Shade of Destiny (The Foreseeing)

by Shannon M Yarnold

  But what was causing the change? Wynn fought with honour and was as far as he could tell a moral person. Every choice in her life was done with good intentions and she cared fiercely for her friends. It was something external, something Wynn had come into contact with, which had been magnified by the attack of creatures. He had been one of the first to try and heal her wound after the creature had injured her but he had come across such a malevolent and nauseous intent that all of his attempts were hampered. He had tasted Aerona’s distinctive metallic tang on the wound and had shook his head with sadness for no one he knew could battle with such a wound. So when he had heard Wynn herself had healed the wound, albeit aided with Taien’s strength, his admiration for the girl had increased, and now she was being corrupted, and her good and sweet nature was becoming cold and callus. They had to tread carefully, Wynn was exceptionally powerful and one false move could trigger the darkness inside her.

  Taien looked squarely at Irik, “I worry for her, for her sake and for all of us,” Irik nodded and placed his hand on Taien’s shoulder once more, before departing out of the library, his heart heavy.

  ***

  Wynn looked at her belongings which lay scattered on the bed. The Dagger of Night was still wrapped in her spare shirt, a small inconspicuous bundle. Beside it lay the small wooden rebec and next to that the outfit Wolf had given her. It had survived the attack of the creatures with nothing more than a few smudges of dirt. Wynn stroked its soft fabric lovingly; these possessions marked the different aspects of Wynn’s personality. The Dagger of Night symbolised her dark side, the one that took over when she fought. Wynn shuddered unconsciously, her fingers running over the strings of the wooden rebec. That symbolised the magic and goodness inside herself, the natural instinct to heal. Finally her Manti outfit, her wild, free side, one that was so very rarely allowed to breathe. It felt so strange to be more than just a timid maid, now she was Free she had an opportunity to explore herself. She was wild, and fierce and yet capable of extreme love.

  Wynn packed away her belongings and set the pack on the ground. She would never admit it to Taien, to anyone, but she had been feeling strange since she fought the creatures and Aerona’s magic had infected her, four days ago now. Her heart seemed cold, and her thoughts were harder to control. She had known something was wrong but this was completely different, the thing that had been living inside her, causing her erratic moods and her thoughts to darken had been awoken and she felt completely helpless. She could not describe what it felt even if she tried; it was as though something was living inside her. She had heard stories back in Woodstone of pregnant woman who had loved being pregnant and feeling the life grow inside them. This was nothing like it, whatever was inside her disgusted her and she could not be rid of it.

  Now as she sat on her bed, it was as though a voice deep inside her mind was speaking to her. She could not quite make out the words; it was as though they were said from a distance, but the intent of them was clear and it was evident the voice was criticising her and try to break her will. It was like nothing she had ever experienced; a far cry from the mental communication of magic, this was inside her and it was evil. She was frightened, and she felt tears streaming down her face. What was happening to her? Her violent tempers and now this growing force inside her. She found herself in a constant battle just to be herself. Wynn had never had a violent nature; she was passive and obedient. At first she had told herself she was just expressing her own nature which for so long had been repressed, but she knew she was fooling herself. Even now she deviated to her upbringing. What had she done to cause this, for it was evidently her fault, and how could she stop it?

  It was a long while before Wynn could stop crying, but when she did she left her room and walked aimlessly, still pointedly avoiding any contact with the students, until she stopped outside a great door she had not entered before. It was on the second floor at the end of a long corridor and the door looked old and withered. She pushed it open slowly and found it was the library. It was far larger than the one at Woodstone, rows and rows of bookshelves snaked their way along the room, a seemingly unending maze. The shelves almost reached the ceiling and Wynn was sure a ladder would be needed to reach the highest books. The room was lit by candlelight attached to the walls in glass lanterns. There were no windows and so it seemed as though she had walked into a different time, from day to night.

