Absolution Ch. 03

Drums throb relentlessly, a heavy rhythm that works its way into your head. No ethereal elven flutes this time, this was the music of the Karsh...war drums. The cavern was once again filled to brimming with the flashing black plumage of the Karsh warriors, no female or slave was visible amidst the painted masses. The drummers form a semicircle at one end of the room, and torches flicker, casting their golden light on the floor. Within the halo, stands the clan leader, and beside him Adianna waits.

***

Coppery and rich, the thick blood arcs and splashes across the wall and ceiling, the savage blow that had nearly taken off the head of the guard now driving founts of ichor as he died wordlessly. Two more charge in, swinging hatchets and screaming battle-cries half-heartedly. So many dead by this beast! one of them thinks as he closes and hacks at the cloaked figure. He feels his blow miss and he turns his head in time to catch Chorak's face crumpling as it is stoved in by a blow from the beast's shield, the edge shattering beak and bone underneath its hard edge, arrow shafts protrudding from its surface. Pressure and a horrible pinch come next, the force of both robbing him of his breath and lifting him from his feet.

Soon, the floor stops his movement and his bowels release, Chunik is dimly aware that somehow he had been struck as well, Chorak he can see is dead and another guard has rushed the figure, now screaming like a calf, hands grabbing at his middle, as the broad blade of that terrible spear emerges through the dark leather armor of the Karsh warrior. Quick as a whisper, the blade is pulled back through his body and the other kestrel joins Chorak and Chunik, amongst others, dying and dead on the floor. Oblivion consumes Chunik as well, his last thoughts of the impossibility of it all, attacked in his own camp... and finally.. of the dice game he was to join in an hour.

***

A hush falls and the drums silence as Akmah raises his hand and addresses the tumultuous tribe.

"We da' Karsh a' a mighty tribe. We conquad a' enemies, the Kishvites an' thea' chillen' ha' been a' slaves fo' ten gen'rations na'. We fight an' we shed blood, we loot an' enslave those who try ta' stan' aggin' us...an' we triumph. We. A'. Karsh!"

A screeching cheer, hundreds of voices strong, rises into the air and echoes back in thousands as the cavern amplifies the sound. Akmah silences them once again as he continues.

"Yet in all this glory an' blood, we have lost many warria's, strong males who could ha' driven us ta' greata' glories. Not like in the days when a' seer led us inta' batte... but na' we will be led once agin'."

With a flourish, he presses Adianna forward and she looks out of the hectic press of bodies, her smile is mocking and scornful, but she holds her tongue and stands before her people in stony acceptance. The drums take up the exultation once again, blending with theululating cries of the warriors, the clash of spear and scimitar against shield, and the stamp of taloned feet. From the shadowy mouth of the northern tunnel, two Karsh emerge, dragging between them a young Kishvite kestress. Her piercing shrieks of terror ring shrilly above the beat. Adianna shuts her eyes, teeth grinding together as she tries to block out the sounds of revelry and bloodshed. Hands lashed behind her back, the child is bent over the breadth of a large stalagmite, the top has been cut down and the inside chiseled into a large trough. The cries are lost in a hideous gurgle as the razor edge of a knife slashes a gaping maw in her bared throat, and the arteries pump her life blood out into the stone basin. Latai's age, Adia shudders inwardly and cries soundlessly for the Kishvite, though her face remains a neutral mask.

***

The javelin has been used time and again since he had entered the camp; the Karsh so unfortunate to be the first he encountered lay twisted here and there, thrusts of killing psionic energy having shredded their minds. Others split open by fire and heat, the agitation of their bodies and organs too much for their paltry mortal frames to bear. Now he conserved and replenished his psionic energies, his shield and javelin are drenched in blood and other ejected fluids from the Karsh he slew ruthlessly. Brutes, no more than thugs, had never seen pitched battle and the wholesale, indiscriminate death of their comrades. Women, cowed old men and children had born the brunt of their savagery, broken peoples who had never had the wherewithal to stand against them. Now, Karsh warriors died in droves as he stalked the tents and alleys of the large encampment, threading his way towards the hall ahead.

