by Sarah Dalton
“You’ve improved, brother,” Lyndon taunts. He puffs up his chest, and draws back his sword.
Cas meets his blow, but stumbles back as Lyndon throws all of his weight into the attack. Cas’s expression changes to pure determination as he leans forward and head-butts his brother. Lyndon’s nose spurts blood, trickling thickly over his upper lip. My heart pounds as I realise that there’s a good chance Cas will kill his brother. As the two deliver crushing blows, I have a strange feeling that something is very wrong.
“Where is he?” Cas yells, punching Lyndon in his broken nose. For the first time, Lyndon cries out in pain when he staggers backwards. “Where is my father? Is he too cowardly to face me himself? Has he sent his trusty lap dog to do his duties? You think you’re special to him but you’re not. You’re just a tool, something he can use and throw away when he doesn’t need it anymore. Do you even know what the Ember Stone does? It grants eternal life. That means he will be king forever.” Cas dodges a blow and punches Lyndon in the stomach. “You’ll never be king. Never. And once I’m dead, he’ll kill you too. He’ll kill anyone who could take the throne from him.”
“Shut up!” Lyndon spits blood.
Cas dodges as Lyndon swings his heavy sword, narrowly missing his throat. “That sword is too big for you, Lynnie. It appears Father set you up to lose.”
“He didn’t,” Lyndon replies, sounding more like a young boy than ever.
“Probably wanted us to kill each other so he didn’t have to deal with either of us.”
“You’re lying. He needs me to deliver the Ember Stone. He’s trusting me.”
Or he plans to intercept, I think to myself. Waiting for the right moment to strike.
Lyndon stabs his sword towards Cas, moving so fast that Cas can only dodge at the last moment. He screams as the sword slices into his thigh. The gash is deep and he bleeds profusely.
“Father trusts me. He listens to me. He believed me when I said mother had to die,” Lyndon says.
The blood drains from my face. My head snaps up to Cas, who has a fury in his eyes. My silver prince reacts, flying at Lyndon. In the next instant, I get a queer feeling in my stomach, one that tells me I have to do something. I’m filled with dread at the idea of Cas killing his brother, and I know by the speed at which Cas moves that this will be the fatal blow.
I act fast. I’m closer to Lyndon than Cas, so I get there first. Then, I pull Lyndon back with my good hand, while running the hook across his throat. The blood gurgles from the fresh wound, trickling down his neck and staining his armour. I stagger away as Lyndon’s body hits the floor, falling onto my backside. Cas turns to me with an expression of sadness-tinged horror.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I couldn’t let you…”
I turn away from him to hide my tears. I can’t explain why I did what I did. All I know is that in that moment, I knew I had to do it. When I wipe my eyes and lift my head, I see that the fighting is almost over. The king’s men stare forlornly at Lyndon’s dead body, as well as their fallen friends.
“Stop,” I yell. “That’s enough.”
Mushtan moves away from his foe. Even the king’s soldiers heed my command.
“Prince Casimir,” one of the soldiers speaks. “The king has our families…”
“There’s no need to explain,” Cas replies in a soft, defeated voice. “But you must know that I did not kill my mother.”
“No one believes it,” the soldier says. “Not really.”
I wipe the blood from my hook, and let out a sigh. It all seems so pointless. I feel tremendous sympathy for these men. They are fighting out of fear. They don’t even have a cause to make their fighting seem worthwhile.
“Lyndon is dead,” Cas says. “You have the choice to return to my father, or you can pledge your fealty to me and my bride, and we’ll get this Ember Stone before my father uses it for malign intentions. If you pledge fealty to me, you will have to fight against my father.”
The soldier does not hesitate. He drops to his knee. I watch, as all around us, the surviving soldiers drop to their knees. My eyes well up one more time. I turn to Cas with a pleading expression on my face, unsure of whether he hates me for what I did to his brother. Instead he walks to me and takes my dagger, replacing it with his own hand.
