by M. Walsh
“You’re right,” he said. “Just gotta keep my cool. I have to …”
He looked at her, into her warm eyes and smile, and suddenly all his aches, pains, and dread melted away. She looked almost ethereal in the dark and dismal forest. Being in her presence, seeing her look at him like that, he almost felt like nothing could go wrong.
“Relax,” she said, patting him on the arm. “Besides,” she added with a wry smile. “If you have to panic, save it for the really bad part of the woods.”
She winked and resumed walking. Snapping back to reality, Krutch thought he could understand how Katrina believed Lily was the girl everyone was after. He’d be lying if he didn’t admit he was a sucker for a pretty face, but he’d never been around anyone like her.
She might not be the one Kader and Daredin wanted, but there was definitely something about her.
* * *
Katrina and Kader weren’t able to reach Fane before nightfall. Kader had to convince her they should stop to camp. She wasn’t happy, but the horses were exhausted, and there was no denying they needed rest. She reluctantly accepted they wouldn’t get to Fane until morning. They set up camp off-road, twenty yards into the woods. The rain had stopped, but it was getting colder, and the moon couldn’t be seen.
He cooked a light dinner—which was just as well, as Katrina had little appetite. Sitting still and in the quiet, she was troubled to find her craving for a drink returned as strong as ever. Her stomach bubbled and hand shook, and she could tell it was from being sober.
“If we’re up by dawn,” Kader said. “I think we can reach Fane within three hours. Hopefully we’ll be able to find some information about Leeroy’s pirates, while there’s still time.”
She nodded. She didn’t want to talk to him, but she wanted to get her mind off her sobriety. “Why Lily?”
“Beg pardon..?”
“Why her? Why is Lily the one you need? Why is she the one Daredin needs?”
“She is descended from an important bloodline of High Priests. They were dedicated to defending the land from the Forces of the Black and helped win the Great Dark War. It is believed they were involved with the construction of the Seraphim Towers.”
“And..?”
“The line was scattered long ago. The few remaining survivors spread out among Graylands, from generation to generation. We believe Lily is the last of that line.”
“Meaning what..?”
“These are chaotic times, Rien. They say the power of the Towers weakens every day. Demons are beginning to cross the borders and roam unchecked. The Realm is at a crossroad—for either darkness or light. Lily may be the key to deciding which path we go. If Daredin gets his hands on her, he may usher in a new dark age.”
Katrina rubbed her forehead, feeling an ache form in the center. “And I’m sure if you get your hands on her, everyone will live happily ever after, right..?”
Kader let out a slight smile, like he was having a pleasant dream. “We can hope.”
“And does Lily get any say in all this..?”
“How do you mean..?”
She shook her head. It was always the same story. Oracles and prophecies and fate moving people along like clockwork pawns with no choice. Or worse, the illusion of choice. Of course you can say no at any time—but it will result in cataclysmic destruction and unfathomable suffering for countless innocent people.
“So Lily gets to be a target, hunted by pirates, demons, and gods know who else, because she had the bad luck of being born to the wrong parents? That’s basically what it comes down to, isn’t it?”
Kader had the bemused look of a condescending holy man talking to a non-believer. “Your cynicism is noted, Rien—but you underestimate Lily’s importance.”
“I’m not underestimating it, I’m calling it shit.”
“I see,” he said, frowning. “And is it ... ‘shit’ ... to possibly guarantee the peace and prosperity of the entire world?”
“Yeah,” she said, smirking. It was a joyless expression that highlighted deeply rooted bitterness. “I’ve certainly heard that plenty of times. And yet, the world is the same as it’s always been.”
“Sometimes defending the world from evil means maintaining the status quo. But every so often, when we find a chance—even it is just a chance—to actually improve the world, we have to pursue it to the bitter end.”
“And to hell with how many lives you ruin along the way, right..?”
“There will always be regrets. Even in the greatest of victories.”
