by Liam Reese
“Go on, there’s no trick in this. I wasn’t going starve you to death outright.”
They ate, and he watched, smiling softly to himself. Croenin was starting to feel much less weak, and he could tell Ayne was feeling the same. He kept an eye on Clythair, expecting him to strike, but he did not. He stayed until the two finished eating, grinning wildly with a secret he was eager to spill. Croenin scowled at him.
“What?” He growled.
“You two are feeling much better, no?”
Croenin was suspicious. I knew we shouldn’t have accepted that, he thought.
Clythair chuckled at their silence. “You two won’t answer me, I know. But, I just wanted to tell you that was your last meal, unless you play my game”
Croenin looked angrily at Ayne. He knew they shouldn’t have given in.
“What game?” He said through clenched teeth.
“Oh, the one in which you two fight to the death.” Clythair stood, and made a sweeping gesture with his arm. As he did so, a table appeared at the center of the room, with an assortment of weapons on top. “You choose, either a slow, painful death with more starvation in which I continue to torment you and drive you mad until you kill each other, or you hash it out now, while you’re strong and can truly fight.”
“You must be joking,” Croenin said.
“Oh, I do not joke,” Clythair responded. “Make your choice.”
Croenin blinked, and he was gone. He looked at Ayne, who stared back, startled.
“We can’t—” he started to say, as Ayne rushed to the table, picking up two sickles in each hand, like large claws, and holding them out toward him.
“I told you already,” She said, chest heaving. “I refuse to live a helpless life of pain.”
She rushed toward Croenin, who weaved, dodging the sickle. He moved quickly, using the table to block himself, as he tried to pick a weapon before she struck again. He glanced at the table, noting his own flail sitting at the end of it, and grabbed it as Ayne moved to strike again, swinging a sickle widely at his head. No doubt Clythair had known he would choose it, but he couldn’t help but play right into that plan. He knew how to use no other weapon. Croenin swung back, missing Ayne’s head by a hair. He was swinging half-heartedly as he realized with a sinking feeling that he wasn’t prepared to kill his sister. He had been preparing himself for this very moment for almost a year. She wasn’t some evil, malevolent being like he’d thought. She was a tortured, scared young girl who had been pushed to her limit. She was fighting not only for her life, but to end the suffering she had experienced for so long.
Croenin let himself be beat back, extending his flail so that he could use it to block her blows. She was relentless and wild in her movements, having no training but desperate to win. He blocked her once more, thrusting the staff of his flail above his head as she swooped one sickle downward to catch him on the top of his head.
“Why aren’t you fighting me?” She said through gritted teeth as she swung once more, aiming for his side.
He quickly moved the staff downward, protecting his abdomen.
“I don’t want to kill you,” he gasped.
“You must, or I’ll kill you first.”
She caught him off guard, then, swiping for his face, and the end of the sickle dragged down his cheek, slicing it open.
“Fight!” She yelled at him, eyes filling with tears. “Fight me or I will kill you!”
She struck at him again, and he ducked, whipping out the staff of his flail and striking her in the legs, causing her to fall. He stood over her, raising the staff of his flail as if to strike but stopped as she flinched. He stayed like that, flail raised, and both of them stared at each other, waiting for the other to move.
“Do something,” she hissed, finally. “Go on, strike me.”
Croenin glared at her, arm trembling, before slowly lowering his flail.
“You idiot,” she said sadly as she jumped up, lunging for him with a sickle aimed at his neck.
As she did, the room flashed white, and their weapons were gone. Ayne was left with a hand reaching for her brother’s neck and she quickly drew back. She dropped to the floor, weak with relief. Croenin remained standing, looking around and waiting for what would come next. Neither were surprised when Clythair entered, though they were caught off guard by his anger.
“This is not how it was supposed to be!” The Aes Sidhe boomed. “You would let her kill you? You would let the one who killed your grandmother finish you off as well?”
