Chapter Eight

The road form Tamryod to Shilenguir tunneled through the head-high brush and wound around tree trunks as wide as houses on its way northward. Anise was thankful to travel a paved road for once--the smooth black stones carved through the forest floor like a slow river, glistening blue with reflections of the glowing moss. She walked the road by night, and wore a hood to hide her human features. Although it was not a secret that there was a kavi in Tamryod, she had no desire to expose herself. Irel had not tried to stop her from leaving, but he had urged her to secrecy, and it suited her. The roads coming and going to Tamryod were well-traveled during daytime, and so she rested well off the path. Anise quickly learned to limit the projection of her anima by keeping calm and neutral thoughts, and blending with the ambient voices around her. If someone were to focus, they may have felt the unique strain of anima that set her apart from true Naephra, but only someone who already knew what she as would recognize it as that of a kavi.

The road was empty and quiet now. After leaving Tamryod, Anise had passed many small villages in its outskirts, with their simpler dwellings built among the roots of the great trees, and not carved into their trunks. The trees out here were smaller, both in height and width, and they stood closer together, so that as she walked she felt as if instead of the trees becoming smaller, she was growing larger. After two days of walking, the Thornwood had taken on a completely different appearance, with trees scarcely bigger than those in Saerath. Instead of the wide, airy glens of Tamryod, here the trees and underbrush tangled in a perpetual mesh. If not for the road, the way would have been impassable. Anise passed through many sections with no glowmoss at all, and no moon or starlight piercing the canopy above, leaving her sightless and forced to continue only by the feel of the hard stone beneath her feet. She forced herself to remain alert at all times during her journey, especially in darkness. The effort was exhausting. There was always something to hear in the forest.

She slept, huddled and out of sight away from the road in the daylight, and awoke to unfamiliar prickling sensations in her neck--either a traveler on the road or some busy, unseen creature nearby. She listened and looked around her for the source of the pattern. Sometimes, after waking, she could sleep again, after the moment passed, but she could not feel truly calm. Even in the guest chamber at Tamryod, the ever-flowing stream of voices and echoes crowding past her skin and underneath her own thoughts made her feel completely exposed.

"This is your home now," Anise thought to herself. She closed her eyes and settled against the trunk of a tree. The knotty bark dug into her shoulder. "No going back. Only forward." The old Anise was gone forever from the day she had stepped into the Thornwood. She had nothing to return to.

Anise wondered how Jarko would react when she saw her in Shilenguir. Would she be angry? Likely. It was too much to expect her to be glad--she was disobeying her, after all. But just as she could not return to her past, she could not stand idle, either. If she had any value in her life, any strength to give, she had to act from that, like Jarko herself had said.

She passed the rest of the day pursuing a sleep that never came. When the sun began to set she ate a brief meal from her pack of provisions, pulled her hood over her head, and struck off back onto the road. Rain came, just before dark, giving every leaf a reflective sheen with which to pronounce the fading light. When night came, the glow of the blue moss replaced the sunlight.

Four days had passed since Anise set out from Tamryod. The once-wide road had shrunk to three men abreast, and less in places. There were no more tiny villages to pass. Soon she would have to break west on an unpaved trail that would lead to Shilenguir. "How long until this place feels like a homeland?" Anise wondered. She did not miss Saerath--dusty and empty, full of people but no one she loved. Not anymore.

"Hey, kid."

Alphus hesitated to look up. Long days of marching had left him irritable, and now that the squadrons had finally stopped for the night he felt he deserved to be left alone. The rain had followed them all the way from Laenguir, and it pelted down in loud thwacks on the tent flap over his head. There were no dry spots on the ground, so he sat in the mud.

"What was your name?" It was Tarny. The march and the rain had done nothing to quiet him. Although he liked to joke at the other soldiers constantly, he rarely smiled himself. The recruit hunched down under the tent awning beside him.

"Alphus," he answered.

"You an orphan?"

Alphus didn't answer, although he was surprised that the kid had guessed that.

"At least you had the Academy. Plenty of orphans there, what I hear. I would'a loved to go."

You wouldn't last a day at the Academy, Alphus thought. But he realized that the Tarny's insensitive blathering was intended as goodwill, so he didn't snap at him.

"Did you need something from me?" Alphus asked.

"Oh no, it's just, some of the boys were wonderin' about your story. Word's gone 'round a bit."

"Has it?" Alphus asked, careful to sound apathetic.

"Most of us have never seen a woodsy, you know, or fought one," Tarny said.

"Not even drawings?"

"Course I've seen drawings. Ugly things, aren't they?"

Alphus did not reply. He knew Tarny would keep talking anyway.

"When you found those spies, like they said," he paused, rain dripping off his face. "Some of the boys wanted to know, did they try to bolt you?"

"You want to know if it hurt," Alphus said. He remembered being back in the ravine, feeling his skin trying to peel itself off his bones, and every part of himself burning. "Have you ever put your hand in a pot of boiling water?"

"No," Tarny said.

"Neither have I," said Alphus. "But give me the choice of the two, the pot, or getting bolted--I'd take the pot."

