Nomvula

59. Bound of Third Hill

The General lay dead on the lawn, mouth agape, splintered ribs open to a cloudless sky. Sunlight polished his eyes as the hole in his chest wept, pooling blood under his shoulder, then elbow, the tips of his twitching fingers. Anathi dropped down onto the lawn. When her heels connecting with the soil, she felt the panic of ants drowning under the General's blood, the greed of the earth drinking him in, the worms in the topsoil burrowing deeper as they sensed moisture.

The Hundred Hillers on the lawn were silent. Their eyes were closed and they stood stiller than the corpse twitching in the middle of their circle. If it weren't for the hundreds of heartbeats pulsing through their heels and into the earth, Anathi would have thought them dead, but they were closer to sleeping -- the Queen's final command.

She had been merciful enough (was this mercy?) to command their eyes close and their minds lock. To take control of another body... Anathi's clay chilled. It took a spirit of divine corruption to even attempt it, but to take over five hundred at once? To rob each person here of will? She would have been angered by it, if the alternative had not been the sight of their Queen kneeling at the General's shoulder as blood pulsed out of him. She reached a hand between his ribs, and when she squeezed there was a squelching sound. The pulse died and the stream ebbed.

When the Sunspear rose (and it was the Sunspear, the Queen's spirit was barely a seed in a barren field now) its eyes settled on Anathi. There was a charge as their consciousnesses intersected, but then its eyes went over her shoulder. Asanda. Her scream was a silent cry coming out in hitched breaths.

Anathi turned to face her, drawing the Princess' attention.

Go, she signed. I will draw her to the milkwater.

Ndoda, at least, understood and dragged his sister through the crowd of Inner Plainers who were only now closing their eyes. 

Anathi faced the Sunspear again. Its irregular heartbeat was a counter-rhythm to the hundreds thrumming through the earth, a gong in a sea of drums. Anathi pushed a glass claw through her index finger and pointed it between the Sunspear's eyes, though her focus was on the base of its skull.

It tilted its head, right hand red and sticky, cheek dripping a thin stream of blood into the corner of its mouth.

Sleep or die, Anathi said.

And who are you?

The Sunspear's question was a tidal wave so swollen with power and condescension it rocked Anathi's spirit. She took a moment to centre herself, drawing her awareness near and making it compact, immovable. She could no longer see the Queen's children running down the corridor, but at least she could stand against the Sunspear's lashing spirit now.

I am she who protects the Queen, she said, pushing glass claws through all her fingertips.

The Queen sleeps now. When her enemies are vanquished, and all threats to her person killed, I will return her to you. Until then, stand aside, little girl.

Anathi pushed her fireglass armour to the surface, and the light around her cut itself to fractals. The Sunspear took a step back at the sight of it, twitching a snarl and making the air heavier with the force of its rising power. 

Do not be a fool, said the Sunspear. Strike me and you will be bound to my vengeance.

Tiny iron thorns sprouted along the underside of Anathi's fingers, all hooked inwards. A plain citruswood mask covered her from brow to jaw, decorated only by a giant siphon rune.

 Do not think that a mortal threat, child. My wrath will be so whole that I will know no sleep until all who have ever heard your name are ashes in the earth.