Page 37

Obsidian

A searing pain burst through Damir’s head as he stirred awake. His left eye was swollen shut, and he winced when he opened it. He attempted to lift his hand to his face, but discovered his arms were restrained.

Glancing with his one good eye, a blood-stained rope bound his arms and legs to a wooden chair. Pyotr and Filip stood on the opposite side of the cell door.

“Coming around again, I see.” Pyotr leaned against the bars, letting his lower arms rest in the gaps between. “Think the last blow might’ve been a bit hard.”

A sadistic laugh escaped Filip’s lips. “Ensuring you remained unconscious was the best way of escorting you into this prison without you trying to escape. I’d apologise for the bloody eye, but I’m not one for regrets.

You’ll stay down here until your wife returns because she will come for you.

” He turned on his heel, then left. “And thanks to the relationship my father and I have established with the High State means they’ll turn a blind eye to what I do with you. ”

Damir grumbled at the mention of the High State.

They were in charge of keeping crime under control in the three countries, but the prisons were already brimming with criminals.

He guessed this underground prison was where Filip contained prisoners of interest to him, and he certainly found himself in a precarious position now he’d lost his most important weapon.

Once Filip’s echoing footsteps dissipated, Pyotr shifted his attention back to Damir.

“Why?” Damir managed, barely keeping his head held an inch above his chest. “We’re…neighbours.”

“Doesn’t mean shit,” Pyotr grunted. “I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

“How much is he…paying you?” Damir tried to smirk, but a cut in his lip split, and a warm, liquid dribbled down his chin.

“What is you or him who gave me a black eye and a split lip? I’ll bet my coin it was him—I don’t think you have the stomach for it.

Can’t say I blame you. You look at me and all you see is a child, right?

Your friendly neighbour who never gave you any grief—someone who shared their vodka and food with you at the festivals.

My own parents even housed you when you were too drunk to make it home to your wife and children. ”

“Don’t you dare speak of them.” In a flash, Pyotr gripped the bars in a white-knuckle grip.

“What would you do if someone was doing this to your wife?” Damir tested, feeding off the burst of confidence shooting through him. “Just imagine if it were her tied up here and being kept prisoner instead of me.”

The colour drained from Pyotr’s face. “Say another word and I’ll kill you.”

“I don’t think Filip will be too pleased if he comes back here to see my neck half severed and my blood all over the floor.” Damir fixed his unwavering stare on Pyotr. “You couldn’t kill me even if you wanted to. You don’t have the guts, nor do you want to risk your own pathetic life.”

“I’d tread carefully, if I were you,” Pyotr tried for a calm tone, although a vein bulged in his forehead. “You’re our prisoner, at all, and you’re at our mercy.”

“You’re a coward. A pathetic excuse of a man, who drinks and gambles his life away.

” Damir shrugged. “You destroy lives, and you don’t seem to care.

You burned Daro’s workshop down even when he tried to help with your payments.

Tihana, an innocent child, was injured. Do you know you could’ve killed her?

She was there. Imagine if it were your own child. ”

Pyotr winced. A second later, his expression was as hard as stone.

Noticing the ever so slight reaction, Damir continued his jibe. “You’re reckless with lives, even the ones you claim to love. And for what? Money? Actually, don’t answer that. This conversation is dull. If I’m to be your prisoner, then leave me to my squalor.”

Pyotr stared at him for a tense while. Silence. Then he shifted his weight, pushing himself off the wall. Within minutes, he was gone.

∞∞ ∞

Shoving her book into her bag attached to the saddle, Adelina mounted her horse.

According to A Practitioner’s Guide to Ancient Magic, Astral Edition, Volume I, she needed to travel to the tallest peak in the Salken Mountains and offer a sacrifice to Perun.

But who or what in the gods’ good realm could she possibly use for it?

Who was she to deem whose life should be taken?

It would take her another two weeks to cross the rocky border into Saintlandsther, and enter the highlands, where she’d find the Salken Mountains. Two weeks to find a sacrifice. Could she bring herself to kill something— someone —to save her husband and her family?

Her thoughts flipped—it wasn’t just her loved ones anymore. Filip wanted to control everything, and everyone. Perhaps the loss of one life was the price to pay to save thousands.

