The sun was sinking, wrapping the village in golden light. The lapping of water in the fountain mingled with the laughter of children running between the houses, while the adults worked in the gardens or chatted near doorways. A scream burst forth, tearing through the air, and everything froze. Hunters rushed toward their homes, grabbing their weapons. A puppet stepped out from the shadows of the trees, brandishing a stake.
“What is that thing?” Edran whispered.
He tightened his grip on his spear. He struck, but the metal glanced off, sliding across the surface. To his left, a second marionette burst forth, a stake drove into his knee, and he collapsed. His screams mingled with the sounds of blows before fading away.
At the center of the village, cries blended with the hammering of planks being nailed over the church doors. In the alleys, puppets roamed. Galven raised his torch amid the chaos.
“You shall not pass!” he shouted.
He brought his flaming weapon down on a creature. Flames devoured the wood, and he smashed its head.
“Die, damn it!” he roared.
He plunged his weapon into the grass; flames slithered in every direction until they formed a wall of fire. The puppets crossed it, the wood crackling, warping, then bursting into showers of sparks. He threw himself aside, and the blade whistled through empty air where his head had been a moment before. More marionettes sprang from the blaze, their silhouettes haloed with embers. He panted, his skin slick with sweat.
Meryne grabbed her son’s hand and bolted into the alleyways. A creature leapt from a rooftop and smashed down in front of them, spraying splinters of wood that ricocheted off the cobblestones. She shoved her son toward the half-open door of a shed and plunged inside. Her hands trembled as she groped along the rough wood. Her ragged breathing mingled with the furious pounding of her heart. Her fingers struck a latch, and she slammed it shut. Through the gaps between the planks, she caught sight of the puppet’s feet scraping over the stone. She picked up a rusty iron bar and positioned herself in front of her son.
“Back off!” she screamed
The next instant, the door burst into splinters. She brought the iron bar down on its chest, making the creature stagger, yet it kept advancing. The weapon slipped from her hands and crashed to the floor. She lunged for an oil lamp, tore it from its hook, and hurled it with all her strength. The glass shattered against the puppet’s torso in an explosion of fire. Flames raced along its limbs, and its arms tore free. Its chest caved in, and then it collapsed.
Her child was trembling, curled in on himself, his body shaken by sobs, his chest jerking in spasms. She pulled him close.
“It’s all right, I’m here, it’s over,” she whispered, burying her face in her son’s hair.
Then a sound ripped through the silence. Her breath caught. At the end of the alley, the shadows stretched, and puppets emerged from them. She tightened her embrace around him.
*****
At dusk, thirty thousand puppets were sweeping across the countryside. Villages and hamlets vanished, swallowed one after another. Where fertile fields had once stretched, there remained only a wasteland of ash and torn earth, crushed beneath thousands of footsteps. Thana’s energy, once an exalting blaze, a boundless power, was now nothing but an insatiable fever consuming him from within. He had ignited too fast, too fiercely. And the more he drew on that power, the more he felt that he was not its master, but its fuel.
His hands slid over the rough wood of the bed before closing around the armrest. A few days later, as he surveyed the city through the fragmented gazes of his puppets, the flow wavered. At the heart of that current, something was wrong. A movement, too fast, too fluid. He thought it was a lapse, but no: she was truly there. He could not make out her face, but he sensed her presence. He focused on her more intensely, until the link snapped. When he tried to rise, his body gave way. His legs refused to obey. A tremor climbed along his spine, and he rolled onto his back, eyes wide, laughing. His mind drifting, lost between two realities. The puppets lifted him, and his gaze then fell upon a hairbrush. His thumb slid along the handle before he brought it to his face. The scent of cedar and almond lingered in the air.
Intercept her.
At once, the puppets scattered across the countryside sprang into motion, and the earth trembled.
*****
At the city gates, the horde was closing in.
“To arms! To arms!” the guards shouted.
Bells rang out in the night, their toll echoing across the city. On the heights, archers raised their bows, fingers clenched on the strings. Hundreds of arrows whistled through the air before crashing into the front line of the marionettes.
The captain climbed up to the ramparts, jaws clenched, one hand wrapped around the hilt of his weapon.
“Do not fall back, hold the lines!” he shouted.
He drew his blade and leapt beyond the walls.
“With me!” he cried.
The soldiers let their fury loose and charged after him. Their blades tore through wood, heads rolled across the ground. But for every figure brought down, three more took its place. A soldier, his face slick with sweat, drove his spear into a puppet’s chest.
Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
“We won’t hold, fall back!” the commander shouted.
As the marionettes closed in, the stakes cut through the air, piercing flesh and armor. The captain struck, his blade sinking into bark.
“You bastard, let go of that!”
He wrenched the blade free, and a black jet burst from the wound. The sword spun through the air before crashing onto the cobblestones. A shiver ran up his spine. Everything he had defended, these walls he believed unbreakable, this city he had sworn to protect, these men fallen at his side, was collapsing. The marionettes raised their weapons, and for the span of a heartbeat, everything hung still. Then they struck.