“Trying to make me hate her won’t work,” Croenin said. “I don’t, and I can’t.” He looked down at Ayne, “I thought she was evil. I thought she wanted to bring the end of peace just out of spite for the human race, but actually talking to her, I know her side of the story now.”
He stared at Clythair, whose face was red with anger.
“I won’t do it,” Croenin said again, more firmly.
Clythair looked up, closing his eyes, trying to calm himself. He took a deep breath before looking back at the siblings.
“Then,” he said slowly. “I’ll be forced to call for help.
Just as he began to grow and lengthen, everything flashed white.
Croenin stumbled forward, catching himself as he nearly stepped off the roof of the castle. He and Ayne were back where Croenin had been just before the oryn room, and he turned trying to get his bearings as he saw Captio, lying on the ground with Rozaelle and Bruta tending to him. Ayne was on the other side of the roof, away from the group and the Aes Sidhe. She looked at her brother, dazed.
“How long were we in that room?” He whispered to himself.
Clythair, once more in his Aes Sidhe form answered. “Less than a minute. You see, boy, I could play with you two for quite a while. I can fit thousands of years in a day. But my talents are needed elsewhere, and I must finish what I set out to do.”
He stepped back, and Croenin saw two more figures appear behind him. He recognized them both. One was one of Mylesant’s friends, a young lady who always wore a scarf wrapped over her hair, and the other was one of the cook’s boys, a gangly lad of about thirteen who Croenin saw often hanging about outside the kitchen. He frowned, looking at Clythair and then at Ayne, who began to stand shakily, looking just as confused as he felt. The woman began to slowly unwrap her hair, letting her scarf be blown away by the wind. She bowed her head, and Croenin saw the small horn that sat atop, like the knob of a young goat. She laughed when she saw his shock and moved closer to Clythair. The boy was next. He started to undo the high collar of his shirt, and Croenin recoiled as he saw the drooping, wrinkled gizzard of an old man. The boy stroked the parchment-like skin there, for good measure, before he and the woman both began to transform, growing and stretching like Clythair had.
“What do we do?” Croenin asked to no one in particular, stepping back toward his friends.
“We must fight,” Bruta said softly.
“Captio—” Croenin started to say, but Rozaelle cut him off.
“He would rather us keep them from forcing you to fulfill the prophecy here and now than protect him. We fight!”
On that last word, the world around them began to warp, the roof beneath them rolling like waves. Croenin looked up as the sky began to darken, clouds gathering over them, flashing with lightning and pounding with thunder. They struggled to get their balance on the uneven and constantly moving roof, and Croenin watched as Rozaelle and Bruta began summoning their light. He wondered what they were going to do with it, when Bruta formed a ball of green and thrusted it toward the female Aes Sidhe. The woman screeched as the light hit her, her skin sizzling, and she lunged toward Bruta.
“What was that? Croenin yelled.
“Pure energy,” Rozaelle answered, following Bruta’s lead.
Croenin realized he had no such weapon, and looked around wildly for something to use. He glanced at Ayne, who looked back at him helplessly. Neither knew what to do. What good is magic if it can’t protect me? Cro
enin thought. He looked at Clythair, who had not moved. The Aes Sidhe was surveying the small group, content the two girls were fighting his own lackeys. He knew that Croenin and his sister were at a loss as to what to do. Their friends were distracted, just as he’d wanted. Clythair began to walk toward Croenin, and the young man quickly moved backward, not knowing what the Aes Sidhe’s aim was. He was soon roughly pushed aside by a large, deathly cold hand, and he cried out as Clythair grabbed Captio’s unconscious body, holding it high in the air. Bruta fell back, moving to Croenin’s side just as she struck the female Aes Sidhe for the final time, knocking the monster unconscious with pain.
“What is he doing?” She shouted.
“I don’t know!”
They stood, using each other to brace themselves against the chaotic movements of the roof under their feet, and began following Clythair’s slow, deliberate steps across the roof. They stopped when the Aes Sidhe did, the large being still holding Captio’s body over his head like a trophy.
