by C D Beaudin
Turning into the hall, he hears a bang. Rushing toward the door from whence the sound came, he opens it and sees a ragged Awyn on the ground, a chair turned over. She’s muttering, talking to someone who isn’t there.
“Awyn?”
Her head turns at a ghastly speed and her eyes widen, a gasp escaping her lips. She backs up, falling over her feet as she seems to desperately rise, backing up toward the wall.
“Get away from me. Get away from me, you monster! You demon!”
Hagard shakes his head, approaching her. “Awyn, it’s me. Hagard.” His brow furrows when she doesn’t recognize him. “Da dwarf.”
“Don’t eat me, Dezwek.”
Hagard’s taken aback. Dezwek? A cave demon? Fire and horns and rocky skin? She tinks me a monster? No. She can’t.
“Awyn.” He walks toward her. “It’s me. Hagard Branchin. I’m from de Eronian territory of Lauden. I lived in Ailand until I was seventeen. You know dis. I told you dis. I’m friends wit’ Eldowyn and Ar—” He swallows. “You know me.” He reaches out to touch her arm, to comfort her, but she screams.
“Monster!”
A hand clamps on his shoulder and jerks him back, and he sees Eldowyn there. “Come with me.” He pulls him out of the room and closes the door behind them. Eldowyn takes a breath, looking down at him. “Nice to see you, dwarf.”
“Is it now?”
Eldowyn cocks his head, querying.
“You ‘aven’t said one word ta me since I got back. Every time I get back, in fact. We walk down dese same halls, but when I pass ya, you don’t say anyting to me. And even now, when Awyn’s in dere, tinking I’m a monster… Why didn’t you tell me she was dat bad? I knew she wasn’t doing well…but she tought I was a Dezwek! A demon.”
“I’m talking to you now.”
“Friends don’t ignore friends.”
“I’m not ignoring you now.” Eldowyn’s voice is steady, but his eyes are dark, tortured.
Hagard’s brow wrinkles. “What happened, elf?”
Eldowyn turns away from him, leaning against the wall, as if it’s the only thing holding him up. His posture is no longer the Elven regality. Now, it’s burdened.
“I was in the Kawa, once. My brother and I lived there, content, happy. Or so I thought.”
Hagard knows the story, but the elf continues anyway.
“Kepp betrayed me once. I thought it was over, only a product of Revera’s magic. But then I realized he had given himself to her cause willingly when he attacked me a second time.”
“Second time? But dat’s impossible! He hates Revera, says it often.”
Eldowyn turns to him. “He was acting, Hagard. Afraid that someone might be listening. Raea, perhaps. She could have detected his illusion if he didn’t play it out even when he was alone. He fooled us all. He fooled the very air he breathed.” Tears spark his eyes. “My brother is gone, Hagard. And I don’t think he can be saved.”
Hagard puts his hand on the elf’s shoulder—barely able to reach—and gives him no smile, no words of comfort. He only looks in his eyes, silently telling him that it may not be all right, but that he will get through this. They’ll get through it together. The only way through this war is together.
“Is Adriel doing all right?”
“Better than me. She’s running this country.” He looks at Awyn’s door. “The queen’s occupied with important matters.”
“Is dat what you tell de people?”
“They can’t afford to hear ill news.”
“If dey find out what’s really going on, dey may not be so lenient.”
“She’s their queen. They have to be.” He runs a hand through his unusually disheveled hair. It’s always neat, half-pulled back or braided somewhere. Kepp’s betrayal has wreaked havoc on the elder Elven Prince of Radian.
“Adriel wants me to tell you she needs you to go out on another hunt. She’s already dispatched the other hunters, can’t find one of the younger ones.”
“Alfie.” Hagard sighs. “I know where he’s staying in de city, he can join me.”
“Perhaps you should go farther west? There might be more game.”
“We’ll see. It’ll be a while to come back, if we go dat far.”
“We need food. It’s worth the distance.”
Hagard nods, turning to go and find Alfie, but Eldowyn stops him.
