Lifemarked (The Fatemarked Epic Book 5)

“Now we can go home, Sir. Thank you for protecting me.”

  Noura finished her story, and Harriet clapped. “If Sir Cory and a dozen of his guardsmen hadn’t been there to witness it, I would swear it was fiction,” she said.

  “So would I,” Noura admitted.

  King Ennis’s eyes sparkled with unshed tears, and it made Noura tear up as well. Not only because of the love she had for him, but for never having the chance to love her Uncle Roan, who, Noura now realized, she probably had a lot in common with.

  “Roan would’ve been proud of you,” her mother said. How does she do that? Noura wondered. How does she read my mind?

  But that didn’t matter, because her mother’s words made her smile as several happy tears leaked from her eyes. “And you?” she managed to ask.

  “I probably would’ve killed them all,” Rhea Loren said, smirking. “But your way worked just as well. I’m proud of you, too, my daughter.”

  “Thank you, Mother.”

  Epilogue 4: Bear Blackboots

  Crimea, Rockland- Circa 599

  Turning his back on the Fall of All Things had been the hardest thing Bear Blackboots had ever had to do. Even all these long years later, that day haunted him.

  It hadn’t been fear or lack of courage that had turned him away, but something his mother had told him before she died, something that hadn’t made sense at the time, but which he deciphered over months and years of pondering.

  At the penultimate moment, Son, you cannot intervene. For such is not our role to play, and doing so could mean the undoing of all we’ve worked for. Promise me you will turn away. Promise me.

  Back then, he’d been just a boy, as malleable as clay. He would have promised his mother the moons and stars if she’d asked him, and figured out how to capture them later. Fleeing from the battle for the Four Kingdoms had been even harder than that. Every step had brought fat tears rolling down his cheeks, wetting his fur. Eventually the fur was gone, his claws returning to fingernails, his fangs to teeth. Naked, he’d curled up in a ball and wept.

  When he was certain the battle was over, either for good or ill, he’d considered returning to the killing fields. This time, he had acted out of cowardice, for he didn’t want to see what had transpired, and he feared what he might do if the Horde had prevailed.

  So, again, he’d fled. At first he’d traveled further south, using rarely traveled roads known to few. He’d skirted the edge of the Red Cliffs, taking risks with each footfall. Twice he’d stopped and gazed longingly at the waves crashing along the shoreline. If I jump, will I die? Or will my mother’s magic save me from even that? Can I even die?

  In the end, he hadn’t wanted to find out, for it was only the eventual hope for death that drove him.

  And yet death had continued to elude him, the years passing like hours, the decades like days. He’d been on this earth for more than two centuries, even longer than most Orians.

  Why? he’d thought as he’d traveled through Teragon. Why am I still alive? The once barren lands south of the Burning Sea were coming to life once more. Ships were arriving monthly from Phanes, some filled with people—the Terans—returning home, and others heavy laden with goods for trade. They returned to Phanes with the same—people and goods.

  When Bear had seen that first ship, he’d fallen to his knees and thanked every god he knew that he hadn’t cost them the battle against the Horde. As usual, his mother had been right.

  She’s gone, he’d thought. Finally. Completely. Truly.

  And yet I’m still here.

  Then, he hadn’t understood. So he’d gone back to the place that had started it all. The capital of Teragon. The last time he’d been there, it had been inhabited only by the dead and the crows that feasted upon them. Now, however, it was a bustling city, vibrant and full of life. Despite himself, it had given him hope.

  The Temple of Absence had been reconstructed. The endless pit was once more available for the truly worthy—those Terans who had achieved all Seven Virtues—to commune with their god.

  Bear had appealed to the priest there. “I am—” he’d started to say, but the priest had interrupted him.

  “I know who you are,” the woman had said. In the manner of most Teran women, her scalp was bare, save for the long braid that identified her as a priest of Absence. “You are welcome here, as your mother was.”

