No Man's Land

by C D Beaudin

  “I heard a faint scream.”

  Hagard’s brow furrows. “A scream?” Dis boy’s insane or… He turns to Alfie. “If you heard a scream you should have woken me sooner, someone could be in danger.”

  “Well, it sounded like a scream. Though, it was hardly human. Maybe it was an animal scream?”

  Animal scream, what—? Hagard’s eyes widen. “We need to get out of here. Now.” Alfie doesn’t question him as he follows Hagard’s lead and they jump onto their horses, slapping the reins, no room for error as they thunder through the forest. Still too far from the plains of Nomarah, panic floods Hagard when he hears a shrieking screech behind him, the wind picking up past his ears, carrying the heart-stopping sound with it.

  “Hagard!” Alfie calls. “What is it?”

  “Dalorin!”

  “Dalorin?”

  “Shut up and ride, Alfie!” Hagard kicks his horse, clicking his tongue, but the horse moves no faster, at its apex speed. Hagard sneaks a look behind him, seeing the shadow on the ground, visible in even the darkness of the forest. It moves at an unnatural speed, and the fear grips Hagard’s heart. But he won’t let it consume him. Not like his father did.

  The Lazy Bear had come into sight, and Hagard and Nalden had rushed into the quaint tavern, chimes singing in the wind as the door opened. It only took Hagard a second to process the sight that was before him; his brothers in a tussle, a heap of fists and shouts, swears and curses, getting beaten by four others. They’d knocked over tables and chairs, the place a mess for the upcoming party that night, celebrating the Amberhill’s thirtieth wedding anniversary.

  “Dom! Lottie! Stop dis at once.” Hagard had grabbed his brother Domeam’s collar, the red-haired boy tumbling as Hagard pulled him back. “What is de meaning of dis?” Hagard had looked to Lotmock, Nalden clutching the boy’s sleeve. “Lottie?”

  “Not our fault, Gard! Dey started it.” Lotmock had pointed to the four bruised and bloody men.

  Hagard’s eyes had narrowed. “You aren’t dwarves. What are ye doin’ here, den?”

  One clutched his arm. “That’s our business, dirt crawler.”

  Domeam had lunged. “Why you insolent—”

  Hagard had yanked him back.

  “Enough, Dom.” He’d looked at the men. “You four better get outta here before we make ya.”

  The men had started to laugh. One with a ripped shirt had crossed his arms, superior in his mind. “What can you children do to us?”

  Hagard’s teeth had clenched. “Wanna find out?”

  “We really would.”

  He’d looked to Nalden, and the dark-skinned dwarf nodded. They had let go of Hagard’s siblings and stood in front of them, fists clenched. But they didn’t use their fists. Their hands went to their pockets and the knives were drawn before his brothers could protest or even think of doing so. The men’s eyes had flitted with surprise, two of them backing up a little, the other two swallowing.

  “Never heard of a fair fight?”

  “We’re children, remember? Need an extra edge,” Nalden had spat through a tight jaw, brown eyes blazing.

  “Besides,” Hagard had started. “Since when do children play fair?” He swiped the knife, acutely aware that his brothers were watching. He wasn’t going to kill them, just needed to scare them off. He wouldn’t have murdered anyone in front of his brothers and hadn’t intended to kill anyone until he joined the army. Killing in war was one thing. But in a bar fight, it was murder, and he wasn’t a murderer.

  A few swings of the blades and the men ran off. Maybe it was out of fear, but Hagard thought it was only because they didn’t want a mess they couldn’t clean up. Dwarves may have been considered a lesser species in Eron but murdering them was still a crime, and a messy one at that.

  Hagard had turned to Domeam, the eldest after him. “Dom, what happened?”

  “Dey picked on us first. Lottie tossed de first punch, I couldn’t leave him by himself.”

  Hagard had sighed, examining his brothers. They hadn’t been too bloodied, although Lottie had a bloody nose, and Domeam’s cheek was red, his arm banged up a bit, but otherwise unharmed. It shouldn’t have been too hard to keep from his father.

  “Just, don’t tell Papa. I’ll forget dis ever happened if you don’t tell anyone, aye?”

