Tides of Fate

by Sean J Leith

  Kayden shot her an unsettling look. “Slavery is common. It’s not illegal, and some people take advantage of that if you let them. Sorry to give you a bad view of your world, princess, but that’s reality.” Kayden dismissed her, quickly getting up. “I’m gonna get back to my spot and keep watch. Part of me thinks Mags won’t be able to concentrate much longer with that one talking his ear off.” Before she left, she turned her head to look. “I’m sorry about your brother. You’ll find him.” She walked off quickly.

  Lira found Kayden’s reaction a little odd but was happy she finally saw a kinder side of her. It was refreshing after so much of her rough-edged, intimidating side. Lira drew her hand to her chin, wondering what she meant. Kayden was short, but her personality wasn’t lacking in stature. Lira wouldn’t dare pick a fight with her. She was also knowledgeable, while Domika believed otherwise. Lira still didn’t know much about Kayden’s past, but she wished to learn more.

  She couldn’t rid her mind of the companions that surrounded her. Every time she spoke with Kayden, Domika, Vesper or even the quiet Magnus, Lira felt more and more sheltered. I couldn’t help it. What’s wrong with a quiet life? she thought defensively. Lira felt like she wanted to return to Solmarsh or Ordana, or even go to a quieter land, like the Risen Isles.

  Everyone on the team was special in some way. Kayden was quick and stealthy, Vesper was magically skilled, Domika was fierce and smart, and Magnus was strong as an ox. I’m not like any of them—I don’t know if I belong here. Lira stared upward, watching the sky begin to darken. The tree branches hung low overhead, drooping low to the ground in places. The sound of crickets echoed from around her, and the smell of boar meat filled her nostrils. It only made her hungrier. Lira glanced back to Vesper, astonished by his resilience. She knew the magical arts were high-maintenance, practice and study being most important, but his practice seemed excessive.

  Vesper’s eyes never lost focus. He moved the water in the pond beside them about. He raised it, lowered it, turned it into a blade, a set of small orbs, and more. He muttered the commands of various spells, but Lira couldn’t hear. For some, he didn’t say a thing.

  Lira no longer faced the fire but faced Vesper’s display. She couldn’t help but stare.

  His hands moved gracefully, coddling balls of flame, swiping his hand with a blade of ice, and pressing the earth gently beneath him. As Lira watched quietly, Vesper moved with more and more ferocity. He almost seemed to be in a trance, as if nothing could stop him. The flames grew, he lifted water in greater quantities, and he seemed to beckon the earth effortlessly.

  Lira shuffled a little closer, entranced by his show.

  Vesper didn’t seem to notice her presence. He swirled a snake of fire around him, and Lira found even the ones behind her grew silent. He swung his weight around gracefully, and the snake with it, growing larger and larger, until he threw his hands forward; the snake soared out from him, and the column of fire flew right at Lira.

  Lira gasped, let out a yelp, and shot backward onto the dirt. Vesper noticed her presence finally, swirled his hands outward then in, and the snake disappeared right a moment before her face. Only subtle warmth was left behind, along with the beats of Lira’s panicked heart.

  Vesper stumbled toward her, with eyes wide and breaths shallow. “M—my dear, are you hurt?” His eyes shot behind her.

  Lira looked back, seeing the others standing up, ready, each as shocked as the next. Lira slowly drew her eyes back to Vesper. “I’m—”

  “I must apologize. I became lost in the act. I was being absent minded. It will not happen again. Forgive me, please,” he pleaded. He shook her hands, with eyes that spoke a tale of fear.

  Lira couldn’t speak a word, still feeling the flame that vanished moments ago that could have killed her.

  Kayden, however, stomped over in an instant and grabbed Vesper by the neckline to force them face-to-face. “Be careful with your magic! How could you be so reckless?” Kayden yelled. “You could have hurt her.”

  “I didn’t mean to, I swear it!” Vesper yelped, waving his hands around.

  Letting him go, Kayden snarled a few more words. “I don’t want to see any more of that tonight. The last thing we need is another body on our hands.” Kayden growled. She hopped back up to her tree, keeping a sharp eye on the violet-robed wizard.