  “How can you know such things?” Bear had asked.

  “Never mind that. Do what you came to do.”

  So Bear had. He’d descended into that great pit of nothingness. He’d spent hours in the dark, listening, waiting. Others would have gone mad, but the centuries had made him immune to such evils. Eventually, his patience had been rewarded.

  The great evil will return, a voice had said. It came not to his ears, but to his mind. It was Absence, but not only, the voice a combination of depth and familiarity beyond his comprehension. “Mother?” he’d said, his own voice emerging as meek as the squeak of a mouse.

  Yes. We are.

  “We?”

  Yes, child.

  Though he’d been a man grown for many years, Bear hadn’t refuted the label. In the presence of his mother, he’d only ever felt like a child. I don’t understand.

  You will. You have done well. I’m proud of you.

  Then let me be with you. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.

  I know. But be patient for a while longer. Your role is not yet complete.

  He’d remembered the first words the god who was now partly his mother had said to him from the darkness: The great evil will return.

  Is the painmarked one still alive? he’d asked.

  Her laughter was so out of place that he’d flinched. I’m sorry, child. I don’t mean to make light of such things. But no, Kklar-Ggra is dead forever. But he was only the one who led the darkness to the Four Kingdoms. The true evil was his army, those who gnash their teeth in the dark and dream of ravaging flesh and drinking blood. They are the cockroaches that cannot be exterminated by any but you.

  What? No. If the Battle for the Fall of All Things had been won by the human, Orian, nymph, and Garzi alliance, then every barbarian would have been killed. There are none left. The plague has been stamped out forever. Mother? Mother? MOTHER!

  But she, along with Absence, had left him.

  Slowly he’d dragged himself out of the hole and back into the light.

  The next few decades had passed in a blur. Bear Blackboots had never stopped moving, traveling from one place to the next, staying out of sight of all living things save the birds and those creatures that lived under the shelter of the trees.

  He’d spent the time observing all that transpired after the great battle. He was there as the Gäric-Sheary brood grew into an army, Annise and Tarin’s children bearing children of their own. Those children bore more children, the cycle of life continuing with each passing generation.

  He was there when Queen Annise finally passed on, her husband’s tears wetting her skin like rain. He’d never seen so many mourners for a single person’s death.

  Bear was there when Gareth Ironclad finally bore a child, an heir to the eastern throne. It was half-nymph and half-human, the mother one of the three sisters who had fought valiantly on that long-ago day.

  He’d been there watching when Whisper Sandes finally opened the trade route into Calyp. Now the famed silks and spices of the desert empire flowed like water into the other realms, much to the delight of their peoples.

  Bear had been there when the Phanecians had finally doused the last rebel flames seeking to return the southern continent to its old days of slavery and superiority. The trio of Falcon Hoza, Shanti Parthena Laude, and Sonika Vaid had given a series of rousing speeches that reunited their people in the common cause of peace.

  And, Bear had been there when Queen Noura Loren-Arris had had her first child, a daughter of her own. The babe’s eyes were as blue as the sky, her hair as golden as the sun. From the moment she came into the world, Gaia Loren-Arri
s-Rose, was the apple of her grandmother’s eye, destined to be spoiled. And Rhea Loren had done just that, spoiling her granddaughter each and every day.

  Now—

  Now…

  Standing atop the bleak, empty cliff, Bear wondered where the years had gone. The turn of yet another century was upon him. Why have I delayed this task for so long?

  He knew the reason: I didn’t want to die.

  It had taken him a long time, but he’d finally admitted as much to himself. So he’d lived vicariously through the people he’d helped save, watching them, observing them, laughing and crying with them.

  It was a lonely life, but the only one he knew.

  Finally, however, he could deny his destiny no longer.

  Crimea was spread out before him as far as the eye could see, the boulder fields of Rockland looking small in the distance. Recently, colonizers from the Four Kingdoms had arrived on the shores and begun to rebuild the cities that had once been the envy of the rest of the world.

