Laura S. Fox
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Hungry Heart - Book #3 - Ch. 27
🕑 Added 2022-05-29 18:00:00 +0000 UTCChapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four / Chapter Five / Chapter Six / Chapter Seven / Chapter Eight / Chapter Nine / Chapter Ten / Chapter Eleven / Chapter Twelve / Chapter Thirteen / Chapter Fourteen / Chapter Fifteen / Chapter Sixteen / Chapter Seventeen / Chapter Eighteen / Chapter Nineteen / Chapter Twenty / Chapter Twenty-One / Chapter Twenty-Two / Chapter Twenty-Three / Chapter Twenty-Four / Chapter Twenty-Five / Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven - The Inescapable Shackles of Destiny
Toru looked down the stair, his eyes straining to see in the dark, despite how it wasn’t usually any trouble for him to do so. However, the dark was so deep and thick that not even his tiger eyes were able to cut through it. He rested the hammer on his shoulder, but as soon as he did that, the weapon of fire disappeared, leaving behind nothing, not even a trail of smoke. Toru shrugged. It had probably served its purpose, and now it all depended on him and his strength to deal with the slippery stair and the darkness that lay at its foot.
Without a trace of hesitation, he began descending, careful of where he placed his foot for each step. His latest adventures had taught him that a bit of caution was a sign of wisdom, not cowardice. His feet slipped slightly more than once, taxing his sense of balance, but he didn’t lose his bearing. Down and down, the stair went.
As he descended, a heavy scent grew thicker in the air. Toru sniffed and his nostrils flared. That smell reminded him of something he had known before. At first, he couldn’t recall where or what, but, slowly, the memory crept up to the surface of his mind. It had been inside that tall room of the shroud in Shroudharbor, and the pestilence that came with the nefarious deeds of the merchants had been there, as well.
It didn’t matter. He had promised himself quite a long time ago that he would avenge Whitekeep and Varg’s pack and all the others that had perished or been tortured at the whims of the evil calling himself Hekastfet. He walked down the stair, shielding his nose and opening his eyes as wide as he could so that no enemy could take him by surprise.
“Toru,” a cavernous voice boomed from the impenetrable dark, making chills run down his spine.
He jerked around in response and, suddenly, he sensed the stair disappearing from underneath his feet, and he was falling. To right himself in his free fall, he struggled, swinging all his limbs about, and when he landed, it was on his paws, which was quite strange since he didn’t recall shifting of his own volition.
The air changed, not a lessening of the scent of pestilence, but its direction. It was no longer stale, and it felt like a breeze, so he followed it, since his eyes were of no help to him.
“Toru,” the same voice from before called out, and it was now more distinct, although he couldn’t tell if it belonged to a man or a woman. It was probably Hekastfet, trying to play his last disgusting games before being woven into the fabric of oblivion. Toru didn’t yet know how he would do it, but that carried no importance. He felt in his blood that he was there to destroy the evil draining the city of its life once and for all.
“Show yourself already,” Toru demanded.
The darkness heeded his demand. It ripped like a page in front of his eyes, and now he found himself in a gigantic room filled with light. It appeared to come from all the walls, and not from a single point, and how could it be as bright as if it was day when that place had to be deep inside the belly of the domestikos’ palace and outside the night still reigned?
“Toru,” the voice called out and this time, he could tell that it belonged to a woman. “My son,” she added tenderly.
Toru looked around. After the thick darkness, it took his eyes a few moments to adapt to the absolute light. “I’m no one’s son. Show your true face, Hekastfet, if you dare.”
Someone tore themselves from the walls of light, and Toru froze when he saw the woman in the painting Ewart Kona had showed him only hours ago. She was smiling and held one arm toward him, in a plea of sorts.
Toru growled and let his muzzle drop, assessing the situation. “Who are you?”
“How can you ask such a thing? We are all here, your family,” she replied.
The walls began catching life and turning into an entire court of well-dressed people, all holding their heads high. Their hair was golden, and their eyes the same, and anyone looking at them would have been able to tell that they belonged to the same bloodline.
