by Jenny McKane
Avalon gasped in horror. The people were dragged into an outlying building, and then the richly clothed man turned to the others.
“This sacrifice is in the name of Agnor,” he declared. “The Unseen shall be cleansed from this realm.”
Avalon’s mind started to spin, violently. She needed to get away from this place instantly. She turned and ran back into the woods, sprinting until she was at a safe distance. Then she collapsed onto the ground, her chest heaving.
Tears fell down her face. She could feel them, hot and salty against her skin.
She turned and retched, her stomach heaving. When she had finished, she wiped her mouth, her hands shaking.
It was true. It was all true. Everything that Skyresh had told her about the Jarle and how they kept camps to kill people.
Everything that she had been brought up to believe in was a lie.
The Jarle weren’t benevolent rulers. They were an evil regime, just as Skyresh had said. And she had been a part of that regime. Willingly. Her only ambition in life had been to become a guardian of the realm, a fierce warrior intent on keeping the Stromel in their place and wiping out rebellion against the order.
She was as bad as all of them. She might as well have dragged those people away and killed them with her own hands. Their cries and pleas for mercy would haunt her forever.
She had betrayed Skyresh and the others for nothing. For a lie. They had all been telling her the truth, over and over. She had refused to listen, even when doubt had started clouding her mind. Even when she had recognized that magic did exist. Even after she had seen, with her own eyes, the animals in the Outlying Zone. And even after the vision, which had come upon her in the temple ruins.
It had been a sign; she saw that clearly now. She still didn’t know what it signified, but it had been real. Just like the dream was a sign.
She wept again. Skyresh would not believe that she knew the truth now. If she tried to get back to him, he would kill her. That was if he and the others were even still alive. She thought of Minna, lying on the ground, the gash on her head bleeding onto the forest floor. Was Minna alive? Shame washed over her—so intense that she squeezed her eyes shut.
She had to get back to them. It was probably too late, but she had to try. She couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t.
She was so very weary, but she got to her feet again. It would be harder in the dark, but she knew the way back towards Stianfjord.
A vision of Skyresh filled her mind, as she quickly darted back through the trees. His face staring at her. His eyes. He had given her chance after chance. He had saved her life more than once.
Now it was time to repay that favor—even if she was killed in the attempt.
***
Avalon crept through the woods. It was so dark; the moon was hidden by clouds and could not aid her journey, and then snow started to fall relentlessly.
But she had to keep going. One foot in front of the other, she told herself. She was so tired that she had to fight to keep her eyelids from closing.
Eventually, she started to recognize the area. She was getting close. It was too dark to see the building on the ledge, where she had sent Skyresh and the others, but she knew the way now.
She climbed upwards, hearing his voice in her mind, chiding her for being so competitive. It was true; she had let competition rule her life, and for what? Nothing. She had thought she had a true purpose, a meaning. She was working towards a great career, as a Grey Guard, and now it was all lying in ashes around her.
Her whole life had been meaningless. Skyresh had been right. He had told her that her life was wasted. She had put her trust in an evil regime. Bitterness tore through her. If she had even had an inkling of what was truly happening…and what had happened. When had the Jarle conquered this realm? Because the Essential History was a lie, as well, just as Skyresh had told her.
The Year Zero did not exist. The Jarle had not ruled here since the beginning of time. They had conquered this realm. There had been a Time Before, as Skyresh said—a time when magic had ruled the land and temples honoring the Goddess had stood. A time when animals had roamed and been allies of the people.
She stopped suddenly. She had always known this—somehow. The knowledge had been inside of her, yearning to be seen. The dream. Her connection with her beloved horse, feeling that she could hear him, if only she could find a way. The little girl at the Stromel settlement, staring at her. And then, the vision.
You have no name, the Goddess had told her. Your name was not revealed, the old woman had cried. Who was the old woman? And why had they kept insisting she was unnamed?
She was almost there. She recognized the path they had taken toward the back of the building.
She found a last burst of energy and sprinted toward where the rebels had crouched, deciding what to do.
Minna was gone. Avalon stared down at the spot where she had left her, her mind numb. All was quiet.
What should she do? Had they escaped and left the area? Or were Skyresh and the others inside the building, under arrest?
“Turn around.” A voice was close behind her. “Slowly.”
She turned. A man stood there, holding a sword towards her. He was dressed in the winter clothing of the area, but there was something in his manner that made her think he wasn’t Stromel.
“Walk ahead,” he said. “Toward the building.”
She did as he commanded. He led her to the back of the building, opening a door, and pushed her inside. She blinked, twice. High burning torches illuminated a long hallway. He pushed her again, and she kept walking until they got to a side room.
He opened the door and pushed her inside. There were guards against the wall, and in the center of the room, tied to chairs, were Skyresh, Brunn, and Sondre.
Avalon gasped. Skyresh stared at her, hatred filling his blue eyes. She could see a bruise, darkening along his left cheekbone and a small trickle of blood from a wound on his forehead.
