Page 106 of Children of Anguish and Anarchy

Vines reach out from the sands, wrapping around my gut. They save me from full impact as I crash into the dirt. A sharp crack travels through my ribs. I grab my chest, unable to breathe.

Behind me, Mae’e’s screams turn shrill. Her vines wither as more Skulls swarm. The world closes in as I’m forced to hear her capture.

Ahead of me, boots crunch over gravel. King Baldyr crouches down until his golden skull is visible.

“Merle.” He strokes my face. “Our time is finally here.”

PART V

CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

ZÉLIE

WE LOST.…

Everything we fought to stop plays out behind my eyes. I see the flames engulfing Orïsha’s coast. The barren land my nation will become. I feel the weight of every skeleton that will lie in the ashes. The magic that will never reign again. A hard numbness leaks from inside.

I’ve failed everyone I love.

King Baldyr holds me to his chest as we ride across the torchlit plains on a giant beast. The armor-plated white bear gallops with a mighty force. Dirt rips up from its protruding claws.

A wild war party flanks us on both sides. Skulls beat their crimson drums. Their red torches cover us in a garnet haze. Their shrieks echo through my bones.

As we ride, I sense their magic. It fills the lands around us. Towering white trees come to life before my eyes. Faces leer at me through the bark as their leafless branches twist up to the skies.

Massive statues line the main trail, formed from the same bloodmetal of their weapons. Moss-covered axes rise from the dirt. Others honor the bears they ride. One statue features a mighty Skull. It hoists a collection of boulders over its tarnished shoulder, creating a pathway for us to ride through.

The voices of their ancients surround us. They pass through the biting winds. Their screams reverberate through the ground beneath us.

Their harsh whispers fill my ears.

“Your storm for his…”

As we ride, the warriors chant. A Silver Skull leads their battle cry.

“All hail King Baldyr!”

“All hail King Baldyr!” the Skulls echo.

“Father of the Storms!”

“Father of the Storms!”

The chant spreads from their warriors to the villagers who line the streets. The tribespeople pour out of modest dwellings built from logs. They climb to the tops of their stone wells. Others scale their triangular roofs, thatched with turf and straw.

For the first time, I see the people who make up their tribes. Their hunters. Their tradesmen. Their wives. Each wears a mask made of wood, covering all but their icy eyes.

A young girl runs to the dirt road. She holds on to her mother’s skirts. I don’t know what to feel when we lock eyes. The girl’s red curls blow in the wind as we pass.

King Baldyr rides ahead, unaffected by the worship of his people, the praise of his men. He keeps his focus on the torchlit mountain bluff. On the mountain’s side, the sculpture of a giant Skull stretches from the black seas to the bluff’s peak. At the top, the silhouettes of crooked statues jut out from under the Blood Moon.

When we reach the bottom, Baldyr comes to a stop. He leaps from his white bear. The king lifts me into the sky like a trophy.

“Prepare the girls!” Baldyr yells.

THEGALDRASMIÐARDESCENDas one. There’s nothing Mae’e and I can do to fight them off. Each wears a collection of white furs. They cover their faces with carved-out animal skulls.

The same runes carved into Baldyr’s body glisten on their masks. The ancient marks glow red under the Blood Moon.

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