Just this once, Faith would play the hero.
Spinning on her boots, Faith activated her Victi with two flourishes of her hands. The guards had to be Dracon. They were tall, almost seven foot, and as they approached, she realized that it wasn’t the helmets’ metal that was twisted into horns. They were horns. Bone-like and gnarled, twisting and curving toward the ceiling, neither man’s more than a hand’s length, at best.
Still. They were impressive.
Faith tried not to think about how much older they were than she was, how much more experience they had. As they spread themselves apart, one to her right and one to her left, holding their own weapons—long, thin blades that could easily and effortlessly impale any spot of flesh—she also realized her mother was right. She wasn’t ready. She was, most definitely, in over her head.
A sudden chill swept over her, a chill she swore she felt a few other times since arriving in the Second. The hairs on her neck stood, her arms tingling. This feeling…what was it?
Everything happened in a blur, and Faith was surprised that she lasted so long. Really, the optimist in her told her that she’d last ten seconds against the pair of scary, ridiculously-tall Dracon with sneers that Rambo would approve of.
She lasted twenty.
Faith managed to deflect the first’s blow with one dagger, sidestepping as the other attacked her from behind. Common courtesy would mean they’d go one at a time, but this wasn’t an Academy class nor was it a movie. There was no fairness in the game they played today. She swung left, but the Dracon before her instantly parried—and cut her hand, too—and ducked to avoid the second. And then, the blasted pair, they started to move faster than she could. They were warriors, trained for years in the art of combat. She was stupid to think she could even slow them down.
A sharp pain erupted on the back of her skull, and her vision went black.
At first, Faith’s thoughts were jumbled. She couldn’t string together coherent thoughts, but she knew one thing: she was tired of being knocked out. She was bound to have some brain damage after that, right? And her hand ached.
It was tough to open her eyes and her vision was blurry, but once she did, she wanted to close them right back up. She was in a clearing, free of trees, with the warm sun on her face, wrists and ankles chained with links of iron to a flat altar. Nope. Definitely not good.
Turning her head, she saw a stone fountain on one side of the altar, full of purple liquid. Was it the same stuff that was carefully bottled up inside the building? At least it wasn’t on fire this time, at least she didn’t have to breathe it in. There were no other signs of life in the clearing, though there looked to be dozens upon dozens of stone pews surrounding the altar in an ancient half-circle.
Beyond them laid the building she’d tried to escape from. From out here, it looked abandoned; parts of it were caved in, broken and full of moss. No larger than a football field, it was an old mini-castle.
Faith felt another gust of wind, and the same familiar chill crept inside of her. Her heart sped up as she turned her head away from the building and the purple-filled fountain, to the crumbling statue of the man that towered over her current position. Although, to call it a man was a vast understatement.
Chipped and cracked, features softened in a way only time could do, the statue was not a replica of a man. It was no Elf. Just like the guards that overtook her, the statue was a Dracon. Only this Dracon put the two to shame. This Dracon terrified her to her core, with horns double the length of the two she had met and features so sharp and cruel they cut the air with their ingrained sneer.
She was afraid…and yet something else rose in her belly. A fire, a burning, yearning for a weapon, for her Victi, for she felt something else towards the statue, something rooted in memories that were not hers. She hated this Dracon. Faith wanted to stab him, to lunge at him, to dismember him and shoot him and any other action she could that would give him pain. Strangely, the hatred felt like it was connected to her soul, almost as if she were born to loathe this man, this Dracon.
What were these feelings? Why did she see nothing but red when she gazed up at the statue? These feelings were not hers. The statue, the Dracon’s face, held no personal meaning for her. She’d never once before seen a Dracon in real life, and there was no possible way simply glancing at a photo of one in an Academy textbook would stir up this much…hate.
Pure, unadulterated hatred. Hatred so strong it was all she could think about, even after a man approached the altar, wearing a hooded robe. The person’s hands, covered in leather, retrieved a dagger from inside a sleeve. From the lack of points beneath the hood, it was either a young Dracon or another race entirely.
