Birthright (The Stone Legacy Series Book 5) (9 page)

Chapter Sixteen

Zanya

The following night, Zanya sat across from Arwan in the living room, both of them watching Drina stare silently out the windows. Gusts of wind battered the trees, cutting through sheets of rain that drenched the jungle floor. Thankfully, rain meant the windows were finally washed clean of the aged blood smudged over the glass from the flock of suicidal birds.

It was one less reminder of the war to come.

Zanya tapped her fingers over her knee, bouncing her foot. “Do you think something happened to them?” She stood and walked to Drina’s side. “They should have been here by now.”

Balam yawned, displaying his canines, and stretched his front legs out in front of him, flashing a set of needle-sharp claws.

Zanya lightly rolled her eyes. “I’m glad someone’s not worried.”

“T’ey will be here soon,” Drina said in a soft tone, as if speaking to herself. “T’ey will come.”

“I’m going to seek Marzena, just to be sure everything’s okay.”

Arwan shifted in his seat. “You really shouldn’t—”

“I don’t care.” She glanced back at him. “Seeking doesn’t take a lot of energy, and maybe Marzena can give us an update on their ETA. It’s dangerous out there. Now more than ever.” She closed her eyes and sought the seemingly young dreamwalker, focusing on Marzena’s golden hair, fair skin, and fawn freckles dotted over her nose and cheeks. When they connected, a rush of cool energy flooded her veins. It took only a moment to get what she needed.

When she opened her eyes, Zanya peered out the window into the distance. She pressed her hand against the cold window, leaving an outline of fog where her skin touched.

Arwan stood. “Did you get through?”

Balam sat up, his ears rotating to the front. He chuffed and pushed to all fours, then padded to Zanya’s side.

“Yes.” A flicker of light pierced the darkness, showing like a tiny beacon of hope in the eternal darkness. “They’re here.”

Arwan walked to the back of the house, coming out moments later with bundles of gray wool blankets.

Zanya examined the linens. “What are you doing?”

“It’s pouring rain. They’ll be drenched and exhausted.”

Zanya scanned the space in their home. “We don’t have enough room for all of them inside.”

“They’ll set up camp on the stone platform outside. At least it’s sheltered from the rain, and the tree’s roots can’t reach them there.”

“Says who? Roots can crawl.”

“Like I said.” Drina clenched the leather pouch hung around her neck. “T’is house needs to be blessed.”

Zanya noticed something gleam between the cracks of Drina’s fingers. The woman removed a blunt dagger from the pouch and gripped the blade, sliding the sharp edge over her palm. When she was done, her palm flooded with blood that leaked out of her fisted hand, and down her wrist. “T’is house must be blessed.”

Zanya rested her hand over her chest. She’d seen a lot of blood in her life—more than anyone should have. But to see Drina bleed took her breath away. “Are you sure—”

“Leave her.” Arwan touched the back of her arm, as if reassuring her of Drina’s knowledge. “Her blood carries magic.”

“And it will keep t’e tree from crossing a protective circle.” Drina turned and hobbled toward the exit. “We must hurry.”

When she walked out the front door, Zanya turned to Arwan. “What do we do now?”

“Whatever you want. This is your home.” He followed Drina’s path out the door. Zanya was on his heels, down the small set of stairs, and onto the covered stone platform.

While Drina finished streaking smears of blood over the stone floor, Zanya walked to the edge of the now-protected platform, the tips of her shoes hanging over.

Though the roots of the Yaxche had retreated back into the earth, the soil was churned and sucked dry of any life. It was clear Contessa was building its strength, helping it grow with any kind of nourishment—animal, plant, human, or minerals.

The humid night air caressed her cheeks, sending a shiver up the back of her neck. She pushed out her chest and peered through the foggy darkness into the tress, where a tiny orb of light flickered in the distance.

Zanya balled her fists and called on the light in her chest to illuminate, like a beacon for the others.

The distant orb grew in size, and a yellow haze cast light over the features of the group as they hiked forward in a single file line.

Zanya counted them in her mind as the group grew closer.

Cualli was the first to come into sight.

The group must have been protected by the middleworld goddess through their journey. Cualli’s confident, smooth stride gave Zanya a bit of encouragement.

