Tides of Fate

by Sean J Leith

  Lira dropped her head into her hands and cried quietly. “But it is—it is. If I had just stayed inside, he would still be safe, at least with the military.” Her voice cracked and grew weak. “I had to go out. I just had to do it.” Lira’s hands shook as she tried to rub her knees. “And Malakai came here. He’s—well, I’m sure you’ve heard stories.”

  She heard enough. Sadist. Blood mage. Brother of the bastard who put them in jail. And now, he was involved. They said he had a hundred lives because he would be injured in battle and heal himself using the life of his victims. She saw that first-hand. Surely there was a way around it…

  “It’s all my fault.”

  Kayden leapt over to the bed and shook Lira gently. “Look at me. As the authority in blaming oneself, I don’t want you to.”

  “What do you mean?” Lira sniffled.

  “I blame myself every day. I have to tell myself it’s not my fault. I tell myself that I didn’t send my parents out that door, and that I didn’t deserve the years of hell I went through because of it.” Kayden let a tear slip out, and quickly wiped it away. “Your brother would be proud of you. Look at where you are and what you can do. Think about what happened last night.”

  “I just wanted to help. I did what I could.” Lira moved her hair from her face, blinking to resist the welling of more tears.

  Kayden just gave a subtle brittle smile. “I remember when we got to Rogan’s office, I told you to search the office. You looked at me like a deer in the night caught by torchlight.”

  Lira let out a weak chuckle. “I hadn’t done anything at that point. You just looked at the experienced ones and then chose me. It—it made no sense.”

  “Give yourself worth,” Kayden said, nudging her. “I didn’t know Mags well enough. Vesper was weird, Domika I didn’t trust, Miggen, couldn’t tell what he wanted.” Looking toward her friend, she said, “I trusted you. If someone like you was working for a rebel force—” She paused for a moment. “Then you would have the most drive to finish the job.”

  Glancing over with reddened eyes, Lira gave her an inquisitive look. “Someone like me?”

  She felt bad saying it. “Unskilled for infiltration. Clumsy with a weapon. Too innocent to betray. Too kind to rebel simply due to raw frustration with the system.” She just shrugged. “Someone like you would want to finish the job for your own reasons. You were there because it was personal. It was the look in your eyes. You were afraid.” With a nod, she finished her words. “But you wanted to be there.”

  Lira stared at the ground, wiping her now-snotty nose. “You know, you’re really wise for your age. We’re both so close in age and I know so little compared to you.”

  “With pain comes experience, princess,” Kayden said. It came at a great cost. I don’t know if it was worth it. She’d seen more horrors than some old men and women.

  “You seem like you want to hide it. I don’t get it.” Lira’s eyes deviated toward the side table. “You read a lot, don’t you?”

  “Can’t get anything past you, can I.” Kayden glanced to her book on the side table. “I do. I didn’t have anyone to confide in for a long time, so I turned to reading. Now, don’t tell anyone I actually care to learn.” She wrapped her arm around Lira and pulled her in. “If you want to talk about your brother, let me know. I’ll understand either way.” Kayden got up and walked back to her bed and plopped down. “I know what it’s like.” Kayden suffered alone for years.

  “Thanks, Kayden. You’re really sweet.”

  “Keep that to yourself.”

  They sat in silence for a moment, looking out the window to a line of homes and shops sleeping with the night. Seeing the stars, the roofs, the darkness… “I’m glad I found you there.”

  Kayden smiled, to her surprise. “So am I.” She couldn’t find the words to thank her enough.

  A knock came from the door.

  “Who is it?” Kayden called.

  Vesper opened the door and poked his head in. “Is everything well in here? I heard sounds of harsh words and crying.”

  “We were acting out a murder in here—you know, for fun!” Lira stuttered.

  Kayden slinked back with wide eyes. Lira laughed awkwardly, but no one else did.

  “Oh, I guess that was a bad joke. Sorry.”

  “Oh yes, Miss, that was not the best humor,” Vesper said.

  Lira’s expression drooped. “Oh.”