Toru searched with his eyes. They could easily be related to him, but he wasn’t about to fall prey to this trickery. Hekastfet could have conjured the phantasms surrounding him. They were moving softly about, their beautiful garments adorned with threads of gold and precious stones sweeping the floor.
Toru didn’t move, but prepared to pounce at any sign of aggression from that lot. “You’re nothing but a bunch of ghosts,” he told them, staring them in their serene faces.
Raine stepped forward, her red hair a cascade down her white shoulders. “We are ghosts, but we found peace here, Toru.”
She tried to move closer, but Toru lifted one paw and tried to cut through her. Raine let out a small sound of surprise but then she laughed, while stepping out of the way with incredible ease. “You always liked to play. You didn’t shift into your human, not even when it was bedtime and we needed to put you to sleep.”
“You’re a liar. You’re Hekastfet,” Toru accused.
“Hekastfet? What name is that?” Raine’s smooth forehead wrinkled in confusion. “I’ve never heard it before.”
“It’s what you are,” Toru insisted.
“We should prove it otherwise to you then.” Raine turned on her heel and opened her arms. The court of golden heads seemed to understand her request. In the blink of an eye, they all shifted at the same time, and Toru found himself surrounded not by the courtiers of some noble king or queen, but by his own kin.
His heart throbbed at the sight. All those golden eyes pulled at him, asking without words for something he couldn’t easily define.
“You see?” Raine said.
He only recognized her by her eyes. Her red hair was gone, replaced by a coat of golden and charcoal stripes, just like the others’. He pursed his lips at the oddity, but who could ever say they had seen a tiger with a reddish coat?
There was still something there, irking him to no end. Incapable of saying what it was, he continued to look into the faces of the tigers surrounding him. “Why don’t you speak?” he found himself asking under those unnerving stares.
“They would if they could,” Raine said. “So many years have passed, decades, and centuries, and even more beyond. They have lost their voices.”
“Someone took their voices from them, you mean to say,” Toru contradicted her.
“It’s not fair to say that, and all we want to offer you is peace,” Raine said.
“You have nothing to offer,” Toru growled. “You could have done something while you were still alive. You chose not to.”
He was taking a sort of gamble, but he needed to provoke Hekastfet into showing his true face.
“Do you mean that I should have done something about your father?” the ghost asked.
His father. Of course, Toru thought. There was white hair in his coat, the Sakka had said, and that meant that his father must have had some hand in it. No matter how much he looked around, none of these golden tigers seemed to have the same peculiarity. Unless, of course, his ghost had been summoned there, as well, and wasn’t so easy to spot.
“Yes,” he said. Lying was bad, but not when it was as important as this.
Raine appeared to remain thoughtful for some time. She examined him slowly with her inquisitive eyes, and under that scrutiny, a faint memory began to assert itself. Toru shook his head and looked away from her. All his life, he had only remembered the orphanage from his childhood, and all the headaches he had given to the people there. He also remembered a dark cage, where he was kept when he refused to shift back into his human to allow the caretakers to bathe him for the night. At least, there had to be some truth in what that ghost was saying. As a child, he had been attached to his tiger a lot more than to his human. And he had been attached to that cage, too, because as much as those humans thought of it as a punishment to inflict upon him, the dark never bothered him, and being there meant that he could be on his own, alone to dream and plot his life’s adventures.
Raine knew nothing of all that. Toru tried to push the mere idea that this apparition in front of him was the one who had carried him inside her womb out of his mind. It had to be one of the tricks Hekastfet was trying to play on him.
“Your father chose to leave us,” the ghost said with a faint, knowing smile.
“He must have had his reasons,” Toru said with determination. “What I see here is nothing but a tribe of shifters who gave up.”
“Is that what you make of us?” Raine asked, her voice raised.
“You’re here, locked in like animals. And you’re saying this is the peace you want for me, as well?”
“You don’t know the whole truth about your ancestors,” Raine said gently and moved again as if to get closer to him.
And, as before, Toru stepped out of the way. “They fought and won. But not your lot.” He shook his head in disgust to make those present understand what he truly thought of them. “You cannot be the champions I heard about.”
“And who told you about them? That low kin of critters who think themselves important, when they’re nothing but a scourge upon this world?”