“Just don’t go beyond Arneth. And don’t return to Terandore.”
The name sends chills up Hagard’s spine. “You have no need to worry about dat, elf. I’m never going back to dat place if it kills me.”
Prophecy. She’s been reading a lot about the prophecies. The author, the origin, and the time in which they were written are unknown. They’re a mystery. When Awyn first met Aradon, she heard him speak about the prophecy every once in a while. She hadn’t known what he meant until Adriel showed her in some of the older documents in the palace library and study. How they ended up in Kevah, she hasn’t a clue, but she supposes fate has a hand to play after all. Fate has seemed a lie. And it still does, but she likes to blame this war on someone other than Revera—that has become pitiful. Tiring.
How Aradon ever figured out she was part of the prophecies is a mystery to her. Or how he ever got his hands on them…she doesn’t want to think about it. She hadn’t realized until she read them how much she hates prophecies. And fate. Fate must think itself a god, if it thinks it can just run the lives of billions. Prophecies are the writing of fate. Words that dictate the future. But how is that fair? Awyn scoffs to herself. Fairness has nothing to do with it.
Fate’s cruel, simple as that.
Awyn tosses and turns in her bed, trying to sleep. It’s only midday, but she has nothing else to do, and they won’t stop talking to her. The endless commentary. The incessant chatter. They won’t stop screaming, laughing. The gate needs to be built. Soon. Until it’s finished, she won’t be safe.
Her people won’t be safe either. But her people are her biggest threat…no, Revera is. No, Karak is…no, because she loves him. Love. She doesn’t love him. Adriel is out to get her. Eldowyn wants to kill her… Aradon’s going to break out of his cell and strangle her like he did in Thasoe…
Fate’s keeping her awake.
“Actually, that would be me.”
She shoots up and instantly pins herself to her headboard, shaking, her heart pounding.
Soulless’ sinful eyes and her cruel expression creep toward her as she makes sure every step she takes is a menacing one. Awyn knows—she’s her.
“That would be all of us.” She bats her eyelashes, as if she’s preening herself. “Me, your soul, your fear, your hate. All of us.” She playfully pushes Awyn’s head side to side. “We’re all inside that insane little head of yours.”
She smacks her lips, a wicked, crazed laugh emitting. “You’re crazy.” Her matter-of-fact tone bears a great toll on Awyn. She knows she’s crazy. But she can’t change it.
“Get out of my head.”
“Oh, but I’m not in your head, nor heart. No, I’m in your soul.”
“I don’t believe in souls. Not anymore.”
“Then you’re an idiot.” The bluntness of the statement angers Awyn as well as shocks her. “To not believe in a soul is to not believe in your own existence.”
“Then I wish to be an idiot. I wish to not believe, so I don’t exist anymore.” It’s a plea for mercy, for freedom.
But Soulless doesn’t give it. “Not believing won’t make you cease to exist, Awyn, you know this.”
“I don’t want to know it. I don’t want to know anything, anymore. I want to die.”
“You can’t. You still have a life to live.”
Awyn scoffs. “What life can I live after the one I’ve led?”
Soulless smiles, letting go of her head. She turns, walking toward the window, opening the closed drapes. Awyn shudders at the sudden brightness.
“This kingdom you have. You procured it by bloodshed.” She looks back at her.
“Is it even yours?”
Awyn swallows. “What does this have to do with anything?”
“You stole it. Tamon was going to be regent anyway, Awyn.”
“My parents didn’t have to die.”
“Maybe. But I like to think fate has a reason for everything. It is fate, after all.”
“I didn’t steal anything. Tamon stole from me. My family, my throne, my freedom. He stole everything.”
“Dramatics, Awyn. Don’t be tragic.”
Awyn bares her teeth. “Die.”
Soulless pretends to crumble. “Oh Spirits! I’m dying! Help me, my heart. It’s beating too fast. It’s going to explode, it’s going to rip out of my chest. I feel like I’m breaking, Awyn! I feel like I’m falling apart, and nothing will ever be able to put me back together again.”
