Fireborn Champion (25 page)

“And how will you mend it, oh mighty Serpent-to-be?”

“I sailed to the lands of soft men and learned their teachings. I traveled south over the Simmering Sands and found the plains of the horse riders. It was there the Serpent came into the world, it is there the vision came to me. I ate the stars of the Six. I became stronger than them. It was a holy sign of what’s to come. Yes, very holy.”

So Thrallox saw the same vision Iron experienced that night in Skaard. The two came to very different conclusions about it. At least Iron had teased his first clue from the chieftain. South of the desert bordering Eloia was where this all started. The land of Ker, if he remembered his geography correctly.

“Yes, I found it when it was lost to all others. Even my ancestors forgot it, and this has been our home since the Third Sun rose. How could I not be the child of prophecy, when I found this charm and when my very home hides the titan’s shrine?”

That pricked Iron’s curiosity. He edged closer to the throne. “Ah, noble Serpent-to-be, you speak of Asgeron’s shrine made in the dying days of the first war.”

“Was that his name, Shadow? Asgeron?”

Iron cursed himself for revealing more than necessary. “I know all names. Tell me, blessed Thrallox, how this holy shrine could have gone so long undiscovered?”

The chieftain’s eyes narrowed behind the mask as his bottom lip swelled. “You know all names but not all places? How is this, Shadow?”

“Why, I am a shadow, great chief, and shadows have no eyes to see and only ears to hear.”

“I would not tell even a shadow my secret. You must want the power. You wish to be the Serpent!” He stuffed the charm back into his necklace. Interesting.

Iron grit his teeth so he wouldn’t ram the sword through the man. “I am a shadow. I cannot be a god. I am a guide and adviser, if you wish. But we can have no secrets if you want my knowledge.”

“I am Thrallox. I need no shadow’s knowledge.” His glittering eyes searched the darkness. They scanned the skull’s walls. And then, they slid over the gap in the horns. Thrallox’s eyes slowly widened as he connected with Iron’s gaze. The chieftain’s mouth opened in a scream. Fang easily darted between the gap in the horns and found the man’s throat.
 

In his lifetime, Iron hunted many things. He’d never hunted a human, much less hurt one. Fang, it pierced flesh so easily. Thrallox’s neck barely resisted the metal tip.

Blood spurted onto steel and rolled from the wound down the chieftain’s belly. Thrallox gagged. His arm whipped to the side, spilling his drink. In that moment when the man realized he would never be a god, Iron saw the terror replace surprise in his eyes. He knew a void came for him.

Thrallox gurgled and spat. Then, his head lolled and went limp.
 

Iron stared at the corpse crumpled on his sword. Thrallox’s body slumped against the throne. Its empty eyes pulled Iron to them.
 

“I’m sorry,” Iron said, yanking his sword from the man’s throat. He didn’t know why he apologized to a shell—and a cannibalistic madman at that—but the assassination he just carried out opened a pit of guilt in his stomach, nearly as big as the gash in Thrallox’s throat.
 

Iron’s whole body shook. He swallowed bile and turned from the throne. His shadow towered on the skull’s wall before him. The silhouette held a dripping sword in its hand.
 

“Get a hold of yourself,” he murmured.
 

After a few calming breaths, he returned his attention to the body. Calm as he could muster, he wrenched the mask from the chieftain’s face, taking care not to look again at the empty eyes. Then, he searched the feathery necklace until he found the serpent charm. It glowed in his palm and thumped like a heartbeat.
 

Frowning, he turned the charm around. Depending on where it faced, the rhythm changed. He twisted left, and it slowed. He twisted right, and it quickened. Iron slowly turned until he faced the mountain behind the skull. The charm thumped so rapidly he wondered if it would start sweating. More than just a key, this charm was a guide.

Not a single thump or creak of wood sounded from his footfalls as he flitted toward the two guards. Both men had their backs to the throne and swayed with the rhythm of the drums. Those spears of theirs stood several heads taller than them. Iron would need the element of surprise, or they’d poke and prod him until he bled out.

