Chapter 42

With Tallow’s help, pushing the sarcophagus didn’t seem too difficult a task for Balefor, Ronark, and the Shepherd. Pyre walked alongside them with Marrowsven, close enough to steady it if needed, though it quickly became clear he wasn’t required.

The Shepherd moved with unsettling ease, his massive hands braced against the pale-blue stone as if it weighed little more than a crate. For a fleeting moment, Pyre had the distinct impression that the man could hoist it onto his shoulder if he chose to and simply didn’t, out of courtesy rather than necessity.

“How was it in there?” Marrow asked quietly, stepping up beside him.

“In the passage?” Pyre shrugged. “Dark. My Sigil helped, though.” He glanced ahead. “There were carvings along the walls. I couldn’t make sense of them. Stone soldiers too. They turned to dust the moment Tallow touched them.” He paused. “And the Synod thrall. The one I killed. That was unexpected.”

“I keep getting this feeling this is a set-up,” Marrowsven told him with a deep breath out, a quick release of tension. “But I often frame things in that light. If I’m ever unkind, this would be one of the reasons why.”

“You’ve lived a hard life,” he said.

“I haven’t told you much about it.”

“I can imagine it was hard based on what you’ve already said.”

“But you’re a survivor; I don’t know if I could have done what you did,” Marrowsven told him as they drew closer to the area where the mirthbeasts lay scattered. “I’ve never been in a war.”

“It was the first for me.”

“Any tips?”

“Try not to die?” Pyre smirked. “I should have probably followed my own advice, right? Honestly, the best I can tell you about what I experienced is that it overtakes you. When it starts, you’re one with your unit, and then people start dying all around you, yet others keep pushing forward in a blur of madness. These are people you know, people you want to survive. So that helps, that motivation, knowing that it matters, that you are part of something greater, even if it is all going to shit.”

“And the war that is to come? What do you make of that?” Marrowsven asked.

“I’m still undecided. We aren’t supposed to be fighting in it as much as we’re supposed to be observing the realm collapse.”

“Something tells me we’re long past that point.”

“Same,” Pyre said. “But it isn’t the kind of war I would ever expect to be part of, one for resources.”

“Don’t frame it that way. That’s what Sura told me.”

“I’m trying not to. I realize to stop the Hunger we need answers, and these answers could lie in things that we are able to pick up that were once part of the First Realm. But I’m also aware that this,” Pyre said, nodding toward the Shepherd at the back of the sarcophagus, “is another faction with its own goals.”

“A faction that wants what you want.”

“To stop the Hunger? Yes. But I still…” Pyre didn’t finish saying what was really on his mind, that he had doubts. He didn’t know how long the Shepherd had been active, but it felt to Pyre like he could have done more in that time. “What about you?” he asked. “No judgment. I was just surprised to see you at the manor, to see you aligned with this cause.”

“As he told me,” she said, nodding toward the massive figure, “some people take an eternity to make up their minds and change directions. Others take a month, and others take a single night. Some do so in a matter of minutes. And still others change their mind before they get started. The Butcher’s Court, and any of the Dark factions for that matter, care about my Domain and the leverage it gives them here in the Deep Nether. I didn’t feel the same way with the Unmoored. They don’t care.”

“And you met him at the Font, the Shepherd?”

“I did. Right up at the edge, sitting there with his legs dangling over. I don’t even know why I approached, and I normally wouldn’t have. It just felt right.”

“Same for me,” Pyre said, remembering how strange the moment had been.

“And I’m sure the Butcher’s Court isn’t happy about my disappearance. I never told them I was leaving.”

“Sister Halcyon said a sponsorship isn’t an oath.”

“It’s not, but there are certain things they expect,” Marrowsven said. “And they can be violently persuasive from what I saw. Actually, I might head back to the Ledger Kin when I return to Aevum.”

“Really?” Pyre asked as they reached the mirthbeast remains, where Irix and Sura were already dragging bodies aside at the front, clearing a path. “Why?”

“To train in a more structured way. I would stay with the Unmoored, no problem there, but they don’t seem to have the protocol in place if I trigger a Domain Trial. With either the Light or Dark factions, they have their Anima chambers, and with so many members, they have ones that know things about Attunement and preparation.”

“I can imagine.”

