Victor (The Eden East Novels Book 2)

by Sacha Black

  With a face of thunder, the First Fallon extends her hand and joins them. Then she disappears in a puff of navy smoke; the last part of her to disappear are her lingering eyes glaring at me. I turn to the Council Chamber, relief making my body sag.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  Six

  ‘In a world of Balance, there are few things of permanence. Like the osmosis of mother to child in the womb, Trutinor and Earth, ebb and flow in a constant shifting correction of Balance and Imbalance. The weather, however, is Trutinor’s symbol of stability, separating North from South and East from West. It is etched into the fabric of each State.’

  Excerpt - The Balance Scriptures

  “Try not to look too smug, will you,” Trey says as I waltz out of the chamber. “You could have been done for treason. That was a huge risk you took.”

  “Yeah but come on. They’d heard the evidence three times already.”

  “Eden…” he says.

  “Yes,” I say, stopping and turning to him. “I get it. Less smugness, more humility.”

  He turns to me, “This isn’t a game. You don’t understand how dangerous she is. There’s a prophecy basically naming us as her future murderers. The only reason she’s not killed us already is because without an heir in the East, the Balance would suffer untold damage. There would be a public rebellion, and she’d lose all her loyal brainwashed subjects.”

  “Okay, I hear you: don’t underestimate the First Fallon,” I say, lacing my fingers through his again.

  A few of the Council members push past us tutting, so Trey pulls me out of the corridor and back into the Council foyer where we step to the side, moving out of everyone’s way. But as a group of Council members passes us, I catch their conversation.

  “Well I’m just saying, it could have been Lani Luchelli all those years ago, you know what she was like…”

  Trey’s face curls into a pained expression.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, pulling him close.

  “Fine.”

  “Trey,” I say, touching his cheek, “we’re not supposed to be keeping things from each other.”

  “I know. It’s just… She died seven years ago. Can’t everyone drop it?”

  I shift on the spot, a cocktail of confused emotions bubbling inside me: guilt for asking Hermia to track Lani down, frustration that Trey won’t confront this.

  “I really think…” I start, but Trey interrupts me.

  “I meant what I said earlier about my mother,” he says. Where his palm holds mine, there’s a cold void. A vacant nothingness that I’ve come to loathe. It means the strain across his eyes is present because he’s holding back his emotions. Again.

  I let go of his hand, “Don’t do that, Trey.”

  “Do what?”

  “One, don’t pretend we both don’t know what you’re doing. And two, hold out on me. I thought we got past that when we were Bound? You promised me, no more memory stealing, no more gatekeeping your emotions. We’re Bound. For life.” I lower my voice, glancing around us to make sure there are no Council members eavesdropping. “We’re meant to share the load of Balance and Imbalance together.”

  He stands upright, arms folded, “Are you finished?”

  “Are you going to share?”

  His jaw flexes just once; the impact is like a cannon exploding into my chest. I gasp, stumble back against the root-wall, and look up at him as I struggle to catch my breath.

  He grabs my arm to steady me as the tears from his twelve-year-old-self flow down my cheeks. His hurt rolls around my ribs as if it were my own; he was so afraid and alone, but it’s not the isolation or abandonment that’s making the tears run down my face. It’s the anger threading through my veins like acid. He hates her for what she did. As he places his hand on my back, a cooling worm slides around my chest, pulling his pain out of me and back into him. But the tears remain, only now, they’re mine.

  “You see?” he says, “you see why I wasn’t sharing? Some things don’t need to be shared. They need to be left alone. That is one of them.”

  “My parents are gone, Trey. They aren’t here to love, let alone hate.”

  He swallows, no longer able to look at me and stares off into the foyer.

  “We should go,” he says.

  We stand there in silence for a moment, both of us too stubborn to back down. Then he reaches for my hand, “I’m sorry. You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

  He leans down and kisses me on the forehead. “But I’m done with this conversation. It’s over. I forbid you to bring it up again, and that goes for Kato too. He doesn’t need this ruining his life any more than it already has.”

