Broken Arrow (Darkened Destiny Saga Book 1)

by Azaria M. J. Durant

  The heat diminishes as suddenly as it came. I peer through my fingers. The beast has also gone, but the mist has become something else – someone else. A tall, robed man turns toward me, his face long and sour, his hair wild and grey. I don’t know who he is, or why he fills me with more terror than Ralcher ever could, but he’s a character in every one of my nightmares, his beady eyes staring through me, his lip curled in derision, his only desire to hurt me. He takes a step forward and I trip over my own feet in my hurry to get away from him. I roll over to face him and scramble backward into a corner. His eyes blaze out in streaks of grey and white as he raises his fist to strike me.

  “Don’t!” I squeak, putting up a hand to shield myself.

  But his blow never falls. When I dare to look again, the mist is back to floating peacefully about the room. I let out my breath in a rush, shaking uncontrollably. A lump clogs my throat and I grasp my knees to my chest, fighting the tears.

  A whisper echoes in the silence, soft as the mist and just as malicious. “What’s wrong, little one?”

  I look up, searching for the owner of voice. Once again, nothing.

  “Z-Zeldek? Is-” I gulp. “Is that you?”

  A deep chuckle.

  I take a shuddering breath. “Where- where am I?”

  “You are my guest, for the time being.”

  I swallow. I want to hide my fear, to act strong like I did in the alley. But I’m still too shaken from the phantom in the mist, and my words come out with a tremor. “W-why did you bring me here?”

  No reply.

  “And how did I get in here? There isn’t a door.”

  “The place where you are imprisoned is enchanted, without time. There, the mist has been instructed to keep your magic from you. The only way in or out is by my word. If I am to release you, I must have a reason.”

  Once again, I am at the mercy of the whims of another. Will I never be free of it?

  A yearning for freedom helps rebuild the final pieces of my composure. “What must I do to prove myself?” I ask.

  “Wise answer.”

  The mist charges toward me, swirling, and expands, forming a funnel that hides the walls from my view. Then, just like that, it is gone.

  I get to my feet slowly, awed. The walls around me have vanished. Now, I stand on the end of a long, red carpet in the centre of a great hall. And the sight of the hall takes my breath away.

  On either side of the carpet is a line of pillars. Each pillar is a statue of a robed and hooded figure holding a lit torch in both hands, their heads bowed low on their chests. Every stone person is different, too. Some are short, some are tall, some are men, and some are women. There are twelve of them in all, six on either side of the carpet. The flames in their hands light up the faces beneath the hoods, revealing the dark scowls that twist every face, and the ultimate self-importance to each tilted chin.

  The torches only give off enough light to dimly illuminate the path between the pillars, leaving the rest of the hall cloaked in darkness.

  Two incense burners burst into flames at the opposite end of the room from where I stand. Between them ascends a flight of stairs. At the end of the stairs, set on a large dais, is a black throne. The back is spread out in two large wings, creating the impression that the man sitting on the throne is some sort of winged beast. The light of the burners casts shadows around the throne, obscuring the man. But his identity is easy to guess.

  With my hands stiff at my sides, fingers clutching the hem of my shirt, I bow my head to acknowledge his distinguished position.

  “Step forward!” Zeldek orders.

  I start up the carpet toward the dais, taking a quick glance over my shoulder. Two large doors bar any chance of escaping from the hall. I am trapped.

  For now.

  As I pass the unsettling pillars, I can’t shake a sudden feeling that someone is watching me. I peer into the darkness, but nothing presents itself. The stone eyes of the statues seem to glow suddenly red in the torchlight, and I can’t help but shudder.

  They aren’t alive. They aren’t watching you. Just keep walking.

  When I reach the foot of the stairs, I bow again, more out of habit than respect.

  “Welcome,” Zeldek declares, “to Gaiztoak, my home.”

  I glance around again, and I’m sure I see a figure move behind the nearest pillar to my left.

  “It’s nice, sir.” I look back up at Zeldek. “It suits you.”