“They’re braver than all of you,” Toru said loudly. All the tigers in the room were staring at him in silence. Their eyes seemed to be accusing him of something, something he didn’t care to understand. This charade needed to come to an end. Toru growled and moved purposefully toward the group of tigers. “You say that you’re my family? I’ve never known you. Where is your home now? Your power? You’re nothing but souls trapped in a nightmare. But I don’t think you’re even that. You are all nothing but an illusion.”
He walked toward them and they parted before him, allowing him to pass.
“Stay with us, Toru,” Raine called after him. Something in her pleading voice made him stop.
But suddenly, something else, the low rumble of thunder made him look in front of him. The room of light narrowed into a corridor made of white walls the color of ice. Toru blinked for a moment. He recognized that passage of mirrors from his dreams.
“Follow me, Toru,” someone else spoke, in a low pleasant voice.
He stared ahead, and then he saw the one who had been by his side in his dreams.
A majestic tiger stood at the end of the passage, his image reflected in the glassy mirrors around him. His coat was striped like any other tiger’s, but there was no gold in his fur.
No, he was pure white.
***
Varg and Claw found themselves running down the engraved path, encouraged by Midnight, who called himself a Sakka, whatever that meant. He couldn’t stop and try to make sense of the engravings, as there was no time. “What do you think all of this means?” he asked his companion. “Have you ever seen anything like it in your travels?”
“I can’t say that I have,” Claw confirmed his suspicion that they were witnessing something that wasn’t often seen by the ordinary eye. But what about Toru and his destiny could be deemed as ordinary?
The path turned sharply around a corner and, in their haste, they had to stop short so that they didn’t suddenly crash into a wall.
“That was close,” Claw said cheerfully. “In case I find myself in no position to tell you later, thank you for earlier, pup. I was as good as gone.”
Varg knew what Claw wasn’t explicitly telling him in words. Their quest was nowhere near complete, and dangers lurked ahead, like the one they had just lived through. Without help, they could have been defeated before proving their worth and loyalty to Toru. Varg didn’t dwell on that thought. They were still alive, and that counted for something. In the big picture painted by destiny, their roles still had many tasks to fulfill before they were finished.
The long path seemed to go on forever, and he could hear Claw’s rapid breathing, as they ran as fast as their legs could carry them. That ended abruptly, and this time, they had no chance to keep themselves from falling down what seemed like a slippery slope. Darkness lay beneath them, and they rolled down like wheels flying free on the side of a mountain, until they ended up in a heap on the floor.
Varg was thankful for landing on top of Claw, but the bearshifter immediately teased him by groaning exaggeratedly.
“Hey, do you smell that?” Varg asked.
Claw moved and sniffed the air. “It’s our old friends again. I guess Midnight only bought us some time.”
Any other people, even warriors with victories under their belts, would have felt a tinge of fear at that realization. They had gone against the ghost merchants of Shroudharbor only a little while earlier, and they had risked certain death. Nonetheless, they were ready for a new confrontation.
“No time to rest,” he warned Claw, and they plunged ahead into the darkness together.
***
Toru hesitated, half-way between the ghost of his mother, and that of his father, whom he believed the white tiger to be for sure. He had heard of their kind, but he had never seen one before in his entire life, not even in the lands of the north.
“Pain and suffering are our ways,” the white tiger said. “Come, Toru. Don’t listen to her. A mother only wants to cuddle her child forever, but that cannot be. You were born to become a warrior, the strongest to have ever lived.”
“He’s lying to you,” Raine said harshly. “He is the one you fear lies within me and your family. All we want is for you to be happy. Isn’t that the same thing you want?”
Toru turned his head away from her after looking at her for a few moments.
“The easy path is not for us,” the white tiger continued.
“Maybe it is for us, you snowborn,” Raine hissed at him. “Aneros, step back.”
Toru was plenty sure he didn’t like her. And she hadn’t appeared in his dreams like this white tiger had. Not that he had a clear recollection of him, not like this, but more as a faded memory, but his gut didn’t lie. Without hesitating for another moment, he leaped toward the tiger whom he believed to be his sire.
