“We’re leaving,” Magician barked.
“To where?” Kian asked.
“To where it all started, of course,” Magician said. “Pack your bag for a journey.”
Kian rushed to obey. He didn’t know what Magician meant or what he was talking about, but he just wanted to complete his part of the task and go home. Magician walked around the room as if he was retracing his steps, picking up odd items and placing them gently into a large canvas bag.
“Where exactly are we going?” Kian asked.
“To the hilltop where your tribe performed the ritual to send their souls after my people,” Magician said.
Kian paused. Magician’s frankness was odd, but worry swept over him.
“Are we doing the same?” Kian asked, trying to keep the fear from his voice. He did not see how dying would allow him to come back to his tribe.
“No,” Magician said, eyeing another trinket before putting it down and placing something else in the bag. “Every five years the opportunity to follow the magic that left appears, and we can join your kind in their time.”
“Why didn’t you go five years ago?” Kian asked.
“I didn’t have you,” Magician said simply. “Time moves differently, especially the way we shall use it. I cannot know at what stage of life the Riada warriors are.”
“So you need someone who would recognize them,” Kian finished. “Like me.”
Magician dug under a wooden bench to pull out some pieces of silver and pocket them. “Exactly. I need you to find your kind.”
“Why don’t we go after your people first?” Kian asked.
“What an excellent question,” Magician said, turning to face him. His eyes lit up with malice and Kian could sense the sarcasm in his tone. “I cannot follow my people because your father decided to burn down our village after our defeat. The whole thing — poof.” Magician snapped his fingers to emphasize his point. “The magic that took them is gone. Only your hilltop remains. We cannot know the Godelan and the Riada even live in the same time.”
Kian had forgotten. He was young then. Between the death of the magicians and the warriors’ sacrifice, his father had destroyed all that was left of the Godelan. Though to be fair, they had done much of the damage themselves, and anyone who could have fled did.
“My father was your king,” Kian reminded Magician. “You disobeyed him.”
“Yes,” Magician said, spinning a round piece of brass between his fingers before tossing it back onto a pile of items that weren’t fit for the bag. “King of kings. Our high king. That title was meant for your brother, wasn’t it? Then you. But here you are, helping the enemy.”
Kian was taken aback. “Are you the enemy? I am only doing this to help my people.”
“Of course,” Magician said. “And I want the same thing you do.”
“Why?”
It was a question Kian had asked many times, and many times Magician somehow got out of answering it. He had told Kian a variety of stories, but Kian didn’t believe a single one. He just hoped that when he did find out, it wouldn’t be too late to save himself and the others and return home.
“There is no place for me in this world,” Magician said tragically. Kian had heard this one before. “Maybe when you are king you will remember how I helped your kind. We are, after all, united in our enemy.”
Kian couldn’t bring himself to believe in Magician’s noble intentions and hopes of redemption. He did, however, know that as much as Magician hated the other tribes, he hated the Romans more.
Yet a man who still wore the robes that identified him as better than his peers, even though they were all dead, was clinging to every ounce of power he had left. Kian couldn’t imagine him giving it away and pledging himself to the Riada.
They left that same day, travelling during the night to keep warm and sleeping during the day in what brief sunlight occurred during the darkest winter months. Hungry and cold, Kian missed his old home and what was left of his family more than ever. But finally so close to being reunited with his brother, he could not regret his decision.
Three days’ travel to the southwest would bring them to the Riada lands. On the coast, the tribe had their backs to the water. The Romans didn’t like that and had forced them to move in order to be encircled by their legions. Kian hadn’t been back in years.
On the second day of travelling, Kian felt the familiar vibration in the earth as he slept at midday. He sat up in a panic.
“We need to move,” he said, waking Magician.
The man stood, brushing the leaves off his cloak but leaving a variety of twigs and foliage in his long matted hair.
Kian grabbed his bow and his small bag of belongings and was gone into the bushes before he realized that Magician hadn’t followed him. He turned.
“What are you doing? Let’s go, the Kaligan are coming.”
Magician shook his head. “No,” he said calmly. “I will not run from them. These are my lands, not theirs.”
His low tone was dangerous, but Kian doubted he had ever seen a real legion. And by the sound of feet and hooves, one was approaching through the pass just near them. Scouts would spot them instantly. The procession was moving slowly, but they were close.
“They’ll kill us, there’s hundreds of them,” Kian told him.
“I know,” replied Magician. “They have passed through these woods every winter at this time for the past three winters.”
Kian didn’t understand. The hand that gripped his bow was nearly frozen. “You set this up?”
“I did,” said Magician. “I’ve been working with the earth for years trying to get it the way it needs to be for us to step through to where your kind will be. We need to walk through earth in transformation, in order to be transformed.”
“I don’t understand,” Kian said. “How can earth be transformed into something else?”
“Well, earth can become air.” Magician waved his arms. “But that is difficult. It is easier to make the earth become liquid. We take the strongest parts of the earth, turn it to liquid, and we’ll have enough magic to carry both of us through.”
