by S. M. Boyce
“What are you thinking about?” she asked.
“Nothing.” He glanced back to her and forced a thin smile.
She scoffed. “That was convincing.”
Kara sat beside the waterfall and leaned her head against the wall, looking off into the murky forest and avoiding his gaze as if she’d read his mind. The rough wall pushed against his back as he sat beside her and toyed with what to say, but he lost his train of thought in the silence. The waterfall gurgled over its small boulders, and with each echoing splash, his internal healing tremors grew softer. It wouldn’t be much longer before he was completely healed and able to bury yet another terrible memory of the Stele.
“So people don’t really trust you, huh?” Kara’s voice snapped him from his thoughts.
He laughed. “What gave it away?”
“Something about being thrown against a cliff by a dragon.”
“All things considered, that was one of the warmer receptions I’ve had in my life.”
“That’s terrible,” she said with a chuckle.
He shrugged. “I’m a Stelian. My people are dangerous.”
“What has Carden done to make people so angry?”
“It’s not just Carden. The Stele has a history of killing and enslaving other yakona as retribution for our banishment. That is why Stelians are killed on sight, no matter what Carden may prefer to think. We are feared because he murders and plunders.”
“Why? Just to do it?”
“Well, you heard his tirade. We were banished millennia ago because a distant ancestor supposedly discovered a way to steal the bloodline from other yakona royal families. They say that’s why the city of Ethos fell. No one could trust each other anymore. No one has for a long time.”
“What’s Ethos?”
“All the kingdoms were united once, way back, and lived together in a massive city called Ethos. That’s where Deirdre threw you into the prison with me.”
“Oh, all right. But stealing bloodlines? What did he do, drain their blood?”
Braeden paused. This was the Vagabond, master of the Grimoire and Ourea’s history. “How do you not know any of this, Kara?”
“Well, excuse me. I haven’t exactly had a chance to read the manual.”
He laughed. “All right, then. Bloodlines are sacred to yakona. Every kingdom is ruled by a Blood and an Heir. The Blood is the king—or queen, since we have female Bloods, too. They’re born with the royal bloodline, which lets them control their people.”
“Like Carden controlled you?” She blushed as soon as she spoke, but it was too late. “I’m sorry, Braeden. That was rude.”
“No, I don’t mind,” he lied. “But yes, that is a good example. The Heir also has the bloodline, but can’t control any subjects until the Blood dies and the Heir takes the throne. The bloodline is unique and sometimes hard to discover, but the easiest way to tell if a yakona is a royal is in how quickly he or she heals. Royals heal almost instantly.”
“Like you did when those spikes came off?”
“Yes, exactly.”
She shuddered, but remained silent. Braeden ran his thumb over where the scars from the spikes should have been. They’d healed faster than he thought they would.
“Carden is different,” he continued. “He’s worse than anyone before him because he does more than just kill. He destroys. Death becomes a mercy, one he does not always allow. For instance—”
His jaw tensed and the words stopped as he once again recalled the memory she’d dragged from him in the meadow. The waterfall’s gurgling took over the room. There was the occasional shuffle of her shoe on the floor, or the rustle of her shirt catching on the rock wall as she shifted her weight, but the conversation came to an abrupt end.
He was content to never continue, to let the silence last until the army had come and gone, but he heard his own voice before he realized he was speaking.
“When I was a boy, Carden made me torture a prisoner. The way she screamed”—his voice broke—“I’d never heard anything so terrible.”
“I’m sorry,” Kara whispered.
“He made me burn her, break her bones, split her skin open. It went on forever. I had no idea who she was, then, but I found out later that she was a Blood: Aislynn of the Ayavel kingdom, which happens to be the only other race that can shift form like Stelians. The rest—Hillside, Losse, Kirelm—they think that gift is just a myth. I never wanted to correct them.
“Torturing Aislynn was the first time I felt guilt. She begged me to stop, to just kill her, but I could never help her while Carden watched—and he was always watching. I think Mother did love him, once, but she realized then what he was and what he wanted me to be. She dragged me out of bed that night and hid me in one of the carriages. Aislynn was already there. You saw the rest.”
“But what happened next?” she asked. “I mean, the isen in your memory said Carden was coming for you. He knew where you were.”
“An isen hunter named Richard found us before Carden could. He’s Hillsidian, so I shifted form.” Braeden gestured to his body. “Hillside is one of the yakona kingdoms, and I guess you could say they look like humans.”
“I take it the others don’t?”
“Not even close. You saw Carden.” He shook his head and sighed. And you saw me, the real me. He glared at the floor and continued, not wanting to pause long enough to let her remember.
“Aislynn lied to Richard for whatever reason—out of gratitude to Mother, maybe. She told him that I was a Hillsidian orphan she’d rescued, and so far as I know, she has never said anything to the contrary. Richard brought me to Hillside, where I discovered that his wife was none other than the Hillsidian Blood. They adopted me, though I still can’t figure out why.”