Raine’s scream of despair, sharp and unexpected, made all the hairs on his back stand on end. He was about to turn toward her when Aneros shouted at him, “Don’t look back, Toru!” There was a clamor rising behind him, that entire tribe of tigers on the move, but in his heart, there was no fear. The white tiger didn’t move from where he stood, he just stood still, waiting for him.
One last leap, and he was by Aneros’ side. The mirrored walls closed behind him, and he heard the sickening sound of bones and flesh crashing against them on the other side. This time, he looked, but he was met only by his own reflection and that of his father.
“You did well, Toru,” Aneros said to him in a warm voice.
Toru was about to say more, to ask something, his heart too full of the realization that he was standing right at his father’s side, when all his senses alerted him of another presence, right behind them. As he turned to face this new danger, the passageway of ice disappeared.
“And you did well to bring him to me,” Ewart Kona said as he stood tall in the middle of what appeared to be an altar room. The pedestal erected in the middle was carved from black marble, and on the side facing him Toru saw chains ending in shackles.
“You again,” Toru hissed. “Are you going to fight me now, or are you just going to keep on playing hide and seek?”
“Why fight me when you can fight your sire?” The domestikos wore a pleased smile, and to anyone unaware of the foul nature of his true soul, he would seem just a plain old man welcoming a stranger in his home.
Toru barely had time to leap to one side. Aneros growled as he missed his mark, but turned toward him once more. So, it was just another game. Toru growled as well and lowered his muzzle, weighing his next move. The white tiger was bigger than any other of his kind Toru had seen in his life, but the warm feeling from before was now replaced by anger.
Ewart Kona moved around them. “How long have I waited for this moment, to see you two going head-to-head.”
“This isn’t real,” Toru said. “You can’t fool me so easily, Hekastfet.”
“I assure you that when your sire’s claws cut through your skin, making you bleed, you’ll change your mind.”
Aneros, or his image conjured by Hekastfet’s evil power, lunged at him, and Toru didn’t sidestep. If everyone here was a phantasm, he would deal with them swiftly. The white tiger’s body crashed into his, and he felt the sharp pain of his hide being cut through. So, this was a more dangerous game, after all.
Ewart Kona laughed and grabbed one of the chains hanging by the side of the marble altar. “These are waiting for you, Toru, the inescapable shackles of destiny.”
“I will strangle you with them. I just need to fight your minion, now.”
“My minion? Did you hear that, Aneros? Why don’t you put your son in his place, as he so richly deserves, hmm?”
The domestikos loved his charades, it seemed. But Toru was still locked into a battle embrace with the phantasm of his father, although he doubted everything, even whether the name or the apparition was real in some way. The other’s claws continued to rake into his hide, making the pain increase. He was able to move his head enough so that his teeth could sink into a strong shoulder, and they cut to the bone. Aneros staggered, and it loosened his grip on Toru enough for him to disentangle himself from his attacker’s clutches. The brief reprieve ended just as quickly, and Aneros lunged at him again. Droplets of blood fell on the floor, heavy as rain.
***
The air was better here, at this height, as he rode on Moth’s back. Duril took in a mouthful of air, his entire body thankful for it. He risked a look down, but the smoke was getting thicker, and the people below weren’t easy to see with the naked eye anymore. “What will happen to them?” he whispered.
He looked around, and it was enough to show him that the entire city seemed to be engulfed by the same madness.
“The city will die,” Moth said as if it was a thing of no consequence.
Duril was of a mind to argue, but he was well aware that there was no time for that. First, he needed to get to Toru. However, he chose to say it out loud anyway. “Toru won’t allow that.”
Moth began his descent as they arrived at the tall citadel. “You have a kind heart, healer, but this city doesn’t. You’ll see that there is no other choice. For Hekastfet to be defeated, Scercendusa must perish along with him.”
“He has never truly perished,” Duril reminded him, but dismounted from his strange ride and hopped to the ground. Down a long flight of stairs to his right, guards were fighting people, trying to keep them away from the domestikos’ palace. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
“Hurry inside,” Moth urged him. “Toru needs you now, more than ever.”