If I went back to the Ledger Kin, it would be the same but without the pressure to swear an oath, and I never felt them steering me in any direction that wasn’t my choice. I like that. And that’s what happened with Kesh there, right? He triggered his Trial. Balefor told me more about it while you were discovering the sarcophagus.”

“Yes, Kesh is with them now. Or maybe. I can’t speak for his process or where he’s at. For all I know, Kesh has mastered his Domain and is sitting with his lute right now, plucking out a song and wondering where all his friends went. All I remember was how quickly and precisely they reacted. Yeah,” Pyre said, the memory flashing before him, “the Ledger Kin are good. Maybe I will go back as well.”

“But stay with the Unmoored?”

Pyre opened his mouth to reply, and the sky answered for him instead.

A rush of black feathers and cold mist tore over the group, blotting out the lantern-light in a violent sweep.

“Scavels!” Pyre heard Ronark cry.

The crow-like scavengers dropped from the cloud in a sudden cascade, their forms breaking apart mid-descent before snapping back together. The monsters struck and rose in the same breath, claws and beaks flashing as everyone scattered instinctively.

Pyre summoned his Sigil, utterly unprepared for what followed as Balefor landed the first true blow, his greataxe cracking across one of their ravenous faces. The creature slammed into the ground, bounced once, and skidded to a stop at Pyre’s feet.

It didn’t lie still.

Its body writhed, feathers folding and unfolding over one another like living worms, the thing’s beak snapping weakly as it tried, and failed, to pull itself back into the air.

Pyre and Marrowsven moved in together.

Both their weapons cut into the scavel’s body, and for a brief moment it seemed as though they had killed it. The creature sagged, feathers loosening, its momentum faltering mid-writhe.

Then the feathers began to converge.

They slid over one another like overlapping plates, flowing inward, tightening around Marrowsven’s embedded Sigil.

The thing pulled, trying to swallow her translucent blade whole.

“Careful!” Pyre barked.

Because his weapon burned rather than bit, he struck the scavel again, flames tearing into the mass as he planted his foot against the creature’s neck to brace himself. Heat rolled outward, feathers crisping and recoiling as Pyre hacked at the point where Marrowsven’s weapon had vanished.

In that instant, he caught a glint of something solid and reflective inside the creature’s body.

It was gone almost immediately as the beast twisted away, its body folding sideways with unnatural strength.

Pyre lost his footing and was thrown backward as the scavel lurched into the air, wings snapping open. Marrowsven was dragged with it for half a heartbeat, her grip locked on her Sigil.

The creature gained height in a violent jerk, Marrowsven’s boots leaving the stone as its claws tightened.

The Shepherd was suddenly there. He stepped directly into its path as it climbed and smashed it across the face with his crook.

The impact was catastrophic.

The creature slammed into the ground and sent the former assassin rolling as the Shepherd drove the staff down through it with brutal precision. Pyre heard the sound of shattering glass, followed by the scavel collapsing into a lifeless heap of feathers.

Before Pyre could speak, the Shepherd pulled his staff free and turned to the two of them. “Scavels have Anima crystals embedded in their bodies. Destroy them, and you will kill the creature instantly,” he said, eyes already tracking the mass overhead. “Otherwise, they will fight endlessly.”

Another scavel dropped out of the cloud, and Ronark met it with a blast of Anima that caught it full in the chest, the impact twisting it sideways mid-dive. Its wings faltered. The creature shrieked as it fought to recover, talons carving furrows in the air.

Tallow was already moving.

He shifted as he ran, shoulders broadening, limbs lengthening, fire splitting along the outline of his form. He slammed into the scavel, drove it to the stone, and punched through its breastbone in a single motion. Fingers closing around the embedded crystal, Tallow tore it free. The scavel convulsed once, then collapsed, feathers scattering across the alcove as Tallow stepped back, the Anima crystal pulsing in his grasp.

“That’s another thing,” the Shepherd called out. “If you can get the crystal, we could use it. But better to focus on destroying it at this stage.”

How many are there? Pyre thought as he tracked the black mass above them. The scavels wheeled and folded in on themselves like a storm of crows, their numbers blurring into something cold and deliberate.

“We can do this together,” Marrowsven told Pyre. “I bring it down, you destroy the crystal.”

“Right. Let’s go for it!”

