With a heavy thud The Mourner landed in an overgrown clearing. Diya stepped down off the airship and froze. It was the first time in her life she had set foot on the surface. A part of her expected the ground to immediately swallow her whole, or a monster to leap from the shadows then rip her into a thousand pieces.

  Instead, it was quiet. Too quiet. No shouts, no wheels, no machinery sputtering, only birds in broken windows and frogs croaking from flooded courtyards. To her, the silence made the ruined city almost feel like it was holding its breath. Even in the dead of night, Ghanesha was never so quiet, back at home space was a resource ever in demand.

  Roots split the cobbles. Ivy weaved itself across the eroded statue of a woman in outlandish attire. Oddly, the statue had been coated with thick orange paint and braided with rosemary branches, the paint looked to have been applied recently. A white tree grew from the roof of a theater, it’s yellow leaves falling like raindrops over the ruins.

  Diya marveled at the architecture. Even in its current state—broken down by nature’s unrelenting grip—the ruined city was spectacular. Nearly every building in Ghanesha had been built from reclaimed materials, always built with function in mind, never form, whereas here each building was like a work of art.

  I wonder what the civilization was like who built all of this. What sort of lives did they live? What caused their eventual demise? Does that danger still lurk? Diya thought.

  Shikra cooed, remaining perched on the railing of The Mourner, beady eyes vigilant as if she could feel her companion’s unease, and after all they had been through together, perhaps she could.

  Moldy cobblestones crunched beneath her boots as Tamsin leapt down from the grounded airship. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  With eyes busy attempting to study every last broken window, shadowy doorway, and collapsed road, Diya simply nodded. “Something like that.”

  “Time is of the essence. Let’s get moving,” Tamsin said, waving for the girl and her bird to follow before stepping through the yawning entrance of a theater.

  It was easy for her to say, this clearly wasn’t her first time strolling through a place that had been designated her whole life as inhospitable and indisputably deadly.

  Diya ran her fingers against Shikra’s feathers softly, it was somewhat pathetic, but she was using the act to calm herself more than the bird. An uneasy thought ran through her mind again. This might be my last chance to jump on Shikra and fly out of here. Is this simply another time when I’m being too trusting and getting myself in too deep? What would Rohan say?

  After a quick glance back and forth between the clouds and the theater overgrown with wildflowers, Diya chewed her lip, then the pair hurried after Tamsin.

  They caught up to her in what looked like a grand foyer that must have once been breathtaking, only now time had taken its toll and the cracked marble floor was mostly covered with broken glass and fallen leaves. The place smelled of rotted wood, but honestly, compared to the various odors back home it was like smelling a bouquet of fresh flowers.

  Diya stepped up next to Tamsin and whispered to her, as if speaking too loudly might alert a host of bloodthirsty monsters to their presence. “Are you sure the Skarlith won’t get us?”

  “Enough about the bloody Skarlith, girl.” Tamsin shouted, louder than she likely meant to. This caused Shikra to protectively nudge forward, ruffling her feathers. “I’ve been away from my home since last fall, but my coven’s wards have always kept those subterranean freaks at bay. You don’t need to worry about them.”

  This stranger’s promise did little to erase a lifetime of scary stories from Diya’s mind, but she decided she didn’t want to annoy her host further.

  Just like that, the trio continued further into the maze-like ruins. Diya was amazed by the labyrinth of overgrown structures. She did her best to note her surroundings, but it was difficult to tell where one building ended and another began. Without her host to guide her, she wouldn’t have been able to find this path again in a hundred days.

  “Back on the ship, you mentioned the blood magic your coven practices. You said there were three types, if you don’t mind me asking, what are they?” Asked Diya.

  Tamsin looked back over her shoulder and grinned. “An excellent question! If you’re who I hope you are, you’re going to be studying the three primary arts quite a lot over the next six months. Did Zoralia ever demonstrate her abilities?”

  “I’m not so sure I ever saw the real her, it may have all been a rouse.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up. That one’s a manipulative old hag,” Tamsin said. “A master of the art we call, Cell Scrying. Its practitioners can utilize blood or genetic material to divine information from the aether. The most powerful users can scry truths from the past, present, and future.”