Speaking of which, Katrina found herself regretting pursuing this discussion. She hoped talking would get her mind off wanting a drink—instead the subject just made her crave one even more. “Luckily,” she grumbled, “there’s never a shortage of ‘chosen ones’ out there.”
“It’s easy to hide behind cynicism and apathy, Rien. It takes true strength to fight for that chance.”
“It’s also easy to say that when you get to be the messenger who delivers the great and noble destinies. You get to wait on the outside and watch, and if everything turns to shit, you just find another prophecy to fulfill. Another destiny to ensure. What happens to the ‘chosen ones’ when they aren’t so ‘chosen’ anymore?”
Kader stared at her, his eyes narrowed like he was analyzing her. “I take it this is experience talking?”
“Nothing,” she snapped. “Forget it.” She let the conversation go far enough and decided to cut it off. The last thing she wanted was to open old wounds with Rasul Kader of all people.
She turned over, holding her coat closed tightly against her as a makeshift blanket. She wouldn’t say—at least not yet—but she felt it didn’t matter whether they claimed to fight for “good” or “evil.” As she dozed off to sleep, she thought to herself fanatics were still fanatics—they didn’t care who got hurt in their predetermined ambitions.
* * *
Is that really how you remember us, Katrina?
She was sleeping. But in her dream, she was in an empty, cold corridor. The floor was dark green marble faded to a dull gray from the layer of dust covering it. With each step she took, a foot print was left behind, as if walking through a thin coat of snow.
Just fanatics..? Is that all we are to you now?
The voices echoed all around her, reaching high up to the curved ceiling above. The walls were lined with stained-glass windows—though their images couldn’t be seen because of the darkness outside. Not that it mattered—she knew where she was. She hadn’t thought of this place in years—she’d tried to drown the memory away beneath gallons of liquor.
We were the closest you had to family. We loved you, Katrina.
And you loved us.
The voices were different, but she remembered the people they belonged to. Sofia—the woman that was, for all intents and purposes, her step-mother. She was so beautiful, with long white hair down to her back and turquoise eyes. She was there when they found Katrina. She was the one that told her who she was—what she was meant to do.
I remember you begged me to take it back. To take it away and make it all not true.
“I was just a child,” Katrina whispered, her raspy voice croaking out and barely stirring the darkness. “I was afraid.”
But you were strong. You accepted what was needed of you. What needed to be done.
She remembered that voice, as well. It was deep and baritone, yet still warm as ever. Barton—the man that taught her most of her skills. He was a massive wall of a man—strong as stone. She remembered his towering over her when she was a child. She was afraid of him at first, but if Sofia was her step-mother, he would be her step-father.
I was proud of you, girl. You were my best student.
“Was,” she whispered, almost inaudible. “Past tense.”
You were our hope and our pride. You were going to free our people and restore our land to peace and prosperity.
“Things don’t always work out the way we want,” she growled, a tear squee
zed from her eye and dripping down her cheek. “You never prepared me for that.”
She opened her eyes, and a faint red mist started to fill the corridor. It began from the ceiling and drifted down. More tears poured from her eyes, and her teeth gritted. Blood seeped out from the corners and through the windows. Somewhere in the darkness, she heard the faint echoes of screaming and gagging.
“I did everything I was supposed to do,” she said through gritted teeth. “I fought him, and I killed him. How could I have known what he’d done? How could I have stopped it?”
We believed in you, Katrina. You were the Chosen One ...
Her breathing sped up, and she felt her heart thudding in her chest. Her face was locked in a grimace of pain and anger, and she started gripping her hair. She hated this place. It was supposed to be a sacred shrine of her ancestors—but it was just a tomb to her. A dead place of haunting relics, reminding her of what she was supposed to be, what she was meant to be, but couldn’t.
“I hate you,” she moaned, her voice strained with anguish. “I hate you ...”
