Birthright (The Stone Legacy Series Book 5) (24 page)

Zanya ground her teeth. “Something’s wrong.” Those were the only words she managed to say before an excruciating pain tore through her stomach, and everything went black.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Arwan

“Zanya!” Arwan sprinted toward her and caught her before she hit the ground. Her eyes fluttered shut.

Peter was there within seconds, running his hands over her body in search of the cause of her illness. “She’s hemorrhaging.” Peter’s face went white. “The baby.”

Arwan ran her to the door, but it wouldn’t open. He saw the handle had been melted, and clenched his jaw. With a swift kick, he broke the door open and ran up the stairs, past the others, and into their bedroom. Tara was the first to arrive in the room, followed by Marzena, and then Drina.

The old priestess hobbled to the bed and pressed her hand to Zanya’s forehead. “She is not well. Not well at all.” Drina removed some herbs from a pouch tied around her waist and slapped them in Tara’s hand. “Go make tea—quickly, child.”

Tara nodded and ran into the hall.

“She used too much of herself,” Marzena said. “She dug too deep.” The seemingly young dreamwalker closed her eyes, only to squint and shake her head. “She is too far gone. I cannot communicate with her.”

Arwan knelt beside the bed and took Zanya’s hand. “Come on, Zanya.” He draped his hand over Zanya’s belly. “Please.” The word came out in a watery plea.

Eleuia darted into the room, covered in underworld blood. She froze in the doorway, staring at her daughter from a distance.

“She needs you,” Marzena said, waving Eleuia in. “Come by her side. Remind her of how much she is loved.”

Eleuia clutched her chest. “
So much.”

Arwan pressed a kiss on the back of Zanya’s hand. She mumbled and kicked at the sheets. Her words were indiscernible at first, but as the seconds passed, they became clear. “It hurts.” She arched her back and clawed at her belly. “Make it stop. It hurts!”

Eleuia sat on the other side of her bed and took her hand. “Come on, sweetie. You have to be strong. Not for yourself, but for your baby. Be strong for your little girl.”

Zanya opened her eyes and looked at her mother. Her bottom lip quivered. “Mom…I’m scared.”

“It’s okay, baby.” Eleuia stroked Zanya’s hair, tears building in her eyes. “It’s going to be okay.”

Zanya closed her eyes and curled into a ball, then let out a scream. “Mom!”

Peter skimmed his hands over Zanya’s body. “I’ll do everything I can to stop the bleeding.”

“T’e herbs will help. T’ey will ease her pain and allow her to rest.”

Arwan stood back, fighting to hold down the streak of panic.

Tara returned with a steaming cup of herbal tea. “Where do I put it?”

“Here, child.” Drina pointed to the nightstand.

Tara did as she was told, then stood beside the priestess. She scanned the faces in the room. “Where are the others?”

“Eadith is outside with…” Eleuia paused. “With whoever’s left.”

Tara pressed her fingers over her lips, shaking her head.

“It’s my fault,” Arwan said. “Their blood is on my hands.”

“Stop it,” Eleuia snapped. “You can’t do that to yourself. You did your best. We all did.”

“No.” He combed his fingers through his hair. “I could have done more. I should have…” He turned his face away, too ashamed to look into Eleuia’s eyes.

Tara scrubbed away tears with her sleeve. “Who’s still outside…alive?”

Arwan walked to the bedroom window and stared out at the petrified jungle. There was very little movement. Eadith stood beside Jayden, who cradled Hawa’s body in his lap.

Arwan’s chest tightened.

“Only Jayden,” Arwan said. “And Eadith. That’s all that’s left.”

Tara slowly sat, her features wiped blank from shock.

“I should get out there. Help collect the dead.”

“Who’s going to tell Grima?” Tara asked.

“She’s asleep for now,” Peter said. “She went into what I can only describe as toxic shock from her wounds. We should let her rest, and tell her when she’s regained strength. Otherwise it may strip her of her will to live, and we’ll lose her too.”

Drina hobbled toward the hall. “Come, boy. I will help you gat'er t’e dead and rest t’eir bodies wit’ honor until we can give t’em a rightful ceremony.”

Arwan leaned down and kissed Zanya on the forehead, then whispered in her ear. “Don’t give up.”

