Destiny

by Fiona McIntosh

  They reached the Forest several hours later but had made good time —despite stopping frequently to check Alyssa’s pulse, which remained faint and her breathing appeared very shallow. Once back amongst the trees, Tor took her in his arms.

  ‘Make your way back to the Heartwood with the horses as quickly as you can. Danger approaches.’

  ‘And you, Father?’ Gidyon asked.

  ‘I can take her back to the Heartwood in my own way. Make haste!’

  They watched him hold her close to his chest and then they all felt a mighty power gathering. Tiny flames burst around the pair, chiming, and then a vast rainbow light gushed around them, blinding and deafening them with the roar of its power. When they could look again Tor and Alyssa had disappeared.

  29

  A Forest Falls Silent

  Tor no longer needed to draw on Darmud Coril’s power to travel through the Forest. He now understood the magical complexities of transportation into the Heartwood and, fuelled by fear for Alyssa’s life, wielded his power with terrifying speed and skill to bring them both to the very centre of the Heartwood, where their children had been conceived.

  ‘Darmud Coril!’ he cried, his voice hoarse with fright.

  ‘I am here, Torkyn Gynt.’

  ‘Save her. Use my life if you must but save her!’

  ‘Give her to me,’ the god commanded and the branches of the trees which served him reached low. Barely able to part with her, Tor placed his wife gently amongst them.

  She was lifted high into the trees and away from his sight. Tor fell to his knees, begging the Heartwood to use all of its magics to rescue his precious Alyssa, over and over again offering his own life in exchange.

  Solyana appeared, padding silently to where he knelt. She nuzzled him and he put his arms around her.

  ‘She’s gone,’ he wept into her thick, silver-tipped fur. ‘I’ve tried everything to reach her but I can’t even sense her there.’

  We love her too, son of the Heartwood. Be brave. Solyana could think of nothing else to say—no words of comfort came because she too felt hollow. Tell me what happened while we wait.

  The wolf knew it would help him to regain some balance if he talked and she was right. He related everything—all the events which had happened on their journey north.

  So Goth is finally dead, she said.

  Yes, but somehow he took Alyssa with him.

  I don’t think so. From what you say, Alyssa went to wherever it is of her own accord. She looked up. Hush! Darmud Coril comes.

  Tor leapt to his feet but when he saw the limp body of his wife being lowered from the trees, he knew in his heart they had been too late.

  Alyssa was placed tenderly on the ground but Tor could not look at her. His eyes were riveted on the lines of sadness etched across Darmud Coril’s own gentle face.

  ‘We have lost her, my son.’

  Tor swallowed. He could make no sound come. His throat had failed. He wished it would close completely, shutting off his breath and allowing him to die beside her.

  The god continued. ‘Only her body is here. Her spirit has gone. She has covered her trace expertly and I cannot find her. I am unable to call her back.’

  ‘But perhaps…’ Tor wanted desperately to clutch at something, anything which might give him hope.

  Darmud Coril shook his head and Tor stopped speaking. The trees rustled and creaked their distress and the Flames of the Firmament appeared to chime softly about the precious couple.

  ‘She already cools, my child. It is too late. Alyssa is dead to us.’

  Tor knew it to be true.

  He said no more and lay down on the ground next to her; burying his face into her honey-golden hair he poured out his sorrow.

  Solyana sat nearby, grief-stricken herself and worried about Tor. She must watch him closely. He and the Trinity were their only hope. Slowly the Heartwood fell silent. Nothing moved; not even the lake rippled. Despair reigned for countless hours as Alyssa’s body began to stiffen beside Tor and then cool to a deathly chill.

  It was how the others found them the following day; curled into death’s embrace.

  She wished now she had said something before she left which might bring him comfort, but seeing Lauryn, hearing her despair and Xantia’s hideous cackle, had pushed her beyond her tolerance. She had cast a warning to Xantia, she thought, and then lifted free of her body. What an odd sense of freedom she had felt. She had looked down on her husband and son, feeling their fright, wanting to tell them she had made a decision.

