Patchi, Jakke, and Tobiano stepped back as Jaspur rolled onto his chest, his tunic now a dark crimson. He crawled like an animal onto the shore, coughing up the water and blood that had pooled inside his lungs.
Bit by bit, he expelled death as his body slowly healed. Sweat beaded his brow and his teeth clenched against unrivaled pain as his heart slowly mended itself inside his chest. He couldn’t see the miracle unfolding beneath his ribs. Muscle reached out to muscle, rejoining what was broken. Soon, a still heart began to sputter, then beat.
All the while, magic bright as moonlight roiled through his veins. It scorched like molten rock, burning away all that was tainted within Jaspur Clovenhoof. The rogue’s chilling screams filled the night, loud and unrelenting as he clawed against the scars that marred his skin.
“What is happening to him?” Deley whispered as Tobiano joined her side.
“Unicorn blood is pure. Any darkness or corruption it touches, burns,” he whispered back.
“Is he dying?” Deley fought the urge to tear her eyes away as Jaspur crawled across the ground, writhing in pain. His entire form glowed with magic as his chest heaved and convulsed.
Tobiano shook his head. “Death has already tried to claim him. It failed. What happens next is up to him.”
Tears blurred Jaspur’s vision. He begged for death in the old tongue, but such peace was far from him. To survive, he had to be refined. Every ounce of hate; every shred of guilt; it all rattled inside of him in attempt to escape the fire. Jaspur felt it all surface, pressing like a cornered animal until he thought for certain it would tear him apart.
He couldn't withstand this. No one could withstand this. The rogue sweated profusely as he rocked back and forth on his knees, his nails digging into his shoulders as he fought against the demand of his darker nature.
Then a voice spoke to him, saying a name that felt familiar for the first time in ages.
“Jaycent.”
Jaspur squinted up to find Rayhan’s specter standing over him.
“You swore to me an oath,” he reminded.
Was it real or a hallucination? Did it even matter? Jaspur panted furiously, fighting the agony that gnawed at him from the inside. Even within this terrible haze, he remembered that promise. Rayhan had asked if his sacrifice had been worthwhile, and Jaspur swore that he would make it so. The rogue snarled against the pain as a fight for a new purpose grew within him, filling in the empty spaces once occupied by the need for vengeance.
He straightened, clinging to that feeling until it evolved into belief. Rayhan's death would not be in vain. Jaspur Clovenhoof was still alive to see that promise through. Inch by hard-earned inch, he rose to his feet, roaring against his turmoil as he acknowledged the truth of his being.
“I am Jaspur Clovenhoof,” he whispered. “I was chosen by Lumiere. I was chosen by the goddess Tennakawa. I have an oath to keep.”
He muttered those words again, reminding himself of his purpose. “I am Jaspur Clovenhoof, wielder of Lumiere, chosen by the goddess, and I have an oath to keep.”
The re'shahna whooped and shouted to the sky as the rogue shed his tattered cloak. Leaning over, he picked up his dagger. “My name is Jaspur Clovenhoof,” he announced through sweat-drenched lips. “Wielder of Lumiere, chosen by the goddess, Tennakawa, and I have an oath to keep!”
Bright, silver-blue magic flared inside his chest, throwing him back to his knees. Its light consumed his vision as he felt a wave of magic overtake him. Except this time, he didn’t have to fight it. He didn’t even want to, for this time the magic was a part of him.
Strange, new thoughts and emotions came with it. It took some feeling, but he realized what it was... tranquility? Yes. A calm spread over him, even as his body changed. He could feel the movement of his joints. His bones snapped and shifted, grew and twisted. His skin rippled, a new fur coat sprouting from its surface. He shuttered and let loose a sigh that came out as a loud snort.
Whispers rose up around him as the light of his magic faded. He blinked several times as his vision started to take shape once more. Jaspur felt Diego before he saw him, the stallion’s nose brushing his neck.
They stood eye-to-eye, eighteen hands each. Jaspur shook his head, noting the strands of long brown hair fluttering on either side. Diego reached out his nose toward the rogue’s face. It clicked then. The moment his companion touched the soft whiskers on his muzzle, he knew what had happened.