  She wandered around the room, spotting a table nestled into a corner every so often, they were all vacant and the room was deathly silent. It was not until she reached the very back of the room that she spotted Taien sat at a small round table, his head in his hands. He was in the shadows of the corner and in that moment he looked so completely desolate that she forgot he had tricked her and how much it had hurt and reached out to touch his hair, like a mother stroking her child’s head. But she caught herself in time and instead walked over to the table and waited until Taien sensed her presence.

  “Wynn,” Taien said through his hands, acknowledging her. Wynn sat down beside him and he slowly and wearily lifted his head and looked at her. His eyes were bloodshot and his naturally tanned skin grey in the candlelight. Wynn felt her heart tug, but something deep inside scolded her for even thinking of showing such kindness and she frowned at him instead, finding things to dislike about him and forcing them to the front of her mind.

  Taien winced as he felt her dislike and looked for a moment as though he would cry but instead he controlled himself and lowered his eyes. Wynn felt herself smirk at his pain and then felt disgust at herself that she was enjoying her cruelty. As Taien watched her, she felt a conflict inside herself. She wanted to forgive him and thank him for saving her, but something else was belittling her, shouting obscenities in a hope to break her.

  “You are weak,” it hissed, the voice seemed to flow down through her so that she shivered, “look at this man now because soon he will be dead by your hand.”

  Wynn resisted the urge to hold her head in her hands but more than any time in her life she wanted to cry. Something was hideously wrong with her, the being inside her now had a voice and it was evil. She felt like it was housed in her middle, sending tendrils up through her limbs and wrapping itself around her. Defeat suddenly washed over her, she had battled the poison given by the Hybrid creature so ferociously that she had almost died. Had it been for nothing? Would she die at the hands of this other toxin, one that had been building and amassing inside her so that now she did not know how she would ever purge it?

  Wynn was suddenly aware that Taien was talking to her, and had been for some time, but she did not trust herself to speak. The voice was trying to become more solid, and gain more control and Wynn was still too exhausted to fight it. It sent its vile claws through her, to her brain.

  “That’s right, you cannot win, surrender now and the pain will stop.”

  Wynn wanted the pain to stop; she did not want to cry any more and shoulder the guilt of being the Foreseen. It would be as easy as breathing to surrender to the being, and slowly it happened. Happened before Wynn had ever really decided what to do about it, the being grew so that it filled every part of her and took its hold of her brain. The presence opened her mouth and forced her to ask, in her most soft and innocent voice, “Taien, will you help me read a book I was given?”

  Taien’s eyes widened slightly but he nodded and watched as Wynn grinned somewhat impishly and quickly left the library to fetch it. She was back quickly clutching a large black book. She slammed it onto the table and Taien pulled it closer to him and read the title, it said in the delicate gold leaf, “Necromancy”.

  Taien started a little, knowing instantly that his was a book of dark magic. He looked at Wynn, trying to judge if she knew what the book contained. He knew that she could not read it and was genuine in that, but the way her eyes sparkled was disconcerting. He tried to feel her emotions but now all he could sense was excitement. Reluctantly he opened the book and read out the first line of the book.

&nbs
p; “Necromancy is a dark art form of calling the spirits of the dead to one’s own body or to a chosen willing, or unwilling body to act as a vessel.”

  Wynn’s face smiled but inside she was screaming. The presence which had tormented her had finally taken over and trapped her inside herself. It was speaking with her voice and moving her limbs pushing her conscious and thoughts into a dark void inside herself. Wynn was trapped and fighting desperately. How could Taien not know? This was not her, these were not her words, her actions, she was inside herself, a prisoner in her own body. But Taien did not realise and all she could do was watch with horror as Taien read out the text which for so long had been unreachable and unreadable and she learned the ways of the Necromancer.