When he followed Drina outside, the air was still and the familiar noises of the jungle had vanished. No birds or humming of insects. No rattling of leaves. Just silence, and the all too familiar stink of death.

Drina approached Beigarth’s petrified form and touched his stone face. “You did well, warrior.” She sliced her finger and smudged two streaks of blood over his eyes. “May you find your way to t’e heavens wit’ ease.”

Arwan approached Jayden, who sat silent with Hawa lying limp in his lap.

The seeker, who he’d grown to admire over the months, was not sobbing or rocking his fallen love. Instead, he silently sat, staring out at the lifeless jungle.

Arwan crouched beside him, but couldn’t bring himself to look at Hawa’s body. He’d seen it once since the underworlders attacked.

“I’m sorry,” Arwan said.

Jayden didn’t take his focus off the distance. “There’s nothing left for me now. I have no one…”

“You still have us.” He braced his hand on the seeker’s shoulder. “And you are welcome to stay as long as you would like. Forever, even. You’re family.”

Jayden hugged Hawa tighter against his chest and buried his face in her hair.

Arwan stood, deciding that was enough. The choice was the seeker’s now. Whether he stayed or left, the decision was out of his hands.

“Anot'er was petrified,” Drina said, standing several yards away. She stared down at one of the twin windthrowers, face down on the ground.

He was just a kid. He deserved better.

“His brother’s body is resting beside the house,” Arwan said. “We’ll bury him as soon as we dig a grave. But…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It seems inhuman to leave them like this, like statues on display. What can we do?”

“T’ere is not’ing we can do but destroy t’em.” Drina smeared blood over the windthrower’s stone skull and murmured a silent prayer. “T’at, or leave t’em as t’ey are.”

He scanned the surroundings. “How did she do this? Everything—she changed everything.”

“Pain, boy.” Drina looked at Jayden. “Pain will tear t’ings out of you t’at you never knew were t’ere. And it will make you do t’ings you know are fatal…”

A blip of movement caught Arwan’s eye, and he turned to see Jayden snatch Hawa’s battle hammer from the ground, then stomp toward the portal to the underworld. “Come on!” Jayden raised the hammer and brought it down on the tree, cracking the roots and sending shards of stone flying in every direction. “I’ve got nothing to lose, you son of a bitch! Come on!” He brought the hammer down a second time, breaking one of the roots off completely. His frantic attack tore at Yaxche, creating a crater in the ground.

“Jayden.” Arwan walked toward him, but then stopped. Maybe this was what he needed to work through the pain. Who was he to tell him it was wrong?

“I’m coming for you!” Jayden brought the full weight of the weapon upon the tree again and again. A wild gleam in his eyes told Arwan there was no reeling him in. Like Drina had said. It was the pain.

“Boy…” Arwan looked back at Drina, who stared at the ground. Tiny pebbles bounced over the petrified soil.

Arwan looked back at Jayden, who continued to hack at the tree like a crazed lunatic.

“Jayden!” Arwan ran toward him as fast as he could. Before the seeker could strike again, Arwan stole the weapon and dragged him back. “Get away!”

“Let me go!” Jayden threw his head back and cracked Arwan in the nose. Blood dribbled from his nostrils, down his chin. He wiped it from his face and grabbed Jayden a second time. “You have to get back! He’s coming!”

Jayden froze and stared at the tree as live roots burst through the petrified ground and whipped into the air.

Arwan’s stomach sank. “The king is here.”

Chapter Forty

Arwan

Arwan gestured to Jayden. “Get inside.”

“Fuck that!” Jayden snatched the battle hammer from the ground. “I’m seeing this to the end.”

Arwan looked the seeker in his eyes. “Zanya needs you. She loves you. Go with her, and keep her and the others safe…please.”

Jayden carefully lowered his weapon and looked back at the house.

“She’s losing the baby,” Arwan continued. “I can’t imagine what she’s going through right now, and I’m not with her.” Arwan’s throat ached as he spoke. “But having you beside her would help her through.”

The tree purged hundreds of roots from the underworld, tearing an even wider crater in the earth.

Jayden tightened his jaw, clearly wrestling with his choice. After a moment, he exhaled and tossed Arwan the battle hammer. “Be careful.” He ran toward the house.

