Beyond the Bridge

by C D Beaudin

  But she isn’t about to break over a man. “Well, it was never going to work. I realize that now.” She sighs sharply enough to mask her wavering voice. “Now the only thing I can count on is my past,” Awyn mumbles.

  Eldowyn’s eyebrows crinkle. “What?” he asks timidly, sounding worried.

  Awyn looks at him. “Olaria told me I can use my darkness—or demons, past—whatever... She thinks it can help me defeat my uncle. It makes sense…in a way.” Eldowyn’s eyes widen, and Awyn raises an eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”

  “The legends are real. Olaria isn’t who she seems,” he says under his breath.

  She frowns but before she can ask him what he means, he drags her into the hallway.

  They round the corner, and the Red Warrior looks nervously at passing elves, his broad and darkly cloaked figure a fish out of water.

  “Aradon!” Awyn yells from across the corridor. “Aradon, wait!” She runs to him, with Eldowyn trailing her, trying to catch up.

  “Good morning, Awyn,” he says as she approaches him, the worried Eldowyn coming up shortly behind her. He looks at the elf. “Ah, I see you found him.”

  “Yes, in a very awkward situation.” Awyn glances at the elf, feeling her cheeks infusing with a blush, and Eldowyn himself looks a bit uncomfortable.

  “Anyway, how are you this morning?” Aradon asks.

  “Well, besides the talk I had with Olaria last night—”

  Aradon whips her around, grasping her shoulders. “Olaria talked to you? When?” The elf and the Red Warrior exchange worried glances, and Eldowyn shakes his head.

  “Last night. Anyway, so she told me how Arleaand came to be. How her mother was killed when she was younger, and she used her broken past to bring her to where she is now. How I can too—”

  “We have to get out of here. Now!” He takes her arm, and the three of them make a run for it.

  Outside the palace, Awyn huffs in tiredness and rage. She pushes Aradon, feeling mad and confused. “What the heck! Aradon! What are you doing?” she yells.

  Eldowyn and Aradon look at each other. “She’s…trying to destroy you,” Eldowyn says.

  Awyn looks at him like he’s out of his mind. “Olaria is helping me.”

  “No. She’s trying to get you to kill yourself,” Aradon says.

  Awyn laughs, crossing her arms. “No, she’s not. You guys don’t know what you’re talking about.” Eldowyn puts his hand on her shoulder as Aradon crosses his arms, both obviously worried about her well-being. She wants this hope. She needs it.

  “Awyn, your demons will destroy you from within. You can’t use it to win a war,” the elf says.

  Confused, Awyn looks at him, her gaze narrowing. “She warned me, though,” Awyn mutters, trying to convince herself as much as them that they’re wrong. That whatever hope she has left wasn’t fake.

  “Don’t be so naïve, Awyn.” The sharpness of Aradon’s voice makes her flinch. “Yes, she warned you. To get you to trust her. But she knows it will be too late when you begin to realize you have to fight it off,” Aradon explains. “Demons can’t be played with, Awyn. And they can’t be used.”

  Awyn feels her eyes water, as her newfound hope is ripped from her. Aradon understands her. She has to listen to him…

  “But, Revera—”

  “Revera was always evil. You can’t compare yourself with her,” Eldowyn says.

  Awyn is now understanding, but still reluctant to admit it to herself. It was my own fault. I dared to hope. And now I have disappointed myself. She swallows and takes a breath, looking up at them. “Let’s get out of here. We need to get to the temple.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “How are we going to get out of here?” Awyn asks, the three of them hiding in a small alcove within the large cavern, trying to stay out of sight. “We can’t just walk out. Olaria knows everything.”

  “Not everything,” Aradon says. “Her threats are empty. If she knows I’m a Besged she would have had me shackled the moment we walked off that rock. Or maybe even killed. I’ll get us out of here.”

  “How?” Eldowyn asks.

  “The elf does not know?” Aradon asks, seeming surprised.

  “Not the whole of my kind are all-knowing,” Eldowyn says.

  “Have you ever seen a Besged at work?” Aradon asks, a hint of pride in his voice.

  Awyn’s eyes widen. She had no idea he was a Besged. What other secrets are you hiding? He has so many…it can make it hard to trust him.

