by Ben Alderson
Before my eyes, the smoke hold around Illera settled and her body dropped. Before she hit the ground, she came to a stop as the black smoke gathered around her neck.
My panic set in as her face turned blue and the whites of her eyes red.
“Quick now, Zacriah.”
“TELL ME WHAT to do!” I screamed as Illera’s legs kicked out in the air. Her hands tried to grapple with the smoke that held her in the air. As I choked out my words, Illera lost consciousness. “Tell me!”
“I knew I could show you the importance of following my orders,” the Druid said.
“Please,” I pleaded.
“Marthil, you know what to do.”
The girl pulled my arm with strength that ripped me from the ground. I almost fell as she dragged me to the marble slab. When we both stood before it, her hand morphed into sharp claws and scaled skin. Before I could react, she raked her claw down my palm until my blood spilled across the stone floor. As the sting made my head spin, she cut her own palm until black blood joined with my red. Then, with brute force, she slammed my palm and hers onto the slab’s surface.
“Your blood is as important as your soul,” the Druid said. “Very important indeed.”
A hiss of air sounded beneath us, brushing against our feet. The marble slab rose, lifting from the ground until it hovered high above us both.
“Give it to me,” the Druid shouted, pointing to the object that spun slowly in midair before us. The Staff of Light, a knot of dark wood with an obsidian stone rested neatly like a crown.
There, right before me, was the key to healing Hadrian. But to take it for myself would mean sacrificing Illera’s life. I didn’t waste another moment. Sticking my hand into the open prison and taking the Staff, I threw it with the biggest force towards the Druid. No longer in need of Illera, he flicked his hand, and she dropped to the ground. The sound of her body as it collided with the stone ground made me shout in discomfort.
The Druid effortlessly plucked the Staff from the air and smiled, releasing a pleasured breath. “After all these years, you have returned to me.”
He spoke to the Staff like it understood him.
In the distraction, I took my only chance. I spun around, widening my wings so they slammed into Marthil. She stumbled back, the ground rumbling, but I moved quicker. I clapped my hands together, sending a blast of wind her way. It collided with her until she flew across the room and slammed into the stone wall.
With a breath, I called for my wind and reached for the Druid whose attention was on the Staff. With speed of lightning, he raised the Staff before him and slammed it into the ground. It made no noise, but its effect was obvious. The breath in my lungs was snatched from my body, and I toppled over. I clawed at my throat, trying to retrieve my breath, but I couldn’t find it.
“Try a move like that again, and I will let Marthil show you how she treats bad people.”
My breath came rushing back to me as the Druid pulled the Staff towards him.
“She seems to get along with you just fine,” I shouted, slicing a hand towards the floor in another rushed attempt at hurting him. My body jerked backwards, and I flew off my feet. Stars burst behind my head as it connected with the floor.
I looked up and saw two of Marthil standing above me, fists clicking together. Her devilish grin spurred me on. I kicked up, using my winds to push myself from the floor. I felt my foot connect with her stomach and watched as she stumbled back.
“Enough!” Marthil screamed, and the ground copied. Rage plastered her face red as she raised her hands and the ground raised with them. I watched the snaking crack spread from beneath her feet towards me and the rubble that raised from the gap. The pelts of dirt and stone hovered around her as her hands shook with anticipation. I knew what was coming next.
Her hands burst forward, and with it, the earth followed. My wings wrapped themselves around me, cocooning me in leather protection. But it didn’t stop the pain. As the pelts rained down on me, I felt them rip into my wings, cutting and slashing.
“Marthil, you have made your point,” the Druid said, voice calm and unbothered, as if he didn’t want her to stop at all.
The attack of stone ceased at his words.
“We have the Staff and Zacriah. I think it’s time we pay our home a visit.”
Marthil’s voice was still speckled with anger. “I want to be the one to kill him when the time comes.”
“Where are you taking me?” I coughed.
“Since Olderim was taken from me, I think it’s time I take Lilioira from those who spoiled my plans.”