Jaspur bucked, then turned, a bewildered grunt rumbling from deep within his throat. He met his reflection in the water, but it was not the face of a prince or a rogue. A large buckskin stallion stared back at him, a mahogany horn similar to the spiraled lance Diego once bore sprouted from beneath a long forelock. Jaspur turned his head and the stallion in the water did the same. It was real, then. The buckskin stallion was him.
His coat held a faint, dappled pattern. When he studied his reflection a little closer, he began to notice details that felt remarkably familiar. His knees bore thin, pale scars not so different from the ones that had marked his arms. His mane and tail matched his dark brown hair, even down to the peppered strays of gray. Then there were his eyes, pale as ice. Those had always been his.
Two more stallions joined him on either side: one a paint, the other a pinto, and both of an elemental breed. Their green and brown gazes gave them away. Tobiano and Patchi nudged him away from the water. Jaspur bulked his haunches and turned. He started forward, then stopped, spooked by his own strength.
His legs were remarkable! He started again, launching forward with his back hooves straight into a gallop. Re’shahna stumbled out of the way, shouting and whooping after him as he skidded onto the rocky outcrop. Diego, Tobiano, and Patchi followed, giving Jaspur enough distance to explore his newfound self.
The rogue inhaled the succulent mountain air, his ears twitching at the sound of his heavy hooves clopping against the stone. He looked down at the thick, brown feathering that grew just below his knees and over his fetlocks. He was beautiful. Though not a lithe creature like Tobiano and Patchi, he had a certain look about him. What was the word?
Ah, yes. Regal! A grunt he recognized as Diego’s drew Jaspur’s attention over his withers. On the other side of the pond, the black stallion nodded toward the mountain trail. Diego’s thoughts came into his own in a deep voice he had sorely missed.
Shall we run, brother?
Jaspur barreled through Tobiano and Patchi, earning him a few scolding whinnies. Diego turned and led the charge, cantering around the pond and onto sloping ground. Up they climbed, the black stallion leading. Jaspur stretched his legs, gaining with every stride. He was built like a Gypsy Vanner: mighty, yet remarkably majestic. Jaspur paced his stallion, recalling how Diego had been named the fastest steed in all the north.
Was that still true?
Jaspur picked up the pace in attempt to surpass his mount. Tobiano and Patchi fanned out, giving the pair some room. Diego caught the rogue gaining on his right side. Flicking his ears back, he gave an amused snort. Jaspur lengthened his neck, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes as he made headway. The black stallion cut right. The rogue’s eyes doubled in side. Hooves sank into dirt as he tried to keep himself from crashing into Diego’s haunches.
Meanwhile, Diego kept going, a proud whinny lifted to the night. With a defiant shake of his head, Jaspur leapt back into a gallop, determined to catch up. They galloped on for half a mile, challenging one another as they exchanged the lead with exhilarating jumps, weaving paths, and difficult climbs. Jaspur thought he had Diego beat. They ran neck and neck, and he could tell the black steed was growing tired.
They shared a glance.
You could always give up, there was a smile in Jaspur’s voice. I won’t tell a soul.
Diego responded with a burst of adrenaline. Lengthening his stride, he sped ahead of Jaspur. The rogue put his head down, pouring all he had into his hooves, but as they broke out of the trees into an open valley, it was clear that Diego was quicke
r.
Jaspur slowed, giving the old stallion his victory. Alright, I’ll let you have this one.
Let me? Diego remarked. He slowed and circled the panting rogue, his ears twitching. Horn or no horn, you are still a yearling, rogue.
Aye, and what is the old saying? The spirit of youth is swift?
Diego tossed his head in amusement. Funny, horse-child. Then, with ears pricked, he added, I always knew we were cut from the same breed.
Jaspur trotted over and rested his head across Diego’s neck. They stood that way until Tobiano and Patchi finally joined them. Patchi transitioned in mid-trot, returning to his re’shahna form with the grace of experience. Tobiano did the same shortly after, a wide grin across his lips as he came and tousled Jaspur’s mane.