  He doesn’t have a filter. Kayden thought. “We’ll work on that.” Probably extremely off-humor due to the serious topics they were discussing.

  “I just came to inform you that the rest of us are tending to our bedrooms. Miss Mirado will be up shortly, I am sure.” Vesper’s eyes veered toward the table between the beds, and the book resting upon it. He squinted, examining it. “Oh my! Elemental Attunement!” he exclaimed, leaping into the room.

  “Whoa there, old man. What are you doing walking into the women’s bedroom?” Kayden asked. “Why don’t you take a step back?” He’s fairly imposing. Does he ever know when to hold off? He definitely broke up a serious moment, and with such vibrance that it was off-putting.

  Vesper walked to the book without a word. “Who was reading it, if I may ask? Was it you, Miss Kaar?”

  Lira blinked with cow-eyes, placing her hand to her chest. He looked at Kayden.

  “Yeah, it was her,” Kayden said. She didn’t want the whole world knowing she found magic interesting.

  While her words told one story, Vesper clearly trusted Lira’s obvious body language more. “I didn’t know you read, Miss Ralta, let alone about magic! I could tell you so many things, if you wish. While some are not born with the gift, there are many things one can do in self-defense,” he said.

  I pull out my book once, and everyone suddenly finds out, she thought, rolling her eyes. Everyone is so nosy. Kayden just wanted to sit alone and read her book without her whole team bugging her about it. “Nah, I’m good,” she shrugged him off.

  “Well, I shall tell you anyway. My daughter pushed me away, but I knew she truly wished to listen. Plus, I’m nowhere near a sense of fatigue yet!” he plopped down beside her and opened the large book.

  Kayden crossed her arms and turned away. “I don’t want to learn about that stuff. I can’t do anything with it.”

  “Nonsense! Here, look at this.” Vesper flipped to a portion of the book on charms and control spells. “What would you do if you were attacked by a muddling charm, or a control charm? What then, hmm? Miss Ralta, you must always be prepared,” Vesper said poignantly.

  Lira had a silly smirk on her face, indicating that she knew Vesper wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon. Kayden wasn’t too tired, so it was fine. She had to humor him.

  “No one controls me,” Kayden growled.

  Vesper chuckled. “Yes, excellent. That is the proper attitude.” His forefinger crept along the seasoned pages of the book, reading the lessons on resisting. “It is like a voice telling you what to do. You can either agree or disagree. A powerful magician can fill one’s mind with so much information that it makes her own thoughts so convoluted that they cannot be handled. That, or they simply choose to follow the orders to end the madness.” He glanced over to Kayden. “That’ is why you remind me of my daughter. Yes, she was tough, but she also had a will of steel.”

  Kayden sat quietly as he read about different effects. He went through charms, telekinesis, illusions, sleeping curses, and many others. She enjoyed hearing about it but didn’t say so.

  Lira listened attentively as well, especially when he got to the divine magic. Belief was the biggest predictor of casting power, aside from the gods-given limits, but self-confidence was necessary.

  Kayden knew Lira had problems with it, but maybe in time things would change. Aside from minor scratches and cuts, Lira couldn’t heal much of anything. Lira had a lot of faith in Shiada, but no sense of self-reliance or fortitude.

  How can she be so afraid of everything? Kayden thought. Then again, so was I. Lira
was the same age, almost, but she was sheltered in small towns, unaware of the relentless nature that the land really had. Kayden lived in quite a few places in the deserts and the north: the Capitals, the gambling valley town of Jahar, Lothrad in the north, and she’d spent a year in the Kholrani ice forests in the northeast, as well.

  As Kayden listened to Vesper’s speeches about spells, her mind wandered to the task at hand. Prisoners were being sent to Lira’s home, as well as others, for reasons unknown. They had to report to Jirah, but it was a waste of time. She didn’t mind ignoring an order here or there but wondered how the others felt.

  “I do not wish to bore you any longer. I am slightly fatigued now and shall retire to my room. Miss Mirado will be up shortly, I am sure.” Vesper closed the book and placed it on the table once more. He slowly scratched his beard as he got up and walked to the door. Kayden went and opened it for him, tapping her foot.