Tarny was silent for a moment. The rain let up a little.

"The ones that did it--did you kill them?" he asked, finally.

"Just leave me be," Alphus said.

"Someone else did?"

"I said leave!"

Anise had not seen anyone on the road in two days when she finally felt a presence ahead. A multitude, in face, and it could only mean that Shilenguir was close. Her trousers were torn at the knees and ankles, where thorns and stickers from the ratty underbrush snagged them. The growth in this part of Naephrath was young and tenacious, grasping for life in old Saeran soil, thin and dry. While in Tamryod, anima sprung from the ground and filtered everywhere at once, here it came in scarce narrow veins, eking out slowly. It was less insistent, but the anima was still there. Anise was surprised by what a difference it made. Every rhythm seemed more distant and more abrasive, not like the all-encompassing melange of the bustling townships farther south.

As she made her way west, the trees thinned out. There was a greater distance between them, so that the road was not required for easy passage, but only for direction. The stone paving had ended much earlier, and now it was pressed dirt.

Shortly before sunrise, Anise saw the first burnt tree. There was no glowmoss here, but moonlight through the meager branches showed that the trunk was black and brittle. Soon, nearly every other tree she passed was the same--a dead husk, charred and broken. During the war, the Saeran armies had tried to burn through the Thornwood, especially around Shilenguir. Here, the rapid regrowth mixed with the old, dead scars, surrounding them. The humans could not fully clear this section before the war had ended, but instead of cutting them down to make space for new saplings, the Naephra had let these ones stand. Perhaps they were a reminder of what they had lost, or simply a show of respect for the trees that had stood firm while those around them had crumbled to ash.

Anise lost the road, but she didn't need it now--it may have ended, anyway--since she could feel the anima ahead of Shilenguir's inhabitants. The ground sloped upward as she walked. The advancing morning was dark and damp like the night before it, but now there was blue in the sky, and the moon faded. Ahead, at the top of the hill, the towers of the fortress city Shilenguir jutted over the trees, catching a hint of light from the distant sunrise. Anise pushed up the hill. She had kept a good pace over her journey, she thought, and longed to stretch over even a meager cot, and eat a warm meal.

Finally, she reached the wall, its great foundation stones wider than the span of her arms, supporting the slightly smaller ones above them, and on in the same way up the side. The wall was blank--she had not come to the gate. Anise sat down where the grass met the stone and rested her back against the smooth surface, still slick from the morning air. When she tilted her head back, the wall peered out over her, as if it would fall, and she felt dizzy. After her short rest, she pushed herself up and followed it south.

The gate was smaller than she expected, but still imposing with its reinforced doors shutting out the world. Anise waited a moment, half expecting them to open at her approach. They did not. From behind the wall she felt the Naephra, but she could not discern much other than their presence. While she walked she had thought about what might happen when she arrived--whether they would welcome her, or perhaps threaten her. She wasn't afraid. If she could only speak to Jarko, she could explain herself, and convince her to let her stay. Jarko would at least listen to her.

They had to know she was there, waiting; had probably seen her approaching from the east. And they felt her.

"Jarko!" she yelled. "I came all this way--you could at least come to the gate!"

There was no response. She called her name again. Even if she was not within earshot, others would know the name and tell her. Anise sat down on the ground, facing the door, as the sun peeked over the trees. A moment later, the doors opened, and two armed and armored Naephran men exited. Anise stood up straight. The Naephra grabbed her shoulders, hardly looking at her. She let them pull her in and the doors closed behind them.

It was darker within the walls. Thin tree trunks stabbed through the stone courtyard, scattered wherever their roots took hold. Naephran soldiers, busily preparing for action, stopped what they were doing to gawk at Anise as the guards led her through. No one tried to speak to her. Any artifacts of culture or peaceful habitation had been scraped from the foundations as the city was taken and retaken. The Naephra had brought their trees, but even the Thornwood had to fight through the pavement. There seemed to be no civilian dwellings.

The guards led Anise to large low building at the center of the city. This was the fortress within the fortress, which housed Shilenguir's own Council, long ago. Many soldiers gathered at the doors, armored in gallant silvery plate. Anise had never seen armor like this worn by the Naephra before. As she approached, one of the soldiers spoke quickly in Naephran and let them pass through the open gate. Anise felt their curiosity as they watched her go. A note of hostility, but restrained. She shivered. She wanted to tell them that she was here to fight alongside them. Open communication was a luxury that she grew to yearn for every day that she spent alone in the Thornwood.

The doorway led into a corridor, lit with torches, with other doors along the sides. They continued straight on, at last coming out into a round room, at the end of which was a long bench and eight empty chairs behind it. Here they waited. Anise felt her fear but struggled against it. She did not want the Naephra to see her that way. She considered trying to speak to the guards but could not think of anything to say.

Then the guards turned and left the way they had come, closing the doors securely behind them, and Anise was alone, but only for a moment. Out of a door opposite her in the large room came a Naephran man, wearing a dark cloak over his body. He approached one of the chairs at the long bench and sat down. He moved slowly and carefully, like an old man, but he did not appear old.

