No Man's Land

by C D Beaudin

  Brega lights a multi-candlestick with her mind. “Yes. But it’s interesting.”

  “That’s what they all say.”

  She turns to him. “I’m only using it when I need to.”

  “That’s also what they say.” He tilts his head. “Did you need to use your magic to light those candles?”

  “It’s faster.”

  “It’ll corrupt you.”

  “I know that,” she spits. “I don’t need a corpse telling me what my future is. I already know. But as queen, I must make sacrifices. I’ve been cursed with magic, I might as well use it to save my people.”

  He shakes his head. “Magic is never a good thing, Brega. It doesn’t save. It destroys.”

  She swallows. “What do you know about it?”

  He scoffs. “I don’t have to do this with you. You already know what it can do. Magic doesn’t kill monsters. It creates them.”

  Brega’s hands shake. She feels the need to use her magic, the desire to accept it fully. But she can’t. Fighting it, she swallows. “Not me. I will beat this. And when this war is over, I will find a way to rid myself of it.”

  “You can’t rid yourself of it, Brega.”

  “Then maybe I need to destroy it. There must be a way.”

  “Not without destroying Ardon.”

  “Magic flows through Ardon, but it is something in and of itself. Anything can be destroyed.”

  “Not this.”

  Brega’s eyes narrow. “I look forward to proving you wrong.”

  Idies sighs. “I hope you do.”

  Brega turns from him but finds herself needing more. “Why do you even care?”

  “Because I watched magic destroy someone all those centuries ago. If there’s anything I despise more than Crozacar…it’s magic.” He takes a step toward her. “So I may not care about you. Or anyone in this hall. But I hate magic so much that I will do anything to stop one of you from being corrupted by it.”

  He looks around the room. “You know this place used to be a fortress, one to protect, one to defend.” His gaze settles on her. “Now it’s only a memory, as is the old world. I pray to the Spirits that you and those who fight win. This war against Revera… I understand the need to protect your people.”

  Brega lightly exhales. “Aradon and Saine. Maybe just Aradon…he’s your people now. Your descendant. Don’t let him down because you have no soul. If the White Lady said he needs your help, then he does. Don’t abandon him. He’s a bad man with a good heart. His mistakes don’t remove the good, just as his deeds don’t erase his sins. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve help.”

  Idies huffs, a short laugh. “Did you hear our conversation?”

  “I was lurking at the door.” She smiles. “Did you ever have a need to prove yourself?”

  “My father was a hard man to please.”

  “Aradon wants to return to his father with a crown on his head. I want him to succeed because Nomarah needs a strong king. Are you going to help him or take the crown away?”

  “I wasn’t going to take it away.” His foot taps against the floor. “I was going to break it.”

  Brega walks toward the door, opening it. “Don’t.”

  A thoughtful look on his face, he leaves, and she shuts the door behind him. A wave of weakness overcomes her, and she falls to her knees, her entire body shaking violently. Her vision warps, and she hits the ground, spasming. The heat sets the room on fire. It flickers over her, but it doesn’t hurt. She feels it burn her, but no pain washes over her skin.

  She’s a northern queen but she hasn’t grasped the water element yet.

  Helpless as she breathes in smoke.

  Turning her head, she sees someone in a red dress.

  Her eyes close.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Smoke. So much smoke.

  “How can stone burn?” Adriel ponders as they walk through the charred hall. Hillstone caught fire last night, starting in Brega’s room. It spread so quickly, and yet the hall is made of stone. “How can this happen?”

  “We know how this happened.”

  They all look at Eldowyn, his face solemn. “Revera. It’s always going to be because of Revera.”

  “Why did I have to be resurrected in the middle of a war?” Sauriel murmurs, resulting in a glare from Eldowyn.

  “I can’t believe it either.”

  Sauriel’s gaze cuts him more than his did. “Glad we’re in agreement about something.”

  “You two are like children!” Adriel scolds. “Grow up, there’s more important things than your relationship.”

  Sauriel scoffs. “What relationship?”

  “Oh, now who’s the brat!”

  “Shove it, Eldowyn!”