Behind him, lying on a small bed, was Minna. Her eyes were closed, and Avalon could see that the gash on her forehead had been roughly bound. Avalon breathed a small sigh of relief. At least she was still alive. She hadn’t killed her.
The man that had led her into the room turned to her, his eyes cold.
“Guardian Lund, I presume?” he said, sheathing his sword. “Why did you run away after you led the rebels here?”
Avalon’s blood ran cold. He knew who she was.
“No matter.” He stared at her, his eyes coldly assessing. “You have done a superlative job. We have interrogated the rebels, and they informed us that you led them to believe that there was a large weapon base located here.”
Avalon nodded. Her head was spinning. How could she salvage this situation? How could she turn the tables and free them? It was impossible. There were at least four guards in here, as well as the man speaking to her. She would be overpowered in an instant, and she had been running through mountain trails for hours. She was so tired; she could barely stand.
“I can see that you are tired,” said the man. “Perhaps we can speak after you have rested. I would be interested to know how you fooled them.”
“She lied,” spat Skyresh, staring at her intensely. “That’s how she fooled us.”
Avalon opened her mouth to protest, but then closed it again. There was no point in telling him here that she finally believed him, that she had returned to try to save him. She would be arrested alongside them. And what good would that do? Better to rest, then formulate a plan.
There had to be a way, she thought desperately. But her mind refused to function.
“I will tell you everything,” she whispered, turning to the man. “But you are right. I am so tired I can barely stand.”
The man nodded. “Come this way, Guardian Lund. We have a bedroom you can use.”
He led her to the door, opening it for her. She stood for a moment, gazing back at Skyresh and the others.
He was still sta
ring at her, his vivid blue eyes rivetted on her face, and then, he spat onto the ground. Her blood ran cold. How could she tell him that she had been wrong? So, so wrong. That she was on his side now. Even if she had a chance to speak to him alone, he wouldn’t believe her. Why should he? He had given her many chances, and she had betrayed him.
“Guardian Lund?” The man stared down at her. “This way, please.”
She turned around, heading through the door.
“You will pay for this, guardian,” Skyresh shouted at her, as the door closed.
Avalon could still see his face in her mind, as she lay down on the bed. His eyes filled with hatred. A single tear fell down her face, and she wiped it away wearily.
She would make it up to him. She would make it up to all of them.
She was still a warrior, after all. That hadn’t changed. She was simply a warrior who had swapped allegiances now, but she had to be very, very careful. She couldn’t let the guardians suspect for a moment.
Chapter Eleven
The day was cold; random snowflakes scattered through the air, swirling around the podium. Avalon had never been this close to it before.
She walked through Grey Square, two guardians on either side, flanking her. They did not speak to her, staring impassively ahead. She was making her way to the stage, where the podium was. She could see that her father, the Minister for the Military, and other ministers had already come out onto it and were standing in their usual positions. It was all carefully staged, of course. First, the ministers. Then, she would walk the small steps onto it, standing to the right, before Agnor came out. She had been told of the sequence, and what she must do.
A crowd had gathered and was waiting patiently. Avalon could see people that she knew; they all turned and gazed at her, as she walked past them with the two guardians. They smiled, but they did not attempt to speak to her. Occasionally, someone would call “Hail Agnor!” and make the gesture of solidarity to her. She would always smile and gesture back. She was being feted; she could feel the collective goodwill toward her.
Once, she would have dreamed of such a moment. It would have been the pinnacle of her ambitions to be walking towards this stage in Grey Square, about to be commended for valor in defense of guarding the realm. She had watched other people, usually guardians, at these commendation ceremonies since she was a little girl. It had never failed to impress her, filling her with fervor. She had wanted to be one of them.
And now she was. But as she put one foot in front of the other, she felt hollow. As if she had been husked out and all that was left was the shell of the person that she had once been.
She had made it to the stage. The guardians that had accompanied her stopped, and she stepped up onto the stage alone, making her way to the appointed spot. The snowflakes intensified, swirling around her. From this high up, she could see snow had settled on the tops of the towers of the city. She glanced behind her. The palace was also covered in snow, its grand eaves seeming to droop with the weight of it. It reminded Avalon of the thick white icing that decorated celebration cakes, which were always made on Agnoria Day, when The Year Zero was celebrated. The city was starkly beautiful in the snow; wan sunlight permeated through the snowflakes, creating a dappled effect.
But her heart was still back in the wilderness. All that she could see were the snow-topped mountains and the crystal streams. Her heart yearned to be walking through the mountain trails of the Far North, breathing in the pure air, and yet, here she was. Back in the city. About to be commended for something that she despised herself for doing.
She turned her head slightly and saw her father gazing at her fondly. A small smiled played around his lips. He was dressed in the ceremonial robes of the Jarle, a heavy necklace of gold around his neck. She smiled back, then turned her head to the front. She didn’t want to look at him; she had barely looked at him since she had returned. She knew that he was basking in her glory, ready to take all the credit, pretending that he had always encouraged her to be a warrior. If she hadn’t succeeded, it would have gone the other way, and he would have completely washed his hands of her. She knew it.