  But she hopes she hides her doubt well.

  “Not that I recall.” Eldowyn looks at Awyn. “Have you?”

  She raises a doubtful eyebrow. “I have been locked up in a cell for the past nine years. Of course not.” They both look at Aradon, whose smile holds pride, and just a hint of rage. But that could just be his default.

  “It’s a surge of pure power.” He turns from them, his posture straighter. His whole gait is different. Coming out of the shadows, she and the elf watch him as he walks into the middle of the courtyard.

  “What is he doing?” Awyn whispers to Eldowyn.

  “I’m not sure, but if he’s about to do what I think he’s about to do, we should—” A loud, thundering vibration reverberates through the entire cavern. They hold on as the floor rumbles.

  Awyn looks over at Aradon’s feet. Under his boot, there are cracks in the rock. Her eyes widen in shock, but her amazement is interrupted as they watch scores of guards march toward him, servants and citizens running every which way, running for their lives.

  “Is that what you were thinking?” Awyn yells over the rumbling.

  “Sort of.” The two of them run to stand beside their friend, swords in hand. Awyn grips her handle, looking at the small army around them and lets out a sharp breath.

  As if on cue, the army charges back at them. All around the three travelers, elves attack them with swords, arrows, and spears. With the three of them back to back, Eldowyn yells, “Don’t die!”

  “Won’t be a problem!” Awyn says, stabbing an elf in the stomach as he comes at her. She breathes heavily, feeling what murderers must feel. She closes her eyes, and a strange—almost tragic—but calming serenity flows through her. She opens her eyes, new strength infusing her being.

  As Eldowyn and Aradon fight elsewhere, Awyn fends off three attackers. They stab at her, and she slashes one of them to the ground, his brown hair falling over his eyes. She turns as a kick slams into her side, and brings down her sword upon another one, the metallic crash sounding in the air. Awyn looks into her opponent’s blue eyes, and grabs his arm, pulling him in close, sliding the sword into his stomach.

  She yelps as a sharp, stabbing sensation gets her attention. Looking down, blood seeps from her ankle. Awyn whirls around, tackling the elf behind her. They scrap and grapple, both trying to gain control of the fight. The elf below her claws at her face, gouging down her cheek, and the wet sensation of blood drips down her face. He knocks the sword out of her hand, and it flies through the air, landing twenty feet away from her.

  Awyn’s eyes widen as an elf tugs at her collar, a sensation she’s felt before. She lands on the ground, the elf on top of her. It’s her turn to claw and scrap. Her nails dig into his neck, making him grunt in pain, his teeth clenching. She holds his arms away from her, but he pushes against her, and she fights back. He tries to bring a knife down to her eye, but she dodges it, and flips him over onto his back. She has absolutely no idea how she did that, but she doesn’t care at the moment. In his moment of confusion, she runs to her sword, swinging it, to find eight more elves coming at her. The one she’d just been fighting, leading the charge.

  Awyn ducks as an arrow flies through the air, directed at her chest. Grabbing a nearby spear, she throws it. It pierces one of the soldiers in the chest, and he stumbles backward, crumpling to the ground. The elf coughs up blood, the thick substance dripping along his neck, and he stops moving.

  “Awyn!” Aradon yells from somewhere in the fray, slashing
his sword across necks and stomachs, stabbing backs. He grips cloaks, pulling elves back to the ground, killing them instantly. Pulling out his bow, he shoots one of the six elves Awyn is fighting off. “Awyn!” he calls out in alarm.

  “Aradon. I’m all right!” Her eyes widen. “Aradon! Behind you.”

  He turns at her warning, shooting two more elves in the chest and leg, and they slide to the ground.

  “No!” Awyn yells as Aradon is knocked to the ground. He turns onto his back, and an elf with a mace stands over him, the metal, spiked ball swinging over his head, ready to crush his bones. It’s brought down on his stomach. A suffocating blow. He chokes, spitting out blood. Another blow, this time to his chest. He wheezes, his eyes rolling back. He turns onto his stomach, struggling to get away from the elf but is being dragged back.

  Just as Awyn is breaking free to help him, Aradon is dropped. A sharp gasp and an elf falls beside Aradon, an arrow in his back.

