Miles grinned at Ventus. “I just helped dozens of donatus escape the very dungeons of the castle. Throw anything you want at me. I always come out on top.” He winked.
Ventus raised her blond eyebrows and faced the rest of the recruits. “Uh... Let him train with you. But keep an eye on him.” She glanced back at Miles. “You might be strong, but pride won’t protect you. It puts a chink in the armor in the guise of iron.” Miles quickly attempted to hide the blush beneath his freckles with a smirk.
With Ventus’s help, Mythia trained her selected recruits on combining their magic with weapons. They collected bows and arrows from the armory and practiced hitting targets at the far end of the cavern. After about an hour of this, Ventus had to go practice her jousting. Mythia was left alone to show the recruits how to direct their magic through the arrows to hit the center of the target every time.
A couple hours in, she noticed Ten was having trouble landing his arrow on the red dot. Mythia skipped over to him and watched his form, which wasn’t bad.
“You know that heat you feel when you pull your powers up and out?” Mythia asked. She gestured to her heart. “Push that warmth through your fingertips and feel it enter the bow, and then the arrow. Cling on to the arrow as you let it go, imaging it hitting the target. Push your magic out just as you release the arrow.”
Ten focused, his eyes narrowed. Sweat dripped down his brow as he peered through the arrow. He pulled back the string and then-
His shoulders slumped and he dropped his arms at his side, the arrow clattering pitifully to the floor.
“What was that?” Mythia asked incredulously.
“I can’t do it.” Ten said.
“Yes, you can! You just need to practice, that’s all. Don’t give up so easily.”
“No, I can’t.” He turned to look at her, a frown crossing over his face. “I don’t have magic.”
“Oh!” Mythia gasped. The image of Ten standing off to the side while the rest of the recruits practiced their gifts on the mountain top with Eldrid suddenly made sense. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”
“It’s embarrassing!” He blurted out. “Most of the Rejicio’s gifts awakened before the rest of the kingdom. It’s what defines us. We’re known for possessing an assortment of gifts, yet here I am, unable to produce anything. I’m worthless.” His whole body appeared to deflate with defeat. His huge frame suddenly seemed small. “It’s why I joined the army after finding refuge here from Draconis. Bello told me if I did, it would push my gifts to awaken. But so far, nothing.”
Mythia placed her bow on the ground and held his shoulders, forcing him to straighten up and face her. “You are not worthless, Ten. What is your birth mark? Dragon?”
“Does it matter?” He muttered under his breath. Something tugged at the back of Mythia’s memory, but she pushed it away.
“No. I suppose it doesn’t.” She smiled. “But you’re strong. Which means you could be a good shot with the bow, you just need to practice.”
Ten pulled up the corner of his mouth slightly before walking over to retrieve his fallen arrow. “Thanks, Mythia. And by the way… I was born in Draconis, I come from a long line of dragons. But I’m a unicorn.” Something else tugged at her memory, but she pushed it even farther down and flashed him a smile before wandering over to Krea, Zane, and Miles who appeared to be having a different problem all together.
Miles stood close behind Krea with his arms around her, showing her how to properly hold the bow. Zane faced his target, the skin beneath his freckles a crimson red. His brown eyes flitted back and forth between his brother and his target as though deciding which one to hit. Mythia watched quietly from behind for a moment, as Zane pulled the string back so hard his arrow sank so deeply into the target, all that was visible were the feathers.
“Perhaps a bit of focus… on your actual target.” Mythia grinned at him. Zane flushed even deeper. She walked over to Miles and Krea.
Miles quickly backed away and cleared his throat. “Ahem, um, I think you’re ready to give it a try, Krea.”
“Are you good with a bow?” Mythia asked him, raising her eyebrows.
