Terry Simpson - Etchings of Power

Swathed in darkness so she appeared no more than a silhouette, Kachien crept from brush to small tree a few feet from the camp. The lookout’s head dipped a few times, each time stopping before his chin hit his chest. Snorting, he shook his head. Kachien froze. The man mumbled to himself, shifted for a more comfortable position, and settled down once more. Moments later, a snore rose from his position.

Kachien darted out from her hiding place, her body leaning forward, an arrow destined for its target. She moved as swift as a striking viper. The soldier didn’t even manage a grunt before Kachien’s hands swept across the area of his throat. Ancel could picture those black blades she used, hidden right now by the darkness, slicing through flesh and artery. The man slumped forward. Kachien caught him and eased him to the ground.

Slowly, she stretched upright, her head arching back to the sky, and rolled her neck from side to side. Ancel shivered to think about the enjoyment that seemed to ripple through her body. When her stretch ended, her head pointed toward the camp and the unsuspecting soldiers.

Watching in silent horror, Ancel tightened his grip on the small sword she’d given him. His stomach clenched. Gasps to either side of him matched his own emotions as Kachien snuck in utter silence to the first sleeping soldier.

Again, there was a small movement, followed by a jerk from the dead man.

Without pausing, she eased forward, a silent silhouette of death in the darkness. A slight motion and a mumbled curse that died in his throat, the next soldier’s flesh met her blades. The noise woke the third Sendethi.

Judging from her earlier speed, Kachien could have reached the man before he rose, but she didn’t try. The soldier leaped to his feet, fumbling about in his boiled leather armor, the still smoldering coals painting his bearded visage with its ruddy glow. He snarled and snatched his sword from his scabbard.

This time, Ancel couldn’t suppress his own gasp with the swiftness in which Kachien moved. Her form was a blur flashing by the firepit. The Sendethi’s hand rose to swing. He never finished the attack. Black blades flashed across his armor parting it like paper. With a gurgle, he collapsed.

Bile rose in Ancel’s throat, not just from seeing the murder, but sick from what Kachien represented. He bit back the sensation, the sour taste filling his mouth. Struggling to remain calm, he eased down the hill the way they’d come, his legs and thoughts wooden. The feel of the grass and uneven ground were distant brushes against his boots.

How could he have fallen for this woman, this heartless killer? The quick deaths he witnessed moments ago, and the times she’d run off back in Randane replayed over and over. Was this to be his destiny? To be caught within the throes of his power with death being the only way to appease it. He squeezed his eyes tight against the thought.

Despite the revulsion he harbored toward Kachien’s acts, he also pitied her. To be unable to function properly until she answered her power’s craving was a burden he couldn’t begin to comprehend. How did she manage to live in such a way? Even as he thought it, he knew he’d do the same if given no other choice. The idea of killing himself to be free of such a curse was beyond him.

I must’ve been a fool to think I could control such power. Look what a monster it has made of her. What chance do I stand if and when the power takes me in the midst of my emotions?

When they’d fled back in Randane, the fear of capture had been overwhelming. Watching her moments ago, tension worming its way through his stomach, had brought on the same effect. Both times, all he could do was watch. Could he really find the Eye in the heat of battle, in the flames of rage, in the icy clamminess of fear? Uncertainty filled him as he trudged through grass laden with dewdrops toward the small hollow where their dartans were tethered.

Ancel glanced over to Danvir. He now understood how his friend must have felt in the tunnels when he’d openly wept about having killed someone. Not far away, Mirza strode, his face blank, gray eyes empty. Whining, Charra padded next to Ancel. He reached a hand out and trailed his fingers through the daggerpaw’s fur. No matter what, Charra was always there for him with no concern for what he faced.

They soon reached the dip in the land where they’d left the dartans. As they often did when Charra approached too close, the creatures mewled. Ancel and his friends hurried over and shushed them. Charra stayed just below the top of the slope watching the way they’d come as nearby trees cast long shadows with the orange hues of dawn now tinting the sky. Far east, red mountains loomed in innumerable plateaus and ridges, their ranges spreading north until they met and became one with the Kelvore Mountains.

Danvir gripped the reins of his mount and drew the beast close. “Did you see how she moved? How can any human be so fast and kill without flinching?”

“Of course we did,” Ancel said. “But at this point, it doesn’t much matter. She did what she needed to bring herself under control.”

“And you’re fine with it?” Danvir protested, his lips curling around the words, disgust twisting his features. “We just watched her murder four men.”

“I thought you’d gotten over this already?” Mirza said, eyebrows raised quizzically. “At least she didn’t turn on us. Not that I think she would, but if this is anything like Ancel said, then it’s the risk we have to live with in order to get home safely.” His voice was hard but calm. “You know, when she used her power to save us at the river, it was fine. Now it’s not. You need to wise up. You seem to forget the Sendethi soldiers have tried to kill or capture us. I, for one, intend to survive this. I want to see Eldanhill again. With you two by my side. I’ll pay any cost.”

Ancel blinked at Mirza’s words and his temperament. Mirza, who was so excitable, taking much for fun, who’d been fearful when they were in the glen, had become a different person. The events in Randane had changed him. Ancel hoped he could carry himself in the same way when the time came for him to take a life.

A low growl from Charra announced Kachien’s return. She appeared at the top of the slope and jogged down to meet them. The occasional twitter from an early morning bird interspersed the still air as they waited. Somewhere, an owl that should have been asleep already, hooted.

Ancel forced himself to meet Kachien’s eyes. The tight lines from earlier no longer marred her features. As much as she’d appeared haggard, now she was the opposite-calm, serene and full of energy. Her face betrayed no emotions as she stopped next to her own mount.

In one hand, Kachien held several sheets of paper. She waved them before her. “These soldiers were looking for you.” Her unyielding gaze took them all in.

Ancel took the papers, reading them wordlessly before passing them around. Drawn on the first sheet was a likeness of him and Charra. On the others were Mirza and Danvir. Mirza hissed and Danvir swallowed.

“And they carried a map of this side of the river. The path they have marked leads to your home,” Kachien added.

All Ancel’s earlier worry about Kachien’s darker side fled him, replaced by concern for Eldanhill. She’d saved their lives yet again. Ilumni smiles on those who follow him in many ways. Maybe Kachien was his way of smiling on them. Either way it was an issue for him to worry about later. He turned to Mirza. “How far are we from the bridge?”

“At least three days.”

“I still think using the bridge is a mistake,” Danvir said. “I have a feeling either Dosteri or Sendethi troops will be there.”

Mirza shook his head. “Unlikely. You’ve taken that route yourself many times. Only the quarry workers and miners use the path through the Red Ridge Mountains down to that bridge. All others take the ferries. If we stay as we are, we’ll skip the ferry landings.” He looked from Kachien to the map she held. “May I?” She passed the map to him. Mirza opened it up. “Look.” He pointed as they drew closer around him. “Here and here are the landings.” The areas he indicated were farther north and toward the Kelvore River. “We’re about here. From the route these soldiers marked, they assumed we would go for the ferries. We stay wide, push hard and we make the bridge. No one will be the wiser.”