Her uncle, Renato, followed close behind, holding some kind of lantern. It illuminated the immediate space around them, giving just enough light for Marzena to follow without missing a step.

The normally child-like dreamwalker seemed older now, with her hair pulled back in a woven braid. When the light from Renato’s lantern caught her eye, her sparking green irises seemed to glow in the night.

Then came the Arab windthrower twins, Ahmed and Yousef, both wearing their trademark hats propped on the crowns of their heads. Rather than the traditional white garb, the brothers hiked in pants, boots, and zip-up fleece sweaters—identical except for the color. Judging by their wide eyes and quick glances at every noise, they had never seen the jungle before, and weren’t particularly excited to be there.

Hawa and Jayden were next in line. Hawa looked the same with her hair pulled back in a tight bun, making her eyes look almost feline.

A wave of relief washed through Zanya to see Jay again. She’d searched for him before fleeing the solstice celebration. When he was nowhere to be found, she and Arwan were forced to leave without saying goodbye. To know he was safe and well was enough to lift the thick weight of regret that had haunted her since that night.

Tears stung Zanya’s eyes when her sights skipped to her best friend, Tara, walking beside Peter—the group’s healer and Tara’s boyfriend. Zanya shifted forward, but Arwan took her hand as if telling her to be patient and not step out of the protection of Drina’s barrier.

Eadith, the French fire conjurer, was next in line. The burning red flames in her irises shone above her blonde hair and light complexion. Standing taller than most of the others, Eadith rolled a small flame in her palm, tossing it playfully from one hand to the other, making her own light on the hike.

Then, no one.

Zanya examined each face, accounting for them on her fingers. “There’s three missing.” She swallowed. “Beigarth, Grima, and…my mom.”

Zanya glanced to either side of her, hoping for some kind of explanation.

Drina’s gaze intensified. She waited without a word.

The pit in Zanya’s stomach deepened. What if something had happened to them? She’d blocked Marzena from communicating with her up until recently. Sure, she needed space, but if something terrible happened to her mother, it could have been the single most selfish move of her life.

Balam butted his head against Zanya’s hip, pushing her against Arwan’s side. The jaguar god peered forward with inquisitive eyes.

Zanya scanned the jungle, pausing on another distant, flickering light.

The two petrifiers, Beigarth and Grima, stumbled into view, their huge frames and short legs so different from the others. Fur pelts were draped over Beigarth’s massive chest, his red beard now braided into three thick strands.

Grima was Beigarth’s cousin, and their kinship was more than a little obvious at a glance. Her strawberry red hair was woven into a single braid, displaying her round face, broad shoulders, and round waist leading to narrow hips, lean legs, and fur boots.

Zanya exhaled a nervous chuckle as the weight on her chest lifted. “Looks like Beigarth and Grima aren’t huge fans of long-distance walks.”

“In the jungle,” Arwan added. “While it’s raining.”

“T’ere is more to be afraid of t’an t’e rain,” Drina said as she wrapped her hand with a shred of cloth.

“I can heal it if it hurts.”

“No, child. Not necessary.” She squeezed the cloth and then unraveled it, showing her palm without so much as a scratch.

She should have guessed. If Drina’s blood was laced with magic, she was probably a quicker healer than any guardian—even with the stone’s help.

As the petrifiers grew closer, the final person of their group emerged from the darkness.

Eleuia, Zanya’s mother.

Dressed in all black, she would be invisible if it weren’t for the lantern she too carried to light the way.

Zanya shifted, finding Arwan’s steady hold to comfort her.

Balam was the first to brave the jungle floor. He leapt onto the soil and greeted Cualli with a thick, deep purr.

The group looked like a mob of drowned rats as they gathered in the safety of the protected stone platform, sheltered from the rain. Renato walked straight toward Zanya, only to be cut off by Tara, who threw her arms around her and hugged Zanya until she couldn’t breathe.

Zanya held her friend for a long moment before Renato approached with a broad smile. “I cannot tell you what a relief it is to see you again.”

Zanya coiled her arms around his lean frame and buried her face in his chest, inhaling the lingering earthy scent from his pipe. “I’m
so
glad to see you.”

