The Infernal Lands (The Aionach Saga Book 1)

  The Infernal Lands

  Book One of

  The Aionach Saga

  J.C. Staudt

  The Infernal Lands is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2014 J.C. Staudt

  All rights reserved.

  Edition 1.0

  For Sarah, who keeps me going.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Map

  1. Catch

  2. Council

  3. The Mulligraws

  4. Detail

  5. Preparations

  6. Found

  7. Claybridge

  8. Electing

  9. Feeding

  10. The Shepherds

  11. Kept to Stay

  12. The Lane Natives

  13. Embarking

  14. Escort Services

  15. In Violation

  16. Like Nomads

  17. The Underground Sea

  18. Wrapped

  19. Father Kassic

  20. Lightsick

  21. To Get Lost

  22. Rowers

  23. The Priest and the Acolyte

  24. Orbs in the Outskirts

  25. Strokeplan

  26. Comings and Goings

  27. The Way

  28. The Prisoner

  29. Audience

  30. The Healer’s Grandeur

  31. Jailbroken

  32. Research

  33. Migration

  34. The Darkness Through the Doorway

  35. The Scarred Child

  36. Visited

  37. The Blind-World

  38. Coming To

  39. The Garden Grotto

  40. Into the Wastes

  41. Gris-Mirahz

  42. Squall

  43. Springs

  44. Living Away

  45. Escape From Belmond

  46. Where It All Began

  47. Eh-Calai Phylecta

  48. Banishing

  49. Toward Home

  50. The Crimson Thread

  51. The Slaver’s Guests

  52. Aezoghil

  53. To the Deeps

  54. A Strike in Two Parts

  55. Aftermath

  56. Sniverlik’s Marauders

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  CHAPTER 1

  Catch

  On the night Vantanible’s men rode into town, Daxin Glaive left home and made for the Skeletonwood without waking his daughter to say goodbye. He was still pushing his mare hard when morning blazed over the scrublands, shedding trails of dust through rough country spotted with sagebrush and brambles and tufts of dry brown grass. Daxin had braved these lands many times for love, but this was the first time he’d done it to settle a score.

  They first appeared as dark specks over his shoulder, apparitions rippling in the mirari woken with the day’s heat. Their horses were in fine trim for the scrubs, but Daxin’s chestnut mare was old and out of shape, so it didn’t take long for the specks to grow into real things with the forward lean of bloodthirst in their backs and the same fire in their eyes. Their javelins glistened in the daylight as they fanned wide and sprinted to outpace him.

  The first of the javelins sailed true and sank deep, throwing Daxin sideways and snatching the breath from his lungs. He reined up and wheeled to defend himself, but the pain washed over him, and vertigo took hold. When his body slammed to the hardpan, he could hear his pursuers’ triumphant shouts above the rumble of their approach. Dust the color of dead autumn leaves billowed around his shape, the hot metal spearhead burning in his ribs while the ground shook with the nearing of hoofbeats.

  Boots thudded in the dirt. Daxin’s mare whinnied and tramped backward at the unfamiliar hand that took hold of her reins. The horse stumbled over Daxin’s legs, and there was the briefest sensation of pressure before he heard his ankle pop like wet firewood. Red swarms came buzzing over him. He sucked in his gut, but no breath came, leaving his urge to scream unsatisfied. Writhing in the dust, clutching the ankle, he waited for the most excruciating moments to pass.

  There was a voice, clear and familiar.

  “Didn’t think we’d be seeing each other again so soon.”

  Daxin had always loved his brother’s voice, laced as it was with that sharp enunciation that made every word ring like polished metal. It was the voice that ran parallel to every significant memory Daxin had formed over the most recent half of his lifetime. The fourteen years of age between them had led Daxin to think of Toler more as a son, at times, than a brother. But there was a difference, and Toler was keen on reminding Daxin of that every chance he got.

  “I noticed some tracings on my route map,” said Toler Glaive, anger brewing beneath the surface of his calm. “You know anything about that, Dax?”

