Tag Archives: worldmender

Shuuka

This is a piece I wrote to introduce a villain for my Worldmender project. I aimed for a present tense “in the bad guy’s head” style that is different from my usual efforts, and of course this is about a villain so it’s a bit dark. I’d love to know what you think!

shuuka

“Don’t care ’bout the letter from Hagron,” Dagger Bandit mutters and draws twin blades.

He probably thinks I can’t hear him. He turns toward me, all thin and hunched over, ready to pounce on smaller prey. He’s breathing hard. I see it in the chill air. I hear his heart pounding.

“Letter from a noble or not,” Dagger Bandit continues, “Shuuka’s getting on my nerves.”

That’s what these robbers call me. They don’t know my name. They only know their boss sent me. I don’t know their names either. I don’t need to. Tools should be called by their function.

Maybe they think I’m not listening. Maybe they know I am. I keep playing my bonerattle to the Rhythm as I watch the firelight dance across the sands and the boulders.

shhuuu-Ka shhuuu-Ka shhuu-Ka shh…

It’s cold tonight. I see wisps in the wind when the bandits breathe. I can’t feel the cold, and the fire doesn’t warm me. I can’t feel anything.

Well, that’s not entirely true.

I feel the Hunger. My body needs fuel, so I take a bite of dried meat. It tastes like sand in my mouth. I can see the spices, but I can’t taste them. I can’t taste anything anymore.

The Rhythm is the only thing that keeps me calm until I can satisfy the Hunger.

Dagger Bandit hesitates in his approach and glares at me. The stocky bearded man next to him speaks up. “You saw what he did to Namir yesterday. Fought him one-handed, one blade against Namir’s two.”

I call this big one Meat-shield. He seems to be the smartest of the bunch.

He looks up at Dagger Bandit now. “You think you can take him, have a go. I won’t miss the noise.”

“Never seen Namir lose a duel,” Dagger Bandit admits and sits down.

“Lost his bleedin’ hand is what he lost.”

Meat-shield has a point. Plus he’s in charge.

I would have liked very much to take more from Sword-dancer, the one they call Namir. He sits in the shadows, nursing his bandaged stump. The Hunger clamors within me always, and Namir might have satisfied it. For a time. But I don’t want them to know about me yet. I kept my glove on during the fight, kept the Darkness hidden.

I chose to be patient then. To listen to the Rhythm a while longer. But I think today’s the day.

shhuu-Ka shhuu-Ka shh…

Footsteps rush toward us. My fingers rest on the pommel of my blade. Our scout bursts into the hidden campsite. “They’re coming,” he pants. His chest thuds in my ears like a horserace. My right hand twitches. I want to consume him. The Hunger roils within, and I suppress it with a shudder.

I focus on the rattle again.

“His letter,” Farsight blurts between gasps, pointing at me. “It’s true. The caravan, nearby, three guards, four others.”

Meat-shield hands Farsight a waterskin. Only a few drops in it. Enough for another day here in the Waste. Then Meat-shield hisses “Get ready,” as he kicks out the fire.

I stop the rattle and head for the dunes around the camp. It’s time. Away from the firelight, I remove my right glove. Shadows swirl and flow like oil in the shape of a hand. I’m not sure I really have an arm under there anymore. Only the Darkness remains.

I don’t mind the loss. The power is worth it.

Meat-shield is smart. Good position. The rocks and dunes hide the camp in darkness. Anyone would have to be on top of the nearest hill to see the firelight. But the robbers take no chances. Prey in the Waste is skittish and dangerous. Predators must be crafty.

Meat-shield sends archers to the tops of the stones where they can get a clear view of the merchant route. His best bowman has a monocle that Meat-shield got from Lord Hagron.  It makes night like day in the wearer’s eye. I can think of many uses for such a device.

Trueshot looses a flaming arrow to mark the caravan. I hear it sink into the wood of a wagon with a thok. Now everyone can see it. The travelers cry out. The four robbers on foot rush the prey while Trueshot and the others take aim at the guards.

I take aim at Trueshot. I creep forward, unnoticed, black hand extended.