  Eldowyn’s lips twitch. He forgot how frustrating it was to want to kiss and kill someone all at the same time. He doesn’t like being reminded of the feeling. Walking over to her, he subtly whispers in her ear, “Stop talking before I make you.”

  Sauriel smirks. “Sounds fun.” She pulls out her knife and puts it to his neck. “This is more so.” Turning to face him, she keeps the blade at his neck. Silver eyes on his, he wonders if she’s aware that everyone is staring at them. “We’re fighting, Eldowyn. And you know I always win.”

  “You’ve been dead a long time. I’ve learned a thing or two since the Third Age.”

  Sauriel cocks her head. “It’s about time. Did you stand a chance against Kepp?”

  “He caught me off guard.”

  “You can’t admit when he’s better at something, can you?”

  “I guess I’m still learning.”

  She sheaths her blade. “Not fast enough.” She shoves past him, but he grabs her wrist.

  “Don’t walk away from me when I’m talking to you.”

  “And it’s the Third Age all over again,” she fires back. “Still telling people what to do, great prince?”

  “Only when I need to.”

  “You haven’t changed at all. You want us to think you have but you’re still the pompous, arrogant, egotistical, pampered palace brat you’ve always been.”

  “And you’re the ignorant, self-centered rat I should’ve kicked when I first laid eyes on you.”

  Her eyes narrow. “Why didn’t you, then?”

  “Because I was wounded.”

  “Well those wounds cost you a lot, then.”

  He darkens. You have no idea how much. Losing you was like losing a part of myself. Eldowyn swallows. “What did it cost you?”

  Sauriel looks at the dark fields under the night sky, smoke clouding the air, no stars to be seen for miles. “My life.” Her gaze turns to him. “Which is worse than losing you.”

  It hurt. It hurt too much.

  “I was a monster for hundreds of years. I was a shadow, forgotten, non-existent. Those I lo—” She stops. “Those I cared about, forgot all about me. And I was still forced by my hunger for my lost soul to take other’s. I can feel their souls inside me. They don’t leave you once you’re resurrected. They stay. They torture.”

  She closes her eyes. “There are worse things than losing someone you love.”

  Her eyelids flicker open, silver eyes glistening but knowing her, she won’t let them fall. “Losing yourself is the worst thing that can possibly happen to anyone.”

  “This is touching, but we need to focus on something,” Idies interrupts. “Revera was here.”

  “He’s right,” Neodyn says. “She could have heard everything.”

  “Breel could be compromised,” General Borez of Mera states.

  “Who cares about Breel?” Neodyn snaps. “What about us? If she knows our plan, then we’re done for.”

  “She already knew the plan,” Breel assures. “She knows everything. Me being here wasn’t a secret. She would have found out. She finds out everything. I gave you a head start at least, but Revera just sped up time. You have a shrinking window to attack.”

  “What should we do, then?” Adriel asks, making
Neodyn scoff.

  “We should leave for our kingdoms,” Eldowyn says, wanting to finish his fight with Sauriel but knowing he needs to focus on more important things. “We travel through the night, arrive home, gather and prepare our armies, and meet in front of Erendeth in two weeks. That is plenty of time for everyone to get home and prepared, and time to march to battle.”

  “It just hit me this is really happening.”

  “What did you tink was happening before, Adriel?” Hagard asks.

  “I knew this was going to happen, I just… I guess I let myself believe I wouldn’t live to see the last battle.”

  Eldowyn sees Saine’s longing look, a look that wants to envelop her and protect her. But he doesn’t move, and Eldowyn is grateful for it. Adriel needs to move on from Saine. He lied, and he can’t take it back. Adriel deserves better than him.

  “Do you plan on fighting?” Sauriel asks.

  Adriel looks at her like she’s lost her mind. “I…I’ve never fought before.”

  “It’s not dat hard,” Hagard admits. “Just swing yer sword at people.”

  Adriel stares at him, audibly swallowing. “I think I may sit this one out.”

  “You have to fight,” Sauriel says.

  “I don’t know how. I’d be killed as soon as the horns sounded.”