She shakes her head, her fear mockery. “No. You can’t save me. I don’t want you to save me. I want to die. But I want to be free. Freedom in death, isn’t that what soldiers say? But how can I be brave enough to end it all when I’m not brave enough to step outside my door? Or even open my drapes? I cower at the sight of light, I think my friends demons. I’ve been through so much, and I can’t do it anymore.”
She clutches her chest, eyes wide. “My heart. It can’t take any more of this. My soul. It’s dying, I can feel it. I’m not going to make it through this war. It’s going to finish me, and I didn’t realize until now that I want it to.”
Soulless’ fearful face drops in an instant to a scowl, head tilted. “Dramatic. Inordinately.”
Awyn shakes. “Have you really come here to mock me? Or is there a reason for your visit?”
She walks toward her, a threat with every step. “I need you to know something, Awyn. No matter what you do, I’ll never leave you. Not if you beg or bleed yourself. Throwing yourself off your balcony won’t work either. And not even if Revera kills you with a sword bathed in a Pool of Light.” She tilts her head, a mirror action, and lowers her voice to a whisper. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“And that should comfort me?”
Soulless grins. “There’s that smart remark. I missed those, you used to whip them out like they were the kings of your vocabulary.” She shrugs, a pouty look on her sarcastic face. “Where did they go?” Her voice is a mockery, a sing-song symphony of sarcasm and pleasure.
“They died along with everything good about me.”
“Don’t be so cynical, Awyn. I will break into another mockery. Your ‘good parts’ are still kicking. Though, they are incapacitated at the moment. But that’s your fault, so…”
“My fault?” Awyn stands, angry now. “How is any of this my fault?”
“You chased them away. After Aradon betrayed you, all the horrors you’ve been through finally caught up to you… You needed the parts that would protect you.” Her eyes narrow. “The ones that would make you the safest you’ve ever been.”
“Paranoid.”
“Good girl.” She sighs, pivoting on her heel, walking around. “So good old Love and Courage got locked away somewhere in the darkest parts of your soul and I sprang up.” She cocks her head as if unsure. “Well, not just me. Me, the depressing one, the scary one, and the one you’ve been starving.”
Awyn’s brow furrows, utterly confused. “Starving?”
“You’ve been repressing her for so long, Awyn. The scary one too. And she’s the one you really have to look out for because, well, she’ll destroy you.” She lets out a breathy, quick, “uh oh” laugh. “But the one you’ve starved. She’s angry. The scary one doesn’t get angry. She’s just…her. But this little monster inside you. She’s so hungry, repressed. Angry, like I said. And she’s tired of being pushed to the sidelines, tired of being a little voice in your head, a nag at your conscience. Fed up with being the thing that you cast aside until you can no longer. She’s over being second, Awyn. And now she’s going to be first.”
“Who is she?”
Soulless smiles, her eyes darker than Zyadar and her smile bloodier than murder. “You’ll meet her soon enough. You’ll meet the other two as well, sooner than the former. Or later. Maybe you’ll be dead before you meet them. As I said, we’ll never abandon you, Awyn.” She puts her lips close to Awyn’s ear. “See you soon, love heart.” And she’s gone.
Awyn falls to her knees, tears streaking her face. Confused. She’s so confused. She doesn’t even look up when Revera appears to her. “Is this real? Or another twisted fantasy?”
“Let’s decide.” She grips Awyn’s shoulder, hauling her up. Without hesitating Revera sticks a sword into Awyn’s stomach. Awyn retches, blood spurting out of her mouth. She gasps, then groans, such intense pain.
Revera tilts her head, seeming satisfied. “If you bleed out, it’s real. If not, then I suggest actually ending it, you’re losing your mind.”
Awyn turns on her heel. “I am losing my mind. I’m seeing myself. Seeing you. My siblings. Karak. Even my dead parents. Tamon.” She closes her eyes, tears falling down her face.
“I’m reliving the cell. What the guards did to me. It’s so real, so vivid. I can’t escape. It’s too much. Too real.” She shakes.
