The Demigod Proving (43 page)

But was he now sleeping? Wouldn’t he have heard Athanaric’s cursing and footsteps? Maybe it was just how close she was to the giant, but in her chest she could feel the rhythm of his deep voice and his boots striking the ground.

“Krack!” she said. “Krack, wake up!”

Her voice extended out from her, but the vast openness of the desert swallowed it.

Krack didn’t move. Goat guts!

She bounded toward him, leaping off of a rock—nearly slipping on the grime covering its surface—and soared over a juniper. Her heart already pounded from the pursuit, but now its thundering redoubled from Krack’s lack of response.

Athanaric crashed through the trees, roaring as he did.

“Krack!” she said again. “Help!”

She’d come within a quarter of a mile, now, and covered the distance fast, using more and more of her Ichor to fly further and further with each leap.

“There he is,” Athanaric said. “You led me right to him.”

Relief seeped into her. Athanaric hadn’t previously found Krack. He was just deep asleep—when he should’ve been up and saving his mother.

As she flew over another bunch of rocks and sagebrush, she bound Thew to her throat, and applied a burst.

“KRACK!”

She didn’t see if he heard and awoke, for she stumbled as she came down, having forgotten to apply Thew to her legs to absorb the impact of landing. Her hands flew out before her, and they hit a patch of fine dirt and sharp pebbles near a sagebrush bush. Her face skidded across the dirt as she ground to a halt.

Athanaric flew over her, landing a dozen feet past. With a single thump, both his feet hit the ground and the earth beneath her cheek trembled. He turned as she lifted herself from the ground, as if she were doing a push-up. She applied Thew and Flux to the motion, lifting herself up and away—and to good effect; his fist hit the ground where her head had been. From how he bent over and she went backward, their faces passed close enough to each other that she could feel his breath on her cheeks and see the lines on his forehead from his scowl.

She applied Flux to her motion, harvesting it even as she lifted backward and upward, almost in the exact opposite direction she’d been going before falling. She raised higher than Athanaric as he straightened. She had almost no Thew left, and now it had come to this. A confrontation with Athanaric.

Only, there was Krack.

He’d heard her amplified shout and now bounded up the hill, a streak of red. He roared, and his teeth shone in the moonlight. Sagebrush snapped beneath his feet and dust rose behind him.

Leenda touched down on a tall rock, perhaps twenty feet back from Athanaric. He turned away from her—but not until he’d met her eyes with his for a moment, as if to say he would deal with her momentarily. He crouched to meet the oncoming draegon.

“I killed your father,” he said. “And I can kill you.”

A vision flashed through Leenda’s head—a memory of seventeen years before when Krack had been just a draegon pup held hostage by a god. Cuchorack, a grown draegon, had fought with Athanaric and lost.

Krack couldn’t hope to fight and win.

She leapt, extending her feet out before her, pushing her body with as much Flux as she could.

Her heels slammed into Athanaric’s back, just below the neck and between his shoulders. As she struck him, and he stumbled forward, Flux emanated from his body being pushed by her. She harvested it, applying it with the Flux she’d already had, and pushed him harder.

It took a great deal of Ichor to move something other than yourself—especially something as large as Athanaric. But she gave it everything she could. Her skin seemed to burn as the Flux flowed out of her soul, and he fell forward to his hands and knees. She pushed off of his back even as he began to rise, and with the last bit of her Flux flew toward Krack—harvesting the new Flux and applying it even as she careened away.

Athanaric leapt up and swiped at her feet. She felt the wind from his arm, but he made no contact and stumbled over a sagebrush bush, onto his face.

Krack, seeing her coming toward him, halted, turned, and adjusted his direction so that she would land on his back. Her hair whipped out behind her.

Athanaric roared.

She landed on Krack’s lower back, running. His fur tickled her calves as she sprinted up his spine and flung herself forward, wrapping her arms around his neck. His muscles rippled beneath her as he bounded down the hill.

“Fly,” she said. “Fly away from him.”

His wings spread, flapping lightly in preparation during a few more leaps. He lifted into the air, and the wings flapped fully.

She looked back as Athanaric leapt forward and up, his face turned toward Krack and one arm extended. He must have applied all of his Thew and Flux, for he rose high enough that it seemed he would succeed.

Krack lifted his tail and snapped it down on Athanaric’s hand, like a whip. Athanaric withdrew and began to fall.