  “Aye,” they’d replied simultaneously.

  “Good.” He’d looked to Nalden. “You too.”

  “I’m not going to tell no one, but Ava might blab.”

  “I can handle Ava.”

  Nalden had snickered. “Sure.”

  “What? I can!”

  “Gard, you flush de moment she walks into a room,” Domeam had commented as he rubbed his arm.

  He’d rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” He’d looked around the tavern. “De barkeep isn’t gonna come to work for anoter t’ree hours. We should get dis cleaned up before Mr. Damberridge wakens from his nap and comes downstairs and finds his tavern in a shambles.”

  “It suits him, I tink,” Nalden had said as he crossed his arms.

  “Our hides on de wall will also suit him, so start cleaning, lads.”

  Dom and Lottie had groaned, Nalden right there with them as they started picking up chairs and leveling tables. Hagard had laughed to himself but sobered when he realized he’d have to clean too.

  Wind and darkness fly past Hagard as he gallops through the meandering forest, the horse unable to run at its fastest pace now, partly due to the dense trees they’ve entered. Near him, Alfie’s chattering teeth can be heard, the harsh breathing of their horses a sign that they won’t be running for too much longer.

  “Hagard, is it still there?” Alfie’s fear is clear, lining his voice thickly, jagged and rocky in his usual calm field of a voice.

  “It’s a shadow, Alfie, I can’t see it in de dark!” It’s a lie. In the corner of his eye, he sees the shadow following them as they ride. There’s something about it that doesn’t seem right. It’s a Dalorin, so that should explain it, but Dalorin don’t hunt, they don’t stalk. They find their prey and attack, simple as that. They are basic creatures with one simple need: to devour souls.

  “We can’t keep riding forever, Hagard!”

  “Dere’s not anoter option, Alfie. We can’t kill it unless you have a Dalorin killing sword hidden under your coat.”

  “Those aren’t real.”

  “My point exactly, Alfred.”

  “Don’t call me Alfred.”

  “Don’t ask stupid questions and I won’t have to.” He clicks his tongue, kicking his horse on, but it won’t go any faster. In fact, it’s slowing down. Spirits, I’m going to die tonight. He looks over at Alfie and realizes that he’d rather die than let him perish. Alfie. Domeam. Lottie. Duril. They aren’t so different, anymore. They’re all people he must look out for. But he abandoned his brothers. He won’t abandon Alfie. He has to do something, and quickly.

  Turning his horse, Alfie immediately stops with him. “Hagard, what are you doing?”

  “I’m going to lead it away from you.”

  “What’s that going to do?”

  “We’ll find out, won’t we?” He looks back at him. “Bye, Alfie.”

  “Gard, wait—”

  He clicks his tongue and his horse shoots off again. He sneaks a glance back, and it takes a moment, but he finds the Dalorin on the snowy ground as it follows him, letting out a screech of horror.

  Papa, I’m sorry I let you down. I pray you have it in your heart to ask for da Spirits to grant me passage into de next life. He swallows. He knows where he’s going. Where everyone goes.

  He’s going to the Isle.

  Trees pass. The stars fade as the early morning rises. He doesn’t know how long he’s been riding, it must have been getting close to dawn when he woke up. The sky’s still dark, only through the trees can he see the blackness begin to turn a dark, grayed blue. The horse kicks up snow as it gallops, Hagard can see the grass underneath, a frozen, dead brown. The trees have s
hriveled into black trunks with leafless tendrils of branches, eerily resembling the Dark Woods. But even so, there is more life in this forest than the ones bordering Mera and Radian, even if there are no animals to be found.

  The mystery of why the Dalorin is following him nags at his brain, making him look back. His eyes narrow, trying to find the shadow that creeps, but there’s nothing. He yanks the reins back, needing a quick stop. Frantically, he searches, naively wondering if it’s gone, or gave up. But Dalorin don’t give up.

  A scream lifts through the air. Alfie. Hagard sets his horse back into motion and charges for where he last saw the boy, but he could be anywhere by now—even in the Kawa. Another scream sends Hagard urging the horse west, and another makes him kick the horse harder. Hang on, Alfie. I’m comin’.

