The Gifted Sisters and the Golden Mirror

by Rachel Crist

  “Why did you keep this from me? Did you ever plan on telling me?”

  “I was planning on telling you one day—all of it. Each time I tried, words failed me. You’re too smart for your own good, and I knew you would put it all together. And I knew you’d be hunted. I wasn’t ready to place that fear inside you. But I wanted you to know the Eastern ways so that when I did tell you, you’d understand the seriousness of what I am doing for you. Never doubt the love of your parents, or the sacrifice they made for you. The only thing that changes are the crowns they wore. I’m sorry I kept this from you.” Amah clears her throat. “I also wanted to wait to see if the prophecy spoke truth.”

  “I thought you didn’t believe in prophecy.”

  “I don’t, but I’ve always believed in magic’s return.”

  “Well, as of right now, I don’t have any magic. If I am supposed to have it, when should it appear?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Will it be the lost healing gift of our kingdom?”

  “Another question I don’t know the answer to. I’m sorry.”

  I remember as a little girl pretending to be Queen Bellflower. She is the only queen in all the four kingdoms to have had all four gifts.

  I would pretend rocks were small creatures that were injured, and that I could use our Western Kingdom’s gift to heal them.

  With the Northern gift, I would pretend to freeze trees in place, mimicking the gift’s physical manipulation. But when it came to using the Southern gift, I would make Amah frustrated, for I would cover myself in mud to become invisible and hide for the whole day—that is until my stomach grumbled and gave me away.

  I never liked to play pretend with the Eastern gift of undeniable strength. The Easterners killed our people and I refused to be a murderer. But to really have even one of these gifts? How does one even fathom that?

  “Sleep on this, En Oli. Tomorrow we’ll have plenty of time to talk. I’m sorry for the secrets, but I’m glad you now know.”

  We stand, I wrap my arms around her, and rest my head against her chest.

  “I don’t know how to feel right now. But I understand. Thank you for keeping me safe.”

  She squeezes me tight and for a moment I sense she is going to say something else. But she doesn’t. I go to my room and slip under my covers. Tomorrow we leave. And we will most likely never return.

  * * *

  The next morning, I drum my fingers along the windowsill and watch tiny flakes of snow trickle down from the sky. It must’ve been falling all night for it to have covered everything in sight. I search for any traces of yesterday, but find nothing.

  Adjusting my quiver and bow on my shoulder, I head outside. Amah was awake when I got up, and of course everything is ready to go. All she has left to do is to bring Rosie out from the barn and hitch her to the wagon. While she does this, I decide to get one last round of arrows in before we leave.

  I pull my cloak tight around me, and cold wind licks my face as I step off the porch and head towards the barn. Like the shed, it also has plenty of character. Built of aged pine, it has taken repetitive beatings from my arrows. Rosie might not have enjoyed the continuous thump against her home, but over time she’s embraced it as an everyday part of her life.

  I stop fifty paces out from the backside of the barn, the one place designated for me. Sliding an arrow out of my quiver, I set it and pull back the string. As I have so many times before, I release it without having to think. I‘ve been shooting since I was seven. It is just another extension of myself.

  The arrow slices through the brittle air, hitting the worn-down target, sending chips of paint flaking away. I grab another arrow.

  Waking up this morning was surreal and somewhat painful. Sleeping on the revelations from last night, however, was the best thing I could’ve done. Knowing that we would soon be heading to safety, I was able to embrace my excitement for everything else.

  Surprisingly, knowing the truth of my parents wasn’t all that bad. This is something I know I will eventually be able to accept. The reason why they died, however, is the hardest part to swallow. It brings all of known history to bear on my own reality, and it’s caused a hole to form inside my heart. I can only hope that I will manifest the gift of healing, because that will be the only thing to mend it.

  I continue sending arrows one after another. Soon they are all bunched together in the center.

  “I will rely on that aim if we run into any trouble.”