He paused on the ramp. Both men were in reach. He could even see the sweat glistening on their wide shoulders. One of the guards had a scar on his lower back from an accident or perhaps a fight. The man survived that—he probably wore it proudly. Now, he would die without a fight.
 

Each beat of Iron’s heart thundered in his ears. Shade Stride came on instinct. He thrust Fang through the first guard’s back and ripped it from the flesh as he kicked the back of the man’s knee.
 

The guard grunted and fell forward. Iron grabbed his throat and twisted the man toward the second guard. Iron’s fleshy human shield took a spear to the belly. That man died.

The corpse’s knees hit the ground. Iron whipped around, bringing Fang down on the second guard’s spear and shearing the blade from the shaft.

Their eyes met. The Goshgonoi’s stare begged for mercy. Iron tightened his jaw.
And if you hadn’t shown up, he would’ve happily feasted on your friends tonight.
 

Iron lifted his chin. His opponent realized mercy wouldn’t come, and so his pitiful gaze became a feral snarl. Shade Stride worked well avoiding the sorry thrusts of the broken spear.
 

The shaft came at Iron’s face. He bent backwards and slapped it aside. He danced forward. Fang could bite the man now.

The guard’s eyes widened with terror. Iron saw the killer reflected in them.
 

Fang buried in the man’s chest. Like the chief and the one before him, the guard fell with more a whimper than a roar, dead before his body hit the ground.
 

There Iron stood, heaving, Fang in one hand, skull mask in the other, bodies crumpled around him. Thrallox’s blood had oozed down the ramp and stained it red.
 

They’re cannibals. They deserved this
. He kept telling himself these things, but the words brought no comfort. Killers and cannibals shared the same table, and now he’d taken a seat with them that he could never leave.

Iron shoved the guilt down and walked calmly between the hundreds of flickering torches between the skull and the bonfire. So drunkenly entranced the tribe had become, not a single one noticed his arrival.
 

They danced. The drums beat.
 

As Iron approached the last line of torches, not even luck could hide him any longer. First, one tribesman stopped mid swallow and stared, liquor dribbling down his chin. A woman noticed Iron next and halted her dancing. Soon, the revelry died. Even the drums ceased their beating. Only the crackling fire broke the silence.

Iron lifted the skull mask before the tribe. “Thrallox is dead!”
 

He tossed the mask into the flames. It popped and crackled and threw a curling tail of smoke into the air.

With that, he spun and sprinted toward the jungle. For a moment, the Goshgonoi were silent. Then, they screamed, and the drums beat a different rhythm.
 

“Your turn, Nephele,” he whispered. “Don’t fail me now.”

Iron twisted through the first line of trees and nearly hung himself on a low vine. It would take too long to scale the mountain behind the skull throne.
 

He clutched the serpent charm, letting its pulses guide his steps. Iron would circumvent the mountain and take the long way, and there, luck willing, he would find some answers.
 

Iron’s flight to the westward shore spanned deep into the night. He and his pursuers matched each other. Iron, for his training in evasive tactics thanks to Sander’s stewardship, and the Goshgonoi for their deep knowledge of the island. He darted through the jungle, crossing perilous cliffs, bounding over rushing waters, and melting like ice in summer into the deepest shadows. Each time the cannibals’ shouts and garbled cries died away and he relaxed, the voices of pursuit would rip through the air or send a flock of colorful birds tearing from their perches, crying to a glittering sky.

Following the serpent charm’s pulses took longer than he liked. Calling the terrain unfriendly did it a disservice. More times than he could, he nearly broke his ankle or fractured an arm swinging from from slick jungle plants and clawing over sharp rocks.
 

Fang served him better in its sheath so there he kept it. In his other hand, he clutched Thrallox’s charm, using its vibrations as a guide to the secret Rosvoi held.

At long last, Iron found his way across the treacherous landscape and spilled onto the island’s western shore. The Sapphire Sea glittered under an unbroken dome of diamonds. The moon hid its face that night and gave the stars leave to shine brighter in its place, transforming the water into a sea of rippling silver. Had the stars not shone or thunderheads obscured them, he might not have seen the islets dotting the shallow waters, but in the clear night air, those dark formations stood against the bright sea, thrust above the waves like a titan’s broken teeth.

