I have sought you out and have been witness to your life. I know of your daughter and the inconspicuous existence you have chosen, which is why this matter is all the more pressing.
I was certain in my years of solitude that you and I were the only two descendants that remained in this world, but my discoveries of the two young men who deliver this message, and a small girl, Isa, whom I now call my daughter, have proven me to be happily mistaken. For the first time in many years, I felt contented that I had regained some form of the family that I lost, and it eased the pain of knowing that you would not see me.
But as we both well know, contentment is but a transitory state for ones like us, and we must always listen for the whisper that calls when trouble is on the horizon.
If you have not heard it yet yourself, Ethnea, consider me to be that whisper. I have dreamt of another descending upon us, though their face has thus far eluded me. I have dreamt of fire, and I have dreamt of you, Ethnea, and a choice that you will be forced to make.
I can no longer ignore these whispers and neither can you. I have sent Malcolm and Corbin to deliver this message in order to circumvent any misgivings you may have should I appear unannounced in your village. You may not want to recommence your old life, but I beseech you to come to me until these prophecies can be better understood. I dwell in a place I call Valenia, about two days’ ride from your village. It is safe here, and I give you my solemn promise to release you back to your life, should you wish it, once this is over.
Please, Ethnea, don’t be foolish. Come to Valenia with Malcolm and Corbin. You can trust them, as they are bound by the same blood as you and me.
I anticipate your arrival.
Sincerely,
Your faithful brother,
Rowan
Mara’s hand dropped to her side, still gripping the letter. In a daze, she kept her eyes lowered, unsure what to make of what she just read. How could her mother have kept this from her? She’d never mentioned a brother, and if the letter was true, then her mother was not what she seemed. Mara felt her face grow hot. When Mara discovered her gift of fire at age fifteen, and told her mother, she became angry with Mara, making her promise never to manifest it again. At the time, Mara wondered if her mother thought her to be something evil.
Mara stood and held the letter out. “Why didn’t she tell me she had a brother?” she asked Malcolm and Corbin.
Malcolm shrugged. “We don’t know. Rowan only told us she was in hiding.”
Mara threw the letter on the ground. “She let me think something was wrong with me. Was she like me? Why wouldn’t she tell me?”
Corbin stepped forward and picked up the letter. “My father did the same thing. I was eleven when he died. He never told me anything about what I was.”
Mara wiped a tear that rolled down her cheek. “And what are you?”
“We are here to help you,” Malcolm said. “Come with us. Rowan can give you the answers that we can’t.”
“I have an uncle?” Mara whispered.
“Yes,” Corbin replied.
“I don’t know what to do?” she said, wondering why her mother would hide from her own brother. “How can I trust you?”
Corbin tilted his head. “If we wanted to harm you, Mara, we would have already.” He reached under his cloak and pulled out Drake’s dagger. “Here, take this.” He handed her the hilt, holding the blade between his fingers. Mara took it and held it close to her.
“What do you have to go back to?” Malcolm asked. “You have nothing to lose in trusting us.”
Mara exhaled and looked at them, remembering Drake’s warning to trust no man. But what other choice did she have? If she continued on by herself, she was surely a dead woman. What difference did it make if these two or her supposed uncle were a threat to her? And besides her life, she really did have nothing left to lose.
Much of the day passed before Malcolm, Corbin, and Mara stopped to rest. In the clearing of a low valley, they lit a fire and divided up the rest of the fish. Malcolm leaned back on his elbows with his legs stretched out, watching Mara with interest. From her quick glances at him, he could see that his stare made her uncomfortable, but he couldn’t stop himself from looking, searching for any sign of the power within her.