“Let’s finish this once and for all,” he says. “We collect the Ember Stone, and then we go after my father, and we do it honourably. We don’t kill for the sake of it. I’m sorry you had to do that, but I understand. If I had killed Lyndon out of anger, I would have forever regretted it. You did that to save me, and I understand what a burden it will be for the rest of your life. But listen, Mae. You were in battle. You killed so that we would all survive. You are a warrior, not a killer.”
*
With little food and water, the loss of three fighters, and the wounding of seven, our group is tired and almost defeated. I use a little of my healing power under the strict supervision of Sasha, who sticks to my side and scolds me every time I weaken.
Cas sits by the cold body of his brother as we reconvene and assess our situation. My heart pangs for him. There was no love between the two siblings, but that doesn’t mean there can’t be remorse and regret. But I have to do my duty. I have to follow Mushtan as we examine the next passageway and where it leads.
“Thirsty, wounded men are more likely to turn on you,” Mushtan warns when we are alone.
The dank smell of the earth is oppressive in the small passageway, but I concentrate on a glimmer of light towards the end of the tunnel. “I know that.”
“I’m preparing you for the worst,” he says.
I rub my neck and shoulder, trying to work out a knot of worry. I don’t want anyone else to die.
We make our way towards the small glimmer of light. As we walk, my fingers trace the carvings on the wall, and I imagine the many human slaves working for the Aelfens, wondering what it would be like to be trapped. And then I think about the people forced to work in the mines, and the farmers crippled by the king’s taxes, and the blacksmiths forced to make the king’s weapons for a pittance, and I wonder if the world is so different now.
“What do you think it is?” Cas says when he catches up with me. “There’s no way light can get all the way down here.”
I don’t answer Cas’s question because I don’t know how. The power of the temple throbs through every surface; the compacted floor, the carved stone walls, even the dirt ceiling. With each step, that power grows stronger and stronger. As we approach the light, my heart beats faster and faster, until I have to take a deep breath and try to calm myself.
“My amulet is really warm again.” Sasha holds her necklace, thumbing the smooth surface.
“Mae?” I catch a glimpse of Cas’s concerned silver eyes.
“I’m fine,” I say. But I’m not sure if that’s true. The air is like a damp shroud over my body. The walls seem to be closing in. My fingers tremble as I drag them along the wall. I hurry, speeding to a jog, desperate to get out of the tunnel, desperate for real air and some sort of light. Someone tries to catch me at the elbow, but I shake them away and sprint down the tunnel towards the light. Then, finally, when my face feels the glow of sunshine, I put my hands on my knees, lower my head, and take three deep breaths. When I raise my head, I see the Sihran temple for the first time, and my breath is taken once more.
What I see is impossible. It can’t be true. I take three steps into the temple and stop, gawking at everything around me. I’ve walked into the world of the Aelfens as it was thousands of years ago. The temple is more like a grand palace, with stone columns climbing high up a strange—almost unnatural—blue sky. At the top of that sky hang bizarre clouds. Unlike a normal sky, it doesn’t move, and the clouds appear to be frozen in one spot. The floor is made of stone flags, like the grand courtyard in the Red Palace. Along the large space sits a long table adorned with delicious fruits, wine, water, and cakes. My mouth waters.
As I move further into the r
oom, I see a series of shorter pillars next to the towering columns. There are perhaps a dozen placed around the room, and on all of them sits a grand stone chair, as big as the throne in the Red Palace. On each chair is a marble statue. My blood runs cold as I gaze into the eyes of a statue. It is of a beautiful woman wearing a flowing robe gathered at one shoulder. Her hair hangs to her waist. The tip of her pointed ears poke through her sleek hair, which is carved so life-like, that I imagine I could run my fingers through the lush strands. Her face has a pointed appearance to it, with a long, thin chin, and almond shaped eyes. There is something about her that reminds me of the wood nymph we encountered in the Waerg Woods, and that is not a good thing.
