K. McEntire - Lightbringer

“Whatever it is, it began glowing and they perked up like hounds scenting a bitch. They followed it.” Lily’s voice trembled. Groaning, she pointed in the direction of the southernmost building. “The Walkers left.”

Puzzled, Piotr turned and squinted in the direction she pointed. She spoke the truth. “Maybe they weren’t hungry after all?”

“Impossible.” She lapsed into her native tongue, querying. When Piotr, uncomprehending, didn’t reply, she switched to English with a frown. “The fox does not relinquish the hare so easily when the kill is moments away. Why would they leave like that?”

Piotr leaned down and scooped Lily into his arms. Though corded with muscle, his old mentor was still light as thistledown, slight, and easy to lift. “Who cares? Let’s leave before they change their minds.” Thankfully her leg was already beginning to mend, layers of effervescent tissue bubbling forth over the bone. Healing for their kind was slow without the touch of one of the Lost. Still, he was glad it had been just the two of them. A Walker scenting the Lost often went into berserker frenzy. Piotr couldn’t imagine having to protect both Lily and a child against one Walker, much less against two of them.

They had to get out of there, NOW.

“Piotr, wait.” Lily struggled in his grip. “I cannot leave. For many nights I have walked with the moon to track those monsters here.”

“You…Lily, why? You’re still camped out in San Jose, da? Why would you chase a pair of Walkers all this way?”

“The death dealers took Dunn. I will not leave without learning his fate.” Her eyes were bright with tears that did not fall.

Sympathy welled in Piotr, coupled with abject horror. Losing one of your Lost was a horrible feeling, one no Rider should ever have to go through, but losing a child to the Walkers was worse. He ached for her loss. “Oh,” he murmured. “Zhal , Lily. I’m so sorry.”

“There is no sorry,” she snapped, sloe eyes flashing. “Put me down.”

“Net , I cannot.” Piotr shook his head and started towards the highway. “They almost killed you and were going to chew on us to round out the evening. I won’t let you serve yourself up for a second helping.”

“Let me go!”

Firmly, he tightened his grip, careful of her wounded leg. “No, Lily,” he said, careful to emphasize the English word. “I will not.”

“I hope you rot, Piotr.” Then, viper-quick, she punched him in the nose.

Without meaning to, Piotr dropped her, clapping his hands to his face as the tears streamed down. Piotr heard her limping quickly away, the scrape of her boots loud in the strange, still brilliance filling the courtyard.

By the time the dots had quit dancing in front of his eyes, Piotr had lost sight of Lily, but, unwilling to let her face the Walkers alone, he raced after, toward the light. Within moments crossing the distance grew difficult; the air had grown thick and syrupy, yet still comfortably warm, like wading through the midsummer surf, tidal in its intensity.

Just ahead Lily knelt, hands resting on knees, eyes cast forward. Further on by quite a distance the two Walkers cut their way through the air, moving rapidly toward a shining figure, lit from within. Even at this distance, Piotr could feel the heat the creature gave off, and the prismatic fire at its core was near blinding.

“Lily?” Piotr knelt beside her. “What is it? What’s wrong? Are you hurt further?”

“Piotr,” she breathed, “do you see her? Do you see Awonawilona?”

“Who?” Piotr touched Lily’s shoulder. She was trembling.

“Awonawilona , Piotr. The bringer of light.” Tears coursed down her cheeks, wetting the curtain of her thick black hair. “I’ve been here so many years, Piotr. So many years, almost as many as…” She hesitated then forged on. “My people, my shaman, I thought they were all mistaken. They weren’t. Awonawilona does exist.”

Shameless with joy, Lily cried and rocked back and forth on her heels, humming under her breath between words. Passionate and vivid, lit by the light, her voice had taken on a lyrical, musical quality, almost a chanting tone. “I had heard rumors of a creature made of light…but I never believed them. Yet here, now, in this forsaken place, in these grey lands, I’ve finally found the Lightbringer.”

Dazzled and confused, Piotr turned to look again. The figure was small, but brilliant, lit up from within by the intensity of the light pouring from every pore. As he watched it raised two arms outward, seemingly embracing the oncoming Walkers. The faster one reached the figure, only the outline of its cloak setting it apart from the light.

Something about the sluggish way they moved struck Piotr as strange and wrong. The deadly grace of the two Walkers was stripped away, leaving only wooden puppets lurching toward the light like moths…like moths flying straight at candlelight.

“Lily,” Piotr whispered harshly, scooping the young woman again in his arms, “it’s time to leave, da? If that…thing…is a god, I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to be around when—”

Suddenly, from the depths of the creature, tentacles of light shot out, spearing the Walker through the chest, arms, and legs. They were horrific to look at—unnaturally long and quick, the fluidly shifting tentacles were spiky with light and energy, pulsing around the edges in a purple nimbus.

One after another more tentacles, over a dozen in all, burst from the Lightbringer’s chest, stretched, and wrapped around the other Walker, downing it in a moment and dragging it kicking and shrieking forward. It fought, kicking and lashing with the sharpened finger bones, but the Lightbringer only shuddered under the onslaught, barely budging.

A smoky stench, sickly sweet and cloying, drifted downwind as the creature lifted the Walkers up, each impaled on the end of the long and thick tentacles. The scent was like leaves burning; the screams painfully shrill.

Then the first Walker started to flake apart before their eyes, cinders of its essence peeling from the core and floating in the light before burning crisply away. The second Walker doubled its shrieking but the tentacles never wavered, the screaming never stopped.

“No. No-no-no—” Lily gasped and, turning her face daintily aside, retched on Piotr’s shoes. In the distance, after long moments, the shrieks finally wound down and the rich, thick smell of burning began to fade away.

Slowly the creature turned towards them and Piotr could feel a sinuous urge seep into him—he wanted to get closer to the light.

“I think,” Lily said, wiping her hand across her mouth, “that perhaps that may not be Awonawilona after all.”

“The Lightbringer,” Piotr whispered, using all the willpower he had to take one stumbling backward step and then another. Turning his back on the creature, he closed his eyes to the light and concentrated on putting one foot before the other until they reached the highway and the urge to leap into the light miraculously subsided.

There, worn and weary, he sank to the earth, and it was Lily’s turn to watch over him.

Half-sliding through her bedroom window, Wendy winced as the edge of her stocking caught on a splinter and ripped. Her book bag thumped to the floor and she froze, listening carefully for sounds from her father’s room.

Blessed silence.

Shimmying the rest of the way inside, Wendy chucked her bag onto her bed and paused by the mirror to take stock of her appearance before her dad saw her. The rain had washed away most of her makeup, leaving her with raccoon-eyes and lipstick faded to a dull, smudged lilac. The temporary dye was almost gone; once again her hair shone coppery red at the roots and black at the tips, straggling over her shoulders in sodden hanks. Specks of mud dotted her cheeks and neck.