Scion’s Sacrifice (The Guardians of Light Book 3)

by R. Michael Card

  He stopped suddenly as he walked through the darkness of the new night. Where had that thought come from?

  From Cassine, of course.

  Except it hadn’t.

  It might have been some side effect of her connection to him, but that thought had been his. Did he suddenly care about what was right?

  The fact that he didn’t immediately answer himself with a ‘no’ was telling and shook the foundation of his entire existence.

  Right and wrong had never been a consideration. It had always been: follow commands and otherwise do what pleased you.

  An owl called somewhere in the distant darkness of the forest. An eerie and haunting sound amidst the relative silence of the night.

  He began walking again, more briskly this time. He put that troubling thought aside and went back to his first dilemma, would he return to his father?

  Do you want to be free? That was her thought.

  He didn’t answer her. He didn’t want her to know how he felt about that question, which was idiotic because she already knew.

  Did he want to be free? Well, of course he did… didn’t he? But if he went back to his father he wouldn’t be.

  Well, actually that wasn’t true. If he went back, he’d be free from having to decide, having to make a choice, having to think for himself and do all this work to figure out who he was. That was the ‘freedom’ his father offered. But he knew from her thoughts that wasn’t freedom at all. Freedom was the ability to make a choice without interference, to truly do as one felt. So which was it? Did he want freedom or the simplicity of his father’s control?

  Gods! Why did this have to be so frustrating and complicated?

  He punched a tree as he passed it. It had a sturdy trunk, thick and heavy, but it shook with the impact of his fist. Leaves fluttered down on him for a moment afterward. He left a two-inch indentation in the wood, his knuckles coming away bleeding, yet already healing from his earth talent.

  He was a man of action. He wanted to fight this problem, but he couldn’t. This wasn’t something he could hit.

  So he gritted his teeth and attacked the problem head on, logically.

  Did he like his father’s control? Well no, not really.

  Sure, he was perfectly fine with the acts and atrocities he was committing, but having someone else in charge wasn’t what he wanted. He was a strong and powerful man in his own right, perhaps the second most powerful person in the world next to his father. Why let the one man more powerful than him control him? Which meant he didn’t want his father. He wanted freedom. Just because he was free didn’t mean he had to be a pure-hearted do-gooder like Cassine. He could do whatever he wanted. Yes, he wanted that, wanted to be free.

  Are you certain? Her voice again.

  Yes, he replied. I don’t have to be like you.

  True, but if you really want to be free of your father than you’ll need to do more than simply not return to him. His influence is stamped on your soul. If you really want to be free, you’ll need to know who you are without that influence. You’ll need to get rid of your father’s stain then see who you want to be.

  He halted once again. He didn’t want to admit it, but the blasted woman was right. That would be true freedom. Even now, without his father’s voice directly in his head, he knew that it would be the shadow of his father that directed his actions. He would commit atrocities and evil without a second thought. That was what his father would do, but what would the real Davar do? He didn’t know.

  He swore a long string of curses and another tree was left with an indentation of his fist.

  “Why do you have to make everything so difficult?” he shouted into the night and into her mind.

  It’s not me making it difficult. It’s what the Blacklord has done to you.

  He could see the truth in that as much as he didn’t want to admit it. That didn’t do anything to improve his mood, though. He picked up a rock and threw it into the night. He heard it crash through the forest for a moment.

  The owl hooted again.

  He sighed, suddenly exhausted. Thinking or walking any farther seemed like far too much work.

  He returned to their small fire.

  Cassine was sitting staring into the flames her breathing still ragged from crying.

  He stood next to her and thrust out his still manacled arms. “Remove these.”

  She looked up at him, her eyes red and raw. “I’m exhausted. Can it wait until morning?”

  He was about to say no and command her to do it. Then he realized that that’s exactly what his father would do? What would he do? He didn’t know, and he was far too tired to think about it.

  “Fine,” he grumbled and found a spot near the fire to curl up as best he could and rest.

  It took some time, but sleep eventually claimed him. He’d never been more thankful for its dark embrace.

  He awoke with the dawn.

  His earth talent was incredibly strong and a few hours of sleep was often enough to fully heal and refresh his body. Yet as much as his physical exhaustion had abated, his mind was still a fog and the troubled thoughts of the previous night filled his mind once again.

  Cassine wasn’t awake. Her mind was still a haze of sleep-confused thoughts, hard to read.

  He rose and found the stream she’d bathed in the previous night. He relieved himself then found a spot upstream to drink and splash his face. The chill of the water helped to wake him and bring some faint clarity. This was real. This was living. This was freedom.

  He sighed and returned to their fire. He added a few logs and used his fire talent to light them. Then he waited, his gaze turning to Cassine. Her thoughts were strange, probably dreams, for they made no real sense, but her feelings were open. She was at peace, calm and unworried.

  He grimaced. Those were certainly emotions he wasn’t familiar with. He could feel what they were like within her, but he’d never really felt anything like that before. What must it be like to find that level of serenity? Even his moment of peace the night before had not reached this level of calm.

