she was aware of, secret ones, that should have resolved all of those problems by now. Why is Yadavendra still in power? What has Vasin been doing all these years? Why hasn’t he taken control?
She supposed, as with most things, she was going to have to go there and sort it out herself.
Lord Vasin Sapphire arced swiftly across the sky. Below him, the Godroad glinted red as the sunslight of Vexation and Wrath’s Tear played across its surface, the gold of the first sun, Fortune’s Eye, dulled and bloodied. As he crossed over it, the energies of the Godroad sparkled against his crystal wings, lifting him, like the hands of a parent, gentle, taking him to new heights.
And he was ready to rise. Ready to act.
It is finally time.
The lands of House Ruby were among the least hospitable he’d visited. A vast forested swamp, punctuated by little islands that, often as not, turned out to be the shells of some Wildborn monstrosity. The Godroad provided the only thread of sanity in the landscape, and House Ruby’s settlements clung alongside, standing proud on long wooden stilts.
Lately, the swamp had begun to rise. Nobody knew the cause but Vasin suspected his own house’s failings were to blame. Attacks from the Wild had become bolder and more frequent. It felt as if an unseen hand were manipulating the demons in some way. Not like a commander with an army, but a shepherd, driving their demonic flock in the same direction.
Away from us. Each of our borders and beyond, but never in our own lands. First they pressed the Tanzanite, then the Spinel, and now the Rubies. It cannot be coincidence.
An odd movement in the water caught his eye, and he banished his worries for another time. Movements in the water were common, but not in the middle of the day, for the greater a thing of the Wild was, the less it liked the glare of the suns. He circled slowly, always coming back over the Godroad to regain height for the next pass. The swamp water was too cloudy to see shadows in, but whatever it was swam close to the surface, its ridged spine making a mountain range of ripples.
Vasin wore his sapphire armour, his second skin of living crystal, and he had his spear, but that was all. He was alone in the sky, without his hunters in a land he did not know.
Though he loved to fly alone, Vasin hated to hunt that way. Without spear sisters and spear brothers, a hunter soon becomes the prey. A memory surfaced of his encounter with the Scuttling Corpseman, of his flight through the trees, and how close it had come to destroying him.
Mindful of past mistakes, Vasin continued to circle, gliding lower but keeping a healthy amount of air between himself and the water. There was definitely something there. It too was being cautious, roving up and down alongside a short stretch of Godroad. This gets stranger and stranger. It comes in the day, it comes close to the Godroad, and it comes to a place where there are no people.
It briefly occurred to Vasin that perhaps that last fact was not true. After all, he was there. Perhaps it was looking for a chance to snare a Deathless. He dismissed the idea as nonsense, but levelled off just the same and adjusted his grip on his spear, sliding a thumb over the trigger in readiness.
As he watched, more details of the thing were revealed. It was long, a kind of Lizardkin, with pronounced ridges running from nose to tail. At first he thought it had branching limbs, like a living, writhing tree, but he soon realized it was carrying other creatures that bucked and kicked in its grasp.
The Lizardkin lifted its body from the water, revealing a wide snout, circular, covered in scales that glittered. Vasin could not help but drop a little closer, and realized that each scale was an eyelid, and that the glittering was actually the thing blinking, blinking, blinking, hundreds of times with its whole body. He knew that beneath the surface its body went on, the great belly brushing the silt at the very bottom of the swamp. For he’d recognized it now, the Story-singers had told him of this creature and it was dangerous, a true power of the deep Wild: Quiverhive. But what is it doing here?
Quiverhive stuffed the squirming thing it was carrying into its mouth, but instead of feeding, it tilted its head backwards, and spat.
For a horrible moment Vasin thought he was the target, and banked away, diving to gain speed before pulling up on the far side of the Godroad.
He was safe.
But he had never been in danger.
He recognized the spat creature as a Murker, one of the lesser perils of the Ruby lands. One legend had it that Murkers were created from the reflections of vain people. That those who looked too long into the Wild’s waters left a piece of themselves behind. Another legend had it that when an unwanted baby was drowned in the swamp, its body would turn into a Murker when it touched the bottom.
This one was typical of its kind. Like a short and rubbery child, with grey-white skin and webs of gauzy flesh lidding nostrils, ears, eyes, and flapping in the spaces between fingers and toes.
It wailed as its arc took it onto the Godroad, circling its arms as if trying to arrest its motion and reverse away. With a wet smack, it landed, and immediately, there was the smell of burning. For nothing of the Wild could endure the Godroad for long. All demons feared it with good reason, and this Murker was no exception.
It flailed and tried to roll itself clear, but Quiverhive had pitched it into the centre of the Godroad, and within seconds it was too blind with pain to think. Each movement only enhanced its suffering, and so it rolled back and forth, disintegrating before Vasin’s eyes.
He wondered if he were witnessing some kind of execution. Though he did not understand the intricacies or the factions, he knew that the powers of the Wild often fought amongst themselves.
Quiverhive stuffed a second Murker into its mouth and spat it after the first. To Vasin’s amazement he saw it follow the exact same arc and land on the other Murker’s still twitching corpse.
Before this one had a chance to die, Quiverhive spat a third Murker, to make a stack on the first two. Vasin watched and Quiverhive watched, the scales flipping open and staying that way, as if it strained to see the details.
The first Murker had been reduced to a few chunks of ash that were already being dispersed by the wind. The second was dying, its struggles enfeebled, its skin aflame. The third was also dying but slower, partially shielded by the bodies of its fellows.
With a full body convulsion, Quiverhive propelled itself forward and up, forcing half of its bulk out of the water. Until its snout came to rest on top of the third Murker.
The creature grunted and squirmed as it was crushed beneath Quiverhive’s weight, but Quiverhive kept still, as if holding its breath.
Vasin found he was holding his. He was witnessing the impossible. Since the end of the Unbroken Age, the Godroads had been a safe haven for humanity and had formed an impassable barrier, hemming the demons within.
No more.
It is on the Godroad! How is it not burning?
He was sure he’d been noticed, but Quiverhive seemed unconcerned by his presence. When the Murkers began to crumble, it slithered back into the swamp, the myriad scales rippling, flipping over, the eyes tucked away