Duril began walking toward the tall gates. But he stopped for a moment and turned toward Moth. “Can you at least save the children? They did nothing wrong. You can take them on your back, like you did with me just now.”
Moth’s wings fluttered, and only then Duril noticed that the edges were frayed, and that the colors were waning. “It isn’t my place to do that, healer. This city is cursed and doomed.”
“But they--” Duril stopped himself. Maybe he was asking for the impossible. “Never mind. Toru will save everyone,” he said and clenched his fist.
“I will try,” Moth called out after him.
Duril didn’t believe the Sakka to be cold-hearted, and this was the proof. He tried to say something, address some thanks, but Moth was already flying away, his frayed wings leaving a trail of small bits of color flowing behind him.
They all needed to do their part. Duril steeled himself and rushed inside, only to be met by a thick darkness such as he had never witnessed for as far back as he could remember. And the air was ripe with a scent that made his stomach clench and lurch.
He stopped for a moment and tried to make sense of his surroundings. Then, he saw it, a path of light in the darkness.
***
Shapes and beings moved around them, mumbling incoherently. Varg and Claw were back to back, prepared to fight. One of their enemies broke ranks and dashed toward them, but Varg was ready. He knocked the thing away, and by the sounds he could hear, Claw was doing the same. More followed, each attack more vicious and in greater numbers.
“How are you doing there, puppy?” Claw yelled.
“Earning my keep,” Varg yelled back. “These damned merchants never learn.”
There had to be a secret to defeating them, Varg understood that much. His eyes, now growing more accustomed even to that deep dark, began searching around for a clue to what that secret might be. Then, he saw it. Something on a wall to his right, a small pulsing inscription made of light, like the path that had guided them there. “There,” he pointed it out to Claw while they were pushing away their assailants. “Let’s move over there.”
They continued to fight back to back, rotating slowly so that they could reach that place. Once they were near the wall, Varg slammed a paw against the inscription, and the runic symbols rose, joined, lengthened and turned into a long sword of light. Varg shifted into his human and grabbed it. Now this was more like it. This was a good way to face the wraiths flying around them like a pack of winged monsters bent on drawing blood.
“Nice weapon you got there,” Claw shouted at him, as he continued to fight, fang and claw, with their attackers.
“Let me set it to work,” Varg said. He lifted the sword of light over his head, holding the hilt with both hands. When it descended, a wailing cry followed, and one of the shapes encircling them began writhing on the floor.
“It looks like it works just swell,” Claw said with glee. “How about you take care of that flank while I’m doing my job of tiring the ones coming through here?”
It sounded like the kind of plan Varg liked.
***
“How does it feel to go against your own father?” Ewart Kona taunted him.
“This isn’t my father,” Toru growled while he moved against the white tiger again.
“How couldn’t he be that? You must have seen him before. At least, in your dreams.”
Toru’s belief shook for a moment. Was the domestikos with the soul of Hekastfet right? How could he know about his dreams? It didn’t matter. What mattered was to split that apparition in two and throw it at Hekastfet’s feet, and then deal with the evil like he needed to.
“I am your father, Toru,” Aneros hissed at him. “I guided you here. You know the truth.”
They clashed again, and Toru felt warm blood pouring down his forehead now. “If you were my true father, you’d fight against Hekastfet alongside me.”
They pushed against each other again. Their bodies were bloodied, and their sides heaved as they breathed. Their blood was pouring onto the floor, and Toru’s attention was stolen for a moment, by how some of those rich red rivulets were flowing toward the altar. By its side, Ewart Kona stood tall, an ominous presence.
He had no time to assess what changed. Aneros caught him by the throat, digging his long fangs into his neck.
Help me, Toru heard Aneros’ voice right in his mind.
Was that his real father? Was he possessed and made to fight against him?
***
Duril hurried down the long path and yelped when he almost crashed into a wall right as the symbols turned a corner. He slowed down only enough so that he could see where the path led. And the next thing he knew, his feet slipped on something and he fell down a slippery slope.
When he got to his feet, he was amazed by what his eyes saw. There was a hefty sword made of light moving through the air of its own volition, cutting through something he couldn’t see but could smell and feel.
