The Harbinger

by Candace Wondrak

  Taking a step back, she turned from him, muttering, “You’re lucky I agree with you, otherwise I might think you’re a little on the controlling side.” Sitting on the edge of the bed, she kicked off her boots and tucked her feet beneath her bottom. “So, are we going to talk about it, or pretend like it never happened?” Her voice, normally so strong and assured, held signs of uncertainty.

  Light stared at her.

  “The kiss.” Faith gave him a frown and then her lips puckered. It was as if she were tempting him on purpose. “Look, I don’t know what you think I am, but you’re going to be disappointed. I’m not…if you hope I’m going to be easy, if you just did that to satisfy some weird curiosity, I—”

  “I could say the same to you,” Light said, acting offended. As if he spent his free time daydreaming about what a Human female tasted like. As if he planned this whole thing. As if he wanted it all along. How preposterous.

  Faith grew angry. “What is that supposed to mean? You kissed me!”

  “Oh, do not act as if you didn’t want it. Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it.”

  “You started it in that hole.”

  “Well, perhaps if you wouldn’t have gotten on my nerves so much, I wouldn’t have had to shut that mouth of yours.”

  A half smile formed on her lips. Those damned lips that felt ten times softer than they looked, and they looked extremely soft. “I’m sorry if I like to talk instead of brood all the time. We can’t all be like you, can we?”

  Insulted, Light spat, “I do not brood.”

  “Oh, you don’t?” She flung her hair over her shoulder and spoke in a mockingly low voice, “My name is Sunnytoes. My friends call me Light, or they would if I had any friends. My favorite pastimes include shooting a bow and scowling. One I’m very good at, and the other—well, the animals can’t tell the other Elves how bad of a shot I am—”

  He took a step toward her, then another. Soon he was in front of her, towering over her diminutive frame as she sat on the bed, unblinking at his approach. She wasn’t scared of him in the slightest. Of course he wouldn’t hurt her, but he was intensely irritated. “I am not a bad shot,” he muttered.

  Faith simply shrugged once and said, “I’m sure there are better shots out there.”

  “Take it back,” he spoke, though it came out more like a growl. Guttural. His eyes traveled down her filthy uniform as she went to her knees on the bed, just a bit lower than his face as she defiantly met his stare.

  She knew how to wind him up, didn’t she? She knew, somehow, the best and quickest way to get under his skin.

  “No,” Faith told him, drawing out the word.

  Light moved closer, his forehead against hers as he said again, “Take. It. Back.” He could feel her breath on his neck, wanted to feel it in more places than that. Resisting the urge to pull her against him, to snake his arm around her back and hold her to him, was never more difficult.

  “Saying it like that,” she whispered, “and being this close isn’t going to make me change my mind.”

  He exhaled. “You…”

  Her eyebrows rose. “What?”

  “…make me…”

  “I make you what?” Faith asked when he did not finish. She did not move closer to him, nor did she move away. She waited for his move.

  “…crazy.” Light could hold back no longer. His hands went to her neck, angling her face up to his. He leaned forward, his chest against hers. And then, willpower crumbling, his mouth met hers once again. This time, even though he knew what she felt like, what she tasted like, it still came like a jolt. So soft, so sweet, so unlike anything he’d ever tasted before. Were all Humans like this, or just her?

  Light didn’t care. He wanted her. It was an anomaly, something that could not last and yet here he was, a willing participant, eager and excited to carry on.

  Her hands found their way to his chest and then his neck, wrapping around him as she arched her back, pressing harder against his front, making him feel the need to throw her down to the bed and make good use of their alone time, with no Tarnel outside the door. But he didn’t. Light couldn’t pull away from her, even if only for a moment. He wanted her so desperately, so badly, that he felt the ache in every part of his body. It felt so good it hurt.

  For a while, neither of them moved. They simply remained there, locked in their embrace, one standing and one kneeling, until the day’s light faded into dusk. It wasn’t until Faith, her cheeks flushed with heat, broke their contact by the smallest amount so she could whisper, “I think you’ve had enough.”

