by C D Beaudin
Close to stampeding them, she’d slapped herself, knowing she was desperate but also needed to think it through. She couldn’t just walk over and grab the water bucket filled with food. That would have been too easy, too delicious. That tasty, sumptuous food…
Revera had slapped herself again, drawing a deep breath but fell into a coughing fit from the toxic air. She’d quickly covered her mouth after she realized they could hear her. She heard the incomprehensible language of the creatures that used to be men, elves, and dwarves rise. They had been humans, turned into monsters.
And they’d known she was there.
Revera had needed to think fast. Looking around, she’d searched for anything that could have protected her or better yet, hide her. When her eyes settled on another shack, several yards away, filled with metals and what looked like weapons, she had found her protection.
Running, she had no need to pick up her dress, as it had nearly completely shredded in the mountains. Making the mistake of looking back, she saw a group of six Tarken heading for her. Picking up her pace, her fingers fumbled when she arrived at the shack, grabbing any weapon or shield she could find. The footsteps behind her grew louder, the stench of the Tarken stronger, and just as her hand grasped an ax handle, something grasped her arm and she was pulled back and thrown to the ground.
She’d squealed, as if that would protect her. Filled with fear, she’d crawled along the ground, trying to get away, but she hadn’t gotten even a foot, as they circled her.
One grabbed her, pulled her up, holding her close to his filthy body. He’d put his nose to her neck, smelling her. The fear clogged her throat, choking her with invisible rope, dread drowning her. His grip on her wrists was so tight she couldn’t even feel her hands.
Another put his hands on her waist, trailing down, another up. She’d held her breath, knowing that screaming would only draw more beasts to her. Tears fell down her face, but she’d fought the urge to cry out. Terror stopped her heart when her clothes were ripped from her, the chill of Kahzacore and the rotten heat of the beasts weakening her body and killing her ability to fight them off. She’d lifted a finger, but no flame came from it. No rock moved, or air blew. The black water from the poisonous river didn’t rush to her command.
She was trapped.
Revera only remembers a little of what happened next.
Pain thudded in her head and pulsed through her body. When she opened her eyes, the light blinded her. Breathing the air made her vomit.
“Don’t do that.”
The mocking voice sent a scream from her lips, and she retreated into the closest shadow she could find. It had become a reflex. Hiding from Dalorin for who knows how long, barely fighting them off with her magic. But the reflex had failed her in Kahzacore.
Hugging herself in the shadows, her eyes had grown and stayed wide-eyed at the man standing in the black marble room she found herself in. His skin was fairer than her mother’s, his eyes icier than any northern glacier. With hair blacker than the room he stood in, pale lips twisted in a smirk.
“I’m Karak.”
“I know who you are.” Her voice was strained, the lump in her throat aching from holding back her cries. “The Last Lieutenant.”
He’d smiled, hands in his pockets. “Glad to know my legacy still lives.”
It was the first time she’d met the Last Lieutenant. It had taken her a long time until she started to trust him even a little bit. After he learned what happened, he never let the Tarken anywhere near her, at least not until she was able to fend for herself. Even then, he was hesitant. And she still isn’t sure if he was truthful when he said he didn’t know what his soldiers did while they did it.
But they were only pawns in each other’s games. She needed his army. He needed her to complete Crozacar’s mission, and break free of the Dark Lord’s chains, even if neither of them knew it at that moment. Even when he told her to devour one hundred souls, she’d trusted him.
She’d trusted him. He’d trusted her.
That turned out well.
Running down a beach of ash, Adriel looks back, hoping to the Spirits that one of those beasts aren’t following her. Her breath is heavy as she dashes, the black sea next to her, churning and violent, the trees opposite and still as boulders, even with the harsh wind. She’s never seen such a place, such a darkness. Above her lightning strikes and thunder crashes, but there is no drip of rain. No song of wind, a silent beast that threatens to pull her into the ocean.
Her feet stop suddenly when she’s drawn to the ocean. Searching the waves, a figure stands in the shallows, wearing a white dress, and has long, curly black hair.
