Her fingers twitched slightly, but could barely move. Someone had bound her hands carefully to prevent her from being able to gesture. The taste of power faded, replaced by the repulsive fabric of a gag. Her eyelids refused to open yet, weak from rebirth, so she slowly re-attuned to her senses.

“…how did they even enter? There was no way to open that fissure, no door,” a man said in a rough, deep bass voice.

It took her almost a full minute to process what he was saying, the words a confusing corruption of a language she had once known well. It was disorienting to hear it butchered by an accent, but it was still discernible as the language she had given to her children. Drift? Has it been so long?

“The powers of heresy are considerable, Barend. Though I agree, it was quite the feat. The tattooed one seems incapable, but this one on the other hand…”  The second speaker’s grasp on the language was almost flawless, almost just as she remembered.

Something cold and sharp touched her cheek as he spoke. She didn’t need to open her eyes to know it was a blade. 

The one called Barend growled low in his chest. “I thought all these barbarians had markings and heresy. Here is one with no markings and the other with no heresy.” 

“Certainly strange. Perhaps foreigners as well? The tattooed one has a different accent.” The blade moved from her cheek, slipping under her chin and lifting her head. “You may open your eyes, barbarian. I know you are awake.”

“Mara!” 

The sound of a young woman’s voice, frightened and pained, sent a pang of heartache and anxiety through her. She opened her eyes as the man had instructed, realizing they ached from tears as she did so. 

There were many men around, tall red-skinned behemoths with rows of stunted horns in their dark hair, wearing well-fashioned armor. All of them smelled like wet fur and woodsmoke, hints of soap mostly lost beneath the musk. The one holding the sword, however, was very different: lean almost to the point of lankiness with a catlike grace, with bright blue eyes and a charming smile. His skin was fair. “Mara is a pretty name,” he said affably, as if he wasn’t holding a blade beside her throat. The black of his armor was matte, designed not to give a hint of shine. 

The blade in his hands was soaked in her power.  She could feel it against her skin, cold and welcoming. More than that, it flowed through him. She felt a creeping revulsion as she stared at him, no question in her mind now of his source: one of the Deceiver’s spawn had twisted him into something beyond the purely living.

“Shall we dispense with the gag?” he said. His smile was shark-like, never reaching those blue eyes. “If you go to cast a spell, I will kill you before you can finish it.” Without waiting for a reply, he undid the gag.

Her mouth was dry after the fabric. It took her a few moments to wet her tongue enough to speak. “You chirp relatively well for a trained popinjay.”

The effect of her perfect grasp on the tongue seemed to shock even him for a split second. His blue eyes narrowed. “Where did you learn to speak Imperial?” he demanded.

“I did not need to learn.” She looked past him at the young woman thrashing against her bonds and felt a sudden surge of too many emotions all at once, followed by a swell of memories hitting like a tidal wave.

She had to close her eyes again, trying to center herself in the overwhelming rush of trauma. There was so much hurt and loneliness there, flowering outward like briar roses made of broken glass, enough to overpower even the grief of a dead world. It was visceral and intense: a heel grinding into a cheek, a brother’s bitter words, a father’s absence. 

I hate you! Void take you all!

“Mara, please,” the young woman begged, golden eyes tormented. “Come back.”

Her head felt like it was going to split in two. “Aallotar?” The name fell from her lips in a mumble, but she knew it was right when the desperate hope flared in the tattooed wildling’s eyes. More would fit together in time, but right now she was a shattered self and she knew it.

So much was missing and nothing made sense.

“Speak sense, barbarian,” the blue-eyed man said sharply. “How did you come to know our tongue?”

She hunted through her shattered memories for something that wasn’t a lie, but wouldn’t reveal too much. The binding was still in place, but her unique situation enabled her to skirt its laws. “A tutor,” she rasped, dragging a memory up. “A black shield.”

Be grateful for the gifts I give you, a stern Gaius said, thumping a book down on the top of her head.

“Sixth Legion, maybe?” one of the red-skinned men muttered. “Haagenti said there were captives taken, Immortalis.”

The blue-eyed man narrowed his eyes again. “Where is this tutor?”

She curled her lip in contempt. “If you knew the price of immortality, you would not invoke it so casually, particularly in the name of a facsimile.” 

“This one does not speak like the others,” Barend said. “Should we not bring her to the Legate, Immortalis Aelius?”

“How did you unseal the door?” Aelius demanded. 

She saw one of the big warriors bring his foot down hard on the struggling young woman behind Aelius and a flash of rage ripped through her. “Leave her alone!” she snarled, almost coming up off the ground herself. She was weak, too weak to fight, and bound, but in that moment the need to protect Aallotar outweighed everything else. 