“A handsome reflection, brother!” He threw his arms around Jaspur’s thick neck, and the rogue pricked his ears in shock. “T’is good to see you alive.”
Patchi sighed. “I fear there is little time to enjoy your newfound gifts. You must learn as you go. While you were stuck beyond the Veil, Shadow has been busy stealing what does not belong to him.”
Jaspur grunted. When is he not?
He was about to ask how Patchi and Tobiano had transformed back into their other bodies when he found he already knew. Sheer will initiated the transition. It was an awkward and painful process, but nothing compared to the ceremony that gave him the ability. With a gasp, he felt the last of his joints pop into place. He shuddered, then looked down at his arms and legs, thrilled to find they were his own.
“What is our objective, Patchi?” he asked.
The chief frowned. “He has Levee.”
Jaspur’s ears flicked back. The mention of Levee’s peril stole his mirth. He was angered by the news, but not in the way he would have been before. Jaspur’s love for Levee hadn’t dwindled. As soon as the news left Patchi’s mouth, he knew he would fight for her freedom, even die if he must. However, something was missing. The unbridled fury he’d had toward Shadow had nothing to say. In fact, the hate that once triggered his aggression was entirely absent.
Jaspur understood then that something had changed within his soul. It was subtle, like the breeze that brings word of the coming fall. Yet there had definitely been a pivot inside of him that he would understand better with time.
“You cannot let me sit this one out, Patchi,” Jaspur said calmly. “If Levee’s gift falls into his control, he can get inside all of our heads. We are useless against her.”
Tobiano nodded in agreement. “The rogue speaks with reason.”
“Finally,” Patchi chuckled. Clapping Jaspur on the shoulder, he motioned back down the mountain. “Come! Let us find Levee. If anyone will be recruiting Melah into their ranks, t’will be us.”
Allies Align
Levee’s captors pulled her from the carriage under the cover of night, her bare feet scratching among the skeletons of broken fences and stones that were once homes. With the unicorn’s tail still fresh in her veins, it was hard to tell what direction she was being dragged. Levee’s surroundings had been reduced to a muted haze of shapes barely definable in the dim light of the torch Darthek carried. She stumbled down a flight of stairs, her balance held in check by the two henchmen who held her upright by her arms.
The gypsy did her best to remain aware of her surroundings, her magic holding fast to her connection with the night mare she had recruited as her ally. Fear pressed into her chest as the night mare she had given lucidity drew farther from her reach. They were taking her down beneath the earth, where the drafts were cold and the walls were dank. An old cellar or cell, perhaps?
She played along, fumbling her gait here and there to convince Darthek and his cronies the dose of unicorn’s tail they’d administered was more potent than it felt. It didn’t take much on her part to make it look convincing. Her eyes were nearly useless and her balance unreliable at best. But her mind was clear, and that was something. She reached out with her magic, calling to her only ally while she still had the reach to communicate with her.
There would have been others pursuing me from the south, she said. Did you catch sight of them at all?
Gypsy horses tried to follow but fell behind, the night mare replied. They will not find this place; not in time.
Levee gritted her teeth, determined.
Find them, she ordered. I will buy what time I can.
The night mare faded from Levee’s magical reach and the gypsy closed her eyes, her shoulders going limp as she was dragged deeper into gods know what. The henchmen grumbled, their gait slowing just a bit as they dragged her unresponsive body onward.
Onward, toward a tyrant she could not defeat.
* * * * *
Jaspur stopped trying to guess how Patchi received his intel, or what made him so proficient at remaining one step ahead of everyone else. The re’shahna was the grandfather of secrets, with eyes and ears everywhere you could imagine, and even more in places you couldn’t. It was a mystery that used to irk the rogue.
Yet the Awakening had given Jaspur insight. Immortality offered a different perspective; one he realized was the “bigger picture” Tobiano had always preached about. He hadn’t understood it before. With mortality came a sense of urgency that barred him from seeing beyond the short blink of a lifetime.