  Alyssa had lingered far longer than she had intended, travelling with Tor to the Heartwood and feeling his grief so intensely that she wanted to reach out and touch his soft, wavy hair and reassure him it was for the best. She watched him receive back her body from Darmud Coril and saw his agony as he accepted the truth and slumped beside her. Her spirit was trembling now with shame at bringing this upon him—causing him so much sorrow when there was still so much to be done.

  Yet she had had no choice, she told herself. Her and Tor’s needs were not above their children’s. The monster, Orlac, was raping Lauryn and Alyssa knew all about rape. She had had Saxon to rescue her yet Lauryn had no one. Her Paladin were nowhere to be seen! What could they do anyway against such power? She recalled the broad, powerful back of Orlac and the way his lips had been pulled back in a frenzy of ecstasy combined with hate. Beneath him screamed her child who refused to call her parents to the trap.

  Alyssa tried to shake herself free of the vision; she needed a clear mind for what she had to do. The only puzzle, she thought, was why Lauryn had called for Orlac to save her when it was Orlac who rode her as if she were a whore. It baffled her but time was short now. She was no more for this Land…she knew that now; she must follow her true enemy, Xantia. Perhaps she could use Xantia to divert the attention of Orlac and win her child some respite from his attentions, if not safety.

  Alyssa looked down one final time upon the man she loved. She could neither touch nor link with him.

  Farewell, darling Tor, she called to her husband, who could not hear her. Be no longer sad, beloved. The gods have chosen that we were never meant to be together.

  She thought of Gidyon; someone she loved so much already—a sensitive, affectionate young man who would not recover from this blow easily. Her spiritual heart broke for him.

  And Rubyn. Unknown to her but the bond between mother and son still had strength. His face was etched in her mind. She hoped his father would live through this to tell him more about her endless love and regret for not being near him as he grew.

  Finally, she spared a thought for Gyl. Her beloved son…her King.

  Then she was travelling…racing after Xantia, whom she intended to destroy.

  30

  To Cipres

  Lauryn withdrew as far within herself as she could and cowered there. Pain had passed; now it was just the detestable feel of him against her, over her, that she must endure. And Xantia, laughing manically at her suffering.

  She thought of Tor and felt strengthened that she had not capitulated to the monster’s demands, although several times when the fear of him threatened to overwhelm her it had been tempting—to link with her father; link with them all and let happen whatever was to be. But in the next second she had thought—through the pain, through the humiliation and the despair—of all those counting on her to protect their identity, their location.

  The horror had begun three nights earlier. Somehow she had found the will to survive. Today, though, the fourth day, when he returned to take her again, she felt that resolve ebb. How many more times would he visit? How much longer could she resist his demands? They were always the same: she was to call her father for help. But then, just a few moments ago, when her resilience was at its lowest and even the notion of his hurting Gidyon seemed almost fair to her in her terror, she had heard the voice.

  I will save you from him. Be strong, Lauryn. Just a little longer.

  And then the voice ha
d disappeared. It sounded weak but it was there and it was making a promise. She could hear the determination and the fury within it before it disappeared again.

  It was the voice of Orlac.

  It was then that Lauryn realised the man who was hurting her was not the same one who had wooed her so carefully. This Orlac was different, both in voice and posture. Somehow, Orlac’s body had been overpowered and possessed by an impostor.

  Her senses heightened by terror, Lauryn found her mind was open to Orlac’s. Perhaps he had been reaching for her since the terror began. Now he promised to rescue her. Curiously, it was relief she felt. Relief that this horrible thing was not, in fact, the Orlac who had spent so many evenings talking about everything and anything with her. They had shared so much in that time and in all those nights he had done no more than kiss her hand. It was as though he had been too shy to touch her. But the monster within him was not.

  Lauryn could not be sure her presumption was correct, but she suspected her instincts served her well. And she recalled now that Juno and even Adongo had tried to warn her. Had they seen the impostor perhaps?