“Wait,” Faith pleaded, out of ideas. How long was she unconscious on the altar? Had Cara and the others escaped? Maybe stalling for time was a pointless endeavor. “I assume you’re here to kill me, or sacrifice me, or whatever—which is fine, you know, I can’t exactly stop you.” She pulled on her restraints, and the iron manacles clinked with the movement. “But first, please, tell me why. Tell me why you took us.” Her hope was to at least know the truth.
“Your kind are invaders.” A deep, dark voice emanated from the hood, saying, “You come and make demands of us, expect us to bow to you. You take and take from us while giving nothing in return.”
“You can’t blame me for that,” Faith said, well aware of how humanity liked to conquer. Hell, they did it just fine to their own kind. Africans, Native Americans, and a whole host of others. Still, she did not want to die for her kind’s transgressions.
The hand that did not hold the dagger shot to her neck, gripping it as he squeezed, constricting her airway as he hissed, “We do. We all do. No Human is different. You are all the same. What better blood is there to awaken him from his slumber?”
All right, that didn’t sound good.
“The others—”
“The others will be caught, and they shall follow suit. And as for your males…they serve a higher purpose. You will never leave this realm again.” He let go of her neck, raising the dagger.
Clearly, this wasn’t a huge affair, otherwise there’d be others watching. Even if Faith attempted to focus on her Victi, the daggers would be useless as long as she couldn’t move her arms.
Just as he was about to bring the dagger down, right into her gut, she shouted again, “Wait!” Faith broke into a sweat, thankful that the robed man was so off-guard that he did in fact stop once more. “Before you do whatever it is you’re going to do, can you tell me one last thing?” Her green eyes flicked to the statue, and she practically growled out, “Who is that son of a bitch, and why do I feel like I know him from somewhere?”
The robed man dropped his dagger, losing his gusto. “What…what did you say?”
“I said—” Faith didn’t have the chance to say more. She was greeted with an arrow to the face as the bloodied tip emerged from the hooded man’s chest.
Chapter Ten
Light was not an Elf who believed in any higher power. What could not be explained by nature or magic was simply there. He was not spiritual, not religious. He never went to the gatherings that paid worship to the seasons, nor did he have a charm or necklace that invoked the power of nature. He was just an Elf trying to get by. An Elf stuck in a whirlwind of awful choices, it seemed. He was doing the one thing he never thought he would—save Human lives.
The mere thought gave him the jitters.
Yet, when he and his crew tracked the attackers to the ruins of Ironfey, Light had to pause to wonder if indeed there was something higher at work. For as they crept along the edges of the forest and saw the dilapidated ruins, its giant doors hanging wide open, and the group of female Humans staggering along, doing their best—but failing miserably—at being sneaky, he was stunned.
Honestly, he was expecting a huge rescue mission, with lots of fighting and death. But, here half of them were, strolling along as if nothing was wrong.
“Report,” one
of the warriors beside him demanded of the girls as they ran to the group who would’ve been their Elven saviors.
The yellow-haired one, the one who made a scene so Faith could sneak out of the gathering, spoke, “We were locked in a cell. Faith got us out but…she was caught. She’s still there.” There wasn’t a second’s hesitation in her eyes as she said, “We have to go back for her. And the boys.” She added the last part as an afterthought, because in situations like this one’s own survival was always put first.
“No,” the same warrior spoke, narrowing his pale grey eyes. “We will bring you back first. Have the healer look you all over.”
Light couldn’t believe he didn’t notice Faith’s lack of presence. The group was quieter than usual, wasn’t it? “Yes,” he agreed. “Two of you should take them back to Springsweet.” On his back, his bow practically hummed in anticipation.
“Light, surely you aren’t thinking—” The other Elf stopped, for Light was already gone, sneaking his way closer to Ironfey. He wouldn’t stop him. He couldn’t, even if he did try; but he did decide to join him as the other Elven escorted the girls back to the city.