Arwan readied the blood-stained weapon.

The petrified ground trembled and cracked beneath his feet until the putrid stink of the underworld once again flooded his nostrils.

The air shook with dark magic, and the shadow of the king rose from the realm below.

Arwan shifted his weight, terror gripping his heart.

He’d never been truly scared of battle. Never doubted his capabilities, or considered the possibility he wouldn’t live to see another day.

Not until he stood his ground, against all odds, and against the one deity who overpowered him in almost every way.

His father, the king.

The broken earth sent a thick cloud of stone dust into the air. As the haze slowly settled, his foe was revealed.

Arwan narrowed his eyes and blinked through the fog.

Something wasn’t right.

The king’s back faced him, but he seemed…unclothed, exposing mocha skin—wrinkled and deformed.

Arwan stepped forward, straining to get a better look.

Could it be Houn, keeper of underworld souls? No. Houn was not as stout as the figure in front of him.

When the dust fully settled, the figure came into focus.

Arwan leapt back, his hands shaking and his skin prickled with revelation.

The king turned to face him, showing dark hair splayed over his forehead.

Hair that did not belong.

Hair that was not his.

Arwan dropped his weapon and fell to his knees, staring at the king…wearing Renato’s skin.

It was a tradition Arwan had only read about—a common practice in the ancient Mayan civilization among clashing tribes.

Once a rival was captured, his death was guaranteed. If he were a formable adversary, his skin would likely be worn by the victor as a means of drawing strength from the fallen warrior’s remains.

But to see his mentor’s flesh splayed out like a processed deer was too much to handle.

Arwan vomited on the ground, his stomach clenching in twisted knots.

The king stretched out his arms, displaying the full shape of hanging, wet flesh draped over his body. “The sacrificed Riyata was a brilliant choice. His strength ran deep.”

The king’s baritone voice was muffled in Arwan’s ears. He heaved again, but there was nothing left to purge.

“Stand, son.” The king stepped forward. “Stand and fight.” As the king walked toward him, his boot crushed petrified Mayan villagers and underworlders alike. “Fight, or die on your knees like a coward.”

Arwan wiped his mouth and clenched his eyes shut, working to gather his wits. The horrific display was just that—a display, designed to intimidate and confuse him. He couldn’t allow the tactic to work. Not if he wanted to come out of this battle alive.

He gathered his strength and reached for Hawa’s weapon. “A fight is what you want.” Arwan stood, his focus trained on the king. “A fight is what you’ll get.”

The king peeled the fleshy remains off and cast them to the ground. Blood matted the king’s hair. Renato’s blood. Arwan could smell it now, and it made the hairs on his arms stand on end.

The king unwound a flaming whip from his belt and cracked it in the air. “Very well, son. So it begins.”

Arwan nodded. “So it begins.”

He charged forward, his weapon poised to strike. Before he could get close, he was met with paralyzing pain of a molten whip across his chest. Arwan skidded and clutched his searing flesh. There was no agony more intense than to have one’s skin split open with a blazing weapon.

“You could have taken the throne if you were not so weak and attached to the middleworld mortals.” When the king lashed out again, Arwan dodged the attack and leapt forward, striking the king with the battle hammer.

The king’s arm popped out of place and he shouted, then wheeled his whip in his other hand, slashing at Arwan’s back.

Arwan ground his teeth and scrambled away, moving out of the weapon’s range.

The king forced his joint back into its socket with another audible pop. “You cannot defeat me.” He rolled his shoulder, as if it had already healed. Perhaps the king had more abilities than Arwan was aware of. He could heal, in or out of his native realm. “We are both made of the same darkness, as you are made from
me
.” The king’s mouth contorted. “Yet you dare betray me—your own flesh and blood. Your family. Your sire!” The king worked his whip, but Arwan had observed the weapon in action enough to learn its capabilities—and weaknesses. If he were to get close enough to the king to kill him, he’d have to first disable his hellish tool.

When the whip struck, Arwan extended the battle hammer, and the lash coiled around his weapon. Arwan yanked as hard as he could, tearing it from the king’s grasp.

