by C D Beaudin
Slinking in the shadows, she’d woven around people, setting her eyes on the red hill near the outskirts of the city. There, she would find her father’s villa. And safety. Her father didn’t like it when she went on those crusades, but she couldn’t let bad things happen to people when she knew they were about to occur. Foresight is her gift. She couldn’t waste it.
Someone had bumped into her and she’d fallen, hitting the ground hard. Landing on her arm awkwardly, she’d let out a squeal before she realized she needed to keep a low profile. Someone helped her up, and she quickly nodded in gratitude to the woman and went on her way, quickening her pace. The Outer City still stretched on for longer than she would have liked. She’d secured her hood and scarf and continued on down a dank street. The sky was darkened, a sign that she needed to hurry, or she might not make it out of the city alive.
It was a dream that had taken her there. At least that’s what her father said. But it wasn’t a mere dream. It was a vision. She’d seen a child die of infection because his parents didn’t know anything was wrong. Picking herbs, she’d gone to Resodan, to save him. This was her purpose. To save the people she saw die.
Her father wanted her to stop, though. She understood his reasoning. He didn’t want her to get hurt. She’d been going to strangers. They could be anybody. A murderer. A slaver. A Red Warrior in disguise. She should have heeded that warning. But this was what she was meant to do. How could she just let people die when she could save them? What logic was there in that? What reasoning? She had used that argument on her father, and he’d had no retaliation. Even as she traipsed in cloak and shadow, she didn’t regret her decision. She’d saved a boy’s life.
Eyes to the sky, she could still see the hill where her home was. The king had been generous to them, her father awarded a place in court, and when he managed to wiggle his way into the king’s good graces, he was given the beautiful villa she’d called home. It was nothing like the palace in Drestia where she would have lived if she was legitimate, but it was home.
She had been gone for a few days, missing her father. She’d stayed out an extra night, enjoying the freedom, but never left the inn. Adriel had barred herself in, knowing that might not have even kept her safe. But she’d been ready to return, and knew she’d have to travel to Drestia soon for her brothers’ birthday, so she’d wanted to spend as much time with her father as possible.
When her grandparents banished them, only Aiocille was permanently exiled. She couldn’t stay at the palace with Raea, so she went with her father. But she could only return when they wanted her to, and they made no effort to visit her.
Adriel had felt bad for her father. He’d loved Raea, even though she couldn’t fight his banishment. But more than that, he was a renowned soldier. He’d escorted her aunt Revera to the coast when she went on her overseas mission from the Spirits. Adriel had thought it was amazing, that she left her home on the word of the Spirits. It made her think that her gift was going to be used for greatness too. But her father was always wary of her looking up to her aunt. Probably because he didn’t want her to leave him.
Something had grabbed onto her arm and yanked her into an alleyway. She’d gasped, her hand clasping her hood in a failed effort to keep it on, her scarf slipping as she was pushed to the ground. Looking up, she’d been terrified when she saw two men above her, quizzical grins on their faces.
“Think this one will do good?”
The other one had bent down, grabbing her hand. She’d squeaked as he pushed down her sleeve, examining her fair, unworked arm.
“She doesn’t have a scratch on her, hands that of a lady’s.” He’d looked up at the other. “Boss is in the market for elven whores?”
“He’s in the market for everything.”
They’d snickered, grabbing her and tying her up. She’d fought, kicking and screaming, but they’d gagged her, pushing her hard against a wall.
“She’s a fighter.”
“Nah, she doesn’t have the hands for it. Weak for an elf. She just doesn’t want to die.”
“Oh, little lady, you’ll wish you were going to die.” He’d yanked her back, Adriel screaming but only a muffled sound came from behind her gag. She’d pulled away from them, but the man kept a firm grip on her.
“Scrappy.” He’d put his lips to her ear and whispered something vile.
She’d kicked her foot back, connecting with his leg. The man screeched, letting go of her, but she’d immediately ended up in a third man’s arms. And from the looks on the other two faces, he hadn’t been one of them.
It had taken her a moment to see the sword in his hands.