Lilioira. No.
“They will kill you the minute you step foot through the city gates,” I shouted, my wings stinging.
The Druid shook his head, twisting the knotted wood Staff in his hands. The black crystal embedded at the crest a piece of sharp obsidian caught the moonlight across its dull surface. “They can try. They will fail. If you think I am walking in without insurance of some kind, you are mistaken, my boy. Marthil, prepare our guests for the journey.”
Marthil shot forward and pulled me from the ground. She yanked my arms behind my back and something tight wrapped around my two wrists. Whatever it was squeezed and hardened. It felt like a bracelet of stone. There was no point in fighting it, my wings were useless and whatever power the Staff held also made my magick weak. I gave into my elven form and sagged in Marthil’s hold.
Illera was still unconscious on the ground. When Marthil walked over to her, I willed her to stay down. Please be alive, I pleaded.
Marthil checked on Illera.
It all happened so quickly. Illera burst into black shadow, disorienting Marthil. In the time it took me to gasp, Illera was her white lion again, and she pounced through dissipating shadow and sunk her jaw into Marthil’s arm. Marthil scream was so loud I shied away. Black blood stained Illera’s snowy face as it poured from the wound and covered the floor. Marthil fell back in time for the Druid to slam the end of the Staff into Illera’s temple. She crumpled once again.
“I never liked cats,” he spat. “Marthil, get up. Now!”
Marthil’s face was paled as she clung onto her arm. I gagged on the floor as I took in the extent of damage. Muscle and ripped flesh hung in chunks, dripping black blood. Her entire body was shaking. I tried to wriggle free from my constraints, but I couldn’t break them.
I needed to get out. I needed to get Illera and leave. But my wings were in tatters and the pain was almost unbearable.
In my peripheral, movement caught my attention. The Druid raised the Staff and the black stone seemed to pulse. I felt it in my bones as it expanded and contracted. The power was strong; my eyes became heavy.
Marthil howled as the Druid placed the crystal into her wound, and her entire arm turned black. Steam hissed at the touch and the wounds slowed their bleeding. Her breathing shallowed, and her eyes rolled back in her head as the Druid mumbled into her ear. The marks on his body seeped darkness as he placed whatever spell he spilled from his wretched mouth.
In moments, the bleeding had stopped completely, and Marthil was standing, flexing her healed arm. Skin had knitted together, covering the bite completely.
“Let me grind her,” Marthil sang, stepping toward the lion that caused her pain. “We don’t need her. Let me kill her. Someone. Something.”
Marthil was childish when she spoke.
“Take my word, as soon as we reach our home, she is all yours. I gift her as your play thing, do as you will with her. But first, we must get there.”
“Don’t touch her!” I shouted, my attempt at keeping my voice serious failed me.
“Oh, my boy, has the severity of our situation finally sunk in? Have you just realized the truth of what is about to happen?” He walked over to me slowly, the Staff hitting the ground with each step. “I am going to take the city as my own. In truth, I am glad my attempts at controlling Olderim have failed. It was a weak city with equally weak inhabitants. Niraen elves were a bad choice even after I g
ifted them with a unique skill. But Lilioira is the home of the most powerful Alorian elves and the strongest soldiers in this world. All of which will belong to me, thanks to you.” He stopped before me, a tall shadow of dread. “We leave now.”
I needed to warn Nyah and give her time to get as many people out of Lilioira as she could.
Nyah, leave the city. The Druid has the Staff. He is coming. I sent my awareness out, crashing into her mind.
As if the Druid sensed it, he turned back on me like a snake, whipping his head around and with it, his hand. My cheek stung as he back handed me.
“Do that again and I will let Marthil have her way with my traitor right now,” the Druid shouted. I looked to Illera and Marthil, who toyed with three rugged stones, which spun above her hand. “Do I make myself clear?”
I nodded slowly. I only hoped Nyah heard me. I could feel her cold presence requesting entry in my mind, but I kept my mental wall strong.