  Light felt like arguing, for he was fairly sure he would never get enough, but he simply nodded along like an agreeable boy. “You should rest. Tomorrow will be…” What would tomorrow hold for her? He couldn’t say.

  Apparently he didn’t have to, for Faith leaned back on the bed, landing with a thump on the bejeweled sheets. “I know.”

  Not knowing what to do, and knowing that if he stayed so close to her, other things beside kissing were bound to happen, Light hesitantly went for the door. He didn’t want to leave her, but his mind was a whirlwind, and his lips were a little sore.

  “Light,” Faith called out to him. “Stay?” When he paused to look back at her in the dimming room, she quickly added, “Not on the bed with me, but on the floor?”

  A skeptical smile crossed his face. “You want me to stay and sleep on the floor?”

  “Well, if you could learn to keep your hands and lips off me, then maybe I’d let you sleep next to me since the bed is more than big enough, but you’ve been naughty.”

  Naughty, huh? Light could be even naughtier if she’d let him. But maybe that was a good thing. He did not need to flip his entire world upside-down in a matter of days. He needed more time for that.

  Slowly moving back into the room, Light said, “You didn’t seem to have any problems with my hands or my lips a few moments ago.”

  “I didn’t say I did, but Light, we both know now’s not the time for that.” She was probably referencing her missing classmates and the fact that she was the Harbinger, which Light could not argue with.

  However, he did wish to say that if one were to look at each situation in life, it was never the right time. The optimist in him would say that it was best to make the most out of the time one had, regardless of other circumstances. But he kept quiet, simply smiling to himself as he pointed to the floor.

  “You truly want me to be that uncomfortable?” He was met with a pillow to the face.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Rumors traveled fast. Whoever got to the sword first would mark his soul onto the blade and forever forbid the other from using it. It was a great tool, an impressive weapon, unique in every way. There were none other like it. The Harbinger and the Dread King were not the first to attempt to reach the Ageless Blade, locked deep within the depths of the ancient tomb whose entrance lied under the waters between Alyna and the lands of Furen. Mer-creatures swam and attacked anyone who got too close.

  The Harbinger ran as fast as he could, dripping, having taken off his armor before the swim. Behind him, he could hear the clashing of swords and the screeching of the mer-creatures. The cavern abruptly opened unto a crudely-carved altar. A light shone, emanating from the blade that rested in the stone.

  A simple blade. A sword both like and unlike any other. Back home, there was a similar legend. A similar sword stuck in a stone that only a true hero could pull out. Excalibur. Was the Harbinger hero enough? He would soon find out.

  Standing before the altar, before the glowing sword, the Harbinger reached out his hands, firmly gripping the handle with his wet gloves. And then he pulled with all his might. The sword, glimmering magically, did not budge even a centimeter.

  A dark laugh filled the space, and suddenly the Harbinger was not alone. He looked up from the sword, not once taking his hands from the grip, staring across the cave to where the Dread King himself stood. This was not Dracyrus’s first life, nor was he the first
Harbinger. How many times had they played this game of cat and mouse?

  Dracyrus was a tall fellow, intimidating in all the ways that Dracon typically were, only much more so. Thick and muscled, he was far different than the Elves and Fae that made up the Harbinger’s army. Built like stone, a warrior in and of himself. Twenty of the Harbinger’s best men could not defeat him alone. Pale horns on his forehead, tall and curled; the tallest he’d ever seen on a Dracon, almost as long as his forearm. White scales surrounded the horns, lining the sides of his angular face. Equally white hair, long and flowing, sat on his head, cascading down his back over the sharp metal armor and leather cape he wore. Eyes, black as night yet reflective like obsidian, glared at the Harbinger. He was utterly dry. The lucky bastard must’ve found another way inside.

  “It seems you are not strong enough, Harbinger,” Dracyrus spoke, flashing teeth that were sharper than his. His loud, strong voice echoed in the otherwise empty cavern.

  The Harbinger’s jaw set, his will as strong as iron. Just seeing the Dread King made him feel stronger, and so he gave the Ageless Blade another try. This time, with this yank, he succeeded in freeing it from its stone prison.

