Duskweaver

Kai followed Besai, who held his hand, leading him down the hall. His skin felt swollen and hot. He couldn't help but wonder if this tattoo would ever stop hurting.

For the hundredth time, Kai looked down at the scabby ring of black ink on his chest; the Ouroboros dragon. It throbbed painfully, and Kai feared that it may get infected. But that notion did not worry him as much as the thought of where he might be going next. Was it going to be more torture? More pain? He was not sure if he could take much more stress, physically or mentally, without losing his sanity and strangling someone.

"Kocho," Besai said softly as she reached up and grabbed a lantern from the wall. Kai, feeling that he had no other choice, allowed her to pull him through a door.

The room they entered looked strangely...normal. On the left wall sat bed with a single blanket spread across it. On the left, a chair and a small crate. A tub built into the floor on the right, and a shelf filled with clear vials beside it.

Besai set the torch into a slot on the wall, leaving the door open wide. She let go of Kai's hand and glided silently over to the wooden crate, then opened it. She pulled out a pair of black pants, a deep violet cloak- the colors of the Overlord- and a red shirt.

But it wasn't a vibrant red. It was more of a copper-colored burgundy, like...

Like...sanguine.

Kai stared at it, repulsed. The Overlord wanted him to wear that? Red and purple dye was expensive, too. Why would one dress a slave in it?

Besai set the clothing on the cot, then dug back into the crate for a pair of black boots. Crisp and polished, Kai could almost see his reflection in them. "I don't want these," he said sullenly. "Where are my old clothes?"

Besai did not answer. Her frightened expression warned him that he had sounded too harsh.

This was going to be hard...

Kai sighed, then held out his hand. "Fine," he said in a slightly softer tone. "Give me the boots."

Keeping Kai at arm's length, she reached out and offered him the boots. She seemed to understand hand gestures, so he would have to work with that until he taught her to speak his language.

Or until he learned hers.

Besai backed out of the room, shutting it behind her.

Where is she going? Kai wondered. He looked back at the clothing on the bed, then at the boots in his hands. He grimaced. The clothes were clean, but that was not why he hesitated.

His problem was, plain and simply, that agreeing to put on these clothes would symbolize submission: that he belonged, fully and completely, to the Overlord.

But he was cold, and it did not feel right to sit around half naked, especially with the possibility of a woman living in this room with him. So he went to the cot and slipped the shirt over his head, then worked at the knot securing his loincloth. He quickly switched it out for his pants, then put on the boots. He picked up the heavy cloak and threw it over his shoulders.

He had to admit, the outfit was comfortable. His only complaint was that the fabric rubbed his sensitive tattooed skin, making him worry that the scabs might be breaking open.

Why was he accepting this new, horrible life so easily? What was so hard about keeping his will invariable? What had those two water tortures done to his mind?

His sudden apathy disturbed him.

The door opened, and Besai stepped in. She held two cups and two bowls on a tray, one set half the size of the other.

"Thank you," Kai said as she set it on the chair.

Besai did not answer. Instead, she picked up her bowl- small enough to fit in her cupped palm- and the glass of water. She went to the darkest corner, opposite the torch, and sat on her knees. She began to eat her meager meal.

Kai looked down at his tray, feeling guilty about his own portion size. What this woman was eating could hardly have been enough to sate a child, let alone a grown woman. It was no wonder that she was so spindly: she'd probably been months- years, even- without a decent meal.

It wasn't just her body that made Kai sympathize with her. It was her eyes. Perpetually downcast and distant, they foretold of more loneliness and grief than Kai could even begin to fathom.

"Besai," Kai said.

Besai's head shot up instantly.

"Come here," he beckoned her forward with a hand.

She stood immediately and scurried to his side.

Kai patted the seat. "Sit," he said.

Besai looked confused, but obeyed without uttering a word. She watched him timidly, waiting for his next command.

"Eat," Kai said. He lifted his spoon to his mouth, then swallowed- the texture was so soft that no chewing was required. He shuddered, then forced a smile.

Besai took his spoon from his hands and scooped it into his food. She tried to feed him.

"No," Kai said, forcing himself to keep his temper cool: Though he wanted to be kind to the woman, he had difficulty remaining tolerant when he had to repeat himself. "You eat, okay?" He set the spoon back in his bowl, then grabbed her hand- cold, trembling- and guided it back to her spoon. "I'll eat mine, you'll eat yours." To expound on this chain of sounds that made no sense to the slave, he picked up his spoon and ate another bite.