He would save that blasted girl—and the males—and just maybe she’d be grateful for it, to him. He doubted it though. Faith did not seem like the type to be thankful for anything, except maybe a day off. In this world, there was no such thing as a day off. Each day was full of work and labor, and the nights were supposed to be relaxing. Light never quite understood that second part.
Ironfey was one of many ruins dotting the Alyna landscape. Each was smaller than the palace at Springsweet. They used to house the Fae, after their kingdom was taken and disbanded by the Dread King’s armies. Such was the price of their allegiance to the Humans. Though, Fae were deathly allergic to iron of any kind. Creating an entire space made of mostly iron with a few stones was a remarkable display of self-harm and diligence. It was where they sent their cast-offs, the Fae who committed crimes that were heinous. Until Ironfey fell to the forests of time, the Elven had watched over them.
Light and the warrior Elf circled the outside of the ruin until he spotted a broken window. As luck had it, there were numerous foot and hand-holds that made it easy to climb up. He landed with a soft thud in the room, frozen the moment his skin prickled with the heaviness of the air. The room was full of aether. So much aether that this had to have been gathered for a long while. This was a planned attack; had to be. There was too much aether in here otherwise.
“The amount of aether in here,” his tagalong spoke, disgusted with the view of the crates, “surely could take on all of Springsweet.” Grey eyes glancing to the door, he said, “Go. I know how eager you are to prove yourself to the Court.” He held a hand over his mouth and nose as if he were afraid to breathe the stuff in. Light didn’t understand why—he hadn’t been in the gathering when it happened; he didn’t have the stuff still lingering in his nose and lungs.
Light did not wait for him to say more. He crept through the room, peeking his head into the hall. A fast search of the wing led him to the empty dungeon cells. He gripped the one the girls escaped from, hand circling the iron bar as he studied the lock. Faith must’ve used her Victi. Being a rule-breaker had its perks, occasionally.
A loud explosion rocked the ruin, and it sent Light hurrying up the stairwell, covering his mouth as he sprinted past the rubble that used to be the room full of aether. Once it was extracted from the vein, there was only one way to truly get rid of liquid aether, and that was to burn it. Unfortunate that most races were weak to it. He’d probably closed off the room, leapt out the window and set an arrow ablaze, sending it into the room and catching the crates on fire. It’s what Light would’ve done.
Faith, where are you?
Something invisible tugged him along, drawing him down to the main level of the ruin, through its back courtyard that had long since seen better days. It was where the Fae had prayed to their gods, where they prayed for absolution for their mistakes. That’s what the rumor was, anyway. Ironfey hadn’t seen use in millennia, long before Light was born. Crumbling pews of stone circled a platform where a newer altar sat, along with a statue that certainly was not there when the ruins were built eons ago. The Dread King Dracyrus, though his figure was cracked, still looked impressive.
A robed man stood with his back to Light, between the altar and a small fountain. He didn’t need to get closer to know that the pool atop the fountain was a dark purple, a thick aether liquid. Feet and arms, chained beneath the terribly ugly uniform each Human had to wear during the day, a Human laid on the altar. He was far enough away that he couldn’t hear their voices, but he knew who the Human was.
Faith. The funny one. Had to be her, for it couldn’t be anyone else. The male students weren’t here. They must’ve taken them somewhere else…but where?
The robed man lifted a dagger and Light reacted instantly. Arrow nocked, with an aim that came only with years of practice, he released the bowstring and the arrow soon pierced the man’s chest, causing him to freeze, drop the dagger and…collapse, right atop Faith.
He swore, dashing to the front—or back?—of the courtyard, swinging his bow to his back before he lugged off the body. A fresh cut decorated Faith’s left cheek thanks to his arrow, a line of red blood oozing from it. She wasn’t mad, though; her green gaze sparkled in the sun as she smiled.