Awyn? She takes a step toward her. “Awyn?” she calls out, but the figure doesn’t look back at her.
Awyn lifts her arms, lightning crackling down into her hands. A loud roar comes from the Isle. Looking back, Adriel’s eyes widen, and she dives into the waves when she sees hundreds of beasts running toward her, their roars monstrous. She lets the waves shield her as the beasts run into the water, and when they all pass, Adriel stands, water soaking her, but she isn’t in the ocean anymore.
Endless fields. Her home Eron.
But it’s no longer red.
Gray blades of grass stretch farther than her elf eyes can see. Bending down, she touches the grass, the ground turning to dust as soon as she touches it. Her brow wrinkles, knowing this isn’t real but unsure whether or not it’s a dream. Looking back up, a new sound sends terror jolting through her body.
Screams. Roars. But she sees no war, no beasts devouring Mortal’s people. She hears it, though. The pain and suffering. Fear. So much fear and defeat as people are eaten by the unnamed beasts of the Isle.
Adriel falls to her knees, tears in her eyes. Her hand to her chest, she knows that there is only one thing she can do to stop this vision from coming true. She moves her hand down to her stomach. She isn’t just protecting the world anymore. She’s protecting those who have yet to be born into it. She won’t let her child grow up in a world that only knows chaos and death.
She must protect all her family.
Her eyes open, and she sits up. She isn’t in her bed, but in the library. Looking in her lap, she sees a book. I must have been reading. Putting it aside, she stands, looking out the window to see night is here. The nights are longer. Even though it’s winter, the nights are too long, the days too short. She misses the sun, the warmth. But in this minute, she’s relieved she feels no heat, and no rays on her face.
Softly, she walks down the hallway slowly, to give her time to think of a way out. How can she do this? There’s no way…but that’s just it. Can she save the world without doing this? She can’t see a way around it. But how can she do such a thing?
Drawing a breath, she trembles, hesitating with every step. She’s suddenly very aware of the dimness. She hears her heartbeat in her chest, a drum in her mind. Swallowing, Adriel continues on, corridor after corridor. Step after step, she feels her surety waver, the doubt creep in. But no matter how strong those feelings are, she can’t stop. She must keep walking, she must do this. In this moment, she thinks nothing of the world, but of her loved ones. Her brothers and sister. Her mother and father. Saine. Their unborn child.
She’s protecting those she loves.
And that is never for free.
Her hand rests on the door. Summoning the courage she needs, she stops breathing. Forehead against the door, she fights for air, but none comes. Closing her eyes, she feels the urge to cry, but doesn’t. She pushes her feelings aside and says a prayer to the Spirits instead. Guide me.
The breath comes, and she knocks, a gentle tapping.
Nothing.
Adriel creaks the door open, looking in on the dark room. The curtains are closed, the candle on the desk burned out. Shutting the door softly behind her, she looks at the sleeping figure on the bed. A hardened face, but still beautiful. Adriel tilts her head, gazing down at her. She touches her hair, reveling in the softne
ss of it.
How can she do this? Her own flesh, her own blood. She tries to focus on the fact that she is only half of her, but still…she’s blood.
Adriel walks to the other side of the room, distancing herself from the girl on the bed. Clutching her arms, she leans against the wall, releasing an arm and lifting the drapes a smidge to look out, searching for something. But she finds nothing. The moon is hidden behind clouds, the stars dull. The night is dead, and it won’t live again unless Revera dies. But in the midst of this war, she never thought she’d be faced with a bigger problem than Revera.
She used to want a family. She dreamed of the perfect husband and the most beautiful children. Raising them in a villa on a hill, visiting her father on Lauralee and Thanks Day. She’d watch as they danced in the Festival of Lights. And celebrate the eve of a new age with her family beside her—forever beside her until the end of time. When she met Saine, the wish only grew, even if she knew she would live on after he and their children passed. She would still have her father, and maybe even her brothers, if they ever learned to get along.