Peter dropped his pack to the stone floor and shivered. He acknowledged her with a head-bob. “Cool place.”

Zanya took Arwan’s hand again. “Thanks. It was his mom’s.”

“Now it’s ours,” Arwan said, standing tall, focused on her mother.

The Arab twins huddled together, chattering in Arabic, while Hawa pulled supplies out of her pack.

Jayden slicked back his hair as he approached, reminding Zanya of his shining moment in Victorian England when he attended the royal ball as
James Bond
.

“Never took you for the domesticated type.” Jayden chuckled and looked at Arwan. “I guess even some women can be won over by the right guy.” Jay extended his hand. “Congratulations, man. I never got to tell you both how happy I am for you.”

Arwan examined Jay’s gesture for a moment, then shook his hand.

Jay pulled him forward, holding his hand in a vise. “And since I’m dead and all, I’m not afraid to threaten your life if you hurt her.”

Arwan yanked him closer and leaned in, staring him in the eyes. “One underworlder to another, huh?”

Jayden moved back, snatching his hand out of Arwan’s. “That’s not funny, man.”

Arwan chuckled. “Just stating a fact.”

Zanya tapped Arwan on his back, tearing him out of whatever weird bonding moment they were having. It was cute, but they’d have to pick it up later—when they weren’t all so close to dying.

She examined the petrifiers, Grima and Beigarth, lingering on the soil. “You guys should come under the shelter.”

“We aren’t afraid of a wee bit of rain, lass.” Beigarth pounded his chest with a fist. “We have mastered storms worse than this wee rain.”

“It’s not the rain I’m worried about.” Zanya extended her hand. “It’s not safe.” Her tone had turned stern.

“Leave them,” Zanya’s mother said without looking at her. “They don’t need a babysitter.”

Zanya examined her mother’s cold gaze cast to the floor. “Maybe not, but I’m telling them it’s not safe, and you’re just going to have to trust—”

“Blast you to hell!” Beigarth snatched a dagger from his side and sliced a root coiled around his leg.

“Get off the soil!” Zanya charged forward over unsafe ground, the light burning bright in her chest. Shouts from the group echoed through the air as she sped to Beigarth’s side.

Chapter Seventeen

Arwan

Arwan reached for Zanya, but she had already bolted out of his reach before he could hold her back.

More roots shot out from the soil, clenching onto Beigarth’s calves, and anchoring the massive Viking to the ground.

Zanya conjured a bolt of electricity and launched it at a root coiled around Grima. The shock carried through the vine, attacking Grima in the same blast.

Grima’s eyes widened, fingers coiled into fists, and limbs stiffened. When the shock ran its course, her muscles went limp, and she nearly collapsed onto the ground.

“Are ye trying to kill her?” Beigarth screamed. He scowled and slashed at another root.

Arwan examined the ground, now writhing with roots, just like earlier. It was as if they had appeared at exactly the right time and then…

“It was an ambush!” He turned to Renato. “I should have known. Contessa waited for us all to be in the same place before striking. This is my fault.” He glanced at the dagger strapped to Renato’s side. “Stay here and guard the others.” He snatched the blade from its sheath and sprinted toward Zanya, ignoring Renato’s calls to come back.

Weak from the shock, Grima fell to the ground and struggled to chop at a vicious vine with a small hand ax. Arwan skidded to her side and finished the job with a swipe of his dagger. The root flailed and fell limp, only to be consumed by other limbs of the tree that broke through the surface.

Grima managed to stand, ax clenched firmly in hand. “Well, what are ye waiting for, lad? Go help the others!” She snarled and brought the ax down beside Arwan’s foot, severing another of the tree’s lifelines. “Off with ye, then!”

Arwan spun and spotted Zanya, her light burning ferociously in her chest. More whipping vines crawled toward her and Beigarth. One of the thorny roots wrapped around her ankle and yanked, nearly pulling her to the ground.

Zanya screamed and grabbed hold of it, then let out another cry.

Beigarth stomped on a smaller vine, obliterating it.

Arwan ran and positioned the knife in his hand for a downward strike. When he reached Zanya, blood ran down her leg as the tree sank its spikes into her muscle.