"Come close," he said, and it startled her. She stepped forward, into the center of the room.

"I came to see Jarko," Anise said. The main did not reply, which made her want to say more, but she stopped herself.

"Beautiful, truly," the man said.

"What do you mean?"

"You, dear one! Miraculous. All my life I hoped to see a kavi before I died. And today, of all days! It is wonderful."

Anise could not remember ever being called beautiful. She did not know how to react.

"Thank you," she said.

"I thrilled to hear Jarko talk of meeting you. It would seem you came to know each other well."

"She is my friend," Anise said. "I would like to speak to her, please."

"Your impatience rivals your beauty, Anise," the man said. He smiled. "I understand that a person so impassioned as yourself might view such pleasantries with disdain, and perhaps rightly so, but please allow me the honor of introducing myself."

Here the man paused, and Anise felt ashamed, for she could hear from within him a slight loathing toward her, despite his jovial attitude. She had not known Naephra to be two-faced, since so much of their communication relied on anima, which could neither be fully hidden or altered. Perhaps he considered her incapable of reading him, she thought.

"I am Soaden Koloy, Lord of Shilenguir. The one who took this city, years ago. And you are Anise Eckley. The first kavi born in over forty years. And now you are here. Why?"

"I thought it was the right thing to do."

"You feel that it is your duty to fight here beside us?" Soaden asked.

"No. I didn't have to come here. Mostly I didn't even want to. But I knew it was the right thing."

"Then why did Jarko tell you to stay in Tamryod?"

"She thinks I'm weak," Anise said. "That I can't act for myself. I didn't want her to be right. Can I just talk to her?"

"Jarko does not wish to see you," Soaden said.

"I don't believe you. Is she here? Where is she?"

"She is positioning her troops as we speak. The Saerans are on their way.

"Take me to her. Or just let me fight somewhere. Let me do something. Tell me what I can do."

"You were a true friend to my dearest Jarko. I am grateful for that. But you should have listened to her."

"I'm not afraid to die," Anise said.

"You lie. But death is upon you whether you fear it or not." He approached her, getting up from his seat and walking around the bench into the center of the room. "Death is upon all of us. We lack the strength to fend off the Saerans. Even Jarko suspects this."

Soaden's presence pushed heavily on the corners of Anise's mind, relentlessly pounding at her neck and down her back. She had scarcely felt it before, but now she could not ignore it or breathe it out. She had never felt such an overpowering anima, and the amount of effort required just to speak made her entire body shake.

"Stop," she said.

"Is this how you would pay for your father's sins? For causing the death of your mother?"

"No," Anise said.

"Or do you blame yourself? You wish to punish yourself for her death? If your father was its author, you were its deliverer. A beautiful demon child."

"Stop, please!" Anise cried. The pressure became pain under her skin.

"I can see her in you," he said. "I can feel her. Poisoned. Even in your blood, he is strangling her!"

Soaden stood over her now as Anise fell to her knees. She saw in his deep-sunken eyes the weight of years upon him. White Naephran specks like tiny stars dotted the leathered skin over his cheekbones.

"Can you feel them coming closer? Thousands of them. Because of you. Because of you they march here with earth's blood in their veins, because you would not let Jarko do what was right. You took that sacrifice from her."

"I'm sorry," Anise said.

"That is why you are still human. You believe you can change what you've already done. Change who you were by becoming someone else."

"Jarko believed I could change."

"She never told you what she believed. She pitied you," Soaden said.

"That's a lie!"

"I heard you when you reached out for your father from Tamryod. You searched so hard for him." The rhythm of his anger pounded inside Anise's skull. But there was something else there, too. A voice, beautiful and familiar, underneath.

"You can hear it. She is still part of me. It was her voice you should have searched for."

"I can hear it," Anise said.

"Then listen. That is the voice you stole from me."

Again she saw her mother, arms outstretched to hold her, eyes warm and wide. She stood up, slowly, still quivering in pain. Soaden's anima ripped across her back, but she could process it now. She breathed.

"You truly are remarkable, Anise," Soaden said. "But you should not have come here. Now you will die, just as your father did." The flickering light of the chamber's lamps reflected in the silver blade of the knife as Soaden drew it from under his cloak and slashed in a wide arc toward her body. Anise stepped back to avoid it, and with his arm extended at the end of his strike, she grabbed his wrist. With his other hand he shoved her backward, and fell on top of her. His speed surprised her, but Anise reacted quickly to keep her head from striking the stone, keeping her neck stiff and bent upward. His body was heavy, and she could not move her legs. As he tried to bring his knife down closer, his other forearm crushed the side of her face. She could not see him, but her other hand found the hard crook of his jaw; his skin flexed under her thumb as she felt the ridges of his throat as she gripped it. He made a gurgling, wet sound and tried to twist his upper body away, but still she kept her grip.