She’d held onto that dream.
But it’s only a memory now. Even with this child inside her, Saine is no longer the man she wants to spend her life with. Kepp has betrayed her, and Eldowyn will never forgive her after what she’s about to do. And Awyn…Awyn isn’t the girl they once knew. She isn’t brave. She isn’t even broken anymore. Now she’s something that Adriel can’t describe.
Adriel’s future looks very different from what she once dreamed of. But if she’s to even have a chance to create a new future, she mustn’t leave this room until…
Closing her eyes, she says another prayer. Let my hands be our savior.
Swallowing, she knows she cannot hesitate. Shaking, she grabs the dagger she hid in the folds of her sash. As she walks to the bed, tears threaten her resolve, but she won’t let them flow. Now is no time for weakness.
Taking one last glance at the sleeping girl, she offers a prayer for her. May the Spirits guide you.
And she plunges the knife down.
She must protect all her family.
Even if that means destroying it.
Blood drips around her fingers, standing out starkly against the fairness of them. She quickly places the knife in Awyn’s hand, rushing to the door. Looking down the empty hall, she swallows her regret, and starts running. “Help! Somebody! The queen is dead!”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Her eyes open to darkness. She opens her mouth, something powdery falling into her eyes and mouth. She coughs, breathing in the powder and choking. Reaching out, her arms travel upward through something dry before she feels cold air on her hands. She kicks with her arms, unable to breathe, but then realizes she no longer needs to.
What?
Fighting upward, she surfaces, sitting up. She feels she should be breathing, heavily and exhausted. But no air comes. Looking around, she sees a beach. She’s sitting in the sand. Digging into the ground, the fine texture in her hands isn’t grainy, but soft and white. Her brow furrows. That’s not sand. It’s ash.
It sticks to her hands and body as she gets to her feet, looking around. Black trees are completely still, but she feels a wind, and yet she herself remains unmoved. Behind her, a thunderous, black sea. And on the island, three mountains, blacker than those of Kuzakai. The forest looks like it grows into an incline. Taking a step, she feels airy, unnatural. Where am I? She hugs herself, but she feels no cold, no heat. Nothing.
Walking down the beach, she runs when she sees a dock, a boat tied to a lamp with a torchlight. Stepping onto the dock, she frantically looks out to sea, searching for anything. At the edge of the wooden planks, she stares down into the water, seeing no reflection. What am I? Turning, she looks at the land she’s found herself on and it hits her like a runaway bull.
She’s on the Isle of the Dead. And that only means one thing.
“I’m dead.”
Shaking, she turns to the ocean, anger boiling within her, and it’s about to spill. “You said you would make me strong!” she screams. “You said I wouldn’t feel any pain! You liar.” She doesn’t hold anything back. She’s dead. What consequences could there be?
“I was going to live a good life. Marry Neodyn and rule over Mera. I was going to be normal! But you just had to take everything from me, didn’t you?” Who she’s talking to, she isn’t sure.
So she just screams. “You bruised me. Kicked and punched me. Cut and stabbed me. But you never succeeded in killing me until now! What took you so long?” She looks into the water. “I should’ve drowned. A swift death. Surrounded by water, it could almost be peaceful…”
In the black water, violet eyes flash. Adriel, walking into her room. Pulling out her knife. Stabbing her. Wrapping Awyn’s fingers around the blade.
Adriel killed her. Her own sister.
And her anger becomes a storm.
“My own sister?” she screams at the sky, at the ocean. Lightning cracks and thunder bellows in a mocking laughter that makes her want to rip the world apart.
“Is this a joke to you? Does my suffering give you pleasure? Well, curse you! Curse all of you. I was damned from the beginning of time, this wasn’t you, this was fate. You didn’t kill me. You failed.” Her rage burns. “I would have died anyway, this just happened to be entertaining for you.”
She shakes her head, palms to her eyes but no tears come. “I’m nothing. I’m dust and ash.” She falls to her knees, defeated. “I will never be at peace.”