  Searching. Searching for too long. The screams are lost, and he’s wrapped in too many trees, too many directions. He doesn’t know where their camp is, where he is, only that he’s still in this cursed forest.

  He jumps off his horse, needing to be grounded, needing to search with his two hands and feet on the forest floor. Hagard frantically looks behind trees and bushes. Nothing. He drops to his knees and starts digging under the piles of snow, but again, he finds no sign of Alfie. What did I do? He takes a deep breath. No. For all I know he could be safe in de Kawa. I’m just imagining dis. I just imagined his scream. He can tell himself it all he likes, but he knows it isn’t true. That was Alfie’s scream.

  Mounting his horse, he travels at a slow walk, neither horse nor rider able to go any faster. Hagard wants to sleep. He desperately needs to sleep. And fall into a dreamless existence where he can be at peace for as long as he keeps his eyes closed. But more than anything, he wants to drink. To tumble into oblivion, a drunken mess where he forgets to pay and falls into a comatose slumber that only a bucket of cold water can wake him from.

  Then his eyes catch it. The body, cold and frozen. He jumps from his horse and rushes to him. “Alfie?” Falling to his knees, Hagard puts his fingers to the boy’s throat, a pulse there but fading. He clutches Alfie’s face, his eyes already iced over. “I’m gonna save you, Alfie. Just hold on. Just hold on.”

  He hoists him over his shoulder and lifts him onto the horse. Hagard clutches him as he urges his horse on, heading for the Kawa. He won’t let Alfie die. He can’t abandon this one.

  Awyn was saved at the Kawa. He wasn’t there, but from what it sounded like, she was in a worse position than Alfie. Kaniel and Aradon had to travel days before they reached the valley, keeping Awyn’s soul in her body only by an ancient herb he doesn’t know the name of and the grace of the Spirits. She was saved just in time. But maybe she wasn’t wholly saved? Even so, they are Alfie’s only hope.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The memories should be painful. But they aren’t.

  Karak had leaned against the wall, cup in hand, and felt his weakness dissipating slowly, but it had still been relieving. The elf blood had a terrible taste and hadn’t gotten any better. He would have drowned the flavor with a glass of alcohol, but it had been harder to come by than one might have thought in Kahzacore. All the Tarken drank it, the Sanarx wouldn’t touch the stuff.

  He had let it go too long, that time. He’d grown too weak. He could barely stand by the end, stumbling to the table, desperately grabbing the goblet and had drank as if his life depended on it. If he hadn’t drank it, he’d have gone to the Isle of the Dead. And he had no plans to go there.

  He knew he must keep the secret from everyone but a few. It would be an easy way to kill him. Some say there is no way. But that is the way. If he doesn’t drink elf blood, he’ll be trapped on the Isle with Crozacar. He won’t technically be dead, as his master isn’t. Their souls would still exist. But the only one who knows is Revera, and she doesn’t seem to be letting him die anytime soon. She had even given her own blood when he’d run out.

  Why she ever lied to him was a mystery. She said she’d get Raea, lure her through Awyn, and the White Lady would remove Crozacar’s hold over him. But Revera lied. She’d never followed through. And the fact that it was a lie, told him there was nothing ever to follow through on. A lie. Plain as that. He had figured it out, though. It was actually a simple explanation. His army.

  He should’ve left then. He should have killed her or done something. But he didn’t. Weakness. It was weakness. Unwillingness to be anything more because he can’t be. Awyn may make him feel human, but he isn’t one. He can feel shame and guilt all by himself, without looking into her eyes. The anger and hatred cloaks who he is, without kissing her. But the satisfaction he felt when he read the hope in her soul still can’t distract him from who he is.

  “And who is that?”

  Karak had looked up and nearly choked on his own tongue. Frozen. Frozen in real, pure fear. Horror had filled him, the pain of the past spilling from his memories into his reality like spiders from a dead tree. He could feel any physical feeling leave him as the spiritual and mental agony started to set in, burrowing itself into his mind, sinking into his soul. It was a piercing cold, and yet fiery hot hurting that he could never and will never be able to truly describe because no one will ever feel this like he has.

  Crozacar’s black eyes had narrowed, studying him. “And who are you, Karak?”