“Get out of here.”
“She’s ours!”
“Yours or your boss’s? I’ll need to know who to kill.”
Their eyes had widened. The one who tied her up spoke, sounding frightened. “His name is Bover, he runs one of the biggest brothels in the city.”
“That’s all we know!” the other one had cried.
The man holding Adriel hadn’t loosened his grip, nor did his muscles relax. His sword had still been firmly set on the two men. “Run.”
He didn’t have to ask twice.
When they were safe, and she’d been untied, Adriel had felt his muscles relax and she’d torn out of his grip. She’d hurried to wrap her scarf around her forehead, but the man’s hand caught her wrist before she could. His dark eyes studied her, looking at her face, her gem.
She’d taken the moment to study him too. Short, messy blond hair. Tall. Handsome. But dangerous. There was a lie in his eyes, and she had thought it was his secret of being the Plainsman, but now she wishes she had sensed there was more to it.
“You’re Aiocille’s daughter.” It wasn’t a question. He knew.
“Why?”
“I’ve been staying at his villa for the past couple of days. He’s been worried about you.”
“What, did he send you to seek me out?”
“I didn’t know what you looked like until a few minutes ago.”
“Then how did you know who I was?”
He’d looked at the gem on her forehead.
Obviously. She’d rolled her eyes at herself.
“When did you meet my father?”
“A couple of days ago. He granted me safe haven.”
“Safe haven? From whom?”
He’d smirked, but it had contrasted to what he said next. “From those who wish me dead.”
Adriel’s eyes open. Back aching, she realizes it’s night. She had been sleeping. Her brow lifts when a bird flies onto her open windowsill, staying there, something tied around its neck. Standing, she walks over to it, petting the soft feathers, sensing the magic that sent the bird here. She unties the small letter, the wax crumbling as she splits the seal.
Opening it, hope flitters in her chest. But then fear. Whoever wrote this, has magic. But this can’t be Revera unless it’s a trap. But then she looks at the signed name, quickly looking at the green wax seal. She didn’t even notice it before. The leaf. The green.
She lets out a breath, fear clutching her. “Brega. What have you done?”
Chapter Seventeen
Fire. Smoke lingers, ash settles. Flames still burn up the trees and ground, the buildings nearly eaten by the orange flames. The sky above has blackened from the smoke, no longer a starry night. The grass that hasn’t been touched by flame is gray from the ash. The trees are dead, the stars and moon the same. Corpses of animals and Tanea alike lie everywhere, some burned—most burned—some mangled beyond recognition, blood strewn, carnage everywhere.
Breel has killed before. But this is something different.
This is massacre.
Dazed, guilt-ridden and exhausted, he looks around for something to hold onto. Not for balance, but for something to grip before he loses the ground below his feet. He already lost his footing, he can’t afford to lose anything more. He finds Nakelle, her steps hesitant and her gait defeated, even though they just won the
battle.
They killed an entire race in doing so, but that was why they came here in the first place. Breel just didn’t realize until he was slicing children’s throats, trying to make their deaths quick, what he’d really gotten himself into when he joined Nakelle. Why had he gone with her? He’d wanted a new reason to live…but this isn’t living. It’s not a reason. “Murder. Meaningless murder.”
“It isn’t meaningless.”
Breel lifts his gaze from the carnage to Kepp’s. He’s bloodied, more so than Breel, but not as much as Karak. His skin is stained red, his clothes ripped but still covering his breathing body. That’s more than the corpses have.
The guilt gives way to anger. “How can you say that? We just killed an entire nation!” Breel accuses, but he isn’t assuming. It’s the truth. The awful truth.
“Breel, we did what we had to. Revera wouldn’t have ordered us to kill these people if she didn’t have a reason.”
“How do you know that, Kepp? Honestly? She isn’t the upstanding elf you think she is.”
“You think me naïve? I know she’s a monster, but we all are! Everyone who ever fought in this war has become what we’ve been fighting against. I just had a head start.” He shakes his head. “We’re in this all the way, Breel. You can’t dip your toe in and not get wet. You’re in or you’re out, and you don’t want to find out what happens when you want out.”
