Destiny's Blood by Marie Bilodeau (best authors to read .TXT) 📗

foot back and held his sword before him, forcing his breath to remain steady and not betray his fatigue. “My parents died because of what you did. Because you took the heirs. You didn’t stick around to see the consequences, but trust me, it was quite a show.” He smiled, his teeth blackened with tar, the darkness in his eyes absorbing the dawn.

Zortan didn’t bother replying. The man was insane, and there could be no negotiating. This battle would see one of them dead.

“It was your duty to obey your queen,” Dunkat continued. “A duty that saw to the death of your queen and her kingdom.” As Dunkat mentioned duty, Dunkat seemed to falter, and Zortan sped forward. The man wasn’t fast enough to get out of his blade’s way, and the sword neatly severed Dunkat’s left arm at the shoulder.

Dunkat looked down at the fallen limb. From his shoulder, only a black substance dripped where he should have gushed red. “I understand duty,” Dunkat said, looking back at Zortan. Beside him, the black waves of creatures stopped.

Zortan’s arms throbbed. His sword was weakened from having absorbed so much tainted ether, and he was unable to recharge it without the sun that would see him dead.

Dunkat smiled again. Zortan held up his sword, and for the first time in his long years of faithful service knew it to be insufficient.

The black lightning came slowly, teasing him before engulfing him. Zortan felt his hold on his sword slacken. He was not surprised to meet death while protecting his queens and nieces.

He felt his flesh burn with the dark magic, and then he felt the fire soothed by the touch of his wife’s loving embrace.

i

Yoma entered the great temple, grunting under Layela’s weight. She scanned the area quickly. The temple itself was one giant room, with water trickling through the wall and surrounding a central altar. It had no roof — probably to let the sunlight in, she guessed.

Yoma walked toward the altar. She had seen it often enough in her vision to know that she needed to shed some blood there. She dragged her sister across the small stone bridge, the waters grey and still despite the constant feed. Long-dead trees surrounded the altar; some were incinerated, others were just petrified from lack of sun.

Yoma sat Layela near one of the trees and propped her up to check her wound. Blood was still trickling from it, and she could only guess at how bad the internal bleeding was.

“Hang on, Layela,” Yoma whispered close to her sister’s ear, hesitating a moment before standing. The ether battle still raged outside, but it was the trail of blood leading to Layela that made Yoma’s heart lurch. “I won’t let you die,” she said strongly, walking towards the altar. If she shed some blood, she would gain the full powers of Mirial. Then she should be able to heal even her sister’s horrible wounds. If the powers of the First Star couldn’t save Layela, then no one could, and Yoma refused to accept that.

She pulled a knife free from her boot and closed her fist around it, pressing down hard and without hesitation. She bit back a cry of pain and forced the blade deeper, until a trickle of warm blood fell from her hand into the altar. The stone absorbed some, while the rest formed a puddle in the middle.

She looked at the reflection in the blood. It turned clear, but nothing else happened. “What am I supposed to do?” she demanded, dropping the knife with a clang. “What do you want from me?”

It struck her like a blow. Layela’s blood. Since the ether had been split between the two of them, Mirial also needed Layela’s blood to feed her. Yoma glanced back at her sister.

She needed something to carry the blood in. She couldn’t make Layela bleed anymore, but there was enough on her. She picked up her blade and ran back to her sister.

“I’ve got it Layl,” Yoma exclaimed. She leaned in close to cut off a piece of her bloodied shirt when she noticed her sister’s stillness.

Alarmed, she looked up. Layela’s face was no longer drawn, her features now peaceful.

“Oh no,” Yoma sobbed, feeling for a pulse she knew was no longer there, checking for breath that no longer existed. “Oh no, Layl. Please hang on! Please!!”

She looked at the knife still buried in her sister’s chest and, in one swift motion, feeling as though the blow had been hers to bear, Yoma pulled it free. The blood lazily trickled out, no longer marching to the beat of a heart.

“Hang on!” she ordered. She ran back to the altar and threw the bloodied knife in. Again, the blood turned clear like water.

“Please!” Yoma screamed at the water. “Please save my sister!”

“Nothing can save you now.”

Yoma looked up, her tears dripping into the useless water. Dunkat stood in the entryway, wounded but, aside from a missing arm, whole. He tossed Zortan’s bloodied sword to the ground with a clang that made Yoma jump.

Two voices seemed to speak from Dunkat’s tarry mouth. “How sad to fight so hard, only to fail.”

Yoma felt her anger boiling deep. She looked down at the water and saw that one of her eyes now shone the deepest blue of night.

“I won’t let you die,” Yoma spoke softly, looking at her deep blue eye. She grabbed the ceremonial dagger from the altar, still covered with her sister’s blood, and cut deeply into her hand, mixing her fresh blood with Layela’s.

This time, the blood did not turn clear.

CHAPTER 43

Yoma gasped as Mirial called to her, tingling her blood with ether and anticipation. She could feel Mirial embrace her, and she welcomed the First Star as it soothed her pain and asked that Yoma help soothe hers.

“No!” Dunkat screamed. He threw a wall of dark ether into Yoma, shattering the altar. Pieces of stone cut into Yoma’s skin as she tumbled to the ground. “You will not revive ether!”

Yoma stood, but