A light appeared at the end of the corridor. A massive door was opening and blinding white light poured out. She didn’t want to look in there. She knew what was in the room, waiting for her. The symbol of her destiny and icon of her birthright. She remembered the blood, pain, and tears she endured finding that cursed object and claiming it as her own.
She opened her eyes and saw it there, covered in dust and cobwebs, stained in blood. Despite the filth all around it, the blade shined as bright as ever. The golden handle was untarnished and the gems decorating it twinkled. Her father’s sword—the sword of the Vigor. The sword to be wielded by the rightful heir to the throne.
She threw the sword away after it happened—after everyone died. She threw it blindly without caring to see where it might land. For all she knew, pillagers and thieves—brave enough to cross the dead and haunted country—found it and pawned it long ago.
It sat there, as if to taunt her. Reminding what she was meant to do. She hated that sword. She hated that her life—by no choice of her own—was somehow bound to that cursed thing, and because she couldn’t live up to it, she was doomed to misery. As if she wore the damn thing around her neck.
Two figures emerged from the light, standing at either side of the sword. A man and woman, dressed in elegant clothes, looking pale and somber. She’d never met them, but recognized who they were. The fallen King and Queen of Vigor—her birth parents. They stared at her with indifferent, vacant eyes showing no warmth or pity. They were judging her.
“What?!” she screamed, her face now wet and red with tears. “What do you want?!”
Her mother dropped her face. Her father pulled her mother close, and his face turned cold and harsh. “You let us down, Katrina.”
* * *
She jerked up, cold sweat drenching her back. Her face was damp, but she told herself it was more sweat and that she was not crying in her sleep.
The fire was still burning, and Kader was asleep at the other side. It was late, and the night was cold and still. She took a breath and stood up to stretch her legs. She found her canteen and took a deep gulp. It didn’t sooth her as well as alcohol, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
The dream was fresh in her mind and reflecting on it made her shiver. She hadn’t thought of those people or those places in a long time. Perhaps that wasn’t entirely true—she supposed they were always on her mind in some way. She just kept them at bay with a steady stream of liquor. There were no dreams of ghosts when black-out drunk.
But it wasn’t just sobriety. All this stuff with Lily hit too close to home. She wondered again if she shouldn’t give up this crusade, find a bar in the nearest town, and drink herself into unconsciousness. But at the same time, reflecting on the dream reminded her why she couldn’t abandon Lily. Certainly not to some damned destiny she knew nothing of and wanted nothing to do with.
She stared at the sleeping Kader, and resentment took hold. He was no different than Sofia and Barton and all the other caretakers, mentors, and allies who claimed to want what was best for her, but only directed her to the objective they selected for her.
That isn’t fair and you know it, said some small, distant part of her from the back of her mind. Sofia and Barton did care for you. They never wanted you to get hurt.
She hissed and buried that feeling inside, focusing on the years of wandering and pain she’d endured since that day—the day she watched her people die. She let the bitterness inside her flourish and stew in her veins. She would need that anger to get through what was coming. She would need it to keep her panic at bay.
Certain she wouldn’t get any more sleep, she took her sword and found a clearing to exercise.
* * *
Rasul Kader smoked his pipe as Katrina was sleeping. He felt sore and tired, but wanted to savor a few moments of peace and quiet without having the woman glaring at him. He’d anticipated she might be difficult to handle, but she proved to be far more stubborn and frustrating than he expected. Even now, with her coming along willingly, she still found ways to aggravate him.
He smoked his pipe, taking what comfort he could in the cold, dark night—knowing she would insist they pack up and move at first light. He guessed, not without resentment, she probably wouldn’t even allow him a chance to eat breakfast. He knew he needed to maintain a pretense of urgency, but they could at least eat, couldn’t they?
Yes, he was growing quite certain he didn’t like Katrina Lamont.
Kader.
The voice startled him. Not just that it echoed in his mind, seemingly from nowhere, but the sound of the voice itself. It was a hollow, raspy voice—sounding like something that would come from a ghost.
Kader, it repeated. We must talk. Now.