  He wanted to wake her, kick her, shake her, but he knew these were things his father would have done. So he simply waited. Patience had never been a strong suit of his… or perhaps it was…

  Blazes! Why was this so difficult?

  There was one thought he knew for certain was his own, not his father’s. He knew that when he looked at Cassine, he felt stirrings of strong emotions: lust and desire. She was a beautiful woman and his body reacted to simply watching her. Those were immediate feelings and thoughts. They were of this moment, so they had to be his. That at least was something.

  Davar knew enough to know he didn’t really understand ‘love,’ not in the way she experienced it. She had a true heart and cared for everyone. She even had some odd notion about caring for her enemies. It was a certain type of love where: if they were hurt, she’d still tend them as opposed to letting them die. He understood it only through her feelings, but the concept was so foreign to him that he couldn’t fully accept it. He knew that he didn’t love her, his emotions were more physical and sexual. He wasn’t sure he could love anything the way she did.

  She woke with a start.

  There was a hazy instant as he realized that his carnal thoughts of her had infiltrated her dreams as she now remembered them, in that vague way one does upon just waking. She’d been having some rather impure dreams of them together, feeding off of his thoughts of her. She flooded with embarrassment, her face flushing a bright red.

  “Stop that,” she said, flustered.

  He grinned mischievously, flashing all sorts of improper images of them together through his mind. “Why?”

  He didn’t think it possible, but she went an even deeper shade of red.

  He laughed.

  She turned away, despite knowing that would do little to hinder their intimate mental connection.

  “I need to freshen up,” she said rising quickly. She practically ran down the hill t
o the stream in the woods. Distance dimmed their connection, but before it did he caught a rather odd thought-feeling combination from her. Part of her mind still lingered on her dreams as curiosity built within her, a wondering of ‘what would it be like?’

  Davar drew in a long breath and found himself laughing again. Perhaps she wasn’t as pure and certain in her virginity as she let on. Perhaps they both had some things they needed to figure out.

  When she returned, she was all brusque business.

  “I can remove your bindings now. Then you can do as you please.”

  He could sense the conflict within her. There was still a large part of her that wanted to help him, heal him, get rid of the darkness within him, but it was tempered now. She too was uncertain about if she wanted to remain around him. Would he continue to plague her thoughts and wear away at her honor? Could she remain as good as she wished to be if she was around one so evil for as long as it would take to heal him? The thoughts warred in her mind.

  Oddly, he was having his own doubts.

  “I don’t know if I want these things off anymore,” he said holding up his bound wrists. He couldn’t be certain why he was being so forthright with her. He was trying not to feel that distant spot within him that stung knowing he’d caused this woman pain. He wasn’t used to feelings like that.

  She looked at him in confusion. “I thought you decided you wanted to be free?”

  He grimaced. “As soon as these come off, I give up a part of my freedom.”

  He showed her what he meant through his thoughts. His sword, Shadowfang, was a creation of the Blacklord just as he was. A corrupted Scion-Blade whose personality was as twisted and dark as Davar had been under this father’s control. As soon as the bindings came off he’d be connected with his sword again, be able to call it from wherever it was. But if he really did want to find out who he was without all of that dark influence, then having his sword around wouldn’t help.

  “You wouldn’t have to call it to you, would you?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “No, but—”

  “Then don’t. Keep it away. Let it be a constant reminder of what you wish to walk away from. It may not be easy, but you’ve already decided you don’t want the easy way. If you want real freedom, sometimes you have to fight for it. You can’t wear those bindings for the rest of your life, so you’re going to have to get used to your sword being with you at some point.”

  And yet again, she was right. He wondered if she ever got tired of it.

  “No,” she said. “And I’m not always right.”

  It seemed she was when it came to him.

  He held up his hands. “Fine, get them off.”

  “How do I do it?” she asked, her thoughts echoing her spoken words.

  It will be easier to show you. And he went through the process in his thoughts, every detail.

  She drank in his instructions then knelt next to him, laying her hands on the magical manacles and began.

  He followed her in her mind as she progressed through each of the steps. The bindings had been made by his father, meant to break the bond between scion and artifact. Without the key, the bindings required a multi-talent wizard, or four wizards, one of each talent, to remove. Davar was a multi-talent, but couldn’t free himself, as the magic of the manacles restricted the wearer from freeing himself, a necessary condition. So she worked through each of the elements: earth to feel the metal and manipulate it, see the tiny pipes and weaknesses, water to find the small reservoir inside, fire to heat the water to boiling, bursting the seal on the reservoir, then air to force the steam out in all directions breaking through the tiny fissures in the metal.

  The bindings cracked and shattered in a blast of steam and hot air.

  Instantly Shadowfang called to him. The voice was faint as if echoing back from a great distance.

  Summon me! The shout was barely more than a whisper in Davar’s mind. He could live with this, ignore it if he needed to. Shadowfang continued to rail and rant: Who is this woman? Get her out! Kill her! Call me, Davar. We must be one. You need me!

  “I don’t think your sword likes me much,” Cassine said.