“So why do you need the Kaligan?” Kian asked. The sound of boots was getting closer. He was nearly hopping from foot to foot in agitation.
“What kind of earth can become liquid?” Magician asked Kian. “Molten? We have silver in this land, but not much. The Romans have gold.”
Kian nearly laughed out loud. “Your plan is to get captured by the Romans in order to rob them?” he asked in disbelief, hoping he had misunderstood. “And then what? Escape from a camp of a thousand men?”
“Yes,” Magician said simply.
Kian breathed deeply, trying to steady his nerves. Before he could say anything else, shouts sounded from beyond the trees. The Kaligan were yelling at them in their language, telling them not to move. Kian took another deep breath.
This had happened to him once before. He had been travelling with his uncle when the Kaligan came, yelling these were their woods and any travellers needed to have good reason to be there. They demanded their party stand before the Roman leader, who sat atop his horse like a statue in leather and buckles.
Kian was young and hadn’t known if he would live or die. Some men and women of the Riada or other tribes simply vanished in the woods, and it was often said the Kaligan were responsible. All depended on who led the legion, and Kian had never felt like taking his chances.
Men in uniforms ran onto the small pathway where Kian and Magician had slept. They were older than many of the new recruits he had seen and wore uniforms that were less polished, still the style his brother had worn a decade ago. In a glance, he knew this was a neglected legion.
Magician only smiled at the panic on Kian’s face. “Don’t worry, prince,” he said. “The Romans will provide many things for us tonight. I guarantee you.”
Kian didn’t have time to think about the promise. Two men grabbed him and forced him to his knees. Two others did the
same to Magician.
A stately man dismounted from his horse and came over. His helmet had the tallest adornments and his buckles were made of fine gold, even though they were quite worn. Small brown eyes that darted between Kian and Magician topped his long nose. Any hair he once had was gone, though a grey beard nearly hid his grim line of a mouth.
Kian could see this was a hard man, and he also knew this was the legion’s commander. They were in trouble. Behind him, several men kept their distance but followed carefully.
For all that he was being held down, Magician seemed unimpressed.
“Do you speak the language?” the commander said to both of them.
Kian nearly rolled his eyes. The Kaligan liked to think their language was the only true tongue, and everything else was just the growls of barbarians.
Kian glanced at Magician, who nodded to him before answering.
“Yes,” he replied in the Kaligan tongue.
“What are you called?” the commander asked.
Kian had to think for only a moment. “Master,” he said. “And Apprentice.” To his surprise, a small curve appeared in commander’s thin mouth. He was actually smiling.
“Then I am to be called M-A,” said the commander, “and these are my men. We were given orders to kill any natives we come across. Give me a reason why we should not kill you.”
It seemed like an honest question. As far as Kian could tell, M-A was being earnest. Perhaps he didn’t truly want to kill them. But Kian knew he was a Kaligan, and as a Kaligan he would do what he was told. Kian was lost for words, so M-A prompted him.
“Ask your master then, why we should spare your lives.”
Kian turned to Magician and began to translate, but Magician cut him off halfway.
“I know what he said,” Magician spat, eyeing the men surrounding them. “Tell him we wish to speak to his general.”
“What?” Kian sputtered. “That’s completely out of our way! Why would we want that?”
“Do it,” Magician said in a low tone.
Kian sighed, clenching his fists, and relayed the message. M-A’s response was expected.
“And why would the general like to speak to you?”
Kian turned to Magician, beginning to translate again before being cut off just as abruptly.
“Tell him we have information on a rebellion by one of the southern tribes,” Magician said.
Again Kian was about to protest, but Magician’s eyes flashed with fury. Kian doubted Magician could possess any real information, considering the solitude he lived in, but he relayed the words to the Kaligan commander.
M-A considered, rubbing his grey beard. “Fine,” he said finally. “You are our prisoners tonight. Death can wait until tomorrow.”
Chapter Five
It felt like a thousand different hands were shaking me. I was getting pulled from my memories, pulled from Seth, and I was fighting it. Sharp nails dug into my shoulders and tried to yank me back to reality, but I resisted. Finally, the squawking voice calling me grew louder and louder. I opened my eyes.
I still lay on the ground outside the tent. The back of my head pounded with sharp pain. Seth lay near me, unconscious. The strange woman stood over me, her face even more leathery and weathered up close. The sight was suddenly frightening, and I scrambled back.
“What did you do to us?” I accused. “What happened? What was that drink?”
As I sat up, I tried to wake Seth. I shook his shoulder, but nothing happened. The panic grew in my stomach and threatened to bubble up. I thought I was going to be sick, but maybe that was just from the ingredients of the drink.
Despite my scrambling, she managed to put her small index and middle finger to my forehead, right between my eyes. I froze.
“What are you doing?”
As she opened her mouth, I understood the words coming out, though I was positive she wasn’t speaking English. She pressed her fingers harder to my forehead with each word, and somehow I could understand.