He gathered himself, only to be startled again by the presence of Edmund Rictor appearing from the darkness. Daredin’s lieutenant gave a slight nod and gestured to follow him. Kader put aside his pipe and slipped a few yards away from the camp.
Staring at him with dead, blank eyes, Rictor said, “I have him, my lord,” and suddenly grabbed him by the shoulder.
At once, Kader felt like his mind was torn from his body. The land flew by, beneath his feet, propelling him further south until he was in a wide open, desolate space. It seemed like a desert, but it was an otherworldly place that looked like nothing he’d ever seen.
“What is this?” he asked, uneasily.
“Just a place for us to talk, Mr. Kader,” Jacob Daredin said, emerging from the shadows. “This is between dreaming and awake. Now, on to important matters—I see you have the Princess.” Kader was about to speak, when Daredin finished, his voice turning sinister, “Finally.”
He felt flustered, adjusting his glasses—despite being in a sort of dream world—and said, “I understand if you’re feeling ... frustrated. But you must understand the Princess proved to be more ... troublesome than I thought.”
“I told you we should’ve taken her by force,” Rictor growled. “You should just let me take her right now …”
“With all due respect,” he said. “But if Princess Lamont is this stubborn willingly, imagine how difficult she’d be if you tried taking her against her will. Two to three days journey of her actively trying to fight and escape every step of the way. I stand by my belief manipulating her was the proper course. It just took longer than expected.”
He paused, and both Daredin and Rictor stared at him. He felt small, and it was a feeling he didn’t care for.
“The point is,” he continued. “She’s with me, and more importantly, determined to reach the ruins as fast as possible. Whether she trusts me or not, she’s convinced the girl she found has been taken there.”
“And what good luck she even came across that girl at all. She made things much easier for you.”
“I’ll agree with that,” he said, choking out a single chuckle that had little life in it. He felt certain his physical body was beginni
ng to sweat. Clearing his throat, he said, “I suppose if I made any error, it was relying on Leeroy and his imbecile pirates. But we needn’t worry about them now, do we?”
“Some still live,” Daredin said. “But yes, they are of no concern. What’s important is you get the Princess to the ruins. Are you sure you’ll reach them by tomorrow?”
“Assuming we don’t run into any more obstacles—yes.”
Daredin nodded. “Then I suggest you rest up, Mr. Kader.”
He snapped his fingers, and in an instant, Kader was thrown back into his body. He dropped to his knees, his blood cold and skin crawling. In his mind, he heard Daredin’s voice echo, Until tomorrow, my friend, and was gone.
Rictor spared no words, saying everything he needed to with his eyes: If you fail, you die. Slowly, before walking into the woods, seeming to melt into the shadows and disappear.
Kader returned to camp on shaky legs and tried to steady his trembling hands relighting his pipe. He managed to calm down and noticed Katrina moaning and tossing. Checking up close, he saw she was crying in her sleep. A smirk cracked on his lips, hoping it was their talk before she fell asleep that triggered her nightmare.
She rattled him with her incessant questions—he figured it only fair to pay her back. Who was she to berate him? Regardless of her royal bloodline, she was just a lowly vagabond drunk. Even back in Dictum—granted, some of it was an act on his part—she treated him like a buffoon. She even had the audacity to hit him.
Maybe, he thought, maybe he might just stick around and watch Daredin cut her heart out under the Devil’s Moon. It would be appropriate, considering the trouble she caused him.
She stirred some more, and he feared she might awaken any moment. He quickly lied down and dozed off, feeling content and satisfied with himself.
Soon, bitch. You’ll get yours soon.
16
... Krutch ... Krutch ...
It was Lily’s voice, and he was having a pleasant dream of them on a warm beach. The sun was shining, the sea was clear, and Lily was gently whispering in his ear. She was smiling, and her arms were around him. He didn’t have to worry about people coming after him or any curse—it was just him and the beautiful woman beside him ... and his pet elephant, of course.
