Beyond the Bridge

by C D Beaudin

  “I never knew how wealthy Hadore was,” she says breathlessly.

  “We aren’t as wealthy as Rohidia, but we are certainly wealthier than most,” Ascar says, walking on through the Shining City, a name that Thasoe has taken on. “We are abundant in marble in Hadore, and Thasoe has always been a city of power. The temple needed a city of beauty worthy enough. Besides, when has a drab-looking capital ever served a country well?”

  As they climb another smaller hill, two golden lions greet them at a stone courtyard of a beautiful white palace, the roof also domed with gold, shining in the sunlight. Five guards, dressed in gold armor walk out to greet them. The bearded, middle guard walks forward. “Welcome to Thasoe. King Neodyn is waiting,” he says, turning. The other guards, Ascar, and the soldiers follow him. Kaniel, Eldowyn, Awyn, and Aradon trail along behind them, with Awyn running to catch up to Kaniel.

  “Why are they dressed differently than Ascar and the other guards?” she whispers as they hastily walk to the doors of the palace.

  “Thasoe guards dress more lavishly, but in wartime and in battles they dress in their red uniform,” Kaniel says as the large doors open, revealing a great hall with more white pillars, and gold ceilings.

  Servants line the walls, with courtiers toward the front of the room, and at the very front, King Neodyn sits on his golden throne, a lion with his mouth open protrudes above the king’s crowned head. Awyn’s breath catches when her eyes land on him.

  Neodyn, of course, is now older, and his brown hair is shorter. Some strands hang over his golden band resting over his brow. His chin is still chiseled, but with the neatly trimmed beard that comes from age. A deep red cape hangs from his broad shoulders. Beside him, his queen sits on her throne, her head decorated with a golden chain, rubies hanging from the delicate gold. Her long, brown hair curls at the bottom, resting on her left shoulder. Her off the shoulder red dress, with the bodice decorated in silver designs matches his cape.

  “My Lord, great King, Neodyn of Hadore.” The man with the beard bows, and the rest of the room follows his lead, leaving the four visitors to do the same. As the room stands up, the man speaks again. “Visitors from the Kawa tribe come here with business for His Majesty.” He and the four guards stand aside, and the four soldiers that accompanied them on their week-long journey stand aside also.

  Neodyn carefully eyes the visitors. He doesn’t see Awyn behind Aradon. Neodyn’s chin rises a hair. “One of you, speak of your reasons for coming to our country in times such as these.” His powerful voice surprises Awyn, only knowing him as the young prince whom she used to tug on his hair.

  Kaniel walks forward. “My King, I am Kaniel, of the Delcah race. I have news, coming from Mera, Your Majesty.”

  The room softly murmurs.

  “Carry on,” Neodyn says, looking intrigued. Awyn sees he still raises his right eyebrow when he’s curious.

  “The princess, who was kept in captivity—”

  “I knew her,” Neodyn interrupts, rubbing his finger and thumb together, a nervous habit he’s always presented. “She is dead, then?”

  “Oh, no, My Lord, the princess has escaped!” Kaniel exclaims.

  Whispers and gasps arise from the people in the room. And Neodyn, who looks surprised at the news, raises his hand, causing the whispers and murmurs to die. “Where did you hear this nonsense?” His voice is raised.

  “Because, My King. She is in this room.”

  Ascar looks stunned, as do the king and queen. Awyn walks from behind Aradon, hoping her dirty face and body do not betray her and she is recognized. Neodyn stands up, walking down the steps from his throne. Awyn smiles, seeing her friend as this great king makes her happy. She bows, but as she rises, Neodyn embraces her with a tight hug. She can feel his slight shaking. When he pulls away, he grabs her hands.

  “It is really you?” he says breathlessly.

  Awyn sighs in relief. “Part of me was worried you wouldn’t remember me.”

  He chuckles. “Oh, Awyn. I could never forget the young girl who used to pull my hair and steal my food.” She laughs, and they embrace in another hug, the warmest hug Awyn has felt in nine years. “Come, tell me how you escaped. We will have a great feast tonight to celebrate our reunion!” Servants begin to scatter everywhere to prepare for the feast. He puts his arm around her, and as they walk out of the room, Kaniel, Eldowyn, and Aradon follow. “Lilyara, come, we shall feast tonight.”