  Lira tried to calm her shallow breaths. Vesper only got up, whispering he was sorry once more, and sat on a rock by the water.

  Domika came to check on her with a warm smile before heading back toward her stalwart listener.

  The sun hid beneath the horizon as Vesper raised his hands to rub his head and take a breath. Lira knew magic drained one’s mental energy. She heard stories of magicians passing out, some never waking again, and some even dying from their use of magic too powerful for them to handle. Lira grabbed one of the cups Vesper gave them and brought it over. She was frightened by magic, especially with the show she just witnessed, but was still so curious. She was a little glad there would be no more practicing tonight.

  “Why thank you, my dear,” he said with an exhaustive breath. “I seem to be getting a little up in years,” he whispered. He looked out to the bay, as if longing for something.

  She had so many questions. She knew so little about the non-divine forms of magic. “Vesper, why do you concentrate so much on each spell? I’ve seen some people practice before, but you seem almost as if you strain too much when casting. Why is that?” Her first question seemed overly silly to her.

  “I concentrate because I must control my incantations. You viewed the consequences of my foolishness.” He rubbed his knees with shaky hands. “With each movement, even the most miniscule vibration of a hand may alter the resulting spell. Absolute control is a necessity when using energies like this.” He cautiously ruffled his beard, eyes closed in solemn thought. “I do not want to injure anyone with my abilities,” he said plainly. His face turned stoic. It was a strange, emotionless expression, especially on a man who was usually so vibrant.

  “I know everyone has a ceiling of power,” Lira said quietly. She fumbled with her fingers. “Mine is disappointing. I can barely heal a scratch.” Phyrin, to mend, was the command—but did nothing for her. There were so many other spells—Fhor, the force of light, Bashira, to send one back… A priest found out she could use the divine magic when she was young, but he refused to take her as a disciple as he couldn’t help her power grow. “May I ask how high yours is?”

  Vesper sighed, rubbing his forehead. “High enough. I do not tamper with my ceiling. I dislike using powerful spells.”

  Powerful spells. Ones she feared to even think of using. One above all being Mortanai Shala—the light that sears flesh. She never saw much reason to use such a spell. “I just haven’t seen much of the world of magic,” she replied. “What kinds of things can you do?” She wanted to learn more about magic, and this seemed like a good chance. “Sorry If I’m imposing,” she whispered bashfully.

  His eyes closed and brow tightened. “Oh no, my dear, you are not imposing, not at all. I can do many things. I can create icicles, move water to my will, create a blaze, as you saw.” His hands moved whimsically as he spoke. He paused, shooting Lira a curious eye. “And hear the conversations of others from afar.” His voice turned somber. “I’m sorry to hear about your brother, my dear,” he nodded. “With this recent news, it is concerning.”

  She frowned at his decision to listen in, but decided arguing wasn’t worth it. “Thanks.”

  “Everyone experiences loss,” Vesper added. “Miss Ralta has lost many things—that is why she has so many walls built to defend herself—and why she threatened me with such intensity after the incident. She seems to trust you, however.”

  Lira took that as a compliment, as Kayden seemed a little less brash with her than others. She wondered why, but in the end was happy that Kayden trusted someone. “How can you tell?”

  He shrugged and pointed a finger to his eyes. “You can see
it in her eyes. The look she has when she thinks no one sees.”

  “She is fierce, but I saw a new side of her today,” Lira said.

  “Indeed, I noticed. She actually smiled without mockery. That is quite an interesting development. Perhaps it is because we kept her and Miss Mirado separate.” Vesper chuckled. “As for Miss Mirado, I have not had the opportunity to talk to her as of yet. She does seem quite preoccupied with herself. Sir Magnus, however, is an interesting one.”

  In the distance, Magnus still listened to Domika’s ranting. “Interesting? How do you mean?”

  He looked towards them in the distance with a tilt to his head. “He does not seem intelligent, yet his words are proper. He does not seem fast or battle-ready, but his armor was battered and burnt.” Vesper ruffled his beard, snapped his finger in the air, and swished it in a circle. “I believe he is hiding something.”