There are hurried footsteps behind me as the others catch up, but I am too dumbstruck by the strange surroundings, and the impossible sunshine warming my face, that I fail to register them approach. I take a deep breath and close my eyes. A voice comes to me:
You will need a pure sacrifice.
Chapter Twenty-Six – The Statues of Sihran
When I open my eyes, the group are devouring the fruits, water, and cakes. I stare at them in horror; we have no idea if it’s safe to eat the food. But then, they are so starved that they would not make it back through the desert without sustenance, so I don’t speak.
“This places oozes magic,” Sasha says, hanging back from the feasting. “The air, the sun, the weird clouds… Not to mention food that is thousands of years old and somehow not rotten.”
I bite my lip, trying to decide whether or not to tell Sasha about the voice in my mind. A commotion further into the vast room makes the decision for me. We rush towards the raised voices. A group of Mushtan’s men have found a plentiful fountain gushing with fresh water and are dancing in it, kicking up their legs and skipping arm in arm. Cas laughs, and then seems to remember the events that got us here, and his laughter stops abruptly. I find his hand with mine and grip it tight.
“What do you make of this place?” I ask Cas.
“It’s incredible,” he replies. “Beautiful.”
“But?” I prompt.
“Too still. Something waits.”
I shiver. When Mushtan slaps me on the back I almost leap out of my skin.
“Relax, Hada-Ya. See around you. The Sihrans are frozen. They are marble statues, no? Where is the danger?” His expression is relaxed for once, but that is because he has spent so long worrying about his men, worrying what they will do when starved and thirsty.
“I see nothing but danger,” I reply.
He pats me on the shoulder and walks away to join his men.
“We need to search for the stone,” I call after him.
“All in good time, Hada-Ya.” He lifts a hand as though to calm me.
“I bet they want to find treasure,” Cas says.
“What?” I’m appalled at the thought. We’re not on a mission to get rich. We’re here for a purpose.
“Leave them be. They are poor men. They only want to take something that will make their lives a little easier,” he replies.
“I’m poor but you don’t see me searching for treasure.”
“You are not poor. You are a princess now.” He grins down at me as though he’s the proudest man in the world, and the scrappy Halts-Walden kid in me is both embarrassed and delighted.
We demand a pure sacrifice.
I wrench my eyes away from Cas’s gaze, and whip my head around, trying to determine where the voice came from.
“What’s wrong?” Cas asks.
The voice begins again, but this time it is joined by other voices, and they all talk over each other.
You will get no further without a pure sacrifice.
A pure heart.
We will never give you the Ember Stone.
The Gods won’t allow it.
We are the Gods now.
“They’re not statues,” I whisper. “They’re not statues. Stop eating the food! Stop robbing the temple. They are not statues. They are the Sihrans.”
“Mae? What are you talking about?” Cas asks.
I put both forearms over my ears, trying to block the sound. But I cannot.
You cannot defeat us.
We will rise.
We demand a sacrifice.
Without the blood of the pure hearted, your world will burn.
Sasha comes to my side, and puts her arm around my shoulders. “What is it? What are you hearing?”
“They are speaking. They say that they demand a sacrifice, and that they are going to rise to defeat us.”
“Who is speaking, Mae?”
The power thrums beneath my feet. It stirs in the earth, the walls, it’s everywhere. Before I can speak, there is a rumbling. The temple begins to shake, and I trip forwards, landing heavily onto the stone floor. My arm catches a broken piece of stone, opening a wound, and bleeding onto the ground.
“Get up, Mae,” Mushtan hisses behind me. He grabs me roughly by the elbow and jerks me onto my feet. “Don’t you see what that is?”
The rumbling stops. Mushtan points down to a round circle with a five pointed symbol in the centre. There are interlocking loops twisting over the five points.
“N-no,” I stutter.
“That is a gateway,” Mushtan says. “And you spilled your blood on it.”