  She would survive. She would let him do his horrible acts over and over but she would not be cowed by his threats or demands. As long as she did not call her father, he would have to keep her alive. She was as good as dead, Lauryn decided, if she so much as uttered Tor’s name. And so she hid his trace. Buried all pathways to him. He was the One. He must be protected by her. Orlac would save her and with that thought—as the beast who hurt her made his demands again—she sensed something new.

  It was Xantia now. Xantia casting out! Could she follow that Link? Lauryn did not know if it was possible but she had to try. From her withdrawn self she focused…felt her Colours; kept them small and private and through her new and special self she sensed and was shocked to see her mother’s tormented face through a ring of flames—could even listen in on her mother’s thoughts. She believed she might scream for she sensed her brother’s and father’s presence and she pulled back instantly, running away from them, desperately hoping the thing which inhabited Orlac would not find her out.

  Lauryn’s luck held. Dorgryl was lost to the pleasures of the flesh and in his ecstasy did not sense her casting out through Xantia. Lauryn withdrew herself again as he became still. He shoved her hard backwards. She heard Xantia’s horrible laugh but showed nothing. She scrambled aside, pulling up her knees to her chest; no longer caring to hide her shame in front of these two creatures.

  She pretended to swoon. Xantia slapped her hard to see if Lauryn was faking but Lauryn felt it coming—she steeled herself and went limp, allowing the sting of the slap to tingle across her face whilst her expression betrayed nothing but a slackness indicative of sleep.

  They spoke in her apparently unconscious presence and she listened, not so much as twitching a muscle.

  ‘Thank you for giving me my freedom from the archalyt, Dorgryl,’ Xantia cooed.

  Lauryn noted the name, cheered inwardly. It was not Orlac. Dorgryl! She hated its ugly sound in her head.

  ‘Don’t mention it,’ he said, seeming to turn on his charm. It did not work—the deep voice was still laced with scorn. ‘Use your freedom wisely, Xantia. Do anything stupid with it, like following your own mindless and petty hates, and I will take your life as easy as blinking.’

  The words were uttered softly but there was no disguising the threat in his voice. Lauryn could sense Xantia shudder. The Witch was scared of him but she was helplessly attracted to his power.

  ‘Stay with me, Dorgryl. Don’t let Orlac come back. I will serve you with a loyalty like no other,’ Xantia begged.

  ‘He is as much at my mercy as she is,’ he said, looking over at Lauryn.

  She held her breath.

  ‘Do you think she will call her father?’

  ‘She cannot take much more of this and I have plenty to give.’ He laughed harshly. ‘She will call him. A day or two more, no longer.’

  ‘Why can’t you just go and finish him yourself? I think we can all guess where he hides.’

  ‘Because I want him to come to me!’ Dorgryl shouted. There was no warning in his manner or his speech that his anger would ignite with such terrifying speed or burn quite so brightly. ‘I want him begging for the life of his daughter. I know him. He loves others more than the power he owns; more than what he is or who he could be. He worships the woman you hate and the children she birthed. They are his weakness. He will come.’

  They left Lauryn finally but not before Xantia had thrown a jug of chilled water over her and promised they would return later. Just before she pulled away, Xantia whispered to her.

  ‘I gave your mother a little insight into what you get up to in Cipres, you wicked child.’

  Lauryn noticed, for the first time, that Xantia no longer wore the disk of blue archalyt on her forehead, though it had probably been removed for days. It did not scare her to realise that this woman was reconnected to her powers. She rolled back to face the Witch and somehow found the courage to give the leering face a look of scorn.

  ‘That was stupid. Now she can trace you, she’ll destroy you.’

  ‘Light be praised!’ Cyrus said. ‘He’s still here.’

  They were standing at the docks of Caradoon having travelled at speed from Ildagarth. The soldier was impressed with how quickly they had covered such ground. Although the great northern city and this relative backwater were close in terms of the size of the Kingdom of Tallinor, he recalled such a journey would normally take two, possibly three, days. They had made it in the course of a day.

  Did you have anything to do with how fleet of foot our horses were?

