Tides of Fate

by Sean J Leith

Asheron brought his dark blade closer to Noren’s neck. “One movement, girl.”

  She didn’t cry. Rather, she grew angry. Her friends were dying in front of her, all from the folly of someone she trusted.

  So she let the arrow loose.

  Asheron roared out in pain as the arrow pierced his left hand, forcing him to drop the blade. She ran at him as he picked it up with his right hand. While shoving a bare hand forward, she yelled “Fhor!” and the brand on her hand glowed a bright blue; a burst of light blasted from her hand and threw Asheron back against the far wall causing the rock to crack and room to shudder. She nocked another arrow, and as she let it loose, he cut the arrow from the air with lightning-like reflexes using his blade. He waved a hand across his vision, and he was gone in the darkness leaving behind a few choice words: “More will die for this.”

  Leaving the two alone. But the chanting continued.

  Calvin looked to Kayden and the others; his chest grew soaked with his own life, blood pouring from him. “I must do this. I will let your brother stay. You can save him. All I ask is that you stay out of the way. I can’t guarantee his safety otherwise.” Calvin spoke again in the language with harsh, guttural twists of the tongue.

  She gave enough chances.

  He would die from chanting, or from her own actions.

  She let an arrow fly before Calvin realized what happened. It struck true with a thunk and guttural chokes. She stared back at her brother’s body, and with a growl from Calvin, Noren’s body, as well as the other prisoners, flashed with a bright light that left their bodies and into the violet orb above the altar. Each body screamed with an unnatural, horrifying wail. “It is done,” a disembodied voice said—and the violet orb disappeared.

  Calvin bent forward, choking on blood and arrow. His robe was now soaked with his own blood.

  Lira ran to her brother as the others gasped for air. “Noren?” she whispered with a cry. He gasped for breath as if the air was filled with water and poison. His eyes lay open, lifeless, and pitch black. “Noren!” she yelled. His skin crackled and pulsed as the color slowly faded away.

  Noren’s eyes receded into pits and teeth dissolved into black dust. His breaths sounded as though someone breathed in sand and rock. He grew rough and granular until his entire body and soul shattered into ash that passed between her fingers like sand in the final moments of an hourglass.

  “No!” She hit the ground, seeing innocent lives turn to dust and wind all around her. Her whole body felt aflame with shame and hatred, feeling her faults and failures all led here. She gasped for breath, trying to keep herself alive in a room filled with the dead. “How could you do this?” Lira cried.

  She backed off from Noren’s remains and stormed toward Calvin, who barely had breaths left to make through the blood clogging his throat. She grabbed his neckline and shook him. “What have you done?” she yelled in a thin voice.

  Calvin could barely speak as he choked, the arrow still lodged in his neck. Blood soaked his upper lip and chin, neck, and chest. “It’s too late—our people are safe—it’s done. You chose them over him. Things have only begun,” he said weakly. “Solmarsh is safe. It was destined, but I put destiny in our favor.” He shuddered and coughed, shaking his head. The flecked violet in his eyes faded, and his eyes grew wide. “Wh—what have I—” With that, he faded into the next life.

  Lira growled and bared her teeth. She got up, clutched the arrow in his neck and ripped it out violently. She wiped it on his robe and rushed to check the other prisoners. Their eyes were all black as night, veins dark—bodies lifeless. Each one she checked, every man, woman, and child. Laura, Terra, Matthew, Darryl, Gregand—dead. After a few moments, the rest dissolved to ash.

  No. I didn’t save them.

  I failed.

  Lira dashed to her brother’s body and embraced what was left. She bawled into his withered chest. Wished it was a nightmare. Wished she could wake. He was an empty shell for the harbinger…

  She didn’t know what it was. But the circle lay in town.

  Her friends gasped for air nearby. Kayden lay on her back, coughing, hands on her throat. “What the hell was that?”

  Lira ran to her and helped her sit up. “Kayden, get up.” After a moment, she shook her again. “We have to move! Let’s get to the markings. We have to do something!” Lira yelled. There was no time to bury the dead.

