Page 35 of The Lies of Lena (The Otacian Chronicles #1)

Chapter Thirty-Four

S even days had passed since we departed from Ames, which meant we had eaten twice, save for the couple of times Edmund snuck over two pieces of bread, one for Elowen and one for Sari. He had done it while he and Hendry set up fires, and he offered me a genuine apology both times for only being able to sneak that much.

I was surprised by his words, but I was grateful he made the effort. Hendry just gave him a disapproving side-eye but didn’t attempt to tattle on him. Merrick still didn’t buy his “nice guy” act, as he called it, but part of me believed Edmund was a good man. Maybe even Hendry, too, for letting him try and help.

The path the Otacians had us on trailed through areas with fresh water, so thankfully, we had stayed mildly hydrated. Still, I felt weak and exhausted. And I knew my people did, too.

And filthy. We were covered in dirt from multiple days of sleeping on the ground, and we reeked. My hair was greasy, still in a braid from the week prior. Taking care of our bathroom needs was the worst of all, though with so many days without food, blessedly, the most I had to do was pee.

We were told that we had one more day until we reached Fort Laith, an Otacian outpost where soldiers could recoup and rest before the long way back home. There, we would stay in cramped prison cells until the march would resume. Supposedly, there were multiple rest stops that they had built over the years.

The fact an Otacian outpost was only eight days from Ames and I never knew it made me nauseous. I wondered how long it took Silas to figure out the best way to ambush us and the best routes to and from. How long had Ames been on his radar?

He had hardly looked at me during the past week. No words had been spoken between us…not like we could really speak about ourselves in front of others, anyway.

I watched ahead, Silas leading the way on his stallion, Roland on his left, and Rurik on his right.

Rurik was a complete prick, even compared to Roland, who at least seemed like he could hold his tongue…despite his moments of levity. Rurik had sworn at, berated, and taunted multiple of our women during this march. Surprisingly, he hadn’t attempted that with me yet. Probably because he knew I wouldn’t take his shit, as I had advocated for every woman he had harassed.

The final morning arrived, and we were walking yet again. I couldn’t believe I was looking forward to reaching our temporary prison. My legs ached terribly, and the exhaustion due to hunger pangs was begging me to collapse .

A decent amount of Silas’s men were mounted on horses; I assumed they were higher-ranked soldiers. And then there were a handful on foot, including Edmund and Hendry. Lucky for them, they would be able to relax and drink during this upcoming break while we looked forward to concrete floors.

Better than walking, I suppose.

Suddenly, the snapping of twigs was heard in the forest to our left. Rurik’s head turned in response. I so desperately wanted to grab the weapon from his hands and cut his neck open with it.

A gust of wind blew, and the crunching of branches let us know something was approaching. Silas held up a fist, causing everyone to halt. The wind blew again, a lot colder than normal, and chills spread across my body.

Wrong. Something is very wrong.

In the blink of an eye, multiple figures shot out from the forest with hideous screams. From their palms, dark magical orbs shot at the soldiers, and my heart stopped when I realized what we were up against.

The Undead.

I had never seen one before, never thought it possible. It had been centuries since one of their kind had even been spotted. And that meant there was an enemy out there even worse than King Ulric.

A necromancer.

The soldiers wailed out as the orbs struck various parts of their bodies. They were damned now.

Based on lore told over the centuries, the Undead were created by a dark necromancer, who, instead of raising them fully like the necromancers before him, raised them only partially—their souls stuck in an in-between. In other words, they would completely bend to his will. Those touched by this necromancer's power carried the ability to turn the living into creatures just like them, spreading their curse with only one hit of their power, thus adding to their master's numbers.

But that was legend for the Mages that were afflicted by their magic. Humans would die an excruciating death, their soul forever lost as the darkness spread through their body. I didn’t know which fate was worse.

After the rise of the Mage who created such a curse, the practice was outlawed, and those with the gift in their blood were put to death.

How had one remained?

Silas quickly acted, ordering his men to attack and angling his steed in the direction of the battle.

The Undead’s appearance was chilling. Their skin and lips lacked color…like that of a corpse. What hair they did have was stringy and limp, and their eyes were completely black, even the whites. A black, inky pattern swirled all over their skin, and black fog spread around their feet.

They moved so quickly, some of the soldiers dodging, some unable to move before an orb struck their bodies. They even attacked the horses, Roland’s getting blasted before knocking him off the side. He hit the ground hard, then staggered to his feet.

I felt helpless, petrified, but after a beat, I realized the Undead were not attacking the Mages. Only the Otacians.

Why?

In front of me, another orb struck a soldier, and he dropped to the ground and convulsed; the screams of terror were overwhelming my senses .

Roland was just steps from me, his sword impaling an Undead in front of him, only he didn’t see the one from behind.

It was going to kill him.

I didn't know why I cared, but I found myself yelling, “Roland!”

He turned sharply, hazel eyes blown wide as he beheld the creature about to attack. He wouldn’t have time to deflect.