Once out of its wielder’s possession, the flames fizzled and died. Arwan kicked it away and broadened his stance.

“You believe you stand a chance to leave here alive?” The king glared. “You forsake your realm—your bloodlines.” He fisted his massive hands. “You enter into an agreement with me, the King of the Underworld, and think you can transgress the conditions with no repercussions?” The king’s gaze moved to the home behind Arwan.

The home where Zanya slept.

The home Arwan would defend with his life.

“I will take everything you love before I take your life. I will smother the admiration you have for these meddling mortals. Then—only then—will I allow you to perish.” The king raised his hands, cuing the ground to slither with roots. The layer of petrified remains broke and crumbled as Yaxche reached from the underworld. “You will watch them die!” The king clenched his fist, guiding the roots to coil around the home and begin to pull it apart.

Screams sounded from inside the home.

The king would drag the home down in its entirety if he weren’t stopped.

Arwan leapt forward, striking the king in his head with the hammer and knocking him to the ground.

The king’s face contorted while he held the side of his head. Dark, murky blood leaked from the gash in his skull, coating his hair and hand.

Arwan raised the weapon to bludgeon him a second time.

The king showed a hideous grin, blood coating his teeth. “You are as I have always pictured you, my son. So dark. So beautiful.”

Arwan snarled.

“It is a shame you will not live to take my throne.” The king pulled a weapon from his belt and drove it into Arwan’s gut. The blade scraped against his ribs as the king pushed it inside, stealing the air from Arwan’s lungs.

Arwan leapt back and gripped the handle.

The king pushed to his feet, the wound in his head healed. “I will tear your heart out!”

Arwan stumbled back and collapsed onto the ground. His cheek settled on the jungle floor as he struggled to pull in a breath. The king had surely sliced one of his lungs, causing it to collapse. His vision blurred.

The king walked toward him, his boots now the only thing in Arwan’s blurred line of sight.

Warmth and life seeped from Arwan’s body, pooling below him on the ground.

“It seems, son, your Riyata friend was sacrificed in vain. You will die, regardless. What a waste.” The king knelt beside him and wound his fingers around the weapon, then tilted the blade inside him.

Arwan screamed and grasped onto the king’s forearm, desperate to make the pain stop.

“I warned you…” He dragged the knife down an inch, tearing deeper into Arwan’s abdomen. “Just like our ancestors, I will slice you open and reach inside of you, then tear out your still-beating heart.”

Arwan screamed, which turned into gurgles as blood poured down his throat. Arwan coughed and struggled to stay conscious, barely clinging to life. His eyes rolled back in his head.

While his consciousness slipped away, a familiar voice echoed in the distance.

It was not Zanya, nor his mentor, Renato.

It was Drina, the old priestess who had loved and protected him, and given him refuge since he was a young boy. It was
her
voice that called him back to life, repeating the same message she’d delivered before.
“You are who you are, boy. You must be who you are.”

The king dragged the knife across his belly, splitting him open while he was still alive.

Arwan’s muscles tensed and his eyes shot open.

Cool air caressed areas of his body never meant to see the light of day.

Deep, raw parts of himself—flesh and bone, buried beneath muscle.

The king leaned down and hovered his lips beside Arwan’s ear. “Travel well into the underworld, my son. I will meet you there, but not as royalty. As my prisoner.”

Drina’s face wavered, her eyes coming into focus.
“You are who you are, boy. You must be who you are.”

Arwan lifted his shaking hands, nearly void of strength.

The king had forgotten one key element to Arwan’s existence.

He was not only darkness, but also half-light.

He clutched both sides of the king’s head and grabbed handfuls of his matted hair. “You may be my father,” he muttered, choking on blood, “but I am my mother’s son.”

Arwan pushed his father back and called on his ability to form a bubble of rippling waves.

He would not be able to hold the timebend for long—if even for a few moments. And once inside, he would hardly be able to move.

There would be no oxygen.

No way to escape.

He would have to do his bidding quickly if he were to change history.

The timebend formed and pressed against his skin, freezing him in place.

A fraction of a second had passed before Arwan closed the bend, and in the blink of an eye, he was back.

A flash of light took over his vision, and before Arwan could ground himself, he found himself in the heat of battle with underworlders surrounding them.