Divided (#1 Divided Destiny)

by Taitrina Falcon

  The only reason Leo even minded, why it rankled at all, was because time was passing. It had been five days now since they had arrived on this world, five days since they had left Earth in the grip of an alien invasion. It almost physically hurt when he contemplated the chaos and the death that was taking place that second while they stood here waiting on an old man to work a magic spell.

  “This potion is to find our people this time, right?” Leo demanded, his patience running thin.

  Cyrus gave a quiet laugh. “Always running, never stopping moving. You can’t outrun yourself. You can’t outrun your own fears.”

  Leo swallowed hard at Cyrus’s casual words. The sorcerer seemed to blink and change personalities, one moment a doddering old fool, the next so chillingly perceptive it felt like he could see into their souls.

  Although, Leo supposed it wasn’t too difficult to see their anxiety, or their impatience. It was like a fortune teller at a carnival. They couldn’t really see the future; all they did was cold read the crowd. They threw out a lot of darts, and people didn’t remember the misses—they just remembered the hits. It was just a power play, one designed to impress, to make people believe in the great, all-powerful sorcerer. Leo was determined not to fall for his act, however convincing it was.

  “That didn’t answer my question,” Leo replied coldly, clenching his jaw before forcing himself to relax. He wouldn’t let the man get to him; he shouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

  “Almost ready,” Cyrus murmured.

  The steam above the cauldron swirled, seeming to reach a point and then draw back down, creating an almost solid circle of steam. Cyrus gave a contented grunt and cocked his head to the side, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the ripples playing across the steam.

  “You know of one, but three more are dead,” Cyrus stated hoarsely.

  Leo frowned and shot a confused glance at Nick and Don. He couldn’t see anything; he didn’t understand what Cyrus had done, but the sorcerer seemed to look beyond the steam circle, to someplace they couldn’t follow.

  Cyrus continued, “Three are captured. One is cold, oh so cold, another is lost, soon to be no more. Their fates are yet unwritten; choices you must make. The future, I cannot see.”

  The steam disappeared in a hiss, almost like the fire had been put out. The water droplets fell back into the cauldron like rain. Cyrus blinked and shook his head to clear it, focusing back on the reality he was in rather than the one he was trying to view.

  “I need locations,” Leo said thickly, mentally forcing himself to focus on the five remaining unit members he could still potentially help.

  That they had lost another three, taking their total dead to four—one third of the whole unit—was a bitter pill to swallow. Presuming of course that the sorcerer could be trusted, that he was telling the truth about all of this. If he gave them locations, then they could verify it, and hopefully rescue some of their people at the same time.

  “Far from here,” Cyrus muttered. “Far away, beyond the borders of Kaslea.”

  “Yeah, we get that.” Don’s tone was hard and his eyes flashed. “Where, exactly?” he all but growled.

  “I have told you all I can; the rest is up to you.” Cyrus cloaked himself in his old man persona once more, his gaze going vacant as he wandered around his courtyard.

  Don swore a long litany until Leo touched him briefly on his arm. “Enough. Let’s try this another way.” Leo turned to Cyrus. “If you won’t tell us more about our friends, then you owe us something else.”

  “I told you I could help you find what you seek. That I have done.” Cyrus nodded decisively.

  Nick scowled. “You haven’t told us where to find anything.”

  Leo raised a hand, warning Nick from saying anything further. He was as angry as the two sergeants—more so, in fact, because it was his decision that had led them down this path. He was determined to salvage something from this disaster, or they had just wasted several days and were no further forward. That he couldn’t stomach. It was like a lead weight, and he felt sick. Cyrus would tell them something worthwhile, or Leo might do something he would come to regret.

  “We got to this world through a platform. To us, it was a golden mist of light and then a flash. To others, it was like thousands of tiny pillars of light reaching to the sky. It has a metal pedestal in the center, lots of ornate carvings. It’s about...this big.” Leo paced around the courtyard, reasoning that feet and inches likely wouldn’t mean to anything to Cyrus, and wanting there to be no room for misunderstandings. “We arrived all in different places, with no platform. We need to find it here, in this world, so we can return home.”