Ahead, Balefor had already adjusted to handling the Deep Nether monsters. He fought beside Sura as she froze a scavel mid-swoop, locking its wings in a brittle arc. Instead of beheading it, Balefor drove his axe deep into its torso, plunged an arm inside, and ripped the crystal free with a roar.

The scavel collapsed into inert feathers at his feet.

Not far from them, Ronark and Tallow dropped another, but not before Tallow retrieved its Anima crystal.

The cloud above thickened, and a scavel tore free of it, screaming as it dropped toward Pyre and Marrowsven. She met it without hesitation, twisting beneath the dive. Her joints shifted at impossible angles as she folded backward, then snapped upright, driving her blade up into its spine.

The creature crashed into the stone in front of Pyre, wings beating wildly, claws tearing gouges into the ground as it tried to rise.

He stepped in before it could move. One cut split feathers and muscle. Light flashed beneath the torn flesh, the Anima crystal pulsing. Pyre struck again, and the crystal fractured with a sharp crack. The scavel collapsed in on itself, body unraveling into a pile of useless feathers.

Above them, the swirling mass of scavels tightened, the cloud contracting like a living storm sucking in an angry breath.

“Then bring it!” Ronark shouted as he fired directly into it.

The blast scattered the formation, tearing the flock apart.

For a split second Pyre could see individual scavels tumbling, wings flailing, before they slammed back together again. Instead of diving, the cloud circled once more, pulled back, then surged downward as a single wave.

Irix stepped into their path and unleashed a wall of sound.

The scavels were thrown aside, their formation shredded. They reassembled almost instantly and rushed again, faster this time, forcing everyone to dive for cover or throw themselves behind the sarcophagus.

Then, just as abruptly as they had arrived, the scavels were gone.

“We have to move,” the Shepherd said, his tone tight, breaths short. “Staying near carrion only draws worse.”

Pyre scanned the Deep Nether frantically, heart hammering. “They’re gone?”

“Never,” came the Shepherd’s reply. “But they’re gone for now. And that’s good for us.”

Ronark crouched behind the sarcophagus. “Well, lads, who is going to help me here?”

“We still have a bridge to cross,” Sura reminded them.

“How many crystals did you all get?” Veylan asked, the old man with the wooden box still in his hands.

“Three,” the Shepherd told him.

“Good,” Veylan said, turning to the Irix. “That should be enough for you to handle it and speed this little trip along.”

“On it.” Within a matter of moments, Irix gathered the crystals and drew them into her form. The vibrations in the air deepened as she cracked them one by one, Anima surging outward in rippling waves that made Pyre’s teeth ache. Light threaded through her, briefly solidifying her fingers and then shoulders, the suggestion of a human form.

“I got it from here,” she told the Shepherd.

The sarcophagus lifted from the ground and began to drift forward.

They followed it, weapons ready, eyes constantly tracking the void above. The tension didn’t ease until they reached the stone pillar spanning the chasm, the same Marrowsven had explored earlier.

Once she was ready, Irix guided the sarcophagus across, steady and deliberate. Veylan followed, lanterns clustering close around him.

The group cleared the chasm and continued along the path. Around the next bend, a thin pillar of light came into view, green from one angle, blue from another, shifting as though uncertain which color it wished to be.

That must be the beacon Veylan placed for our group and the other Unmoored out in the Deep Nether, he thought.

“Here’s good,” Veylan told Irix. “Place it here, right in front of the beacon. We’ll deal with getting it through later. How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” she told him after gently placing the giant stone sarcophagus on the ground. “I’ve only tried one of their Anima crystals once.” She flexed her hands, the vibrations settling. “They’re quite strong.”

“Harvesting from scavels is one way to get power out here,” Sura said. “Dangerous, though.” She smiled at the three Unclaimed, always the teacher.

“Where to now, Veylan?” the Shepherd asked.

“Yes, right. It’s best we just leave our portal and our sarcophagus here.” The older man raised his monocular and scanned the distant landmasses. He pointed at one in particular that curved inward like a broken crescent, its outer edge tapering into a narrow spur. “I still believe that’s our best option.”

“Then that’s where we’ll go.” The Shepherd turned to the Unclaimed. “And you three: you will need to recover Anima when we get there. Things are going to heat up soon, especially once the factions start setting the boundaries of their claimfields.”