“Death is better than becoming a murderer.”
Kepp scoffs. “Then it’s a little late for death.”
Breel glares, completely done with the Knights. “If I’ve learned anything from being a soldier, it’s never too late for death.” He turns but finds himself face-to-face with a man who’s covered head to toe in blood, blue eyes focused but chaotic, a gaze so penetrating he can…can’t breathe. His skin tightens, his heart stops pumping. And he feels his soul inside him being ripped out, the man’s eyes so intently focused on him.
“If you want to keep your soul, then you will comply.” As a hand lets go of his neck, his power lets go of Breel’s soul.
He gasps for air, reaches for something to hold onto and finds Nakelle. Her eyes are fearful, confused, and unsure.
“What just happened?” Breel sputters.
“Karak nearly ripped your soul out,” Kepp answers. “Still have doubts?”
Breel’s eyes widen. “That just secured them. He nearly turned me into a Dalorin. How could I not doubt the motivations of one who would have me turned into a mindless shadow?”
“You question Revera’s motivations, not Karak’s.”
“I thought they were one and the same?” Breel has often thought them to be too similar. Too alike for anyone to survive this war. If both are left, will they even let the other live? Will they destroy whatever’s left of the world, so they can be the last one standing? Or are two of the most monstrous villains in history going to co-rule a dead world with a smile?
“Don’t be foolish, Breel,” Kepp snaps.
“Foolish? How can I be foolish for thinking that they are the same person? They could destroy each other, Kepp.” He eyes Karak. The blood. The demon before him is no man, and he never was. “And I’m not sure they’ll wait until the rest of us are dead.”
“I have no quarrel with Revera,” says Karak. “I do what I’m told. As a soldier does. You’re a soldier, Trad. You should know this better than anyone.”
“You are being led into more destruction and more death, Karak! Revera will kill all of us. She'll kill you."
Karak grabs his throat, a much more real sensation than his soul being ripped from him by an invisible force. “Be wise. Tread lightly. Follow orders. Even if it leads to your death. It’s what we’re taught as soldiers. I was just taught by a different general. If you think that I’m going to let her kill me, then you have another thing coming.”
“You may not have a choice.”
Karak huffs. “Death always gives us a choice.”
“Not when the devil commands it.” Breel knows he’s in dangerous territory… Actually, forget that. He entered dangerous territory the moment he followed Nakelle. He’s in this now. This is his life. The bodies around him…this is who he is now. Might as well embrace it. Bad guys are best at fighting, right? Let’s give them a fight.
Breel lunges at Karak, but he must have seen it coming because he sidesteps, grabbing Breel and throwing him the opposite way. A loud pop, and Breel can feel his shoulder dislocate. He cries out, the pain severe. He looks to Karak. “You and Revera. You’ll destroy us all.”
Karak looms over him. “That’s the point.” Grabbing Breel’s collar, he lifts him to eye level. “At least it’s my point.” His other hand clutches Breel’s jaw. “Don’t make me kill you. You’re a Knight now. You’re my soldier. We’re on the same side.”
“And what side is that, Karak?”
Both Breel and Karak look at Nakelle, whose tear-stained cheeks wash rivers down the blood on her face. “What side is that, Karak? The side of death? I don’t want to die.”
“And you won’t if you comply.”
“I don’t want to comply! You and Revera are demons. Abominations.” She looks at Kepp. “There are those who’d consider me a defect. An elf with brown skin.” Her glare sets back on the lieutenant. “But you and Revera. You’re monsters.”
“I know what I am,” Karak snaps. He lets go of Breel, pulling out his sword, somehow holding it to all three of them. “So unless you want to become a soul-devouring shadow, I suggest you obey my command. The moment Revera erased who I was, she made a grave mistake. You don’t serve Revera. Nor fight her war. You’re fighting mine. You’re my soldiers, now.” He lifts his chin. “I am the First and Last Lieutenant. And I will be obeyed. Follow me or become what goes screech in the night. Your choice.”