  “Hmm…” Cyrus eyes held a hint of knowledge, a flash of recognition.

  He didn’t say anything, but Leo just knew; he could tell that Cyrus was hiding something, that Cyrus knew of the platform and just wasn’t speaking up. Leo waited, the silence stretching on, hoping that Cyrus would continue of his own accord, but he didn’t.

  Leo’s fury stoked higher. “You know something,” Leo growled.

  “A legend of the light in the darkness. We do not speak of it,” Cyrus stated definitively, his posture firm.

  It was a tension in the shoulders. He’d seen that on Cyrus before when they had pressed him for clarification on what he was going to do to find their people, and again when they’d asked for better directions to the moonbeam plant. Leo knew, with extreme frustration, that no further answers would be forthcoming. The man’s lips were sealed tighter than Fort Knox, and nothing would break through.

  “Fine, if you won’t help us find our people or get home, then help us with our damn mission,” Leo roared.

  “You will find what you need, when the time is right,” Cyrus replied calmly, his expression serene even facing the growing anger from the three marines in front of him.

  “Not good enough,” Don spat.

  “Please, you got to give us something,” Nick half begged.

  Leo briefly closed his eyes in sympathy. He had no one waiting for him back on Earth; his parents were dead. Thinking of them made a wave of grief crash through him. He viciously pushed it aside, to the back of his mind where it belonged.

  In a way, he knew how lucky he was. Nick had only briefly spoken of his family, his wife and newborn baby daughter. Only once on the two-day march to the lake had Nick expressed his fears, his worry about what horrors they were experiencing without him there to protect them. Leo appreciated Cyrus’s magic healing paste, but that couldn’t be all this man gave them. They needed more. They needed something concrete, because it wasn’t about them—it was about Earth.

  Cyrus shook his head. He would not be swayed. “I have done all I can for you. You must make your own way now. Travel the path. For it is only in the journey that you will find the end.”

  “If that’s the way it is, then that’s the way it is,” Leo said bitterly. “Give us a couple of bottles of that healing paste for the road...please.”

  “Rely on it, you cannot. Be careful of the dangers that will tempt you, or you will not be saved,” Cyrus warned ominously.

  However, he shuffled into his hut and came back with two large circular wooden containers, similar to the bowl but with a lid that sealed. He handed them to Leo before turning back into the hut. He closed the door firmly behind him. Their business was concluded; there was nothing more to say.

  “Son of a bitch, goddamn hack charlatan,” Don growled.

  He stormed around the courtyard for a moment. Leo could tell how badly Don wanted to kick something, how badly he wanted to destroy something. However, Don managed to pull himself together and hold on to his frayed self-control.

  “All that wasted time,” Don groaned.

  Leo knew what Don was thinking about—his family. Don had left to save them. He had to do that; he needed to do that. He couldn’t fail them. Leo knew that was how Don felt, because the same emotions coursed through him.

  Over seven billion people called Ea
rth home, but such numbers were beyond comprehension. Fighting for an abstract was hard, and he had no family of his own now. Leo swallowed hard to rid himself of the lump that formed in his throat, banishing the errant, ill-timed thought once more. He couldn’t think of his loss now. Don was his best friend; it took very little effort for his mind to conjure an image of Don’s mother and little brother.

  That was who they were here fighting to save; Don’s family and Nick’s family. The other seven billion people would just happen to benefit as well. That provided a much more tangible reason to keep fighting.

  “We can accomplish nothing else today,” Leo stated hollowly. “We’ll make camp, start fresh in the morning.”

  “Where will we go? Termont? You two said that there was nothing there,” Nick pointed out, trudging over to the other side of the clearing, where they had made camp previously.

  “No. The border, I think,” Leo mused. “We can find Mathis, see if he has any more bright ideas, or at the very least we can get directions to somewhere hopefully more helpful. There’s more to this world than just Kaslea.”

