No Man's Land

by C D Beaudin

  “It bends for those who are worthy.”

  He looks up, seeing Idies standing in the tent flap. The king looks more like Aradon than he thought he would. Same blue eyes, though, Idies’ are blank from death. They had the same hair only months ago, but Aradon cut it in his cell. Idies has a thin layer of hair on his chin, while Aradon’s grown a short beard. But their personalities are even more different. Idies is violent but still carries some of his nobility and honor in the way he walks and talks. Aradon holds none of that, his gait as violent as his lust.

  “You say I’m worthy?”

  Idies picks up the bow, and nothing happens when he tries to bend it. “It doesn’t matter if you’re a Besged or an elf. No one can bend this bow but you as you are.”

  “I’m not the Bowman anymore. I’m not really anyone anymore.”

  “Can you still bend it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then you’re someone. You’re worthy enough.” He ducks out of the flap, but Aradon calls him back.

  “How do you know that?”

  Hands in his pockets, Idies turns to him. “Personal experience. A lot worse than yours.”

  “I never claimed that my life was worse than those who lived through the First Age.”

  “I know. I also know it can be hard to admit when you have it better than others. But you do. This is a horrible situation, yes…but it can always be worse.” He lifts the flap. “You could be fighting Crozacar.”

  Aradon huffs as Idies leaves. “That’s definitely worse.” He sighs, lying back, but immediately sits up when someone enters the tent. Seeing Ethiah standing there, he releases a breath.

  “Why aren’t you out celebrating?” she asks.

  “Celebrating what?” He should be more self-conscious as he takes off his shirt and replaces it with one for bed, but these are the last hours of his life. What’s the point?

  “You’re right. Why aren’t you drinking?”

  “I don’t drink before a fight.” He turns back toward her as he drops onto his blanket, propping himself up on his pillow. He watches as she lets the tent flap fall and sits next to him, head tilted, and silver eyes fixed on him.

  “What are you thinking?”

  He huffs. “It’s never a good thing when a woman asks that.”

  “Just answer me.”

  Aradon sits up, looking into her eyes. “I’m thinking about my life. The mark I’ve made on the world. It’s not a mark I’d choose to leave. I think about death, and what mine will mean. Will it redeem me? Or am I right in thinking nothing will ever be able to? Will I die a monster or a man? Because honestly, I have no wish to be a monster. I don’t care what Kaniel says, or what I told the Red Warriors. I don’t want to die as someone who I’ve spent the better part of a decade trying to kill.”

  “Then become someone you can be proud of.” She puts her hand on his cheek. “Be someone you can live with, because this may not be your last fight.”

  “What if I want it to be?”

  Her eyes darken. “I don’t.”

  “I may not care when there’s a blade to my throat.”

  “I’m not asking you to live for me. But live for Nomarah. Your father is too old to rule, and if you die, the royal line dies with you. Nomarah will never be united.”

  “Nomarah will find her way without the blood of Idies.”

  Ethiah pauses, biting her lip. After a moment, her eyes narrow, focused and sure. “Forget what I said before. If you find no meaning in yourself or Nomarah, then find meaning in me.” Her eyes are flaming starlight. “I don’t want to find my way without the blood of Idies.” She puts her finger under his chin and pulls his face to hers. “You can be more that a monster.”

  She kisses him, a soft touch, her eyelashes tickling his cheek, her finger still under his chin, a firm hand, a soft kiss. When she pulls away, the only thing he can see or think about is her. Even when he sees a change in her eyes—something worried, but so brief it could have been an illusion—he only sees her. “Will you fight to be a man? Or more?”

  His hand touches the back of her neck and pulls her into him, bringing her lips back to his. No longer thinking of who he is or who he’ll die as, he lets himself sink into the hope that is Ethiah. To see himself beyond the war and beyond himself. Maybe kissing her means nothing. Or everything. But he doesn’t care. And when he pulls away, he has an answer for her. It’s not one he likes, or one he wants to tell her. But she’ll find out one way or another. Because he can never hide who he is for long. Someone always finds out and gets hurt.