  Slowly, Kayden regained her life. With an exhausted nod, she said. “Let’s go.” She clumsily ran toward the cave’s entrance while picking up the daggers she threw. “Everyone, move. Lead the way, princess!”

  With every step, Lira shed tears for her brother, but she had to act now. I won’t fail again.

  But as the ground shook beneath her feet, she feared what came to her small village of Solmarsh—as it not just bore the scent of a king, but a god.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Bound by Fate, Freed by Passion

  Saul Bromaggus

  Saul and the Broken with him marched for days and days on end. All were relieved to finally enter the clear air of the outside. The Badlands were a welcome sight in lieu of the mountains they had been encased in for days prior. As they reached Bolerra’s flow, they veered south of the Snake’s Fangs to find a broad stone bridge leading over it. It was one massive block—no cracks or frays or scorches or slits from blade, flame, or smashes of catapult fire blemished its surface.

  How is this bridge so unmarked during a civil war? Saul thought. It was fifteen feet wide, crossing the river of magma coming north from the dark mountains of Blackcore. Rumors said the river came from the old skeleton of Bolerra himself—a colossal hundred-foot long, red-scaled dragon, flame still clutching to the ancient bones flowing out endlessly across the Plateau. He was said to have burned a billion men in his time, protecting his mountains long before the Terrans came.

  The Terrans stormed the mountains, striking hard and fast. They lost innumerable stalwart warriors to claim the mountain for themselves. A brave venture and a glorious victory. It’s no wonder they stand so adamant within it.

  “Try not to slip,” Saul scoffed to the others.

  They were but eight now; the majority went with Fae to Serpentarius. Saul had no knowledge of their whereabouts, only hoping they made it there safely. He resented their abandonment. Thalia alluded to his fault in it. I am rough in my rule, but I never led before. They had not given me a choice and left without offering thanks for saving them.

  “Why is this bridge not marked on the map? Are you sure we should go this way?” Drof asked weakly.

  Gods man, speak confidently. “I do not know. Kashral has not steered us wrong yet. We need to press on,” Saul surmised.

  “What do you think awaits us there? I don’t think we should just walk in the front door,” Korren said.

  “Don’t be a coward. If they support us, we have nothing to fear. We are Broken—and should not fear the face of our enemy.”

  The Broken kept quiet during their travels. They spoke at times, and they learned some about one another as their journey went. Drof was a good individual, Saul knew. As the Terrans would put it, he was a crag.

  He was a coward, afraid of confrontation, but no fool. Saul was wary of walking in the front door, but he was not afraid. Saul was only afraid of fighting with him by his side, as a Broken is only as good as the comrade beside them. Saul was powerful alone, but with each weak ally, he became more vulnerable. If Drof were to rise high in rank, Saul would name him a tactician, where he belonged. There was little room for full tacticians in Broken society, as all were measured by their fighting status alone. Drofar was exiled for failing his training for leaving his allies vulnerable. He was banned from battle teachings but studied to compensate.

  Saul thought of Thalia, remembering her eyes watch Drof. She thought the same but said nothing of his involvement. She was a small woman of strong opinions, and apparently a shaman of earth. She walked like a ghost in bare feet, as if she didn’t wish to disturb the
earth below. He had no capacity of how powerful an ally or enemy she was and was irritated that she failed to mention the involvement of her brothers in the war.

  She was eerily attractive, and Saul mistrusted it. He gave no care to weak individuals, any compliant individual who wished to woo him in the Vale. If there was anything that retracted him from a woman’s touch, it was weakness, and a lack of self-reliance. Thalia had none of those traits. But she was still a Hydris.

  * * *

  Over the bridge and past the highroad to the Fangs, they came to the Cligar Mountains. They moved south and went around, which was a pain. Several mountain villages and towns decorated the mountainside, but Saul made sure they gave no notice. He did not trust them, especially with brutal rebels prowling the Badlands. The heights and paths within were red, sun-scorched, treacherous, and filled with Manticores, mountain lions, and small populations of basilisks. While Saul did not fear those alone, he felt he could not slay a hundred beasts and get everyone out alive.