“A gateway to what?” I ask, fear tightening my throat.
Mushtan lets go of me and stares at the gateway. When I follow his gaze, I see my blood moving along the lines of the symbol, filling in every crack.
“What’s going to happen? What is it a gateway to?” I urge.
Mushtan’s brown eyes find me. “It’s a gateway to the Gods.”
“B-but… that’s a good thing,” I reply. “Won’t the Gods help us?”
We are the Gods now.
We won’t help you.
“I think you’ve awoken the Sihrans,” Cas says, reaching for his sword.
The last of my blood fills the five points in the circle, and there is another deep rumble under the earth.
“Mae, use your powers to calm the earth,” Sasha commands.
I nod. I concentrate, focussing on the ground beneath our feet, trying to force the volatile earth to soothe its turmoil. But the element pushes back, and for the first time ever, I feel resistance from an outside force.
“It’s the Sihrans. They are fighting back,” I say.
“Mae!” Cas shouts. He points down at the ground where the gateway is beginning to open.
The five points fold atop one another as though they are pieces of parchment. I take a step closer to see what lies beneath, but I see only an empty space. I see blackness, or rather, a space devoid of all colour. It’s like the dullest piece of charcoal, or the flattest raven feather.
“Come away, Hada-Ya, it isn’t safe,” Mushtan says.
I take a couple of steps back, when another rumble passes through the temple. The walls shake, and I have to grip onto the stone table to stop myself falling down. There’s a cry, and I whip my head around to see one of the Borgans falling to his knees. He slides across the room as though it is tilted, and falls straight into the gateway.
“No!” I try to dash towards him, but Cas grasps me by the waist.
“He’s gone.”
Impure.
We demand a pure sacrifice.
There’s a thunderous crack, and white dust trickles down the side of the room. I watch in horror as the marble statues of the Sihrans begin to crack open.
Sasha turns to me. “My amulet is freezing. We’re in trouble.”
We’re stronger than you.
The gateway opens destruction.
The world will change.
Stop the destruction.
With a sacrifice.
“Stop it!” I shout.
One of Mushtan’s men slides towards the open gateway. I struggle from inside Cas’s arms, trying to escape so I can help him. It’s too late, he falls into the hole.
Impure.
We demand a
pure-hearted sacrifice.
There’s another crack and a crash, as marble comes tumbling down from the pillars. I finally break free from Cas’s grip, and move towards the crash. Beneath the marble, a man emerges. He has deep brown skin—albeit chalky from the marble dust—and wears white robes that flow down to his knees. His hair reaches the top of his shoulders and is curled. His ears are slightly pointed at the tip, and peek out from beneath his black hair. When he drops down from the stone throne, he does so with perfect ease, like a dancer. My eyes are drawn to the amulet swinging from his neck. Hanging from a gold chain is a shard of black stone. I quickly glance at the other marble statues, noticing for the first time how they all have a similar amulet carved into the marble.
“The Ember Stone is shattered and you each have a piece,” I say.
The Aelfen straightens his back and stretches out his muscles. At his full height he towers over the tallest human man. His face is as expressionless as his statue, but when he opens his mouth, I see the deadly pointed teeth hidden by his full lips.
“You have woken us,” he says, his voice low and deep, resonating with power. “We have been waiting for you to wake us so that we can claim what is ours.”
“It is not yours,” I say. “The world does not belong to you.”
He smiles—revealing his sharp fangs—and my stomach turns to water. “Then we will take it.”
A tingle worms its way down my spine. I believe him.
“How do we close the gateway?” I ask, swallowing, trying to prove myself stronger than I feel. “Is it my blood?”
“Sacrifice,” the Ancient hisses.
“It has claimed two of our men already. It has had enough sacrifice.” To my right there is another crack, as one more statue comes to life.
“They are impure.” The Aelfen turns towards the breaking marble. “Come to me, Gwendolyn. We are waking now. Your Gods have come back to you, human.”