Without thinking, I quickly retrieved a sword lying on the ground, dropped by that fallen soldier. The grip I had on it was awkward due to the cuffs, but I angled it quickly before plunging it into the creature’s back, its black blood splattering all over Roland's front.

Roland was panting as he gaped at me. There wasn’t enough time to do anything as an orb shot out from another one of them and hit Edmund in his right leg followed by his left arm. He cried out, and Elowen screamed as he slammed to the ground.

The creature slowly prowled over Edmund, who was now sobbing as he gripped his infected limbs. The pain that came from being marked by an Undead was said to be unbearable.

I saw it grin at him, and I knew it planned to torture him, draw out his suffering. The soldiers around were too preoccupied trying to save their own lives to stop it.

“Hey!” I howled at the creature. It craned its neck to glimpse at me. “Come get me, you ugly bastard!”

It cocked its head to the side, assessing its prey. It was in front of me in what felt like an instant, but before I could attack, Silas’s sword was through its neck, black blood gushing out.

It screeched as it fell to the ground, twitching rapidly before going limp. Panting, I met Silas’s golden stare, then Edmund’s, who looked at Silas and me with broad, tearful eyes. Was he aware of his fate ?

I quickly observed our surroundings. The remaining soldiers finally managed to slay what was left of the Undead. A handful of horses had been killed in the attack, Roland’s being one of them.

My focus drifted back to Edmund. I was frozen, my heart wrenching despite everything as I watched him cry.

He was going to die.

“Drop the sword, bitch,” Rurik snarled.

I forgot the sword was still in my hands. Slowly, I spitefully turned to him, and giving him a dark smile, I replied, “Make me.”

I was ready to do something reckless but was stopped by Silas’s hand on my shoulder. My eyes darted up to him, his grip firm but not painful. He gave me a warning look before I glared back at Rurik and dropped the weapon.

Our stare down was interrupted by Edmund’s wail. Silas released my shoulder and quickly ran over to him before kneeling at his side.

His face paled as he examined him. “Fuck…” Silas muttered.

“I-I’m going to die…” Edmund sobbed.

“Pussy,” Rurik muttered.

Roland shot him a violent glare while Silas kept eye contact with Edmund and took his hand is his. I could swear I saw tears shining in his eyes as he studied his friend.

Elowen ran down and kneeled at Edmund's other side. “Let me help him,” she begged.

“Elowen,” Merrick scolded, his icy eyes full of warning.

She ignored him and pulled Edmund’s right pants leg up above his knee. Black inky swirls, just like that of the Undead, marked only half of his lower leg. “It’s below the knee and hasn’t spread yet. If we remove his leg, he will live.” Edmund bit back a sob as she pulled off his right glove and arm guard, then carefully pushed up the sleeve of his shirt, exposing the same black markings running halfway up his forearm. “Same for his arm.”

Before Silas could object, she continued, “Lena can wield fire.” She nodded her head towards me. “She can burn the wounds to stop the bleeding. And I’m not only our best healer, but I can take away the pain.” She motioned at her cuffed hands. “I just…I need these off.”

Rurik scoffed. “Do you take us for fools?”

Elowen clenched her jaw, baring her teeth. “He is going to die otherwise, you asshole!” she spat out. Merrick and Vi looked at me with widened eyes. None of us had ever heard Elowen swear.

Silas turned to study me, jaw ticking as he contemplated what to do. Edmund’s cries became more devastating, and he shrieked as he clenched his arm, sobbing uncontrollably.

“Please…” Elowen pressed.

Hendry stepped behind and put a hand on Silas’s shoulder, and I could see tears forming in his eyes, too.

He wasn't going to let us.

Fuck that.

“You would let one of your men die when there’s a way to save him?” I argued.

“What good would a cripple be to us?” Rurik said plainly. “A missing leg and arm…” He shrugged. “He’d be useless,”

My lips curled into a snarling frown. “You are a pathetic piece of shit,” I snarled. I turned to Silas. “Let us save him. I promise the second it’s done you can put these back on,” I pleaded, gesturing to my bound wrists.

“Your Highness, you can’t possibly be cons— ”

Silas raised his hand as he stood, cutting another soldier off. Keeping his eyes on me, he walked until he and I were face to face. Roland, who stood to my side, studied me with an expression I couldn't place.

“If you so much as—” Silas began.

“I promise,” I said calmly.

“There isn’t much time!” Elowen cried out.

Silas quickly placed a thumbprint on the reader located on the metal bar that linked the cuffs together. The red gems marking each cuff lost their light as they clicked open.

I could kill him in an instant, and I wondered if he knew that. I ran over to Edmund, kneeling beside him as Silas removed Elowen’s restraints.

The black swirling on his skin was spreading, now just below his knee.

“His leg needs to be amputated right above where the markings end,” I said quickly. I looked at Silas. “Do you want me to do it, or you?”

“Me,” he replied, unsheathing his sword.

Edmund was trembling. I never knew a human could hold so many tears.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he panicked, shaking violently.

“Shh,” Elowen put both of her hands on the sides of his temples. “Look at me,” she whispered. Her hands began to glow a soft, white light, and Edmund’s breathing slowly began to stabilize.