  Diya thought back on the ritual the old witch performed in her house. “I believe she did use her magic. Though, now I see that she purposefully gave me the wrong information.”

  “Leave it to one who can learn the truth about anything to habitually lie.”

  She could feel her blood begin to boil just thinking about the way her kindness had been taken advantage of. “What are the other two arts?” Diya asked.

  Without answering, Tamsin tiptoed across a narrow beam of rusted iron that connected two rowhouses. It appeared that much of the material that had once coupled the two had fallen back into the earth. Diya noticed this right away, that was because beneath the girder leered a long drop into nothingness.

  She sighed and climbed up onto the beam with Shikra. There wasn’t nearly enough room for shikra to stretch out her wings and fly them across. And so, they crossed the old-fashioned way—knees shaking and swearing under her breath with each step.

  For someone accustomed to soaring through the skies, Diya felt like a fish out of water tiptoeing across that beam. It wasn’t so much the looming menace of the deadly drop, rather it was the way that the dark pit represented all the nightmarish stories she had been told growing up about the surface. And it wasn’t so much the literal threat of those nightmares brought to life, rather, the somehow even more horrifying possibility that her life may have been built on lies and wives’ tales.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  I wish life were simpler. Diya thought, doing her best to bury those threats to her belief system deep down inside.

  Once safely to the other side, Tamsin, who had no idea the inner demons Diya had just grappled with, smirked and patted her on the back. The group pressed forward, eventually making their way out of the darkness and towards a luminous hole in the side of the stone wall.

  It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, but the sunlight on her skin felt heavenly.

  They had reached what appeared to be a massive amphitheater, and even though not all its towering walls remained intact, it was still an incredible sight, not only for its architectural grandeur, but because of the clever way it had been repurposed. The stone seats that once held crowds were now filled with soil, and from that soil sprouted fruit and vegetables. What once may have been an arena floor hosting all manner of ancient games and performances, had since been leveled and planted with neat rows of grain. There were even a few goats chewing at the grass, wandering calmly near toppled statues painted bright orange.

  Shikra’s eyes fixed predatorially on the goats and Diya had to do her best to counteract her friend’s instincts. Tamsin plucked two peaches from a low hanging branch, tossed one to Diya, and bit into the other.

  “The second art of my coven is called Sanguimancy.” Tamsin explained, pausing to take another big bite of the juicy fruit. “Its practitioners are able to utilize blood or organic matter to hex their enemies.”

  Diya had already chomped the peach down to its core, she couldn’t remember ever tasting a fruit so sweet. “What might hexing one’s enemies look like?”

  “Like making them physically ill, willing their hair to fall out, sapping the strength from their muscles, temporary blindness, that type of thing.”

  “Noted. Don’t cross a Sanguimancer.” Diya said, pretending to write notes in an imaginary journal. “I don’t think I could pull off the bald look.”

  Tamsin shrugged her bony shoulders. “You’ve got good bone structure, I think you could make it work.”

  “Thanks, this might be the first time anyone has ever complimented my bones.” Diya laughed. “What type of blood magic art do you practice?”

  “I’m a practitioner of the third art, Hemocraft.”

  Just then a shrill scream followed by thundering hooves echoed from the far side of the amphitheater. The trio’s attention jumped to the sound.

  Cutting through the wheatfield them in a cloud of billowing dust and golden wheat was a sight that dredged up every fear Diya had done her best to bury. The grain, tall and ripe, parted in wild, shivering waves that revealed a scene straight from Diya’s nightmares.

  No, not thundering hooves, but beating claws. They rode atop black beetles the size of horses and zoomed straight towards the trio. At a distance they looked almost human, but as they charged closer Diya could see the long antennae protruding from their temples.

  Tamsin’s eyes narrowed and she drew two small iron maces. “Skarlith…”

  She couldn’t believe it, Diya glanced back and forth between the rapidly approaching war party and her host. “B-but you said—”

  “Yeah, I know what I said. This is highly unusual, I’m not accustomed to the bugs encroaching on our land, but, here we are.”

  “W-what are we going to do?” Diya stuttered.

  “You get to see my blood magic art in action.” Tamsin said, twirling her maces.