“Look who’s late to the feast,” a joyous voice welcomed him.
“Claw, is that you?” Duril called out. “Is Varg with you?”
“Yes, but let’s leave the pleasantries for later. We have the bunch from Shroudharbor to get rid of.”
Duril wasn’t armed, but the shapes moving across the floor and lunging at Claw and Varg didn’t seem to be interested in him. So, he slunk along the wall that he could feel with his hand, until he found himself by his friends’ side.
Claw was breathing hard, and Duril could tell, even without looking that he had to be bleeding heavily. Without a moment’s hesitation, he reached for his pouch and took a vial from it. Claw yelped when Duril grabbed his right hind leg and poured the contents of the vial over the wound. “Puppy, your friend here is trying to finish me off before these beasts have a chance to!”
“I’m just giving you more power to fight with,” Duril scolded him. “You need it. Varg, are you hurt?”
“I’m good,” Varg shouted at him. “There are just so damned many of them.”
Duril assessed the situation quickly. By the light of the sword Varg was wielding, he could see a lot more. He noticed the way the wraiths were advancing toward them in a line. “I have an idea,” he shouted over the clamor of the fighting. “Use the sword like a scythe, Varg, and reap them like a harvest.”
Varg didn’t question his advice for a moment. He lowered his sword and swung it like he would a tool for harvesting ripe grain. Suddenly, they had more room around them. With grace and determination, Varg continued to swing the sword and cut down the wraiths just as Duril had told him to.
Claw, emboldened by their new victory, lunged into the fight again, finishing off those that still moved after Varg cut through them. Duril stood behind the fighters, but yelled warnings to his friends each time one of the wraiths tried to attack them from their blind sides.
***
“We’re quite the unit,” Varg said with satisfaction once all the wraiths appeared to be motionless and lifeless on the floor. “Thank you for pointing me in the right direction, Duril. We should make you chief strategist from now on.”
“And thank you for patching up my leg, even though it hurt like hell,” Claw said. He, too, had shifted into his human, and they now followed the path of runic inscriptions down a long hallway.
“I’m so happy to see you two. Let’s hurry to help Toru,” Duril replied.
“How did you even know to come here?” Varg asked. “You know what? Never mind. We have our kitty to worry about.”
***
Help me, Aneros’ voice was again in his head.
“How?” Toru asked and pushed against the white tiger.
No sound came from Aneros, imagined or otherwise, so Toru moved closer, and this time he was the one to sink his fangs into the other’s neck and taste blood.
Shackle me to the altar, the voice in his mind spoke again.
“Aneros, I thought you would be stronger than this,” Ewart Kona taunted his ally. “My altar is waiting for new blood.”
Toru eased his bite and pulled away. Then, he turned into his human.
“What? Do you believe that you stand a chance against your sire as a puny human?” Ewart Kona sneered in the same manner, this time addressing him.
Toru focused all his attention on the white tiger. This time, Aneros’ attack was just a feint, and he caught him.
“What are you doing?” Ewart Kona asked, unsure of what was happening.
Toru pulled Aneros’ heavy body toward the altar.
“Aneros, you useless tiger,” Ewart Kona hissed. “Fight!”
Toru realized that the white tiger was shifting as he slammed his body against the altar. Instead of bloodied fur, he now saw something else, or better said, someone else. A handsome man with long white hair now lay across the smooth surface, his face marred by cuts, but his eyes burned golden.
“Now, Toru, shackle me,” he whispered.
Toru grabbed one of the shackles and secured it on one of the man’s wrists.
“Quickly,” Aneros whispered, and the pain was clear in his voice.
“Don’t tarnish my altar with your filthy blood!” Ewart Kona bellowed.
Toru felt the phantasm trying to stop him, but that was a terrible miscalculation on Hekastfet’s part. His immaterial body could do nothing.
TBC
Comments
Laura S. Fox
I was hoping for delivering a great surprise, Dave!
Dave Kemp
I was also delighted to meet his father.
Dave Kemp
"Spinning gold" - beautifully put, Margaret!!! ❤️ ❤️ ❤️
MM
Oh my gosh! Turos father! I love this story. Laura you are spinning gold with this one!
