by C D Beaudin
“I don’t know.”
Raea groans as she stands, Hagard helping her up. They slowly approach the pool but stop when the water ripples. Hagard watches in expectation and hope. Anyting to help Eldowyn. Anyting.
His eyes widen, and Raea’s breathing filters with relief when two figures emerge from the pool. A woman—no, an elf. She has fair skin, and long chocolate hair that reaches her knees. Her eyes are silver and confused but hardened. She has a black mark on the inside of her wrist, and it takes Hagard a moment to realize it’s a tattooed D. She’s very tall, taller than Raea. Beside her, another very confused figure. A man, Hagard sees he has no elf ears. Human. He has light skin, blue eyes, and dark brown hair. His strong jaw carries a scratchy layer of hair, not yet a beard.
They look around the cave, at each other, then at Raea and Hagard. The elf is the first to say something. “Who are you?”
Raea’s golden hair and blue eyes turn to her normal white, and the elf’s eyes widen. “Raea?”
“Sauriel. It’s been a while.”
The elf looks at her hands. “How is this…” Her eyes turn dark, and anger floods her face. “What did you do to me?” she demands as she storms toward them. “Is this another one of your manipulations? Hasn’t Eldowyn been put through enough?”
“Sauriel, you’ve been dead for an entire age.”
The chocolate-haired elf stops in her tracks, stunned. “What?” Her voice is hoarse.
“I’m sorry. Eldowyn doesn’t remember you. Kepp doesn’t.”
“What happened to me?”
“You were fighting and were killed. You turned into a Dalorin, Sauriel. In the Third Age. We’re in the Fourth.”
Sauriel shakes her head, stepping back. “No, no. This…this isn’t happening. Eldowyn…no.” What was a hard exterior, falls away. Tears flow, and she falls to her knees. “He forgot me. They both did. And the rest…they’re all dead?”
“I’m sorry. You’ve been gone a long time.” Raea’s eyes flit to the man, who watches with a distant gaze. “My King.”
“I was no Dalorin.”
“No you weren’t.”
“Why did you bring me back?” He gestures to Sauriel. “Why did you bring us back?”
“Because you both have people you need to save. Sauriel, Kepp was your friend. He’s fallen into league with a powerful sorceress. And Eldowyn. He needs you.”
“I don’t want him to need me! That wasn’t how this was supposed to go. He was going to say he loved me because he did, not because he needed me. He was going to want me, not need me.”
Raea glances quickly at Hagard, who feels awkward and sick.
“I’m sorry, Sauriel. But I’ve brought you back, and now you must remain. You care about my sons, yes?”
“Of course I do.”
She looks at the man. “And you care about your heir?”
The king’s expression is confused. “He’s risen, then?”
“He’s going to make a fine king.” She takes a breath. “A war is waging, and they’re at the center of it. They need you. Both of you.”
Sauriel looks to the king, and they both nod. But Sauriel’s eyes soon shift to Hagard. “Who’s the dwarf?”
Chapter Sixteen
Even with the flames flickering in the fireplace, and a blanket around her shoulders, the cold still gets to her as she writes furiously and desperately, her royal seal next to her. Brega’s hand cramps, having already made five copies of the same letter, preparing to send them. As she works on the sixth, she leans back, giving her hand and eyes a break. Closing them, she sees fire, and snaps them open. That’s been happening too often lately. She sees her magic, her hands channeling this power within her. She could harness it. Use it for good. And while she plans on using it to send her letters, that’s all she’ll use it for. She takes a breath. That is all.
She looks over the letter. The name it’s addressed to makes her breath stop.
Dear King Asoed of Eron,
In dangerous times such as these, it is pertinent that people of our standing come together. Not only in leadership, but in alliance. We cannot let our kingdoms be further ruined by the sorceress Revera. Eron has not been affected as the Five Kingdoms have, but the time will come when we leaders will ask you to send aid when she attacks. Let us prevent such a tragedy from even being thought of. Let us come together and discuss action. We must put a stop to her before we are all destroyed.