“I’m going to go off topic here,” Kara muttered, “but you said that Stelians and, what, I guess they’re called Ayavels?”
“Ayavelians.”
She rolled her eyes. “Okay, Ayavelians. I was close. You said you all can change form. Can you become a dragon, like the muses?”
Braeden laughed before he could stop himself. It was a real laugh, a full one, and he hadn’t laughed like that in years. It faded to a chuckle when Kara’s eyebrows bent and she blushed, but he enjoyed it. She punched his shoulder.
“Don’t laugh at me! I don’t know these things yet!”
“I apologize.” He bit his cheek to quell his laughter. “No. I can change form to look like a member of any one of the other kingdoms, but that was after years of practice. Only muses can become anything.”
“See? That wasn’t so hard to answer,” she said, grumbling.
“You know, you’re the only person who has ever heard my story.”
“Well thanks, I guess. My friends say I’m a good listener. Dad still thinks that I should become a therapist, but in my experience they’re not much help.” She rubbed her face. “But you probably don’t even know what a therapist is.”
He shrugged. “I go into the human world all the time. I know quite a few things about your kind.”
“Of course you do.”
“So what is this experience you have with therapists?”
“Ah,” she muttered, suddenly very interested in the dirt under her fingernails. “I don’t know. My Mom died a few months ago. I have a private session each week, but we haven’t really gotten anywhere.”
“Maybe you’re so good at listening that you have no idea when to speak.”
“Let’s not talk about me.”
“But—”
A tree shuddered and snapped, falling to the ground only a few dozen yards away. Braeden stood and braced himself, forgetting in his moment of sudden focus that he’d been about to point out her hypocrisy. A shadow raced through the trees along the front edge of the meadow: big and fast and blurry. The light echo of its paws reverberated through the ground so that he could barely distinguish it from his own heartbeat.
His breath caught in his throat as he waited for the creature to c
rash into the meadow, but he still wasn’t ready when it did. The beast tore up clumps of grass as it ran and suddenly paused, glaring at the mountain. Braeden stopped breathing. Kara gasped.
“What the hell is that?” she asked.
It was an earak, standing still as a statue except for its heaving chest. Its ear twitched toward them when Kara spoke. This one was five times Braeden’s size and by far the largest that he had ever seen. Hundreds of crooked teeth hung far beyond its lips like rusty knives in its flat, boxy head. A hump in its back rocked as it shifted weight across its six massive paws. It smelled the air. Earaks were trackers and had the best sense of smell on Earth. It would find them.
After two more giant whiffs of the late morning breeze, the monster scratched the ground and slung its nose into the dirt, leaving gray strings of saliva on the tufts of grass. Each sniff brought it a giant paw print closer to the mountain. The trees picked up a fitful wind and danced behind the creature.
Finally, it brought its nose to the base of the cliff wall and pressed itself against the rock, its snot catching on crags and loose boulders. It peered through, eyes unfocused, and in a fleeting glance caught Braeden’s eye. He forced his mouth shut with a hard swallow. His lungs hurt from not breathing, but he did not dare to fill them.
The beast howled into the mountain, the noise a jarring scream in the calm morning. Dust showered from the roof. Braeden reached for his sword, and the familiar dark gray flame lit itself in his free palm.
The earak reached a paw up to its eye level and slowly dragged its claws against the rock. The shrill screech echoed through the cave. Braeden shuddered. The claw left a long scar that distorted his view of the forest.
Another, distant howl broke across the air. The earak leaned in the direction of the noise, ears pinned to its head as it decided what to do. Then, as swiftly as it had bounded into the clearing, it was gone, racing for its fellow monster.
Braeden cursed and sucked in air. He threw his sword back in its scabbard, and the gray flame in his hand flickered out as relief washed over him.
Kara sat and pushed herself against the rock, cradling her head in her hands. “What was that?!”
He knelt in front of her to see if she was all right. Her face was pale, and the skin around her eyes wrinkled with fear. As he opened his mouth to answer her, she froze. Her gaze shifted around him, so he turned. The army that had pummeled through the trees from afar was just now crashing into the clearing.
The horde trampled the meadow grasses as they shoved past each other. A centaur bolted into sight, its hairy skin rippling as it ran. A pack of wolves followed closely behind, biting and snarling at anything that came too close. A hundred gray-skinned Stelians filled in the gaps of the odd company, their pores steaming as they yelled to one another.
A minotaur bellowed something unintelligible and raced after the earak, breaking through a group of yakona and shoving them to the ground on its way. The army hollered and sprinted after it.
“We need to go,” Braeden said.
Adele appeared suddenly, making him jump, but she ignored him and eyed the scratch in the mountain. Garrett knelt to help Kara to her feet.
