Shadow of the Avatar

Chapter 28 -- A Parting Gesture

Responsibility is discipline, discipline is planning, planning is success, success is life, life is being responsible.

--Sireth

Wren stepped back from the four robed creatures, she recognized the blood red hooded-serpent tattoo that wound around their arms, and saw the knives glinting in their hands. The only sound that came to her throat was a groan. Didn't it ever end? Neither she nor Desiray had weapons, and Everia was only a kid.

"Shreds," Desiray muttered. She glanced over her shoulder. The next turn in the corridor lay twenty paces away. There was no guarantee there'd be a sealable door there even if they could make it.

Everia growled.

As a unit, the three of them took two steps backward. The assassins flowed forward, eyes glowing red in the faint light.

Wren didn't have the enough strength left to hurt them even if she could strike. Desiray would fall over without Everia's support. They would have to take advantage of an opening.

The lead man rushed forward with a yell, swinging the blade low toward Desiray's stomach. Everia cried out and interposed herself into the path of the blade.

Desiray put her hands out too late. The cultist's knife plunged into Everia's midriff with a metallic crack. The girl let out a gasp and bent over the man's arm. Ice rushed through Wren's veins. Ishtar, no!

He yanked the dagger back to stab again.

Metal tinged on the floor and Wren realized the weapon no longer had a blade. The cultist saw this at the same time Everia straightened.

"You--" The girl brought her laced fists down on the man's shoulder with crunch. He howled, legs buckling. "Bastard! That--" He screamed as Everia jammed a knee into his groin, making him fold. "Hurt!" A whistling uppercut slammed him backward with the sound of shattering bone. His hurtling body knocked down two of the attackers.

The last man came at Wren blade first. Too weak to dodge, she slipped the blow, turning her body and striking the man's wrist with her palm. The weapon went wide, but the man crashed into her with breath stealing force. The world grayed and the next thing she saw was the cultist kneeling over her, raising his knife to plunge it into her chest. Before he could bring it down, he was yanked into the air as Everia jerked on his wrist. Loud cracking preceded the man's yelp, then the girl drove his head into the temple wall with a mushy thud. He slid to the floor leaving a wide streak of crimson.

"Scum." Everia muttered, taking Wren's hand and lifting her up. "He didn't cut you did he?"

Dazed, Wren shook her head. She looked down and saw that remaining two cultists lay face down with their necks broken. She might look like a girl, but she had her mother's killer instinct.

Desiray leaned against the wall looking exhausted and angry. "You scared the shredded life out of me!"

"Had to risk it," Everia replied. "I could last until a priest slowed the poison. You or Wren wouldn't have. Lucky my skin is tougher than that crummy iron dagger." Everia held up her hands. Both arms were splashed to the elbow in blood. "Oh ick! I just got clean!" She ripped the hood off the nearest man and wiped her hands. In the distance, footsteps pounded toward them. "Oh, now somebody comes to help."

Wren's stomach felt queasy. "About being friends, Everia. Girl, I never want to be your enemy."

Everia looked up from wiping her hands. "Good."

Jharon, a priestess, and two guards came rushing around the corner.

The woman, the same one who had taken their clothes saw the blood and the twisted bodies and turned the color of milk. "Oh my!"