“Now we wait for our informant to open our means of travel,” the Druid mused, staring at the dark wall to our left. He closed his eyes briefly and his marks flashed with darkness. Then a rush of wind coughed into existence and a jeweled hand paused through the shadows of the wall.
“Marthil, I trust you can take your play thing. Leave your brother to me.” He grabbed my shoulder with a vise like grip, then we moved towards the shadow and reaching hand.
His touch pained me. I looked toward his hand as he yanked me forward and spied four rings, each made of gold. They drained me, pulling my magick into his shadow.
My eyes grew heavy, but I tried to fight the urge to give in. I needed to stay awake.
We passed into the shadow. The floor dropped from beneath me and the cold of the Druid keep was replaced for the fire warmth of Queen Kathine’s throne room.
FOR ONE WEIGHTLESS moment, all I saw was darkness. It lasted for no longer than a blink of my eye. With a great tug from the Druid, I stepped through the circlet of shadow into a familiar room.
The first person I saw as we stepped into the throne room was Jasrov. He stood beyond Cristilia, who was guiding the Druid through the portal. It was her hand the Druid had a hold of. Jasrov was shouting, but all I could hear was white noise. My vision kept blurring. Jasrov pulled something from the wall beside him and rushed forward, his mouth open in a silent scream.
He passed Cristilia and reached the Druid. The steel blade crumbled at impact, folding in on itself as it came into contact with the Druid’s stomach. I tried to shout for Jasrov to run, but my voice would not work. I watched Jasrov’s face morph into confusion and look up into the Druid’s dark gaze.
The world seemed to slow. The Druid dropped me, and all sound came rushing back at the lack of the gold’s touch. I slumped to the ground as the Druid wrapped his large hand around Jasrov throat and lifted him into the air. Jasrov dangled, hand clenched around his throat. The sword he had picked up clattered to the floor.
Marthil clapped from somewhere behind me.
The Druid did not speak. The only noise shared between them was the deafening snap of Jasrov’s neck as the Druid violently twisted. All the life in Jasrov’s eyes blinked out of existence, and his mouth drooped open before he was discarded to the floor. Dead weight, he was thrown carelessly across the room where he landed in a heap.
My eyes filled with tears, and my breath was snatched from my lungs. I stared helplessly at Jasrov’s lifeless body where he lay, his face looking directly at me. I tried to form his name on my lips, but it died alongside him. He did not blink; he did not move.
He was no more.
A piercing cry lit the room, and I dragged my gaze away from Jasrov to see Bell. She stepped out from beside one of the large vases where she had hidden.
“A familiar; what a waste.”
Bell’s head turned from side to side as she looked upon her elf. I could see the confusion painted on her small red face. She ran over to him and stopped beside his head.
In that moment, I cared no mind for the Druid and what he did. Not in that moment. My heart shattered into a million pieces as Bell began licking the leaking tears from Jasrov’s face. She lapped them up, cleaning his paling face. Then she lay down beside him, curling up into a ball in the crock of Jasrov’s broken neck. I watched her small chest rise and fall. Then after a final shuddering breath, it ceased. Her final breath was peaceful as she joined her master.
“I am sorry,” I heard someone cry.
I snapped my head towards it.
Cristilia was kneeling beneath the Druid, her usual calm exterior shattered. Her hands clasped together, begging, fear evident as her façade shattered.
“Stand,” the Druid commanded.
“You promised. You said no one would die,” Cristilia cried. “I just want my sister.”
Marthil stepped forward, dragging Illera by her legs. Cristilia looked up at her mirror image and stopped her begging. She clutched at her chest.
“Sister.” The word was no more than a whispered breath. “Marthil, it’s me. We are together, finally.”
“Would you just look at me, bringing family together,” the Druid said.
Marthil regarded Cristilia like a stranger. Her gaze spoke a million words. That was a look of someone who had no idea who the person that stood before her was. They were sisters, that was clear. A spitting image. But Marthil looked beyond Cristilia with no more thought.
