No. It couldn't be.
He straightened into the strange fog that creeping into the area and congregating around Jiro's discarded body as if it meant to absorb him.
Rakesh drew in a sharp breath. The scent of the fog – a musty, bitter tang – filled his lungs.
Still, the chanting continued.
Rakesh staggered to his feet again and moved toward the sound, scrabbling through trees, dirt, bushes, and anything that slipped into his path. Help, he screamed in his mind because he didn't have the power to do it with his voice. Please help me!
The chanting strengthened, growing louder and louder.
Nearly weeping with relief, Rakesh stumbled through a crowded copse of dead trees to find an ambient, strange glow. Thick, gray rock walls hid some source of light inside a cave.
There was a cave with . . . something inside.
The fog had seemed to follow Rakesh, trailing him like a gossamer drape. He stared dumbly at the rock walls for several minutes. Should he go inside?
The chanting burrowed into his mind with terrifying force.
Chanting meant people. People likely meant aid – a chance to survive the dark lands of The Nothingness.
Or, it meant something far more nefarious.
What if the creature – or people – who killed Jiro waited inside?
A fresh course of pain surged through his back. Though his finger had been removed, it ached as if he still possessed the appendage. His thirst was so intense it was nearly overpowering.
Live or die, he had to go inside.
The light seemed to beckon to him as he stumbled inside, passing through the exterior cave wall.
Ancient runic paintings filled an inside wall. A short passageway broke into an open, sprawling hall that soared into the depths of darkness above. He sucked in a sharp breath, letting his fingers trail along the strange markings on the wall.
What was this place?
Rakesh shuffled along beside the wall, searching for signs of dripping water, a lake, an underground river. Some source to quench his insatiable thirst.
Always, in the background, rang the undeniable chants of ringing voices, although he didn't recognize the specific words. The chanting continued with disturbing clarity now that he'd moved along. It seemed to call to him even faster now, burrowing deep into his bones.
The strange hypnosis blurred with the deep darkness his body longed for.
Sleep. Rest. No more running, exhausted, from the strange darkness.
Light illuminated one particular corner. Rakesh crept up to it and slowly peered around the edge of the wall. He blinked, forcing his eyes to acclimate to the light coming from within, then recoiled with a buried shriek of terror. Panting, he closed his eyes, then forced them open again and looked back around the corner, confirming everything he'd wished he hadn't seen.
Four men in black robes formed a circle. Around them danced blood-shades in the air, swirling around them with a deep curtain of vapor. The men reached out, pulling the vapor into their bodies. The chants intensified.
Rakesh tried to look away, but his body wouldn't response. He remained stuck, staring as a new darkness, illuminating in a strange way, slid through the four robed men. It infused their faces. Sped through their eyes. For a moment, evil seemed to permeate the air.
Rakesh's fingertips dug into the stone.
Surely he was imagining this. He couldn't be seeing such things – it wasn't possible.
Yet…something dark resided here. Something ethereal and terrifying and horrid.
Perhaps he was hallucinating. His mind was whirling with impossible visions because death was about to take him.
Something cold and rigid pressed into Rakesh's shoulder from behind. All the whirring thoughts in his head cleared as if someone had pulled a drain stopper out. He lost control of his muscles, and fell into the beckoning darkness.
Ryo
Ryo’s chest was so constricted, he couldn’t breathe.
He tried to wiggle his fingers and free himself of the suffocating heaviness, but his fingers slid through something slippery. There was a coppery scent tainting the air; he wanted to gag, but the effort would take too much of his energy.
He remained there for a while, filling the in-between haze with thoughts: Was he alive? He must be: Pain radiated up and down his side. Was he dead? No. Death couldn’t smell so foul. Feel so . . . heavy.
Slowly, he returned to consciousness.
The distant murmur of voices swam through his thick ears, eventually clearing them. He couldn’t make out the words, but the low intonations send a shiver of fear through him.
The ache in his side grew, and he groaned. His right arm moved slightly just as the voices disappeared.
Something heavy thudded close by to him.
A strange darkness filled his mind.
Ryo opened his eyes one at a time. He was staring into total darkness, with his face squished against something firm and cool. A tile….the floor. Despite the pain rippling through his right side, he tried to push up with his arms, but they were weak…so weak.
Something was on top of him.
He grunted when a trickle of moisture dropped onto the back of his neck. Unable to move the strange weight off him, he turned, rolling onto his side.
Something fell onto his cheek with a smack. He bit back a scream.
A bloody hand.
Ryo clawed his way to freedom, shoving two bodies off of him. He broke free of the pressing weight, and fell onto his back into a pool of something.
Blood.
Memories filled his mind. Just snatches of memory. Slowly, ever so slowly, he pieced them together.
“Now is our chance for greatness,” Ryo said, knocking his elbow into a fellow Karu. “Finally, all our training means something. Emperor Saemon will defeat Azuma.”
“We will be victorious,” his friend agreed with a grin.
The strange sensation filling Ryo’s body – an odd weakness and awkwardness – seemed to lighten for a moment upon hearing these words.
The Emperor would defeat Azuma and they would win this bloody battle, Ryo thought with glee.
As soon as the Karu fanned through the room, flanking the Emperor, the battle intensified. Each Hiwan soldier fought with even more gusto.
In between dodging blows from Ameya and Nari clan members, Ryo willed his sword arm to be stronger. His steps to be more certain.
I am Karu, he thought, forcing strength into his limbs. I have trained for years. I will protect the Emperor. I will be indomitable.
But his muscles wouldn’t listen.
Members of the Karu fell like dying flies, dropping with nearly every blow they struck. They stumbled and tripped, falling hard onto the cold tile floor.
What was wrong with them all?
Ryo growled in frustration, swinging his sword high to fight off an Ameya. The very next instant, a startled, strangled cry next to him drew his attention.
A Nari soldier had shoved his blade into the belly of an Ameya. Next to him, another Nari did the same to an Ameya. A Nari sliced open the neck of a stunned Ameya soldier standing only a few paces away.
“Betrayal!” one Ameya screamed. “The Nari have betrayed us!”
The vicious Nari were bloodthirsty: They advanced with guttural bellows, hacking at anyone who wasn't their own.
Then an abrupt burst of light blinded Ryo; he could not see, and pain rushed through his ribs.
He fell to the tile floor.
Ryo shook his head, bringing himself out of the reverie.
Another memory moved through him, but it was something he had only heard from a great distance…the voice of Azuma, speaking to a Hiwan lieutenant after the battle was won.
“I did everything to protect him against the Ameyas. They did this to us. Can’t you see? They are subtle and sneaky. They’ve betrayed all of us and killed the Emperor. My people have died trying to stop them.”
Ryo sucked in a sharp breath. Lies. The Nari clan were the true enemies here.
He grimaced when a fresh wave of pain ripped through him. Blood soaked his armor and tunic on his right side. He felt lightheaded.