“Zane and I have been shooting for years. We grew up in the Rejicio campsites in the eastern woods. Hunting was our main source of food.” Miles picked up his bow and shot at the very center of his target with ease. He glanced over at his brother who had just missed his own target entirely, still fuming, and raised his voice loud enough for him to hear. “Appears he’s forgotten I’ve always been the better shot.” Mythia wondered if Miles would’ve been safer in the dungeons, from the look Zane was now giving him.
“You’ll be a great asset to the group, in any case,” Ventus chimed in from behind. “Need some help?”
“Yes!” Mythia whispered with relief. She felt a weight lift off her shoulders as Ventus took over, using her incredible skill to teach the others how to shoot with their gifts most efficiently. It was amazing, how much the young girl had grown and evolved in a different environment. She still held the same kindness she always had as Mythia’s servant. But her weak, brittle demeanor had hardened into armor, and she carried herself like a true soldier.
◆◆◆
Dust blew off the thick leather cover of the giant manuscript the Doctrine held in his hands. A pile of books sat by him, as he pulled out one after the other in search of the right one. He sighed and placed this one in the pile too. His sapphire blue eyes snapped shut and he took in a deep breath, trying to open his mind to see the way to the correct manuscript. This particular gift of the phoenix was difficult for him, as his brain tended to be too full of thoughts and worry to clear it enough to see the path he needed. He pushed away his anxiety over how Titus was faring. He breathed out the fears of the fall of Terra. And finally, he momentarily let go of his intensive feelings for Mythia and any hopes he had at being with her that rekindled the night before. A faint red line appeared behind his eyelids. It was bathed in fog and difficult to see, but it was there. Full of fresh determination now, the Doctrine opened his eyes and ran down the aisle. He was closer than he could have hoped.
Waking the Beasts was a thick manuscript bound in deep purple leather. He reached up for it, quietly thanking the Spiritus that it wasn’t too high, and carefully pulled it down. The manuscript was so ancient it creaked as he opened it with shaky hands. The pages were thin and worn, the text written in the ancient language in faded gray ink. He carefully turned to page thirty-three, treating each piece of parchment with extreme care for they were as delicate as a moth’s wing and shed slightly at his touch. He lay the book gently on the floor and got down onto his hands and knees. Keeping his ears open in case of an intrusion, he read the text.
Ad intelligunt hunc locum, oportet primo scire,
uterque habere signum a bestia est bestia, et potestas,
quos donavit. Marcas de bestia haec est pars intra ipsum.
Et dices ad fabulas autem vir Bellator
natus sine marcam cum clade vires ad malum.
Autem, obstante habentem signum est, Bellator est,
non solum ut in bestia: sed omnia tres de spirituum
et somnum mane usque ad tempus maturum mortis
affert belllum. Bestia tamen habet ex sua mente sua, et epulaberis in memoriam et praecipue ea maxime significanter
exercitum suum, donec Bellator discere quomodo facta est.
Ab intus discere quam ad bestias liberate
Statim successit dicent ferarum viribus pugnare
trium coeunt. Hae vires quae pertinent ad
gradum proximum progredi: praestabilius enim Draco,
de Fenik, et de Monoceros quondam iterum. Tantum ergo
erit regnum salvus erit Pax du miter facit
Unmarked scilicet ipsorum impleatur…
His brain was spinning as he translated the text as quickly as he could in his head, determined to memorize it completely.
To understand this passage, you must first know:
each o
f us have a mark of a beast and the power the beast has gifted.
Within these marks is a piece of the beast itself.
The legends tell of a warrior, born without a mark, with powers to defeat evil.
However, despite lacking the mark, the warrior does not only have one beast within, but all three. This triad of spirits shall stay asleep until the time is ripe for war.
The beast, however, has a mind of its own and shall feast on memories;
particularly those most meaningful to its host,
until the warrior can learn how to free the beasts from within.
Once succeeded, they shall use the beasts’ own powers to fight and unite the three.
These powers are essential to the next step: to awaken the
Dragon, the Phoenix, and the Unicorn once again.