“Who is this who claims to be my sister?” Marthil asked to the Druid. “The woman who left me alone, allowed my own people exile me?”
“The very one.”
Marthil cut her gaze back to Cristilia, who was shaking with sobs.
“I just wanted to help you, everything I have done was to finally help you,” Cristilia cried out.
“Let me kill her.” Marthil scaled face twisted in anger as she shouted. The room shook under her anger.
“No, sister. I never… whatever he told you is a lie—” Cristilia ran forward. “I helped you. I did everything he said to help you, to get the Staff. It will fix you.”
The moment she got close to Marthil, she was backhanded across the room. Her body slumped into the wall. When she looked up, a trickle of black blood ran down from the corner of her lip.
The Druid, visually pleased with this altercation, reached for Marthil to stop her from attacking. “We have time for this la—”
The doors to the throne room burst open. Frothing water greeted us, knocking Cristilia, Marthil and the Druid to the ground. It did not touch Jasrov or I, nor did it reach Illera where she was dropped.
Gushing azure waves spun like a vortex around them, keeping them to the ground.
“Emaline!” I muttered. I took the moment to try and get up, but my body did not respond.
“And here I was thinking our last encounter put you off, Druid.” Emaline spat his title.
He had no chance to respond as he spun over and over in the prison of water.
“End this,” Queen Kathine said. I had not noticed as she stood in silver armor, two curved swords raised in her hands behind Emaline.
“How dare you step foot in my kingdom without invitation, Druid,” the Queen screamed. “Prepare to meet your end.”
I tried to locate the Druid in the rush of water. I finally spotted his dark, wet hair. He raised the Staff and brought it down into the water. I watched in horror as the water split like a curtain, moving away from him.
Free of Emaline’s grasp, he stood tall and confronted the Queen.
“Why would I need an invitation into my own home?”
Emaline’s face was pure shock as her water receded from the room. I could see her concentration as she tried to regain control, but the power of the Staff was stronger than her magick. It pulsed with dark light, emanating from the stone that crowned it.
As Cristilia stood from the water and helped Marthil up, Queen Kathine’s voice filled with rage. They both dripped with water, hair in wet clumps and face streaked with it.
“I trusted you, wit
ch.” Queen Kathine’s voice was pinned for Cristilia. Kathine pointed one sword at the Druid and the other to Cristilia, who pinched her eyes closed.
“Family comes first, Kathine, you should know that more than anyone.”
“It would seem I do not know what you mean by family, Cristilia. Not the type you have at least.” Queen Kathine raised the curved blade up higher in threat. “What I do know is you will look beautiful with my blade pierced through your neck. I always admired your appearance when dressed in silver.”
Cristilia dropped her arms to her side, and two dark axes burst from her shadow. She sprang up, legs apart, but her attempt was weak. Queen Kathine growled and moved to swing the sword, but the Druid called out.
“I am afraid, Queen Kathine, I cannot let you kill Cristilia. As much of a pain as she is, that was a gift only her sister can have.” He stepped forward, dragging the Staff across the ground. With each step, the floor dried of water in steams of hissing puffs.
“Another step and your head will be mine,” Queen Kathine sneered.
This was her home, the birthplace of her people and children. I could see the territorial nature burning off her.
The Druid tutted, causing the skin on my arms to prickle.
“I have waited in the shadows for a long time, Kathine. My time has kept a fire burning within me, a passion for control. If you think I will let you stop me, then you are wrong. Now, I think it is time you show your new King some respect.” He raised the Staff with both hands and brought it down to the ground. As it touched the marble floor of the throne room, he spoke a final word.
“Bow.”
The throbbing of the Staff’s power pushed me down until my forehead touched the cold marble. Both Emaline and Queen Kathine dropped to the floor as well. Discomfort spread along their face as their knees collided with ground.
“That is much better. Marthil…” The Druid turned his hand behind him and Marth stepped away from her sister, who was also forced beneath the Staff’s power. “Bring down the gates. I do not want anyone leaving or coming without me knowing from now on.”