***

The executioner dips a roughly hewn bowl into the blood, the blood filling it and glittering eerily in the fire's light. As he thrusts it into Adianna's hands, the overflow runs in warm rivulets down her arms, staining her talons a gory red. The heavy scent reaches her nostrils and she recoils, fighting both nausea and the undeniable seduction. Flashes of memory assail her, multitudes of similar ceremonies in which she had been a willing participant. Thrusting aside any further recollection, Adia throws her head back and drains the bowl. Blood thick and hot rolls across her tongue, rushing in a rich torrent to sing through her veins.

***

She must be there, he thinks, killing a man with a blow through the base of his neck; his back had been turned as he looked frantically around, rousing to the confused call to arms that had been slow to spread. Jolen had attacked mercilessly, force of his initial penetration carrying him into the camp on a tide of horror and shock, no organized counter had been formed as he continued to strike and cleave into the inexperienced bandits before himself. As potent as he was alone, Jolen realized to have a chance at escape, he would need to reach Adianna and free her, arming her in the process; the steel links of the whip he had scooped up jangling against the the blades and handles of the multitude of arms already hanging from his belt.

***

Her breathing hitches into a ragged panting and pupils dilate, her vision exploding outward, saturating the room in a vision of crimson and scintillating lights. The faces of the living blur before her and auras blend one into another, her focus shifting and tilting as hordes of spirits creep from the shadows, those dead and the echoes of those who soon will be. They groan and wail, throwing themselves towards her and filling her senses with their weeping. Everywhere...they were everywhere...reaching out skeletal arms and tearing at her, trying to pull her down into their midst, into the cold depths of death's realm. Arms spread wide and talons bared, Adianna screams her warcry, the wild tone rending the night, piercing the living and dead alike. Fighting back with a frenzy of will-power, she thrusts at the ghouls and skeletal visions. Their heartbreak washes over her, wave upon wave of sorrow capturing her mind, dashing it again and again against the fangs of her own regret until she thought they would drown her, suffocate her beneath the grasp of a thousand Karsh kills. Their blood fills her mouth.

***

A raucous scene greets his eyes as the cavern opens up to scores of shouting warriors, crying out towards a raised dias; a cavorting, dancing kestrel woman stamps her feet and swaying to the drums beating. The noise dies suddenly after a few moments, the stranger in their midst acknowledged, the scrape of talons are heard over squawks of surprise as some men back away to stare at the blood-drenched figure. Observing the crowd from beneath his hood, he strides forward. There. Dark and haunted, but still beautiful, Adianna sways over a basin of rich red fluid. Near the basin's foot, a young dead kestrel girl is sprawled out, her malnourished hands and arms stretched to her torn throat.

***

Desperately she threw herself into the dance she had performed a hundred times as a child. Her body bent and leapt, shaking and writhing, twisting and convulsing as she dodged the gaping maw of death. Their empty sockets and grinning teeth glared back as she fought with sheer will to dominate and enslave the spirits as she had before, crowing her domination, "I am Adianna de Karsh...I am Karsh. Dunna fo'get who brought you to yo knees, dunna' fo'get the sound o' my war cry." She forges onward, her steely focus cutting a swath through the overwhelming odds. "Tell me, children o' death, who is ta die by a' hand? Speak an' fo'tell, who will we be victorious ova'?"

***

Moving towards the dias, Jolen raises his hood and stands before her, her gaze fixes unseeingly on him, wide-eyed and blind to his presence. Reaching out with his mind, Jolen searches for some recognition, but as his consciousness brushes her own it is filled with a rush of emotions...fear...absolute terror bleeding from her in waves. He calls to her telepathically, the barely detectable spark of her psyche alarmingly weak and growing fainter by the moment as her hold on reality dwindles.

***

The diminutive form of the Kishvite child steps forward from the rest, her body ghostly pale and drained of blood as she looks up at Adianna, "I did...why? Why did you kill me?" She whimpers and Adia cringes back. Another and another step forward, driving her with their accusations, burning coals that scorch and sear at her grasp on the living realm. As her focus and confidence wavers, they flood over her, dragging her down, down...deeper into the void until tossing and tumbling she loses her way out altogether. Every way she turns, the faces of her children grin back mockingly from the corpses surrounding her...and Jolen.

***

He had not come this far to lose her, and the tenor of his grasp in her mind grows forceful, demanding that she recognize and return to him. A brief flare as he shuts his eyes and thrusts deeply into the void that threatens to swallow her, reaching out with all his might, he finds the flickering tendril of her awareness, wrapping himself around it protectively and pulling.