Only then will the kingdom be safe while the Unmarked
travels to Pax and continues to seal their fate…
The Doctrine lingered over the last line in confusion. He read it over and over again, making absolute sure his translation was correct. Once memorized, he placed the manuscript gently back onto its shelf, and stepped carefully sideways across the aisles. He reached the door and peeked out just as the sun was starting to lower itself into the horizon.
◆◆◆
They practiced until the sound of stomachs growling grew so loud, they could no longer ignore them. The five of them trudged over to the dining cavern, their arms heavy and aching. Ten had better luck using his strength with Ventus as his instructor. Krea had trouble with focus, although Mythia couldn’t help but think if it wasn’t for Miles constantly flirting with her, she would’ve had no trouble at all. Zane was unusually quiet and continued his silence while they ate.
Mythia inhaled the fish and parsnip soup, hardly even tasting it, as Miles recounted his journey from being captured in the woods by a group of bounty hunters, to getting thrown into jail, escaping, and making his way back to Rejicio City. Apparently, they had taken so long to arrive because they were sidetracked by multiple groups of bounty hunters who had a taste for human meat. They fought back easily, but in order to throw them off their track, they had to go a complicated way around the woods before they could head their way up north. “I led them all myself,” Miles said proudly, his mouth full of soup. Krea’s blue eyes sparkled as she watched him, her food hardly touched. “Kept the rest of the people safe. Most of the donatus are here- Bello was sorting out living spaces for them when I left to find you, brother of mine.” He eyed up Zane who sat solemnly across from him, picking at his bread bowl and putting tiny pieces of it into his mouth.
“Thank you,” Mythia said. “For helping them to safety. I would have done the same if I could.”
“Well, you’re welcome, your highness,” he said under his breath. Mythia smiled, picked up her bowl, and dumped the rest of the soup into her mouth.
It was a shock to see the dark sky from the mountain opening when they left the dining cavern. Never being able to see the sun or moon was disorienting, and time had slipped past them much faster than they had realized. Their limbs aching and bellies full, fatigue washed over them like a warm bath. Mythia stifled a yawn as they reached their training house, wanting nothing more than to collapse in the hay stuffed bed. But what blocked the front of their door put an instant stop to her plans. Bello stood with her arms crossed over her chest, gray eyes locked in on Mythia.
“We train outside tonight,” she announced as soon as Mythia was in earshot. The other recruits eyed her carefully. Now that they all knew who she really was, the private training sessions with Bello would make more sense to them. Mythia grudgingly nodded goodbye to them. She quickly exchanged glances with Ventus before following Bello out into the crisp night air.
They stepped onto the rocky path just as the sound of shuffling footsteps, a whoosh, and an echoing crack blinded Mythia with searing pain in the back of her head. She collapsed in a swirling, aching darkness.
14. THE BOUNTY HUNTERS
Somewhere in her black consciousness Mythia could feel her body dragging along the jagged, rocky ground. She could sense her arms tied up tightly, raised high above her aching head. She drifted in and out of awareness between the sound of labored breathing and the dead silence as she succumbed to the darkness.
Something was different the next time she pulled herself out of unconsciousness. Her eyes were still too heavy to open, but she could sense a change in her surroundings. A soft pink light infiltrated her eyelids, lined with streaks of shadow, and the ground beneath her was no longer jagged and hard; it had been replaced by something soft and springy. The sound and scent of a smoky fire filled her ears and nose, the warmth touching her right side. Her arms were tingling from lack of blood, her wrists tied together and hanging over her head. She pulled slightly with her arms, but they would not budge. She took a deep, shuddering breath and willed her eyes to open.
Pink and yellow hues streaked the light blue sky between branches of pine. The pale light burned her eyes and made them water, so she glanced quickly away from the sky and to her right, toward a small, crackling fire. She could just make out a pair of leather shoes sticking up from the opposite side. Whoever they belonged to remained perfectly still. Footsteps crunched suddenly in the fallen pine needles. Mythia shut her eyes and slowed down her breathing, pretending to be sleeping again. A shuffling told her that someone was sitting down. There was a plop and a sizzle, as the scent of roasting herbs slowly filled the air.