  The queen smiles, standing up to walk toward her husband. As she passes, Kaniel, Eldowyn, and Aradon bow their heads, and as Aradon lifts his head, Lilyara’s eyes widen. She pauses, then hesitantly, she follows.

  Aradon observes Neodyn as he sits at the head of the table in the dining hall. Servants bring him food from around the large, white room, a chandelier with crystals and jewels lighting it up. At the long table, Kaniel, Eldowyn and himself sit close to Awyn. She is seated beside Neodyn, his wife sitting across from her, the queen’s hand atop his. Aradon narrows his eyes at the queen. Awyn notices and raises her eyebrow.

  “So, Awyn, how did you escape Lord Tamon and Revera?” she asks, glancing over at Aradon, light beads of sweat dotting her neck and face. Noticing this, he furrows his brow slightly.

  “Well, after nine years, it seems the only thing left to do was to kill me.” Awyn takes a sip of wine. “So that was his plan. But I thought the last nine years should mean something, so I fought back, and escaped into the Dark Woods.”

  A servant drops a dish at the sound of the name. The girl scrambles to pick it up.

  “Luckily, Kaniel found me.”

  The Delcah smiles at the gesture she extends.

  “I wouldn’t have made it here without him.” She looks down the table at him, smiling.

  Lilyara, satisfied, moves on. Her eyes land on Aradon. “And, Aradon, is it?”

  He’s surprised to be called on, but he hopes it doesn’t show. “Oh, uh, yes.”

  “Right,” she says with a soft smile. “How did you meet the Princess of Mera?” An eager, yet cagey look in her eyes.

  “Now, Lily, let’s not get nosy,” Neodyn says as he takes a bite of chicken.

  “Sorry.” She smiles, glancing at Aradon, who’s feeling extremely nervous. He locks eyes with her.

  “I-I’m sorry. D-did he just call you—?” Aradon stops, sweat starts pouring from him, soaking his clothes, as his eyes widen.

  Lily’s gaze bores into him. Everyone stops eating, and they all stare at him, he has never felt more terrified. He stands up abruptly, sweat dripping from his forehead, the salty drops touching his lips.

  “Aradon? Is something wrong?” Awyn asks, looking concerned. He backs up, feeling like a victim of death. All his blood seems to have drained from his body and pooled in his feet. “Aradon? You’re sweating.”

  “U-uh. I-I…I have to—” He races from the room, no doubt leaving a confused group in his wake.

  Leaning against the cool marble wall, trying to get his breathing under control, he listens to what’s being said inside the dining hall.

  “Why-why did he leave just now?” Kaniel asks.

  “You don’t know? He didn’t tell you?” Lilyara scoffs. “Of course, he didn’t tell you.” She sighs. “He’s a Red Warrior. He killed my parents when he was younger.” Her voice tightens. “He was Slayer.”

  “Slayer.” Neodyn repeats in shock. “The most dangerous Red Warrior in recorded history, besides—”

  “The Bowman.” Awyn’s voice is smaller now. “He’s the Bowman, too.”

  Kaniel gasps, stunned. “How did you—?”

  “He told me. I wasn’t going to tell you, but it seems like his secrets are pretty much in the open now.”

  Lilyara sounds like she’s thrown her napkin down on her plate. “I will take my leave now.” And he can hear her exit a different door without another word.

  The wind ruffles Aradon’s tunic as he leans on the marble balcony, the specks and streaks of gold shining in the moonlight. The stars a million. Ara
don closes his eyes, his head turned to them, the breeze clearing his mind.

  Down below, the city of Thasoe glitters under the light of the night, home fires lit in some windows, others dark for the sleeping citizens. From the balcony, the two pillars are dark in the night, but flames flicker in the large, gold oil pans near the bottom with the two guards standing watch.

  “I never thought I’d see you again.”

  At the voice, Aradon goes cold from head to toe, facing what has been his nightmare for years. Lilyara, draped in her red gown, stands in the lit hallway behind him, her hands clasped.

  “I wanted to forget, but always knew I would never be able to,” he whispers.

  She walks beside him, placing her fair hand on the cold railing. “Forgetting would be…futile.”

  “I wanted to forget for the longest time. But I was told I would never be able to, and that I shouldn’t, so I can remember why I’m not who I used to be.”