  13

  Byron sat watching the old man before him whittling a long, thick piece of wood from the light of a solitary candle. The amber glow cast light on the process, the shaving of slivers from wood’s face until it became smooth, the carving of features until it took the form of a mocking bird, the loving touch that identified each improvement. Byron wondered at the man’s shaking hands, how they could craft something so beautiful and simple and yet seem so frail. Nothing was said for a long while and all that could be heard was the sound of blade on wood and the soft breathing between them. The man handed Byron another piece of wood and a knife, interrupting his observations and gestured for him to begin.

  The old man, as Byron tenderly referred to him, was Kestyn’s father and for two weeks now he had taken Byron under his wing. Byron had settled into life with Kestyn’s father with ease, and although he was not close enough to the old man to confide in him, he saw him as a true father figure, one he had never had and always wanted. Kestyn’s father was a carpenter but in his spare time whittled things that he remembered, for his eyes were failing and he knew soon that he would never see again. Byron had gratefully helped him in this task, so that when the old man lost his sight he could touch the figures and his memory be prompted.

  Byron had learnt the skill with his quiet temperament, if he failed he made the mistake as though it was meant to be and Kestyn’s father had accepted him more than willingly, offering him a wage that Byron was sure he could not afford, just to have his company. Bryon had told him from the first day he would accept no money and learnt the craft happily. As Byron sat he could not believe he had lived here for only two weeks, he felt as though he had lived this way always. He almost wished to stay, but his need to escape the island and find Wynn was an ache that refused to be soothed.

  The sound of footsteps coming down the stairs broke Bryon’s concentration and he looked up to see Kestyn descending into the basement. Her face was grave and Byron set down his wood and knife and turned to her expectantly. Her gaze went past him to her father.

  “Father, may I borrow Byron for a moment?” She asked quietly and sighed with relief as the old man waved them away and continued to whittle the little mocking bird intently. Byron set his own equipment down and followed her up the stairs. Kestyn turned to Bryon once they had left the basement, her face tense, “The army has heard that father has accepted a new apprentice and is coming here tomorrow to question you.”

  Byron’s stomach lurched and he suppressed the urge to vomit. He knew he had been deluding himself that the army would give up on him. They had ransacked each and every house on the island looking for a boy that matched Bryon’s description. When Kestyn’s father’s shop had been inspected Kestyn had hid Byron in a specially made box under her chest of drawers that her father had made to hide their takings. It was a tight fit and he had remained inside for almost three hours as the army questioned Kestyn and her frail father. Although Kestyn’s father did not understand why he could not talk of his new apprentice he had not mentioned him to the army and so they had left angrily. They had remained on the island and Byron knew now they would not leave until he was caught; now they had heard of him and would be coming.

  “What shall I do?” He asked, his voice quavering, and he was shocked at how scared he sounded. He wished he could be stronger but he had had too many beatings from the army, and been away from home for too long to be arrogant. He knew what would happen if they caught him, pain and sadness and then the eventual delivery to The Rune, never knowing if Wynn lived.

  Kestyn looked at him, her strong face searching him, if she was aware of his fear she did not show it.

  “I do not know what befell you before you came here, or why they search for you but the ship destined for Terra leaves tomorrow, I will smuggle you away, past the guards’ noses.”

  “No,” Bryon said strongly, surprisingly, for Kestyn jumped at the harshness of his voice, “thank you, but I will not put you in danger.”

  Kestyn rolled her eyes and Bryon felt his heart jump, as it had done every day since he met her. She pursed her lips in irritation, “I am in danger at this very moment for hiding you, do not treat me like a child!”

  Bryon’s resolve wavered then, it was true. He had put her in danger the moment she spoke to him back in the alley. She had continued to sacrifice her and her father’s safety by hiding him. He had no right to tell her what to do, he owed her too much. Kestyn saw his face change as he realised she was right and she smiled triumphantly.

  “Go and pack and I will take you to the docks at the break of dawn.”