  Vesper strolled out the door but turned to her as he reached it. “Miss Ralta, would you like me to teach you a few tricks of the trade? With some actual experience, I mean.”

  Kayden thought about his offer. Why not Lira? she wondered. Maybe his nostalgia was talking again, like teaching his daughter magic before her. Is it for my benefit, or his?

  Possibly both, Kayden reasoned. She knew Lira would want to learn, too, and didn’t want her to be put out. Then again, if she learned well enough, she could teach Lira anyway. Kayden felt bad. She glanced at Lira, who was facing away. She couldn’t do it, at least while Lira could hear. “No, I’m good.”

  “Hmm. I see,” he said, turning away.

  She almost closed the door but poked her head out as Vesper headed to the other room.

  “Hey,” she whispered. Vesper turned, tilting his head to the side. Kayden smiled and nodded feverishly.

  Vesper smiled widely, nodded back, and did a small jig as he entered his room.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Justice from Hate

  Zaedor Nethilus

  Zaedor lay silent for days. Kindro attempted to make some conversation; he didn’t feel the same as Freya. Zaedor did not oblige his efforts. He did not lay silent because of her words. No, he did not speak because of his own inner turmoil that he was struggling to reconcile.

  Both neighbors went away to fight, returning with a bruise or two, but that was all. Congratulations to you both, Zaedor thought. He sat in his wooden chair, leaned against the back of his cage. Zaedor spent his time thinking about the world, and the differences between what he believed to be, and what was. My kingdom was strong, he thought. Was it all a lie? It couldn’t have been—but I saw Amirion burned to ash.

  The images of his home entered his mind often. Colorful banners, with all sorts of animals and objects on fields of vibrant colors, were burned to black and grey. Buildings of once strong brick were broken in an instant by bombardment. Innocent faces flew through his mind: Lilanda, Lothel, the King and Queen, and Noah. I will not forget you, any of you, Zaedor swore.

  His fists clenched, but he calmed himself quickly. I will not enrage like that again. I must remain fierce, but not reckless and destructive, lest I be as the enemy army was. In the ring, he became what he hated most.

  He carefully glanced to Freya, who hadn’t smiled since the news of Gorlin’s death. She was friends with Gorlin before he became a breaker. Kindro attempted to talk to her about it, but she didn’t give much information up.

  Although they didn’t speak to him, Zaedor listened to their conversations. Freya spoke of life in the north, the different delicacies and traditions they had, and holidays Zaedor hadn’t ever heard of before. They had the largest festival of Air, celebrating the end of the year. Much died over the season of Air, and much came to live again when the Water returned. They didn’t see the Air as a deathly cold, but a rebirth of life. Every citizen would have a plan for something they wished to gain and pushed for change when the Season ended.

  There were plays and other performances, large displays of magic that warmed the streets with many flames and torches through the streets by the Council of the Magi, and an exchange of gifts within families. Freya seemed to miss it, but spoke otherwise. Orinas was once a province of Renalia, but now a nation of its own. It was well-structured by laws, and the people preferred it that way. It reminded Zaedor of Amirion.

  Kindro lived in the Risen Isles early in his life. He spoke of its prosperity and trading routes with the outlanders from Doderia to the far East. Their current leader, Raiya Firkann, was well respected across the islands, as well as in the deserts, or so he said. Kindro spoke well of their foods, traditions, and laws. Each island was a nation in itself. The region was ruled by a council with a single representative from each isle, with one chosen by the each to lead them. Zaedor involuntarily frowned whenever the Zenato was mentioned. Rawling is still a traitor, he thought. The late King Bracchus Tirilin’s own brother. He could not forgive such heinous acts.

  From what Zaedor could remember, strength was valued there more than anything, and it was proven in the coliseum. If one were stronger, they gained respect, riches, and exceptions to laws. Pitiful. A man should be judged on his respect for others, his honor, and his contribution to society, not how dangerous he can be in combat. The warriors of Amirion who attended the games said those who won in the arena were granted a wish from the Lord himself, if he could even be called that. Zaedor would never accept a gift from a monster like him.

