by Katie Macey
"I want my pink hair back."
Jomen’s hand rested on the crown of her head. But when it dropped, hitting her shoulder before landed back on the bed, she looked up.
"Jomen?" she lifted damp eyes, anxiously looking him over. He frowned at his hand but forced a quick smile.
Iilen blustered into the room.
"This is the coolest thing ever!” said Iilen. “Like, we've seen a whole lot of strange stuff, but nothing like a full-blown transformation!" He sat on the end of Jomen's bed with bright eyes and said, “We should ask the priestesses here, like, if there's something written about you!"
"What do you mean?" said Niamh. She felt glued to her chair.
"Well, you're obviously something special,” said Iilen. “Not the heir by the looks of you, too many blue tattoo things...and your hair…but hey, have your eyes changed too?"
"Not much is the same I’m afraid,” said Niamh.
"Well, you look awesome. Can you still fly?"
Niamh nodded. She'd completely transformed.
"Can’t I just go home?” said Niamh. “I want my sisters, and I-" her thoughts snagged on Aunty. Had she known?
"You've always been special,” said Jomen. “Look at how you got us through our troubles, and how you flew out of Asturg."
"I'm not in love with you as well or anything," Iilen interjected glancing sideways, "but it’s true, Niamh. We’d given up on the old arts, but you didn't. You've been special from the beginning, but now you've got super cool hair."
"And very fancy clothes," said Jomen, with a chuckle.
"But look."
Niamh rose, lifting her voluminous skirts with her. Ignoring the confusion at the transformation of her clothes, and even the clear glow of her skin, she lifted a glass of water beside Jomen's bed.
He lay still, and she could tell he was putting on a brave front to cheer her up. Tipping a little of the water into her cupped hand, she glanced at Iilen and Jomen to make sure they were watching.
"I washed my hands before,” said Niamh, “because I was worried about Jomen and I thought, we can’t be too careful, we want you to get better as soon as possible..."
"And..." Iilen rolled his wrists.
"Anyway, see?" Niamh dribbled the water through her fingers.
"Uh, we can all tip water on the carpet, Niamh," said Iilen.
"Wait."
This was all so new. Her hands were wet now, just as before. She lifted one finger, glistening with the droplets of water, and touched the surface of the empty chair.
On contact, the water droplet left her finger and unfurled into a tiny pink rosebud. It fell to the floor, and as Niamh picked it up, tiny flowers cascaded down to the floor.
"And when I walk..."
Lifting her skirts, she did a quick circle in the room. Spinning to face them, she saw their shocked faces. She was shocked herself.
"You leave a trail of flowers?" said Jomen, his voice rasping and weak.
"Caeednce! Come and check this out!" Iilen leaned out the doorway and hollered for their friend. “Niamh is making flowers – and they’re everywhere!”
But instead of Caeednce, it was Aarin who appeared at the door.
"What's wrong?" Niamh asked.
“More guards approach from the north. And we’re surrounded.”
Aarin caught his breath, and Caeednce appeared behind him shaking noticeably.
"Veayre will alert her father," Aarin spoke directly to Niamh. She nodded, then slowly realised that they were all looking at her.
"What?” she said. “What am I supposed to do?"
"Well..." Caeednce stammered, moving her hands but struggling to find the words.
"Well, what?” said Niamh. “I've looked like this for fifteen minutes and you all think I should know what to do? I barely knew anything about a Golden Fate until just now!” She was yelling by the end, and she hated how kind they were being. Caeednce finally found her voice and changed the subject slightly.
"I knew there wasn't an heir,” said Caeednce, “because my mother was a midwife in the palace, Niamh.”
Niamh's mouth hung open. Caeednce’s eyes flicked between them, and she explained, "The baby, the little prince, was taken by the Silver Fates, but their plan failed. The baby didn’t survive.”
"But-"
“You don't understand the significance, Niamh, and it’s not your fault. Most Gutheacian’s are taught little about it. The Golden Fate hasn't been seen for a thousand years. But your return, your transformation, is here because Gutheacia is under threat.”