  Bryon nodded and gave his excuses before walking up the stairs to the room he had been staying in. It was very much like Kestyn’s, whitewashed, clean and fresh, but nothing like home. He closed the door behind him and sat on the bed, eyeing the sunlight as it flooded the room and warmed his back through the window. It was comforting, the heat, but inside Bryon felt a coldness that could not be warmed. Would he survive tomorrow? Would Kestyn continue her life here on the island? Would she forget him?

  “What does it matter if she forgets you?” He hissed at himself, “It would be good if she did, you are nothing but a danger to her.”

  Byron ran his hands over his face wearily, it did not matter. No matter how many times he scolded himself the truth remained the same. The thought of Kestyn’s smile made his heart grip until he thought he would die then and there. He had loved her the moment he had met her. Standing so confidently, hand on hip, her blonde fringe brushing against her eyelashes. He had nursed the love, feared to look directly at it and feel its full force, for if he declared it and it was rejected he knew he would not recover. Thinking of the sacrifices Kestyn and made for him he felt the love explode from his heart and consume him. He would battle the General and his men for an eternity for Kestyn, never resting, if it meant Kestyn was happy.

  It sounded foolish, when he thought clearly about it. He had taken a liking to women before, but nothing like this. This feeling made him ache, and his heart burn with love. He dreamt about her and thought about her and when she was not near he yearned for her. He longed to touch her, to kiss her lips and stroke his fingers down her back and watch as her breathing became ragged with pleasure. Byron was completely in love with her and knew with a piercing truth that they could never be. Her life was here and he had to find Wynn. It was sudden, and completely unreasonable, it had happened too quickly for him to even consider how deep he had fallen. He curled into a ball and rocked himself until his heart beat slower and his breathing came easier, but nothing he did would stop the piercing love that wracked his body and very soul.

  Dawn came far too soon for Byron; his sleep had been far from restful and he felt ill as he prepared for the dangerous journey ahead. He was awoken by Kestyn who bustled into his room, her face drawn and pained. Sleepily Byron clambered out of bed, fully clothed, grabbed his things, which were sparse, clothes given to him by Kestyn, a dagger, a cloak and packed them in a leather bag that he put on his back. Kestyn herself had a bag, and she shouldered it uneasily, as though upset that she should carry it. Byron questioned after it, why should she need a bag? But she waved his query away and led him down the stairs and out of the house.

  The morning was chilly, so Byron pull
ed his cloak from his bag, put it on and tugged it close to his body. Kestyn too was hugging herself as she peered around her shop, searching and waiting for Byron. The streets were deserted; the only sound the faint whisper of the waves in the distance. The light was scarce and threw long shadows across of the cobbles. With a motion of her hand Kestyn signalled for them to move and they ran, half crouching through the streets until Kestyn rushed into an alley and pressed herself up against the wall. Bryon imitated her, feeling his arm brush against hers. Two men walked passed the entrance of the alley, deep in conversation and Bryon recognised the uniform of Woodstone’s army. His throat constricted and he prayed with all his might they would not look to their left. As soon as they had passed the mouth of the alley Kestyn moved and looked around for anyone else, she apparently saw none for she rushed out and ran through the streets.

  As they ran Bryon found himself watching her graceful movements, she wore grey leggings under thick boots; over her leggings she wore a cotton tunic, all of which were underneath a thick black cloak that whipped behind her as she ran. He gazed at her lovingly and almost tripped over a discarded boot. He went to cry out as he fell but fought with all his might to be silent and instead focused his energy on regaining his balance. Kestyn spun round and questioned him with her angry eyes, he shrugged an apology and when she turned back around cursed his wandering mind.

  Kestyn stopped after what seemed like a lifetime of darting from shadow to shadow and peered around the corner. There at the docks a small vessel sat on the waves. It was meagre compared to the ship Byron had come in but it was a boat and at this moment he could wish for nothing better. They watched the Captain issue orders from the deck. His men ran up and down the gangplank carrying supplies.