So far he was underwhelmed with the girl Rowan had sent them to find. He could see that she was a Dia, a descendant of the ancient ones, and her pale green eyes certainly lit up with her anger. But watching her scramble through Moorthrop, clumsily making her escape, told Malcolm she had no clue of what she was, or how to use her power of Light. Her mother confounded him as well. If Ethnea was as powerful as Rowan claimed, then why didn’t she escape the prison before the trial? It made no difference to Malcolm, really. He found the whole spectacle quite interesting. He’d never seen a person burned alive before. It looked horribly painful, the way the skin melted from the bones like ice-covered branches on a mild winter’s day. Corbin seemed less riveted by the scene, but Malcolm watched with fascination, even as Ethnea’s fierce eyes became wild with rage. He was sure she was looking at him just as the curtain of flames overcame her. He wished he could have read her thoughts, but as was with all Dia, her mind was closed to him.
“We will leave at first light,” Malcolm said, easing the clutch of his stare on Mara. “We should make it to Valenia by sundown.”
“I have never heard of Valenia,” Mara said as she twisted her black hair into a braid.
“That’s because it’s not a village,” Malcolm responded.
“Then what is it?” she asked.
Malcolm gave a half smirk. “It’s where we live.”
“Yes, I know that!” Mara snapped back. “But where is it, what is it? Is it an island, a manor house, a fortress?”
Malcolm smiled at her sudden burst of anger. “Oh, it’s much better than that,” he said.
“Is that where your families are?” she asked, seeming to calm herself.
Corbin moved closer to the fire. “Neither of us has any kin,” he said.
“What happened to them?”
Malcolm threw a pebble into the fire. “I don’t know what happened to my parents. I never knew them. I’ve been with Rowan since I was an infant.”
“I never knew my mother,” Corbin said. “And my father died fighting for King Erbin in the east.”
A look of surprise spread across Mara’s face. Malcolm groaned. He loathed hearing about Corbin’s warrior father.
Corbin continued, “He was a commander. But when he died, I had no family left, and after the invasions, I was forced to leave my village. That was ten years ago now.”
Mara looked between them. “So that’s how you met?”
“That’s right,” Malcolm said. “Corbin was near death when Rowan and I found him, but we brought him back to life and just look at him now, strong as an ox. Can you believe I’m actually a year older than him?” Malcolm tossed another pebble, purposely missing the fire and almost hitting Corbin.
Mara eyed him for a long moment before she spoke. “And Rowan, what of him?”
“You will find out for yourself tomorrow,” Malcolm said. “He’s the only one of our kind we’ve ever known.” Malcolm immediately regretted his words, realizing he’d said too much.
“And what is our kind?” Mara asked.
Malcolm relaxed his elbows and lay back on the ground. “Enough with the questions. I think it’s best if you speak to Rowan about it. He might even be angry with us for giving you the letter.”
He could feel her eyes burning into him.
“I wouldn’t have come with you had I not read it,” she said frostily.
“I know,” Malcolm said.
When they’d set out for Valenia it was a crisp, clear morning. Malcolm was glad to see that Mara kept pace with them on the long march through the undulating hills and valleys. She asked no more questions of them, though he could tell they were on the tip of her tongue. He’d warned Corbin that morning to keep his mouth shut. Mara’s
confusion was not their concern. Rowan would explain things to her how he wished, and they were not to interfere.
By the time the sun had retreated on the horizon and the moon lit the sky like an ivory sun, they were in the woods that led to Valenia. The cool smell of salt from the ocean filled the air, and the sound of water rippled in the distance. Mara fell behind as they emerged from the trees. Though the sky was dark, they could see the clearing of soft green grass that stretched up to a mass of rock, and then broke off into a sheer drop towards the cove below. Malcolm could see the awed expression on Mara’s face as they drew nearer.
“I’ve never seen the sea before,” she said. “I’ve only heard of it from travelers that came through the village.” She stepped closer, looking out at the seemingly endless stretch of dark blue water as it ebbed and flowed against the barrier of rock and sand.
Corbin and Malcolm stopped before the incline, waiting for Mara to catch up. Corbin turned to her. “Can you see it?” he asked.
Mara looked at the mountain of rock. “See what?”
“Come with me,” Malcolm said, leading her several paces back. “Watch this,” he said, waving his hand in a half circular motion. Mara gasped as the cliff rose up higher, the rocks shaping themselves like clay into a fortress with a drum tower and high rock walls.