His monocle slips into my open palm as he dies. I lay his body down atop the stone and turn to the next archer. The night makes it easy. The rush of adrenaline, the thrill of the kill–that makes my victims delicious. The Hunger feeds on life, but strong emotions and passions are the sweetest. I can taste those. I can feel them as they are consumed.

Meat-shield and his allies are busy fighting guards or chasing the unarmed. They don’t notice that the arrows stop flying. Three of the guards are wounded. One fights on. It’s easy to sneak up on the bandits.

Sword-dancer dies first. I catch him rifling through the goods in a wagon, out of the view of the others. Greed–lust for the prize–it’s not delicious, but it will do.

He expires with a quiet sigh, the noise lost in the din of the fray.

The lone guard shouts as he cuts down Mace. I’m not surprised. Mace isn’t a fighter. He’s Meat-shield’s cousin, or brother-in-law, or some other relationship with obligation. Doesn’t matter. With that steaming wound in his belly, he’ll be dead soon.

One of the other bandits is down. Arrow in the back. Maybe Trueshot or another archer had some score to settle. I don’t care. And now Meat-shield is fighting the guard that killed Mace.

I sense two more heartbeats, one pursuing the other. Dagger Bandit finished off a couple of the passengers and is chasing the last one. A woman’s scream pierces the night. I can feel Dagger Bandit’s lust building. The Hunger longs for him, and I shiver. He’ll be tasty.

But first, Meat-shield is fresh, and this final guard is weary. Not a fair fight.

I stretch my right hand toward Meat-shield. No one can see it in the dark, but I know tendrils of black are forming around him, slowing him, hindering him. I hear him rage against invisible bonds, swinging wild punches as he tries to break free.

The guard sees his opportunity and thrusts a sword into Meat-shield’s ribs. Meat-shield roars and draws a knife as he grabs the guard by the throat. I turn away, releasing the bonds. I hear choking and gurgling behind me, weak cries, labored breathing in the dark. They’ll both be dead soon.

Dagger Bandit’s heart is thudding in my mind. It’s all I can think of. Maybe it’s all the Darkness can think of. I’m not really sure how this all works.

All I know is I want him.

He has the woman cornered. I sense her fear. It’s a powerful emotion too, but it’s the only one the Darkness doesn’t like. She doesn’t interest me, not with Dagger Bandit near.

I hear his voice telling lies, his tone meant to soothe. I can’t make out the words. The pounding of his heart is so loud in my head. My shadow hand can barely retain its form. It yearns to stretch out and take him. I resist.

The woman cowers. Dagger Bandit steps forward, knife shaking with delight. He slowly reaches for her, and giggles as he grabs her shoulder. She writhes and screams, but she can’t get away. He raises the knife.

Now.

Shadows wrap around him, wracking his body into awkward positions. I think bones snap but I don’t care. His eyes are wide, reflecting firelight. His mouth is filled with darkness. His intense emotions are captured and consumed in an instant.

The lifeless body crumples to the ground. A wave of pleasure washes over me, the reward from the Darkness for such a perfect feast.

The woman sees me, knows that somehow I’ve saved her. She doesn’t question how, just bows and babbles profuse thanks. I am not interested.

…until the Darkness senses her overwhelming relief. Her fear is gone. I step into the light.

“I swear to you,” she continues, “I will tell my father of how you saved me and he will reward you with greater riches than what we carry here. I cannot thank you enough.”

“No, dear,” I frown. “You can’t.”

I stretch my hand once more and close my eyes, awash in satisfaction as she dies.

A minute later, the night is quiet. I start collecting provisions. I’m not sure where I’ll go. Before I came here, Hagron spoke of war in the city of Sulkath, and invading armies from Kandurien.

War always brings out strong passions. It sounds like the right place to be.

Meat-shield mumbles something behind me, dying on the ground, tangled with the body of the guard. “Hagron… that letter was fake… he didn’t send you…”

“No, the letter was real. But Hagron didn’t send me. I took it after I fed on him.”

He looks confused, so I explain. “You worked for Hagron. I killed him. So you serve me now.”

Meat-shield coughs up blood.

“Rest now,” I say as I turn. I can’t help a grin. “I have been well served.”

