World's End (32 page)

Wham!

The door exploded off its hinges and slammed to the ground. Without a moment of hesitation, Nathalia tossed the keys to Kiril and then slid a long sword across the floor for Kiril to use. Quickly, but with great precision, Kiril unlocked the shackles around his wrists and then around his ankles. Meanwhile, Nathalia ran to the door to attack the zwodszay.

The first two zwodszay to enter the room were relatively scrawny creatures with faces that were grotesquely deformed by strange, knobby growths that lined their foreheads. They lunged at Nathalia, but she parried them expertly and counterattacked. Seconds later, a massive zwodszay burst in through the door and charged Josephus. Josephus cowered helplessly and readied himself to die. Yet, just in the nick of time, Kiril leapt in front of the zwodszay and sank his sword deep into its chest. Kiril then dashed over to the door and took a position next to Nathalia. Together they cut down the zwodszay as they entered the room.

Nathalia was a very skilled fighter, perhaps better with a sword than anyone in the entire army of Somnos, yet when standing next to Kiril she seemed positively sluggish. Kiril's movements were so dazzlingly fast that, by comparison, Nathalia seemed old and sickly. Nonetheless, the two of them worked quite well together. They fought valiantly, using every last bit of their strength, and after several minutes of heated battle the few remaining zwodszay retreated, scurrying away from the glider station and into the darkness of the fault.

"My goodness, you've done it!" said Josephus exuberantly. He was still in the corner, but he had managed to struggle to his feet.

"Don't celebrate just yet," said Nathalia as she clutched her stomach. "I'm sure they'll regroup and come back eventually."

"What's the matter?" asked Josephus. "Have you been hurt? My dear, dear niece ... what has happened to you?"

"I'm fine," said Nathalia softly.

"Let me have a look..." began Kiril.

"Stay away!" ordered Nathalia. "I'll not have you near me. Just because we fought together doesn't mean I trust you."

"You may not trust me, my dear colonel," said Kiril, "but I'm afraid you need me."

"I suppose we won't be putting Kiril back in his shackles," said Josephus softly, almost to himself.

"That's correct," replied Kiril coldly. "That would clearly be against your best interest—and mine. Besides, you are no longer in a position to say what I must or mustn't do. Of course, if the good colonel wishes to challenge me, then so be it, but something tells me that she is smart enough to know the limits of her powers."

Nathalia glowered, but made no reply.

"As I thought," said Kiril. "Well, let's have a bit of rest and a bit of food perhaps, and then be on our way."

"Where are we going?" asked Josephus.

"That no longer concerns you," replied Kiril, with the briefest of smiles.

Within a short while, Kiril had built a crackling fire in the room's stone hearth. For firewood, Kiril used the remains of an old table and chairs that had fallen apart and lay in many broken pieces in the corner. The wood was extremely dry and it lit easily. Once the fire had burned down a bit, Kiril used the coals to warm up a few slabs of salted beef. Josephus took out their remaining provisions—which included a flask of wine, a loaf of dried bread, a bit of cheese, and some potatoes—and spread them out on his sleeping mat. Nathalia, who appeared both exhausted and haggard, lay nearby and stared blankly at the ceiling.

"Would you care for some food?" asked Kiril in a friendly, almost lighthearted manner.

"A bit of meat would be nice," said Josephus as he took some of the salted beef.

"I hope you enjoy your meal," said Nathalia weakly. She clutched her stomach and winced before continuing. "It's bound to be your last," she gasped. "I can't imagine that Kiril intends to drag an old man and a wounded Dormian officer out of these tunnels with him."

"That would be a bit cumbersome, wouldn't it?" replied Kiril.

"Indeed," said Josephus grimly, as he began to chew on his salted beef. "Tell me, if I am not to live to see it, what is to be done with the remaining items on the list? The khopesh, the hooded robe, the four pounds of Uralian nightshade, and the herbs—arrowroot, goldenseal, and Dormian milk thistle. What plans do you have for them? They will be used to enter Jasber?"

"You are a most curious fellow," replied Kiril with a cluck of his tongue. "And the fact that your insatiable curiosity has led you to your demise seems to have no effect on you whatsoever."