I am not asking for your army or your life. But I ask that you consider coming to Hillstone in Nomarah in two weeks’ time, so that we, along with others, may deliberate on what we shall do.
If you have no interest in attending, I will understand, but please know that those left unaffected by this war won’t be for long. As I stated, Revera needs to be stopped, and we need the forces of Mortal to stand up against her.
Hillstone, two weeks’ time.
Sincerely,
Queen Brega of Rohidia
She finishes the last few lines, and seals it in an envelope, the leaf on the royal, green wax seal imprinting on the paper. Part of her thinks she’s insane for even trying with the Eronian king. He’s young and a drunk, partying like the rest of his subjects. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, and that has been true for nearly every Eronian monarch. But that isn’t the most desperate gamble she’s made with these letters.
Picking one of them up, she looks at the addressed name. Emperor Sufek of Terandore.
What is she doing? Sending a letter to cannibals for aid? Sending one to Eron, the drunk capital of Mortal? And even Mera, with that gate Awyn is having them build. They clearly only care about themselves, not those without an impenetrable gate to protect them.
She leans back, clamping a hand on her forehead. “What am I doing?” She rubs her face, raking a hand through her hair. Looking out her window, she sees the gray sky, the white fields. She’s so tired of the constant gray and white. She wants green grass, a blue horizon.
Picking up the letters, she walks to the window, opening up the pane. The letters safely on the sill, she leans out a little, closing her eyes. She searches the wind with her mind, looking for birds to carry her voice. When she finds them, she controls the air under their wings, bringing them toward her. She opens her eyes when she sees them before her, their black wings stark against the emerald.
“Pardon me.” She ties a letter to each of them. Maybe magic has its benefits? She’s using her control of air to send the birds to where her letters need to be. She’s been practicing, a little. Not too much, only enough to be able to control the basic elements. It will help her in battle—she isn’t sure when she decided that—and when the war is over, she’ll work on removing the magic. She made herself swear on her parents’ and brother’s graves.
Sending them off, she feels the power flood her veins again. But then a burning fills them, and she lets go of the air, stumbling back. Brega takes in a sharp breath, hoping the birds will continue the course she sent them on. She sits on her bed, looking at her hands. The burn hurts, but it fades away, pulsing with power and mystery. An odd surety too. But she tucks her hands under her arms, not wanting to feel this anymore.
It’s only for the war. After…she breathes in. After, it’s gone.
A hand strikes her face. Eyes opening, Awyn can feel the slight sting on her cheek, confusion filling her. What the—? She looks up, seeing her own face stare down at her. She lets out a little squeal, not loud enough for anyone to hear, though. Not that it would matter. She dismissed all her guards. On the other side of the bed, she digs under her pillow and grabs her dagger.
Soulless smirks, twirling a dagger in her fingers, and it takes Awyn a moment to realize it’s the one she still holds.
“What’s yours is mine, darling.” Soulless taps it against her face, absentmindedly. “So, any gossip?”
Awyn looks at the knife in her hand, and Soulless laughs. “You can’t honestly think you’ll kill me with that?” She rolls her eyes, throwing the dagg
er away, and stands. “Awyn love, you must get something through that thick skull of yours.”
At Awyn’s side, Soulless clutches her head, looking down at her. “You’ll never get rid of me, so stop trying.” She plants a kiss on her forehead and lets go.
Walking over to the window, Awyn notices her black dress is ripped at the bottom. “I see your gate is making progress.”
“My brother said they’d be done in another month.”
Soulless looks back at her. “Eldowyn? Oh, yes. Our brother… You know, Kepp nearly killed him, right?”
Awyn doesn’t want to think about it. Nor hear about it. Any more talk of pain and she’ll jump off her balcony.
And Soulless takes advantage of it. “Poor little Awyn, so cold, so numb.” She rubs her arm. “Alone. All alone in this dark world.” She sighs. “But you aren’t by yourself. You have me, and all the others.” She puts her lips to her ear. “You’ll never be alone.” She smiles, her mockery making Awyn shake. She wants to scream. She should scream.
“Stop, Soulless.”
