The sand storms were something to be feared. They could wipe tribes in minutes, every Sand Roamer knew this from the moment they could walk. To be caught out in the open was death. There was no exception. It was considered to be the will of the Hollow Gods that towns like Scoria-Tria could resist and survive the fury of the desert. But the Slayers did not have the protection of the gods of Scoria. If anything, the foreigners were doing all they could to anger the Gods.

For this reason, Cylin thought that it was madness to be out in the open. She was still trying to process what had happened an hour ago. They had freed her, adopted her in their strange tribe. She had understood a word in every three the One-in-Line had spoken at best.

In the beginning, she had been mortified. Everyone she had known was being killed and their lifeless bodies desecrated. It was something those that were left of the Nahar tribe had been expecting to happen sooner or later. However, the months spent with these odd foreigners had stripped much of the initial fear. They had begun to teach the slaves their guttural tongue and demanded they teach them the speech of the tribes.

It didn’t stop the others of her tribe to hate Cylin. After all, her betrayal had made her a pariah amongst her people, but knowing that some were safe was enough to lessen some of the guilt and pain. Any hope the girl had to make amends was shattered by the two great shamans who had advanced her training in ways she had not thought possible. And for a brief while, Cylin believed that salvation awaited the Nahar tribe. Exchanging her life for that of her people was more than acceptable in her young naïve eyes.

But it was all a lie. The horror of her fate froze her on the spot as she was stripped and forced to kneel. Once she was fed the hearts of her tribe, her people, she knew true terror. It was not a mindless slaughter they were committing – it was a sacrificial ritual. The perfect ending of a sad day and a pitiful life. But then the master of the tribe had marked her with the sign of Charr, the one who ruled over the shadows and secrets.

How those barbarians knew of the Deposed Gods was beyond Cylin. They had used a different name, but at that point, she had stopped hearing the words. There was no longer any chance for her to redeem herself in the eyes of the Hollow Gods. She had to accept it, as she had accepted that her stomach hadn’t turned as much as she thought after eating the hearts of her people.

“It’s done little bird.” The one-eyed woman Lilly said in a condescending tone.

She handed back Cylin’s dress. Small plates of iron and wood were stitched within the silk fabric. There was no time, nor materials to prepare a proper set of armour for her, therefore, the Slayers had improvised. The only real piece of equipment she received was a long knife, a nearly half a meter-long blade of hardened iron with an ivory handle. It had belonged to the beast called Vor and in her small hand, it felt like a sword.

“Listen carefully, little bird.” Lilly pulled Cylin by the hair. “Twenty people. That’s how many you must kill. I’ll be keeping track.”

The woman ran her hand along the girl’s face and stopped her finger at her throat. She smiled for a moment and kissed her softly. There was no passion in this act. It felt like the kiss of a corpse and Cylin could taste the blood from the woman’s split lip. The girl flinched as she felt her own lip being bitten. As quick as it had happened Lilly pulled her lips away and pressed her forehead against hers.

“I swear by the kiss of Great-mother Astara, you will not be killed this night.” The woman pushed Cylin away. “I’ll be coming with you little bird. Do me proud or I will be eating your heart come morning.”

Every word was said slowly so that the girl could understand it. She might have been taken into the tribe of the Slayers, but she had to earn her place. A cold numbness spread through her. Cylin was not afraid, deep within her soul she was happy. The realisation stunned her. She had changed without realizing it, becoming like those barbarians with the passing of each day. All she had tried to do was a part of that change. The poisonings, the escape attempts, the sabotage, it was all a result of her destroying the timid girl that she used to be.

Cylin shook her head. Those were dangerous thoughts. They did not have any place in her mind, for they were poison disguised as nectar. Allow them to grow, to take root, and they will corrupt you, that’s what Chatala always warned her. It was something the shamans of the Slayers warned her during every lesson. Although they used different words, the meaning was the same. And yet, it was hard to accept that her new role within this new tribe would be one of a fighter. Women were not meant for such things, something Cylin had been taught all her life. Fighting meant violence, and violence was the poison at the core of her thoughts.

A low grow from the woman called Lilly, informed the girl that she was taking too long. She hurriedly put on her dress and stiffened. The weight of it felt strange, restrictive even. She tried moving her hands and body a bit to get used to it, but it all felt strange. The girl’s heart stopped for a moment as a knife plunged into her chest. The blade stopped after piercing the fabric, deflected by the iron scrap hidden underneath.

“Yes, that will do for now,” Lilly smiled as she fastened the knife back at her belt.