  “That’ll take even more time,” Don groused, but they had little choice.

  Leo nodded. They all felt the same frustration, but there was nothing else they could have done. It was due to the type of mission. There were no clear directives on how to accomplish it. They had picked the path, rolled the dice, and this time it had come up snake eyes. Cyrus hadn’t helped; he’d been misleading, but there had never been any guarantees.

  He supposed they were a little ahead, as they had the healing paste, which might help them when they tried again. They also had the ‘legend of the light in the darkness’ to ask about. That would give them a starting point for finding the platform. It wasn’t all bad, even if it felt like it was right now.

  Tomorrow they would head for the border. They still had a mission to complete.

  Chapter Fourteen

  While Leo and the others made camp in Kaslea’s forest, in the clearing that contained Sorcerer Cyrus, Termont was illuminating the surrounding landscape for miles. It was like a beacon in the darkness, calling all the trundling carriages forward to the merciful end of their long journey.

  Depending on what kingdom they traveled from, some had been on the road for days. They certainly hoped that Prince Edmund’s engagement ball, to the icy Princess Maria of the Northern Kingdoms, would be a ball to remember.

  Lanterns ringed the road from the city entrance to the palace. The palace itself was surrounded by burning torches, the firelight playing against the stone, casting flickering shadows on the few areas the light didn’t dominate. It was more playful than sinister, even in the gloom and with the backdrop of war and death that surrounded the kingdom.

  Queen Eleanor teleported herself, and her carriage, to the road that led past the palace to the docks beyond. She knew that no one was likely to be on the road at that time; the procession of carriages would be coming from the other direction, entering Kaslea.

  Her head spun as the flames vanished. Transporting anything other than herself was always difficult. It was less about magical strength and more about spreading her focus across everything; if the focus slipped, then something would be left behind. A wheel of a carriage could be repaired easily, but losing the head of her driver would be inconvenient.

  She could have just teleported herself directly to the ball. It would intimidate all those nobles and royals from other kingdoms, many of whom looked down upon her, as she had married into royalty rather than being born to the throne. Their expressions of fear, the little shrieks the ladies would let slip, would have been delicious, but now wasn’t the time for that kind of move.

  Those with the gift of magic were looked at with fear and jealousy by the world. Magic made people uncomfortable, even when wielded by so-called ‘good sorcerers.’ So long as someone had power they didn’t, they couldn’t be trusted. The feeling was that those sorcerers might help them this week, then turn on them the next.

  Her magic was certainly rumored, and in those rumors was definitely regarded as dark. However, she had never used her magic against another kingdom, only her own. While that remained the case, there would be those who doubted her magical prowess. Those who would think her weak, or unwilling. Magic or not, as a woman she was already considered inferior. At the moment, she could use their prejudice against them. Patience, the word she lived her life by. She had to wait and solidify her position before she could give in and enjoy it.

  Eleanor settled back into her carriage, scowling every time the wheel hit a pothole, causing the carriage to bump and lurch. Honestly, had Prince Edmund not heard of road maintenance? She would never allow such a travesty in Sintiya, and not just because she was forced to travel those roads frequently. Travel should be smooth, comfortable, befitting a queen. It should not make the carriage sway and cause her frame to grow sore from the tension of holding her position. That was the province of peasants; let them bear such indignities.

  Her carriage joined the procession and slowly made its way to the palace. She snorted quietly when she saw it; it had nothing on the beauty of the palace she called home. The gray stone was serviceable, but they were clearly trying to enhance it by lighting it in the dark.

  Now, if something similar were done to the white stone of her palace, then that truly would be a sight to behold. However, she had to remember that this was an inferior kingdom, one that didn’t contain the same riches of Sintiya, so things would be less lavish and more rustic. Not at all what royalty usually felt they deserved.

  A footman opened her carriage door. He was dressed in the blue-and-yellow livery of Kaslea, quite a nauseating combination. She didn’t favor him with a smile, but allowed him to help her down the steps. Her long black gown brushed the castle steps. She snapped open a hand fan and glided forward. Entering the double doors of the ballroom, she started scanning those present. Her night wouldn’t be complete until she saw King Oswald and hopefully his flushed face as he was forced to be polite.

