Fallen Paladin (The Paladin's Curse Book 2)

by Kristell Carnie

  Chapter Seven

  There was a time, long ago, when our worlds lived in harmony. When peace and love ruled the many lands of our universe and kept our hearts alive. It was a joyous time to exist, to commit oneself to their people, to share in our continuous evolution towards much greatness………except this time was not meant to last.

  With our evolving selves, certain things began to change. Love and contentment were no longer enough for some people. Resentment and greed began to burrow deep into their hearts. Our mental evolution and strive for greatness weakened our spirit, our true selves, until the manifestation of darkness was awoken inside the very heart of one.

  The one to start the beginning of our end.

  The one to be cast out into the darkest of lands to fulfil his fate. Only that fate was twisted beyond our comprehension, and so began our very demise.

  My eyes burn as I reread the words once more, committing them to memory, as if somehow that will make a difference. None of it makes any sense to me, yet I can feel the ominous revelation is soul destroying to the unknown writer, reaching me through the distance of time without losing any of its sincerity, even if the meaning of the words is utterly lost on me.

  A creak at the door has me freezing, not wanting to make a noise and give away that I am still awake, at midnight, hoping that whoever is out in the hall won’t see the flickering shadows underneath the door, cast across the room by my small candle light.

  This is the first time I’ve been alone all day and even though I need all the training I can get, I’m just grateful for this momentary reprieve.

  My aching muscles scream out, needing soft movement to keep them warm and supple, and not locked in an uncomfortable position after all my body has endured during this wretched day.

  I’ve been shuffled from Zaneth to Calasis, to Ellestra, all in the hopes that one of them would somehow magically transform me into a warrior. None have been successful, and my time is fast running out.

  With every disappointed glance or frustrated sigh from my trainers, I pushed forward, never backing down, never conceding and giving up, when all I wanted to do was lay there in a puddle of my own sweat and tears. I stood my ground even as I was beaten again and again to the very floor upon which I stood. Even Ellestra had knocked me on my arse more times than I could count. She had been my final hope.

  After Zaneth passed me off to Calasis, he had tried to hone in on any skills I had, finding very little, apart from an increasingly smart-mouth attitude (each forming bruise made me crabbier of course), and a stubborn refusal to call defeat, which only annoyed him to the point where he refused to continue training me at all, saying one of us had to be clever and realise that there was no way I could join the fight.

  That left me with Ellestra, the one person who could match my quick-witted insults and didn’t mind seeing me fall ungracefully in a heap of failure. Even though she taunted me, not enough to turn me into a raging lunatic, aka a Zantronian monster, she also never gave up on me, hoping as much as I did that I could miraculously transform into a fighting ninja and whip some Zantronian butt – or at least sneak in and out of Zantron and save her brother’s life.

  She worked me hard, far harder than I anticipated and now as I lay here, holding my breath so no one hears me, muscles screaming out to unclench and melt into a foetal position on my all too comfy bed, I almost regret demanding to be trained and dread the rising sun of tomorrow when my very own slave master will delight in pushing me to my limits once again.

  The ever-present ominous pull of my growing ‘other half’ never once left me, hiding just out of reach, taunting me with the effortless strength it would provide if I’d just give in and allow it to consume me. The more frustrated I got with myself, the more I wanted to seize the alien abilities, yield them as my own, but then they wouldn’t really be my own, would they? No, I wouldn’t be me any longer, so the powers wouldn’t be mine and if I can’t control, them then I can’t use them to help.

  The unfairness of the situation whirls around my mind like a tornado, pulling at my increasing hostility, sparking heat to radiate up my arm from the innocent looking bit of gold forever encircling my wrist, only to be doused out by another alien aspect refusing to let me succumb to the growing rage filled desire.

  After several strained heartbeats and no other sounds from out in the hallway, I slowly turn, wincing as my muscles tighten, and push the unnamed book beneath my mattress. With one defeated huff the candle distinguishes, sending a small tendril of smoke floating into the air.

  Laying back against the feathered pillow my eyes drift to the uncovered window and out into the darkness of the moonless night. If I stare long enough without blinking I can almost make out Blay’s shape. The memory of his battered body burned into my retinas as a punishment for my selfish actions, and I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping to chase away his image along with the escalating guilt which eats at me any time silence fills the room.

  I don’t know how I got here, I really don’t. When did I become this thing? This person who puts her needs before everyone and everything else? I never used to be this way, disconnected, and unwilling to sacrifice myself for the greater good. I can’t even blame the Zantronians, not really. I mean yeah, what they did to us was beyond horrific, but why had it come so easily to me to distance myself from everyone, to hide away until I couldn’t hide any longer?

  Was Mum’s ex-boyfriend right about me? Am I nothing more than a spoilt brat who needs everything to go her way?

  I roll over onto my back, releasing my clenched eyes to glare up at the stone ceiling and huff out my frustration. The idea that William could have been right about me all along flickers my disgust, warming places inside of me which shouldn’t be warmed.

  I try to push away his smug smile, the one that always got under my skin and triggered the uneasy feeling that he was a manipulative scoundrel who would crush what little remained of my mother’s heart, and try to remember a time when I was something other than what I am now.

