The Final Strife

Guilt ran down Sylah’s cheeks and dripped onto the floor. She closed her eyes and listened as Papa Azim preached, the lilt of his voice like a lullaby, mesmerizing her young mind.

“It is our responsibility now. And our blood that will stop it. For we must fight for our lives and our liberties. In a battle, the last battle, the only battle. And we name it now, so it sears into our flesh, the moment to come, the rebellion that will destroy the Embers and the empire they stand upon. The Duster’s last stand. And it starts with you, my Stolen children, you are our last hope, you are the Final Strife.”

“The Final Strife,” the Stolen chanted. “The Final Strife. The Final Strife.”

Sylah chewed the corner of her lip until it bled. She watched the blood ooze and trickle down her lip. Then with a shaking finger she dipped her finger into the small wound. The smallest of wounds.

“The Final Strife.”

She was taller, her eyes sharper, the colors clearer. This time they didn’t hurt so much, her symptoms forgotten in the light of her memory.

She was to be the scythe against the neck of the empire. She was Papa Azim’s last hope.

I will be again.

Sylah knew what she wanted from Anoor. Pride eclipsed her need for joba seeds for the first time in six years. After all, she was the Final Strife, and she would take up the title once more.

There was a knock on the wardrobe door. Sylah wiped the blood from her mouth and smeared it on the dress.

“Oh, that looks nice.”

The girl meant it, she really did.

Sylah snorted. “You have interesting taste in clothes.”

“Thank you, I design a lot of them myself.”

“You like green.”

“I do.” She held out a steaming cup of tea.

“Are you going to drug me again?”

Anoor winced. “No, I think I may have added a bit too much verd leaf last time. It aids the withdrawal.”

“Sip from it first.” She’d played enough poison games with Loot to know the basics.

Her eyes lit up in delight. “Of course.”

It was the daintiest of sips, and it made Sylah hate her all the more. “Give it to me.” Sylah took the tea and drank it down. It was hot, but it soothed her glowing rage. “I have a price.”

“Okay, name it.”

“I’ll teach you to fight, but you have to teach me to bloodwerk.”

Anoor was shocked. “You don’t know how to bloodwerk?”

“No, you could say I lived a sheltered life. You can bloodwerk, though?”

“Of course I can bloodwerk,” Anoor answered quickly. “All Embers have the power in their blood, so it’ll be simple enough to teach you.” Her curls bobbed around her as she nodded. “So I teach you how to bloodwerk. Is that all?”

“You will do and listen to everything I say.”

“Okay…”

“You must follow my training regime.”

“Up to a point.”