  “Oh, Aradon, please. You will always be that young killer, and I will always be that scared little girl.”

  He shifts in discomfort, not understanding. Lilyara’s head tilts slightly, her hair whipping in the gentle breeze. “Inside, deep down—maybe not so deep—we are the same person. I saw you kill my parents, and you let me go. We defined ourselves as those people for so long. I’ve struggled, as you obviously have, but I’ve gotten through it. I’ve stopped defining myself as the scared little girl who saw her parents killed. Instead, I’ve re-thought my past into something bigger. Now, I think of myself as the little girl who never would have become queen if she was not sent to Nethess by the misguided warrior.”

  “Misguided,” Aradon scoffs. “That’s putting it lightly.” He stares into her eyes as he feels her hand on his shoulder.

  “Is it, though? You could have killed me. But you didn’t, at risk of your own life, knowing that the general would kill you. Because of you, I met my loving husband, and now I rule over a kingdom with him, making a difference every day. And you have changed. You freed Rohidia from their wicked king, and the Bowman is what the Red Warriors were intended to be. Remember, an alias is only a name. You are the Bowman.” Aradon feels the wet trail of a tear on his cheek. “Your trainers may have gotten to your mind, but they never touched your heart.”

  Aradon exhales shakily. “I never thought I would see you again. But I always thought if I did—”

  “I’d be less understanding?”

  He looks up at her, nodding slowly. “Yeah, something like that.”

  Lilyara looks out onto the city below. “You helped me accomplish all of this. My husband always thought that Hadore would be more powerful with a beautiful capital, but I was the one who convinced him to act on it.” She looks back at Aradon. “At the beginning of all of this, I wanted to kill you if I ever saw you again. It would have been painful and drawn out.” She pauses for a moment. Her eyes are bright as she looks into his. “I forgave you a long time ago. You should try to forgive yourself.”

  In the morning, Awyn awakes in a soft, silky bed, lush pillows around her, one under her freshly washed hair as her eyelashes flutter open. The sunlight coming from the large windows sparkles. She sits up, wrapping a white, silk robe around her and walks over to one of the windows, opening the arched pane as far as it will go, to smell the fresh breeze of the new morning.

  Turning from the window, she walks behind the white divider, grabbing a royal blue dress that lies on a small bench, and pulls it on. On the other side of the square room, a beautifully decorated comb sits next to a set of eyelid paints, along with lip colors on the vanity. Taking a seat, Awyn looks through them, she’s only ever seen her mother wear them. Picking up the comb, she pulls it through her thick curls, watching as it falls past her chest. She ignores the paints next to her, looking into the silver-lined mirror in front of her, and smiles as her skin slightly sparkles. It’s been a long time since she’s felt fresh and radiant.

  Awyn stands up, opening the large gold trimmed doors. Her bare feet feel the cold touch of the floor as she quietly walks down the gold marble hallway.

  But once outside the palace, she runs into the courtyard and races to the palace stables, where the royals and generals keep their horses. Opening the wooden door, there are about thirty horses residing within the stalls. Seeing one of the Everbreeds, Awyn opens the wooden gate, leading out the white horse. Back at the Kawa, she had blown the whistle, and this fine fella came. She pats his neck, jumping onto his back, gripping his white mane.

  “Let’s go, Blancar.” She had named him after the ancient elf-tongue word for white. He gallops out of the stables, over the courtyard, past the surprised, half-asleep guards, and down the green hill behind the palace.

  Riding on the green plain, there’s a gold road leading to the Temple of Etheless. The ancient building is where the kings of old would go and ask for the Spirits’ blessings in battle. It hasn’t been used for such matters in centuries, and apparently, it’s now only a meeting place for people of the Old Faith.

  Blancar’s hooves clip-clop against the gold pathway that was once covered with white rose petals, thrown by dancing girls in processions the old priests would lead, draped in bright garments. Jewels would hang around the necks of the dancers, and the Fire Crystal would be held by the High Priest, on a pillow of silk, the red surface glowing, telling of the Spirits’ presence.

  Such things haven’t happened for a long time. Hadore wasn’t the only kingdom in Mortal which celebrated the Spirits. But Neodyn has enough respect for the Old Faith to create Thasoe into a city worthy of such a past.