  I turn around. Amah is standing there holding Rosie by her reins. I wonder how long she’s been watching me.

  “As long as it’s my bow. That knife throw was horrible.”

  “Never doubt yourself, En Oli. You see it as a flaw, but I saw it as opportunity, and it saved my life. Now go gather your arrows. It’s time to go.”

  I do as she says, then follow her back to the covered wagon, and watch her hitch Rosie in the harness.

  I kick the snow from my boots and climb up onto the wagon and settle on the padded bench. Amah climbs up after me and without a single look back, she clicks her tongue and we move out.

  I look back to the place I’ve called home my whole life. A heaviness sinks through me. A part of me will miss the memories made here. There is another part, though, that has longed for this adventure. Then again, here I could have been anything I wanted. No one here to judge. Soon I will be in a city where there will be expectations of me. A part of my soul imprints itself among the trees, knowing the Black Pines will always be a part of me, no matter where I am.

  Amah rests her hand on my leg. Her face reflects my thoughts. She too will miss this place.

  We travel the next few hours without much talk. My thoughts move between reminiscing on my past and chewing on my new-found future. At first I feel guilty for wanting to be excited about it all. I should be upset at Amah for hiding these truths from me. But being angry isn’t something I am accustomed to and it won’t get me anywhere, so I try to embrace my excitement instead.

  “Does Regent Grif know I’m alive?”

  “He does.”

  “Have you been in contact with him?”

  “I have.”

  “Really?”

  Amah sighs. “You know the Regent is a Northern Prince, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where is your mother from?”

  It’s a question that gives me pause. My whole life I’ve thought of my mom as being from the West. But Queen Kyra is now my mother. And Queen Kyra was from the North.

  “Are you saying Regent Grif is my uncle?”

  “He is. And we’ve been exchanging messages your whole life.”

  “You’ve been in contact with him this whole time?” The depth of this hidden truth strikes me. It is one thing, him knowing of me, but actively keeping up with me for sixteen years without my knowing? That’s hurtful.

  “Why didn’t he reach out to me? If you were in contact with him this whole time, what kept him from bringing me back to Pynth?”

  “I did.”

  “You did?”

  “The city of Pynth needed to rebuild. I wasn’t confident of the safety at Willobourne Castle. Regent has dedicated the last sixteen years to making Pynth strong again. He’s been wanting you to return.”

  “So Regent Grif allowed you to tell him no?”

  I would think that Amah would have no say in such matters. The Regent was just as powerful as a king. “What could’ve kept him from marching up to us and taking me away?”

  “I used an evlock.”

  “A what?”

  “An untraceable bird. I acquired one in a trade, in Kale. Annie keeps it for me.”

  Of course Annie does. Annie is Amah’s sidekick of sorts. She owns the only inn in Kale, Bear Horn Inn. It wouldn’t surprise me if she knew all about me.

  There are many layers to Amah and I have a feeling there are more I will uncover before we reach Pynth. The open world will be a challenge for her, when all my life she has tried to keep
me hidden away. In the morning I will be sixteen, and I am already on the adventure of my life.

  4

  Vera

  For as long as I can remember, the mountainous terrain that we live in has forever trapped heat. Even now the ground smolders and sends up a disorientating haze as we head down the hill to Black Ridge Castle. And year round, occasional thunderstorms have kept us from completely drying out.

  There are some who talk about how they wish our winters could be like those of the West. They say the snow can get as deep as you are tall there. I’ve never seen snow up close; sometimes I’ve seen white on the tops of mountains, but that’s my only experience with the stuff.

  As we get closer to the castle, the massive fortress seems dark and uninviting. It’s made from the black obsidian stone mined in the peaks. It’s a rare stone that holds special value to our kingdom; it’s worth more than the diamonds and rubies that are also mined. However, the combination of the three allows the king to never have to worry about falling into poverty. Of course, one can’t say how the rest of the kingdom is faring. Let’s just say the king doesn’t know how to share.

