by Morgan Rice
Mother, Kyra called out in her mind. Where are you? Are you with me?
Kyra listened, quieting her mind, hoping to hear back. Yet nothing came but silence. It was as if the silence of Marda were too thick to penetrate, as if Kyra had gone too far to the ends of the world for her mother, for anyone, to be with her now.
She tried to focus, to draw strength from herself. What was it that Alva had once said to her? To complete your training, first, you must forego the illusion that others are with you. You are born alone and you will die alone, and what you seek will come not from leaning on others, but on yourself. How deeply have you looked inside, Kyra? How deeply have you trusted yourself?
Here, now utterly alone, Kyra was beginning to sense the truth of his words. And it began to dawn on her that this utter loneliness was what she needed to complete her training. She had been leaning on others for too long; this would force her to lean on herself. This was, she realized, the final leg of her training.
The river turned again, and Kyra’s heart quickened as she watched the landscape change. Replacing the barren fields of dirt and ash, up ahead she saw a forest, a thick and tangled wood, stretching across the horizon as far as the eye could see. She saw huge thorns protruding from them, making the forest resemble one massive thorn bush. As they neared, she saw the trees themselves were sharp, thick, with gnarled, tangled branches, all black, devoid of foliage, devoid of life. At the entrance to this wood stood a narrow opening, a natural arch grown out of the thorns, allowing a single person entry into this foreboding place. And at the foot of this arch, the river came to an end.
Kyra felt her raft suddenly come to a stop, beaching on the shore before the wood. She stepped off, exchanging one foreboding surface for another, and wondering which was worse.
Kyra looked back to thank the person who had brought her—yet as she did, she was shocked to see the raft was already far away, floating downriver—and on it, there was nobody. Her sense of foreboding deepened. What was this land?
Kyra began to walk toward the entrance to the wood, knowing this was where she needed to go, and she had hardly gone a few feet when suddenly, the black soil before her shot up in an explosion.
Kyra recoiled and stepped back, on guard, as there emerged from the very soil itself, a massive, grotesque monster. It grew taller and taller, forming itself out of the ash, taking on the shape of a man, a grotesque man, three times the size of any man she’d known. It was a giant, shoulders three times as broad, with sharp daggers for fingers, claws for toes. He had spikes sticking out of his rib cage, and his head was large and misshapen, with three orange eyes and razor-sharp fangs for teeth.
She glanced down and for the first time noticed a pile of bones at its feet, and she realized: other sojourners. He was the guardian. No one got past him.
The monster reared and roared, its muscles and veins bulging, a roar sharp enough to shake the world. It raised its claws, and suddenly rushed her.
Kyra had to think quick. The beast sliced its claws down for her head, surprisingly fast, and she let her reflexes take over, ducking at the last second. Its claws whooshed by her, just missing, slicing off some of her hair, which fell in locks down into the mud at her feet.
Next, it swung backwards the other way, faster than she could anticipate, and she barely ducked in time, the claws grazing her cheek. She was struck with a sharp pain as the claws scratched her and drew blood. Yet, luckily, the main force of the swing had missed her, and Kyra, regaining herself, raised her staff, swung around, and cracked its wrist.
The beast roared in pain—yet it backhanded her in the same motion, and she went flying, airborne, up twenty feet, landing on her back in the mud.
Kyra, winded, backed up as it bore down on her. Its footsteps shook the earth as it sprinted right for her. She had nowhere to go, she realized in a panic, slipping as she backed up in the mud.
Kyra closed her eyes, sensing death approaching, and focused internally. She could not physically overpower this beast. She needed to summon her power. She needed to transcend the physical world.
Kyra felt a sudden burning in her palms, and feeling her power rising up within, she raised her hands. As the beast neared her, she held them out before her.
Two glowing balls of energy shot forth, smashing the beast in the chest and knocking it on its back.
It roared, and a second later, to her shock, it bounded back onto its feet and charged her again.
Please, God, she thought. Give me the strength to leap over this beast.
Kyra took two steps, running for it, and leapt into the air, praying her powers would not fail her now. If they did, she would die in its awful embrace.
To her immense relief, she found herself leaping up, higher and higher into the air. She leapt over its head, as the beast ran right past her, and landed on the other side of it. As she did, she wheeled and cracked it on the back with her staff.
It stumbled and fell face-first in the mud.
The beast looked back at her, seemingly stunned. Kyra, emboldened, would not give it time to regroup.
She charged forward to finish it off, yet as she did, it surprised her, swinging back around at the last second and knocking her legs out from under her.
As she landed on her back, it spun, made a fist, and raised it high, preparing to smash her into the ground.
Kyra rolled out of the way at the last second, its hammer-fist leaving a huge crater in the earth, just missing her.
She rolled as he hammered again and again, just missing each time, until finally she raised her staff, twisted it, and split it in two, revealing the concealed blades, grabbing one end in each hand. She raised it high, and as the beast struck, she rolled out of the way and plunged the two blades into the beast’s hand, pinning it to the earth.
The beast shrieked, stuck, unable to free itself.