  Daxin made no reply, unsure whether he would’ve spoken if he could have. Pain is a problem that shrinks every other, and just now the prospect of answering seemed small in comparison.

  “Okay,” Toler said, one word brimming with impatience. “You can come right out and tell me what you did. Or we can take a look in your bags. How’s this gonna go?”

  Daxin knew his brother’s charms too well. He doesn’t want to accuse me, so he’s baiting me instead. Daxin’s pain was so bad it made him retch, though he would’ve had Toler believe this was the reply he intended. When he felt something obscene burn in his throat, he turned to let it slide down the inside of his cheek. It was the dry spiced jerky he’d eaten a few hours before, only it didn’t taste as good this time.

  Toler shrugged. “Alright then. Blatcher, search his stuff, will you?”

  Saddlebags whispered against the mare’s flanks, their contents clunking and rustling as the men rifled through Daxin’s possessions. Strokes of pain were bolting up his leg and his vision was going flat and gray, and every sound was tunneling into the distance, from the faint wind across his face to the stamping and whinnying of horses and the men pillaging his belongings. It was all happening horizons away, faded and crackling like the noise from an old record. For a moment Daxin thought he might pass out, but he wasn’t that lucky.

  One of the pillagers handed Toler something over the saddle. Daxin heard the paper whisk open when Toler unrolled it, saw the inked lines and the texture of the page when he held it up toward the light-star for inspection. After a moment, Toler let the page curl back and gave a deep sigh. “I can’t believe I let you pull this shit on me three times before I figured out it was you. This is an exact copy, Dax. Your handwriting. Coffing unbelievable. Anything you want to tell me now?”

  Daxin was starting to wish he’d passed out. He didn’t know which was worse—being put to shame this way, or not knowing what his brother was going to do next. “I don’t know, how about ‘sorry’? Any chance that’ll do any good?”

  “Nah. I don’t reckon it will.” Toler pressed the heel of his boot into Daxin’s cheek, branding his skull with hot rubber. Taking the javelin in both hands, he leveraged himself and yanked.

  The pain was so sharp it made Daxin cry out. Torment was in his side, and a warm wet seeped through his tunic.

  The light-star’s gaze cast Toler in silhouette as he crouched and let the javelin clang to the dust. He was young and sturdy and dressed in brown leathers. His dark hair was pasted to his face with sweat, lines of grit gathered along the creases in his skin. He pulled his ragged hood-scarf down from where it covered his nose and m
outh, looking Daxin over with a mixture of hatred and pity. Even at his dirtiest, Toler was square-jawed and good-looking, with scathing dark eyes and just the right amount of nose for his face. He leaned in, so close Daxin could smell the stink of his breath, a precarious medley of moonshine and grilled glowfish. As their eyes met, half a lifetime’s memory awoke again in a deluge.

  “Poor Dax. You’re looking so thin and gray these days. You really thought you could keep this up, didn’t you?” Toler tapped the paper. “Well, this wasn’t the only thing that brought me back to town. I know what else you’ve been up to. There was a rider, night before last. Said some savages got loose in Unterberg and hurt my lady. I know how friendly you like to get with them savages. Now imagine how I’m feeling, way out here in the scrubs, working a train with weeks left to go before I can get back to her. You sorry to hear that, Dax? Or are you glad about it? Tell me you had nothing to do with this.”

  Daxin cleared his throat, pain biting at him still. “I had nothing to do with it,” he said. The words came out thick and forced. He looked away, unable to meet his brother’s stare.

  “That’s what I thought,” Toler said, and with knowing in his eyes—knowing like only a brother could know—he sighed, as though it was the last breath he ever meant to take. “Shit, Daxin. The whole time I was home you acted like you didn’t have a care in the world. What, did you think screwing up my life was gonna win you some kind of moral victory? This is low, even for you. I know you don’t agree with my choices, but I’m getting real sick of you trying to force me over to your side. We’re not on the same side, Dax. Not after this.” Toler’s voice quavered, and he stood with a grunt. “You’re such an asshole. Look at you and that sad-sack, sorry-for-yourself, mopey look you always get. You really did want them to kill her, didn’t you?”