Breel, Kepp, and Nakelle each exchange a glance. Breel isn’t a mind reader, but he knows they’re all wondering the same thing. Can they risk loyalty to Karak when they’ve sworn it to Revera? Is either option better?
“And what would you have us do?” Kepp questions, but he’s clearly not on board.
Karak’s eyes are that of a demon’s. “Kill the doomed.”
Kepp’s brow furrows. “What? But no one knows who it is. Do you have a plan to kill a ghost?”
Karak’s eyes narrow. “I’m working on it. Besides, a ghost is just a soul.” He bops his eyebrows and turns, walking toward Gotham.
“I cannot be the only one not comfortable with this,” Breel dangles.
Kepp walks past him. “You’re not.”
Nakelle exchanges a dark glance with him before following, and eventually, reluctantly, Breel follows suit as well.
The Isle of the Dead. A treacherous place filled with beasts and souls alike. The black trees are much like those of the Dark Woods, but there are no leaves to be seen, the trees themselves ghosts, able to solidify or disappear, making it very easy to get lost on the Isle. The ground is dead, ashen, the sky the same, thunder and lightning always striking and booming but it never rains.
It used to be beautiful. The Maean Isle. Or simply, Maea. It was the home of the first elves, the first creations of Sericia. Elves of the light. Light elves. They had many names. Some said they were more pompous than Radian elves. Revera wouldn’t be surprised, the blood runs through her family’s veins. Raea is as egotistical as one can get. Her parents were more so.
Breathing in, she coughs, forgetting how horrid and thin the air is. Cold too. Shivering, she flips the hood of her heavy cloak forward, covering her face and shielding her ears from the freeze. It’s amazing how comfortable she feels here, among the death and silence. She feels so alone when she’s around the Knights or talking with others. Vulnerable and weak. But when she’s alone, she’s stronger than she could ever imagine. She doesn’t like people. Maybe that was clear, considering she’s destroyed so many of them, but it’s true.
She’d wandered through Kuzakai for a week before she had the courage to enter Kahzacore. She was so hungry
. Starving. Aiocille clearly didn’t feed her while she was asleep, so she hadn’t eaten for probably two or three weeks at least. Fatigue. Starvation. She wasn’t sure which one was going to be the end of her. But the purpose she had grasped onto in that cavern made her fight, and she fought all that she had been taught and entered Kahzacore. She found strength in her loneliness. She’d managed to get used to Karak, but the other Knights may be the end of her if they get too close. Revera has no problem approaching, but when she’s approached, fear grips her.
Her weaknesses are a secret she will never share, her vulnerability to her magic she will only share with the person who will one day understand. Brega will fall, like every magician before her. Magic is a curse. But Revera has used it for a gift. She will save those who deserve to be saved. The living can go to the Darkness for all she cares, but those who are dead will be saved. She will save them. And the world may hate her, but they’ll thank her when they see her face in the next life.
She shouldn’t be able to teleport to the Isle, but her magic is powerful. However, as soon as she stepped foot on the Isle, she won’t be able to teleport. Her magic will be stripped to the four basic elements that are the core of magic itself. It’s unfortunate. She’s going to have to fight to get where she needs to go, and the four elements may not be enough.
Walking up the hill toward the center of the Isle, she made sure that when her boat docked, she walked a few miles around the edge of the island before turning toward the center. She’s going to have to try to avoid those who’d wish her dead or worse, and this is the best way to do so.
The center of the Isle isn’t the literal center, but more of a ceremonial title. Sitting between two mountains, tucked inside a valley, is a stone circle with old elven engravings, a Light Pool in the center of it—one of the many on this Isle— and carved stone pillars surrounding it, two taller than the most. These days, the air between those two pillars is black and visible. The Veil. What keeps the souls and beasts on the Isle instead of wandering the world. But it’s also what keeps the dead from having a new, peaceful life in the Other World, a place of beauty and pure immortality because death does not exist, nor does time. She hopes to be there one day, though, most would say she’ll awake in the Darkness.