  Fury bursts into flames in my throat. My teeth clench shut; it’s all I can do to prevent myself from spitting fire at him. How dare he forbid me to do anything! I give him a tight smile and turn on my heel marching up the East State exit, leaving him to find his own way out.

  Storming through the dim corridor, I bounce a ball of fire in my hand. The Keepers weaving through the corridor lean into the walls as we pass each other as if I’m infectious or something. Or perhaps it’s the white-hot ball of fire, literally burning in my eyes that’s concerning them.

  As I exit the Council tower, the last thing I think before a deafening crack explodes in front of me and I’m lifted into the air, is that Trey must have lost his mind if he believes I’m dropping this. Then I’m flung against the North State entrance door frame, and everything goes black.

  Screams punctuate the smoke undulating through the clearing. Groaning, I pull myself upright and rub the back of my head where the frame caught it. It’s wet. There’s a small patch of blood on my fingers. Keepers dart around each other with panicked expressions, arms lunging for loved ones. The fresh greens of the glade and the forest canopy are washed with smoky grays and wisps of green Sorcerer magic. Parents and children visiting the Council dash across the grass and into the forest for safety. Keepers fling magic through the air. A pair of hands grabs for a child with a mop of jet-black hair. The child scrabbles out of her parent’s hands and back to the ground where she summons water and launches it into the smoke. She’ll make an amazing Keeper, I think. A scream to my right snaps me out of my daze and makes my stomach turn.

  Where’s Trey?

  I’m alert, panic tingling my spine. I push my sleeves up, my Fallon training kicking in. I summon wind and blow a gust over the clearing. Some of the smoke nearest me dispels, drifting up to join the natural clouds. But most of it refuses to budge, keeping the clearing in a thick layer of fog.

  I can’t see Trey anywhere. I’m running. Shouting. Dodging Keepers as they sprint into the forest for cover. My heart pounds my chest as I bellow Trey’s name. I’ve lost too many people. I can’t lose him too. Arden collides into me.

  “Council members are forming a protective perimeter around the entrance. Go,” he shouts, pushing me back toward the Council.

  “But…”

  “Eden, GO.”

  I do as he says, checking every random Keeper I can as I make my way back toward the entrance towers. I have to find Trey. A hand grabs me from behind.

  “Trey. Thank God you’re okay.” I fling my arms around his neck before dragging both of us to the circle of Keepers forming around the entrance towers.

  “When I couldn’t find you, I panicked. I thought you’d been hurt,” I say.

  “I’m fine. Are you okay?” he says, pushing hair away from my face to kiss me. He jolts back, pulling his hand away from my head. “You’re bleeding.” His face is stricken as he pulls me this way and that to search for the source of the blood.

  I pull his hands down, “It’s fine. It looks worse than it is. It’s not oozing blood.”

  His eyes probe my face as if to check I’m telling the truth.

  “I’m fine. Really,” I say, giving him a smile.

  “Okay,” he nods, his face relaxing, “I don’t think anyone else has been hurt seriously either. It’s some kind of s
moke bomb.”

  “Weird smoke,” I say, putting my back to the root towers. “Look.” I push a more powerful gust of wind out into the clearing. Another reluctant cluster of smoke dislodges and floats skyward, but it’s not enough to give us a clear view. A lone figure wearing a strange white mask stumbles through the smoke aiming a wand straight at us.

  I move on instinct. My conscious brain shuts down, and the vault cracks. A tiny sliver of Imbalance slips out and weaves through my thoughts: whispering, controlling, tempting me to dismember whoever the masked attacker is.

  “Trey, out the way,” I say, my voice distant, disjointed. My body jumps in front of him, pushing him back. Part of my brain shouts at me to slow down. Assess the threat. To stun not kill. But the Imbalance screams louder. The masked attacker is going to kill Trey, it whispers. My arms rise like robots. Two bolts of electricity shoot simultaneously, one to the heart, the other to the brain - whichever one the attacker deflects, the other will kill him. But a hand grabs my shoulder as I fire and pumps ice into my blood, shocking me back to reality. I turn to the attacker; he dodged the head shot, but the heart shot smacks into him, dropping him like stone to the floor.