"And that's what the stories say?” said Niamh, “That the Golden Fate will save us?"
"Well, the Fates, like all three, they work together I think." Iilen offered, face contrite.
"No matter what we do, you're in danger here Niamh,” said Caeednce. “I am shocked at Veayre, but the truth remains: they were after the heir. With your identity as that disproved, you would’ve been left alone. But as the Golden Fate? They won’t leave you alone. Not for anything.”
A groan from the bed caused Niamh's stomach to drop.
"But we can't leave,” she said, looking at Jomen. “Not yet."
Jomen tried to speak, but his face had turned white. He pressed his lips together. Niamh couldn't guess how much pain he was in. She knelt at his bedside, clasping her hands around one of his.
"We have to stay together, like we always have,” she said to the others who hung back.
"But it wasn't always Niamh, it's only been a few weeks." Aarin spoke so sensibly Niamh wanted to thump him.
She searched Jomen's face, but his eyes were shut.
"But he was getting better!” said Niamh. “He was speaking to us, quite normally, only a little while ago!"
"You always seem to know so little, Niamh,” said Aarin softly.
✽✽✽
Even as a Golden Fate, Niamh knew she had lines carved into her face where she'd fallen asleep next to Jomen. He slept on, but the night passed and in the morning Caeednce dragged her downstairs and forced her to eat.
A bowl and spoon were placed in front of her. But the words of the youngest priestess played on a never-ending loop in her mind, ‘he doesn't have long, your grace.’
"I don’t want to eat."
"We need to get you away from here,” said Aarin. “I know I wanted to go home, but things have gotten, well bigger, this is beyond just us and our families now."
"But is it beyond our friends, Aarin?"
Niamh slammed the spoon down.
"Jomen is from my village Niamh,” said Aarin, taking a seat, “you think you’re the only one who cares?"
"I'm the only one who doesn't want to leave him here!"
"It's getting too dangerous Niamh! They had scouts lurking nearby all night!"
"Well, I still think-"
"Look out!"
A blast of icy wind carried whirls of snowflakes into the dining hall, and the tinkling sound of falling glass could be heard. But Niamh didn’t duck or run away. She couldn’t drag her eyes away from what was embedded in the tabletop right in front of her. Still quivering with the force of its entry, a long arrow, feathered and tagged, jutted from the deep wooden table, it's trajectory from the broken window pane.
"It's a…that's another..."
"We have to leave, Niamh. You're not just ‘you’ anymore,” said Aarin. “If they get you, who knows what will happen to the rest of us?”
Aarin grabbed her hand and led her away from the carnage, glancing behind him. At the bottom of the staircase, he pulled her towards the back exit.
"No," said Niamh, as she pulled herself free, looking up the stairs. She knew that Jomen lay there, unguarded and unprotected. She couldn’t let him stay that way.
"I don't want to leave him either,” said Aarin, “but don't you get it? Something is terribly wrong. You have to get to the Island Palace! Who knows what Veayre's father has planned?"
Niamh felt a solidness in her gut that she hadn't known was even poss
ible until now. Even in the chaos of attack, she knew her own mind, for the first time.
"So much of what I thought was true, has turned out to be a lie, Aarin. But I know, that if I abandon Jomen now, I could never become whoever it is I am meant to be."
Hair flying behind her, she flew up the stairs. Landing on the top step, she caught her breath. She'd literally flown up the stairs. Her feet hadn't trodden on one step.
"But the throne sits empty, Niamh!" Aarin called from below.
She knew this. But more importantly, she knew that whoever attacked them wouldn’t find Jomen unprotected, not while she was here.
CHAPTER 17
Aarin muttered as he barricaded the door. The other priestesses had fled hours ago. He, Iilen, and Caeednce joined Niamh and Jomen. Niamh cupped her hands around Jomen's. She saw his racing pulse flicker in his throat.
"You belong in the palace, Niamh,” said Aarin.
"I'm not sure about that bit yet."