She shook herself hard, ridding herself of the traitorous thoughts wrestling with her conscience. The sharp jolt of her body startled the horse, who gave an abrupt snort in response.

Leaning down, she patted his hide. “Sorry.”

A week of sleeping under the stars passed painfully slow. Each night, she tossed and turned, contemplating Damir’s captivity. The storm replayed in her mind, refusing to budge from her memory. Could she have done anything differently ?

By the time she reached the border, and the sharp incline of the highlands, her whole body ached, and so did her soul. Her silent loneliness of the past month gave way to all-consuming thoughts. The closer she came to the Salken Mountains, the sooner she’d need to find a sacrifice.

Giving a quick tug on the reins, she stopped her horse’s gallop. Once she slipped off the saddle, she drew her book from her bag. Flipping open to the page about the Sword of Light, she reread the requirements.

She sighed in relief. Nowhere did it state the life give must be human.

Perhaps an animal would suffice. Still, taking a life wouldn’t be easy, especially for a girl who, at the beginning of the year, had never stepped foot out of her rural village, never laid a hand on any animal aside from hunting.

Tucking the book away, she glanced to the heavens. Thick, grey clouds swarmed the mountain peaks in the distance, and a cool breeze stirred across the pastures, chilling her cheeks.

She tugged her cloak tighter around her body, then mounted. She rode along the dirt path towards the small village nestled at the foot of the first mountain. How would she find the tallest one, when their tops were buried in the clouds?

Twirling her finger through the air, she produced an orb of golden light, which hovered in front of her, guiding her through the dimming atmosphere. Night was approaching, and she’d need to find somewhere to sleep. Perhaps there was room in an inn ahead.

As she approached the stone wall surrounding the dozen buildings making up the tiny, isolated village, she extinguished her light and dropped from her horse, leading it by the reins.

Torches were lit along the path, casting a warm glow across the wooden and stone structures.

Candlelight gleamed in the windows of each house.

She wondered what the village was called, never once in her life considering people would live somewhere so remote.

The more time she spent away from home, the more she learned about the people of the three countries.

Seeing them in their homes instilled a further concern for their lives.

She didn’t trust Filip’s intentions, and she definitely didn’t believe his promises to unite the countries and take care of the poor.

She bowed her head in greeting at a local man who walked past. Farther ahead, half a dozen people gathered around the small bathhouse, presumably the only one in the town.

Vegetables grew in a patch between two buildings.

A fence was built to keep animals out, perhaps deer and rabbits, if they ventured this close to the mountains.

At the front, was a small, wooden gate about hip high.

As she wandered along the path with her horse, she glanced at the tilled rows of plants in various sizes and shades of green.

The odd weed sprouted between the rows, in need of pulling.

Pea vines and tomatoes grew up wooden posts, and ahead, frilly carrot tops and potatoes poked through the soil’s surface.

Near the back of the patch, tall corn stalks shuddered in the evening breeze.

As she wandered towards the edge, she spotted tall, thorny raspberry bushes loaded with red berries, strawberry plants dotted with delicate, white flowers, and bees buzzing here and there.

Clouds gathered overhead, casting out the evening light.

A gentle rain pattered against the nearby roofs, and the breeze sharpened.

Holding her cloak around her with one hand, and the other maintaining a tight grip of the horse’s reins, she quickened her pace through the centre of the village.

She approached a weathered-beaten building with a wooden sign above the front door, flapping in the wind. On its surface, Svante’s Boarding House and Tavern was etched. To the right, was a stone stable, perhaps big enough to fit four or five horses.

Once she hobbled her horse to a nearby post and gathered her bags, she entered the boarding house and wandered to the bar at the opposite end of the room.

“Good evening to ye, miss.” The elderly man behind the counter tipped his hat in greeting. “Are ye in need of a room?”

“Yes please.” She placed her bags on the floor, then drew her pouch of coins from the pocket of her cloak. “And my horse will require a loose box in your stable.”

“You’re in luck. A gentleman has not long checked out. Are ye wishin’ for supper, too?” He propped his elbows on the surface and leaned forwards—a warm smile tilting the corner of his lips.

“That’d be lovely.” She returned the smile.