  Eldowyn stands only a few feet away.

  “Thanks,” Aradon says, struggling to his feet, his hand clasping his chest. He grabs his sword. “When did you get that?” He motions to the bow.

  “I picked it up off the ground. Turns out I’m great with a bow.” The elf shrugs.

  Aradon rolls his eyes.

  To Awyn’s surprise, despite the beating he’s just taken, he takes a deep breath, color and strength seeming to return as if he’s already healing, and quickly. It would have surprised her more if she hadn’t just found out he’s a Besged, and she wonders why he didn’t use it previously when she first met him at Kaniel’s. He gets up, running off into the thinning scores of elves.

  “How many left?” Awyn yells to…anyone, really, as she knives the throat of a red-haired elf, blood spurting from his neck.

  The small army has thinned immensely. Olaria can’t send out all her forces, in case she’s attacked by another army, but at least five score attacked them. Awyn, taking a breath, panting, sweating, counts around thirty soldiers left. She staggers, tired, and in pain. “We can’t keep doing this.” Her eyes flutter, and she stumbles in weakness.

  “Are you okay?” Aradon asks as he runs over.

  “Yeah just...” She looks at her hands, bloodstained and dirty. “Blood. So much blood. Is this my blood?”

  Aradon looks at her, worried. “Yeah.”

  By the way he avoids eye contact, she can tell he’s lying to her. I killed so many people. She closes her eyes, shaking her head, trying to focus. The elves are regrouping, catching their breath, as are they.

  Eldowyn looks around the wall they’re hidden behind. “We have to get out of here. We don’t have the strength to keep going,” Eldowyn says, out of breath.

  “I thought elves never get tired,” Awyn says, still flustered from the blood. Eldowyn rolls his eyes. “But I do agree with you.” She turns to the silent Aradon. “Aradon? What do we do?”

  “What we do is jump.” Eldowyn and Awyn look at him, confused. How would that help?

  “That’s…your plan?” Awyn asks, dumbfounded. The city below is a fairly far drop.

  “Yeah.”

  “We might as well charge into the thirty armed elves with no weapons,” she says. “We would never make it.”

  “Ah, see, that’s where you’re wrong.” He moves in closer. “If I jump first, I can catch both of you. We can get out of here undetected since all the villagers are hiding in their homes—which happen to have windowless walls and doors.”

  “But…won’t Olaria see you? Hear you? I mean, Besgeds aren’t exactly inconspicuous,” Awyn points out.

  Aradon gives her a small smile. “I’ll be fine. We’ll all be fine. I get that you’re afraid of death, but—”

  “Afraid of death? Afraid of dying?” Her lip curves, in a twisted, halfhearted smirk. “I’m just afraid of not getting the chance to live.”

  Aradon and Eldowyn shoot her puzzled looks.

  “But that doesn’t mean I want to leave this world today.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Aradon says again, and walks out of hiding behind the wall, drawing the elves’ attention to him. They charge at him, and with one stomp of his foot, ten of them scream as their bones break, the sound sickening and loud. They crumple to the ground, broken. Awyn and Eldowyn watch in disbelief. The twenty or so elves left, cower, hesitating to move forward.

  Awyn covers her eyes as a bright blue light appears between the Besged and what’s left of the small portion of the army. When the light fades, Olaria stands there in white, her hair done up in braids, pinned by one of those blue flowers. Her blue skin sparkles in the magical light of the cave. She glares at the Red Warrior, who stands looking directly at her. There seems to be no fear in his body.

  “Red Warrior. What have you done?” she yells, powerfully.

  Aradon’s chin lifts. “I have protected my friend from you.”

  “I was trying to help her,” Olaria says, lies written all over her face. “Trying to guide her.”

  “You were trying to kill her!” Aradon yells furiously. His knuckles turn white as he clutches his bow. He takes a deep, shaky breath. “What did Revera promise you?” He looks her in the eyes, and seems calmer, but the vein in his neck is still prominent. “Hmm? Riches? A bigger army? The promise of Radian?”

  Olaria smiles. “You think I’m so petty, that I want riches? More power? No, Aradon. I want revenge. I want to watch as those who tortured me burn in an eternal fire, their pain never stopping, their screams turning their throat into a cup filled with blood. I want to watch them suffer.”