  For a moment Daxin thought he saw tears in his brother’s eyes, but Toler blinked them away, and the heat dried what was left.

  In the clarity after the tears, something dark and terrible flashed in Toler’s eyes and took hold there. “Dax. I’ve had enough.”

  Daxin’s heart fluttered. He struggled to lift himself, but the pain was too much. “I told you I had nothing to do with it. I’m your brother, for Infernal’s sake. Don’t do something you’re going to regret.” He’d meant to sound reasonable, to call Toler’s bluff, but even he could hear the note of dread in his voice.

  “Aw. Don’t go getting all sentimental on me,” Toler said, with more than a hint of dour sarcasm. “Blood only gets you so far.”

  Steel shwipped across rawhide, and Daxin squinted against the daylight long enough to see the machete in Toler’s hand. He’s actually doing it. He’s going to kill me. In that moment, terror wasn’t the first thing to strike Daxin Glaive. What struck him was that, of all the dangers that might’ve befallen him, he was about to meet his end at the hands of the person who knew him best in the world. In the scrublands, the only ones who would care about his death were strangers; the lurking scavengers who would thrill at the scent of his blood and fill their bellies with his remains.

  There was a gap in the trees, a path where the road had once been. Asphalt beneath the dust, worn and rubbled. I was so close to the road, Daxin thought. So close to the road. A weather-beaten billboard squatted beside the gap, an ailing old thing from before the Heat that proclaimed in chipped red and white paint: For the Finest Cheer, Drink Schteinman’s Beer. A buzzard was perched there. It cocked its wrinkled pink head and looked at him. Lunchtime for you, my friend, Daxin thought bitterly.

  Toler nudged Daxin onto his back, grabbed him by his mop of dusty gray hair, and lifted him until he thought it might come out in a handful. “Let’s be clear on this,” Toler said, clenching his jaw as his composure flashed to rage. “After what you just tried to pull, I have no second thoughts about sending your soul to Infernal.”

  “I didn’t do anything,” Daxin said, struggling to free himself from Toler’s grip. “You’re serious about this? What are you going to tell Savannah when I’m dead?”

  The mention of Toler’s niece seemed to take him by surprise. “I’ll tell her the truth,” he said. “You got what you had coming. After all these years, and all the time you spent away from her, the scrubs finally took you. It won’t take her long to realize she’s better off without you. You belong out here, Dax. We both do. Me on two feet, you in the ground.”

  “Toler, don’t do this. Not here. This is too cruel.”

  “Wherever you are is too cruel a place, Dax.”

  “Toler… please. Taking me away from Savvy isn’t the way to get what you want.”

  A puzzled smirk came over Toler’s face. “Since when do you care if I get what I want? You never gave half a squeeze about what I wanted when I was trying to find my way in this world. All you care about are your ancient grudges and a bunch of sour history that no one besides you even remembers anymore.”

  Daxin resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It was the same old argument he and his brother had been having for years. There was no new ground to cover here. “I don’t know what to say. I didn’t do anything to Reylenn. It’s just… hard for me to believe you resent me this much.”

  Toler scowled. “Don’t try to twist this around on me. We both know exactly what you did. I’ll make sure Savvy knows it too, when you’re gone. There are lots of things she ought to know about you.”

  “You think any of that’s going to make her happy I’m dead?”

  Toler paused to consider this. “The best gifts are the ones you never knew you wanted. Isn’t that what you told me? Wise words from a true manipulator. Well, this is my gift to Savvy. She doesn’t know she wants it now, but someday she will.”

  Daxin sighed his disdain. Turns out you’re too wise for your own good, old dway.

  “You remember what else you told me, Dax? You said ‘some things are too terrible to forgive.’ I could’ve forgiven you for just about anything but this. There are certain things you just don’t do to somebody, and this is one of them. Reylenn is my girl, Dax. Doesn’t matter if you hate her family’s guts—she’s still my girl. Thank goodness she’s alive, or you can’t imagine the kind of hurting you’d be in for right now. You’ve earned yourself the merciful way out. I can just imagine Savvy being with some young man you don’t like, and you sending a couple of savages to cut him up. I’m making sure that day never comes.”

