Page 26 of Daughter of the Dark Sun
Heat washed over theblackened stones underfoot. A great smoking volcano rose like a dread shadow to the north, swallowing the land below. A deep, rumbling sound filled the air—not a song, but something discordant, pulling at the weaves of every living thing nearby. Though a deep ache settled in Apattar’s bones, she felt herself drawn to the source. Shewanted to understand it, why it called to her as if it once was the only thing she knew.
Navárenir Cet, Laisha named it, one of the few things she said about the sleeping giant. A shadow seemed to pass over her face at the mention of the ruin of Andeshar. Each time Apattar asked about the history of the land, she saw a twinge of grief overcome the pale woman before her stoic porcelain face returned. Instead of answering, she set the young woman to work, training her latent powers that had been ignored and left wild.
Apattar studied a pale, yellow-haired man kneeling before her, watching him with piercing brown eyes as tendrils of black wove their way around his body. His left eye twitched as a thick rope of Shadow-weave wrapped itself around his torso, trying to fight back, muscles spasming under taut flesh. Apattar narrowed her eyes. The man relaxed, sinking into the inky grip of the hungry void.
“Good, good. Do not let him struggle. You show much restraint in keeping him alive. Ask again,” crooned Laisha into Apattar’s ear. The ageless woman’s close presence no longer unnerved her.
“Na nithmireithí cinn maíj itu´ tha iach emmil,”she said, repeating the ancient words the pale woman taught her. Apattar focused on the harmonic weaving the man’s soul into being and through it, sought entrance into his mind.
Laisha showed Apattar how to walk through the minds of others by weaving their harmonics together, using the Shadow-weave as a tether to her soulsong. Those who fell under her influence found themselves compelled to answer anything demanded of them. It proved difficult at first, the man’s psyche lashing out in rejection like a whip across her mind. The long month provided ample practice—though at the cost of the man’s sanity, now half-crazed from her daily intrusions.
“The longer you resist, the more it hurts. I can end it, but you must answer the question. How were you captured?” The harsh fumes of smoke and brimstone from the black volcanic ruins tore at Apattar’s throat.
White foam dripped from the man’s mouth as he struggled to keep it shut. His hands were bound in front of him by a thick coil of writhing black Shadow-weave, fingers turning purple as it tightened around his wrist. A sicklycrackfilled the air. The man did not flinch but instead relaxed into his bonds. A distorted voice spoke, halting every few words as the man and Apattar fought for control of his mind.
“I saw… a woman… dark hair… I ran.”
“Do better,” Laisha whispered.
Apattar closed her eyes and asked again, pushing her thoughts into the man’s broken mind. She waded through a thick mire of confused memories, half-formed faces screaming as she forced her way into the nexus of his crumbling mind. The void in her heart reached out and consumed the slave from the inside, carving into his soft brain tissue like a hot knife. She opened her eyes to see the man stiff, arms held at an awkward angle in front of him without moving. He spoke again, voice now hollow and listless.
“Not a woman, a girl. A girl, like my daughter. I wanted to help her. She ran into the woods. I followed but… he, he found me. The one who killed her. He laughed. He knew I would come. That terrible, bloody man held the cursed thing that crawled out of my daughter, told me ‘he is Her gift’, and he would break me for my sins. Oh gods, what have they done! It cannot live! I only see darkness now, darkness and fear. I do not know anymore.” The man fell silent.
They are the kinslayers, the traitors, the poisoners! Ended, destroyed, sundered! No return, no, no, they must pay! Must pay! Slaughtered and ruined!
A scream tore through the air, followed by a hundred more shrieking voices. Writhing shades, half-formed in the shape of men, leapt around Apattar, gaping maws spilling forth a cloud of black. Something tore at her heart inside, like some piece of her was trying to escape, trying to break free and end the world right there. She tried to contain her rage at the thought of an innocent baby slaughtered for being born on the wrong day. The soft touch of Laisha on her quaking shoulder calmed the darkness rising inside. The screams died, and the shades melted back into the blackened earth below.