“Smells good,” a gravely female voice croaked.
“Aye,” a deep male voice answered back. More sizzling. More silence. Mythia tugged carefully, slowly onto the rope that bound her wrists, not wanting to draw attention to herself. She realized with a terrified jolt that her fingers had been intertwined tightly with rope as well, and as long as her palms were facing each other, she could not properly use her magic. Cursing in her mind, she gave up with the rope for the moment, and focused instead on trying to figure out where she was and with whom. She lifted her eyelids just enough to peek through her eyelashes.
A man and a woman sat around the fire. Both were astoundingly sloppy in appearance. The female had a tangle of curly white hair, a plump figure in a torn dress and apron, and peculiarly long fingernails. The male was bald with a long, thick beard bearing tints of red within the gray and white. He stuck his hand into the large iron pot and flipped over the herbs frying inside. Mythia shut her eyes just as the woman turned to face her.
“What are we gonna do with her?” She asked tensely. A shuffling sound from behind Mythia nearly made her jump. There was a third person in their group.
“Eh, send her back. She’s useless to you.” This new voice formed goosebumps all over Mythia’s body. She recognized his voice immediately, but she dared to refuse it was him.
“Who is she anyway? Didn’t you know her, Zane?” the man asked. Mythia willed herself to not turn around and face him; to stay still and silent, even though all she wanted to do was scream.
“Yeah, she’s one of the recruits. She’s nobody.”
“If they're not donatus, they're dinner,” the woman said, chuckling darkly. The scent of cooking herbs grew stronger.
“I can't imagine they would taste very good... Too thin.” Zane answered. His voice was light and casual. It scared Mythia had to clenched her jaw not to yell out. The sound of metal scraping metal met her ears, as though someone was sharpening a knife. She quietly tilted her head toward the place where Zane’s voice had emerged and fluttered open her eyes very slightly. She could just make out his body and red hair. His hands had been tied in the same fashion as hers, held high above his head with the rope wrapped around the pine tree he was leaning against. His eyes locked in on hers suddenly as though he could sense her watching him. He shook his head ever so slowly, telling her without words don’t try anything.
“Looks like she’s stirring,” the man grunted. Mythia stayed as still as she could, but the sound of shuffling was going away
from her, not toward her. She heard a thump followed by a moan of pain. She peeked her eyes open again.
The pair of leather shoes belonged to Bello, who was now pulling herself up with the rope that tied her arms to the tree. She looked around blearily, confused. Her eyes unfocused. Dried blood was matted in her hair. Mythia felt a pang of guilt as she watched the leader of the Rejicio in such a compromising position. She let the warmth flow through her, thinking desperately on how Eldrid had used his gifts without physically directing them. The warmth spread to her palms, but the more she pushed her magic out the more heat collected there until it felt like her hands were burning. She immediately stopped the flow.
“What’s going on here?” Bello asked, trying desperately to fill her shaky voice with strength.
“You tell us," the woman answered with a sneer. "Will you be our next golden coin? Or dinner?"
Bello frowned at them, then glanced over at Zane and Mythia. “How in Terra did we end up with a couple of idiotic bounty hunters?”
The man pulled his leg back and kicked Bello in the side. She doubled over, gasping. “It's you's who're tied up, not us. Who's the idiot now, huh?” He spit down at her face.
Mythia could not take it anymore. She pulled herself up as high as she could, feeling her arms ache from the pull of the rope. “Stop it.” Her voice sounded far braver than she felt.
The man turned quickly around. “Ah. Another high and mighty citizen who thinks she's better than us.”
Mythia looked back and forth between the two strangers and Bello. “Not eating humans or sending innocent people to an unrighteous death does make me better than you.”
Mythia: and the Awakened Beast Page 18