They both look up, Awyn able to move again. Another Awyn stands there, small and weak. She’s thinner than a branch, her hair stringy and blacker than night. Her skin is ghastly, translucent. She looks a lot like Soulless, like herself, but her eyes are real ice, the pupil barely visible. Her skin is covered in scars—Awyn recognizes some. They are the scars she would carry if she wasn’t half-elf. Every bump, bruise, cut, and stab wound. They all cover the girl before them. But there are more scars, ones Awyn doesn’t recognize.
Soulless groans. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to stop you. Leave her alone.” Her voice quavers, as if she’s about to cry. Tear stains mark her face, but none fall.
“Soul, please, let the big girls handle this. You look like you need a nap.”
“They won’t come. Not yet.” Her voice is cracked and wounded. She looks to Awyn. “Hello, Awyn.”
“S-Soul?”
“Yes.” Her eyes droop in what is either sadness, defeat, or fatigue—maybe all three? “I am your soul.”
Awyn can’t comprehend. “I just…slow down.” She stands, walking over to her table. She grabs her glass and pours another cup of wine into it. Taking a long drink, she closes her eyes and turns. When she opens them, she feels hopeless, seeing them still there, staring at her. She hops on the table, sitting and sipping away. She gestures to them, not caring anymore. “Continue.”
“It’s the dynamic duo!” Soulless squeals, hugging Soul, but she cowers. “Spirits, who spat in your soul food?”
“It hurts.”
Soulless rolls her eyes. “Awyn, this is Soul, the most annoying, depressing part of your Being you’ll ever meet.”
“My Being?”
“She’s quiet, she’s always crying but not actually crying—seriously, is anything about you real?” Soulless has her hand on Soul’s shoulder but sticks her other hand through her ghost-like skin. “That’s just wrong.”
Awyn takes another sip. “What Being?”
“Your Being is you. Your soul, your emotions. Everything that makes you Awyn on a spiritual, emotional, physical, and mental level.”
Soul holds up her frail hand. “Soulless, do us a favor and be quiet for a minute.”
“Don’t tell me to shut up!”
“I didn’t!”
“You just did.”
“I’m trying to save Awyn, so please, either help or go.”
Soulless’ eyes narrow, arms crossed. “You are insufferable.”
“No, that—that would be you.” Awyn can feel her head fuzz as they both look at her, the wine doing its job. She hops off the table. “You both are annoying. By ththe way, nice to meet you, Sssoul.” Slurring, she wavers in her steps, eyelids heavy. “Anyway, from thththe way you two are going on, I think you have something to tell me.”
They study her. “Is she drunk?” Soulless ponders.
“Are we drunk?” Soul looks at Soulless. “Maybe alcohol doesn’t affect the entire Being?”
“We haven’t really had many chances to find out.”
“That’s true.” No matter what her words are, no matter how light the tone would normally be, Soul betrays it all. Her voice is heavy with sorrow, her eyes the same, her entire face portrays an indescribable pain. “What?” She must have noticed Awyn staring.
“Nothing. Just why are you so cut up?” She blinks, forgetting what she just said. “Why are you so cut-cut up? I recognized some of the scars—I should be cut in those places. But I’m half-elf. I don’t—I don’t scar easily.”
“I carry all your scars for you. I carry your pain, your sorrow. The hurt you feel over the years is nothing compared to the raw anguish I feel. Emotional pain—even physical pain—is so much greater than mortal and even immortal beings can handle. So their souls take the burden. You still feel some of it…but we feel what you cannot.”
She holds out her arms. “These scars are not only from knives and swords. They are from your screams. These burns here.” She traces her finger along her elbow. “They are from your tears. These purple bruises on my head are from Zyadar being in your head.”
Soulless gives Soul a look. Awyn notices, but the sight leaves her when her head starts to ache.
“I am your Soul, the part of you that feels everything. Soulless is the part of you that cares for nothing. And do you remember Brave?”
The room starts spinning, she’s sick to her stomach. “Yeeah.”
