Uthur bore down and Retga cowered, her hands flying up in uncharacteristic defensiveness.
“It’s a long story. Er, explanation.”
But the island shuddered as it butted up against a broad palace balcony, and the Singers had quieted, some already disembarking.
“Later,” hissed Retga, eyes darting toward the others and back. “Just don’t touch her hands. Trust me.”
“I can’t heal without tou—”
“Trust. Me.”
“My prince,” called Durg, clutching the elbow of his bisected arm with his remaining hand.
Uthur went to him at once, rather shamefaced, and Sang the wound closed.
“I’m sorry I can’t do more,” he murmured as he helped the other orc disembark.
Mika watched them, and wondered. What, exactly, are the extent of his powers? And if he can simply control the actions of other creatures…why didn’t he just do that, in the duel with Alaric?
He didn’t seem the type to revel in violence. But then, she reminded herself, I hardly know him.
Retga gestured for Mika to go ahead of her, and together they stepped off their strange vessel and onto the palace balcony.
“You’re going to be the one to explain this to him,” she hissed down at Mika, who scrunched her nose.
“Of course,” she sniped back. “How could I trust you to explain what you hardly understand?”
Two of the guardians worked together, dragging open the ancient stone doors—the windows of which were set with glowing storm crystal. Inside, all was awash in its gentle, fluctuating lavender light. It emanated from the fixtures, sculptures and lanterns of the chamber, even filled the intricate relief-work in the halls beyond.
“The lightning towers channel power here,” explained Retga, following Mika’s wide-eyed gaze. “And to all the cities and villages of the Rend.”
But in truth, all she could think as she looked around was why does this place feel like home?
“I guessed as much,” said Mika.
“Oh?” wondered the prince. “Are you sure you don’t hardly understand?”
“Quiet,” growled Uthur suddenly from the head of the party. The raw edge to his tone surprised her. The scent of blood filtered to the back of the procession as they carried quietly on, growing rapidly, stomach-churningly stronger. But this time, it was orcin blood.
Mika froze in her tracks, hands shooting up to cover her nose as more scents wafted her way. The rotten aroma of spilled guts welled up around her, and she only just managed to contain the contents of her own.
The extended warmth of Uthur’s bolstering Song had begun to wear off, but the heat of Activation still throbbed away within her. For every moment she spent thinking about the stench, about the dire nature of their situation and how desperately she needed them to win, she spent another thinking about holding hands, and no amount of chiding herself seemed to help.
She was staring at Durg’s remaining fingers with a swelling sense of longing when everyone came to a stop ahead of her. The corridor had opened into another broad chamber. Markings went from rainbow diversity to a collective, vivid shade of orange. Mika pushed forward a bit, peering between the orcs’ legs and sending out a supplementary trill, confirming what her eyes almost refused to see.
Orcs. Orcs of enemy thralls. Bits and pieces and chunks of them, lying all over everything, everywhere.
Dead, all dead. Ravaged and gnawed.
Mika’s stomach heaved in rebellion, and bested her. What little contents it had held splattered across the stone tiles and the moss that split their seams.
“What—I don’t…” one of the orcs broke the silence, but he just trailed off, unable to bring himself to finish what he started.
Retga approached one of the larger pieces of body, crouching close as she scented it. At once, her hackles raised. Reaching down, she plucked something up from inside the corpse. What looked like a claw. Long as Mika’s hand, curved and smeared with blood. Uthur approached and knelt beside the other prince, and the two murmured between themselves. Orcin peppered with Old Ahvari. And she could swear she heard the word Stitched.
After a few moments, they stood.
“We move on,” said Retga.
The other orcs—who’d been whispering to each other, some paled in shock—rallied themselves at once. Their expressions hardened, and they fell silently into place as their party continued through the massacre.
Mika knew the plan by now. They sought a place nearer the centermost level of the palace, one which faced outward toward the heart of the sea of mists. They moved much more slowly than they had before, though, stopping constantly to listen and scent the air…but they didn’t dare send anyone to scout ahead. Whenever they passed a window, Mika looked out to see that near the lake’s center and up toward the forest, increasing activity stirred the mists and trees. Yet, so far, no one else had descended.
“It should be soon,” mouthed Retga, glancing out the nearest window before exchanging a significant look with Uthur.
As the princes slowed and Mika drew closer, she breathed deep, inhaling their mingled scents. The core seed pulsed and grew hotter still. And as it did, she felt, somehow, a corresponding pull. A call, a warmth, from somewhere outside of her. Somewhere at the very heart of the palace.