Although Kai had trouble keeping every mouthful from coming back up, Besai seemed unaffected. She was probably used to terrible meals like this.

He found himself staring at the stone wall vacantly as he ate. I wonder where Nya is, he thought. I hope she's healing okay. The way that Cole hurt her...all that blood...

Am I going to become like that, too? The thought was disturbing, to say the least. What if the Overlord asked him to pillage a small town in the North, or kidnap a family from the Middle?

Or worse yet, what if Overlord asked him to hurt the King's family?

...Or Nya? His own family?

His hand clenched tightly around the handle of his spoon. No. He would never hurt his family. Not his father, not his mother, and certainly not his dear sister. He would kill himself before ever allowing the thought to cross his mind again.

Besai shifted in her seat, and Kai blinked himself out of his grim thoughts. She had finished eating and was waiting patiently for an order from her master.

Master? No. That did not sound right.

...Friend?

Companion. That's the word.

Kai looked at his half-eaten bowl and tried to swallow a slimy chunk of something stuck in his throat. "Here," he said, giving her the bowl. "I lost my appetite."

Besai grabbed the bowl and stood. She turned to leave the room.

"Hold on," Kai said, leaping to his feet. "That food's for you. Don't-"

Too fast. The walls spun in crazy dives and loops, causing him to trip and fall to his knees with a weak grunt.

Besai immediately knelt beside him and set down the dishes. She helped him to his feet, then got him onto the bed. Her strength surprised him.

Dizzily, Kai gave her a smile. "Thanks," he said. "I appreciate it." He pointed at his half-eaten bowl on the floor, signaling for Besai to give it back to him.

Besai did so, then sat on the bed next to him after he patted the mattress.

"Here." Kai set the bowl in her fingers, then lifted the spoon to her lips. "You need to eat."

Besai finally seemed to understand. She frowned, scrunching up her little button nose, but ate.

Kai rubbed the sore skin above his left breast again. I hope that the pain will go away eventually, he thought. He turned his head and watched Besai as she finished eating his bowl, then set it aside. She looked up at him, then at the bed that they sat in, with fearful eyes. She seemed to be waiting for something to happen.

Kai reached behind him and grabbed the blanket. He draped it over Besai's shoulders. "Don't worry," he said as he stroked her cheek with a gentle finger. "You're safe. Don't be afraid, you can trust me."

Besai watched his hand curiously as it fell back onto his lap. She held the blanket close, gripping it with both hands as if it were a special treasure. Then, she smiled.

Kai felt his heart beat a little faster when he saw that smile. It was timid and fleeting, but very real. And very cute. "Good girl," he said, offering up a smile of his own.

They were both lost afraid. But together, Kai knew that they could make it through anything.

Nya sat in the sand with her eyes closed, taking deep breaths as she worked to clear her mind. Wu said that meditation would encourage her wound to heal faster. While she had initially dismissed his suggestion as one of a madman, she was starting to believe otherwise.

Just an hour a day. That was all it took, but it was enough. More than enough, actually. It had only been a day and a half, but the painful throb had already been reduced to an ignorable twinge. All that time on her mech had not been very restful. If anything, it had only made the throbbing worse. But sitting around Wu's hut and never straining herself was working better than any medicine.

Thoughts of John Keith drifted through her head. Where was he? Why was he hiding?

But much more importantly, where was Kai? Was he all right? What if the men couldn't get the blades in time? What if the Overlord succeeded and had already killed-

No. Don't think about that. Deep breaths. Relaxed muscles. Meditation was about clearing the mind, not cluttering it with paranoia.

"Get up, Nya." The demanding voice of Ninjago's eldest Prince rang loud in her ears.

With a growl, Nya opened her eyes and turned to face him. "What do you want?" she asked, annoyed. "Surely it hasn't been an hour already."

Wu leaned on his staff with a smile. "No, it hasn't. But it's time to go."

"Go?" Nya repeated, rising to her feet. The cut in her abdomen hurt, but she didn't dwell on it. "Where?"

Wu handed her a backpack. "Here's your boots," he said. "We are going to rescue your brother. We should have left yesterday. You are well enough to go now, so come." He turned in the direction of the river and started walking.

Nya threw the pack- fairly light, probably filled with food- over her shoulder with a grunt and wrestled with her brown leather boots. After brushing the sand from her black leggings and straightening her tunic, she dashed into the woods after the strangely fast old man.

Heat waves rose in waves from the greenish-blue waters of the small lake. Women in thin grey dresses walked along the sandy shore, bearing large baskets of laundry. A few small toddlers followed the heels of their mothers, unusually reticent.