  The blade glowed brighter, flashing, illuminating the entire room in a matter of seconds. The Harbinger felt a piece of him being taken, torn and sucked into the blade. It felt odd, just like the Fae warned him it would. When the light subsided somewhat, and the Ageless Blade’s light dimmed to the strength of a torch’s fire, he knew it was over. He had the sword, and now the Dread King would never be able to use it. Perhaps now it would all end.

  He turned to Dracyrus, the Ageless Blade shining between them.

  Dracyrus smirked, his hard features twisting as he laughed. “Do you truly think that you will win simply because you have a sword? No.” With speed no Human ever had, Dracyrus ran to him, unsheathing the longsword on his hip, metal colliding as the Harbinger deflected the blow. They were locked in combat.

  Neither one would cease first. Neither one would give in. They would both fight until one stood victor or they were both dead. There were no other options here. The Harbinger was tired of the constant fighting, of all the innocent lives lost in their war. The Fae, his precious Fae, had lost so much already.

  “I will tear your heart from your body,” Dracyrus hissed, his attacks erratic—almost too much so. “I will rip the bones from your flesh and make you watch as I kill that pretty Fae girl of yours.”

  That was it. The Harbinger felt his vision blur, his nerves harden. He wanted blood, and only the blood of the Dread King would satisfy his bloodlust. After deflecting a blow to his right side, the Harbinger swung the Ageless Blade forward, impaling Dracyrus in the gut, where his armor was pieced together, the weakest link.

  A line of silver blood seeped from Dracyrus’s mouth and the Harbinger hissed, “You will not touch her.” He would begrudgingly die for his destiny, but he would gladly perish if it meant she was safe. “It’s over.” He pushed the sword into his gut deeper, as far as it would go.

  Dracyrus’s thick frame shook with what could only be laughter. His eyes, almost pupil-less, gleamed as he whispered, “You should have aimed for the head.” And then, before the Harbinger could react, he grabbed something from his side using his free hand and brought it to the Harbinger’s face. The metal of the dagger pierced his unarmored flesh easily, gliding downwards to his throat, cutting off airways and veins alike.

  Red burst everywhere and the Harbinger lost grip of the Ageless Blade, stumbling backwards, colliding with the altar that now held nothing more than a hole. He reached for the dagger, shaking, falling. The pain, he never imagined it would feel quite like this. And the blood, there was so much of it. Too much. Was all of it from him? He started losing his vision, consciousness fading for the last time.

  Across from him, the Dread King fell to his knees, trying to pull out the Blade. As soon as his hands, though gloved, touched the hilt, it sizzled and burned him. For even in death, it did not belong to him. The sharp end in his gut made the same noise, searing flesh and organs alike. He would not pull the Ageless Blade out. He would die with it inside him. Realizing this, he started laughing. “What an end this one was,” he spat silver blood towards the Harbinger, who was already dead. “I look forward to our next meeting, hero.”

  Then it was just the Dread King staring at a lifeless corpse.

  “How undignified.” He lost his confident demeanor, lost the sneer he constantly held toward the Harbinger, his face relaxing as he fell back, staring at the ceiling of the cavern. His stomach burned, his insides were on fire, but he was used to the heat. That did not mean the heat would not kill him. It would, and it did.

  How undignified indeed.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Heat flooded her. Body temperature rising, Faith tossed and turned—or she tried to. She couldn’t, for something weighed down her torso. She woke from a nightmare she couldn’t remember. Or was it more than a dream, was it a memory of a time long past? With an exhale, she sluggishly opened her eyes, expecting to find that Light had somehow crawled atop her while she was sleeping.

  If only it was Light. It wasn’t.

  A black cloth, heavy and thick, laid atop her above the sheets. It was still dark out, but an odd light emanated from the cloth. Faith struggled to sit and the black cloth—and whatever was inside it—slid down the sheets. Her eyes flicked to where Light laid on the floor. He was out still, mouth ajar slightly, eyes closed, hardly breathing to the point where she thought he was dead. He wasn’t, though; he was just one of those weird people who hardly breathed while they slept. Once every twenty seconds, if that.