The Slayers used so much metal, it was almost as if they were linked to it as if it was a part of them. For a moment the girl wondered if their souls and minds were also made of metal, or that perhaps they worshipped a God of Iron. There was no time for her to ponder further on that topic, as Lilly picked up her shield and blade and kicked the flimsy door open. She gestured to Cylin to go first into the brawn fog of sand and wind.

They are mad, she thought one more time as she wrapped a scarf around her head and face. The trek from the small house used by the women to the larger one proved to be as difficult as it looked.

The two were greeted by the One-in-Line with a warm smile. Lilly exchanged some quiet words with him, some of them Cylin could understand, giving her enough to work out what they were talking about. It was all about her and her dress. After a moment the one called Regus… No. Regis, she corrected herself, as the name was properly pronounced. Something that had been beaten into her during their travel to Scoria-Tira, but despite that, she kept on making the same mistake. He gathered the entire band of Masters around him and outlined his plan. They would venture into the storm in groups of two, and they would destroy the holy city under the protection of the Hollow Gods.

It was a simple plan. No one was insane enough to be outside during the storm. The people of Scoria-Tria would be huddled in their houses and the guards will be trapped wherever they could find shelter, Regis outlined it for everyone. The Slayers would enter a house, kill everyone inside and move to the next. His wish was simple – Scoria-Tria would be a tomb come dawn. It was true, Cylin had to admit, amazed that no one had thought of it before. At least, no one from the tribes had thought of it. She was sure of it because as a future shaman she had to learn all the stories her tribe used to tell.

It was up to Lilly to escort Cylin, since she was the most fluent, amongst the Slayers’ women, in the local tongue. and because of her personality in combat, which made her the obvious choice. The Two-in-Line voiced his protest but a single look from Regis was enough to put a stop to it. By the end of it all, the Masters would gather at the Temple of the Hollow Gods in the centre of the town. It would be the last place to put to the sword.

That is wrong, Cylin thought as she shook her head. The very idea of entering the temple without permission was heresy. The Hollow Gods would surely punish such an act. She had to say something. After all, she was one of the Masters now, but the cold stare she received from the dead-faced Sonya stopped her words in her throat. She was one of them now, she was cursed in the eyes of the gods of Scoria.

Cylin whipped the blood from her face with a trembling hand. It was not the first time she had killed someone. There were plenty of orcs and slavers to deal with out in the desert, and sometimes it was all up to her to protect the children. Even the guard inside the house was not much of a problem. He had lunged at her as soon as she had entered the house. His spear pierced between two of the plates in her dress and broke the skin. This had stopped his charge for long enough that she could slice his throat with her knife.

That was when the screaming and crying began. A man and a young boy rushed her. Behind them in the small room were two women and a small child. Cylin couldn’t move, they were not a threat. The man – perhaps. But the women and child were just scared. How was she supposed to just kill them?

“You stop, you die!” Lilly ran past her with a savage cry.

The woman bashed the boy away with her shield and stabbed the man in the stomach, gutting him like a snake. Her face twisted at the sound of the wailing child. She moved like possessed towards it, the blood of its father still dripping from her blade.

Cylin screamed, willing her feet to move. She had to stop this senseless slaughter. The boy chose that moment to jump at the warrior. Lilly turned faster than Cylin thought possible and decapitated the youth with a swipe of her blade. The blood bathed the girl, gratefully blinding her to the sight of the woman slaughtering the women and child.

“Not bad for a start,” Lilly wrested her hand on Cylin’s shoulder. “Now we move to the next sleeping building.”

Thanks to the howling winds of the dust storm the sound of what had happened had not escaped the house. As such the neighbours were not prepared for the brutality that came to them. It was not a fight, it was butchery. By the sixth house, Cylin had taken eight lives, the blood staining her dress and skin. Every time she stopped or made an attempt to offer a prayer, she was pushed forward by the one-eyed woman.

It was a terrible thing she was doing. It became monstrous at the ninth house. It was the curse of those who inhabited the outskirts of Scoria-Tria, there were so many women and children. It was only a matter of time that she would have to take a life she did not want to.

The girl that charged at her could not have been older than six years. Yet, she gripped the kitchen knife in her small hands and stabbed Cylin in the leg. Out of anger, the former Sand Roamer lashed out with her hand forgetting about the blade she had been holding. The sharp edge sliced the child’s face through the eyes and Cylin could feel it scraping the soft bones beneath the flesh.

This broke her. She screamed and yelled. She cursed the child’s mother for allowing this to happen as she stabbed her through the heart. She cursed the Hollow Gods for allowing this, for forsaking these people. It was Their land, Their most devote followers, so why were the Hollow Gods silent? Why were They turning Their backs on the faithful, as They did to her people? There was only a single conclusion Cylin could reach. There was no innocence left in Scoria-Tria, just guilt and violence, hidden behind fake smiles and empty prayers.