  It comes easily once I allow the memories to unlock from the hidden prison in which I keep them, like a precious jewel that’s just for me.

  I was happy once, a sweet young girl with a wondrous life all set out in front of her. I was one of the lucky ones growing up, one of the few in my neighbourhood who had both parents happily married, a home full of love and enough money that I never had to go without what was needed.

  Most of all I had my dad.

  My lips twitch into a small smile and I close my eyes in the hopes that I can remember him better, I’d do anything to bring him back to me. Soon his faded image begins to take shape in my mind, a mind that has been so full of torture it seems impossible to have such sweet memories buried just within reach.

  Dad’s salt and pepper hair frames his tanned angular jaw, his mouth always twisted into a smile, laughing no doubt at one of his endless ‘dad’ jokes. His watery grey eyes, alight with happiness, crinkled at the corners, beckoning me forward to join him in his latest adventure. And I was always only too happy to go along; to be with him was to never know what would happen next, an exciting whirlwind life so full of love and happiness I could burst.

  I was happy and alive. I had been open and caring, full of ideals of the greatness of our world. I was kind, the sort of kind that would help anyone no matter what they needed and never expected anything in return.

  And then all that was gone. I was gone. The day Dad died, the real me vanished. I was left broken, nothing but a shell of the person who had once been so full of life. Stumbling around in the darkness in a too bright world. I was strong when I needed to be for Mum, I owed Dad that much. I had promised him, as he lay there trembling in his final moments, that I would do everything in my power to protect her, to take care of her. He knew that she would struggle without him, that she would be weak and lost, in turn he believed in my strength, a strength I couldn’t fathom, but faked for his sake. He believed in me, always had and now, wherever he is, I know he stil
l does trust me more than I can ever trust myself. Certainly more than I deserve.

  No, I have not always been this conceited person. William wasn’t right. I will put my trust in Dad. And now I’ve got to prove him right.

  ***

  The blade slips from my fingers with lightning speed, sunlight glinting off the steel blade as it twists through the air just before embedding deeply into the straw dummy’s stomach.

  “Your technique is good. You have a powerful throw, although you will need to practice your aim, it’s always better to have a clean hit – the object is to kill, not harm, in battle.” Even though Zaneth is praising me for once, his voice never loses the tone of disappointment.

  “I’ll try again.” I’ve barely started my training today and already I feel drained. I had to dodge my mother all morning, so it feels as though I’ve been on high alert ever since Zaneth dragged me out of bed after only a few pitiful hours of sleep.

  One small mercy was that instead of the normal nightmares chasing me around in my dreams, it was my father who settled in my mind, bringing with him a semblance of peace I desperately needed and putting me in a much better mood. Though it doesn’t seem that it will last for long.

  “No.” Zaneth steps towards the dummy, pulling the dagger free, twisting it between his fingers before firmly jamming it back in its straw chest.

  “We’re moving on to something else already?” I don’t bother hiding the disappointment in my voice, so far knife throwing has been the only thing to come naturally to me since I started training and truly my butt doesn’t need any more bruises added to the already colourful patchwork of once creamy flesh.

  “I am needed elsewhere today.”

  I glance towards the door expecting to see either Calasis or Ellestra barging through to commence my torture, but it remains closed, so I stare at Zaneth, eyebrows pushed together in an impatient frown.

  “Putting together an ambush attack takes longer than you realise. There is much to organise and now, since the queen has agreed to the plan, I must use my skills for something more prolific than training you.”

  He ignores the glare I’m sending him, so I, in turn, chose to ignore his rude comment.

  “Okay, so is Calasis coming?” He’s shaking his head before I’ve finished.

  “Ellestra?”

  He doesn’t even bother answering me this time. With a heavy sigh he begins to walk towards the door, dismissing me as if I’m nothing more than an annoyance.

  “Zaneth, I need someone to train me! You can’t just walk away and give up on me! That’s not fair!”

  He turns suddenly and I smack straight into his solid-as-a-brick chest. His hands shoot up, steadying me by the shoulders so I can’t fall flat on my face. I shrug off his help, not wanting or needing it, not when he is so readily giving up on me.

  His tanned jaw clenches and if I wasn’t already completely crazy I would swear I saw a flash of hurt in his narrowed eyes.

  “I know little of Earth, so I won’t pretend to have the same experience as you have after spending a total sum of nineteen years there, but what I do know is that your kind suffers greatly at times. War, disease, famine, hatred and greed infiltrates many of your people. Is that fair, Rayna? Do you honestly believe you are the only living creature on any and every planet to suffer the effects of unfairness?”

  The depth of his clarity stills my heart. He has a way of cutting through my crap and reducing me to what little I really am and with his perception I lose my indignation, my eyes fluttering to the floor so he can’t see the welling tears of embarrassment threatening to spill over.

  His chest rises, drawing in a much-needed calming breath before I feel his rough, warm hand gently raising my chin.

  There is no hatred in his deep brown eyes when I finally find the courage to look at him, only sadness and warmth that is completely honest and true and I can’t help the quivering of my lips from giving away how his words ripped open my heart.