"Everything on that list has a very specific purpose. I realize that," said Josephus. As he said this, Josephus eyed a large leather rucksack containing all the items on the list. The rucksack sat on the floor in a far corner of the room. Through much of the journey Josephus had carried the sack but, alas, the tables had turned and now it was in Kiril's control. "What frightens me," continued Josephus, "is that there are so many remaining items on the list which we have not used. You don't seriously plan to destroy Jasber, do you? After all, it is your birthplace!"

"My plans have been thought out much further than yours," said Kiril with a smile. "That's all that matters."

***

Perhaps the single most important lesson that Kiril had learned in his six hundred years of life was that survival depended entirely on carefully planning for the future. Nartam had said this innumerable times. "If we are to live forever, then we must think centuries and even millennia into the future," Nartam had told him, soon after his army had sacked the city of Noctos. At the time, Nartam was leading a march back to the city of Dargora with his plunder. Kiril, still a boy, rode on Nartam's horse with him. They were at the head of a massive procession that included hundreds of carts filled with gold, slaves, and, most important, purple ash from the Founding Tree of Noctos, which had been burned to the ground. This plunder would lead to centuries of Dragoonya ascendancy.

"The ash that we have recovered from Noctos will last us four hundred years," explained Nartam matter-of-factly. "Perhaps it will last five hundred years if we are careful. But we mustn't be complacent. We need another source of ash. The time will go by more quickly than you think. It always does."

"What will we do, Däros?" asked the young Kiril.

"We need a source of ash that will not run out," replied Nartam. "There was such a source once, many centuries ago. It came from a magnificent tree. A shadow tree. If we had it again, Europe and Asia would be ours. Think of the destiny we could forge for ourselves!" His white eyes shone and his entire body tensed.

"The source is gone?" asked Kiril.

"For now," replied Nartam cryptically. "But someday we will grow it again."

In the centuries since then, Kiril, son of Jasberian nobility and orphan of Noctos, became Nartam's most trusted son. For the Dragoonya, one's rank depended entirely on Nartam's favor. In general, Nartam preferred former Dormians above all others. They made up a small portion of Dragoonya society—the top 1 percent. Nartam called these people his family and they alone were given the purple ash. His "family" comprised his old comrades from Dragoo, the orphans from Noctos, and child refugees who were captured and converted after the sacking of other Dormian cities. Within this group, everyone vied for Nartam's trust and affection. This was especially true, in more recent centuries, as the supply of purple ash began to dwindle and attempts to procure more ash failed. By the late 1800s, Nartam's supply was dangerously low and he began to panic. "We don't have enough for everyone," Nartam told Kiril. "It's time to start reducing the size of the family."

It was Kiril's job to tell those members of the family that they were officially cut off—that they would no longer be receiving any ash—and that their immortality was over. The time had finally come for them to die. A few took this news passively. They skulked off into the darkness, grew sick, and died. Others became enraged, even violent. Kiril killed them. This was his job. And no one was his equal with a sword.

That was well over a hundred years ago. Now the ash was completely gone, and there were few of the elite Dragoonya left. There was no margin for error. Kiril could make no more missteps. He had failed to follow Leif to Jasber. He had tracked Alfonso all the way to Somnos, but failed to destroy the city. There was only one hope to fulfill, at last, Nartam's fondest dream. It all came down to the shadow tree. Everything now depended on what Kiril did in the next few days. His plan was difficult, but it was working so far. Most importantly, he had to make sure he did not receive a serious cut, the kind that would really make him bleed.

***

"Kiril, I want to know something," said Nathalia through gritted teeth. She was sitting near him and appeared to be in considerable pain. "I am good with a sword, but you are the best I have ever seen. Then who..."

"You want to know who cut my face," said Kiril.

Nathalia nodded.

"Before they die, many of those who fall under my sword ask the same question," replied Kiril with a slight smile and a shake of his head. "I will tell you only this: I am going to visit the man responsible."

"To kill him?" asked Nathalia.

"Nathalia is such a beautiful name," said Kiril quietly, almost to himself. He ignored the question. "The name is very worthy of you."

Kiril looked at Nathalia tenderly for a moment, reached out, and ran his finger across her cheek. Nathalia shivered. Kiril stood up. "In a time of war," continued Kiril, "there is, unfortunately, no room for empathy or affection. The only pleasure I give myself is vengeance. It is—"

Kiril stopped midsentence. "Where is Josephus?"