  Diya sighed, then jumped up onto Shikra’s back. There on the roc’s harness, her fingers found the familiar wooden grip of her flintlock pistol. In one smooth motion she kicked her heels, and Shikra launched them up into the air.

  The Skarlith war party fanned out across the amphitheater, their beetles’ carapaces glistening in the sunlight, mandibles snapping with a metallic clack that carried across the field. Spears tipped with serrated bone lifted as they shrieked in their clicking tongue.

  From above, Diya leaned low against Shikra’s neck, the wind tearing through her hair as they swooped past the charging line. She hurled a blackpowder bomb into their ranks, an eruption of smoke and fire tossed beetles and riders sprawling, their screeches sharp enough to rattle her teeth. She drew her flintlock next, squeezing a shot that dropped a Skarlith as it scrambled to rise. A decent start.

  But there were too many.

  Tamsin was a storm of violence on the ground. The moment the first beetle lunged at her, she blurred, her body a streak of motion as she brought both maces down in a crushing blow that shattered chitin and bone alike. Her blood magic lent her impossible strength; each swing cracked stone when she missed her mark. When she moved, she was a phantom, striking from one angle and then another before the enemy could react.

  Still, the Skarlith pressed them hard. For every one that fell, two more burst through the wheat. Their mounts snapped at Shikra’s wings, trying to drag the bird from the air, while others circled Tamsin, spears thrusting like a ring of fangs.

  An intimidating Skarlith warrior burst out of the wheat field, its beetle mount shaking the earth with each powerful step. The warrior called out to his kin and based on the way they obeyed his commands, he appeared to be an officer of sorts.

  Massive, and clad in spiked plate mail complete with a three-horned bone helm, it swung a hooked chain overhead and loosed it. The weight smashed into Shikra’s wing, wrapping tight. The roc bucked and screamed, crashing down into the dirt. Diya’s teeth clacked together as she was thrown hard against the harness. Her vision blurred.

  Suddenly they were swarmed. Skarlith poured over them like ants. Spears jabbed toward Shikra’s chest, one catching Diya’s sleeve and tearing it open. A rider climbed onto the bird’s wing, close enough that Diya could see its face, it had six horrible dark eyes, unblinking.

  Diya fumbled for a bomb, but her fingers slipped on the fuse. Smoke from the earlier blast clung to the ground, stinging her eyes, making her cough. All hope fading, she thought, this is how I die.

  Then Tamsin appeared. A flash of violence. She tore through the circle, maces shattering bone and shell, her own blood dripping down the handles. With a roar, she smashed the chain binding Shikra’s wing. Iron screamed and snapped.

  The roc lurched free, beating her mighty feathered wings so hard the shockwave knocked riders sprawling. Diya not for the first time felt a strange sensation surging through her muscles. A limitless energy just like the day she had saved her township’s hunting ships from the syndicate raiders.

  She brushed the sweat and dirt from her face and kicked her heels into Shikra’s feathers. Her companion shrieked, soaring upwards then reversing course and divebombing down towards the host of savage warriors.

  Diya drew her saber from its sheath. While the warhost was focused on encircling Tamsin, they had lost track of the giant bird. A fatal mistake. They looked up just as Shikra crashed into them. Razor-sharp claws shredded and threw riders from their mounts like they were mice in a field. Diya swung her blade with an unreal force and it cut through the Skarlith and their beetle mounts like a knife through butter.

  Panic erupted amongst the insect-like savages. Tamsin took advantage of the chaos and fought her way out of being circled, maces rhythmically crunching through the enemies.

  The warchief’s dark eyes burned from beneath its helm, it bellowed, a deep clicking sound that made Diya’s gut clench. The dwindling number of Skarlith looked to him, wheeled their beetles and scuttled for the jagged fissures in the amphitheater’s edge, disappearing underground as if they were nothing more than a bad dream.

  In the silence afterward, Shikra panted raggedly, feathers scorched, blood dripping. Diya still couldn’t make her hands stop shaking. She struggled to stay afloat amidst the cold waves of exhaustion. Tamsin wiped gore from her face with the back of her wrist and spat red into the dirt.

  “They’re not supposed to come this far up,” Tamsin muttered. Her eyes stayed fixed on the holes where the Skarlith had vanished.