  “He doesn’t like anyone much. He only loves killing.”

  Cassine nodded and rose.

  She turned a full circle, seemingly taking in the morning around them, the brisk breeze of the mountains, the bright, warm sunlight, the dew on the grasses, and the birdsong in the trees.

  He sensed she was making her own choice in that moment. To go or to stay. In the end, she shook her head, still uncertain, and turned back to him.

  “So what will it be?” she asked. “I’m fine to go my own way, but if you really want to be free of the taint of the Blacklord within you, I’ll help you.”

  A great impulse came over him. “Run away with me,” he said with a grin. He wasn’t sure where that had come from, but right now, he didn’t want to face anything, just wanted to be farther away from everything… except her.

  Her thoughts jumbled, analyzing the possibility and discarding it, then trying to figure out how to explain.

  “You don’t need to explain,” he said. “It was a rash thought. I don’t know how I could’ve ever thought you might want to be with me. I can see your thoughts, your feelings. There’s nothing there for me.” Nothing but pity. She wanted desperately to help him, to heal him, to bring out the light, the good in him, but beyond that…

  He put his head in his hands. “What did you do to me?” he whispered.

  You know it wasn’t me. You should be asking yourself what the Blacklord did.

  “I know what he did.” Years upon years of abuse and pain, molding me into a mirror of his own dark and twisted soul. Hatred, blind and raging welled within him at the thought. His hatred for his father had always been a palpable thing for him and the Blacklord knew it and used it. Yet with several long breaths, Davar managed to push the anger down. Right now it wasn’t going to do him any good.

  What would his life be like without that rage and the eminent darkness within him? It was an odd thought, difficult to even imagine. Did he want to know?

  She brushed his mind again, faint and soft, almost a caress. Let me help you find out, she whispered through him.

  He looked at her. The sun caught her eyes at just the right angle to turn them to gold.

  He could feel it, her desire to help fix what was broken within him. And in that moment, with his entire life up in the air, his emotions a confusing whirlwind of uncertainty he reached out her through their connection. He touched her mind as softly as she’d touched his a moment ago. He felt the light within her and in that instant wanted to know what more of that might be like.

  He wanted to change.

  He felt Shadowfang scream and rage against this line of thought, but he forced the sword’s consciousness away. It was time for him to make a decision on his own.

  He sent a single word into Cassine’s mind, loaded with a myriad of feelings and implications.

  Stay.

  Chapter 5

  That day Cassine began the long process of healing Davar.

  There was a lot of darkness in his soul and it couldn’t be expelled all at once. A soul was comprised of emotions, past and present, and Cassine could read a person’s life through the remembered feelings in their soul. Each emotion was like a thread in a great tapestry which illustrated a life. Davar’s was no pretty picture and each fiber was riddled with darkness and not easy for her to touch. Yet this was the process she had to go through. Each strand of evil had to be faced, confronted, and dealt with.

  And there were so very many strands.

  It didn’t help that Davar was over two hundred years old. He didn’t look much past his mid-thirties, but he was sustained by his father’s magic. She’d known this from their earlier connection, but it hadn’t sunk in until now how much work it would be to heal such a long life of darkness.

  It would take weeks, months, probably more than a year to cleanse his soul
of that which plagued him.

  Cassine had always been an exceptional healer, but what she was doing now was far different than anything she’d done before. She knew how to do it, her soul talent was strong enough for her to figure out what needed to be done, but that didn’t mean it would be easy… for either of them. She would find a fiber of his soul tainted with the Blacklord’s oily darkness. Then, as if it were the string of a lute, she would pluck at it. This would cause Davar to feel that emotion once again, amplifying sometimes long forgotten feelings. The emotion would drag up memories of the events surrounding it and Davar would then relive those moments.

  Cassine would soothe a single strand and encourage the stain on it to leave. Yet it was Davar who had to do the truly hard work. For every fiber that was cleansed he needed to come to terms with the events in question. He needed to understand that what he’d done had been wrong, that it had been years of abuse and torture as a child which had driven him to it. He had to forgive himself and empathize with those he’d hurt, feeling their pain to fully understand and come to terms with what he’d done.

  What made it worse was he had to accept it from the perspective of someone who actually cared. For an evil man to accept he’d killed a man was no big thing, but for a good man to accept causing a death was a horrid thing.

  And Davar had done so much worse than simply killing men.

  Dealing with one strand could take them an hour or more. He was the type of man never to admit anything was affecting him, but Cassine could see the way every single remembrance gripped him. He had to deal with a lifetime of moral decay. Accepting things no man should have to deal with. For her part, it wasn’t easy simply spending any significant time in the dark and fetid place that was his soul.

  They spent three weeks in that clearing in the Silver Mountains and still the process was only in its infancy.

  After one particularly grueling session, Cassine withdrew from Davar’s soul drenched in sweat and exhausted. She simply lay back on the soft grasses of the mountain field, breathing hard, staring up at a clear blue sky. The sun was near setting. Her stomach rumbled loud enough for him to hear.