  She slid her arms from the covers, reaching for the strange thing. Her heartbeat sped up, but she hadn’t an inkling what it was. Was it the reason she felt so warm? Why did she feel as though she woke from a terrible dream?

  Faith pulled at the nearest corner of the cloth, gasping when she saw a shining hilt. “Light,” she whispered. She wasn’t sure who put it atop her while she slept, for it most definitely wasn’t there before. Who could pass by Light without waking him up? “Light,” she said again, louder.

  He stirred, yawning before sitting up. “What is it? Are we there?”

  Faith thought about asking where he thought they were going in his dreamland but shook it off. “I think someone left me a present,” she said, gesturing to her lap where the slightly-glowing thing sat.

  Light went to grab it, and instantly burned himself when he touched the metal. He did manage to pull it all the way out of the black cloth, though. Wincing, he was now wide awake. “That’s the damned Ageless Blade.”

  “But I thought…” The Elves were supposed to give it to her—they just sent scouts. They couldn’t have traveled so fast.

  “I thought so, too.”

  Faith and Light exchanged worried glances. “What should we do?” she asked.

  “Well, I can tell you one thing—I’m not touching it again.” He studied his burnt hand.

  She bit the inside of her cheek as she thought. Should she try touching it? If this was the blade, wasn’t that what the Court wanted? Faith hesitantly reached for the hilt, gripping its simple hilt firmly. It was surprisingly light, considering it was made of some shiny metal.

  Correction: not just shiny. It shone. As in, like a battery-powered lightsaber from Star Wars, only less energy-based and more metal-based.

  Her heart ached suddenly and with her other hand, Faith touched her chest, right above her heart. Like someone just plucked something out of her, something light and airy, but it was enough that she noticed and felt it. The weirdest thing she ever felt, even weirder than all the fish mouths in the pond plucking at her skin.

  The blade started to shine brighter, light enveloping the entire room. Faith dropped the sword to cover her eyes—for her eyelids weren’t much help—and by the time the light died down and she was able to see again, she noticed that the sword wasn’t resting on the bed. It was just gone.

/>   “Should we…tell someone?” she questioned, clueless as to what to do.

  “I don’t know,” Light answered. “I don’t want them to think that you somehow stole it.”

  That thought never occurred to her, and suddenly the empty black cloth resting on her lap held more meaning. “Do you think someone’s…” She couldn’t even say it. Trying to set her up? That was kind of out there, because why would they want to set her up?

  Plus, where the hell did the oh-so-special sword go?

  “What do we do?” Faith muttered, folding the black cloth as neatly as she could. She then held it in her hands, staring at it through the darkness as if it held all the answers.

  Light’s hands covered her, gently taking the thick, rough cloth from her. “Let’s sleep on it. By morning, I’ll have an idea.” He said it confidently, and at that moment, there was not a doubt in her mind that he would come up with something that didn’t involve either of them looking suspect or red-handed.

  Faith didn’t sleep another wink all night.

  When morning came and the light of dawn flooded through the windows, she was ready to hear his brilliant idea that probably involved a long, slightly confused explanation to the Court. But when Light simply looked at her and shrugged, she pushed out her lip.

  “Now is not the time for pouting,” Light told her.

  With a roll of her eyes, she stopped pouting. A petulant Harbinger. She bet that was a new one. Maybe if she gave the Dread King her best pouty face he’d get so confused that she could get close to him and end it quickly. Her mouth opened, for she felt the need to joke around to lighten the mood, when a series of knocks bounced through the room.

  “Are you awake?” It was that guard’s voice—Tarn? Tyrll? Tarnel? Yes, Tarnel. That was it. “There is a situation.”

  Light hurriedly stuck the black cloth between the mattress and the frame. He pointed to her head after sliding on gloves to hide the burn. “Your hair’s a little…” He didn’t have to finish; she knew how bad her bedhead was.