A man kicked the knife from her hands and grabbed her throat. He was not choking her; he was crushing her neck in his grip. Cylin struggled for air, the anger growing inside of her. She scratched and kicked but it was not enough. The man cursed her in the name of the Hollow Gods and tightened his grip. She could see Lilly with the corner of her eyes, battling with two other men. She could not help her, could not save her.

Cylin’s consciousness began to fade as words of damnation were hurled at her like stones. This stranger, whom she did not know, and who knew nothing of her struggle and pain was daring to threaten her with the Hollow Gods. If this was the tool of Their divine retribution, then They were not hollow only in form. Those were no longer her gods. She bore the mark of the Deposed Ones, the mark of the gods of the Slayers. The gods of blood, fire and iron. Cylin wrapped her slender fingers around the man’s forearm and looked him in the eyes. A single word escaped her lips.

“Burn.”

There was power in that word. The power of her anger, the power of her despair, the power of her gifts. The man screamed and began clawing at his chest, smoke coming from his mouth. His cries were joined by the two men fighting with Lilly in a chorus of agony. They thrashed like wild beasts as the fires burning within burst through their flesh. A moment later, the dark room was bathed in light from three pyres.

Cylin smiled and laughed maniacally. A sharp pain spread through her chest and she coughed a black plume of smoke. Backlash! The thought speared her mind. She had used too much power. She had to control it less she was consumed. There was only coldness and pain as her consciousness drifted into darkness.

 Nadene stopped mid-swing. Her small mace had already crushed the guard’s skull, however, she wanted to deliver a second strike to end his misery. Unlike most of the other members of the Slayers, she wasn’t a cruel woman. The mage snapped her head to the north, where the slave girl and Lilly were clearing the houses in the outskirts. The enormous build-up of power was impossible to ignore.

She took a slow breath and stretched her senses. Pass the clay wall, pass the storm raging outside. She felt it and shuddered. The power had consumed ten houses, she could taste the ashes born from the flames of anguish and despair. Neither she nor Sarduk had taught there was so much raw power within the girl. It was too much for them to handle let alone someone as unskilled as Cylin.

Given time and proper training, the child could have mastered such a force. This left only one explanation. The girl had awakened her entire potential. Nadene knew from bitter experience how dangerous such a thing was. The spell’s backlash would be horrible.

“Os, go to the next house. Get Big Uhr and Little Uhr.” Nadene coughed with a strained voice. “I will need protection.”

The Faceless stopped the butchering of the last guard and without wasting time jumped from the window of the second floor. Everyone in the Slayers knew what such a statement meant. The mage and the shaman were forces to be reckoned with and could take care of themselves. For either of them to request protection, meant that there was a situation that threatened the entire band. A situation that brute force could not solve.

Nadene exhaled slowly tasting the sweat covering her face. She knew the three men would ensure that not a single soul would come near her. As she knew that the foolish shaman had also sensed the spell. Without thinking he would summon his spirits to contain the inferno from spreading, she was certain of it.

This meant it was up to her to deal with the backlash. Nadene unfastened one of the medallions dangling from her vest and grabbed it with both hands. She started the incantation with soundless words. Her senses sharpened; the building was gone replaced by the currents of power. She followed them to their source, pushing her own gifts to the absolute limit.

Cylin had lost control of her powers completely. There was no indication she was trying to reign in the forces. Out of fear and anger, but most of all out of regret for having failed to protect the one she cared about the most in the past, Nadene wrapped her own spell around the girl, shielding her as best as she could from the backlash. The mage could feel the skin of her palms blister. It was not enough, she had to act quickly.

Nimbly she dropped the medallion and pulled at one of the bone charms. Without stopping her incantation, she switched it. This was a desperate attempt, but it was the only option she had. Nadene was aware that performing the ritual of the Blood of Garsk would drain her power and leave her helpless for a day at least. But it was better than allowing the fires to spread.

The final words left the mage’s lips with a cough of black phlegm. The ooze-like substance dripped from her chin and stuck to her tenth with a bitter taste. Nadene sensed the powers explode outward away from Cylin. The girl disappeared as her gifts were cut off, however, this was not enough to stop the inferno. It had to be put out.

Or directed elsewhere. With the last of her strength, Nadene redirected the rampaging forces at the storm. The dust ignited and a wave of fire washed over Scoria-Tria. As she felt herself slipping away into slumber, the mage hoped it wouldn’t do too much damage. That it wouldn’t harm the other Slayers.