"It's who you are, Niamh. You don't have a choice."
"Before I met you all, I followed every order without question,” said Niamh. “All my life I trusted that what I was told, was the truth. And I was wrong.” Niamh sniffed. “Maybe there’s always a choice. I want to stay here with Jomen. And when I get back, I want answers from my Aunt.” She didn't raise her voice above a loud whisper.
"That won't keep them out for long…" said Caeednce, perched on the end of Jomen's bed. Niamh sniffed again.
Aarin glanced at Jomen and deflated. Face downcast, he squeezed her shoulder lightly. Iilen hung back.
"Iilen, what can you see?" said Aarin in a flat voice.
"We're surrounded,” said Iilen, peeping out the broken window. “They stand a metre apart. They're moving their arms, like some kind of dance…Ohh…Everyone get down!"
Chandeliers swung. The walls rattled. Oplijah shook to its foundations.
"Go,” said Jomen, his voice weak, almost inaudible.
"No!” said Niamh. “We're staying with you!"
"They've lit arrows with fire,” said Iilen, “Their arms are lifted…"
"Shut up, Iilen!"
Tears streamed down Niamh's face. She grabbed Jomen’s shoulders. Everything was wrong about this.
“You were supposed to get better!"
Aarin patted the blanket near Jomen’s feet. A tear dribbled down his cheek. Iilen ignored the impending attack. He pressed his hand over his mouth. Niamh stared at Jomen and willed his chest to continue to rise and fall, rise…and fall.
Jomen let out a soft breath, and his eyes fluttered, then closed. He lay still, grey and silent.
Suddenly the room and the whole world felt wrong, like someone had rearranged every chair and tree into the wrong spot. Niamh broke down and sobbed into Aarin's shoulder.
Caeednce stood.
"We have no reason to stay now, Niamh."
Niamh lifted her head, and sniffing said, "How can you say that?"
A curl of smoke lifted its tendril through the broken window.
"Oplijah is burning,” said Iilen, to no one in particular.
All Niamh wanted was to curl into a ball and hide.
"You can do this, Niamh,” said Caeednce. “There is a small boat, my ship, hidden away. If we can make it there, we can sail to the Island Palace. You can stop this."
"But what if I can't?” said Niamh, still crying. “And what about the ice? I don't know what to do!"
"But you've found the truth, Niamh!” said Caeednce. “You were never meant to be an ordinary priestess! Weapons can only be beaten by the Golden Fate! That's you!"
"But Jomen!” Niamh clutched at her chest, tears streaming down her face.
"Jomen wanted to stand up to his father, but couldn’t,” said Aarin.
"But why now? Why do we have to be attacked now?" Niamh pushed Aarin away. Blinking, she tried to dry her tears, but she just couldn’t stop.
"You're allowed to feel things Niamh,” said Aarin.
"The walls have caught alight,” said Iilen.
Niamh stood, and carefully laid Jomen’s hand on the bed. Caeednce, Aarin, and Iilen looked to her, waiting. Niamh held out her arms and they lumped together in a group hug.
"Let's make a promise,” said Iilen. "We'll all return here when the world is right again. And we'll say goodbye, properly."
Aarin and Iilen wiped away tears of their own. Caeednce ended up being the first to draw away.
"I feel sick,” said Niamh, not knowing how to move forward.
"I think our first problem is that we're in a burning temple made of stained-glass,” said Iilen.
The stairs answered with an explosion. They edged further away from the door.
"He's already gone Niamh,” said Caeednce. “Yes, let's return and remember, but we will all die if we don't go now."
"But he's dead!" Niamh blubbered.
"How many will die with weapons returned?"
Niamh took a breath. She knew Caeednce was right. As much as she wanted to rage against the unfairness of it all, she knew she had to listen to Caeednce now. Niamh grabbed a hold of the three of them.
"Hold tight to me, understand?"
Niamh ignored their shocked and fearful faces. With her arms free, she wove her hands, swirling the air. A sense of calm washed over her. Lifting off the ground, she couldn’t believe how strong she felt.