Far from the city’s turmoil, Iskra galloped through the woods, bent low over her mount’s neck. Pinned to his bed, Armyr was choking. His mind wavered, shredded by the effort he exerted to keep control of his army. Her horse leapt between the trees, sending moss and dead leaves flying in its wake. A marionette slipped between the trunks and curved around an oak. Iskra turned her head, her eyes probing the darkness.
“Duck,” Armyr breathed.
The marionette vanished behind the roots.
*****
Armyr jolted awake, a sheen of sweat beading on his brow. He closed his eyes and extended his mind beyond the boundaries of his body. His senses unfurled through the invisible network linking him to his puppets. Widening his grasp, he pushed his mind beyond the walls to seep into the alleyways. He skimmed along the stone buildings, brushing past his marionettes as he went. Farther on, he wove his web across the city. Yet where he should have felt the presence of puppets, he found only emptiness.
He clenched his teeth and focused harder, plunging into the consciousness of a puppet. Through its eyes, the streets streamed past, cobblestones licked by pallid light, alleys drowned in shadow. He searched every corner, moved from one puppet to another, spreading his hold over the entire city. But a resistance slowed his advance, a veil clouded his senses. Then, in the midst of a transfer, he saw her. Lantern light danced in her hair, sketching golden highlights. His mind dove into another body, closer. Joints creaked as he corrected its posture, and the body straightened.
“What can I get you?” he asked.
“A beer,” Iskra replied.
Armyr turned toward the counter and filled a tankard. As the foam spilled over the rim, he slipped a few drops of a dark liquid into it. He returned to her and set it on the table, then went back behind the bar. There, he plunged a glass into a basin of water and scrubbed it. Iskra lifted her head and swept her gaze across the room, lingering on the figures coming and going. He then left his post and stepped toward her.
“Another?” he asked.
She shook her head before standing up. Armyr’s mind left the barman, slid into another marionette, and laid a hand on her shoulder.
“Can I help you?” it said.
Her hair burst into flame, the fire rippling around her. Armyr sketched a smile: his target was there. A blazing torrent erupted from her hands and smashed into a table. Every head turned toward her and the patrons rose.
She leapt for the window just before the circle closed in, and the glass exploded. The puppets clustered at the opening.
Kill her.
In the street, the puppets tore up everything that came within reach. Cobblestones, beams of timber, scraps of metal rose into the air, shrieking as they spun. Higher up, her ascent continued into the sky.
He jumped from puppet to puppet, each transfer tearing his mind a little more apart.
She dove straight toward the ground, the earth rushing up at terrifying speed. In a breath of embers, her body skimmed the stone. Four soldiers blocked the way, their visors fixed on the street.
“Visiting hours are over for today,” Armyr said.
She slipped a hand beneath her cloak and produced her insignia.
“I need to go in. Now.”
“Follow us.”
They stepped aside and disappeared into the corridor.
Crouched in the shadow of an alley, a body lay among the rubble. A spasm twisted its shoulder, and its fingers scraped against the stone. A pulse ran through it, its joints snapping into place. Its head turned, wrenching its neck. Its foot struck a rock, and it collapsed to the ground. Its arm bent at a right angle. Then, in a jerky convulsion, its torso straightened.
The wind rushed through the alley, lifting a whirl of ash, as twisted shapes and deformed bodies emerged from every corner. Dozens, then hundreds, soon thousands of puppets gathered. All of them converged on Iskra.
*****
Armyr watched through the puppet’s charred eye sockets as the image wavered, revealing a corridor stretching into a shattered maze of stone. Iskra radiated with an incandescent aura, and a second figure took shape at her side, bluish arcs of electricity snaking along his arms.
“Fulger!” he screamed, but no sound passed his lips.
His mind reeled, and despite his efforts to tighten his grip, each attempt crashed against an invisible force. A wave of rage surged through him; he should have crushed her long ago.
Lightning burst from his palms and coiled around his body before unleashing itself, pulverizing the creatures in its path and reducing them to a rain of fragments.
“No… NO!” he breathed.
The images faded, his mind was hurled out of the puppet, and he collapsed onto his bed.
*****
All around the hotel, at the center of the pit, hundreds of beasts writhed. Bears, horses, and foxes twisted, screaming and clawing at the earth. The puppets advanced, and their wooden arms came crashing down on the frenzied bodies. Their clawed hands tore through flesh, ripping open flanks. Entrails spilled in a cascade of viscera, and the ground became a red sea.
Then they assembled the pieces: bear arms, horse legs, fox paws, each limb fitting into the next. Armysr opened a box in which, resting on a bed of velvet, a black heart pulsed. He drove it into the creature’s chest and slit his palm; the carmine liquid slithered between his fingers before dripping onto the being.
The blood of the beasts rose into the air. Crimson streams converged above the body, forming a swirling mass that plunged into its torso. Under the impact, the body shuddered; the assembly trembled and its muscles tightened. Then its eyelids lifted, revealing a black gleam. A growl rose from its throat as its claws raked the ground. At last, the beast stood upright.
“You live now, my puppet. Blood feeds you, but it is my will that guides you.”
He held out a hairbrush, and the being sniffed it.
“Go. Find the woman.”
The creature slipped into the darkness, swallowed by the night.