  Sauriel crosses her arms. “Sacrifice.”

  Adriel looks away, and Eldowyn would intervene before one of them maims the other but Aradon does it for him.

  “We should go check on Brega,” he says, a brilliant way to change the topic but a solemn and depressing one.

  “Ethiah’s watching over her.” Adriel’s voice is cool. “She isn’t doing well.”

  “Ethiah said she’s going to live,” Sidah argues. He’s barely said anything. None of the Red Warriors are very talkative.

  “Yes, but she’s had a few seizures. And when she wakes up… I’m not sure she’ll ever recover.”

  “She’ll be fine,” Saine says. “It’s only her face.”

  Adriel glares at him, but it’s Sauriel who speaks. “Sure, it’s just her face. Her face. There’s more to a girl, sure. But what man wants to kiss a mangled face?”

  “I’m surprised by your vanity,” Eldowyn comments.

  Sauriel scoffs. “Please. I’m not vain, I’m being factual. If I had a scarred face, would you still want to kiss me?”

  “Your talking repels more than any scar.”

  “Do you want me to stab you?” She glares.

  “No.”

  “How about lacerate?”

  “There’s a difference?”

  Sauriel laughs, and Eldowyn finds the anger rushing away. Her laugh is gorgeous. But the peace only rests for a second before his rage settles in.

  “You really are a prince.”

  “Did my pompous, egotistical attitude not give that away?”

  “No, it did.” Her eyebrow rises. “You shouldn’t be fighting in this war, princeling. Run on home to father and let the real soldiers fight.”

  Eldowyn swallows, and the others still. Looking down, he can’t look her in the eyes anymore. “My father is dead.”

  Her eyes darken. For a moment, he wonders if she’ll apologize, but her chin lifts and he sees he was foolish for thinking such a thing.

  “Then you know how it feels.” She exhales, grabbing her blade. But not to wound him. It’s like she grips it for comfort, and she heads toward one of the tents the guards erected after Hillstone became uninhabitable from all the smoke.

  Eldowyn turns the other way, running a hand through his hair. Without another word, he walks into the night, needing a moment to himself.

  When she opens her eyes, everything’s orange.

  Fire. Flames everywhere. It burns. It burns so badly. She screams, but no sound comes. She goes to run, but her limbs don’t move. She’s paralyzed, doomed to lie here on the floor as the flames eat away at her. They lap over her flesh, her eyes blinded as they burn through her face. She tries to shut her eyes, but her eyelids don’t move. She attempts to cover her face, but her hands don’t lift from the ground.

  She’s bound to her fate.

  And it’s her fate to die here.

  But then her body releases itself and she gets to her knees but falls forward onto her hands when she sees who stands before her.

  Red dress. Black hair. Crimson smirk.

  “Revera.” Her voice is a whisper, terror filling her. Tears mix with the smoke and sting her eyes. “Please. Make it stop.”

  “Funny.” The sorceress tilts her head, but she doesn’t smile. “You aren’t the first person to ask me that this week.” She waves her hand, and the flames envelop her. She hears screaming, and it takes her a moment before she realizes it’s her own.

  Brega shoots up, sweat clinging to her. Chest heaving, her eyes dart down to her arms. Bandages cover them. Her hands too. Lifting the light sheet off her, nearly her entire body is bandaged, only her abdomen and upper legs are free of the white strips.

  “You’re up.”

  Brega gasps at the voice, seeing Ethiah in the tent flap, holding a bowl, a cloth draped over her arm.

  “Sorry to startle you,” she says as she sits next to her. “How are you feeling?”

  “Give me a mirror.”

  Ethiah’s brow creases. “Brega—”

  “Give me a mirror, now.”

  Sighing, the elf walks to a bag on the floor. When she hesitantly hands Brega the mirror, she looks away.

  Taking a deep breath, Brega lifts it to her face. She stills. She silences. She can’t breathe.

  A scarlet red, spiderweb scar covers the left side of her face. Her eyelid is lopsided, the flesh of her left nostril shrunk and tight. A fresh, shiny red scar mangles the corner of her lip. Her neck is ringed with bright marks. And her hair.