***

She searched the crowd before her..."Jolen?" Was he dead then? His call was strong in her mind, dragging her slow inches back towards where the light must be, even as the blood spirits clung to her limbs.

***

A fierce struggle ensues as the sucking hold of whatever entraps her pulls back, warring with him for possession of the kestress. With a final burst of determination, he wrests her from its grip and draws her with him to the surface.

***

Harder and surer the pull becomes, until her eyes open from the crazed trance into the reality of a silent cavern. The Karsh are frozen in shock.

***

Adianna gasps, panting like a drowning victim as they cling to dry ground. She rubs shakily at her face as though banishing the nightmares before glancing across at the dead slave and then raising her face to him with a look of desperation. A single word passes his thin lips, his gaze filled with sorrow, regret and yet... something kind and affectionate....

***

Looking up slowly from where she kneels, naked and trrembling on the floor, she finds a solitary figure standing before her, his cloak thrown back from his face.

"Adia."

***

The flowing red plumes of the helm shake as it is pushed up, the cheek guards resting on the aged warrior's forehead. His shield is slung back over his shoulder, his hand grasping the javelin around the middle of the shaft, blade towards the ground. He continues towards the trembling form of the pressed seer, repeating the name fully, charging the syllables with tendrils of energy and will, "...Adianna..."

He reaches her and slowly settles upon a knee, his shield hand reaching up to wipe away at her face, her eyes and forehead. Fingertips and talons stroke against Adianna's temple, warming to the touch, as he locks gaze with you, ".... Adianna." Telepathic connections reform, long severed pathways knit tenderly as a warm wave of psionic and spiritual energy builds. A great weight of regret and sorrow is held behind the powerful relief and joy that roils through the connection. As it deepens, images and memories begin to course through; passionate embraces between the two, numb conversations with another kestress, a young, brown feathered kestress adjusting spectacles. More and more make their way through, both becoming oblivious to the others in the cavern. Even Akmah, half risen from his seat, is in shock at what is transpiring.

"Come back," the husky, accented voice asks of Adianna. Jolen's eyes appear to be searching, as if deciding what to do next. The answer is clear as he leans closer and presses a kiss against her open mouth, soft yet full of meaning and want.

***

"Enough!" Akmah roars, finding his voice at last and breaking the spell Jolen's appearance cast on the assembly. Leaping forward, two warriors level their weapons at the couple. In one fluid movement, Jolen turns, driving the head of his javelin through the thorax of the foremost attacker, severing his spinal cord. Before the second can react, he thrusts brutally with a psionic blast, crushing the mind of the warrior and dropping him mid-stride. Reaching down, he grabs Adianna by the arm and pulls her up, pressing a chain whip into her hand and snapping, "Weakness must wait, on your feet." There is a breath of pause and then, with Akmah shrieking them on, a veritable tidal wave of Karsh warriors pours over them with a harsh flap of raven feathered wings. Jolen caves in the face of one kestrel, pummeling it with the butt of the javelin, using the rebound to slam the blade into the throat of another. Blood sprays and cries of pain resound. Behind him, Adianna pulls herself together in time to lash the chain whip, snapping the neck of a warrior about to impale her upon his bardiche. She spins nimbly, finding Jolen's back amidst the turmoil and pressing up against it. Swinging the heavy weapon about in a blurring circle, she snarls in satisfaction at the brutal snap of limbs and the pulpy *THUNK* as she catches a skull, spraying brain matter across the room. Reaching back blindly, to find Jolen's belt, she gropes until her hand closes around the hilt of a bladed weapon. Drawing it, she slashes out beneath the the arc of her whip, stabbing through the palm of one before twisting the blade to slice across the unprotected face of another.

A brief reprieve comes as the last of the immediate attackers falls, piled upon the corpses of their comrades. The others fall back a moment, reassessing the stance of the pair and collecting themselves for another assault. Adianna sucks in a burning breath, a wound along her ribs bleeding and sending fire through her body with each inhalation. Jolen glances at her over one shoulder, taking in the weariness they both exhibit, and the overwhelming number of tribesmen still standing. "Hold!" His voice rings out with a command that gives the tribe pause. Jolen pushes away from Adianna and his gaze drills into the figure of Akmah, standing a safe distance back from the conflict, his face an ugly contortion of fury and blood lust.