  Servants take our horses the moment we arrive. Without waiting for Bruce, I head inside.

  The castle is bustling with servants in every corridor. They’re preparing for the oncoming celebration. Without a single glance my way, they move around me, focusing intently on the tasks at hand. They know what’s in store for them if everything isn’t perfect.

  It’s another year for the Eastern King to celebrate, hoping for it to finally be the year my magic manifests. I curse the Enchanter who issued the damn prophecy. Even more, that he sent a Woman of the Scree to live here. The king says she was a gift, but I know she’s here to keep an eye on me. The Enchanter will want to know if someone other than he himself has any magic.

  I only hope that whatever gift I receive, it will be something that will allows me to escape this life of torment. Even if it means leaving my friends behind.

  I enter the Throne Room—an enormous room with large black pillars. A single chandelier hangs down from the ceiling, an object I’ve wished many times to drop down upon the king. One of the many different fantasies I’ve cooked up over the years.

  Historical tapestries hang along the walls, depicting the gruesome beheadings and whippings the people of this land have had to endure. The king never fails to remind people what could befall them. I hate it all.

  King Kgar sits regally on a brilliant piece of forged art, built also from black obsidian stone. His throne is made from one solid piece, and the back arches up at least ten feet.

  Placed on a raised dais, the height gives him the excuse to look down his long narrow nose and judge with his hooded, dark eyes.

  As always, the Woman of the Scree sits next to him. Her cool, relaxed posture doesn’t fool me. Her rich brown hair falls in layered waves past her shoulders, and down her voluptuous frame. She is a creature that captures the lust of any who gaze upon her. She’s pure evil.

  I bristle when her black voided eyes follow my every move. I can never tell when the Enchanter is watching through them. It was one of the many benefits the Enchanter gained when he sent the Scree out. He created them for this very reason—to spy. Therefore, I don’t trust her.

  The sneer on the king’s face becomes more prominent the closer I get. The thump of my heart beats loud, and I try to find my center. His black robes drape around him flawlessly, his blond hair standing out in stark contrast to them.

  Some say the king’s sharp features are attractive, but I never could see it. His black soul is all I see, making him far from anything to admire.

  A golden crown encrusted with large red rubies sits on his brow. His fingers are covered in ornate rings. He looks ridiculous.

  A flash of curly blond hair jets out from behind a pillar, making a beeline straight for me. My heart melts as Zyrik runs and jumps into my arms. He is King Kgar’s five year old son. His golden curls bounce around his angelic face. When he nuzzles my neck, the smell of the lavender he bathes in wafts in my face. The scent calms me. I set him down, and he immediately takes my hand.

  Ignoring his son, Kgar stands and throws his arms out. “There she is, our very own Western Princess.”

  His voice is smooth but laced with ridicule. I hate how he mocks me. The constant reminder of who I am but will never become. The kidnapped princess who rules no one.

  I’ve tried many times to run away, not caring when or how I’d be punished when caught. That is until Zyrik was born, and the king started using him as a form of my punishment.

  “Your Majesty.” I bow, keeping my eyes downcast. His gaze has always been disquieting, and even now his low chuckle signals his sense of my discomfort.

  Stepping down off the dais, Kgar embraces me. He grazes his hands slowly down my back, feeling me out. I keep the bile in the back of my throat. Before pulling away, his lips brush by my ear, and he whispers softly, “Make sure you behave, my princess.”

  He may have whispered, but the threat rings loud and clear. Sitting back on his throne, Kgar claps twice. The main doors open and in walk the noblemen on his council. Zyrik squeezes my hand, and I rub my thumb over his for comfort.

  The nobles’ rich robes fold around them as they bow to the king. Ignoring both me and Zyrik, they seat themselves on benches provided.

  The king’s council consists of twenty men. They are young noblemen, none older than the king. He wants no one on his council that knew his father, and he has hand-picked each one of them.