“True. It’s true. How can I escape the truth?” She turns to Revera, the pain in her stomach subsiding. She looks down, the blooming flower of blood gone. “It wasn’t real.”
She looks at the sorceress with tear-blurred eyes. “But this is. My life is. And I want it to be over.”
“Then end it.”
“It’s not that simple. I may want to be free, but not as a Dalorin.”
“Then grab a sword that can kill your kind.”
Awyn shakes her head, voice breathless. “No.”
“Why?”
Awyn’s lips tremble. “Because I need to say goodbye to him.”
Revera smirks. “Him? Goodbye? Really? Are you that smitten or that stupid? He doesn’t care about you, Awyn. He’s on his way to massacring an entire race as we speak. Why waste your time with him?”
“Because he’s my hope. And if I see him again, then I can be the person I was six months ago.”
“Six months ago, you were on the verge of where you are now. This would have unfolded the exact same way, no matter how many times you go back to that time. Six months ago, Aradon—your safety—betrayed you. Your shield was no longer protective, and you broke—shattered, crumbled. A little hope half a year ago won’t change a thing.” She tilts her head. “If you went back to the bridge, however. If you didn’t step foot on the white stone…maybe you would have lived.”
“I would have died.”
“Isn’t that more of a life than what you’re living now?” Her eyes narrow. “Is this even living?”
Awyn looks at her feet. “No.”
“And there’s the punch line.” Then Revera disappears too.
Awyn collapses onto her bed. I am insane. She looks at the window. End it all. She shakes her head. But Soulless is right. I’m not brave enough to end it. But I’m not brave enough not to either.
Chapter Eleven
It’s absurd for the Red Warriors to have dungeons, they no longer have the authority to keep prisoners. The Creed may say they do, but it was a document written thousands of years ago, by a group of soldiers who unified together to create a group of warriors whose purpose was a noble one. Protect the people of Nomarah. Protecting the crown comes second. Idies made it so. A king isn’t a king without people, so what would the point of him ruling be without people to rule? Idies was wise beyond his years. He left this world too soon.
Aradon calls the legendary king his grandfather. It’s just something he learned as a boy. His father called him grandfather, his own grandfather called him that. It’s customary, he supposes. A tradition passed down from heir to heir. Nomarah. The land of criminals and exiles, outlaws and murderers. His home. His kingdom. His people. But how can he save them without an army?
It’s this depressing thought that wakes him up from his dreamless slumber. He was drugged again, he
remembers. He also remembers Saine. How could he betray him like this? How? They may not have been friends, but they were at least allies. The Red Warriors of present, they’re a twisted family, blindly loyal because of the Creed, and yet if the Master ordered, they would kill each other just as blindly. The only way out is through fighting. Someone must die. Duels. Aradon should have dueled his way out, spared himself this mess.
But now, he’s going to be executed, as is the Red Warrior custom. There is a trial, but it always ends the same way—a warrior’s body burning. Burned alive. They think it’s the only way to get rid of the dishonor. Burn it to ash.
He’d like to burn them.
The cells are separated by wooden walls, the doors the same, but with barred windows. It reminds him too much of the cell in Kevah, but a cell’s a cell—it doesn’t have the same effect on him as it would Awyn. With that thought, he stands, not able to sit down any longer. He needs to get out of here. He can’t die. He paces. Death. A release. Dying would be a mercy. He shakes out his limbs, needing the next dose, the next spill of blood.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he breathes in, trying to calm his senses. He needs to sense the beat of a heart, to smell his next victim. I just…I just need to kill. He clamps his mouth shut, shaking his head. Death is a mercy. It’s merciful. Let it happen and the world will be safe. At least from him.
The cell doors thud, and he hears the heartbeat of whoever approaches. Surprisingly, it’s steady. They always used to be rapid whenever the cadets would be around him. They feared him. Now, they’re bolder, and yet there is still something different with this one. It beats at the pace of his own heart—faster than a normal human’s.
When Saine’s face appears as the door opens, Aradon snarls, “Traitor. You’re a Red Warrior?” He shakes his head. “Liar.”