  Magnus’ voice erupted from the clearing. “Why do you not leave it be? Never ask such a question of me again. It is not your place to ask!” His calm demeanor was broken. His red eyes burned with anger. He jutted his chin, clenched his fists, and stormed off into the open forest with stomps louder than a bull.

  “What in the hells? Mags, wait!” Domika called, running after him. She stopped briefly in front of Lira and Vesper. “All I did was ask his about his family, a few—several times,” she mumbled to them. Domika returned to a run to go after him. Lira could hear her call to Magnus, then her attempts to reassure him.

  Lira saw Kayden up in her perch with a smirk. She chuckled before she returned her gaze to the nearby areas. What is he hiding? she wondered.

  “Curious. Now why would he want to avoid his name being known, hmm? If he is the traitor, he is not hiding it well. I do not believe I am the only one with this in mind,” Vesper said, hinting over to the perch, where Kayden glanced suspiciously into the forest where the two ran. “Why was he so adamant on acquiring the armor without stating his reason? I would gladly deliver the armor to it’s appropriate place. But I stated my intention, as did Kayden and Domika,” Vesper said eyes closed, deep in thought. “I suppose I feel it is slightly peculiar,” he finished.

  Lira pondered Vesper’s words. They’re wise, but are they right? Magnus seemed quite harmless, and kind. Why did he want the armor? Either way, he’d worn it ever since he received it, save when he slept. Even then, a hand was always on it. Why does he not want people to know his name? His behavior was certainly strange, but Lira grew tired of wracking her brain over it. Her stomach turned again and again in hunger. She glanced to the boar on the fire. It began to form pools of succulent fat on the skin as it crackled. The meat was ready. Her mouth watered for her first meal in a day. “Food’s ready!” she yelled.

  Kayden jumped down from her perch in no time. Domika and Magnus emerged from the forest at full speed.

  “Finally!” Domika yelled.

  Everyone gathered around the fire and they split the meat evenly, along with the berries and nuts Kayden gathered. The pain of yesterday was forgotten, and the rebellion was in the back of their minds, for once. Everyone seemed in good spirits. As Lira dug into her dinner, she still wondered about what Vesper said, and what it could mean for their future.

  Somewhere, Noren lies in pain, or dead. I can’t forget why I joined. Lira looked to the others as she ate quietly, wondering what their motives were. Domika wanted to keep her brother safe, Lira wanted to find hers—but what about the others? Kayden seemed to dislike authority, Vesper seemed like he hardly belonged, and she wasn’t sure what Magnus wanted at all.

  Chapter Eleven

  A Coward’s Way

  Saul Bromaggus

  Saul returned at dusk to the Gadora clan on the southwestern end of the Vale. Each clan was a strong, venomstone-walled city. The houses were wooden and stone, depending on the status of the family. He walked past the guards and entered the city after they raised the portcullis. He passed rows of organized houses, mapped in a methodical manner. A few were being painted white, silver, and bronze by Broken. Every citizen possessed a second profession used to serve the society: cooks, builders, clothiers, and more.

  Saul was a talented chef—or so he thought. He cooked boar and stag the most, roasting them in succulent duck fat alongside seasonings of the Vale. He heard the torch and the plateau had their own specially grown seasonings as well.

  As much as he hated the thought of going away, there may be some benefits. He learned from his other comrades in training about their trades, like carpentry, stonework, and foraging. He didn’t know all the details and intricacies, but every profession had its challenges. No matter the artisanship, each Broken was just as quick with a weapon, even if they made silk robes or picked herbs and fruits on the side.

  Saul arrived at his home, a large venomstone building lined with gardens. One grizzly Broken in black-scaled armor exited the home. His eyes gazed at the ground, not noticing Saul’s presence.

  “Uncle, is that you?” Saul called.

  The Broken looked up, and indeed it was. His face was paler than Saul remembered, with dry, cracked skin wrinkled around his eyes and throat. His shoulder-length white hair was scraggly and unkempt.

  “Oh my. Saul, you’ve grown!” The tribe keeper said, who tended to business in homes of those gone if he hadn’t delegated the task to another. He was also family, so it was not out of the blue.