  As she nears the white stone temple, there are cracks and crevices in the old rock, now there’s no one to care for the temple. The large, golden doors, weighing more than ten men, remain open all the time, allowing anyone to enter. Knowing that the Everbreed is part of the Spirit legends, she remains on Blancar as she enters the tall temple.

  Stain glass windows let light of color in. Blues and reds, but dust resides on the once bright glass. Stone slabs—kneelers, Awyn puts together—line the room in rows, some chipped away over time. Pillars draped in rich red silk, have bits of rock at their base, and the cloth is ripped. On the front wall, a giant, white Everstar is painted, signifying the home of the Spirits. A step up to a raised dais, holds what were once five golden thrones at the back of the room, no doubt for the Five Kings of Mortal in the First Age. Strangely enough, the middle one is black.

  She dismounts and walks up, running her fingers along the chilled surface of the black throne. “Idies,” Awyn mumbles under her breath.

  “You would be right, my child.”

  Awyn gasps, turning as a figure emerges from the shadows of the temple. His head is bald, blue eyes piercing, and a purple robe cloaks his not-too-tall figure. A small clap on the floor makes Awyn’s eyes widen at the white wooden staff in his hand.

  “Purple robe. Bald head. Staff.” Muttering, she squints in the dimly lit room, seeing an upside-down black arrow on his forehead. “Tattoo,” she gasps. “You’re a wizard.”

  Awyn stands there, stunned at the man draped in purple. His face is stony, but his eyes soft. He stands only five feet away from her. “You are a wizard, are you not?” she asks, cautiously.

  “My name is Dreema. I am an Arland. A wizard of the Old Faith.”

  “And-and you just lurk around this old temple?”

  He chuckles, his thickly accented voice creating a deep sound. “Some could call it lurking. I have no purpose anywhere else since King Daron died.”

  “W-wait. You knew my father?” She steps forward, looking at this middle-aged man. Who is he, that he knows her father?

  “Ah, you are Awyn. Yes, I thought I recognized her in your beauty.”

  “My mother, Queen Adara.” Awyn smiles slightly, but Dreema’s eyebrows crinkle at this.

  “Yes…well, I knew them both. I even knew Revera. She was a nice girl, but she had...”

  “A darkness?” Awyn finishes, knowing what everyone educ
ated says about the sorceress.

  Dreema nods. “Insightful. You have your father’s traits.”

  Awyn smiles, thinking of her father, and how alike they were. “What are you doing here?” she asks, as he walks over to the Everbreed, Dreema’s arm wrapped around his neck, petting the soft muzzle.

  “I come here often. I feel closest to the Spirits here.” He looks at her. “What are you doing here?”

  “Oh, well I just wanted to go for a ride, but decided to come in here. I was curious.”

  “Well, I’m glad you did. For a long while I’ve wanted to help with the restoration of Mera. I will help you.” He hops onto Blancar and holds out his hand to Awyn. “Come. Let us ride to the palace.”

  Awyn hesitantly looks at the wizard whose arm is extended. She doesn’t even know him, for all she knows he could be working for Revera.

  But after a moment’s hesitation, Awyn sighs, giving up. Any hope she can see, she’ll take. She grabs his hand, hopping onto the horse’s back, and they ride out of the temple.

  Back at the palace courtyard, they hop off the Everbreed, running into the hall, where Neodyn and his queen sit. Kaniel and Aradon stand in the crowd of soldiers and courtiers near them. On the rug under the royals’ feet, a small white kitten plays with a ball of pink yarn.

  “—and then the horse fell on top of me!” Neodyn boasts.

  “I wouldn’t believe that for a second,” the Delcah huffs.

  Lilyara laughs, making the two men look at her. She returns the gaze, her eyes twinkling, twirling a pearl comb in her hand between her fingers.

  “What’s funny, darling?” Neodyn asks, fur draped over his shoulders.

  “Oh, well, I was just laughing because you’ve always exaggerated your mighty feats.” She smirks, her eyes sly. The king returns the look.

  “Ha ha. Yes well, I’ve needed to prove myself to the other kings. I’m merely a flea on their mighty kingdoms, as the youngest ruler.”

  “Oh, dear, you are the best warrior in the Five Kingdoms. Our soldiers would wipe out their existence.” He grasps her hand lovingly.