  Aradon shakes his head. “I don’t think I’m capable of more.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “Vilar eh esurge. Relin nebrar ost. Pulso stra corru. Vilar eh esurge. Relin nebrar ost. Pulso stra corru.”

  Awyn hears the harsh, familiar voice, as if it was hovering above her.

  “Nelka, help me.”

  “I don’t know it!” A voice she doesn’t recognize argues.

  “Copy my words, we need more than one Arland’s power. Vilar eh esurge.”

  “Vilar eh esurge.”

  “Relin nebrar ost.”

  “Ralin nebrar ost.”

  “Relin.”

  “Right. Relin nebrar ost.”

  Awyn can feel herself being torn from her sleep. She wouldn’t really call it sleep. She doesn’t feel rejuvenated. It’s more…trapped consciousness. She can hear, but she can’t speak. Nor move. Like she’d been attacked by another Dalorin.

  Oh, please, father. Don’t let it be a Dalorin. She knows it’s unlikely. But still. That was a nightmare she’ll continue running from.

  “What is this even going to do? Her Fear is strong.” The unfamiliar voice doesn’t hide his doubt.

  “We cannot lose her! She is the destined.” The way he speaks suggests there’s more reason that just whatever destined means.

  “I thought you didn’t want to use them?”

  “I don’t. But if it comes down to it, we must. So we need her Awyn, not a corrupt version of her.”

  “But can this even work? Doesn’t she have to expel her Fear?”

  “Arlands have been able to expel controlling emotions and Beings before. Usually there’s more of us, but you’re powerful, Nelka. There’s a great deal of magic inside you.”

  “I’m hearing your words…did you have an apoplectic seizure?”

  There’s a silence so uncomfortable that Awyn feels the awkwardness.

  “Repeat the spell again.”

  “How many more times?”

  “As many as it takes!”

  There’s a sigh.

  “Vilar eh esurge. Relin nebrar ost. Pulso stra corru. Vilar eh esurge. Relin nebrar ost. Pulso stra corru.” They speak in unison, only the voice belonging to Nelka makes a mistake now and then.

  It’s not going to work.

  “Vilar eh esurge…”

  Awyn can feel the doom fester in her chest.

  “…Relin nebrar ost. Pulso stra corru.”

  I have to expel her or she’s going to keep me under until whoever I am now, doesn’t exist.

  “That’s the question, though, isn’t it?”

  Awyn looks at Fear as she appears. Anger boils, filling her with the urge to smack Fear.

  “Smack me?” Fear laughs. “Oh, Spirits, you’re a lamb, aren’t you? A lamb who has not yet turned into a tiger.” Her eyes narrow. “Or perhaps you have. Are you trying to hide your stripes?”

  “Get out.”

  “Get out? What did I do?”

  “You know what you did.”

  “Yes.” She grins. “But I want you to say it.”

  Awyn swallows. “You killed Brave.” It really wasn’t a hard conclusion. Brave was broken, yes. She was stripped of any honor, pride or goodness. But she was still with Awyn. And she left as soon as Fear entered. The brokenness going with her.

  “I did everything but kill her.”

  She shakes her head. “What?”

  “You can’t ki
ll parts of your Being, Awyn. But you can lock them up.”

  “Where is she?” That’s what she wants. She doesn’t want to kill Revera. She doesn’t care about Ardon, Mortal, and Mera anymore. Or those she once called friends. No. She just wants to be whole again. And when she is, she can have peace.

  “In the Darkness. A hell. The realm of Zyadar. The Void that holds the First Darkness. I cast her down there. It was easy, she’s too destroyed to have fought back.”

  “You’re a monster.”

  Fear chuckles. “No. All I want is to dominate and control you, and thus control your country, your army, and your friends and family. And I will do anything to achieve it. Now, Hate…” Fear taps her finger under Awyn’s chin. “She’s the monster.”

  Awyn clenches her jaw. “How can you dominate what’s dead?”

  Fear smiles. “Awyn? You think this is the end of the line?” She shakes her head. “No. You are destined.”

  “For what?”