She gaped at him. “What is this?”
Malcolm motioned for her to follow him to the newly-risen structure. “It’s called a sidhe,” he said. “Most people only see what they want to see, not what’s actually there.” He jumped up to a high ledge on the wall, and then another. When he was as high as the length of two men, he took a step into the hidden corridor, waited a moment and then stepped back out.“You see? Nothing to fear,” he said. She watched him anxiously as he reached his hands down towards her. She looked as if she might protest, but Corbin walked behind her and lifted her towards Malcolm’s outstretched arms. They waited while Corbin climbed up to them, and walked into the dark passage. Malcolm could hear her cautious footsteps as he lit a torch, illuminating the walls in a golden light.
When they approached the thick wooden door at the end of the passage, Malcolm waved his hand over the lock and the door opened with a heavy snap of its seal. It was then Malcolm felt the first wave of dread. In a moment he would have to tell Rowan that Ethnea was dead. He wondered if Rowan would be furious, and if Malcolm would take the blame.
Mara followed them curiously, but slowly through the door and into the immense rectangular hallway. It was lit by dozens of torches secured to the high walls, lighting the entry to several diverging passages. Malcolm walked ahead of them and turned back to Corbin. “I’d better go and speak to Rowan first,” Malcolm said, feeling the pinch of apprehension as he spoke.
“We will wait here,” Corbin said, leaning against the wall. Malcolm gave Corbin one last warning look to say nothing, and then went down the passage and up the stairs that led to Rowan’s chamber. The door stood open. Malcolm took a deep breath and marched into the dimly-lit room. Rowan sat in a chair, gazing out through the large, open window that looked upon the ocean. “She is dead, isn’t she?” he asked without turning.
“Yes,” Malcolm responded.
Rowan stood and turned to Malcolm. His expression was unreadable, but his green eyes were wide and bright. “Did you see it?” he asked.
“Yes,” Malcolm said.
A long, low groan came from deep in Rowan’s throat, and he put his hands on his face. “My sister is dead,” he whispered. “Did she suffer?”
“No,” Malcolm lied. “I think she left her body long before the flames rose.”
“Flames!” Rowan cried, putting his hands on his face. He stayed that way a long moment, and then his hands slid down, wiping away his expression. “And the girl?”
“She is with us,” Malcolm said.
“Good, good, that’s what matters,” Rowan said rather coolly, the wisdom behind his eyes defying his young countenance. Then his expression hardened. “I wasn’t certain you’d succeed. What does she know about us?”
Malcolm stood as tall as possible. “Not much. She has a lot of questions. And she read the letter.”
“You let her read the letter?”
“Yes. She wouldn’t have come with us if we hadn’t.”
Rowan nodded, his eyes fixed on Malcolm. “I see. Well, I shall go and meet our new guest.” He brushed past Malcolm without even a word of gratitude. Malcolm clenched his fist and followed Rowan into the hall. He must have known Mara was coming, because he’d dressed in one of his finest tunics made of emerald Byzantium silk, with golden thread woven through the hem.
Malcolm watched with abhorrence as Rowan walked up to Corbin, put his hands on Corbin’s shoulders and said, “There was nothing you could have done, my boy. It was already in the stars, but the gods didn’t show me until it was too late.”
Corbin nodded.
Then Rowan turned his attention to Mara. She fiddled with the skirt of her tunic, her face etched with worry. Malcolm shook his head as he watched Rowan put on the expression of sorrow, his eyes large and red-rimmed. He took a step forward and looked at her with the same passionate curiosity as she seemed to have for him. The resemblance between them was unmistakable. They both had pale green eyes, and black hair, but Rowan’s even features were drawn out, more masculine.
Rowan walked up to Mara with an extended hand. “Mara,” he said. She let her hand slip into his and Rowan continued, “You look just like her.” Mara seemed to be at a loss for words.
Rowan stepped back. “I am your uncle.” As he said this, Malcolm’s stomach churned with resentment. He’d been Rowan’s foundling son his entire life, and now Rowan had kin connected in blood.