  “Isn’t that a bit drastic when it comes to bullies?” he asks.

  Olaria scoffs. “Bullies? They killed my mother for producing a…a monster. I was alone. I was abused, raped, used, tortured. Mind, body…and soul.” Her eyes close as tears fall down her cheek. “No, Aradon. They were not bullies.” She looks so pitiful at this moment, but Aradon’s face hardens.

  “You used what made you unique, what made you beautiful, and turned it into a way to get what you want.” A smirk grows on his face. “You were bluffing earlier, when you said you knew my secrets.”

  Olaria’s sorrow turns to impatience in a second. “Yes, well, if I knew you were actually a Besged, then I would have killed you the moment you stepped foot off that rock.”

  “Exactly what I said.” Aradon and Olaria stare at each other, both their eyes seeming to pierce through the other’s skin. It’s Aradon who breaks the silence. “So, are you going to let us go, now?”

  Olaria smiles. “No.”

  The elves charge as if that was the cue to attack him. He turns to the fleeing Olaria. “You can’t get rid of me so easily. I’m a Besged! I will destroy your army.”

  “Then it will be good sport,” she calls back over her shoulder, walking into the palace.

  The elves reach them and attack Aradon. Eldowyn goes to run, but Awyn stops him. She grabs his sword and looks the elf in the eyes. “I’ll be back.”

  He nods, and they part.

  Eldowyn jumps into the fray with Aradon, who furiously stabs backs, slashing stomachs, and cutting throats.

  Awyn, going in the opposite direction, sneaks into the palace.

  She walks through the empty hall, no guards or servants anywhere to be seen. She loosens her grip on her—well, Eldowyn’s sword. At the front of the hall, Olaria’s throne seems to lure her. She walks up the rug-covered steps, placing her hand on the cold surface of the white throne.

  “You’re going to sit on one of those someday.”

  Awyn turns to find Olaria standing below, one of the doors open behind her. She walks toward Awyn, who grows more and more cautious.

  “Well, I mean you would. But...” She looks Awyn up and down, pity in her eyes. “You aren’t going to live that long.”

  Awyn’s eyes widen in realization. “Revera never told you to kill me.” Awyn narrows her eyes.

  Olaria’s eyebrows rise. “Impressive. No, I know she would want to kill you herself. You know that too.
”

  “So then, why do you want to kill me?” Awyn asks, still hazy on that part.

  “He wanted me to. Said that it would serve a friend of his well.”

  “Who?” Awyn asks, not sure if she even wants to know.

  Olaria smirks. “The Last Lieutenant.”

  “Karak!” Revera thunders up the stairs of Marduth, fury on her face. She slams open the door, stomping to the middle of the room. She looks around, looking deeply into the shadows. “Where are you, Karak?” The room is silent, except for the thumping of drums and dancing below the tower. The Tarken still have some of their native skills and desires in them. Darkness can’t drown out everything good.

  “I suppose you are angry with me about something?” Karak says as he slips into the light, his white face shadowy.

  “Why did you order Olaria to kill our princess?” she yells, pushing his chest. He’s rock hard and doesn’t move from his position at her shove.

  “I know it may be a shock to you, but I want to be free of my chains. The only way that can happen is if she reveals herself. I was just quickening the process.” His devilish smile slinks across his lips. “It’s all about the end result, Revera, not the means in which you obtain that result.”

  “But I want to kill her! I want to look into her eyes as I tear out her heart, Karak.”

  He seems amused with her anger.

  A smile grows on his face, and Revera’s fury grows ten times hotter. “Why are you smiling?”

  “You are just so pretty when you’re mad.” His eyes are thin and coy.

  Revera glares at him but feels calmer.

  He walks up to her, inches from her face. “You got to remember, darling. I can destroy you.” He smiles. “You know, Olaria is too cold.” He smirks. “I can’t remember the last time I tasted warm lips.” He brushes his white, cold thumb over her mouth. He lifts her chin to his, their lips touching. They kiss passionately, him controlling it. He wraps his muscular arms around her waist, pulling her in closer, the black velvet of her dress crushing beneath his hands. Revera wraps her arms around his neck, her bare arms brushing against his shirt.