Zane went into a low crouch behind a pile of boulders several hundred feet from the shore. "So what's the plan?" he asked.

Cole, eyes poking between the boulders, was whispering something in that guttural language under his breath. After a moment, his eyes glinted with satisfaction, and he lowered himself to the ground beside his companions. "I see Varasach," he whispered, looking relieved.

"Who?" Lloyd asked. His face was sweaty; the heat, coupled with the black shirt he was borrowing from Cole, made him visibly uncomfortable.

"Varasach," Cole repeated himself. "She's my...slave. The one with the red hair over there. Short, flat-chested."

Zane peered around the boulder, then frowned. "You mean the one that's helping the blonde girl with the limping toddler?" he asked.

Cole nodded. "Yeah. Her."

Zane frowned. "But...she looks like she couldn't be older than fifteen!"

"She's eighteen, actually," Cole corrected him with a slight, humorless chuckle. "And she's one of the older ones."

Jay looked pale. "Why?" he whispered, horrified.

"Overlord needs to grow his army," Cole explained, countenance growing dark. "In his eyes, all those who can reproduce must. Once the boys turn ten, they are Transformed. Once the girls turn twelve, they are used to procreate more men for the war." He hesitated. "Though, she's never been able to have her own children...'

Lloyd's jaw dropped open. He seemed incapable of coming up with a response.

Cole quickly changed the subject. "We need to get her out of there," he said. "She can help us."

"How?" Jay asked doubtfully. "How do we get her out?"

Cole took a deep breath. "Like this." He stood up. "Stay put." He strode out of their hiding place with a confident stride that Zane was sure was a forced show.

Lloyd shook himself. "What is he doing?" he asked.

Zane lifted a finger to his lips, signaling for them to be quiet and watch.

The small redheaded girl- Varasach- turned and saw him. She gasped, then threw her arms around him, appearing confused, but overjoyed. Cole returned her embrace.

Everyone on the beach stood still, staring at Cole with what Zane could only assume was a mixture of awe and fear. Evidently, the Dark Knight was well known in these parts.

Cole released the girl and said something to her that Zane could not hear. She nodded, and he touched her cheek before turning to scan the other slaves with a scowl. He barked a few harsh lines in the Dark Tongue. Everyone fled silently, leaving their laundry in the sand, scooping up children to slow to keep up.

After the women and children had disappeared, Cole guided his slave girl back to the rock the others still hid behind.

Jay was the first to react. He rushed out to meet them. "Was there no better way to do that?" he asked. "You scared the other-"

Cole shot Jay a withering glare, and the blue-eyed man fell silent.

"So," Zane ventured, examining the girl. She stared back at him with wide green eyes. "This is...Varasach."

The girl looked at Cole. He nodded to her, and she let go of Cole's hand, bowing at the waist to the three men. "Hello," she greeted them as she straightened, her accent thick and strange.

"Hey," Lloyd said, unusually quiet as he eyed her. He lingered on her eyes for a long while, seeming to want to ask her something. But he didn't.

Zane thought for a moment that Lloyd and Varasach looked alike. But he quickly dismissed the idea. It's just the eyes, he told himself. How odd. Green-eyed children not of the King's bloodline are a rarity. And out here in the West, of all places...

"Hello, Varasach," Jay said, surprising them all by pronouncing the strange, back-of-the-throat ch sound correctly. He smiled at the young woman. She looked away, then back up at him with a small smile, apparently grateful for an excuse to look away from Lloyd, who still stared silently.

Cole touched a red welt on Varasach neck, and he grew stiff. "What is this?" he whispered, frowning. "Vara, did someone hurt you?"

Varasach recoiled at his touch. "Kozu," she said. "You did not-" she struggled to find the word- "return. Overlord was angry, told Kozu to...punish me."

Cole scowled. "That bastard," he growled, eyes dark with hatred. "I'll make him pay for touching you. I'll kill them both."

A realization hit Zane, and he blinked. Red hair, green eyes...

"Cole," he said after a moment. "She looks like your description of Viola."

Cole glared up at him. "I know," he said. "Overlord replaced my old slave with Varasach the day after Via's death."

"Cole," Varasach said. "What ees happen?"

"What's happening?" Cole articulated. "We're leaving. That's what's happening."

Varasach's eyes widened further, and she looked over her shoulder, beyond the lake. "We must get Hagar," she said. "Cole, you missed Hagar's bir-"

"We'll get her," Cole said hastily, cutting her off. "Don't worry. We've just got to do something first."