“Hold still!” He plunged his knife into it, but this one was hardier than the others. It recoiled, as if cringing from the assault. Blood oozed from the sliced vessels—most likely the blood it had just taken from Zanya.

The metallic scent shot up his nose, making his stomach lurch.

The tree had wounded her and had fed, continuing to gain strength.

He bore down with another jab of his blade, but this time Yaxche was prepared. A second root broke out of the soil. It seized Arwan’s wrist and clenched his bones, forcing him to drop the weapon.

A firebomb exploded beside him, spitting soil and rock in every direction. The night flashed with warm light, and a wave of heat broke against his skin. The vine released him and retreated into the earth, but not without dragging his only defense down with it.

Arwan turned to Eadith, who nearly burned him alive with her latest assault. The French fire conjurer readied another inferno from the safety of the stone platform.

He turned back to Zanya. She’d been released by the tree and managed to limp toward Grima, who suffered from wounds of her own.

Now was their chance. The tree was hurt. If they could get to safety before it struck again, they would live to fight another day.

The earth shook, prompting Arwan to crouch in a fighting stance.

“Earthquake!” someone shouted from the distance.

Arwan sprinted toward Zanya, waving her to the house. “Run! Go with the others!”

A fault line split the ground, tearing the jungle floor in half, and separating him from the others. He dug his heels into the soil and threw himself back just as the crater opened into a black, endless hole.

Hundreds of roots spewed from the crevasse, crawling over the ground like a cluster of angry serpents emerging from their den.

When the ground trembled and the gap grew, Arwan was carried farther from the group.

He caught a glimpse of Balam scrambling up a massive tree, hissing and clawing at the reaching vines.

Zanya’s eyes widened when she spotted him. She bolted to his side without hesitation—the absolute last thing he wanted her to do. Her ability to travel quickly—like Hawa—had its shining moments, and this was one of them.

“Stand back!” She squared her stance and looked to the sky, gathering the storm clouds already looming overhead. When she raised her hand, a current of bright white energy traveled over her arms to her fingers, and a bolt of lightning flashed in the sky, striking the source of the tree.

A second fireball shot through the air like a meteor and detonated on the same target.

When the smoke cleared, the roots flailed and whipped in every direction. They snapped through the air like flaming whips, striking anything in reach.

“Ye bas!” Beigarth grabbed hold of a flaming vine and let out a warrior cry.

The tree’s limb froze in his grasp.

Beigarth’s features contorted as he pushed through the agony of holding fire in his bare hands. The vine stilled, and then changed to a dusky gray before petrifying right in front of his eyes, all the way to the ground.

Beigarth’s eyes turned red and glossy as he strained to keep the flow of his ability running freely through his hands. The petrifying traveled over the ground and under Beigarth’s feet until the entire space around him was frozen in time.

Every leaf. Every grain of soil. Every fallen branch.

Everything in the area—except Beigarth.

Another strike of lightning crashed into the hole in the earth, tearing Arwan’s focus back to Zanya. She lowered her arms. The light in her chest extinguished and she slouched in exhaustion. She panted and wiped her forehead with her palm. “Is everyone okay?” She asked in short, quick breaths.

Arwan tensed his own muscles as a quick body check, coming up with no more than a few minor lesions and ringing in his ears front the blasts.

When he scanned Zanya for obvious wounds, his gaze stopped at her leg. “You’re still bleeding.” She swayed and leaned into him for support. “Why aren’t you healing?”

She shook her head, sweat collected on her brow. “I must have exhausted my energy with the storm again.”

Zanya’s mother was the first to march through the clearing smoke. “Are you all right?” She crouched and checked Zanya’s wound, then hooked her arm around Zanya’s waist and held her against her hip. Eleuia looked at him with sharp, cold eyes. “Back away from her.
You’ve done enough
.” The edge in her tone cut into him.

Zanya seemed too dazed and disoriented to protest, so neither did he. Her mother would care for her while he, Renato, and the others figured out their next move. Maybe it would allow Zanya and her mother some time to repair their relationship before this battle became any worse.

And it would become worse.

There was no doubt about that.