Josephus had been lying on the dirt floor of the room, but at that moment, he was nowhere to be seen.

Kiril's eyes flashed with anger. "You drew my attention away so Josephus could skulk away! And where is my leather rucksack? Josephus!"

Kiril rushed out the door and cursed his mistake in not keeping an eye on the historian. On the ledge, the glider that they had been using was parked at the edge of the runway. It was in perfect shape—the zwodszay had left it alone. But where was Josephus? He couldn't have gone far; after all, he was nearly dead from the stress of the journey. Kiril strained his eyes into the darkness. The only light was the ever present red glow radiating up from the depth of the fault.

Kiril heard Josephus before he saw him. The old historian was on the runway and staggering toward the edge. He dragged the large leather rucksack behind him. Kiril broke into a run and sprinted toward him.

"What do you think you're doing?" gasped Kiril, when he finally caught up with Josephus at the edge of the runway.

Josephus stood four or five feet from the edge of the fault with the leather rucksack dangling from his arm. Inside the bag were all the remaining items from the list. Kiril eyed the bag greedily.

"Keep your distance," Josephus warned in a trembling voice. Clearly, he was at the end of his strength, and it took all his effort to stay conscious and inch forward. "You know I can't let you have this rucksack."

"I am disappointed in you," said Kiril calmly. "I thought you and I had an understanding."

Josephus didn't reply immediately; instead he inched closer to the edge of the fault. He was now just two or three feet from the precipice.

"Give me that bag!" Kiril demanded.

"Never!" hissed Josephus.

As he said this, Josephus turned toward the edge of the fault. Yet, before he could take a single step, a sudden blow knocked his legs out from under him. Josephus found himself on his back, staring up at Kiril. Kiril reached down, grabbed the leather rucksack from Josephus's hands with commanding force, and then opened the sack to inspect its contents.

"Where is the vial of dagárgala and the lid to the rosewood box?" demanded Kiril.

"I-I threw them over the cliff," stammered Josephus.

"LIAR!" bellowed Kiril as he grabbed Josephus by the throat. "Hand them over or I snap your neck!"

Josephus's face turned red, then blue, then purple. He slumped to the ground. Kiril reached into Josephus's coat and found the rosewood lid, with the glass vial securely tied to it.

"No," gasped Josephus.

"Goodbye old man," said Kiril.

The last thing that Josephus saw was Kiril's fist coming down and smashing him in the face.

Much later, Josephus awoke with a thundering headache. He rolled onto his back and managed after much effort to lift his head. There were no signs of Kiril, but he saw something else just above the cloud layer. It was a glider,
their
glider! And though Josephus could not see who was in it, he knew perfectly well that Kiril was the pilot.

He had left them.

Josephus was now alone with his wounded niece and a mob of hungry zwodszay who were lurking in the darkness. He turned back to the lonely hut.

"N-Nathalia!" he yelled, his voice cracking with sorrow. "NATHALIA!"

L
EIF
P
ERPLEXON'S TAN AND LANKY BODY
cut through the cool waters of Lake Witekkon, trailing millions of bubbles. After gliding for several feet, he expertly dolphin-kicked up to the surface, which shimmered with the sun's reflection. His head exploded through the surface into the dazzling light of day. The sky was a spotless blue. Towering evergreens lined the rocky shore. A slight breeze rippled across the water, carrying along inquisitive dragonflies. A family of loons called to one another in the distance. By all appearances, it was an absolutely perfect summer day in northern Minnesota.

Leif blinked. It was all still there. It was perfect. Even the taste of the lake water was vivid with its tang of minerals from the glacier-scoured bedrock. He was swimming in the elixir of life. Leif glanced about. About a hundred meters away lay the rocky beach and, just beyond it, he saw the small cottage and modest greenhouse.

Home!

Leif did a furious front crawl until he reached the beach. As he swam, he felt fit and strong. The ache in his bones, the weariness of his muscles, the numb feeling in his brain—all of it was gone. He pulled himself up onto the beach and there, standing just feet away, was his wife, dressed in shorts and a tank top. She looked slim and girlish, the way she was when they first met.