Anise felt her strength waning. Although she had subdued it somewhat, the ceaseless crash of noise in her head still continued--pure hatred, crawling inside her. Soaden's weight shifted higher, and he raised his arm, holding the knife over her head now. She knew the tip was close to her skin, and her arm shook from the strain of holding it away. But when he had shifted, he gave Anise space to move her leg, and she used it to twist her body away from him. His arm slipped as he tried to regain his position over her, and she let go of his neck, grabbing it with both hands to angle the blade away. Desperately, he pulled the knife up and out of her grip, then slashed blindly. Anise deflected most of the force of it with her palm against his wrist, but she could not stop the tip of the blade from slicing into her shoulder. The pain was tremendous and instant, fire sweeping down her arm, her chest, and her neck, worse than any ordinary cut.

But the pain spurred her into motion. Before Soaden could raise his arm to stab again, Anise had pried the knife from his grip and jerked her hand to his waist. She didn't feel the knife piercing him at first, but felt her thumb and forefinger against his body and heard his gasp. She pulled the knife up and across the front of his body, and felt her chest dampen with what could only be his blood. The burning echo of his hate in her spine faltered and dissolved.

With one hand still gripped to the knife in his stomach, Anise pushed Soaden's body off of her. He didn't resist, but still he stared at her, and his lips wavered but he made no sound. He slumped onto his back and clutched vaguely at the knife hilt. Anise dragged herself away but did not get up. Her right arm was limp from the cut at her shoulder, and she dared not look at the wound. She only watched as Soaden's chest rose and fell with his breathing, the rhythm slowing with each exhale. He did not turn to look at her, and she was glad for that. His anima grew faint and indecipherable, like footsteps down a long hallway. The last echo was small and quiet, and then there was nothing. Anise couldn't feel anything except the hideous pain in her shoulder. Cautiously, she snuck her left hand under the collar of her shirt, feeling down the slope of her shoulder until a swift jolt of pain leapt out from where her fingers touched. She felt the blood on her skin. Anise peeled back the cloth and looked down.

A black gash ran from the top of her breast up to her shoulder. Her breath snagged in her chest. The blood from it was black as well, and it burned like an ember burrowing into her skin. The pain was unbearable. She tried to focus on her breathing, pulling anima up from her feet, through her legs, her stomach, lungs, and neck, but at the crest of every breath the anima faded into silence. And the silence frightened her. Her breaths quickened, and the burning spread, replacing the limp numbness in her muscles with fire, crawling farther down her arm, into her chest, and licking her spine.

"What have you done to me?" Anise whispered. But she knew. "Earth's blood," he had called it. Sivra. The knife must have been coated with it, she realized. And then she knew that she was dying.

They approached the city at dawn. Alphus's squadron was in the first column, the ones responsible for breaking through Shilenguir's gate. In the rows ahead of him, other soldiers carried the long, heavy battering ram that would grant their entry. Ten men to a side and supported with thick cords.

Their scouts had reported very little. As they had suspected, the only entry was the south gate, and the Thornwood lay uncomfortably close to the east of the city. The sunrise cast a maddening red haze over the black mass of trees. There were no Naephra to be seen.

Alphus's feet were sore and blistered. He wanted to sit and eat a quiet breakfast. He wanted to be alone, and to take off his heavy chestplate and helmet. But, like the other soldiers, his feet propelled him onward. He saw the anxiety on the strained, young faces of the other men. Each one knew that many of them would die in the coming hours. Alphus knew this better than most, but he did not allow himself to calculate his odds of survival. Belamire would not have thought that way.

The march began to slow as they neared the walls, and Alphus's resolve crumbled into dust. This was all happening, this moment, and he could not turn back or hide. A distant horn blasted, and the sound was replaced with a great shout and the rumbling of the entire army as the soldiers began to run. The man behind him pushed forward, and Alphus matched his pace to keep from being knocked over and trampled. And he knew that in a way everything was over already. He felt as if he were falling into a black unknown. He kept his gaze to the man directly in front of him, and drew his sword.

The front line at last came to the gate, and still the Naephra did not appear. The ram bearers charged for their target, one hand each holding up the ram, with the other carrying their shield overhead. The rest pressed forward, slowly now.

"Shields!" someone shouted, and Alphus obeyed, lifting his shield over himself. He heard the rushing of arrows ahead as they fell on the front line. With his shield up, he could not see the walls of the city or where he was going, so he followed the feet of the man in front of him. A loud thunk startled him, and he realized that an arrow had struck his shield. The vibration made his arm numb, but he kept his grip on it. He heard screaming now, mixed in with the constant grinding of boots. From under his shield he saw the gate, ahead and to his right, not far from him. He turned towards it and continued on. He did not know why, but he wanted to be at the gate. He hesitated to call it courage--he simply did not want to die outside the city walls, if he was to die.

Another blast from a horn, nearer this time.

"March east!" someone shouted, and once again the squadron started to run, and Alphus ran with them.

"Why would we run toward the Thornwood?" Alphus wondered, but he soon realized that they were not. They were running to face what had come out of the Thornwood.

The column was no longer so tightly packed, and Alphus could see between the backs of the other men in the squadron the mass of bodies charging out of the forest. Naephra.