  Fear turns from her. “Did you know that half-elves have an immortal part of their Being? A personification of their ‘elf.’” She turns to her. “Ours is who you might call Warrior. She fights your battles. Wields your sword. But that is not what is most interesting about her. It’s her name.”

  “Name? Isn’t it Awyn?”

  “No. See, even half-elves are named by the Spirits. Your elven name is Elaeran, meaning ‘destined’.”

  “Destined for what?”

  “It’s not working, Dreema!”

  Awyn’s eyes widen at Nelka’s voice. Dreema?

  “We have to keep trying. I won’t let the daughter of Daron slip into darkness.”

  “Dreema, her Fear has a strong hold on her. If she doesn’t help us, there’s nothing we can do.”

  Awyn looks to Fear. “Get out.”

  “Awyn, I warn you—”

  “Get out!”

  Fear’s eyes blaze with anger. “You will suffer, Awyn.” She turns to leave.

  “You say Hate is the monster. And maybe she is, but not in my story.”

  Fear looks back at her.

  Awyn straightens, knowing she doesn’t need her to be courageous. “I defeated you, Fear.”

  Fear disappears like leaves in the wind.

  “…Relin nebrar ost. Pulso stra corru.”

  Awyn shoots up. It takes her a moment to realize she’s in water. Standing, she looks at the abnormally bright blue water.

  “Awyn.”

  She looks to the source of the breathless voice—Dreema. She straightens. He still wears the same purple robe, the black arrow tattoo curling over his bald head. Hard, blue eyes. “You haven’t changed.”

  “You certainly have.”

  Silence. Awyn looks to a bench near the edge of the pool. A blanket rests there, and she grabs it as she steps onto the ground. She wraps it around herself, merely for comfort as the cold no longer has any effect on her. Running a shaky hand through her hair, she tries to calm herself, taking in her surroundings.

  She stands in a narrow, circular valley. A circle of stone pillars stands tall around her, a dial of carved rock encircling the pool. A Light Pool. The first Light Pool.

  A man stands next to Dreema. Sandy-haired. Tall. Young, not much older than her, she’d guess. “Who are you?”

  “Nelka, Your Majesty.”

  Awyn swallows, feeling the doom, grief, and the pain come trickling back. “I’m no majesty.” She looks to Dreema. “What’s the destined?”

  He looks surprised. “You know of it?”

  “I only recently learned. Apparently, I’m it. So, please. Tell me.”

  He sighs. “The blood of the destined. The blood of the doomed. It’s a part of three prophecies, each chronicling a different part of what will be called the War of Mortal for the years that follow. There are few who know of them, even fewer who understand them. I know Aradon gathered you were part of the prophecy, likely due to his time in the Tanea.” He takes a breath. “The blood of the destined opens the veil to the Other World, the afterlife intended for all beings of Ardon. It also releases the beasts onto the outside world, and every soul on the Isle will die.”

  Awyn rubs her fingers together, not sure if she wants to know anymore but knows she must. “And what horrors will the doomed unleash?”

  Dreema glances at Nelka briefly. “The doomed will extinguish the beasts and destroy the Isle, Crozacar’s soul along with it.”

  She isn’t sure she still has a heart, but if she does, it certainly stops. “So. The doomed saves and the destined destroys?” She looks at Nelka, at Dreema, but there’s no depth to her glances as she feels the weight of what would happen if she finally got the peace she so craves. “And how is that fair?”

  Fair. Nothing about this war is fair. Nothing about this life is fair. Her parents were ripped from her. Her fiancé. Her freedom and innocence. Everything. Her life was torn from her by her own sister. What’s another inequality?

  Awyn turns from them, clutching herself. “And what must the destined and doomed do?”

  “Awyn—”

  She whips around. “Tell me, Dreema.”

  His light eyes grow dark. “They must die.”

  The doom in Awyn’s chest fades. The clarity Fear brought for those few moments is nothing compared to what she feels now. Nothing hatred can bring. She sees clearly through the broken glass. Something old and familiar but something that has been absent returns.

  Hope.