  A strange thought. He felt the will of Highwind, Othellun, and now Thalia in his decisions.

  Before his banishment, he would go through the mountains with no fear, feeling each Broken should fight and were not his responsibility if they failed. Now he avoided certain dangers, knowing that even one deaths was wasteful and cowardly on his part if they were unnecessary.

  The trip took weeks since Blackcore, and one more wouldn’t hurt as all the others would have to make the same trek. The mountain range was a steely grey, with frosted tips miles above. He never climbed a mountain and found himself wondering how truly cold they were. Saul saw many seasons of Air, each as deadly as the next, but luckily short enough so not all crops were lost in the Vale. Each crossing of the Air felt like death came ever closer, but with thick bearskin cloaks they survived. Soon the Air would come once more to Saul.

  He heard the Plateau saw little of the elements changing, at least nowhere nearly as prominent as the Vale. He wondered how it was possible, not understanding why. In the north, the Fire grew hot, the Air froze the land, the Earth was desolate, and the water was laced with torrential storms. But here, the Air was rarely ever cold, and the fire was far hotter—or so he heard.

  Feeling his sword arm itch, Saul yearned for combat. Soon, we will come to Serpentarius. There I may find combatants to fulfill my need for the clash of blades, and a society I may war for, to fight against those who persecute my people. For years he fought every day, and since exile he only spilled blood through the death of those in Rhoba. He wondered if he would spill blood alongside the Hydris, a race that were the Broken’s sworn enemies. Since his exile, he’d encountered a betrayal of his own people, and a surprising alliance with a perceived enemy that potentially saved his life. He sensed that he could trust Thalia, but she still hid some information from him.

  As they passed around the mountains heading east, A deathly black cloud hung over the southern skies, covering the horizon. The Plateau declined into the ocean, as the map told. South laid the Striker’s End and, off the coast, the Stormspire. Thalia said only those with permission from the King could seek it.

  Saul would get there, no matter the cost.

  The recurring nightmare still plagued him—being struck by lightning, electricity enveloping him in agony until he finally awoke. Slowly but surely, the nightmares grew longer and more painful, as the pain grew slower, as if he became accustomed to it—but grew to a horrifying height when he awoke.

  The bags beneath his eyes grew larger as well. A voice spoke right before he awoke, saying, ‘Rai soli moria, gadoras faust.’ The very words Gadora taught him. He thought of the ‘Soldier of Storms,’ Ithaca—Thalia’s brother. Am I to face him? Will that be my time to die before the gods? he wondered. He looked to the dirt-covered, muscular arms that bore the drop. He was fated to die—yet, his father had been fated to live. Fate played a game with the mortal realm, and Saul was going to win.

  Days passed as they travelled off the highroad; fields of bloodweed and long moongrass flitted across the plains like a million feathers floating in the wind. Korren hunted daily with a new partner, so each could learn the ways of survival, and he would not be the sole provider for them all.

  Drof read books he carried with him, some which were given to him by Thalia in Shi’doba. Saul routinely practiced his combat training, sparring with anyone who asked, or who he could get to fight with him. It was what he lived for—either in training or in real battle. He enjoyed cooking the meat and vegetables and fruits they would all find, but combat was his truth.

  The day came where they saw a massive city in the distance. It was high noon; the sun gleamed bright and hot overhead.

  “This is it, Serpentarius,” Saul said.

  The land I saw as my enemy, but may not be anymore.

  He could hear quivers and mumbles behind him, but he paid them no mind. The city was built with rounded stone walls, each wrought with embrasures, bastions, and large sculptures of Hydris atop each tower. Engravings portrayed men and women battling with spears and blades, others commanding Earth, Wind, Fire, and Water to their will. Pillars lined the path as they approached, each with the sign of the local gods, the Glories. He bowed his head to the three crashing winds as they passed. They were all tinted green from venomstone, but also strewn with moss and lichen, blown in from the seas off the monstrous cliffs to the east. Saul could smell the salt in the air; the moist leaves and moss also added their own musk.