“Rest,neha.You did well. My brother Ruarc has a flair for drama. I believe his exact words were, ‘I knew you would come crawling back to me, on hands and knees begging like a dog’. And you, you are mesmerizing to watch. You learn faster than most, even with a poor teacher.” Laisha spoke with a hint of fear in her voice. “I have no use for this one alive; do as you will. Practice begets perfection.”
“Wait,” Apattar replied, eyes scrunching up as tears formed behind her muddy brown eyes. She stepped toward the man and placed the black dagger against his throat, taking a deep breath before continuing again. “How many of my brethren have stained your hands with their blood before they had a name? How. Many?” she demanded.
The man grunted in reply, jaw grinding as he attempted to wrest control back from Apattar. Her hatred of the man sank deeper into the void. The tendrils tightened, worming through his body. She reached out to the hollowed mind, probing for answers.
“How. Many?” The voice thundered around the captor and prisoner. Apattar’s hand pressed the sharp blade into his throat, a crimson drop of blood welling at the tip.
“Four…teen. Fourteen.” His voice cracked. Tears streamed down his face, body stiff in the void’s embrace. “I killed him, ohmay the Six Sisters help me, I killed him! My firstborn, my only son! She tried to run away with him, and I killed them both. My duty, my duty!”
The man began to sob, wails ripping from his body. Apattar forced the words to echo in his mind, the confession the only thought left in his empty skull, breaking what remained of his sanity.
The dagger in Apattar’s hand shook, hot waves of rage coursing through her body. She pictured her mother dead in the desert, her deep burgundy brown hair matted with blood as she clutched a babe to her eviscerated chest. This was the fate awaiting them if she had been born to any other family. Once, a fate she almost craved. The thought sent a wave of nausea through her. Apattar pressed the blade further into the man’s neck, knuckles white with her death grip.
Instinct took over. Apattar imagined the umbral tendrils choking the man, twisting down his throat and forcing the life from his wretched soul. The Shadow-weave pulsated with energy, squeezing and sending waves of spasms through the fair-haired man. As he collapsed, Apattar pulled the dagger toward her, slicing the man’s neck and sending a spray of bright red blood across her torso and legs. A final gurgle sounded from him, death twitches fading fast as the life seeped from the man onto the black rocks below.
“Do you think he even hesitated to kill them? Gods, I think I’m going to be sick.”
She held the dagger by her side as she stared at the dead man, his sticky, hot blood dripping from the black blade. A small flicker of something—joy, or satisfaction—ran through Apattar as the man’s essence ran down her fingers.
Apattar turned to Laisha, tears still not coming but the feeling rising in her chest. She could not stand such senseless cruelty all in the name of fear toward an innocent child andmother. Laisha extended those long, milky white fingers and grazed the young woman’s cheek, touch cool against deep ocher skin flushed red with anger. The woman in white was not forthcoming with affection; indeed, Apattar thought it would be strange for someone with her moral standards. Yet, the brief touches brought the comfort Apattar always longed for.
Apattar took a breath and steadied her shaking hands.
“No, no, I doubt he did,” Laisha murmured. “As you did not either, though this one I am glad to see gone. His death will save thousands. His, along with all the others who would kill mother and child. We can change the world, don’t you see, sweetling? Time is not an enemy of my people.”
Apattar blushed at the words, aware of how painfully childlike she must seem to the pale woman who somehow looked ageless. Only her eyes betrayed the signs of a long and ancient life.
“There is no hurry, Apattar. You are young, the world will not change in one day.” Laisha whipped around, the moment of affection gone in an instant. “Come, leave his body to the firelings. Let us find you a safe place to rest. I must return to my city and queen.”
The pale woman leaned over the man’s body to collect a thin gold chain around his ankle and walked away. Apattar followed not far behind. She tugged at the tight brown pants clinging to her skin with each awkward step, careful to avoid the blood still drying into dark, ruddy stains.