  It was only a matter of time before the smell of blood and flesh became too tantalizing for their hidden enemies living in these very mountains known as the Northern Fangs.

  Though Bear hadn’t been able to find the remnants of the Horde—at least not yet—he could sense their presence in every waking moment he spent climbing and exploring. Sometimes he swore he could hear the rush of breath from their lips, the thud-thud-thud of their savage hearts beating in their pale, hairless chests. But each time he turned his head, he saw nothing but emptiness, his own restless imagination having fooled him once more.

  Though he wanted to believe his mother was wrong, that the great evil the world had faced was not still alive, would not rise again, he wouldn’t allow himself to slip into the comforting arms of denial. It made sense, of course. When Klar-Ggra first led the Horde from their mountain sanctuary, he wouldn’t have brought them all. Those too young or too old to fight would’ve been left behind. Almost seven decades later, they would’ve grown into a formidable force, large enough to destroy cities.

  They are here, he thought. Somewhere.

  He turned his attention back toward the dark peaks rising overhead. The range was enormous, with more nooks and crannies than a fluffy northern roll just pulled from the oven. It would take time—years—to search them all, and even then, the surviving barbarians might manage to hide themselves.

  Best get on with it then, he thought, starting forward, determined to make his way through a tunnel he’d discovered earlier that day. He stopped suddenly, an idea appearing in his mind. He frowned, wondering why he hadn’t thought of it sooner. The barbarians craved manflesh like manna from heaven. And he was a man, at least partly.

  Perhaps all he needed to do was unlock the temptation a bit more.

  Rather than transitioning fully into a bear, he shifted only his hand, which thickened, growing thick tufts of dark fur and long claws. Hesitating for only a moment, he drew his razor-sharp claws across his opposite arm, which was still human. He didn’t wince at the pain, only watched as the tracks he’d dug filled with bright, red blood.

  He raised his arm and let the blood stream down his arm and onto his shoulder, the river splitting into two as it coursed down his back and chest.

  The coppery scent of blood permeating the air around him, he strode forward toward the dark tunnel nestled amongst the rocks.

  It hadn’t worked. Bear had walked that tunnel all day and long into the night, taking its various tributaries as he made his way deeper into the heart of the mountain, navigating by touch alone, the darkness complete. He was lost, he knew, but then again, he’d been lost for many years. In some ways, he felt less lost now that he truly was.

  Now, he stopped as the rough wall vanished to one side, the tunnel opening into a cavern. The sound of running water played musically against the backdrop of silence. He made his way toward the sound, his feet finding the water and almost slipping beneath him on a smooth, slick rock. He managed to maintain his balance, dipping his hand into the water and using it to drink deeply, relishing the cold, clean liquid as it ran down the back of his throat. He was careful not to wash away the blood. Though the wound had clotted a while ago, the blood drying on his skin, the smell was still there.

  He finished sating his thirst and felt his way over to a large stone, which he used as a backrest as he plopped down to rest. He had some dried meat in his satchel, but it wouldn’t last forever and he didn’t know when he might emerge from the darkness again, so he let his stomach rumble as he tried to sleep.

  He awoke with a start; it felt like he’d only just drifted off, but he couldn’t be sure.

  He blinked, trying to see, but was met with a wall of flawless darkness. He remembered where he was and chuckled to himself. His stomach complained again and he started to reach for the food in his pouch.

  Wait. He stopped, crinkling his nose and trying to figure out what had awakened him. The only sound was the gurgle and laughter of moving water, and that was as fine a lullaby as any ever sung by a patient mother.

  Then what?

  Though he didn’t mind the dark, a bit of sight would do him some good now, and in bear form his night vision was remarkably keen. His other senses would be heightened as well, he knew, so he gave himself over to the animal inside him and began to change.