  Rubyn only barely smiled. It was answer enough.

  ‘How can you know?’ Sarel asked.

  Cyrus looked away from Rubyn’s smug expression to the Queen. ‘Because only when the sovereign is aboard can a ship fly that pennant…or so it was in my day,’ he replied.

  ‘Do we just stride up then and present ourselves?’ It was Hela. ‘Because we look very conspicuous right now and it’s a matter of moments, I’m sure, before soldiers ask us to move on.’

  She saw Cyrus’s normally serious expression change to one of amusement. He scratched gently at his closelyshaved beard.

  ‘I think I’ve just spotted our way into an audience,’ he said softly. ‘Follow me.’

  They did as told, trailing his long stride a few steps behind. Hela felt a tingle of pride on his behalf. He’s magnificent, she could not help but privately admit, as she watched the confident—and indeed arrogant—walk of Kyt Cyrus.

  The ship was clearly being readied to sail and if Cyrus’s still sharp eyesight served him well, frantic activity was underway which seemed to be under the command of a civilian. Perhaps he was the captain— this was no royal vessel and certainly no warship. The only ships which left from this port were pirate craft…usually slavers.

  A look of distaste crossed his face. He had always hoped to do something about Caradoon and yet it had been his idea to leave it alone. He had finally decided that to monitor it closely—have spies even —would be a more subtle way to control it. Lorys had not been keen but he had appreciated the good sense of his Prime who argued it would be best to keep potential troublemakers in sight. Heavy handling would only send them all scurrying to new regions, the Prime had assured, adding that as long as the problem did not spill south—could be kept contained within Caradoon—then it was as good as controlled. Lorys had finally agreed, and so as much as it galled him to leave the town of scoundrels alone, Cyrus had bided his time, infiltrating the pirating community with two or three men who lived amongst the Caradoons for many years, reporting back cautiously but frequently once they knew they had been accepted.

  He looked again at the man in charge. He seemed awfully young to command his own ship. Cyrus checked the name—The Raven— and his thoughts moved swiftly, racing back amongst his memories to bring to mind the name of the owner of this ship.

 
; ‘Janus Quist,’ he murmured. The others looked at him and he explained. ‘But that’s not Quist. He was distinctive to say the least.’

  Rubyn’s much keener eyesight focused on Locklyn Gylbyt, barking orders. ‘He’s about the same age as I am, perhaps younger.’

  Sarel squinted into the distance. ‘It’s Locky!’ she suddenly squealed.

  Hela admonished her for the loud voice although none of the busy soldiers seemed to take any notice.

  It was Hela’s turn to narrow her gaze towards the young man. ‘I think Sarel’s right. His brother—well, brother by marriage —is Quist. The captain was exceptionally generous towards us. He helped us to escape from Cipres when we fled.’

  ‘Good news. He might be useful,’ Cyrus said. ‘But he’s too far away right now to do us any good,’ he added, nodding towards the three soldiers approaching them.

  ‘Ho, you people,’ the youngest one said. ‘What do you want down here? This wharf is a protected area until that ship sets sail.’

  Cyrus smiled disarmingly. ‘And you are?’

  ‘A soldier of his majesty’s Shield and not answerable to you, sir,’ he replied. ‘We must ask you to leave.’

  ‘Is the King on board?’ Cyrus continued, ignoring the young man and turning towards the eldest one in the trio. Cyrus did not recognise him but he hoped the man was old enough to have a long memory.

  ‘What’s it to you, may we ask?’ the older man said.

  The first soldier bristled at being ignored as he was obviously of superior rank and Cyrus could not help but smile as the older man gently raised his hand. It was not the act of a subordinate but it was not confrontational and his younger superior wisely held his tongue.

  ‘The King will be interested to meet me.’

  ‘Your name?’ the same man now asked.

  ‘Cyrus.’

  A uncommon name but certainly not rare. The man nodded.

  Cyrus could see the younger fellow was about to explode into a tirade of orders, presumably along the lines of asking them to leave, so he cut across him before a sound came out.