“That’s the mortal part of your Being. She’ll hold the physical scars. There are so many parts of you, Awyn, parts that haven’t seen the light, but they have all been affected by what life has doled out to you. Every fist, every fight—even every kiss. We feel everything.”
Awyn looks at Soulless. “What about you? If you feel-feel nothing, how can yoou feel my pain?”
“I feel things. I just don’t care about them. It still hurts…but emotionally, I don’t care.” She shifts uncomfortably. “That doesn’t mean I don’t feel the pain.”
“Why am I seeing you?” She looks at Soul. “Am I dyyying?”
“Ultimately, that’s up to you. But we know how at least the next chapter of your life is going to unfold. We have a…spy.”
“A spyyy?”
Soul puts a hand on her arm. “A part of you that you never knew existed until Nethess.”
Awyn’s brow furrows. “Adriel?”
“No, idiot,” Soulless jabs. “You. The immortal part of your Being.”
“And this is-is supposed to make sense ta me? I could be poisoned.” Awyn’s eyes widen. “I could be poisoned. Oh Spiiiirits.” The world grows hot, the floor turning to water. She desperately looks to her other selves, but they disappear. Awyn falls to the floor, cradling herself, protecting herself from the world around her. She cries, hands over her ears. Her heartbeat sounds like a drum. The blood in her veins a river. Her breathing like an army marching.
This is either drunkenness or insanity.
She prays it’s the former.
“I can’t believe Saine would do this.”
“He didn’t, Eldowyn. He was captured too.”
Eldowyn shakes his head. “Adriel, they’re both gone. Aradon may not like being captured but he wouldn’t escape. He isn’t the kind to flee punishment he knows he deserves.”
“You don’t know him that well, Eldowyn! If you did, this would never have happened in the first place. Awyn would still be sane and we wouldn’t have to rule her kingdom while she stays locked in her room.”
“Adriel, I know you love him, but he did this. He disappeared when Aradon did. So unless Aradon managed to break out of his cell, take down all the guards, get through the palace without us noticing, and kidnap Saine in the process… And spirit him out through the Dark Woods, then Saine is guilty.”
“You know Aradon is capable of that.”
Eldowyn pauses, Adriel’s eyes narrowing at him. She refuses to believe Saine did this. If he did…then he
was lying to her. For years. For the entire time they knew each other.
It means he never cared for her, that their love was a lie and he doesn’t care about her. She doesn’t matter to him. And now her family is that much thinner. Only Eldowyn is left. That isn’t good enough. She won’t let it be.
“I will prove to you that Saine didn’t do this.”
“Adriel. Who else could have? He may not be a Besged, but Saine is the only one who’d even stand a chance against Aradon besides me or you. The guards didn’t do it, they couldn’t have. Nor the people, they don’t even know he was down there. Saine was the only one.”
“Hagard—”
“Hagard wasn’t here and you know it.” Eldowyn puts a hand out but she moves out of the way.
“No. I don’t believe it.” Her eyes swell with tears. “I won’t.”
“Adriel—”
“No! Leave me alone, Eldowyn. Just…leave me alone.” She rushes from his room, and strides into the hallway. Tears well in her eyes as she races down the hall toward her room and slams the door behind her, locking it. Back to the door, she sinks to the ground, crying hard. He didn’t do it. There’s no way. He didn’t… She shakes her head, unable to admit that the man she loves is a traitor and a liar. She knows who he is. The Plainsman. A murderer. But she still loved him. But now, knowing that he lied all these years…
No, she doesn’t believe it. She won’t let herself.
She leans her head back, remembering when she first met Saine.
The city was too crowded for her liking. Drestia was never that packed, the buildings always spaced evenly, the people the same. Resodan, though, was a dwarven tavern, filled to the brim with drunks and singing sobers, dancing in the streets, some for money, or other things that would achieve them a greater profit.
Hurrying through the chaotic honeycombed streets, Adriel had clutched her bag, hood over her face, a scarf around her mouth and forehead. If anyone had seen her gem, she’d have been seen as an elf or another powerful species. And in Resodan, she couldn’t afford to be seen as such.