He gazed at Elowen with wonder. “T-the pain, it’s…it’s gone,” he breathed. Elowen softly smiled at him .

Silas wielded his sword, a long onyx blade, its handle bejeweled with sapphires, and paused while staring at Edmund’s leg.

“Right above where the black stops,” I repeated.

“I’m so scared,” Edmund uttered to Elowen with an embarrassed laugh.

“You won’t feel a thing, I promise.” She dragged her thumb along his cheek. “Just keep your eyes on me.”

Silas took a deep breath, then swung his sword, a mix of red and black blood spilling out as Edmund’s leg was cut clean from the rest of his body.

Moving quickly, I lifted what was remaining of his leg, blood drenching me, and brought my hand just above the wound. I willed fire to emit from my palm and burned the opening until the bleeding ceased.

“Feel anything?” Elowen asked.

He shook his head and gave a soft smile. “No pain, anyway.”

Color stained both of their cheeks. It was…sweet. Though I’m positive no one else thought so.

I gently placed his leg back down. The metallic scent of his blood alone was going to make me sick, but the putrid stench of the cursed blood was on another level.

“His arm next,” I said to Silas as I steadied my breathing and inhaled through my mouth.

Don’t get sick.

He turned his attention back to Edmund, who Elowen helped lean down further until his arm was limp against the ground. Silas clenched his jaw, then swung again, the blade going through flesh and bone before his forearm was disconnected. I cauterized the wound quickly, finishing the job at last, but that sickening smell paired with all the gore was all it took for me to place his arm down, turn, and vomit. I felt Silas tense next to me, but he didn’t do anything.

When I finished, I wiped my mouth and stood. A chuckle came from Rurik. “Not such a badass if something that small makes you sick.”

I glared at him, an evil smirk spreading across my face.

“Funny you say that when I could have you dead on the ground in seconds.” My hand began to emit fire once more, and fear swept over Rurik’s face. I scoffed as I eyed the soldiers raising their weapons.

My eyes met Silas, who didn’t bother raising his sword. Somehow, he knew I wouldn’t hurt them. Perhaps because even if I did kill Rurik, I would have to fight off everyone else, and all it would take is a sword to one of my people’s necks for me to submit.

Not a good plan.

“I’m a woman of my word.” I tilted my chin upward, offering my wrists up.

Edmund spoke softly, Elowen’s palms still on the sides of his head as he said, “Thank you, Lena.”

I blinked, then gave him a nod and a small smile while Silas once again detained me.

“I didn’t know the Undead were real…just a myth. Where did they come from?” Elowen asked me shakily.

I bit the inside of my cheek in contemplation. “The real question is, who is their master?”

Silas wiped the blood off his sword, putting it back in its holder. “We have been dealing with these creatures for months now. You act as though you know nothing of them. ”

My brows drew together. “Necromancy isn’t a type of magic just anyone can learn or wield. It’s a power you’re born with. To raise a Mage halfway…to create an Undead…you have to have no heart, no soul. Unable to love or feel remorse.” I tensed. “You have to be a complete monster. And considering there is a necromancer out there…” I let out a shaky breath. “… that means there is a bigger threat to the world than even your father.”

Silas's expression gave no indication of his emotions. Another soldier commented, “Funny how those things only attacked us, don’t you think, Your Highness?”

My fists clenched. “I have no idea why they didn’t attack us. Mages don’t die like humans do.” My eyes narrowed on the corpses littering the ground. “We transform into one of them, one of the Undead, adding to their master's numbers.” Roland crossed his arms while Rurik glowered at me. “And don’t think for a second that a dark necromancer would be on our side, either. Someone who is this sick needs to be wiped out before they kill everyone. Practicing necromancy is forbidden by my people.”

“Sounds like we’re doing the world a service killing you witches, then,” Rurik commented.

I was about to kick him in the balls when Elowen began to speak .

“Edmund will still be in a lot of pain, even with the wound cauterized,” she said carefully. “If we can make a sleeping elixir, a powerful one that keeps him asleep for a few days, I can heal him well enough that he isn’t hurting by the time he wakes.”

“You can’t just use your magic to put him to sleep?” Roland asked.

Elowen shook her head. “Only Warlocks can do that. Perhaps a Mage could if they had it as a gift. But considering there isn’t one here with that power, no.”

Silas frowned. “How long will it take for him to heal?”

“A wound this bad?” She took a minute to think. “Probably a week or two before it is healed completely.”

I knew instantly that Elowen was lying; it never took her that long to heal someone, even though we’d never been faced with a wound like this. Perhaps it could buy us time to come up with a plan.

“Your Highness, I know we are planning to recoup at Fort Laith, but waiting two weeks? Our families—”

“When we’re on the battlefield, these men are your family,” Silas said sternly. “We will give Edmund the time he needs to heal, and then we will make it the rest of the way.”

Silas shifted, but not to Elowen, to me.

“What do we need for the elixir?”

And it was like history was repeating itself.