Immortalis Aelius smiled like a shark scenting blood in the water. “If that is what it takes to get your attention, heretic…”

The next wave of anger that hit her was powerful enough to smash her shattered self back together, even if only for a moment. She sucked in a harsh breath, fresh tears suddenly dripping as the young and frightened collided with the hateful and ancient. “I said leave her alone!” Mara screamed, seeing for a moment both Aelius’s face and her father’s.

Void answered her in a surge, flooding out of her body. The bonds that held her disappeared in an instant as the darkness devoured them, allowing her tortured limbs to move freely for the first time in at least hours, maybe longer. The metal bones in her arm burned with cold as she reached around and grabbed the sword by the blade. 

Immortalis Aelius thrust on reflex, but Void devoured the blade before it could slit her throat. The metal twisted and warped as it was eaten away by the nothingness all around, surging towards his hand. He recoiled and dropped the hilt. “Get back!” he ordered, springing backwards in a leap. “That is no magic of the Red Mountains!”

Aallotar strained at her bonds as Mara swayed to her feet. “Mara, run!” she shouted. “If you can get far enough—!”

Mara knew what would happen: Aallotar would revert to her bestial form. All these men would suffer the same fate as her father’s honor guard. She shook her head, trying to stumble towards Aallotar. She felt drunk, head spinning with conflicted thoughts and a body so exhausted it could barely respond. One of the towering soldiers stepped between them, his curved sword whipping towards Mara faster than she could force her body to move.

However, Void had an entirely different reaction time. As she threw up her wounded arm to defend her head, it surged outward, engulfing the man in a black flame. There was no scream, only the contortion of his face as it crumbled into dust and vanished into a gnawing emptiness. Pieces of his armor clattered to the ground, trailing hints of nonexistence that devoured even the light of their fire. 

Mara felt her grip on herself slipping the more she tapped into Void. There was an agonizing madness to it, the erosion of who she was. “Go forth from this place, Immortalis,” she heard herself say with words like daggers. “Tell your Legate that what has been opened cannot be closed.”

“What are you, creature?” Aelius demanded as he retreated, drawing a long stiletto from across his lower back. He was recalculating, looking for a way to harm her without risking her power. The cold, logical part of her brain was confident he had still misidentified it.

“I am the end and the beginning of a world.” The words came from the other her, that hungry resonance burning in every syllable, crawling under their skin. For a moment, images of a universe shredding flashed across her vision, like an eclipse superimposing itself on the room’s image for an instant.

She heard the creak of wood and her vision returned to normal. One of the riders carried a strange contraption that she barely recognized from Gaius’s stories of the south: a crossbow. The bolt was as thick around as a man’s thumb and pointed at Aallotar. “You will cast no further, mage, and allow us to depart.”

Immortalis Aelius glared at him. “We are not leaving a heretic to slip through this net, auxiliary.”

“The Legate demanded a survey of the area unearthed by the earthquake,” the red-skinned man said bluntly. “If that information is damaged or does not reach her, we will have failed her and the Divine Prince.”

“You forget the laws of the Imperium.”

The red-skinned man, clearly a leader of some kind, motioned to one of his men, who produced a scroll case. “They have already waited a decade. What is a few more weeks? They are weak and will not make it far. This writ is our command and it explicitly states that we are not to deviate from our mission for any reason.” 

Aelius’s lip curled, blue eyes flashing with anger at the insubordination. “Then they should be taken to the Legate, as their knowledge of this place is far more expansive than anything we have found here. They were able to gain entry.”

Mara felt her head again about to crack in two. She put her hands to her temples, trying not to scream in pain. It was worse than her arm, even without the numbing agent on those healing burns.

The sergeant seemed solid in his intent of withdrawing. “Neither the Legate or Commander Godric said anything of captives, Immortalis.”

“I am not going to quarrel with an auxiliary,” Immortalis Aelius said dangerously, prowling closer to the sergeant. “You will take custody of the mage and her pet or I will find a suitable replacement. One with appropriate reverence and zeal for carrying out the will of the Divine Prince.”

Mara realized the crossbow was not as steady as it had been before. As stern and solid as the sergeant seemed, his hands were shaking on the crossbow, even though he dwarfed Immortalis Aelius and was clearly a veteran of many battles by his scars. The red-skinned man gritted his teeth, steeling himself. “The Legate—”

“Whose lives are worth more to you, Sergeant?” The words oozed an oily menace. “I will see you decimated and the Legate will not deny me. Unless you think these barbarians will do worse to you?”