“Decide, boy! Your master’s life or your sister’s!”
“Don’t,” Bruta breathed in his ear. “You know what Captio would want you to do.”
Croenin looked back at Ayne, who was still crouched across the roof from him, and then at Rozaelle, who, having moved back behind the tower, was still continuing her volley of light at the young Aes Sidhe. Croenin felt something akin to anger rising in his chest as he surveyed the scene around him, burning him from the inside as it rose. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak as it continued to rise. He felt himself grow numb as it reached its apex, and a roar poured out of his mouth. Whiteness began to fill his vision, and the last thing he saw before it covered everything was Clythair’s horrified face.
Croenin awoke in a bed, which surprised him. He sat up slowly, groaning as pain shot through his body. He feared for a moment that everything had been a dream, and breathed a sigh of relief as he realized he was in his room in the servants’ quarters. The stark white walls, shimmering slightly in the light pouring from his small window, were, for once, a comfort. He looked around him. Everything looked as it had been. He peeled off his covers to get out of bed, but soon was frowning as he saw that his right leg was in a cast. Just as he was about to shout for someone, Captio entered, a bandage around his own head and left eye, and his right arm in a sling.
“Don’t get up,” the slender man said sarcastically.
“Ha, ha,” Croenin rasped. “What happened?”
“Here,” Captio said, handing him a skin of water. “What happened is that you saved my life. You shouldn’t have.”
Croenin drank gratefully before speaking. “What do you mean I shouldn’t have? I’m glad I did, even if I wasn’t trying to! I—”
Captio raised a hand, cutting him off. He sat on the bed, avoiding Croenin’s eyes. The young man could see that he was having trouble gathering his words.
“What? What happened?”
Captio looked up at him, eyes sorrowful. “What you did, that burst of energy, it killed those closest to it. I was, by some miracle, held just above it and dropped away from it when Clythair was killed. You should have let him throw me,” he chuckled darkly. “That fall wouldn’t have killed me. I escaped with just a broken arm.” He raised his sling.
“It killed everyone closest…” Croenin started, and then, he couldn’t breathe.
Those closest to him were the three Aes Sidhe, the young one still fighting Rozaelle and the female weakened and unconscious due to Bruta. Bruta who’d been right by his side. Croenin couldn’t speak, and he could hear Captio trying to speak to him, but the man sounded so far away. His vision blurred with tears, and he raised his hands to his face. What had he done? He felt Captio’s hands on his shoulders, and he shook him off. He had killed his own friend. What kind of monster was he?
“Croenin!” Captio grabbed his hands, pulling them from his face. His voice cut through the ringing in Croenin’s ears. “Listen to me! I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have placed blame on you like that. You didn’t know. You didn’t know,” Captio repeated, shaking him with each word.
“Where is she?” he whispered. “I want to see her.”
Captio sighed deeply. “There is no body. She was just…gone, turned to ash. She blew away in the wind.” His voice broke on the last word, and he cleared his throat.
“Gone.” That seemed impossible.
Croenin could remember her standing there with him, leaning against him. He had felt her breathing in his ear as they stood against Clythair together. As he sat, lost in thought, Rozaelle entered, eyes red-rimmed from crying.
“You’re awake,” she said flatly.
Croenin nodded, unable to speak.
“Good,” she said simply, before lunging for him.
Captio quickly blocked her, putting his back to her awkwardly to protect his lame arm.
“She didn’t deserve that!” She cried, trying to push past the slender man. “She was trying to help you!”
Croenin could only watch, wide eyed, as she stopped fighting and dropped to the floor, breaking down into sobs. Captio helped her to stand and escorted her out of the room. Croenin could hear their muffled voices and then a third joining them, before Captio entered his room once more.
“She’s being taken care of,” he said softly.
“What happens now?” Croenin murmured.