  “I take that as a compliment.” He leans back into his throne. “You will be at home here, then?”

  I attempt a small laugh that gets stuck in my throat. “Must I stay? What I mean is, sir, how could I be of service to you?”

  “Don’t you want to stay?” He sounds genuinely confused. “To live here in my palace will certainly be better than facing execution for sorcery by your master, will it not?”

  “That’s a matter of perspective, sir.”

  I don’t know why I say it. It’s true, I would much rather work in a palace than ever have to face Ralcher again. Yet there is something about Zeldek that chills me deep in my bones.

  Zeldek rises from his throne with a deep chuckle that causes the ceiling to rumble, and starts down the stairs toward me. The glow of the firelight is finally cast upon him and I behold his face once more. He looks the same as I remember; only now, his eyes no longer glow, and instead of wearing a black cloak, he wears a blood red robe that trails behind him as he walks.

  He begins to descend the stairs. “You have a bold tongue, boy. I admire that.”

  I take two steps back for each one he takes. Cowardly though it may be, I can’t bear him coming near me again.

  Reaching the bottom step, he pauses between the braziers, his hands clasped behind his back. “You wish to be free. I understand that. But that freedom is up for you to decide.”

  My mouth goes dry. “How?”

  “I’ve told you already.”

  “You want me to give you my allegiance. But I don’t understand why.”

  He releases my gaze, turning to the fire. “I have been observing you for many years. Do you know what I see when I look at you?” He pauses for but a moment. “I see—”

  “I don’t want your lies,” I snap, my temper flaring. “You see a dirty half-breed, same as everyone else!”

  “No.” His voice is firm, yet soft. “When I look at you, I see myself. I see a boy filled with raw potential, who has everything to prove, yet no one to prove it to. I see a boy who has been alone for his entire life, who has learned to harden himself to the world because all it has ever done is hurt him. But you need not be afraid any longer. I wish to look after you, to call you my son. I will place the world into your hands to do with as you please! All you have to do is put your trust in me.”

  His words disarm me. Whatever false compliment or veiled threat I expected from him is gone, and the sharp reply I have ready falls from my mouth.

  He’s right. I do want a father, and a mother. The two people who were supposed to love me the most were the first to leave me. Was I an inconvenience to them? Did they not want a half-breed for a child? Or am I only the product of slave breeding?

  “You have more courage than many of my elite followers,” he continues, and his tone is almost kind. “You stood up to me when the odds were stacked against you, and stayed with the beggar instead of taking the chance to save yourself. If I could gain that loyalty from you – that trust... I would be more than proud to call you my son.”

  My mouth hangs open and I don’t bother to close it. What am I supposed to say? Only moments ago, this man was a villain in my mind. Now, I’m sorely tempted to accept his offer. Who else has ever wanted to give me so much for simply the price of my loyalty?

  Which is as clear a sign as any that there’s something not right about this. He must have more to gain than just my loyalty. But what?

  There is only one way to find out.

  “I don’t believe you,” I say quietly.

  He
turns his head to look over his shoulder. “Pardon?”

  “I don’t believe you,” I repeat, louder this time. “You want me for some purpose, a reason you don’t want to share with me, and you think that tickling my ears with false promises will convince me to serve you. Well, it’s not going to be that easy.”

  Anger flashes in his eyes and I know I’m drawing closer to the truth.

  “Why would I want to be your son?” I continue. “How do you expect me to trust you after you almost killed my guardian for protecting me, then threatened me, and then kidnapped me for not bowing down and kissing your feet?”

  His face reddens and he holds up his left hand, palm toward himself, as he takes an angry step toward me. I leap backward, but even in my movement, the gash that I made across the back of his hand is very visible. “And should you expect me to be so gracious to a boy who injured me when I was trying to save his life?” he demands. “No! I am bestowing upon you an honour beyond your worth because I see potential in you. Do not take my generosity lightly!”