That threat seemed to chill the big man’s blood further. The red-skinned man looked directly at Mara, adjusting his grip on the crossbow. “You and yours will come with us,” he said harshly. “If you do not, you will be slain.”

Mara felt another strange slap of clarity hit her. “You intend to take us to where we will certainly die,” she said, swaying even as she prepared to call upon Void again. “At least a battle here is only a maybe.”

Aallotar tried to thrash loose, but even with her considerable strength, the bonds didn’t budge.

“We can come to an accord,” the sergeant said, sweating rivulets when Immortalis Aelius stepped behind him. “The tattooed one will free herself in time, even if she cannot use heresy. Accompany us and she lives. Deny me and you will both die here. It is obvious you are too weak to combat anything long.” 

Mara considered that. If she moved away enough from Aallotar, the beast would come out. If they were the only people in the area, Aallotar would pursue. That left her and Mara with their best chance of escaping, particularly if the ambush was unexpected. Besides, black was quickly starting to edge her vision. She had used so much so soon after opening the door to Void, more than she had ever used in Sammael’s study. He was right: she was about to collapse. “Swear to me on your Divine Prince’s name that you will take me alive and that you will honor your Legate’s command regarding my fate, not Immortalis Aelius’s word. That is my condition.”

“She is in no position to make such a demand,” Aelius said patiently.

The sergeant glanced at the ashen remnants of the body that had been mostly consumed by black flames. “I swear on the name of Divine Prince Michael and on the honor of Fourth Legion that my people and I will take you directly to the Legate and render you for her judgment, so long as you come peaceably.” He straightened. “If you violate your side of this covenant, barbarian, you forfeit your life.” 

Mara was surprised, as were several of the big soldiers. She hadn’t expected him to actually acquiesce to that request after Immortalis Aelius’s response. “Very well.”

“Mara!” Aallotar cried out, struggling against her bonds. It was clear by her weakness that she had suffered greatly while Mara was unconscious.

Mara knelt down beside her love, running her hands over the wildling’s hair. It hurt so much it ached to even think of leaving her here, alone and in the grips of her curse again. “Aallotar, I need you to trust me,” she said thickly in the tongue of the Red Mountains instead of the soldiers’ language. “We will see each other again soon. Even a curse can be a blessing.” It was the only way she could dare explain. Theudhar and Saxa both knew her tongue, so it was possible these ones did too.

Aallotar’s eyes teared up, but she nodded in understanding. Mara made no move to resist when one of the big soldiers seized her by her arm and pulled her away. The sorcerer was too weak to object and only growing weaker. 

Immortalis Aelius was watching carefully, his eyes focused on Aallotar. “Consider yourself fortunate, barbarian,” he said to the distraught wildling. “If you had even an iota of magic within you, I would gut you here and now.” 

Mara had never been more grateful for her curse than on hearing that and watching the man prowl away with that supernatural, cat-like grace. She stumbled outside to the waiting wargs, hauled by the soldier’s bruising grip. Disjointed visions flashed before her eyes and she cried out in pain when he switched arms, seizing her by her wounded one. 

The sergeant moved immediately, knocking his subordinate away at the cry of pain. “Remember what happened to the last to harm her!” he barked in his guttural version of the Imperial tongue.

“What would you have us do, Sergeant?” the soldier asked, eyeing Mara warily.

“She rides with Dagr and I,” the sergeant said. When Mara crumpled, he picked her up carefully, avoiding the wounded arm. Under his breath, he muttered to her, “Remember that I honor my oaths when you stand before the Legate in Sandgata.”

“Sergeant Isbrand, a word,” Immortalis Aelius said calmly as the towering sergeant helped her up onto his growling warg’s back. 

Isbrand turned, and Aelius struck savagely with a blow across the face that sent the sergeant buckling back against the warg’s side. The red-skinned man cringed and the warg stifled its growl with a whimper at the cold fury in Immortalis Aelius’s expression.

“If you ever conduct yourself in such a fashion again, I will butcher your beast and feed it to you on the saltire. Consider that strike your first taste of the lashing you will receive when we return to Imperial circles. Do you understand, auxiliary?”

Mara’s eyes went wide. No man she knew would accept such a blow without responding in kind, but the much bigger warrior bowed his head, in a state barely better than cowering. His men looked equally shaken. “With crystal clarity, Immortalis. Never again. I thank the servant of the Divine Prince for his mercy.” 

The sorcerer took a deep breath and prayed to any god that might listen to a soulless thing that she would be free soon. She did not have a good feeling about their concept of mercy.

Somewhere deep inside, something else shifted within her, dark and hungry.