The crowd surged forward in anticipation. They were waiting for the arrival of their beloved leader, but time ticked on, and the palace gates remained firmly closed.
Avalon stared at the crowd. Once, she had thought that these people were good and lived exemplary lives. She knew better now. Probably most of them lived in ignorance of what truly happened in their realm, just as she had. But some didn’t. Some knew and turned a blind eye; or they commended it, believing that the superiority of the Jarle meant that they could do anything.
It sickened her, but she had to hide it and pretend that she was deliriously happy at this honor and that she was a faithful and loyal Grey Guard. She had to play the part until she could work out what to do next.
As troubled thoughts clouded her mind, she saw him. In the crowd. He was at the side, toward the front. Dressed splendidly in his official Grey Guard uniform, his long dark hair tied neatly back. He was so tall and handsome, she noticed that several women’s eyes were drawn to him. But his eyes were rivetted to the stage, staring straight at her.
Everard.
Their eyes caught and held for a moment. Avalon could see such strong emotion shining in his as he gazed at her that she almost felt guilty. He was proud of her; he believed that she was overcome with joy at being so singled out and honored. If he had been standing in her place, he would have almost wept at the thought of taking the hand of their beloved Agnor in front of the world.
Avalon looked away quickly. She knew that if he gazed into her eyes long enough, he would see that she was play acting. That even though she mouthed the words, she no longer believed them. That she wasn’t the loyal and vigilant Grey Guard that he had set out with on their very first mission any longer, sand she couldn’t afford for that to happen. She must fool Everard, just as she must fool everybody else. There was no other way.
A flurry of excitement swept through the crowd, and they turned as one towards the palace gates. They were opening, slowly. Agnor’s official Grey Guards came forward, their swords out and held aloft as they marched. It was the way that they always walked at these ceremonies. It symbolized their fierce protection of their beloved leader.
People were craning their necks and jostling each other to get a better look. To catch the first glimpse of Agnor.
Avalon squared her shoulders and plastered a wide smile onto her face. She could barely breathe in the tight corset and sweeping gown that her mother had forced her to wear for the occasion. She felt slightly dizzy, like she might at any second swoon to the ground in a faint. She pressed her fingernails into her palms, trying to keep focused. It would all be over soon enough.
Then she could plan. How she was going to save him. Skyresh. Her thoughts drifted back to the last time that she had seen him before she had been forced to journey back to the city…
***
She had woken in confusion, the day after her return to the safe house in Stianfjord. Sitting up slowly in the narrow bed that they had led her to, she hadn’t been able to remember where she was. Then it slowly started flooding back into her mind—her betrayal of the rebels and her desperate flight through the mountains, the awful discovery of the camp where the Jarle were killing people, and her return when she was taken into the room where Skyresh and the others were imprisoned.
The look of hatred in his eyes, as he had stared at her, was burned in her mind. And there had been nothing she could do or say. Nothing she could do, in that moment, to let him know how sorry she was and how she knew it was true. Everything that he had told her.
She got up slowly. Every muscle in her body ached. Glancing around the room, she saw that someone had laid out clean clothes for her. At that moment, the door opened and a serving woman walked into the room carrying buckets of hot water.
“You must bathe,” the woman said, putting the buckets down with a thump. She gestured
toward the large wooden tub in a corner of the room.
Avalon had obeyed, pulling herself out of the bed with a groan. She could barely walk. The thought of a hot bath—soothing her muscles—was heaven.
The serving woman didn’t speak to her. Avalon collapsed into the bath, and the woman washed her hair in silence. When she was finished, she lay a towel on a chair next to the tub. Her eyes were cold as she nodded at Avalon, walking out of the room and shutting the door firmly behind her.
She hates me, thought Avalon. And who could blame her? The woman was obviously Stromel and forced to work here. She would probably know what Avalon had done – that she had led the beloved Gwalen, the rebel leader, into a trap. The woman thought she was just like all the Jarle, oppressive rulers who stopped at nothing to preserve the order.
After a hot breakfast, Avalon was alone in the kitchen when the man who had led her into the house came into the room. He sat across from her, staring at her levelly.
“Feeling better after your rest?” he asked, crisply.
“Much better,” she answered, putting down her cup. She looked at him. What now?
“I am Commander Vidar,” he said. “You are to be commended, Guardian Lund. Your commanding officer has been informed of what has happened here and requests that you be sent back to Vyheim Castle.”
Avalon nodded. “When shall I start my journey?”
“As soon as you have finished,” the man said. He stared at her. “Was it your intention as soon as you were captured to lead them here?”
“Almost,” replied Avalon, trying to keep her voice even. “I realized quickly that I had to negotiate with them, or else they would kill me. The leader wanted to know where the weapon base was and—of course—I had no idea. But I remembered being told of this place when my partner and I were being briefed before our mission.”
“And so, you thought that you would lead them here, on a false trail?” Commander Vidar said.