  They are as ruthless as the king, taxing above what they should and taking the extra for themselves. They constantly suck up to the king, showering him with praises he doesn’t deserve—but they also fear him. They’ll never admit it though. Like me, they never know the king’s mind or his intent, given his outlandish decisions.

  As the last of the noblemen find their seats, the king stands once again. “As you all are aware, tomorrow marks a glorious day. We celebrate Princess Vera’s birthday. Hopefully, this year will bring us back the gift of old that we have been patiently waiting for.”

  I grind my teeth. He’s never been patient about this. After every celebration for the past fifteen years, I’ve been taken to his torture room, where he’s shown me his disgust for my failure to manifest the gift.

  “The Scree here has brought to my attention that once this gift manifests, our kingdom could be in grave danger from Vera’s power.”

  The noblemen cast their judgment my way. I ignore them. “She has agreed to conjure up a binding agreement for Vera to sign. Of course, as she has brought this to my attention, I thought I would extend this binding agreement to my council to ensure my utmost safety.”

  The doors to the throne room open, and in marches a troop of Silent Watchers. They come and stand behind the noblemen. A sudden intensity thickens in the air around us. Zyrik drops my hand, and runs from the room.

  “In this contract it is stated that if I am killed, then you will all die—as punishment for failing to protect me. The Enchanter himself has placed the locking spell on this contract, and it is unbreakable.”

  The room erupts into angry protests. Kgar flicks his wrist. A Watcher grabs a nobleman and forces him down to his knees. The flash of steel that grazes quickly across his throat prompts complete silence. I’m thankful Zyrik ran off when he did.

  The king’s eyes flash with excitement. “As for you, Vera, if you cause me any harm, your life will become forfeit to the Temple of the Scree and Zyrik will die.”

  His lips curl into a smile, challenging me to protest. Anger boils up inside me and I do my best to suppress my outrage. I can’t take his bait. He knows Zyrik is my weakness, that I would do anything to keep him safe.

  The thought of being banished to the Temple would seem to be better than living here, but it’s not. The Southern Kingdom is never traveled. It’s a desolate place in the desert lands, where the Temple of the Scree is hidden. The thought of living there sounds wre
tched. I can only imagine what the Enchanter would do with me.

  Everyone knows the Enchanter was the one responsible for all the kingdoms losing their gifts. He has been around thousands of years, dabbling in the forbidden magical books left by Guardian Acadia.

  Every part of me hates the idea of signing the king’s binding contract. It shows me how calculating he is—but the king knows he has me.

  King Kgar points to an unfurled scroll lying on a table between him and the Scree. He cocks his head to the side, “Sign it.”

  Picturing one of my many knives going through his chest, I march over to the table, and sign. A warming sensation passes over me. The binding is complete.

  * * *

  Not caring whether he would dismiss me or not, I leave. Traveling quickly through the castle, I pass through the kitchens and descend the winding staircase to the forgotten chambers. This is where Zyrik will be.

  Leakage and mold growth keeps most away from this part of the castle. Whoever built this side, didn’t give much care to it, and over time it has decayed greatly. The musty smell tickles my nose and my ears perk up when I hear his small whimper coming from inside a large abandoned cabinet.

  When King Kgar noticed how small Zyrik was when he was born, he wanted him dead. Drowned like a rat. His mother was a town whore, and only used to breed for the king. She was killed after giving birth. So I fought for him that day and I thought for sure the king would deny me. But the king knew a gambling opportunity when he saw one, and to this day he has used his son to influence my decisions.

  I creep up close to the cabinet and knock gently three times. The whimpers stop and the door slowly opens.

  Zyrik’s bright blue eyes peek out. When he sees it’s me, he jumps out, and embraces me fiercely.

  “I knew I would find you, Little Rik.” He pulls back to gaze into my face. “You sure are sneaky, hiding over here.” He giggles quietly and lays his head against my chest.