  “Queen Eleanor, so glad you could make it.” Prince Edmund gave a half bow and kissed the back of her gloved hand. He was working the receiving line, his fiancée at his side. Princess Maria wore a stereotypical pale pink gown and had a vacant, bored look on her face.

  Eleanor’s lips curled into a smirk. Some people really didn’t know how to wield the power they were born with. Another spoiled princess; it would be her great pleasure to take the kingdom of Kaslea from her, and prevent Princess Maria from ever becoming queen.

  Idly, Eleanor wondered whether Prince Edmund would now finally take the title of king. On the death of his father, he had refused, instead remaining by title a prince, perhaps out of deference to his mother, the dowager Queen Isabella. Now that he was to be married, he would truly be a man and no longer a boy. The boy who would be king, at least until Eleanor took his crown.

  “Thank you for the invitation. And this is your lovely bride! You look beautiful, dear.” Eleanor favored Maria with a rare smile, which the girl shyly returned, clearly aware of the queen of Sintiya’s reputation.

  “Perhaps later in the evening we could meet to discuss matters of mutual interest.” Prince Edmund cleared his throat awkwardly.

  Eleanor raised an eyebrow. So Gatlan was hoping that Kaslea could intervene on their behalf. Either that, or Prince Edmund’s invitation was just to set up a meeting between her and King Oswald. Edmund would facilitate, bring them both to a private room and then step away, or perhaps stay as a mediator, a role he was ill-suited for due to his inexperience. It could be amusing, and she did want to see the good king of Gatlan.

  “How intriguing. I’ll clear my dance card,” Eleanor drawled.

  She moved forward, away from the receiving line, but contrary to her words she didn’t step closer to the dance floor. She loved to dance, a small pleasure she allowed herself in the privacy of her tower. However, she hated dancing at these functions; it was just an excuse for the men to get closer to the wom
en. To leer and let their hands wander, their cologne suffocating and the alcohol on their breath nauseating. She would never let any of them into her personal space, not to dance, not for anything.

  Eleanor had purposefully arrived late, so most of the attendees were already present. The temperature was stifling, despite all the large windows being open, allowing the breeze from the ocean to cross the gardens and attempt to reduce the humidity. There were knots of nobles talking in groups. Eleanor glided among them, making no move to stop but enjoying what little snippets of conversation she heard as she passed.

  The primary topic was the war between Gatlan and Sintiya, which those who had crossed the Kaslea border to attend had seen firsthand. However, quite a few spoke fearfully of the dragon that was terrorizing this kingdom. They were simultaneously glad that its attentions were focused here yet aware that they were now standing within the borders of Kaslea and thus could be targeted.

  Eleanor couldn’t quite hide her amusement, hugging the silent knowledge that she was responsible for all of this to her like a comforting warm drink on a winter’s night. The dragon would not be attacking tonight; it would never attack Termont without direction. She wanted to force Prince Edmund to capitulate, to agree to her deal, and he couldn’t do that if he was burned to a crisp. Ashes on the floor could not bow to her and hand over the kingdom.

  She lingered near an open window to the garden and tried to look as unapproachable as possible. Social gatherings like this were about status. It wasn’t just who was invited and who was not, but every single aspect of the evening would be scrutinized for weeks afterward. The petty politics of thoughtless comments, who snubbed who on the dance floor or over drinks—and that was just the social aspect. Occasions like this could be an excuse for far more serious business, especially given the current climate.

  Discussion of peace, talks of treaties both militaristic and economic, were all held behind closed doors, the participants stepping into the shadows, away from the bright lights of the ball, to hide their clandestine meetings. Given the onerous nature of travel for those not gifted with magic, it only made sense to accomplish as much as possible. The visiting nobles could enjoy both the evening and have news to return to their kingdom, whether for good or ill.