“The drink was a sleeping brew,” she said in a thin, raspy voice. “It allowed you to let go of this world and fall deeper into your past. You have seen all there is to see, and though you may not have understood the threads woven into your destiny, you now have access to them.”
“That’s it?” I was on my knees, staring in shock. “Is this as powerful as I will ever be?”
The tears in my eyes told me more about myself than about my past. I couldn’t bear the fact that I would be without magic or with little magic forever. Everyone had had such high hopes for me.
“No,” she said.
From my position on the ground, she seemed to grow an extra three feet. Suddenly she was no longer a small, hunched-over woman, but almost a giant, with a youthful, lean build. I still stared into the same eyes, however — they were ancient beyond understanding.
“You have access to the Earth’s magic, though not much remains since your enemies take what they can,” she said. “To be truly powerful, you must embrace your past. Become one with the magic.”
She had grown into something completely different now. A very tall woman with long black hair and red paint around her eyes stared at me, her fingers still pressing right between my eyes.
“What are you?” I asked, breathless.
“Your gods had their children, and I had mine,” she answered.
The raspy voice now sounded more like an echo, spoken by a hundred people at once. It rang in my ears in a thunderous chorus.
I couldn’t think of anything to say. I just stared and thought over her words. I was terrified of letting go of this world. What if I never got me back?
“Go.” The goddess, or whatever she was, urged me to get up.
I scrambled clumsily to my feet, careful not to break contact with her.
“Wake your friends. A challenge approaches. Remember my words.”
I nodded and was about to do as she said when I stopped with one last question.
“What did you say to Moira?”
“It is not for me to reveal,” she replied. “But you will know soon enough.”
“How?” I asked. “She didn’t understand you.”
“Yes, she did.”
Seth made a noise as he stirred. When I glanced back up, she was gone — both the little old woman and her other self. My hands shook from everything that had just happened. Adrenaline, fear, or the island sleeping concoction had put me on edge, and I could barely speak.
Seth was moving uneasily and moaning in his sleep. His head darted from side to side. I tried to hold it steady so he wouldn’t hurt himself. He suddenly gasped and sat up, trying to fight me.
“Hey!” I yelled. “It’s me! Relax!”
“Gwen?”
Something in his eyes readjusted and I could tell that he only saw me for the first time.
“Yes, it’s me. Come on, we have to go.”
As I sat up, Seth grabbed my sleeve.
“They know. We have to leave.”
“What? Who?” I immediately felt stupid for even asking. As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I knew exactly whom he meant. The magicians. Or as I now knew they were called, the Godelan — all that was left of them.
“After you got pulled out,” Seth explained, sweat running down his face, “I saw them. Now. I somehow saw them in what I think must be this moment. They felt us remember and they know we can access the magic now.”
When I continued to look at him confusedly, Seth went on.
“It was night wherever they were. I just saw a glimpse, but I know they know. Something changed just now, and they felt it, too.”
“The woman said we’ll only get all of our magic when we stop holding back the other half,” I told him. “We need to become like we were.”
We both looked around for her again, but she was gone.
“The magicians and us, we must share some kind of bond through the ritual,” I said. It was the only thing that made sense. They could always know what we we
re doing, how powerful we were, and which of us were the most useful to them. “If they felt what we did, then we have to move quickly.”
As if on cue, the earth shook gently beneath our feet.
“Earthquake?” I asked Seth, knowing the answer.
“Something tells me this might not be a natural disaster,” he replied.
We ran to get Garrison and Moira. They were both slouched over in the deserted hut. I was only mildly surprised to find it empty.
“Where’d she go?” Seth asked as he shook Garrison.
I shrugged. There was no time to think about it.
Garrison and Moira had the same lost look in their eyes when we managed to wake them. It was as though they were looking into something else as I sat directly in front of them. It took several minutes for the life to come back into their eyes, but at least the earth didn’t shake any more.
“How do you feel?” Seth asked Garrison.
The humidity in the tent was making it hard to breathe.
“Like I got my life back,” Garrison replied.
Moira nodded.
“I remember more than just our dying moments,” Garrison said, rubbing his curls as if surprised to find them there. “I actually feel like I was that person now.”
Garrison had always been the bravest among us, and I knew that. He took this new knowledge as an opportunity and didn’t fear it at all. I, however, was apprehensive.
“We have to go,” Seth told them. “The Godelan know where we are. They felt … whatever this was.”
We miraculously managed to find the same path we had come down. As we huffed and puffed through the jungle, hoping we were going the right way, Seth recounted most of what he had seen of his past life. It was still shocking that it was mostly the same as my experience. We had shared so much of our lives.
Then he told us about the glimpse of whatever place the Godelan were in.
“How did you do that?” Garrison asked.
“It’s almost like they’re the flip side of the coin,” Seth explained, gasping for breath as we rushed through the tall grasses. “If I go too far into the past and stay there too long, I end up with them. Gwen got pulled out, and on my own it was like I went deeper. When I went deep enough, I saw them on the other side.”
Lives of Kings Page 6
