Of Fire and Fury (Book 1: Light-Born Series)

Chapter 17 - Rabid

The journey continued uncomfortably on, six silent shapes plodding along through the forest. Some, alert and awake, watching for more moving shapes in the underbrush. Some grimaced as their mounts exacerbated their aching wounds, but prided themselves on not crying out. One watched intently, regretting words spoken in anger. One trailed several lengths behind the rest. Her head hung, heavy with a mass of emotions that no one could understand.

Rabid had scrubbed until her hands were raw but could still feel the thick blood running between her fingers. Even as she gripped Talia’s rope and plodded along through the forest, her hands could feel it. It was like the caressing of an old, yet unwelcome, acquaintance. It wasn’t just a memory that pressed its way into her conscious mind, there was something deeper that willed itself free—that thought terrified her more than anything she’d ever experienced before. As she rode with her face down and stomach twisting in knots, she did her best to repress the feelings.

“We’re here.” Chief Blood Wolf’s voice echoed off the sheer rock face before them. It was dark grey, smooth, and rose taller than ten men standing on each other’s shoulders. The group dismounted. Stone stared at Rabid, who avoided his gaze; she still felt his words, like a cool piece of glass was sticking from her heart.

They led their horses along the rock face until they reached a slight break in the smooth stone. There, the horses were left tethered to the trees. The narrow path through the rock immediately turned and took them back above the way they had come, through ever rising rock on either side. They followed the switchbacks up the narrow path. It wound until they could no longer see their horses below. They stopped their ascent before the large mouth of a dark opening in the mountain. Rabid eyed it warily: the tomb’s opening was a large, doorless hole carved into the mountain. Around the edges scratches of old tongue writing too faded to be read created a border. Even from several lengths away, she could feel the chilly air drifting from the cave’s mouth. 

As they stepped into the darkness, Rabid felt the hair on her arms stand up straight. Something in the air affected her through her skin and into her blood: like an electricity pulsing through her body. Chief Blood Wolf led the way into the dark, the rest falling into a line behind him. White Hawk, Kizi, Akecheta, and then Rabid. Stone took up the rear, and Rabid felt as though he were staring holes into her back. The air around them grew colder with each step, her uneasiness thickening. Just as the darkness was too thick to see, Chief Blood Wolf struck flint and lit a torch that hung on the wall, using it to light the rest of their way.

They wound their way through a long tunnel, with dark doorways that led to carved stone rooms. As they passed by, Rabid peered inside, seeing the wrapped bodies of the dead laying on great slabs of stone. The light of the cave’s mouth long gone, only the firelight eerily danced on the walls, making the entombed bodies look as though they may come alive to dance in the firelight. She shivered, and looked away. As they rounded a corner, Rabid stumbled, catching herself against a stone. Beneath her hand, it felt as though the rock was vibrating, alive. The nerves in her fingers sang at its touch.

“What is it?” Stone’s deep voice startled her.

“Do you feel that?” she whispered.

“What?” he said, glancing around instinctively.

“Nothing, nevermind.” She said, shaking her head to clear it.

“Yes, Napua.” Blood Wolf said from before them, his voice echoing off the walls. “The spirits are restless.”

Rabid pulled her hand quickly from the wall, unnerved. She had never liked the idea of spirits living on in the world. Now, especially, as they walked between the tombs of numberless warriors, she hoped to never encounter one. Thoughts of skinless bones walking on earth and violent creatures without human control flashed through her mind.

As they continued descending, the once close ceiling began to expand. As they walked down it continued on, then finally rose until they stopped in the center of a large cavern. Here, the roof angled sharply upward, as though the mountain above them was entirely hollow. Veins of shining silver cut through the rock like the branches of a tree. Far above them, a small sliver was broken into the rock ceiling, bathing the entire cavern in a golden light from the sun above the mountains. This, along with Chief Blood Wolf’s torch, lit age-old carvings along the walls. As Rabid examined the markings, her stomach began to quiver. 

White Hawk uncovered a large wooden drum he had carried in his skins, along with two thick wooden sticks. They all stood silently as he slowly began to tap the sticks against the taunt drum skin. One thump. Two. Three. The entire cave began to fill with a low, pulsing thrum. After a few beats, Kizi began to sing: the ancient, flowing tongue of the old ones. These sounds Rabid recognized but could not recreate, though it was a part of their shared heritage. The Napua had never needed the warrior’s prayer.

Blood Wolf’s deep baritone joined Kizi’s, echoing off the walls. The other men joined shortly after, as they took weapons in their hands and began to dance. They swirled and moved as though in a slow motion battle, each jab and slice of their knife turned into a fluid performance. Their weapons floated through the air as they prayed for victory.

With each beat of the drum, Rabid felt a growing sense of elation. The quivering in her belly built stronger and stronger as she watched the dancing bodies and listened to their haunted, echoing voices. She felt her eyes drawn to the walls. With little power to resist, she moved toward the markings. Scanning them with her eyes, she couldn’t understand what they were depicting. Noticing three that looked like falling rain drops, she felt compelled to run her fingers through the smooth grooves. As her fingertips traced the strange symbols, the room around her began to vanish. Far away, she heard the beating of the drums, the singing of the Omari: the room felt miles away.

She found herself surrounded by the same gray stones, but instead of the inside of a cave, they made up the walls of a large hall. Rabid blinked and looked around. The carved slabs of stone around her, a red rug beneath her feet, and an eerily muted light surrounded her. Her eyes fell to the throne before her, built of a living tree. A woman sat on the throne, her sky-colored eyes blinking, and a hint of a smile curved on her lips.

She stood and moved toward Rabid. A crown was on top of her head, woven branches braided together and painted gold. It held her long, dark hair from her face, wrapping around her temples and coming to a diamond on her forehead. When Rabid’s eyes caught sight of the two eagle feathers braided into the hair along the woman’s face, her eyes widened, a memory of her own dreams flashing to her mind.

The woman eyed her back for a long moment. Her head c****d to the side, as though she were listening to something. Finally, after several long moments of silence, she smiled. The radiance of her perfectly white teeth filled Rabid with a warm light and peace. The white tunic around the woman’s thighs billowed as she moved closer.

“Hello, daughter of Khaya.” She said, leaning forward. “I have been waiting for you.”

Rabid opened her mouth, wanting to speak, but her voice felt weighed down in her chest. The woman raised her fingers, touching them to her forehead. As she touched Rabid’s skin, the warmth inside her deepened and spread throughout her entire body. 

“Awake, natuna.” the woman whispered. There was a brief flash of white light, so blinding Rabid had to sheild her eyes with her arm. Then, nearly as suddenly as it had come, the image was gone from Rabid’s eyes, and once again she was standing with her hand against the stone wall of a cave.