“Stay away from my son!” he said.

He became smaller and smaller in the distance as Krack lifted higher and higher, but somehow his voice sounded like it came from right next to her. He landed on his feet, and the air vibrated at the impact.

“You stay away from him!”

She buried her face deep into Krack’s fur, and gripped him with what little strength she had left.

“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you, thank you.”

He didn’t respond, and only then did she realize that his entire body trembled. And not from the effort of flying.

Chapter 52: Grounded

Don’t object to punishment. Don’t snivel and whine. Just take it. That’s your best option.

-Athanaric

Wrend had learned about poisoned sage in one of his many classes. The further south one went, the more common the plant became. Its potent venom made a person’s flesh bloat and veins constrict. It killed in a few seconds. Instead of the silvery blue of regular sagebrush, poisoned sage bore a yellow tint.

And, as he scrambled out of the brush, he realized that the sage he’d fallen into was silvery blue. That meant the burning on his arms and legs wouldn’t kill him. Yet, as he found his feet, he rubbed his arms and shivered against what could have been a fatal mistake. It could yet prove fatal, of course, depending on how the Master reacted.

Surely if the Master knew about Leenda coming out of the camp, he also knew that Wrend was with her. So Wrend decided to wait right where he was, and get the confrontation over with. He sat on a nearby rock and applied Thew to his face, to heal the wounds.

The paladins reached him soon, and told him to get up and go with them back to camp. He ignored them, and they trained their bows on him. They persisted in the stoic way paladins did everything, and he explained that he would wait for the Master.

And for punishment.

That seemed to satisfy them, and they fell silent, although they didn’t lower their bows. He watched as, one-by-one, the tents in the camp below lit up as people returned to them, and went dark as the people went to sleep.

Eventually the Master came, walking over the ridge and around the forest. He strode past the paladins, straight to Wrend, who stood to face his fate. It occurred to him that maybe he should kneel and proffer his sacrificial knife, but a thrill of defiance rushed through him, and he stayed on his feet. The Master looked at him with an unreadable expression, not speaking for nearly a minute. His clothes were torn.

Wrend wanted to ask if Leenda was still alive.

Eventually, the Master spoke. “Go straight to your tent. Until further notice, you’re under strict watch.”

Wrend obeyed without speaking. After all, what excuse could he possibly give?

Part III: Pruning branches

Chapter 53: In the Valley of the Elder Gods

When you're waiting, you think of a million ways things could happen, and all of them end up being wrong.

-Teirn

As the caravan moved south, Wrend spent his time under the watch of a hundred paladins. Teirn rode by his side; they spent hours talking, acting like the proving and imminent death didn’t stand between them—although, they did talk at length about it. But without progress.

Once they’d exhausted the topic of their proving, they discussed about everything else. Teirn took particular interest in Leenda, soon admitting that he already knew the nature of their souls. What else wasn’t he telling Wrend?

Early on the second day, the caravan veered off of the usual path of the Strengthening, and word spread throughout the caravan that the Master had decided to postpone the rest of the Strengthening and head straight to Hasuke. Rumors of an opportunity to destroy the Godslayer spread through the caravan.

Before noon that day, they entered the Valley of the Elder Gods, a narrow canyon with steep cliffs on both sides, and a road that wound between pillars of red stone hundreds of feet tall. Some pillars bore the vague silhouette of old priests in hooded cowls, backs bent under years of service, and somber postures born of inner conflicts. Others stood tall and proud, like young men just entering a life of service to the great god Athanaric.

The valley provided fast access through the mountains to the southern portion of Locaran. Because any other route through the mountains took a week longer, many people used the canyon to travel and transport goods.

As the caravan funneled into the narrow canyon, it slowed considerably. And it was not far past the entrance that Wester came to Wrend and Teirn.

Chapter 54: Brotherly hate

Seize every opportunity to prove yourself.

-Teirn

The encounter lasted only a few seconds.

Teirn and Wrend rode horses along the dirt road, with dozens of paladins ahead and more behind; but, due to the narrowness of the canyon, only a few walked by their sides. On both sides, the canyon rose in rocky steps void of vegetation. Throughout the canyon, travelers had moved off to the side of the road, kneeling as their god's caravan passed.

As they approached one such traveler, who Wrend had paid no more attention to than every other prostrate traveler, the man called out to them.