Then, pain, through the whole of his body. It came upon him quickly, and it was one that he knew well, and had felt twice before. He stumbled, but in seconds it passed. He kept running forward. Around him, soldiers lost balance, or dropped their weapons. Many staggered but continued on. It had been a massive bolt from the Naephran line, and, Alphus realized, without sivra, his entire squadron would now be dead. But while the bolts had not killed them, the eastern column had been destabilized, just as the Naephra reached them. For a moment, Alphus could do nothing. Surrounded by other men, he listened to the clash ahead.

Then, they broke through.

The man to Alphus's right fell on his back, struck by a blow from a Naephran sword, and the enemy's eyes passed over Alphus's face.

Alphus's mind told him that his stance was poor, and his sword was held too low. But he had no time to correct this. He lunged forward, pointing the tip of his blade at the Naephra's waist. Instead of deflecting it with his short sword, the Naephra sidestepped, preparing for a more direct counterattack. But Alphus swung quickly, and his sword caught beneath the Naephra's arm. His attack had been instinctively accurate, but still he was surprised when his weapon met resistance.

He drew back his sword and raised his shield. There were three other Naephra engaged around him. When another man fell, Alphus rushed up with his shield, ramming his enemy and sending the Naephra falling backward onto his side. He knew he could not hesitate. He brought down his sword, and the Naephra attempted to block it, but was not strong enough. His resistance gave, and Alphus's sword came down in his neck.

A scream came from behind him and then was cut off. Alphus turned. A Naephran warrior held a Saeran at his shoulder, his sword protruding from the man's lower back, just below his plate armor. The Naephra pushed him down, pulling his sword free, and as he fell Alphus heard him yell again. The Naephra stared at Alphus, as if to dare him to move or run away.

"I'm about to kill him," Alphus thought, and the thought did not frighten him.

He was about to raise his sword when he heard movement beside him and crouched to avoid the swipe of another Naephra's sword. Before he could stand upright again, the first Naephra swung downward toward him. Alphus lifted his shield and the sword clanged against it. The shock pushed him backward, and he reached down with his sword arm to keep from falling on his back. He knew it would not be enough. He was off balance and engaged on two sides. He felt heavy and slow and in an instant glimpsed a great wariness that he had not been aware of before. The two Naephra lunged for him together in a two-pronged stroke.

Alphus swept his shield across his chest, although he had no strength to push off an attack. He hoped it would be enough to deflect a weapon for a moment, although from his position he could not defend two strikes at once. One of the Naephra's strikes did hit his shield. The other's did not make it even that far. At the crest of his swing, another sword slashed the back of his neck. His motion faltered, and his head tipped forward, too far, as a jet of blood escaped in an arc, following him to the ground beside Alphus. The other Naephra turned to see the new attacker, but he had already gone, and Alphus dropped his shield, gripped his sword hilt in both hands, and stuck the Naephra in his leg. He cried out in deep pain. Alphus stood up, then swung at the Naephra's sword arm. The weapon fell, and its owner reeled back, still screaming, but somehow standing. Alphus swung his sword a third time, higher now. The blade struck at the Naephra's chin, slicing open his jaw and knocking him down.

"The gate!" someone shouted, and Alphus recognized the voice. It was Bannon, and Alphus saw him, horseback, with his sword held high, riding back toward entrance to the city. Alphus picked up his shield and went after him.

The center column had been swarmed by another line of Naephra. Their western flank had scattered, and the Naephra had the entire column trapped against the locked gate. But he heard the boom of the ram against the doors, and it gave him hope. He knew that if they could breach the gate, then the battle could be won.

An arrow struck the ground in front of him as he ran, but he kept running. Another boom at the gate. Another, even through the din of fighting. But not another. The battering ram had stopped. Through the mass in front of him, Alphus saw the gate itself. In front of it, Naephra had formed a line, and the ram lay on the ground. He knew he had to reach the gate. It took ten men working to break down the doors. He would be one of them, or he would protect them.

There were others running alongside him, and for a moment he felt as if he was leading them, and they depended upon him alone. He knew the he was only a small piece of the effort, but the thought gave him courage. Alphus set his eyes on a single Naephra ahead, and he did not look away. He wondered if any of these creatures had feared being killed by a human. He was fate for them, a fate they had not asked or planned for. And that made him feel powerful.

Something struck Alphus in the arm, but he did not see it or register any pain form it. All he saw was his enemy before him, and they collided. Alphus kept his footing, but the Naephra did not, and so Alphus continued on. When another Naephra swung from his left, Alphus leapt into the strike, shield raised. His movement was quick and instinctual and the enemy did not expect it, and the shield struck his head, staggering him. With the edge of his shield, Alphus jabbed at the Naephra's throat and connected, and his head swung back as he fell.

Other soldiers had already begun to take up the cords to wield the ram again and Alphus threw down his shield and took up a place beside it. The cord was rough and covered in muck and blood. He lifted, and the siege began again.

"Yah!" someone shouted, and they lurched forward. The ram swung on their ropes and struck the gate with a thunderous crack. Five steps back to pull it away, and then all dashed forward after another yell. The ram thudded against the gate but again it refused to give. Around them soldiers had hastily formed a line. Again they charged at the doors, and again, but despite the withering sound from each impact, the gate stood.