  He’d fallen forward, his head pulsing with flames. His palms were flat on the black floor, his head bowed like he was in front of a great king as he’d trembled. “I’m your servant!” he’d choked out, barely able to speak, his throat tightening. This is what happened in his master’s presence. Any shred of will he had disappeared. This had been happening too often. Crozacar had been inching himself deeper and deeper into Karak’s mind, and he’s gotten to the core.

  “Good.”

  A hand on his head, and Karak had jolted lower, shaking and unsteady. “Please,” his voice had wavered.

  “What for?”

  “Free me.” He’d held his arms out, invisible chains shackling his wrists. “Please. Please. I served you. I killed for you. I destroyed myself for you. You owe me my freedom.”

  “I owe you nothing!” Crozacar had shouted, a Dalorin-like noise accenting the maniacal voice. “I saved you, took mercy on you. I gave you power, created you into who you are. I did that. Me. So I don’t owe you anything.”

  Karak had bowed his head, misplaced shame filling him. He should not have felt like this, but the guilt bled through him anyway. A gentle hand had been on the bottom of his chin, soft and fair. He’d looked up and gazed into angel-like blue eyes.

  “Karak.”

  “Awyn.” He’d exhaled, relief flooding him. He’d let his muscles relax, his fear dissipating.

  She’d sunk to her knees beside him as he grabbed her hand, needing to feel something. She’d smiled, hooking her arm around his neck and kissing him. But as he’d let himself sink into her, the kiss had turned to poison, and he’d recoiled. And suddenly it hadn’t been Awyn in front of him.

  “Revera.”

  “Karak, darling.” She’d tilted her head. “My niece does look a lot like me, doesn’t she?”

  “You snake.”

  “Glad to see you’re expanding your vocabulary.” Revera had put a hand on his cheek, but he’d swatted it away. She’d pursed her lips, mock with hurt. “Ouch. I only wanted to help.”

  “Help with what?”

  “Help take the pain away.”

  It shouldn’t have tempted him. But it had. “How would you go about doing that? Or is this another lie to get me to serve you?”

  “We shall see.” She’d smiled, a surprisingly innocent gesture. “I can take it away, Karak. You just have to say yes.”

  His eyes had widened, and fear had clutched his heart once again. He’d backed away, scrambling to his feet. “I will never say yes. Not again. Never again.”

  “Then never again will you taste freedom. Never again will you feel what it’s like not to feel. You can forget what once made you human, Calen. You can become who
Karak was truly meant to be, who you were the first time you said yes.” She returns her hand to his cheek. “I may not be able to give you your freedom, but I can give you the next best thing,” she’d paused dramatically. “Apathy.”

  “And you want me to say yes to this?”

  “No, I want you to sing a lullaby—yes, I want you to say it. And mean it. It only works if you mean it.”

  “You could take my feelings from me if I held you down with a sword to your throat,” he’d said.

  “True. But this is more poetic.”

  “You want me to forget everything that makes me Calen. Human emotions. Who my family taught me to be. You want me to become a monster.” He’d looked at her, shaking his head. “I can’t.”

  “I need Karak, Calen. You may not think it, but I’m doing what’s right. I’m doing what’s good.”

  “You may not care how the world remembers you, Revera. But I do.”

  She’d shaken her head, something different in her eyes. A realness he’d never seen before, not even in Awyn. “It isn’t the good we remember. It’s the bad. The broken. We remember those who hurt us and not those who help us. We remember the swords and the spears. But never the heart. I’m doomed to be written as a villain in history. But the Spirits know my soul. They’ll see me a savior, even if the world sees me as a monster.”

  “The road to peace has never been paved with good intentions, Revera.”

  A smirk had twitched the corner of her lip ever so slightly. “Then we build a new road.”

  Now, Karak finds himself on the back of Gotham, Breel clutching his waist in white knuckled fear as they fly high above the trees. He’s trying his best not to throw him off. Nakelle is quiet, Kepp no longer the talker he once was when he first joined Revera, when Karak first met him. They’re both just silent, watching the world below move like the clouds. No scene is the same, no tree, no field. The only constants are the long lengths of rivers, but even they have an end to them.