  “I know there is much more to you than you choose to show, Rayna. I do believe in you and I will never doubt your intentions.”

  His words bring forth a steady flow of silent tears, but he refuses to let me look away.

  “That is why I have enlisted the help from someone who isn’t as close to the situation as the rest of us are, but is still completely trustworthy and a fierce warrior in his own right.”

  Zaneth steps back, glancing away long enough for me to hastily wipe the tears from my cheeks and pretend that I’m not moments away from breaking down completely. Now is not the time to show weakness.

  “And who would that be?”

  “My son.”

  Chapter Eight

  “You have a son?” the words leave my lungs in a flabbergasted whoosh.

  Zaneth returns to his favoured manner of communication and merely nods, not giving me any of the necessary details I need to process this new information.

  “You never told me you have a son.” My skin prickles with the sudden irrational feeling of betrayal, as if somehow Zaneth has let me down by keeping me at arm’s length and not revealing this whole other side to his life.

  “You never asked.” Zaneth’s tone isn’t critical, he simply states the fact that I’ve been more preoccupied with my crumbling existence to delve into his personal life, something that further impacts my growing list of shameful choices.

  “Okay, well point taken.” I inhale deeply, my mind going into overdrive. “So, tell me about him now, tell me about you. Do you have more kids? Are you married?”

  Zaneth’s eyes twitch from my onslaught of questions, his lips thinning into a straight line and I get the feeling that I’ve hit a sore spot.

  “I believe your focus is best left on your training, you certainly don’t need any unnecessary distractions.” Zaneth walks towards the door making my heart stutter.

  “Wait.” Of the million things whizzing through my brain the one thing that bursts free is, of course, self-centred. “Does he know, about me I mean, does he know what’s wrong with me, what I can do?”

  Zaneth stands still, watching the fear mount in my widened eyes for a full minute, reading my emotions like I’m nothing more than an open book and fleetingly I feel trapped, as if he can see through my shell of a self to my very core and I vaguely wonder if he hates what he sees, is he as disgusted with me as I am with myself?

  It dawns on me then, slowly like the murky fog which clings to the castle lake, why do I care so much what this one Prytorian thinks of me? Why do I have this small, yet unyielding, desire for his approval?

  The thought vanishes as soon as he reaches for the solid metal handle, pulling open the heavy door with little effort.

  “I would never put you in harm’s way, Rayna, always believe in that.”

  His sentiment is lost the second he leaves me standing there all alone. Unsure of what to expect now, and with no one else to take my frustrations out on, I take a deep breath, steading my swirling emotions and turn my attention back to the war-battled dummy and the small inconspicuous dagger still protruding from its chest. I struggle to stifle the urge to run after Zaneth, wanting to beg him to stay and protect me from the unknown, and instead I channel my rising insecurity driven anger into my practice, needing something, for once, to go my way.

  I don’t know how long he stood there watching me, listening to the small grunts which rumbled from my chest every time the dagger slipped from my hands towards my target, followed by the creative curse words that were muttered under my breath whenever the dagger didn’t stay true to its path.

  I didn’t hear the hinges creak as he snuck through the heavy doors. His footfalls made no sound as he made his way to lean against the far wall, for who-knows how long. Nor did I feel his eyes burning into my back as he studied my clumsy movements as I grew increasingly annoyed waiting for Zaneth to return.

  No part of me sensed his energy behind me, no internal warning gave me a heads-up that I was no longer alone. So when I finally turned and
spotted his silhouette in the shadowy corner of the large room, my instincts went into overdrive. My skin flushed with burning rage, the bracelet kicking into gear to save me from this unknown intruder while the lights of Nevithan sprung to life covering me with their magical glow.

  The rational side of my brain freezes completely, leaving the crazy delusional parts to gleefully take charge. Without thinking, I draw my arm back, flicking my wrist and sending the training dagger spinning straight towards my stalkers face.

  Within a whisper of a breath, the unknown stranger claps his hands together, encasing the speeding blade between his palms, mere inches from his face, miraculously stopping the pointy blade from delving into his skull.

  “Well, he wasn’t kidding when he said you are good with a blade.”

  “Who are you?” I demand, the sick creature growing inside of me quivering with disappointment that my attack failed.

  He steps forward, flicking the dagger into the air and catching it by the blade as he makes his way towards me. His impressive skills of managing to not cut his fingers clean off doesn’t hold my attention for long once I get a clear look at him.

  He’s tall, not quite Blay’s height, yet he still towers over me and possibly even Calasis. His long, glossy black hair is held back off his bronzed face by a strap of leather, revealing high cheek bones and a quickly maturing, slightly boyish face.

  He wears black shorts and a grey sleeveless top which show off the many hours he’s spent training to create an impressive muscular physique without becoming overly bulky.

  This stranger is undeniably good looking, in a primal almost dangerous way, but it’s his eyes that draw me in, holding me captive and scattering my mind enough to forget the basic necessity of breathing. The frosty, ice blue of his seemingly depthless eyes are surrounded by long curving dark lashes which create a piercing gaze as he stares at me, taking in every little detail of my light infused skin and barely containing his surprise.