  I look him steadily in the eyes, although his back is to the flames of the incense burners now, and his eyes are cast in shadows. “I don’t believe you.”

  He seems to be assessing me, and an odd smile turns his lips. “Your courage continues to astound me, half-race. Most would be on their knees before me, begging for my forgiveness for even the remotest affront. Yet here you stand and defy me openly?”

  “My respect must be earned before it is given.”

  “Indeed,” he says, his mouth curling into a sneer. “And you assume I would strive to earn your respect?” He says the last word with contempt.

  Turning on his heel, he strides back up the steps to his throne.

  “It’s unlikely,” I venture to reply.

  He reaches the top of the stairs and spins to face me, casting the train of his robe to the side. “I do not crave your respect, half-race!” His booming voice ricochets from every corner of the hall to create a very impressive resonance. “I crave your obedience and I care not how I get it!”

  He sits upon his throne, clutching the armrests viciously. “I will give you time to consider my offer. I bid you think your answer over carefully. In the meantime, I leave you in the expert care of the commander of my elite bodyguard, head of the dark outlaws, and leader of the Alliance of Shadows; Bellator.”

  Chapter Six

  M y expectation of what will emerge from the shadows and what actually emerges are complete opposites. The name Bellator brings to the mind’s eye a broad-shouldered man with rolling muscles and a disposition prepared for war. I would never have imagined the short, slender form that steps into the light, but I’m relieved at the difference. That is, until he starts forward with such a dangerous and confident deportment that it causes my heart to leap to my throat, and I instantly know I once again misjudged him – which is to say, I misjudged her.

  Clad from head to toe in glinting black armour, Bellator wears the stare of death itself on her countenance. A face streaked with jagged scars is delineated in the flickering glow of the firelight. Her eyes are dark in the shadows, her nose is small and refined, and her jaw is rigid. A sable cape decorates her shoulders, billowing out behind her as she strides up the carpet. She holds a helmet under her arm, leaving bare a head of dark brown hair wound around her scalp in a practical braid. The only loose hair is a patch of ragged bangs, which falls down her face to partially cover her right eye.

  But the most surprising thing about her is her youth. She can’t be more than a few years older than I am, yet she has a bearing that speaks volumes of her adept experience.

  Her lip curls in distaste as she casts her gaze briefly upon me, and I nearly trip over my feet in my hurry to get out of her way. I have barely stepped off the carpet when she sweeps past me, leaving the scent of blood roses in her wake. She halts abruptly at the foot of the stairs, and falls to one knee before Zeldek, bowing her head reverently.

  “Sire,” she begins in a strong, brazen tone. Her head remains bowed as she speaks. “You must forgive me, but I’ve just received word that there is an important matter in the forest that calls for my immediate attention. I’m afraid I will be unavailable to do as you’ve requested of me.”

  Even hidden in the veil of shadows, I can see Zeldek grow tense. His pupils flare like hot embers and he lets out a low growl. Yet when he speaks, his voice is determinedly calm. “More important than my orders?”

  Her chin snaps up. “It may be.”

  “By all means,” Zeldek says derisively, “tell me what is so important as to distract the mighty Bellator from carrying out her master’s commands?”

  Bellator lowers her gaze to the topmost step. “I meant no disrespect, sire,” she says quickly. “But as you are aware, it is forbidden to leave the boundaries of our sacred grounds without your permission. One of the families in my care—”

  “If it’s so important to you that this be dealt with now, I shall take care of it in your stead.”

  “Sire, that’s not—”

  “Necessary? Oh, I think it is. In the meantime, you will do as I have commanded you or you will learn to regret your impertinence. Do I make myself clear?”

  Her eyes travel back up to her master and she nods. “Crystal, sire.”

  “Go,” he orders coldly. “We’ll discuss your wilfulness later in more detail.”

  She rises to her feet and bows her head to him once more. But as she turns to me, she tightens her jaw in irritation.

  “Bellator,” he adds, a warning to his tone.

  She doesn’t turn back to face him. “Yes, my lord?”