"Again!" someone said, and the stepped back, pulling the ram with them. Alphus turned around, only to see a Naephra breaking through and running toward them. The rearmost gatecrasher dropped his side of the harness and turned to face the attacker, drawing his sword. And as he turned, Alphus recognized him. It was Tarny. The Naephra kept running. Tarny held his sword high, ready to strike, but the Naephra was already upon him, and slashed his short blade through Tarny's throat. Before he had fallen to the ground, the Naephra had lunged toward the next in the siege position, but this one was prepared. He blocked the enemy's opening strike and pushed back to engage him.

"Again!" Alphus shouted. Even with two men away and an enemy behind them, he knew they could not afford to slow their pace. More men would come to fill their places as Alphus had. He ran forward, carrying the ram with him, heavier now. The rough cord burned against his skin. It struck the gate, and the force of the impact reverberated all through his body. The doors did not buckle. Alphus looked behind his shoulder. The Naephra was gone, but so were two of their group. Alphus's breath came in gasps. He did not know how much longer he could pull his weight. Alphus did not want to collapse at the enemy's doorstep, but he could no longer feel his arms.

"Again!" said Bannon. He gripped both empty harnesses behind them, his face smeared with blood and dirt and his officer's helmet missing as was his horse. The line around them had stabilized now--soldiers stood ready, waiting for the way forward into the city. Some men dropped their harnesses and let other take their place. Alphus held on, and they prepared to charge again.

"Back!" Bannon said, and they carried the ram back five steps. "Back! Farther!" he said, and they went on five more. Then Bannon screamed, and they all shouted with him, and they flew toward the door. The ram struck at the center of the double doors, but the impact was lighter this time. The doors parted at the center and swung inward. Wood splintered and broke. They dropped the harnesses and the ram fell in the opening, wide enough for two men to pass through at a time. Alphus could see more Naephra through the gap, leaning and pushing against the door across from him. He did not know what to do--had not thought of what would happen if the gate fell. But he had no choice. In the surge of bodies he was pushed forward, into the soldier in front of him, and they stumbled onward.

Alphus managed to pick up his shield again and hold it over his head, just as arrows screamed through the gap ahead. There was no room to move--the mass of bodies funneled into the gap, constantly pushing, and all he could do was move forward. His foot fell in something slick. All around him was the sound of banging, crushing, and crunching, and the never-ending shout.

The doors slowly opened further from the tremendous weight pushing them, stronger than the Naephra pushing back, and at last the Saerans broke through in force. Alphus could move freely again. But the Naephra did not flee. Alphus and the others who had gone past the gate were now surrounded on three sides, and they could not turn back. Here, Alphus could not summon his courage, or remember his training. He could only act. To hesitate was death. New dead, Naephran and Saeran covered the ground, their limbs tangled like exposed roots.

The front lines of both sides collapsed into a mesh of steel against steel. Alphus could not focus on one enemy at a time, for there were always more coming through. He kept moving, afraid to stop. He swung his weapon in wide arcs at the enemy before him, who scrambled away. Beside him, a Naephra grappled on the ground with another human soldier. They rolled forward and back, arms grasping for leverage. Alphus brought the edge of his shield down on the back of the Naephra's neck. The blow was not strong, but his body went slack instantly.

Pain shattered across Alphus's right ear--a bolt of woodsore that penetrated his skull. He reeled from the intense pressure but managed to turn just as his attacker leapt forward. The Naephra's thrust missed, but not completely, and Alphus was dimly aware of a new pain, distant but strong, in his right shoulder. The throbbing in his head overpowered it.

Alphus made a wild swing, instinctive and sloppy, not trying to damage, but to keep distance. His will was fading, and he knew it. He could not focus on everything around him. But the woodsore was already beginning to fade away, and the familiar burn of sivra took its place, filling his mind again with the singular purpose of survival.

The Naephra did not hesitate at Alphus's hasty swing, but charged in with another strike of his own, this one a low sweep aimed for his waist. His movement was clean and direct, with no wasted effort. Alphus read the path of his enemy's eyes and the shift in his legs and torso. He knew where his sword would land and raised his own on a path to meet it.

"One movement, one movement," he thought. "That is all."

The blades clashed. The tremor bit into his shoulders, but his arm held steady. He saw the opening. The Naephra was about to make a careless mistake, reaching his sword arm upward to prepare a backhand strike, but lacking the proper distance for a full-body motion. It would be a difficult attack for him to block, but Alphus did not plan to block it.

He threw down his shield. His aim had to be perfect. Alphus with all his speed reached with his open hand up to the poised sword arm of his enemy, closing his fingers around his wrist and pulling it away from his body. The Naephra grasped for Alphus's neck with his other hand, but it did not save him. Alphus brought down his sword to the midpoint of the Naephra's outstretched sword arm. It lodged at his elbow, and as he screamed and fell back, the forearm tore away in Alphus's hand. He let go.

The Naephra fell onto his back on the battlefield, but reached for Alphus's shield on the ground beside him.

"No!" Alphus screamed, and he kicked the shield away. He raised his sword and took a step forward. Blood pooled on the ground from the Naephra's arm.