  Walking through the camp, Eldowyn takes in the fresh winter air. Maybe it’s the feeling of the end in sight, but he can feel a sense of peace. Or perhaps it’s the feeling of Awyn finally having her freedom. It came with a cost. Her death. But she’s finally at the peace she so desired.

  He didn’t cry, when he learned of her passing. He didn’t fall to his knees when Adriel told him she had killed herself. He just stood there. Accepted it quicker than he’d accepted Kepp’s betrayal. He still hasn’t accepted that one. But Awyn. She wasn’t Awyn anymore. She was barely alive. Maybe she’s on the Isle now…but he tries not to think about that.

  No one knows, outside Adriel, him, and the generals. They wanted to keep it as secret as possible. No one needs to know right now. When the war is over, if they ride in victory, then they’ll share the news.

  Opening the flap to her tent, Eldowyn stops short when he sees Sauriel braiding the last bit of her long hair. Even coiled, her chocolate hair still reaches her thighs. He knew she’d be in here, but the simplicity of her beauty still catches him off guard. Trying not to stare, he straightens, clearing his throat. “I don’t mean to interrupt.”

  She looks at him, a look that says she was already privy to his presence. “Then why have you come?”

  “The Rohidian scouts returned. The Kahzacorian army is fast approaching, we have a few hours left, if that.”

  She remains unfazed. Sitting on her cot, she pulls on her boots. “Have you come just to tell me that or do you have another reason for being here?”

  The flap fold still resting on his arm, he lets it go when he steps into the tent. “Sauriel…” He sighs. “I’m not going to apologize. I won’t ask you to either. We’ve both done and said too many things for words to mean anything.” He lets his gaze meet hers. “So maybe we should just start over?”

  “How can we start over after what we’ve been through?” She stands. “Every time I close my eyes, I see myself as a shadow, I see the faces and fear of those I stole souls from. And you…you’ve been fighting a war for far too long. What is there left for us? If we put what we’ve said and done aside, and be together, then what? We’re about to go into battle, Eldowyn, and there’s a good chance we’ll never see each other again.”

  He grasps her hands. “If we want to, we will.”

  She shakes her head. “Eldowyn. Even if we make it out alive, we’ll still be in a broken world. Are you just going to take my hand and abandon your friends and family? Because I tell you this right now, I won’t watch as my home struggles and fail
s to put itself back together again.”

  “Who says it will fail?”

  “Eldowyn, look around you. There is no hope left. If by the grace of the Spirits we survive this battle, do you really think everyone will just pick up the stones and rebuild?”

  “You don’t know they won’t.”

  “But if they don’t, Eldowyn.” She turns, grabbing her heavier tunic. “I’m not staying. I’m going west, to the parts of Mortal that have been unaffected. Maybe even across the ocean.”

  “You can’t leave everything you know.”

  “But I can.” Sauriel looks at him. “Because I don’t know anything anymore. I look outside, and I don’t recognize anything. Even the people. I thought I’d see some human spark in them, but there’s nothing but fear. This isn’t a world I want to live in.”

  “I thought you didn’t give up? The Sauriel I knew loved a good challenge.”

  “That Sauriel had her soul ripped from her in the Forgotten Lands! That Sauriel was forgotten by everyone she ever knew. I had something to live for, but darkness destroyed that too.” She shakes her head, silver eyes glistening with tears, but she never lets them fall.

  “That Sauriel is dead. She isn’t coming back.” Grabbing her sword, she sheaths it, stepping in front of him. “If you won’t love the Sauriel that stands before you now, then I won’t love the Eldowyn that stands before me.”

  Eldowyn gazes into her eyes, seeing the darkness and the abandonment. The defiant fire clashing with the steadiness she wants. But there is no rest for the defiant, and he knows she will never be his. They’ve been through too much. And though part of him may want to, he cannot leave with her. He must stay here, try to rebuild his kingdom. And his friends. He cannot leave them for her. He’ll do many things for her, but abandoning his family is not one of them.

  “I pray to the Spirits you’ll find peace if a new dawn is to rise.”

  She tilts her head. “And I pray you find peace after the sun sets.”