“I just want to go home,” Kara grumbled.
“But Vagabond,” Adele said. “Ourea is your home now.”
“No way. This place is nuts. You all can keep it.”
“The Grimoire brought you here,” Adele insisted. “Whether you like it or not, you can never go back to the life you had. Creatures like that will hunt you anywhere you go, even if you leave Ourea.”
“This is who you are.” Garrett looked down at her over the brim of his nose. “You are the Vagabond. I think you better understand what that means, now.”
The remaining color in Kara’s cheeks faded. Even her pink lips flushed white. She stared into the now-empty meadow, and Braeden wished he could help her somehow.
Garrett sighed. “The fact of the matter is you are the only one powerful enough to read the Grimoire. Yakona and isen alike are willing to kill to control the magic in that book, so any shred of the normal life you had is gone. Leaders from every race will hunt you for wealth and for power, and anyone who helps you risks dying because of it. That means if you returned to your human life, you would be found and your family and friends would become leverage against you.”
“That’s why Carden wanted you to invite your family to the Stele,” Braeden added. “In case you hadn’t figured that one out already.”
“Won’t they find out where Dad is anyway?” Kara rubbed her temples and took deep, useless breaths. “Shouldn’t I warn him about all of this?”
Adele set a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “If you returned to even say goodbye, Kara, they would follow you. They have your scent and they will find you, wherever you go. Carden wants that book. He wants you and he wants Braeden. If you stay away from your family, they will be safe.”
“I have to at least tell Dad that I’m okay. If I just disappeared—and so soon after Mom—” She slunk against the cave wall, cradling her head in her hands. Her eyes glistened, but she bit her lip and winced from the effort.
Adele cradled Kara’s chin and wiped away a tear. There was a thin cracking sound, like ice breaking, and the water crystallized on the muse’s fingertips until it glistened like a diamond. Adele wove her spidery fingers around it and, in a matter of seconds, created a small silver pendant that looped twice over itself. The glimmering tear-diamond shone from its center.
“This pendant will tell me if you are in trouble,” she said. “I can’t replace your father, Kara, but this stone will help me keep you safe.”
The muse draped the circular pendant around her own neck. Kara examined her over the brim of her nose, eyes narrowed and confused.
“Why are you all helping me?”
“You remind me of someone I lost.” Adele took a deep, steadying breath. “I failed him. I will not fail you.”
Kara looked at the floor. “Thank you, but I’m sorry. I just can’t leave Dad. Not now.”
“You should never say that you can’t do something. There are always choices, even in a situation like this: you can go home and lead Ourea’s demons to his door; you can run away from the responsibilities you took upon yourself by opening the Grimoire; or you can embrace this world and conquer the challenges the Vagabond left for you. Someday, you will see your father again. I promise.”
“Abandon my dad or get him killed? Adele, that’s not a choice.”
Kara ran her hands through her hair, pulling on the roots. Braeden leaned against the wall and suppressed a sigh. This would take some time, then.
“I guess I would rather he think I disappeared than get him killed. I just—” Her voice cracked and the rest came out a whisper. “I just hope he forgives me.”
Garrett set a hand on her shoulder. “You should focus more on what lies ahead. You’re lucky to have the Grimoire to help you. Do you know what its clover symbol means?”
She shook her head, but wouldn’t look up.
“The Vagabond told me once that it represents the four primary roads you can take in life: happiness, hatred, success, and failure. They are balanced choices, always intertwined with each other, and whichever of the four paths you take will lead you down another. The stone in its center is experience, a Mecca of wisdom bred from the lessons learned and mistakes made. Keep that with you and you will never be lost.
“And prince”—Garrett turned to Braeden with a scowl—“whether or not it’s wise to do so, I trust your intentions are good. We need you to take Kara to Hillside. She will feel the most welcome there, I think, and you know the way. Will you do this?”
“Of course.”
Braeden wanted to tell himself he was helping her because it was the good and selfless thing to do, but that was a lie and he knew it. He hadn’t been able to find the Grimoire, true, but its keeper had found him instead. It was possible he could still use the book.
Adele whistled, and a shadow trotted th
rough the wall. Braeden jumped. Its blurred edges made it almost impossible to see, but when he did find the angle at which it became visible, he couldn’t help but grin.
It was a flaer: the only creature in Ourea that could walk through walls. Its narrow face and sleek body made it look like an oversized dog, except that it was as tall as a horse. Its long fur coat glistened, and its tail rocked from side to side like a pendulum.
Adele introduced the flaer as Rowthe and explained what it could do, but Braeden’s mind was busy phrasing how he would ask Kara for help. She seemed to be naïve, so a straightforward approach might work. The longer he waited, though, the more she would learn and the more careful he would have to be with his request. Then again, if he—