Yet it surprised her by reaching over with its free hand and grabbing her by the throat. It squeezed her neck so fast and so tight, she was certain she would die.
Unable to breathe, Kyra gasped in agony, while the beast swung her left and right, shaking her until she felt sure she was about to die. It then he brought her toward its open mouth, opening it wider and wider as if to bite off her head.
Kyra closed her eyes and forced herself to focus not on what was before her, but on the energy coursing within.
You are stronger than this beast, she willed herself to believe. You are stronger than all forces outside of you. They all inhabit the world of illusion. The only world that is real is that inside of you.
Kyra slowly felt the certainly of her thoughts, felt them morph into beliefs, into what she knew was true. As she did, she felt her palms get burning hot. She opened her eyes and raised her palm and knew without fail that a white orb of light would come shooting forth, would save her.
It did. It flew through the air and smashed the beast in the mouth—and as it did, the beast went flying backwards, releasing its grip, the force so powerful that its other hand, impaled in the ground, came free. It flew a good twenty feet through the air, until finally it crashed onto the ground and lay there, dead.
Kyra, finally free, gasped for air. She saw the creature lying there, and she began to feel a great sense of power. She did have power. She was growing stronger in this place, she could feel it. With no turning back and no one to fall back on, she was learning how to become herself, how to master herself. There was something, too, about the darkness of this place that egged her on. Was she transforming into something else?
Kyra went to the wood before her and stood before the arched entrance. She felt it beckoning her, leading her deeper into darkness. Now she no longer feared it.
Now she craved it.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Aidan galloped across the barren landscape, Anvin beside him, White at their heels, sweating, the sun bearing down on them. He gasped for air, the dust in his face making it hard to breathe. Somewhere on the horizon, he knew, was Leptus, and as exhausted a
s he was, he forced himself to hang in there, to not show any weakness, especially in front of Anvin. They had been riding for hours, not even pausing to take a break since they had left his father and his men back outside Andros, and Aidan was determined not to let them down. He wanted Anvin to think of him as a man now.
As they rode, Aidan was filled with a sense of pride, and of urgency. This, he knew, was the most important mission of his life, and he was thrilled his father had allowed it. He knew the stakes could not be higher: If he and Anvin failed, if the men of Leptus refused to join in the battle against Baris, his father and his men would certainly die.
That gave him strength. Aidan ignored his pain, his exhaustion, his hunger, the heat of the sun, and rode on and on, taking strength from Anvin beside him, who, despite being wounded, despite his heavy armor, never slowed once. On the contrary, Anvin rode with an erect posture, the very embodiment of selflessness and valor.
They rode and rode, the sound of the horses thundering in Aidan’s ears, the sun arcing in the sky, the afternoon shadows growing stronger. Aidan was convinced that they would never reach Leptus.
And then, suddenly they crested a hill, and the landscape began to shift. The rock and desert, the endless rows of tumbleweed, began to give way to soil, to grass, to trees; the endless flat monotony gave way, on the horizon, to shapes, to structures. They soon passed an occasional clay dwelling, and then these became more and more frequent, packed more densely together. And soon, in the landscape, there appeared a road—and this road, Aidan saw with delight and relief, led to a stronghold.
Aidan was impressed to see a medium-size city perched at the edge of the desert, nestled along the shores of the Bay of Death. He held up a hand and squinted, the glare so strong off the glistening waters behind it.
Leptus. They had made it.
Leptus was a minor city, he knew, in the southern reaches of Escalon, the southernmost city on this side of Everfall. South of Baris but north of Thebus, Leptus was known as the last real city of the south. It was so out of the way, here in this arid landscape, so far from anywhere, it was known as a hard place, an outpost, a place of separatists. It lacked the lush, verdant rolling hills of most of Escalon, and being here in this hard place, sandwiched between the desert and Everfall and the Bay of Death, made Aidan glad that he had been raised in Volis.
Yet ironically, this small stronghold, so far from all the major trade routes and roads, so hard to get to, had become the last holdout for the free men of Escalon. Here resided the last free warriors, the only men left whom the Pandesian invasion had not yet reached. Of course, Aidan knew, it was only because of their geography, and soon enough, that would change. Yet for now, it made these men of Leptus the last people his father could turn to for help.
They continued down the road for the city, and soon Aidan found himself riding over a small, stone bridge, crossing an inlet of the Bay of Death, black waters swirling beneath them. They rode on, Aidan’s heart pounding with excitement, until they finally reached a large, arched stone gate, its iron portcullis lowered, and a dozen fierce warriors standing before it. They stood at perfect attention, wielding long halberds and looking straight ahead, wearing the same blue and white armor of their city’s banner flying overhead.
Finally, Aidan and Anvin came to a stop before them, White at their feet, all breathing hard. Aidan wiped the dust off his face from the long ride.
The lead soldier, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a scar running down his right cheek, stepped forward and peered out at them.
“State your name,” he demanded.
“Anvin,” Anvin replied breathlessly, “of Volis. Duncan’s commander. Here with me is Aidan, his son.”
The man nodded back, cold and hard.