  Trey releases my shoulder, both of us breathing heavily. “Your eyes,” he says, glancing around us.

  I slam them shut and wage a silent war on the Imbalance, coaxing it like the Pied Piper back into its vault so I can lock it away.

  “Is it gone?” I say to Trey as I peel them back open.

  He glances into my eyes, checking for shadows and remnants of our secret.

  “It’s gone.”

  I glance at the body, still twitching as I step into the perimeter line. I pray to the Balance that Trey drained enough power out of the pulse to enable the attacker to live. Dead enemies are useless. Living ones tell stories, stories I’ll be happy to extract.

  A chorus of voices echoes around us. Then, as fast as it appeared, the smoke evaporates. Trey was right; there are a couple of Sorcerers limping and a Shifter holding his head, but there are no bodies, except the one in front of us. The smell of charred skin floats through the air. I swallow hard, a knot of guilt forming.

  Arden runs toward us, joining the growing ring of Keepers protecting the Council.

  “DEFENSIVE POSITIONS,” he shouts.

  The ring of fifty or so Keepers changes stance, brandishing wands, element balls or shifting into whatever their essence animal is, ready to fight.

  Silence falls over the glade; even the forest stills as if the plants and leaves are waiting to see what carcass this battle leaves behind. A second later the crackle of branches crunching underfoot comes from the tree line. A row of people all wearing the same mask as our attacker break through the forest edge and into the clearing. The mask is made of a haunting white texture; it looks like the First Fallon, except with hollowed-out eyes. What’s more unsettling, is that I can’t see the eyes of the Keepers behind them; the masks must be enchanted. Seeing rows and rows of the same masked face that’s meant to represent all that is right and Balanced in Trutinor, spirals the unease into anxiety. I shift on the spot. There must be fifty First Fallon faces staring at me. For any normal Keeper, it’s a comforting view. But after the summer’s events, I know different.

  They chant, sing, and scream, “Break the Bindings, Break the Bindings.”

  Arden steps forward, his arm dropping to his side, his fingertips skimming his wand like it’s a sword. A tall slim woman, opposite me, whose mask covers her entire head, twitches. Sensing the danger, she raises her hand, which is gripping a wand, and the sea of white faces fall silent.

  “What do you seek?” Arden says.

  Another lone figure, a male, I think, steps forward. He’s taller even than the girl who silenced the attackers. Tufts of thick brown hair escape above his mask as his stocky body steps forward. I squint at his arm, turning my head to get a better look. His Binding scar is odd. Only one colored scar. The other is missing. I scan the rest of the group, some of them with normal Binding scars, others with broken ones like his.

  “We do not seek a war with you. We seek only what is our right: justice…” he says, a calm confidence in his voice. I glance at Trey, both of us thinking the same: Siren. Which means this isn’t a rebel group from one State because the girl used sorcery magic. This is an organized group, and they aren’t part of the Libra Legion. So who the hell are they?

  “I think Israel mentioned some attacks during the Council meeting,” Trey breathes, and I scald myself for not paying more attention.

  “Justice?” Arden says, his fingers still quivering over the head of his wand.

  “Justice…” the masked Siren says, “…Balance and freedom.”

  The girl who silenced the crowd steps forward. It must startle someone behind me because a fireball is launched toward her, and in that instant mayhem breaks out. Keepers protecting the Council charge the line of masked rebels who fire wisps of magic and element balls back at us. Explosions and clumps of grass and wood splinter the air.

  One of my Elemental Keepers charges into the girl who stepped forward, his flaming fist colliding with her face. He bounces off her, a loop of green sorcery magic knotting around his throat as he drops to the floor.

  I ignite my fists, which she sees and immediately releases the Elemental.

  Her mask is hanging halfway off her face. Arden halts, his wand raised above his head, about to strike her. But instead, he sucks in a sharp breath, “Tilley?”

  Tilley? Tilley died years ago.

  A ball of fire skims past my ear. To my left, Trey is controlling a growing group of masked Keepers who are buckling to their knees, whimpering.

