Diffraction

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Confronting the Truth

"Even if they manage to survive, can they truly claim victory? The bloodied bear may defeat a wolfpack and yet lumber off to die. So shall the fall of the Bordermarches be."

Closest to the scene, Astriana joined Josephine first. The woman staggered over, hands hanging limp by her sides.

With shock Josephine noticed the bloodstained rips in Astriana's trousers and the tattered condition of her bloodied shirt. Crimson gashes criss-crossed her exposed arms and shoulders where jagged debris from the storm pierced the Apasphura's shield. Two lines of blood ran down Astriana's left cheek.

She put a hand on Josephine's shoulder for support and stared at Lyllithe's unconscious form on the ground at her feet.

"Well that was a hell of a thing," the General finally said. She scanned the pass, and Josephine saw pain behind the elemental light in the General's eyes.

"We won, milady," Josephine offered.

"Such a waste."

Jahrin jogged up to the pair and offered a salute to Astriana. Josephine noted the flicker of confusion in his eyes as he glanced over Astriana's wounds. "You're bleeding," he said with obvious shock. "How?"

Astriana noticed Jahrin's emotion, but responded with grace. "Questions remain that must be answered, yes. For now, whatever else is going on, we owe this girl our victory. Let's get her back to—Mark me, but we don't really have a warcamp, do we?"

Jahrin knelt and scooped Lyllithe into his thick arms with ease. "We'll assess what we still have and regroup, milady. I venture to believe Bloodsworn will not return any time soon."

"I hope not," Astriana said, trudging toward the tower beside Josephine. "As much blood as I've got dripping off me, I don't want to get those scarring sons of Cora in a tizzy."

She leaned to Josephine and whispered, "Nice punch, by the way. Had a solid thump to it. But what took you so long?"

* * * * *

D'Ten scrambled across the ground, cutting his forearms with a curved dagger. "Why?" he screamed at the sky, at the trees, at any gods who might listen. "Why did you abandon me? Why did you play me for a fool?"

He tore the mantle from his shoulders and threw it in the dust. "Meaningless! I reign over a tribe of dead men!"

Where was the Visitor now, with his slick words and promises of glory?

D'Ten turned his eyes toward the pass and saw the last of his children fleeing east into the jungle. Cowards, broken and whimpering like beaten dogs.

He dragged the dagger across his chest and rubbed his hands in the blood. Tears streamed down his face and he hit his knees. "An offering," he called in a quavering voice. "From the Eldest, life came to the Newborn. To the Eldest life is given by the Bloodsworn."

How had it all come to this? He gasped in breath, wincing at the pain of the fresh wound. "I need your wisdom!"

"Oh please," the Visitor said. "Will you shut up?"

D'Ten whipped his eyes to the source of the sound.

A man perched high in the branches of a tree, clad like a mad prisoner, his dark leather suit covered with straps and restraining belts. His greasy black hair hung about his face like an overused mop. "I'm trying to think," he said.