“Never thought I’d say I’m happy to see you,” she joked. “But here we are.”
Light did not particularly like the way she stared up at him, nor did he enjoy the feeling of his heartbeat increasing. He decided to search the body for a key, mentally telling himself: she’s a Human. Short, stout, more annoying than any family member…even if her eyes were beautiful. His fingers fumbled on the corpse’s waist and he worked to unlatch her ankles first, giving him much needed time to settle down. Every Elf and Fae had pretty eyes. Pretty eyes in this world were the norm.
That’s what he continued to tell himself as he moved to her wrists after her ankles were loose, but the second she was free, Faith threw her arms around his neck. She knelt on the altar, just about his height while on it, and buried her face into his neck as she whispered, “I am happy to see you.”
He froze. This was not something he was trained for, nor was it something he was used to. The way she clung to him was—well, it was too much. She was too close. Too warm. Light could feel her chest pressed against him, rising and falling with each breath she took. She trembled a bit, and he came to an even more startling conclusion: she was scared. The notion shouldn’t surprise him, for she was chained down, about to be sacrificed in some idiotic attempt to either raise or worship the Dread King, but it did. She didn’t seem like the type to be frightened at anything, being the rule-breaker she was, with her undocumented Victi.
And then Faith must’ve realized what she was doing, for she tensed up and quickly pulled away, coughing as she averted her gaze and slid off the altar.
“Your face,” Light spoke, his voice an uncharacteristic whisper. He was responsible for that cut, the only imperfection in what was otherwise flawless skin.
She reached a hand to her face, smearing the blood on her cheek. He saw she had another small cut on her hand. Faith glanced at it, saying, “Oh, this? I’ve had worse.” A moment’s pause. “I think. What about Cara and the others?”
“They are safely on their way back to Springsweet.”
“And the guys?”
Light frowned, imagining what the repercussions would be from the Human world if they were not found. “They’re not here.”
“Where are they?”
“I don’t know, but we must go.” Light turned from her, hating that he was feeling something—relief that she was safe? Content that she was near? The way her forehead felt on the bare skin of his neck…he had to do his best not to dwell on it.
Before going, he bent to the corpse, yanking the hood from the head. Skin so pale the veins beneath were visible. An hour in the sun and he’d g
et a rash. Inside his mouth were sharp teeth, Light was certain. An Ulen. What was an Ulen doing here, so far from the Cove? His body was devoid of any letters or motive. The mere fact that he was Ulen would have to be enough for the Court.
Faith nodded. She wanted to leave the area as quickly as possible, too.
Light hurried to the other side of the clearing, where Ironfey’s doors hung ajar. He swung his bow around, plucked an arrow from his quiver and the stones from his satchel on his hip. With a few hits, the tip of the arrow was lit, and he aimed it towards the sky. Once loose, the arrow soared upwards, curving downward in a harsh motion, landing in the basin full of aether and setting it alight instantly. As the purple gas seeped around the statue of a man long dead, the girl said something that startled him.
“Who is that?” Faith bit her lip, wrinkling her nose as the dot of metal sparkled in the sun.
“Do they not teach you about our history in your schools?” Light looked at her, seeing the tension on her face, the wrinkling of her eyebrows. Something was bothering her, but what? They were far enough from the altar that the cloud of aether would not reach them, so he would allow them this conversation.
She chuckled dryly. “We barely learn our own history, and even that is twisted.”
The Human school system was one thing Light could not pretend to understand. Through the violet mist, he glanced at the statue as he said, “That is the Dracon’s first High King, Dracyrus. He ruled with a violent fist, but he kept his kind to Furen Phyre. It wasn’t until the first Human crossed worlds that he became known as the Dread King.”
“The Dread King,” Faith repeated, seemingly amazed even though this was a tale each and every inhabitant of Light’s realm knew by heart. “I take it he didn’t like us Humans?”
The Harbinger Page 7