"Which leads us to an important question," Jay interjected. "Where are the blades? We're where the map wanted us. Now what? Do we swim to the bottom of the ocean, hoping to catch a glint of rusted metal?"

"They wouldn't be at the bottom of the lake," Cole said, voice lace with scorn. "They would be in a cave near the water."

Jay snorted, throwing his arms out wide. "But everything around here is flat," he said. "We aren't going to find a conveniently hollowed-out hill around here."

Cole closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "There's a cave," he said. "I know there is. I can sense it."

"How does that work?" Lloyd asked.

Cole shrugged. "It just does. It's some kind of intuition, I guess."

"Which way do we go?" Zane asked.

"How about straight down?" Cole answered. "Don't look at me like that. There's a conspicuous pile of dirt and rocks sitting out here in an area otherwise populated by fine sand. Of course it's hiding something." He ran a hand over the rocks one by one. "Limestone," he said, "made from the shells and bones of dead sea animals, such as coral. It is a soft material, easy enough to mine. Probably taken from the mountains." He wrapped his arms around a large rock and tossed it aside like worthless brick, revealing more stones underneath.

"You see this?" He asked, running his fingers along the jagged edges of the rock. "This one was sheltered from the wind and rain, so there's less erosion. You can see where the miner hacked into this with a..." He frowned. "The cut's too clean for a pickaxe. Huh. In any case, you can see that these rocks were obviously planted here to hide something."

Lloyd nodded, impressed. "What was the miner hiding?" he asked.

Cole dropped to his knees, then pressed his ear to the sand. "Stomp on the ground," he ordered.

Zane slammed the heel of his boot into the sand twice. Cole looked satisfied as he sat upright and shook the sand from his hair. "There's a large cavern beneath us," he said as he stood.

"How could you even hear that?" Zane asked. "The sand should have made it hard to discern what was beneath us."

Cole shook his head. "Another part of the intuition, I guess," he said. "Stand back. I'm going to move these rocks."

"We'll help," Lloyd said, reaching for a small rock. He struggled to lift it.

Cole pressed both hands against a rock many times his size and, with a grunt, sent it rolling down the other side of the pile. He then picked up Lloyd's rock and tossed it over his shoulder with one hand. "Stand back, kid," he said.

Lloyd backed up with a resigned sigh and crossed his arms. "That's the last time I'll ever try to help you," he grumbled.

"Hmm," Cole grunted again as he hefted a boulder into his arms and threw it aside. Greenish dust from the soft stone flew through the air, getting picked up by the breeze. "I think I can live with that."

After a minute, Cole had cleared away most of the boulders. He turned around and dipped his sweaty head, breathless. "Granite. You see that?" he said, gesturing to a single white rock that was half buried in the sand. "Be careful. When I move it, the sand under your feet is going to shift."

He turned around again and dug his hands into the sand. He pulled on the rock, causing it to shift. "Huh," he panted. "Granite is a lot heavier than limestone..." Again, he gripped the boulder and pulled it upwards. This time, it lifted out of sand, revealing a dark hole in the ground. Cole met Varasach's eyes and gave a tired half-cheer. He dropped the rock next to one of its limestone companions.

Just as Cole predicted, the sand began to flow into the hole. "There you go," he said. "There's a ladder. Jay and Zane, as soon as the sand stops moving, go in and get the blades."

Jay whistled. "You're pretty strong," he remarked. "What would we do without you?"

"You would be trying to drown yourselves on the bottom of that lake trying to find some rusted old blades," Cole replied. "You're welcome."

Jay fell silent.

The sand finally stopped moving. Zane peered cautiously down into the hole. "It's dark," he remarked. With a click, he turned on his night vision and descended into the darkness. Jay followed a moment later with a strange glowing orb in his hand.

The ladder was made of old, dilapidated wood. It was dry, though, which was probably why it had lasted so long without rotting.

Zane counted about thirty rungs before his feet finally hit the sandy bottom of the cave. Jay followed moments after, fingers glowing from the strange gadget he held in his hand.

"The cave splits," Jay said, pointing to the different paths in the darkness. His voice echoed back to him a moment later. "Which way do we go?"

Zane went to the path on the left and examined the wall. There were markings in that strange language that Wu had called 'kana.'

Something seemed to be drawing Zane toward that path on the left. It was like an invisible string, pulling him forward. "I'll go this way," he said. "You go right. We'll meet up back here once we find either the blades or a dead end."

