it plumed from their mouths and curled from their nostrils. The forest grew thicker, darker, and she knew they were entering dangerous territory. But the danger behind them was too fresh for her to care. Her tears had turned to ice, clinging stiffly to her cheeks.

Ravi led the way, navigating the terrain as if he were born to it. Priya did her best to keep up with him.

The red sun would be appearing soon, and the temperature would drop. There was no shelter, and the coat and boots she wore were useless against the elements for any prolonged period. She could no longer feel her toes or the tips of her fingers.

“Ravi! Ravi! We need to find shelter.” She struggled to form the words through numb, rubbery lips.

Ravi reached back to take her hand, pulling her along urgently. His fingers were warm. She squeezed his hand, grateful for the sensation.

“We’re here.” Ravi’s voice seemed shockingly loud in the silence.

Priya looked up to see where “here” was. A small wooden hut sat nestled between the trees. She blinked hard, expecting it to vanish like a mirage in the desert lands, but it remained solid and real, a ramshackle, lopsided thing that seemed to watch her warily with dark, empty eyes.

Ravi urged her forward. The latch would not budge, and Ravi had to hammer at it with his fists until it finally clicked open with a sharp snap. They hurried inside. Priya was glad to see a small hearth where a fire could be built and food cooked.

“Wait here.” Ravi disappeared back outside, closing the door behind him.

Priya examined the hut. It was one simple room containing a chair, a table, a bed with a small chest tucked under it, and a rug. The hearth doubled as a stove, and there was a basket filled with kindling and some matches, and an old, cracked lamp sitting on the floor to the left of the basket. A bucket with a heavy lid stood at the far end of the room, probably to be used as a toilet.

The door opened, letting in a sharp gust of freezing air. Ravi entered as quickly as he could, his arms filled with wood for the fire. He kicked the door closed with his heel, dropping the wood by the hearth.

She watched as he speedily and efficiently lit a fire using the kindling and matches. The hut slowly began to fill with heat.

Priya pulled the lone chair closer to the fire and sat down to warm her hands and feet. Ravi remained kneeling on the floor, his back to her, his hands extended toward the heat.

“You knew this place was here.” It was a disturbing thought. Why would Ravi be this deep in the forest?

Ravi’s shoulders tensed. “Are you hungry?”

Priya quelled a stab of annoyance at his evasiveness. After all, he had helped save her life.

“How did you know about this place, Ravi?” There was a long silence, and Priya began to think that he wouldn’t answer at all this time, but then he sighed and turned so he was facing her.

“I had a life before I came to the village, but it’s not one I wish to recall or talk about.”

Priya stared at him, “Ever?”

His lips twitched. “No, not ever, just . . . not now.”

Priya nodded. She could live with that. Usually the curiosity would burn a hole in her mind, but right now they had more pressing matters to deal with.

“I’m sorry about your parents,” Ravi said.

Priya dropped her chin, squeezing her eyes shut to dispel the images that hovered at the edge of her consciousness. “They’re not going to get away with this. We’re going to stop them. We need to go to the capital.”

“The capital?”

“If we leave this evening and travel by night, then we can be there by dawn.”

“It’s pitch black out there at night. Not to mention all the wild beasts looking for tender flesh. You may be able to call the rakshasas to you with that beautiful singing voice of yours, but these beasts are another matter.”

“Fine. We travel at first light tomorrow. We can get there before the red sun.”

“Then what? We just waltz up to the palace and demand to see the king?”

Priya exhaled, exasperated with his logic. “I don’t know, maybe. We have to try!”

It was Ravi’s turn to sigh. “You’re right, we have to try. Dakha will be next. But if we can get to the capital first, then we may be able to save them.”

“Do you think the invaders will stay in our village for a while?”

Ravi shrugged. “From what Mittel said they would have had to cross the mountains to reach us. They will most likely wish to rest before continuing their invasion.”

She hated that he was right. Inaction meant she would have time to think and remember, and if she allowed herself to do that then she would break.

She couldn’t break.

For all she knew, she and Ravi were the only people to escape the invader’s clutches; she had to warn the capital.

She would allow herself time to grieve once her task was complete.

The fires had burned to cinder. Black smoke plumed in air that stunk of burned human flesh. He helped his warrior brothers carry the chosen females to a white, square building. He helped separate the beautiful ones from the plain; he helped slaughter the rejects.

The children were next, cut down fast and easy. For this he turned away, pretending to be occupied elsewhere. He couldn’t stop the bloodshed of babes, but he would not participate. It sickened him to be so helpless, and yet something deep inside squeezed his vocal cords and paralyzed his tongue, forcing him into silence.

The commander watched over their efforts with a steely spine. Although she didn’t speak, he was certain she uttered commands that only he couldn’t hear. He was now certain that he was the only one awake, and even stronger was the certainty that if she were to discover this fact, then his life would be forfeited.

Watch the others and do as they do. Do not let her see that you have slipped her net.

And so he acted. He killed the villagers, shutting his ears to their pleas. Sorry, so sorry. This was so wrong, so wrong. The Divine had promised evil beasts. Evil beasts he would have happily slaughtered, but these were sentient people, people like him, dark skinned and speaking in a strange tongue, but people still.