  Something cracks above me. I glance up as one of the Council root towers shears off and crashes to the grass, splintering into a million broken pieces. There’s an audible gasp that ripples through the glade as if the rebels attacking us are shocked too. I seize the lapse in concentration and pump electricity around the clearing. I siphon as much power as I can into the lines of fizzing lightning. The bolts stretch from my hands, all the way across the glade, forming a barrier between them and us. Deep inside my mind, the pressure from coercing so much electricity makes my vault shudder. A vault I have to keep bolted shut this time. If it bursts open while I’m wielding this much power, there would be enough force from the Imbalance to decimate the clearing and half the forest. Trey must sense my struggle; he releases the group of rebels and moves to stand next to me, close enough that a patch of his bare shoulder presses against mine. The relief is immediate. The pressure from the vault subsides, retreating into the darkness of my subconscious. I smile to myself at the reminder that with him I am stronger. And with me, he is also stronger: two equal parts of one soul.

  “No one gets hurt. We all want the same thing,” I say when everyone freezes. I hope, I add in my head, because I’m not entirely sure what the Libra Legion wants and I definitely don’t know what these guys want. But it sounded right.

  The girl hesitates, scanning the area around us. A dozen of her rebels are limping or injured. The clearing is full of moans, cries of pain, and splatters of blood. The rebel I hurt is groaning. I glance behind me; thankfully, there are fewer of us injured than our attackers, although one Keeper is lying uncomfortably still, their leg snapped to the side.

  I think the girl is frowning, but I can only see one of her eyes. She shrugs at Arden, pulls the mask back over her face, and touches her wand to her throat, “We did not come for war.” Her voice is altered, robotic almost, using magic to mask it. My eyes narrow. Why would you cover your voice unless you had something to hide?

  She throws a tiny glass marble to the floor. Smoke plumes around her. I leap at her marble, fingers stretched out to grab it as dozens of other glass marbles are dropped. Billows of smoke pop up faster than I can throw electricity loops to trap them. When the smoke clears, the masked group have vanished taking their injured with them. So have the remnants of the glass marbles, which means we have no way of usi
ng them to track the group.

  I sit up on my knees. “Dammit,” I say, pounding the grass before I stand up.

  Arden is staring at the place the girl was standing, his wand still raised. I touch the back of his arm. “Are you okay?” I ask.

  He flinches, then lowers his wand-arm. “I think so,” he says, “sorry, I shouldn’t have frozen, it’s just…she looked so much like Tilley.”

  Tilley was Arden’s wife. She died in a train accident with their eldest daughter years ago. The youngest daughter, Renzo, survived. I haven’t seen her in years; she was troubled after the accident and kept away from the public eye. Rumor has it she was sent to a specialist school. Something about the girl’s reaction made me wonder if it was her. “Are you sure it wasn’t Renzo?”

  “Ren? Don’t be ridiculous; she would never… I mean, she’s at boarding school anyway, so she couldn’t,” he says, snapping out of his daze and stalking off to help a Sorcerer clasping her arm. As he reaches her, he shouts an order to a group of Dryads leaving the forest, “The Council needs help with the root towers.” They nod and rush to the Councillors picking up the pieces of the tower.

  “Fine,” I mumble after him, “it was just a suggestion.”

  Two more small gatherings of Dryads appear from the forest and rush to tend the wounded, their thin branch-like hair locks bouncing down their backs as they move. One Dryad disappears back into the tree line; I assume to hunt for flowers and herbs. Another Dryad sticks one of his hands into the ground and the other over the woman’s arm that Arden’s supporting. A golden haze of power glistens under his hand. The more he heals her, the more his strange bark-like skin looks wooden. Bark knots and ridges cover his arms as he sucks energy from Trutinor to heal her. Then he approaches me. “Your head,” he says.

  “I’m fine,” I say, “help the others.”

  He ignores me, tuts, and reaches up behind me to touch the back of my scalp. Warmth and gold sparkles crest around my head as the taste of honey appears at the back of my throat.