  When the shift was complete, the blackness gave way to a gray world tinged with green. He could see several rock formations flanking the small underground river that had quenched his thirst. From the ceiling, stalactites grew, tiny glistening drops dangling from their tips like unshed tears. The small, beady, sightless eyes of several bats peered at him from the ceiling where they hung.

  I must not be that far from an exit, he thought. The bats would need to leave the cavern to hunt, after all. Perhaps he would be able to follow them when they left.

  Something else shimmered, silver coins winking in the dark, peering around the boulders.

  Eyes, larger than those of the bats, and not so few.

  He tried to count them, but found the number was ever increasing as they continued to emerge from the shadows. That’s when he knew:

  His trap had worked. The bait, his own blood, had drawn the barbarians to him like moths to a flame.

  This is it, he thought, shoving his heavy bear frame to his feet, his lips instinctively curling into a snarl that scraped from the back of his throat.

  His foes released guttural sounds of their own—a challenge.

  Though Bear knew this fight would likely go against him, he felt no fear, driven by the years and years of regret at having turned away from the battle for survival all those years ago. This was his redemption.

  They came, driven into a frenzy by the smell of his blood, their pale bodies flashing across his vision as they splashed through the river, bounding up the rocky slope to where he waited.

  Bear batted the first barbarian away with a powerful paw, knocking it into several of the others. The next died under the strength of his powerful jaws as he clamped down on its throat even as it beat at his skull with heavy fists.

  More and more came, but he was a tornado of fur and claws and fangs, ending those who threatened the peace his mother, he, and the fatemarked had worked so hard to achieve. He was not to be defeated, not on this day, not when he had the chance to save them al—

  The claws entered through his back, where one of the barbarians had snuck in behind. He threw his elbow back, dislodging the attacker, only to feel a sharp pain in his side, where another foe had darted in. Two barbarians jumped from a boulder they had scaled, landing on his head and biting at his ears and snout.

  Bear thrashed about, slashing and clawing and biting and kicking. Killing as many as he could, for each he killed now was the equivalent of many more in the generations to come. Each year of peace his actions provided was a blessing.

  He was soaked in blood, both his and his enemies’, and he felt his energy waning. Still he fought on, focused on making every second its own b
attle. More barbarians fell.

  Still more came, an endless tide built over the last seven decades.

  He roared, throwing his powerful arms out and tossing several barbarians away. He spun, slashing at anything close enough to hit. He bounded to the side to avoid one attack, pouncing on another enemy and ripping out its throat.

  They leapt upon him from all sides, determined to get their pound of flesh.

  Many hours later, Bear slumped down on his haunches. Blood spread beneath him, a growing pool that had already streamed into the underground river, tainting its clear waters.

  Nothing moved, save one barbarian. Badly injured, it dragged its way across the rough terrain, unable to resist the temptation of Bear’s blood.

  Watching the creature, Bear pitied it, for it was a slave to its own nature.

  You are the last of your kind, Bear snarled, uncertain whether the barbarian would understand him.

  It stared at him with hungry eyes, but didn’t respond. Another foot closer. Another. Scrape-slide. Scrape-slide.

  Bear could feel the life ebbing out of him, but even one barbarian left was too many for his liking. He mustered the tiny amount of energy he still had, raising a single paw in anticipation.

  When it was finished, he toppled over, spent.

  The pain was so immense he was almost numb to it. He felt the darkness tugging at his eyelids. What if there are more? he wondered. He couldn’t know unless he survived to search another day. I must survive.

  No, a voice said through the darkness.

  “Mother. I don’t understand.” Bear spoke in the common tongue, though he wasn’t certain when he’d shifted back into a man, his body broken and bloody.

  It is your time.

  “I don’t want to die.”

  I know. But it is not us who decide such things. You did well. I am proud of you.

  “But what if—”

  None survived. You have given the world a great gift. Now be at peace, my child, his mother said. For you return to me.