  “It was singed. We thought it best to just cut off what was ruined and save what we could.”

  Short. Her wavy, flaxen locks are neck-length and closely cut around her ears and forehead. It will grow back, but…

  Ethiah sighs. “I’m so sorry—”

  “Stop.” Brega can’t take her eyes off the mirror. “Leave.”

  “Brega—”

  “Leave!” she yells, and Ethiah quickly exits the tent, the heavy fall of the flap sending in a gust of wind.

  Dropping the mirror, her hands go to her eyes to cry but touching her scars is painful. Her hands in her lap, she cries freely, wailing. She screams, throwing the mirror at the side of the tent. It hits a pile of clothes. Swallowing, she steps out of bed, just the action of standing hurts her burns. She winces as she walks toward the pile, sniffling. Wiping her tears away with the back of her bandaged hands, she picks up the mirror. Not cracked.

  She looks at her reflection.

  Through the burns, the soon-to-be-scars, she sees a fighter. A survivor. She sees someone who’s been through so much and will endure more pain in the future. A young woman who was so obsessed with her looks and was full of the need to live up to her mother, that she lost herself. Now she is someone who has a power flowing through her veins. A power that wants to destroy her. Something that wants to turn her into the next Revera. She spasmed because of her magic, not because of Revera’s. The fire was the sorceress, but everything else was her. Her magic is already destroying her, and the fire may have been an attack against the royals, but it was also a warning for her.

  If she continues to use magic, she’s going to die, and bring down those she cares about with her. Her kingdom. Her people. They can’t suffer because of her inability to fight the urge to use her power. Taking a breath, Brega decides there and then that she won’t use her powers any longer.

  No matter how much she wants to.

  Grabbing a coat, it hurts as she puts it on over her bandages, but she needs to apologize to Ethiah. And to face her generals, her guards…and the other royals. She can’t afford to seem weak in these times.

  Stepping out of the tent, the cold air stings her face, but ho
pefully the darkness of night will mask the horror that is her face. Five other tents are erected, all lit. One for the Merans, the Red Warriors, the Hadorians, the Kawa, and another for Emperor Sufek and General Devik—they probably weren’t too happy about that. Approaching the one for the Merans, she bumps into someone on the way, seeing Ethiah’s face look down at her as they straighten themselves out. They’re silent, but then Brega hugs her, ignoring the pain it puts her through.

  “I’m sorry.” Ethiah is like a friend to her. They had a few conversations when they were still in Rohea. They don’t know each other very well, but Brega still thinks it’s appropriate to embrace her in apology. Pulling away, she sighs. “I was—”

  “I know. It’s hard.” The elf looks down. “I’m only sorry I couldn’t erase the burns. They’ll scar and won’t ever go away. You could consult a more powerful healer than I, but Revera’s magic is strong. She wanted to burn you, not kill you. Even Raea may not be able to erase what the sorceress has done.”

  Brega puts a hand on Ethiah’s shoulder. “No one is that powerful.” She blinks, wincing, seeing flames. “But I thank you for trying.”

  Ethiah softly smiles. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”

  Brega pulls her in for another hug. “It’s all right.” Tears streaming, she lets the cold air freeze them to her face, not wanting to touch the burns. “I’m lucky she wasn’t trying to kill me.”

  “Very lucky.” Ethiah sighs. “Revera was only trying to harm your body. If she was trying to harm your mind, your soul…”

  Brega knows Ethiah’s thinking of Awyn. “Awyn is strong. She’ll pull through.”

  Ethiah shakes her head. “You haven’t seen her in these past six months, Brega. She isn’t breaking anymore. She’s broken. And the pieces are going to shatter, it’s only a matter of time.” She looks away. “Maybe they already have.”

  It’s amazing what impact a stranger can have on someone. For Brega, Awyn was the cousin whose beauty she felt she had to compete with. For others, Awyn is a symbol of strength and bravery. Of hope. A princess, trapped in a dungeon, went against all odds and escaped death. More than once. And now that the symbol has crumbled… It’s affecting more than just her friends and family. It’s affecting those she affected.