  You still don’t understand, Daxin wanted to say. You don’t even care enough to take pride in your own family, after all the times I’ve explained to you what they did to us. But that, again, was the same old argument; those words would only fall on deaf ears. “You’re out of your mind,” was the only pathetic half-insult he could manage.

  Ever methodical, Toler set about the business of slaughter the way a man laces up his boots. He lifted the machete, a motion that seemed too smooth and slow and surreal. Daxin felt like he was falling off his horse again, fighting gravity, though it was merely the last seconds of his life he was battling this time. The blade glinted as it rose, until a blaring wash of daylight swallowed it.

  “Wait,” Daxin said.

  Toler ignored him.

  Daxin’s pulse was running off the rails. He focused on trying to take in every facet of his surroundings, seeing what he could, and hearing what he couldn’t see. His horse, still standing two fathoms away; the men on the other side, still searching his bags for loot; the endless, cracked expanse of scrubland that lay behind; the line of leafless trees that guarded the dead forest like scarecrows, and the patch of splintered asphalt that had once been the road through. He arranged the position of every man, animal, and object on a neat mental plane, for whatever good it might do him.

  The blade began its descent with little warning, except that Toler’s grip twisted to crane Daxin’s head back just before he committed to swing. Daxin waited until the last second before he raised his arm to shield himself. He felt the steel slice through the padding in his forearm bracers like paper, crack the hard plastic,
and bury itself in flesh. Bone halted blade, and a shock went through him from shoulder to fingertip. When Toler tried to shake the blade loose, another twinge of pain radiated through Daxin’s arm. By some devilry, the steel held fast, snagged in plastic or bone or both.

  It was all the opportunity Daxin needed.

  Slipping his skinning knife from its loop on his belt, Daxin leaned forward and took Toler in the eye. Toler cried out and stumbled backward. When he screamed, Daxin felt the pain as if it were his own. Sour regret silted on his tongue; the idea that he’d given to such an impulse grieved him, whether it was a means to saving his own life or not. He was still in danger, contrite as he was, so he forced his broken body into motion. Coff it, this is going to hurt.

  On his knees, Daxin found the machete still quivering in flesh. Standing with a grimace, he dislodged the blade just as the first of Toler’s companions—the one he’d called Blatcher—came careening around the mare’s rear end. Daxin anticipated the superior reach of the javelin and was rewarded for it. His shattered ankle rasped like a bag of seashells as he evaded the thrust and yanked the spear forward by its pole. The broken thing at the end of his leg made a better stumbling block than it did a foot just now, and he plunged it into the path of his assailant to send him tumbling. He whirled when the next attacker rounded the corner. The machete’s blade was sharp, and his stroke sent the man sprawling in a spray of blood and flesh and teeth.

  Daxin faltered as lightheadedness took him, the strain on his battered parts washing over him like a fever. His knees wanted to buckle, but desperation kept him on his feet. Behind him, Toler screamed again, a tortured keening that etched itself onto Daxin’s heart with all the veracity of an oath. To feel his brother’s pain was an ache worse than any wound he could’ve sustained. I couldn’t look him in the eye, so I stabbed him there instead, he reflected.

  Leaping belly-first onto his mare, Daxin smacked her hindquarters to send her bolting toward the trees. A javelin wobbled past and found rest somewhere in the ground ahead as he climbed up and took the saddle. Two more missed them before he’d gotten out of range. He felt every fall of the animal’s hooves as he galloped through the skeletal cropping of forest. Blood ran from the gashes in his arms and side, over his trousers and down the mare’s flank. Toler’s screams fell distant as he rode on, looking back every now and then, grimacing at the trauma it caused him to turn his body. Soon he could feel nothing anymore. Was it the adrenaline, or the remorse in his veins that numbed him?