“I have a friend here, who just arrived this morning. They’ll escort her back to the Maelstris Nequitum’s keep. I don’t think she should be around you after what happened. She’s too upset and may do something she’ll come to regret. Deep down she knows it’s not your fault, but...” Captio trailed off.
Croenin nodded. Probably for the best, he thought.
“And then?” He asked, remembering the feast suddenly. “What does Lothaire think about all this?”
“He thinks nothing of this at the moment. Thanks to my friend, he and everyone else in this castle believes that we were injured in the storm that night, a few loose stones caused us to tumble from the roof when the rain first started.”
“No one thought to ask why we were on the roof?” Croenin asked in disbelief.
“No one. Such is the magic he works.”
“Why couldn’t you have called him earlier,” Croenin groaned. “When Clythair first arrived?”
“Oh, I did, but its taken him weeks to get here.”
“Weeks?” Croenin whispered. “How long—”
“You’ve been out cold for two weeks, much like when I first officially met you.”
Croenin thought back to when he woke up in the keep of the Faero Ursi. That seemed like forever ago. A surprising part of him wished that Saed were here, and he swallowed that down.
“And Ayne?”
“Gone.”
“What do you mean gone?”
“I’ve had this castle searched up and down. She must have fled the night we faced Clythair.”
Croenin couldn’t believe it. “Where would she go?” He whispered to himself.
Captio heard, and answered him. “That, I do not know. I fear we may find out soon, though. The girl seems to stir up trouble wherever she settles. She can’t help but meddle in other peoples’ affairs.”
“You know about her hand in the deaths here?”
Captio nodded. “She wants good in this world, there is no doubt, but there is danger in her. You can’t be tortured by excruciating pain every day of your life and come out on the other side a perfectly healthy person.”
“I have to find her.”
“We will. There’s no doubt we will, but for now you must heal. Lothaire will expect you to return to your duties soon.”
“I can’t go back to him! I have to find Ayne and—”
“She’ll resurface. Right now, though, I think you were right in wanting to stay here. The Aes Sidhe are planning something, and humans are not yet ready to face them. We do not know how long we might have, but we will ensure that humankind has a fighting chance.”
“Wha
t about you?” Croenin asked. “Clythair is gone. Will you go back to the Faero Ursi?’
“No, I’ll remain here with you,” Captio said, sitting at the small table. “Clythair’s goons hold too much power in the brotherhood for me to return just yet. There would be a mutiny if I tried to take over. Besides, I’m sure I’ll find myself busy here. Lothaire decided to take me on as the castle’s doctor, once he saw how I bandaged myself and you.” Captio smiled tightly. “And if you will excuse me, I need to rest, and so do you.”
Croenin nodded, knowing full well that he wouldn’t be able to sleep after what he’d been through. Instead he laid back and focused, smiling softly as he felt himself being pulled out of his body, and he began to see beyond himself for the first time in a long time.
Epilogue
She stopped on the side of the road, hiding herself among the trees as night began to fall. She had settled on the outskirts of a village for the night, close enough so that bandits would not trouble her but far enough away to not be seen. She walked through the trees, sighing to herself as she came across a small clearing. It would have to do for the night. She gathered her tinder and began to make a small fire, glancing up with each faraway noise the forest made. She had been on edge since she started her journey, feeling that she was being watched.
And she was. The old man watched her unseen, standing with his hands folded in front of him and white eyes fixed on her. He frowned. This was not how things were supposed to happen, and now all he could do was watch. He dared not speak. His sightless eyes followed her as she rose, satisfied with her small fire, and reached down into her boot. His eyebrows rose with surprise as she pulled out a bundle of cloth, and he moved in closer, watching as she unraveled it. Inside was a moonstone dagger, etched with strange symbols. The girl raised her head.
“I see you,” she said softly. “Great-grandfather.”
The old man smiled. “So you do. May I join you?”
End of Book 1 - Please Read This