Mara let her hands fall to her side and raised her chin. “Pleased to meet you, my lord.”
Rowan looked at her with surprise. “Please, there’s no need to be so formal.” His head fell. “I am so sorry about your mother. But I am glad you are safe.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Rowan ran his hands through his short hair and exhaled. “You must be tired after your journey. Let’s see to it that you are rested before we discuss things any further. I am sure you have lots of questions, but I think they are best discussed tomorrow.” He looked back to Malcolm. “I will have a word with you in my chamber.”
Malcolm could see the severity in Rowan’s eyes. He clenched his teeth. If Rowan was angry with him for Ethnea’s death, he should have gone to Moorthrop himself. Besides, Rowan hadn’t insisted on bringing Ethnea back; it was Mara he wanted.
Rowan picked up Mara’s hand, kissed it, and beckoned for Malcolm to follow him.
Malcolm fell behind Rowan, realizing that things were changing at Valenia. Malcolm didn’t know why Rowan wanted Mara. It seemed to go deeper than the bonds of kinship. Whatever it was, Malcolm was determined to find out.
A light tapping on the door woke Mara from a restless sleep. She couldn’t seem to close her eyes without visions of her mother haunting her. Most of the night she paced the small square room until the single candle near the bedside burned out. The walls of the room were solid rock, with a shuttered window that gave a partial view of the beach and grassland below. There was little furniture in the room besides a wooden bed, a wardrobe, and a small table that had a wash basin and mirror above.
There was another tap at the door, but before Mara could reply, it opened and in walked a girl no more than fifteen years old, holding a tray in her hand. Her long blue dress shuffled around her, and her golden hair was twisted into a loose plait over her shoulder. Mara immediately noted the long scar on the right side of her face that stretched like a crescent moon from her eyebrow to her lip.
The girl smiled. “Good morning. My apologies if I woke you,” she said in a light, pleasant voice. She set the tray of bread and cheese down at the foot of the bed. “I thought you might be hungry.” She lifted a silver jug, poured some water and handed it to Mara. “My name is Annora.” Her dark bl
ue eyes smiled.
“My name is Mara,” she said, finishing a second cup of water.
“I know¸” Annora said. “I would have introduced myself last night, but Rowan didn’t want me to disturb you.” She looked around. “How do you like your room? I’m sorry it’s so sparing. They’re all like that.”
“It is perfectly fine,” Mara assured.
Annora moved towards the wardrobe and opened it. “These are for you. I hope they fit.” She lifted a scarlet dress and laid it down on the bed. It was the most beautiful garment Mara had ever seen. She reached out and touched the silky fabric.
Annora picked up Mara’s torn and dirty tunic off the floor. “I suppose you won’t be needing this anymore?”
“No, I suppose not,” Mara agreed.
“I’ve drawn a bath for you. I know Rowan is eager to speak with you once you’re ready.”
Mara clutched the stone around her neck and looked at Annora. “Have you been here long? At Valenia?” she asked.
Annora sat down on the corner of the bed. “I have been here the last three winters, I’d say.”
“Why? Where is your family?” Mara asked, seeing Annora’s eyes fill with sadness.
Annora took in a long breath. “I come from a place on the edge of two kingdoms with no masters. There were wars all around us, tribes fought relentlessly for control, but they only ever succeeded in killing the innocents. My family was killed when a northern tribe set fire to my village.” She pointed to the scar on her face. “My parents, sister, and brother were lost, and I was taken as a slave.”
Mara put her hand to her mouth. “That is horrible.”
Annora took a restorative breath and gave Mara a sad smile. “It was. But it wasn’t long before Rowan found me, and paid a sum to free me. Before I met Rowan, I had no idea what I was.”
“And what is that?” Mara asked.
“I’m a descendant. Rowan said he saw it in me right away. But my bloodline is not as pure as yours, or Malcolm’s, or Corbin’s for that matter. But I am still a descendant, and that’s why he saved me. Now I repay him by taking care of things here at Valenia.”
The Darkness of Light Page 4