An earsplitting roar and she’s back in the cave with the Dezwek, and Aradon’s arms around her. Then she’s killing scores of elves. Those slavers raping her. Kaniel dying. Nethess. Aradon’s hands around her throat. Another roar, and she’s in Karak’s arms, kissing him. Then she’s holding a knife to his throat. Remembering hurts, but when another roar sounds, she knows it wasn’t just remembering.
It’s real.
Turning, her eyes widen when she sees a beast stampeding through the forest. Jumping off the dock, Awyn runs along the ashen beach. Looking back, she sees nothing, but knows it’s there. The Isle seems to keep expanding as she runs farther, the edge of the island nowhere in sight, only flat white against a gray sky and black sea. It feels like she’s running from a ghost. A ghost that is very real and will probably kill her, considering her current record.
Veering into the forest, she instantly feels the sharp incline, trees suddenly surrounding her. She could be reminded of the Dark Woods with the black trunks and branches, but this is entirely different. No blood. No blackness. No grass. Ash is the ground and she doesn’t even know if she still bleeds. What’s dead doesn’t bleed, right? But will that even matter here?
Another loud, bestial rumble, and she quickens her pace. Looking down to see if the beast is close behind, she loses her balance, tumbling down the hill. Struggling up, she feels hands grab her. Shadows grapple with her, pulling her down into some invisible depths. She shouts, as if someone will help her. But she’s alone on the Isle. She hasn’t seen a single soul. Literally.
Fighting against the shadows, she feels her desperation, and her fear. Not Fear. Her eyes widen. “Where are you?” she calls out, but no answer comes. “Where are you?”
Nothing. She’s alone.
Fear abandoned her.
She never thought that’d be a bad thing.
Pulled deeper into the ash, the shadows curl around her limbs, weightless but stinging. Awyn was always taught to scream for help, because there’d always be someone there. Her father. The guards of Kevah. Even the city folk. But now, she finds herself alone. Completely and utterly alone.
Her eyes widen when a flaming purple eye looks down at her. Not an eye like Adriel’s. Not attached to any face.
Zyadar.
“Not Zyadar.” The voice in her head is familiar.
Who?
“I didn’t leave you.”
Fear. But why is the eye back?
“The eye is me.�
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Awyn’s confusion suffocates her—or it’s the ash as she’s pulled under.
Kepp leans against the balcony railing, hands clasped, eyes focused on the blue sky beyond the black mountains. Sometimes he wonders what would have become of him if he hadn’t let Revera take him that night, or at least have fought her, hadn’t gone along with her plans. He’s in this so deep… He doesn’t know if he could climb out if he wanted to.
He firmly believes in what Revera is doing. At least he thinks he does. She’s saving the world, destroying an evil. She brought back an evil to do so, but it’s all part of the plan. He huffs. Sometimes he doesn’t know what’s part of the plan and what’s just plain revenge. He knows the attack on Drestia was revenge, but he isn’t upset. Honestly, if life had turned out differently…he could have been the one setting fire to his city and killing the Elven Majesty and Grace. He could have been the one to let hate overcome him and destroy everyone he loves.
Loved. It has to be loved or you’re never going to get through this. He scratches the back of his head. He never knew how numb he could feel. He’d killed an entire race and he felt no regret, no guilt. All part of the plan. He rubs his face. He’s tired. He hasn’t slept much. Sharing a bed with Nakelle is as peaceful as being stabbed. He loves her…but that could be a lie. Perhaps he’s lying to himself. He’s had to for so long, repressing who he truly was, so that no one could look into his mind and see that he was a traitor, an ally to Revera. But lying has made it hard to trust even himself. There’s only one truth he knows.
Eldowyn will never forgive him.
Kepp is doing this for himself, but he always secretly hoped he could repair things with Eldowyn. It was never the plan to snap and attack him. He was supposed to keep spying until active battle, but Revera clearly knew he wouldn’t last that long.