“Where are you going?” whispered Retga, sharp gaze darting down at Mika as she drifted back the way they had come, towards a branching corridor which led deeper in.
“Oh, ah…sorry,” she replied in a hush, correcting her course as Retga narrowed her eyes at her.
“Is that thing addling your brain?” hissed the orc, slowing to walk at Mika’s side.
“If it were, at least it’d put me on par with you,” she spat back.
Up ahead, Uthur growled. They both shut up.
A scrabbling, tapping sound issued from around a corner up ahead. The orcs slowed, and then stopped…bristling with hefted weapons. Mika sniffed the air. The sound grew louder. There was a choked sort of gurgling, too, that broke through the warm fuzz in her head—sending a bolt of ice straight through her heart.
And then it surged around the corner.
A thing with the body of a massive centipede, four orcs long at least. Countless sharp-tipped legs lined its segmented form…but below its head, its human head, were four pairs of very human-looking arms. As it turned, its eyes fixed directly upon her—as though it already knew where to look. But not the eyes in its sockets, for the lids of those had glommed and grown together.
No. It fixed her with the bulging, red, faceted globes which burst from the crown of its head, seeping pink pus around the edges. The awful eyes rolled in their hollows, and its split lips spread into a wide rictus of a grin. And though it had a gaping wound in its throat, it seemed largely unbothered by it. Its lips fell open, and it emitted a long, gurgling note. A note which carried pain that grated down Mika’s bones and reverberated through her whole body.
As she and everyone around her tensed and clenched their teeth in the agony of it, Mika thanked the DeepMother the thing was already damaged.
Then Uthur, prying apart his gritted jaws, Sang back—the rich depth of his voice overcoming the Stitched beasts’ hideous call. Its head twisted around in a full circle, the neck making a sickening crackle pop sound as it broke. The head flopped sideways and quite nearly tore off. The body continued to drag itself forward.
Uthur breathed deep, began again, but Retga gestured for him to stop.
“Conserve your energy,” she ordered, tilting her head to the others. At once they stepped forward with their short swords and axes, hacking the thing to twitching bits. But its body oozed a noxious pink ichor, and where it touched the orcs it burned and sizzled through their leathers and skins, left searing pockets in their armor.
Humans. There are really humans here. Or at least…their Stitched beasts. How many might be lurking in this place, invading my home? It was a strange thought…but it was how Mika felt. Fearful, yes. But more than that, angry. Angry and territorial.
This place was hers, and it was infested.
The seed pulsed faster. She pressed a hand to her belly, biting into her lip to vent her anger. The distant echo called to her. The Other Voice urged her toward it.
She gnashed her teeth.
Curse it, curse all of this.
I just want to hold someone’s hand again. And maybe also annihilate every single dirty, evil, trespassing human pest that dares step foot in this place from now until the end of time.
Finished with the creature, the orcs left it in a trembling heap behind them and carried cautiously onward. Before long, they came to the room the orcs had sought. It was the top of a sort of tower whose side clung to a central thrust of the palace. Its walls were lined with racks of dusty arrows longer than she was tall. Enormous crossbows were mounted from great stands in the floor, aimed out of a series of high but narrow windows that faced out over the lake of mists. Beside them stood telescopes, one of them tilted down far enough that she might even reach the eye of it.
While some orcs moved to barricade and stand guard at the door through which they’d entered, others took up stations near the central opening. There, a spiral staircase twisted down into the darkness. An escape, if they needed it. Or a potential point of assault, though not a very effective one. She wondered where it let out.
Some fresh air blew in from the slatted windows as the orcs pressed in, but still…their scent was thick in the mostly-enclosed space, the princes’ aromas distinct from all the rest. Strongest of all, and heady. Mika backed herself against a wall and sank to a seated position, arms slung around her knees and legs clenched together. Her eyes wandered compulsively from Uthur to Retga, occasionally drifting over to Durg. Her fingers twisted together, clasping around the curve of her knees. She wished it felt the same.
Her eyes snapped open before she realized she’d squeezed them shut. Orcs were shouting in the distance. There was screaming and Song issuing from out over the center of the sea, and a great deal of movement. Ruins rained from the pit. Chunks of Ulvari architecture and pieces of corroded construct. And then several trees toppled downward, dropping into the thickened mists and drifting up again only to be dashed to the side a heartbeat later as something unfathomably huge hurtled from above.