Beigarth limped past him, holding a gash in his arm. “When did ye plan on telling us thar is a tree out to eat us?” The large Viking paused beside him. “Or did ye plan on letting us all get killed?”

Grima walked past them and smacked Beigarth on his back. “Let the lad be.”

Beigarth snarled, and then followed Grima to the rest of the group on the stone platform.

Renato caught his attention with a wave of his hand, gesturing for him to return as well.

With a step forward, the ground trembled a second time. This time vines did not rise from the ground, but instead, a noxious stink indicative of only one realm.

The underworld.

Arwan crinkled his nose, holding his breath so as not to gag on the funk. The tree had opened a path from the dark realm, and it would be only a matter of time before more than just Yaxche would rise.

“We meet again,” Contessa said from behind him.

Arwan turned, spotting the witch only yards away.

Red waves fell around her, framing bright green eyes and glossed lips. She sauntered toward him, each confident stride swaying her hips like the temptress she was.

To his surprise, she appeared healthy and whole. The last time they met she was bruised, starved, and nearly dead, working to convince him to trade—his dark half for a page of the Popul Vuh with the history of his mother written on its pages.

“Has no one told you a woman will most certainly swoon over a valiant hero?”

He stole a glance at the group, huddled on the stone platform, watching intently. If it were any other time, the rest of the group would have been beside him already, prepared for battle. But with the group wounded, exhausted, and Zanya nearly unconscious, there was nothing they could do—and they knew it.

She circled him slowly, sizing him up for whatever plan she had mapped in her head. “You are even more tempting than the first time I made your acquaintance. It really is unfortunate your father has given up on you. You would have made a fine king one day.” She smirked. “And unlike my current marital duties, I would have enjoyed my role as your queen, in your bed.”

The closer Contessa moved, the harder Arwan was forced to work to keep his other half under control. It fed off of her darkness, instigated by the commonality they held.

Renato was the first to disregard his own safety. “Get away from him, Contessa. I warn you.” He strode toward them over the battlefield.

Contessa curled her lip. “How insulting.” She flicked her wrist, cuing the tree to weave a wall of roots, isolating herself and Arwan from the rest of the group. “How naive to believe I would be so easily intimidated.” She met Arwan’s gaze. “Though
you
know the truth, don’t you?” She stepped toward him, studying his lips. “You can fully appreciate who I am—what I am.” Shadows morphed and flashed behind her fair features. “For we are both spawned from the same origins.”

Arwan narrowed his eyes. “I’m nothing like you.”

“Oh, my dear boy.” She reached out and pressed her hand over his chest. Both corners of her mouth rose into a sinister grin. “We are exactly alike.” She leaned in closer. “The only difference between us is you have yet to embrace your true nature.” She slid her hand up his chest and wound her fingers around his throat. She tightened her grip just enough to keep him from stepping away. His muscles stiffened under the clash of light and darkness battling inside him. “Unlike the others, who wish to fulfill only their selfish desires and watch you conform to their ideal perception of who you are,
I
merely wish to set you free.” The witch leaned in and dragged her tongue over his lips. He cringed and turned his face. “Give me your darker half, and you will have the life you want.” She flattened her palm over his chest, hovering her lips over his. “Give me permission to tear out your demons that shackle you. Release the cross you bear, and I will bear it for you.”

The beast inside of him rammed against his chest, breaking down his will, one blow at a time.

“If I don’t?” he managed to croak through clenched teeth.

Her glittering eyes darkened and bubbled with violet and black. “Then I will tear it from you, along with your beating heart.”

The beast clawed at his ribs and flailed desperately for release. Bile burned the back of his throat, and he pushed down the urge to vomit.

“You forget that you need my permission.”

“You will give it.”

He snarled. “I will not. And you can’t take it from me if I’m dead.”

Contessa slid her hand up to his face, where she pinched his cheeks between her fingers. “Then I will make you wish you were.” She pushed her body against his and slid her other hand up his shirt, tracing his abs. “It will consume you, you know.” Her voice drew him into a trance. “Only after you are exposed to those you love—who you truly are.”

That was the last thing he remembered before the darkness tore through him, and he turned.