The Naephra drew a knife from his belt and thrust it into Alphus's thigh, just as Alphus stabbed the point of his blade into the Naephra's neck, pressing down as hard as he could. Blood sprayed up the blade of his sword and out onto the Naephra's breastplate, and finally stopped. Everywhere around him, others fought.

He remembered the knife in his leg, but he didn't feel it until he started to pull it out. Then the pain came, and he felt as if air was rushing out of his head. The knife came out and fell to the ground. He had to move. Had to be somewhere else. It felt to him like he had forgotten something of great importance, and he was left in the wrong place.

Stamping footsteps rushed by him, made by guardsmen on horseback. The fighting was thinned now, spread across the inner courtyard. Without the immediate fear of an enemy bearing down upon him, Alphus finally felt his fear. He was injured. It was pointless to keep fighting. He had to stop moving. But he went on anyway.

Anise awoke to silence. She did not open her eyes. She was afraid.

"I've died," she thought, and she would have believed it, except for the ache in her body--an ache that burned against her bones and her skin. Darkness swirled beneath her eyelids. Her thoughts were quiet and still, and she did not feel their rhythmic echo down her spine and in her neck. She was absolutely alone. And although she wanted to believe she was alive, there was some part of her that was not.

"Perhaps I was dead," Anise thought. "And now I am somewhere else. Or I can be someone else." She opened her eyes, but knew what she would see: the same room, round and empty, deep within the walls of Shilenguir. She sat up. Soaden still lay on the floor beside her, the knife protruding from his unmoving chest.

"Anise?"

Jarko stood at the doorway. In her armor, she seemed bigger than before. Blood marked her chest, her boots, and even her hair. She swept a loose strand away from her eye. Her voice seemed different. Hollow, and distant. She could not feel her words up through her skin.

"What happened?" Jarko asked. She came closer. When she saw Soaden's body, she stopped.

"I'm sorry," Anise said. "He tried...he hurt me."

Jarko looked again to Soaden's body, and at the black scar over Anise's shoulder, and understanding washed over her face.

"I will help you," Jarko said. "Everything will be right again."

"No, you have to leave me. I've lost it. I can't hear it anymore. I shouldn't have come here." It's gone, she thought. Any trace of anima in her body was gone. Soon she would grow accustomed to the silence again--the absence of the living echo surrounding her always. The memory of her own rhythm, once a constant drone beneath her thoughts, was already fading.

"No, Anise. This time, you did something good. And I am...glad to see you." Jarko smiled. Anise smiled back.

"Get away from her!" said Alphus. He sprinted from the doorway, sword held high. Jarko spun, deflecting his sword with her own, and following with a kick to his thigh that sent him stumbling. She did not pursue him.

"Why are you here?" Alphus asked, looking to Anise now. "What have they done to you?"

"Jarko, don't hurt him, please!" Anise said.

"I can help you, just come with me!" Alphus shouted. "You need me. I was wrong to leave you before."

"Go," Jarko said. "He is your friend. You do not have to hurt him."

"No," anise said. "He made his choice, and I've made mine."

"Then I am sorry," Jarko said. She lunged forward with a single step, her sword arm outstretched, and with a bang Alphus tumbled backward. The air hummed, and Anise felt the slightest twitch just below her neck. The air cracked again, as Jarko bolted him a second time, and again she felt the tingle under her skin, this time accompanied by the black burning in her shoulder, radiating through her body. Alphus screamed in agony, but Anise could do nothing. She could not save him now. He would not let her save him. He chose this, she told herself. He pushed himself up, hunched over, but standing, and still gripping his sword. Jarko's brow wrinkled with determination, but she saw that her friend was tiring. Jarko approached him steadily, her own sword extended.

"Wait, Jarko," Anise said. The Naephra increased her pace, prepared to plunge her sword through, but Alphus shifted his feet, bracing himself. As her blade neared its target, Bannon swept up his sword to deflect it, and with his other hand he struck Jarko with a powerful blow to her temple. Anise pulled the dagger from Soaden's chest and rushed forward before Alphus could ready a killing blow. He reacted, blocking her short thrust with his sword and forcing her back with a kick to her stomach. She stumbled from the hit as Jarko recovered and circled behind him, readying a strike of her own. But Alphus had seen her, and before she could divert him again, his sword slashed Jarko's throat. Anise plunged her dagger into his side, behind his armor, ripping upward. As Jarko fell, so did Alphus, and she let him go.

Sivra still burned fiercely in her shoulder, deeper than when she first felt the knife there. It was insistent, and hungry, but Anise did not focus on it. She had to listen. There, underneath the pain, was Jarko's anima, faint and fading, but unmistakable. And within it she heard her own rhythm, equally distinct, and she carried them and held them inside herself, letting them build over each other. Anise knelt beside her friend. Her neck was covered in blood, and her eyes were glossy.

"I hear you," Anise said, and she stroked her cheek. "I feel you." Then she felt nothing.