I take out my bonerattle as I walk away from the ruined caravan. The Darkness is sated.

shhhuuu-KA shhhuuu-KA shhh…

I can hear the Rhythm clearer than before. For now.

Worldmender Excerpt

As promised, here’s an excerpt from the second story idea I wrote about earlier.

This one is for Worldmender, and it takes place about a third of the way into the story. I wanted to get the feel for the atmosphere and how the character’s unique gift works.

            Tavener Dendriss squinted at swirls of sand and acrid smoke as he looked out from the wooden shanty. Scattered clouds shone in the night like soft lamps, reflecting the fires in the capital city of Sulkath below. A few buildings stand unharmed, the King’s palace among them. But the walls and defenses are rubble.

            Explosions rattled the shanty’s timbers. Dust fell from the ceiling. The Voices wailed in Tavener’s mind, and he winced.

“the burning, the ripping, it hurts, how it hurts, isn’t it over yet”

            He shook his head and ran his fingers through close-cropped red hair. The Voices have always been quiet in the city… but for ages now, Sulkath has known only peace.

            Tavener knelt and rested his palm on the floor. He imagined replying to the Voices, whispering pictures They would understand. They never listen to my words. Hardy thistle swaying in gusts of wind. Stoic mountains unfazed by storms. A tranquil pool surrounded by dry grass nestled between sand dunes. Serenity.

            A boulder crashed into the smooth waters. Wildfires swept across the grass.

“they come, they come at last just as she promised but they are no different, they are no better, they bind us and rip us and mold us and remake us into whatever they desire, so much fire so much flame, their hunger never ceases and –“

            Tavener steeled his resolve and tuned out. He caught one last whimper.

“why don’t they go back home”

            Silence filled his head, but it did not last.

            His companion, Brightwell, watched him with a furrowed brow. “You look pained.”

            She huddled in shadow at the back of the shanty. He caught her checking the contents of the deerskin pouch for the fifth time today. “All part of the plan,” she says. But I’d sure like to know what’s in that bag.

            Her wavy auburn hair, streaked with sand and dust, curled around her face. Most of her once-green cloak and robe now matched the color of milk tea. She looks like a street urchin in need of a meal and a bath. Or two.

            He glanced down at his clothes. I’m sure I look no better.

            And Tavener had seen what she could do. She is no child in need of your protection, his conscience warned. She has deep wisdom, even if you do not yet understand it.

            She rose and drew near. “Is it the Elements? The voices you spoke of?”

            “It’s nothing. The battle is upsetting them.”

            Brightwell laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “My king, the one true king, has come. All will be set right. Tell the Elements they will not suffer much longer.”

            “I stopped listening. It’s easier than trying to convince them.”

            “Few things worth doing are easy, Tav.”

            He looked away. The moon crested the ruined skyline of Sulkath. “Time to move. Benestayn and Gherris won’t be patient.”

            Without waiting for a response, he stepped into the night. Can’t tell her how I really feel. Sure… your King has come. But Sulkath already has a king. And King Nafalis is not going to roll over and die at the sight of an opposing army, even if it is from Kandurien.

            Tavener picked his way through chunks of stone and scorched wood. Every building on this street suffered damage in the battle. The lower castes call Kandurien heaven on earth. But Kandurien’s armies tore right through the slums on their way to Nafalis. Who’s to say their King Hun-Shin is any better?

            The Voices answered in song.

“we see… we know… we watch the lands below… wherever our winds go… all flesh yearns for kandurien… all men wish… all men pray that hun-shin will rule one day…”

            “Cute,” Tavener muttered.

            “What’s that?” Brightwell asked. She trotted down the street to catch up, picking her way between piled bricks and craters in the hard-packed sand.

            “Voices of Air love to rhyme.”

            “Oh.”

            Tavener smiled. She tries to understand. That counts for something.

            He stopped and crouched behind a crumbling wall. Brightwell bumped into him, but he did not notice. The Voices drowned out everything else.

they come, they search, they will hurt you if they find her, like they hurt us when they rip and tear and bend and

            “I hear footfalls ahead, marching,” Brightwell blurted out. “Soldiers.” She looked all around for refuge, like a spooked rabbit.