  Yet, more than anything else, he heard yelling: commanding, the roaring of soldiers, but no clashing of blades. Saul broke into a run, not caring for the ones behind him. He looked back to see them falling behind but following just the same. There was a battalion of guards at the entrance, skins of deep green, blue, and in between, fins of different sizes, and many piercings on their ears and faces. They drew blades and pointed them at the arriving Broken and narrowed their eyes.

  “Who goes there?” the head guard yelled with a hiss in the common tongue. His skin was a dark black-blue. Each soldier wore the sigil of the Kashral bloodline, the black serpent on a field of azure.

  “We’re here to join the effort against the usurpers, or at least want more information. Is something happening?”

  “The Stormwardens have barricaded themselves in the inner castle. They snuck past our defenses and attacked all at once. They have Broken prisoners, hostages, and threaten to kill them and our King. We’re forced to stay here, in case of a frontal attack. They’re led by Ithaca, the Soldier of Storms!”

  Oh gods, no. Fae and the others! Those fools, they should have waited. Saul feared the mention of the Soldier of Storms. Not only had Saul dreamt of being struck by lightning until he awoke from agony, but the Soldier of Storms was supposedly meant to unify the land. But how could such a traitorous wretch unify anyone? “How long has this gone on? We must enter! We must stop them!” Saul roared, drawing his blade. “Let us in, or we shall fight our way in!”

  “No, Broken, we cannot let you in. Letting more in will only make things worse, and there could be a frontal attack coming. We aren’t sure.”

  Saul drew his blade up to the guard’s neck, which caused the entire battalion to raise blades and bows toward him. “Don’t test me. My allies are in there, and I must stop those wretched knaves from killing my people!” Saul could feel the stare of the whole battalion, including dozens of archers above. “I must go. My fate commands it. Thalia Kashral told us to come here from Shi’doba, and now you dare reject her rule?” Saul hated using her name for his gain, but he had to get through.

  The head guard hissed at Saul. He looked to the others and reluctantly gave way. “Be on your way. If you cause any problems, we’ll throw you to the rebel dogs ourselves. You five, escort them.”

  Saul ran past the foolhardy guards, waving for the others to follow. His legs ached, his joints throbbed, and his trusty shield felt heavy after marching for weeks. The city was lined with large, well-made wooden and stone buildings, with signs hanging a
bove shops and inns, and signs delineating different regions. Saul registered no words or symbols, only wood, stone, and people running. He had no time to think, no time to wander or smell any damned flowers. I must save them. I must. This is what the dreams told me.

  A large inner wall encased the castle ahead. Saul ran with no sense to stop; blood pumped through his veins without relent. He tired but did not pause. He worried but did not falter.

  The Broken approached the inner wall. Soldiers upon soldiers stood around the perimeter, wearing azure cloaks along with the black serpent of Kashral running across them. They yelled at the Hydris up on the wall if the inner castle, each aiming bows at the others. The ones on the wall all wore white cloaks, yelling, “The storm has come! The storm has come!” and, “The Soldier of Storms is upon us!” The Stormwardens, Saul thought. His destiny was at hand. Saul knew the name of their leader in the western Plateau, Ithaca, Thalia’s bastard brother.

  Saul banged on the massive, steel-studded oak door again and again, roaring to let them in. He took out his bow and fired at the usurpers above, one, two, three, and finally hit one. One guard beside him smacked his bow away, yelling at him for possibly hitting innocents still inside the walls.

  The chanting stopped, and then the disgraces above yelled, “Broken! Broken! Traitors!”

  Saul could barely see the men above with the sun blinding him. Before he could react, a crosshatch of shadows flew over him. A net hit him quickly and closed tightly as it dropped. Then a great force pulled him upward. The other Broken and some Hydris tried to pull him back down, but it was no use. He ascended into the light in the net, bringing him to the top of the inner keep’s wall. The last image he saw on the ground was Drof and the others backing away, fearing to be netted with him. Strikes of cudgels and maces battered him from outside the net, and he struggled and dropped into the fetal position, covering his head.

  He was still in his plate with blade and shield, but there were too many. He wouldn’t die struggling in a net. He would die standing tall. “Bring me to your leader!” Saul yelled.