"Why do you send your warriors against me and stand back like a coward? Face me yourself, or prove to your people that you are unfit to lead such a warring tribe. What victory have you ever achieved of your own strength?" His tone is mocking and derogatory as he seeks to enrage the leader further. A brief mental touch proves that he is successful. Akmah screeches at the brazen outsider, and looks ready to fly at him, but he checks himself and Jolen's hopes sink as a sly smile stretches the chieftain's lips.

"Ahhh, but I would enjoy nothin' mo', believe me. Yo head will sit on yo own spea', impaled ta' stan' as a decoration in this vera' hall, an' I will po' yo blood down yo mate's throat. But, thea' is someone hea' with mo' claim ta yo' life than I." His eyes narrow in cruel enjoyment as he gestures behind him, "Khor...say hello ta' yo' fatha...an' kill him." From beside Akmah steps a young warrior, glistening black plumage unbroken by any other hue, his eyes aquamarine slits in his face. He stands slowly, the barest tremble in his hand all that betrays any emotional reaction as he takes a single, fluid stride to meet Jolen. The other warriors fall back, their faces alight with delighted anticipation.

***

Flashing scimitars cut viciously and hatefully through the air as Khor charges his father, Jolen bracing himself for the onslaught. Stance solid, the aged kestrel flips the javelin butt first at his son and rocks forward just as the first blow swings in. Feinting with the butt of his javelin, Jolen insteads throws all of his weight behind the shield, dealing a crashing blow into the oncoming youth, throwing him back several yards. The young kestrel is nimble, though, and tumbles onto his feet, pouncing towards Jolen. A feint with the butt of the javelin becomes a real blow as it strikes Khor soundly on the sternum, standing him up. His face is a snarl of pain and hatred as he hisses and circles towards his father.

"You are as your sister described you," Jolen says lowering the butt of his javelin towards the ground, his guard lowering just a touch.

Khor flinches at this, his focus faltering as he mutters, "Ya dunna' know nothin' about her...o' me. Latai neva' wanted ta be' pa't o' the tribe." His eyes carefully assess Jolen's defenses, and the alien whisper in Jolen's mind alerts him to a psionic intrusion as the boy tries to pick the next strategy out of his thoughts. Khor whirls toward Jolen, ducking beneath the javelin's trajectory and taking a swipe at Jolen's right arm, opening a wound along the bicep before dodging back. Wings unfurled to their full span, he stalks around the older kestrel, waiting for another opening.

Adianna stands back, her hands helpless at her sides as her frustrated gaze follows the two figures narrowly. She takes half a step towards the pair until the menacing hiss of a warrior beside her warns that interference will not be allowed. Gods, what sort of outcome was she to anticipate from this...either way, someone she loved would die. Her own use of the word love in conjunction with Jolen was not a train of thought she bothered to examine, pushing it out of her head as her once lover and her son circle one another.

***

Strike and parry. Slash and block. Counter and charge. Father and son circle one another, battling amidst the expectant crowd, bloodthirsty and certain of the outcome of the struggle before them. Jolen moves and strikes defensively, omitting the use of the killing end of his javelin, scoring stinging blows against his son; a smaller duel of psionics ensues between the two, the elder being clearly more potent and experienced, while the younger is wild and untrained, but inheritor to vast reserves of power. All the while, Jolen senses the waves of fear and trepidation coming from Adianna. This must be tearing her apart, he thinks, blocking another blow from Khor's scimitars, catching the edge of another across his left thigh.

Above this all, Akmah retakes his seat, grinning madly at the sight below. His eyes cast towards Adianna, his mad grin transforming into a triumphant expression. I's beat you, the look seems to say. He takes up his goblet once more and pours more wine down his throat, slopping it across his cheeks messily.

I cannot kill my own son, Jolen muses as his eyes dart in all directions, his options limited by the murderous onslaught of his estranged child. A brief moment passes and an idea strikes Jolen, just as Khor attempts to, as well. With a mighty buffet, Jolen throws Khor back once more, sending the boy sprawling. A fluid movement sees him throw off his plumed helm, casting it in Adianna's direction, following it with an expectant look. Be ready, he projects towards her, turning back to see Khor rise, dagger in hand.