  Word in the pit was that there was more than just war between the nations themselves. A rebellion rose due to the injustice within Loughran. It was none of Zaedor’s concern; injustice was rampant all over the land.

  Zaedor looked around at all of the broken souls in the room. He knew more of their names now: Lirkosh the Hydris, Drena the Blazik, Lawrence the Broken, Rhogen the Human. He thought the other races were very peculiar. The Hydris intrigued him, a strange snake-like race that made his skin crawl.

  Blaziks also seemed intimidating, being reminiscent of half-Devils, the vile fiends who lived as mercenaries, sent to pillage trading towns and set flame to farms, or so he’d heard.

  Each person in captivity fought for their lives; they denied death every day with the hope that they may one day escape. Zaedor knew they weren’t alone. He also felt this way since the night his city died. He was still furious at what happened and wanted revenge but felt helpless.

  He wanted to make a difference, and knew vindication was the way to make it happen.

  For the first time since the burning of his home, he truly looked inward. What is my purpose? he wondered. Before, he’d followed and represented Shiada’s teachings, and furthered the prosperity of his kingdom and the happiness of those he interacted with. Is my purpose to extend my hand, making those around me happy? He certainly saw a lack of it where he sat in the prison dome.

  He wished he could have saved his people, thinking over and over in his head wondering what he could have done. He was a useless fool. He couldn’t save his friends, his king, or even a boy.

  He needed to leave the past behind, but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Don’t forget us, Noah had said. In his mind, he stood in the broken city once more, hearing the screams, watching the flames and broken structures. But there was one thing he forgot. The orb, he thought. What was that orb? It was a deep violet collection of mist high in the sky stealing souls on both sides of battle.

  His mind was unable to shake the thought. Violet was the associative color with Lornak, the god of darkness, but he was dead for almost two thousand years. Could he possibly return? Zaedor wondered. The orb was possibly the work of another vile deity such as Azoran, Lord of the Hells, or Baelogar, the Beast of the Abyss. He wished he could find some sort of clue or indication of what it had been, so maybe he could seek justice for his people’s ruination.

  He wondered if he was the only survivor of the attack—though some may have escaped the city or been far from it when the army arrived. He hoped his wife Eryndis was still alive. He had to discover
if she still lived. He still had love for her, despite their estrangement—and he found it difficult to believe a general of Amirion’s army would vanish so silently. However, she visited the King of Zenato—the King that killed Zaedor’s own—prior to the massacre.

  He grabbed at feathers in the wind, attempting to find a way to stop the villains, or to help his people. There were nameless soldiers in his city that night, except—

  Cloaker. Murderous knave. He jumped forward in his seat. He heard Cloaker’s voice the night before the death of his home. “They’re finishing it in Solmarsh,” Zaedor whispered aloud. Gods, why didn’t I know to do something then—but how would I have known? Zaedor did not know of Solmarsh. They’d mentioned it was a small town. Maybe if he went there, he would learn more. The only marshlands that he knew about were in the west. He had to take a chance.

  Blood rushed through Zaedor’s veins as he found a new purpose. Bring justice, not revenge, for his people. His purpose would drive him into a new era of man. I can’t sulk and hate. I’ve hurt so many already. He glanced over to Freya, who stood leaning on the far end of her cage. Her friend is dead because of me.

  Zaedor always defined himself by his god, his city, and his king. He saw these as part of himself—and he, a small part of them. What does that make me now? Shiada abandoned him, he knew. He spent his life putting faith in deities, while he should have had more faith in himself. He needed to carve his own path. Gods don’t make the man. The man makes himself. His city was gone; he always was ‘Zaedor of Amirion,’ but it meant nothing now. I am a man of good, of justice, of honor. Not of gods, cities, or kings. I will save those in need, and the people of Amirion need my help—perhaps in the marshes of the west.

  He had to make peace for what he did. He was been beaten, broken, and kidnapped, but that did not excuse what he did in return. He’d killed a man with a wife and three children. He couldn’t take that back, but he could atone for what he did. The man makes himself.