  Saul raised a brow as he walked over. “I have not grown since I was sixteen years of age, uncle.”

  His uncle patted Saul on both shoulders, gripped them tightly, and shook them. “Ah, but you’ve grown stronger, my boy.”

  Looking over uncle Grotar’s shoulder toward the door, he raised a brow. “What were you doing in my family’s home?”

  He gave a shrug, as if being in the home of another without them present was nothing. “Oh, I was keeping the home while members of the tribe paid their homage to your father. Despite his ‘treason,’ there are those that supported his view.” Grotar sighed while feverishly scratching his head. “I am sorry for your loss. It is hard when a Broken loses their parents.”

  Saul had not truly let it click until then. His mother died fighting in the war ten years prior, and now his father had been burned for treason.

  His cousins and uncle lived, but his close family was all gone. It was not common for the Broken to have more than one child, and his family was no exception. Saul shuffled his feet, and grumbled to himself. The Dragon took them from me.

  “Will you be staying with us? Your graduation is soon, is it not? The Oracles have given you the mark?” Grotar moved his eyes in close to his left arm. “Oh my. Your mark says interesting things.”

  “There are more.”

  “Eh?” Grotar pulled back with wide eyes, still gripping Saul’s arms. He moved in close to the other, and his grip tightened. “Oh my, this is even stranger. What do you think it means?” He raised a brow, and his eyes examined Saul closely.

  Saul thought about it, truly. Am I to die by the Dragon’s claw? “The Oracles have shown me a path, and I do not know how it will turn or proceed.” Saul knew he was beating around the bush.

  “I hope this does not bode badly for you. Your cousins would see you, if you would like. They are in the north end of the tribe. Just find my home, if you remember it, and I will show you to them. They have not seen you in a year.”

  “Tomorrow I will be exiled, Uncle. After my father’s death, the Dragon decreed me to go across the Fissure into the wastes,” Saul said. Damned dragon. I should fight him and fulfill the fate that chose me.

  His uncle leaned back, releasing his arms. His dark eyes widened, looking at his nephew, then behind, and around him. “I see,” he scratched the back of his head. The moonlight shone overhead, causing his grey skin to tint a pale blue. “I’m sorry, I suppose I should not communicate with you then. An exile is—”

  “A disgrace,” Saul admitted, eyes at the dirt below them. Communication with him would cause others to see his uncle as a fool,
and Saul wouldn’t allow it. “I will miss you, Uncle. I thank everyone for their homage to my father.”

  “He was a great man.”

  “He is a great man. Death is only the beginning.”

  Grotar laughed. “I suppose you are right, boy.” He sighed, backing away to go to his home. “Good luck, Saul. You may be an exile, but you will always be a Bromaggus.” A flash of the moon crossed his eyes as he turned to walk.

  Saul nodded, thanking him silently. An exile was seen as a disgrace to a family, and some would strip them of the name. His uncle gave him a great gift.

  Saul turned to the door and entered his home. Each placement of his boot echoed through the stone walls. Still as dark as he remembered—a forest green and filled with black mortar. The size was large for a Broken, two bedrooms, an eating area and food preparation room, and a place for seating and conversation. Far too frivolous.

  Various weapons and battle gear laid on tables around the home. Pieces of plate, mail, scale, and weapons of all kinds were placed on the main forum table by members of the clan out of respect for his father. He saw the marks of many family names—Kitarin, Grodagh, Bordanok, and many additional members of the Bromaggus name. He silently thanked them for their honors.

  His eyes scanned across the bedroom he had not slept in for a year—ten years since he left it for his military training and education at the age of ten. The old and cramped cloth-covered bed in the corner beckoned him after a day of travel—but sat with a note set with wax in his family’s seal upon the pillow beside his father’s dark cloak. Saul didn’t notice his father wasn’t wearing it at the audience; a cloak was one piece that a parent passed to their children.

  Feeling the felt of the cloak, a tear crept from his eye, realizing it was the first—and last—cloak he would receive. His mother’s was lost across the sea. She was always confident—perhaps too confident.