"It's getting warm in here,” said Aarin.
"I'm going! Just trying to make sure it’s not as hectic as last time!"
Aarin tried to laugh, but it caught in his throat…then they were out!
Leaving the burning Oplijah behind, Niamh flew them out the window. They soared through the air, like the smooth but darting flight of a wood swallow.
A string of fire tipped arrows flew towards them, but Niamh spun and darted away. The wind roared around them, and they quickly escaped the arrow's range. The arrows arced towards the beach below them.
"Where is your ship?" said Niamh, her golden hair streaking behind her.
"Can’t you take us the whole way like this?" said Iilen.
“If you knew how close I was to vomiting,” said Niamh, “you wouldn’t ask!”
Niamh knew she couldn’t keep this up indefinitely. She carried them through the sky and over the cliff's edge, where the ground fell into the crashing sea. She followed the coastline north and felt a rush of relief when Caeednce finally spoke up.
"There!" said Caeednce, stretching out one arm.
Niamh couldn’t see anything that resembled a boat or even a shack, but she aimed them in that direction. Her arms began to shake.
"You can do it, Niamh!" Iilen shouted over the wind.
Niamh concentrated on controlling the angle of their descent. When she dropped gracefully to her feet on the edge of the sand, she laughed with relief. The others tumbled off her, and she felt incredibly light.
They faced the cliffs in the distance where Oplijah crackled, fully engulfed by flames. Like a lighthouse, the flames shone against the black night, illuminating the edge of the rocky cliffs, and the beginning of the icy seas.
"Where is the ship?" said Niamh, directing her question at Caeednce.
"This way!"
Caeednce led them through a crevice in the cliff. A secret path, only visible once you entered the rocky way, opened before them, leading away from the beach.
"What is this road?" said Aarin.
"Be grateful our escape came at low tide,” said Caeednce. “Aarin, you have been a good friend to me," she clamoured over a rock glistening with slick damp, "but I never spoke to you about my journey from the palace to Muspary. This is the way I came. It's only because of it, that I made it to your village at all."
"But we've had peace for so long,” said Niamh. “What was going on with your parents?"
"We've had peace yes,” said Caeednce, “but not for everyone. Lord Gleriledd has attacked those on the fringes of society for years.”
They hurried through soft sand and slipped across wet
rocks until they reached a small cliff. Niamh tried not to notice how each of her friends were careful to help her up. Jealous of their silver robes, she managed to get all of her skirts up the cliff without too much extra effort.
"There's a small inlet, across the hill," said Caeednce as she pointed away from the shore.
"Lead the way,” said Aarin.
Niamh noticed how his tone had softened. Icy air froze their noses, and tiny branches whipped them as they ran.
A shout behind them startled Niamh so much she tripped. Iilen grabbed her before she completely toppled, and they continued running arm in arm.
"The guards!"
Niamh instantly regretted wasting her breath on such an obvious statement.
"I thought they were busy,” said Iilen, “you know, burning stuff.” He risked a glance behind.
"Not all of them!"
Niamh pictured the burning temple, and the final image of Jomen laying lifeless... "No!"
Iilen looked at her, confused, but she refused to explain. She couldn’t give in to grief, not now.
The shouts sounded closer, and Niamh couldn’t believe that a courtier had the power to stretch his legion of guards this far. The High King was dead. Leaderless, the people had no one to protect them. Niamh wished she had been the heir, after all, then they would’ve been able to march right into the throne room and decree Lord Gleriledd’s actions punishable. But there wasn't an heir. Instead, she was tasked with being a returned ancient magical being.
"There!"
Caeednce crossed diagonally to the right. Yanking a thin branch from a nearby tree, she began scraping down what looked like a moss-covered boulder.
"They are almost upon us!" Niamh cried as she slowed to avoid hitting Aarin.
"Help me turn it over!"
Aarin and Caeednce heaved, and the boulder suddenly revealed itself to be a tiny rowboat, only large enough for eight people.