            Tavener tugged Brightwell’s arm and ducked into an adobe hovel with a gaping hole in the front. A fire across the street cast flickering light into the single large room. Brightwell pulled her hood down as far as it would stretch, then hid behind Tavener. He understood. There’s little chance any of them will recognize her, but she’s still a fugitive.

            He thought of her deerskin pouch and its secret contents. Even Kandurien cannot afford to lose their Lifesingers.

            Three soldiers marched up the littered street as if all was well. The crisp swing of their boots kicked rocks and rubble out of the way. Silver trimming glistened on their coats, silver gauntlets reflected firelight. Despite his doubts about the invading King Hun-Shin and the armies of Kandurien, Tavener caught his breath at the sight.

            Men of Kandurien, in the flesh, here in Sulkath. I scarce believed this possible.

            An image of a stocky red-haired Dendriss filled his mind. Sammal, brother, you would have rejoiced to see this day.

            One of the soldiers spotted Tavener and turned. He raised an empty hand as a sign of peace and proclaimed, “Citizens of Sulkath, King Hun-Shin has seen fit to liberate you from oppression and usher you into his merciful care. Do not resist. We are here to help. Food distribution begins in the Palace Square at dawn.”

            The soldiers then continued on their way, scanning the buildings for other survivors.

            Tavener glanced at Brightwell and winked. “Acting like refugees worked, just like I said it would. Nothing to worry about. Now we need the rain you promised.”

            She smiled and nodded. “It’s coming.”

“so dry so barren no rain ever, she knows much but she must not know how the Waters come, so thirsty, when will the Waters come”

            A glimmer of hope sprung to life in Tavener’s heart, and he patted the ground.

            Soon.

            He heard the faint and unfamiliar Voice of Water scoff in the distance. Tavener sent a picture of sheets of rain, remembering every detail from the one time he’d seen it as a child.

            He received an image of cracked, parched earth baking under relentless sunlight.

            Brightwell rose and jogged down the street, away from the soldiers. Tavener gave chase.

            Soon. But first, we start cleansing the city.

            Memory came unbidden. Tavener pictured the last time he saw Sammal. They were two of a dozen new slaves, brought from afar to entertain the crowds. The arena master paced in front of the line, reciting his expectations and rules. Sammal spat at him as he passed by.

            The man paused his pace but not his speech. He drew his sword and cut Sammal open like a rotten pomegranate, then warned the others, “You are easily replaced.”

            Seven years in constant fear of death…

            And now the high arches of the tall circular structure and the statues of arena legends loomed before Tavener. Brightwell strode forward without stopping, but Tavener paused, hardening himself for what came next.

            Brightwell turned. “Tav?”

            I’ve told her of the Voices here… but she can’t understand. She never had to hear them.

            He sighed. “I’m all right. Let’s get this done. I hope that rain is coming soon.”

            She smirked. “It’s almost here.”

            The Voices were a low buzz, constant in the city. It was difficult, but he learned to ignore them. At the Rose Garden arena, that was impossible. Twisted by centuries of violence, they raged without ceasing.

“break them tear them someone come and cut their flesh and spill their juices hot and tangy, metallic and thick and sweet to slake Our thirst for just a little while longer, so long since men danced upon Our soil to pour out their lives and wet our parched throats”

            Tavener trembled as the rants continued. He forced himself forward to the stairs that led down into the arena’s oval floor. Brightwell took his hand. “It’s going to be fine, Tav. I’m here.”

“kill her kill her slit her throat and rend her skin and carve her until the life drips down and fills us with delicious warmth”

            They stood on windswept sand in the center of the arena. Though the stands were empty, Tavener heard shouts and catcalls of spectators from his past. He felt the lust of the warped Voice of Earth here, and its constant desire for more blood.

            “Now, Tav.”

            “Now what?”

            “Now it’s time for you to convince the rain to pour from the clouds.”

            Tavener heard Water’s distant laugh again. He glared at Brightwell.

            “This was your plan?”

            She nodded.

            Few things worth doing are easy, indeed.