Her two friends, dead. And while Jarko's anima spread through her body, there was nothing from Alphus. The sivra had stolen his, drowned in fury and pain. The sivra in Anise's body ravaged on, trying to consume her. It had not broken her yet, and she would not let it. She focused her thoughts on the anima she still felt inside her, drawing it up, up through her body. Now the burning was wet and thick in her throat, and she felt a hollowness inside of her. She breathed in, and she breathed out.

Molten black mucous gushed from her mouth, splattering at her feet. It ran from her nose and her eyes and down the sides of her neck from her ears. And then it was done. The burning had gone, and in its place came the steady flow of anima, in and out of her body, as gentle as her own breath, but bigger and louder than anything. She could hear the Naephra fighting inside the city walls. She could even feel the humans, gray and stifled but everywhere. And she felt Bannon.

The sun shone high over the courtyard. The sound of fighting carried over the open air. The remainder of the Naephran and Saeran armies clashed just inside the gates. Again Anise felt the sheer multitude of the human force, their motions playing out as tiny footsteps crawling over her back. She had to hurry. Anise felt the desperation of the other Naephra, who had likely noticed by now that Jarko had been silenced. But she was not afraid. She ran, striding over the bodies of fallen soldiers. A Saeran saw her approaching as he knelt over one of the wounded, but he ignored her.

He think I'm one of them, she realized. He thinks I'm human. And then she saw him. Bannon, stabbing his sword into a Naephra's chest.

"Bannon!" she yelled. He turned.

With a breath, she filled him--not with a bolt, but a wave that crashed over and into his body, almost gently. His heart beat shook in her ears. As she started to draw outward Anise felt his body trying to compress, to force the anima back out of him, but she held, pulling slowly from the inside. Bannon did not move, his face frozen in terror and pain. A shining black globule formed at the corner of his mouth. His lips moved, and he groaned something, but the words he formed were meaningless. She felt his body loosening inside.

Sivra ran down from Bannon's mouth and eyes and out of the gaps in his armor, steaming and hissing in the air. His jaw dissolved, then the rest of his face, and he slumped forward into the mud.

Anise breathed in. There was nothing else around her. There was only herself and the ground she stood on. She let herself sink down, as low as her consciousness could travel, until it kissed the insides of her feet. A jolt, and anima surged up from beneath her, flying up through her calves, her torso, her spine, and cresting at her neck. The tingle of a thousand tiny songs and movements and thoughts and feelings crashed and hissed and played inside her head and she felt them in the air that she held in her lungs and in the top of her nose, sparkling in the space between her eyes. There were people all around her. Ordinary people, mostly. She knew that, but it didn't matter. It couldn't matter. It had to end.

She exhaled. The anima whirled out around her, leaping from body to body, and she felt it slipping inside them, through the skin. She let it hover there inside. Heartbeats slowed or faltered, and breathing stopped. She felt so many of them, burning against it, constricting and pushing and burning, burning, burning. She held on, anima flowing in a perfect, ceaseless channel, through her body, into theirs, filling and scraping at their bones.

Then they began to fall. Slowly, at first, and only those nearest to her, then more, as Naephra looked on in shock. Sivra spurted from their mouths or through clenched teeth, gushed from noses and bled from open wounds. Anise kept her eyes closed. She did not want to see. And all along, she let Jarko echo in her head, that steady and insistent rhythm that she would never let go.

She did not know how many fell just then. She did not want to. But she heard more running. Felt their footfalls, lighter and lighter. And finally she let herself sink to the ground.

Anise could not sleep. The night was cold, but that was not what was keeping her awake. She leaned out of bed and picked up the soft, woven cloak from among the clothes at the foot of her bed. She slipped it over her shoulders. From her window she saw the tops of trees far below, like grass on a wide rolling plain. There was a knock on the door.

"You know I'm awake," Anise said.

Irel stepped in. "I am sorry to disturb you, even so," he said.

"I thought Naephra didn't need to knock."

"I thought the human custom might suit you more."

"I can't stay here," Anise said.

"You have only just returned. Please, after what you have done, stay as my guest. Your wounds are still healing."

"You don't owe me anything, and don't pretend that you do. I did what I did, and I'm not gonna be proud of it just because you're grateful," Anise said.

"You have earned more than thanks, kavi. The Saerans will be afraid now."

"They were always afraid."

"I suppose. But things will be different now. They know that they can be stopped."

"I'm sorry," Anise said.

"Please, Anise."

"I'm sorry I couldn't save her."

"That matter is between you and Jarko," Irel said.

"She would say I was still weak," Anise said. "That I was still fighting for battles I had already lost."

"Then why did you fight by her side? To account for your mistakes? To prove something to yourself?"

"No."

"Why, then?"

"Because it felt right."

"Then let that be good enough," Irel said. "What if, instead of thanks, I offered you my respect?"

Anise nodded. She bowed as she had been taught at the Academy, arm cross-ways over her chest, hand at hilt, ready to draw swords in the other's service. Irel copied her motion. And when she raised herself upright again, she felt very tired. Irel excused himself, and again she was alone. But she did not return to bed. Her finger tapped out a rhythm on the side of the windowsill. It was a crude approximation, but familiar. And that was enough.