One arch over the waves caught his eye—a curve molded by generations of wind and water blanketed on either side by thick vegetation. When he held the charm toward it, the enchanted heartbeat answered with an unmistakable flutter.

“Found you,” he said with a creeping grin.

 
So Iron tore down the path as fast as stealth allowed him. Fronds and vines slapped his face as he muscled through the greenery. He’d cut his cheeks on more than a few thorny tendrils, and scrapes and bruises painted his arms. The constant, stinging pain dulled the closer he came to his goal.

He reached the main island’s beach but hesitated just where trees gave way to sand. Leading the Goshgonoi to the shrine was a superbly amateur idea. He’d be trapped there for one, and whatever secrets it held would fall right into the hands of a bunch of lunatic cannibals.
 

A long palm not far from where he stood grew over the beach so low taller waves lapped its fronds. Iron headed for it and jumped onto the trunk, balancing as the tree wobbled from his weight. With arms outstretched, he carefully tiptoed over the beach and came to the shallow water. He glanced behind him.
 

Movement disturbed the jungle not far from the verdant wall. Were they figures? Iron slipped onto his knees and swung quietly into the sea.

The saltwater stung his cuts, but he ignored the pain. His body ached from the terrifying flight, but he powered ahead. Fang tried its best to pull him beneath the surface, but he continued one hushed stroke after another.
 

Thrallox’s murder weighed on Iron nearly as much as Fang, no matter how he tried to justify the act. Death tarnished his soul like rusted steel. Before that day, he could cling to innocence, be that boy beneath the Everfrosts. Not now. He could never be that boy again, and criminal or not, taking a life not his own was the evilest form of thievery. Gods passed judgment, not mortal men and certainly not Sinner’s men.

Who judges then when gods are dead?
Iron wondered.

Wet rocks and steep sides made climbing the island a feat of strength, but soon he found himself flopping onto flat ground high above the waves, his clothes sopping wet and chest burning with each breath.
 

Iron rocked to his knees and flicked the water from his knuckles. He turned to the edge and gazed into the dark, heaving waves crashing against the islet. No movement disturbed the main isle’s shoreline. Whatever he glimpsed, the thing that disturbed the jungle remained invisible. Satisfied he had evaded the Goshgonoi, Iron turned his back to the beach and struck into the islet.
 

Foliage grew obnoxiously thick on the tiny land mass. Glittering eyes of birds and serpents watched him from dark perches, but if they feared him, they didn’t show it.

Iron clenched the charm that brought him here as he slinked through the shadows. His footfalls didn’t so much as disturb a fallen leaf while he carefully walked the path the charm revealed through its gentle pulses.

He came to the arch conjoining both rocky mounds.
 
The island peaked at the midpoint between them; a jagged spike too slick and sharp to scale but large enough to pique his interest.
 

A long crevice sheared the rock. Iron wriggled into the crack; water ran in oily lines down the sides. Moss tore from the granite as he forced his way through the opening. It narrowed to such a thin width that stone shredded his tunic and sliced into his chest. With a last, great heave, he burst through the passage and into a deep cavity open to the sky but otherwise hidden from the world.
 

Above the dark stone encircling him, tall palms grew around a perfect circle of glittering stars. Roots snaked down the walls like tentacles of a long-dead sea monster. They parted in even spaces, revealing towering alcoves cut into the rock.
 

Iron headed to one of the shadowy recesses so tall it could swallow him several times over. Something might have lurked within it, but no light penetrated its shadows, and the silence—gods, the silence—that was its own terror.

He reached the entrance and swallowed, lifting his chin. With a trembling hand he thrust the charm into the black. A hooded face greeted him much larger than his own, capping a figure hunched with hands clasped across its chest. Iron yelped and fell flat on his backside, his charm before him like a pathetic shield.

The alcove’s enormous occupant didn’t move. Iron wheezed on the ground and stared at the giant. It wasn’t a titan’s height, no, not nearly, more like something a titan might carry around in its pocket—or perhaps place within a shrine.