  “If you so much as think of harming him, I will know.”

  “Of course, sire.”

  Her gaze passes over me. There is a savage glint in her ocean blue eyes, and I know that she doesn’t intend to heed his warning. She seems to guess that I know this, because a sudden smirk forms on her lips.

  “What’s your name, then?” A note of spite is concealed in her falsely pleasant tone.

  I blink, my mind suddenly blank. I was not prepared for such a question. In my memory, no one has ever asked me that. “Uh,” I stammer, and I find myself flinching as I look up into her face.

  She lifts a mocking eyebrow. “You don’t know?”

  “Yes. Yes, of course I do.” I pause, taking a gulp of air to clear my mind. “Ealdred. My name is Ealdred.”

  “I’m surprised that you have a name at all,” she remarks. “Half-breeds normally don’t, you see.”

  She says this as if I wouldn’t already know.

  The flames in the incense burners flare slightly, and Bellator stiffens. Inclining her head once more towards the dais, she starts back down the carpet toward the doors at the opposite end of the hall, telling me to follow her.

  I steal one last glance at Zeldek, who is once again fully masked in shadows, before reluctantly turning to follow Bellator. I quickly fall in step with her gait. Each of her steps is quick and sharp, yet there is an uncanny sense of grace to her movements.

  As we near the doors, they begin to open for us on their own. Bellator halts suddenly, and putting a rough hand on my shoulder, she jerks me from the carpet. She draws aside as well, leaving space for the figures outlined in the doorway to step into the room.

  Slowly, trembling, a man enters the room, followed closely by a woman carrying a little girl in her arms. The girl appears to be very young – maybe two years old – and extremely ill. Her fair hair is drenched with sweat and her eyes are listless as she rests her head upon her mother’s shoulder. All three are dressed in drab, ragged clothing, carrying with them the scent of heavy toil.

  They approach the foot of the steps and fall to their knees before Zeldek. The flames rise again, the glow casting itself eerily on his face. He examines them for a moment and then says in his omnipotent, earth shattering voice, “You are the family that sought to abandon the humble shelter of the forest in which I have so graciously allowed you to take shelter?
”

  “N-not perman-nently, your g-grace,” the man sputters, drawing his wife closer to his side. “W-we were merely—”

  “Silence!” Zeldek roars. “Are you so daft that you think I care what you were doing?”

  Bellator’s fist clenches and unclenches.

  “You disobeyed the laws of Gaiztoak,” he continues coldly. “No one passes in or out without my permission! Therefore—”

  “Wait!” Bellator barks, and even Zeldek starts at the abruptness of her voice. She continues without waiting for a reply from him, but her voice has softened considerably. “My master, this family is under my jurisdiction. Please, allow me the pleasure of flogging them in your name for their rebellion.”

  Zeldek leaps from his throne. “You were given an order, Bellator! I suggest you follow through with it immediately!”

  Bellator opens her mouth, but prudently snaps it shut again. She turns to leave, dragging me along by the wrist. As we pass under the archway of the door, the man takes advantage of Zeldek’s silence to speak.

  “Sire, please, have mercy! Our daughter is ill, and we were searching for an herb to make her well.”

  Bellator stops so suddenly that I slam into her. She doesn’t turn around, but stays fixed in place.

  “Is that so?” Zeldek says, his voice dangerously quiet.

  There is a sudden whooshing sound, and I glance back in time to see the little girl vanish from her mother’s arms and appear in Zeldek’s clawed hands. He looks down at the girl, clicking his tongue in mock sympathy, and then runs a knife through her tiny chest.

  A cry of alarm escapes my throat, only to be quickly suppressed by Bellator, who slams her fist into my stomach. But there was no need. My voice is drowned out by the girl’s mother, who shrieks, and her father, who cries out in despair before collapsing in a heap on the floor. Zeldek, however, revels in their sorrow. He chuckles, and casts the girl’s lifeless body down the steps. It comes to a halt at her parent’s feet.