“And I am Leifall,” he replied. “What business you have in Leptus?”
Anvin took a deep breath.
“We are men of Escalon,” Anvin called back, breathing hard, “and have come on urgent business. Open these gates at once and bring us to your commander.”
Leifall stared back, unmoved.
“What business?” he demanded.
“The fate of Escalon,” Anvin called back.
Yet still, Leifall did not step aside.
“Who sent you?” he demanded.
“Duncan of Volis,” Anvin replied.
Leifall, with his elongated face and the narrow eyes of the people of the south, slowly rubbed his brown beard.
“First I must know: what is your business here?” he asked, his voice still hard.
“Bring me to be your commander, and I will tell him myself,” Anvin called back, impatient.
Leifall stared back, hard, unmoving.
“I am the commander here,” he said.
They stared back in surprise.
“You?” Anvin said. “Why would a commander be guarding a gate?”
The commander stared back, hard and cold.
“He who leads must stand first in peril. That is our motto,” he replied. “Where else should a commander be?” he called back. “The people of Leptus are a democratic people. I ask nothing of them I would not do myself. I stand with my men, and they with me. That is what makes us who we are.”
He examined Anvin, while Aidan looked back at him with a whole new sense of respect.
“So I ask you again: what do you want of the men of Leptus?” Leifall called out.
Anvin dismounted, Aidan following his lead, relieved to be off the horse, and as they did, all the soldiers tensed, gripping their halberds as if to strike. The commander gestured to his men and they lowered their weapons, while White, snarling, came up beside Aidan, as if to defend him. Aidan stroked his head, putting him at ease.
Stopping a few feet away from the commander, Anvin spoke, his voice urgent.
“Our great country has been overrun,” he said. “Perhaps you have not noticed because you reside here, out of the way from the rest of us. Pandesia has invaded. Escalon has fallen—all of it except for your little corner. Soon enough, they will march on Leptus, too.”
Leifall looked back, skeptical, hardened, his eyes widening just a bit in surprise as he slowly rubbed his beard.
“Go on,” he finally replied.
“Duncan rides for Baris now,” Anvin continued. “He needs to destroy those who betrayed us, and to lure the Pandesians into the canyon. He needs your help.”
The commander stroked his beard for a long time as he stood there, seemingly deep in thought, studying Anvin.
“And why should we help you?” he finally asked.
“Why?” Anvin asked, surprised. “Is not our cause your cause? Do we not share a homeland? A common invader?”
Leifall shook his head.
“Since when have you come to Leptus?” he replied. “And since when have we ventured to Volis? We may live on the same land, but we are different people, from different corners of a land, who merely share a capital.”
Anvin narrowed his eyes.
“Is that the way of the men of Leptus then?” he asked. “To isolate themselves? To ignore their brothers in their time of need?”
Leifall reddened.
“You are no brother to me,” he replied, his jaw locked. “Why should I risk my men to save this Duncan, this commander whom I have never met? Who has never bothered to pay homage to us once?”
Anvin frowned.
“He would help you if you came to him,” he replied.
“Perhaps,” the commander replied. “And perhaps not.”
Anvin frowned, clearly frustrated.
“You would also be helping yourselves,” he replied, “if that is all that matters. Do not think you will be spared by Pandesia.”
Leifall shrugged, unimpressed.
“We have our own defenses,” he replied. “We can fight on our own terms, and last much longer than you think. No one has ever taken these walls. And we have an escape route on the Bay of Death. We are protected on both sides. This is why Leptus has never been taken.”
Leifall scowled, and Aidan could feel the exchange quickly deteriorating.
“Call it what you will,” the commander replied, “yet we are free and you are not.”
“For now,” Anvin replied.
Leifall breathed for a long time, seething, until finally he continued.
“Duncan’s taking Baris is a poor strategy,” he added. “No one takes the low ground. It is a death trap.”
Anvin was undeterred.
“It is the best place to take shelter from the capital,” he replied. “Andros is burning. The Pandesians are unfamiliar with Baris, and we can use the canyon to our advantage.”
Leifall looked out into the distance, and after a long time, he sighed.
“Perhaps,” he finally said. “Still, the men of Leptus would be better served fighting Pandesia here, on our own ground, with our own defenses, and with our backs to the Bay of Death. My job is to protect my people, not yours.”
Anvin scowled.
“Are we not the same people?” he asked.
Leifall did not respond.
Anvin’s face hardened.
“Our people need you,” Anvin pressed. “Not here, behind your gates. But in the open field, where the battle is being fought.”
Leifall shook his head.
“This is your war,” he replied. “Is this not the revolution I have heard so much of, the one sparked by Duncan’s daughter? The one who was playing with dragons?”
At the mention of his sister, Aidan felt a burning need to speak up, unable to quiet himself any longer.
“That is my sister you speak of,” he called out, indignant, defensive. “And she only sparked the war that the rest of you were afraid to—the war that would stop us all from living as slaves, that would finally give us freedom.”
Leifall scowled as he slowly turned to Aidan.
“Watch your tongue, boy. You’re not so young that I won’t put you in lashes.”