Now, with Diego's wisdom entwined with his resurrected soul, Patchi's seemingly detached view of Shadow's tyranny made sense. The years Jaspur thought were wasted hiding in the mountains were a small and necessary act of patience compared to the grand scheme.
For Patchi, it was all about moving pivotal players to the right places at the right times. He watched the activity of various kingdoms like an eagle from the heavens: observing patiently before diving into the fray at just the right moment.
Levee's peril was certainly a priority, and Jaspur trusted Patchi would not let them fail her. Indeed, he seemed quite prepared for the whole excursion as if her rescue was already written into their agenda. As Jaspur, Diego, Tobiano, and Patchi made their way down the mountain, three dozen armed re’shahna stood equipped and ready to join them.
“It was almost as if you knew I would survive your voodoo,” Jaspur remarked.
Patchi glanced at the rogue through the corner of his eye, the subtle trace of a smile on his lips. “Doubts were had, but I hoped for the best.”
“Your lack of faith wounds me, chief.”
Tobiano snorted. “You do recall he stabbed you in the chest with a dagger?”
Jaspur looked down at his pectoral muscles, his fingers tracing over the shiny scar tissue just over his heart. In the agony of his transition, he had forgotten that detail.
“As if I didn’t have enough scars already,” he murmured.
Patchi accepted the small rucksack with Jaspur’s belongings inside and dropped it into the rogue’s arms. “Consider it a rite of passage, Guardian.”
“Guardian...” The rogue chewed on that title as he dressed himself in his garb of muted colors and leather armor. The strangest thing about having Diego’s wisdom was understanding how little he knew. The Awakening gave him immortality in exchange for an eternity of serving his people. It was a great cost that he would not begin to fully comprehend until he’d lived through several centuries. Jaspur would see kingdoms rise and fall; loved ones age and die; cultures change and evolve. He would learn firsthand the pain of being left behind and what it meant to be a rare constant in a world that was ever-changing.
But he wasn’t alone. Tobiano, Patchi, and Diego would be there to walk with him through it all. Jaspur found comfort in that thought.
“Your weapons, rogue.”
Jaspur looked up to find Jakke handing him Lumiere and the stag horn dagger that had become extensions of his own hands over the years. The blade had been changed on the dagger, replaced with the ebon glean of a sharpened edge made from Diego’s old horn. It felt warm to his touch, and he realized the magic that was once within it now resided in his veins, just like Lumiere.
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“There is one more thing you should know,” Patchi said. “Lumiere is made from a unicorn’s horn. It’s magic bonded with you when you became its wielder, which means it will become a part of your equine form if it is on your person when you transition.”
“Marvelous,” he whispered. The rogue sheathed both weapons in quick succession. Looking around at his accompanying party, Jaspur then flung his hood over his eyes until all they saw was the white of his confident smile. “Let us go win back Melah.”
* * * * *
The night mare Levee had enlisted galloped south, her cloven hooves retracing the route the caravan had taken to Velagray. She could hardly believe she was serving the will of a rahee, yet it was an opportunity she knew would lead her to the revenge she craved.
The night mares were shadows of the rahee’s precious unicorns. They were carnivorous creatures born within the darkness of the underground world and often labeled as demons by surface dwellers.
But Kalitska was not a demon. Levee had seen that when she freed the mare from her madness. The night mare was a powerful predator made to thrive in a different realm that was still very much a mystery to those who lived topside.
Levee, who so many called Melah, had given Kalitska back her freedom. The sun still scalded her skin, and the moon still stung her eyes, but the night mare endured the pain gladly now that her mind was once again her own.
Kalitska had hunted within the bowels of the earth for nearly ten centuries before being dragged to the surface by the will of King Shadow the Illusionist. This so-called king would pay a high price for his deeds, but the night mare needed her newfound ally to help collect what was due. If this little errand was what it took, then so be it. She galloped hard until she caught sight of the horses that carried Melah’s sluggish rescue.
The Rogue Trilogy Page 74