Jay clicked his tongue. "Sounds like a plan," he said. "See you in a bit."

"Yeah." Zane turned away and, with a deep breath to calm himself, strode into the darkness.

There was little to no sand on the floor of the passage. The walls and floor were smooth. Zane had no clue what these facts said about the miner- or whoever had sculpted this tunnel, but it was still interesting to look at as he walked.

He wondered what the blade would look like. Would it be a majestic longsword, engraved with designs of vines, or perhaps a prophesy in a long-forgotten language? Would it be a greatsword, with the broad diamond-shaped tip, made for spearing its opponents? Or perhaps it would be a simple katana with a curved body, made for sweeping strokes that made the wielder look more like a dancer than a soldier.

An alcove in the wall above his head caught his attention. He came to an abrupt stop and stared up at it for a moment. The walls had been smooth everywhere else, so this dark spot stuck out like a sore thumb.

Or rather, it didn't stick out enough, which made it as blatantly obvious as a canyon.

The alcove was hardly twelve inches wide by six tall, hardly the size for a rapier, let alone a long blade such as Zane was anticipating. Still, he decided to check it out. After all, perfectly square shelves in smooth walls certainly weren't a natural part of the formations here. And something in that hole was drawing him to it. There was no simple way to explain it; he just felt that this little alcove should not be overlooked. So he reached up and in, then felt around for...

His hand brushed against cold metal.

Trembling with anticipation, he wrapped his fingers around the rounded shape of something- a sheath?- and pulled it out.

His heart sank as he looked at the prize of his efforts: a tiny dagger with a four-inch blade, sheathed in metal engraved with that kana script.

Zane ran his finger along the grip. The cross-guard tapered in an elegant crescent shape, curling sharply toward the blade. The pommel had a large white diamond in the center. There was no denying that this weapon was beautiful, but...

Oh, Hosts. Was this the blade? Was this the blade? The one that he was supposed to use to defeat an entire army of stone men? It was only four inches long!

Zane sighed, frustrated. He fingered the engravings on the sheath as he continued walking, footsteps echoing back and forth over the stone. Maybe this was just another relic. Maybe, if he made it to the end of the tunnel, he'd find the real weapon; the swords prophesied in the scrolls.

But then, who had said that the invincible blades were swords? The prophesy may very well have been talking about a knife.

Zane stopped walking and looked at the blade again. That diamond above the grip was beautiful. There had to have been a thousand tiny facets in it, all perfectly aligned. Who had the patience for such an arduous task?

Someone, obviously, had had the patience for it, several hundred years ago.

He reached out and touched the gem. It was cold, like the knife itself, and glassy. There were so many facets that his unaided finger could not distinguish between them. And if he looked at them just right, they glowed a slight...

The gem was glowing. It took a moment for Zane to realize it, but once he did, the thought took over his mind. The diamond twinkled like the sun over a field of frost crystals, reacting to his gentle touch.

And then the blade began to thrum. Not physically; he could not feel anything but his own cold fingers. But he somehow felt something thrumming in his mind, and he knew that this strange blade was the cause of it.

The light became incredibly intense, to the point where Zane turned off his sensitive night vision and allowed his eyes to continue watching the show unaided. What was going on?

Eventually, the thrumming ceased. The bluish glow dimmed. Everything went silent.

Master, a voice spoke in his head, making him leap with fright. What are you called?

Zane nearly dropped the blade in his surprise. Was the voice coming from it? "...Zane Julien," he replied breathlessly. "What are you?"

I am your tool, the voice explained. Zane could not tell if it were male or female. The pitch seemed like it could be either, and yet was...neither. A weapon, mostly, though my creator says that I am a good listener, too.

Zane stared at the blade, amazed. It's talking...

Yes, I am talking.

"And you can read my mind, too," Zane said. "Do you have a name?"

Do I? The blade thrummed again in his mind, seeming to think. Yes. I am...Duskweaver.

Zane unsheathed the knife and examined the narrow double blade. "You're a wonderful weapon," he said. "I just...I wish you could be a little longer. How do I destroy evil with a knife that isn't even long enough to reach the heart of my enemy?"

Longer? Duskweaver thrummed. Hold on, master.

Zane felt the grip of the knife suddenly grow wider as the shank elongated, growing to a beautiful, four-foot length. "Wow," he found himself laughing softly as he tested the balance of the weapon with a few graceful swings. "Can you shrink again?"

In response, Duskweaver morphed back into its original shape.

Zane sheathed the weapon with a smile. "I could get used to this," he said. "Let's go find Jay."