by Aaron Hodges
But there was nothing.
Nothing locked away, nothing hidden, nothing shielded.
Yet as she searched, Alana could sense a loss, a void within, as though something she loved more than life itself had been stolen away. She shuddered and looked back at the two men, at the grizzled face of the giant who had called her ‘princess.’ For half an instant, she caught a glimpse of him on his knees in a throne room, a dead man in his arms.
“Will I?” Quinn was saying. His laughter rang out across the campsite. “Tell me, Devon, how will you make me pay?”
Devon groaned as the vine tightened around his throat. He clutched at it with meaty fingers, trying to tear it free, but more erupted from the earth. Thorns appeared along their lengths, ripping at his flesh as they wrapped around his muscular limbs. A scream tore from his throat, but he was helpless before Quinn’s magic.
“Quinn, stop!”
The two men turned to look at her, Quinn’s eyes wide with surprise. Unable to believe she’d spoken, Alana’s own mouth hung open. She watched as the surprise on Quinn’s face turned to anger. Looking back at Devon, he lifted the Sword.
“Still you corrupt her,” he hissed, “but no longer. Goodbye, Devon.”
With a cry of rage, Quinn drove the Sword down.
Chapter 43
Wrapped in the steely vines, his body in agony, all Devon could do was watch as Quinn lifted the Sword above his head. In that moment, he was surprised to find there was no fear, only a deep regret that in the end, he couldn’t save the one thing that mattered to him. He had promised Alana once that he would protect her, that he would keep her safe from the Tsar and his Stalkers. But he had failed.
Quinn had taken her, had used his newfound magic to wipe away the ferocious woman Devon loved, and replaced her with a monster. Lying there, he wondered whether he would find that other Alana in the afterlife, if she had a soul all of her own, and if they would walk the dark road together. Or was she tangled up in the woman standing beside Quinn, bound forever within, doomed to witness the atrocities her twin would commit in her name?
With all his heart, Devon hoped it was the former. But as the Sword came rushing down, he knew he might never know the answer. Closing his eyes, he waited for the end to come.
And waited.
Devon frowned as he realised silence had fallen over the world.
Then he heard Quinn’s agonised whisper. “Alana, why?”
His eyes snapped open to find Alana standing over him. She stood facing Quinn, hands clutched in front of her. Devon’s eyes slid down her back, and the tip of the Sword impaling her. Light still flickered along its blade, stained red by the blood coating its length.
Releasing the Sword, Quinn staggered back, his mouth wide with horror.
“Why Alana?” Quinn screamed, stretching out an arm as though he might mend the wound with his hands alone.
Blood pouring down her back, Alana staggered, and then straightened. Her hands reached up to grip the hilt of the Sword, as though to draw it from her. She lifted her head to look at Quinn. Sorrow laced her voice as she spoke.
“You took something from me,” she whispered. “Now I’m going to take something from you.”
“No…” he said, stepping towards her, still reaching for her. “I can save you!”
“Never,” she snapped.
One hand still clenched about the hilt of the Sword Quinn had driven through her stomach, she threw out her other arm. Lightning arced from her fingertips and flashed across the room to catch Quinn square in the chest. For a moment he seemed frozen in its light. His back arched as his body went rigid, his mouth opening wide. A deafening boom crashed over the campsite, and the lightning flickered again, blinding all who watched.
When Devon’s vision returned, he found himself alone beside Alana. Nothing but a scorched patch of tiles remained of where Quinn had stood.
He sat up as the vines receded, his heart lodged in his throat. Desperately he scrambled to reach Alana as she swayed and began to topple backwards. Catching her in his arms, he lowered her onto her side, taking care not to move the Sword any further. A whisper came from her lips as he rested her head in his lap.
“Alana,” he sobbed. He reached out to touch her, then paused, his hand trembling with indecision.
“Please,” she murmured, her eyes fluttering. “Who…who are you to me?” A gurgling rattle came from her chest as a convulsion shook her.
Devon swallowed at the pain written across her face, the grief. “I love you.”
A sigh whispered from her chest. “I can’t remember…” she breathed, trailing off. Then her eyes snapped open, sudden clarity in their stony depths. “You called me ‘princess.’”
Devon smiled, despite himself. “You have always been a princess to me, Alana.”
“Good,” Alana murmured. “Don’t you…forget it.”
A sob tore from Devon. Swallowing his fear, he reached for the hilt of the Sword, but she caught him by the wrist.
“Don’t,” Alana said. “Its magic is all…that’s keeping me alive.”
“No…” Devon croaked.
“Thank you, Devon,” she said, her voice so low he had to strain to hear her.
“For what?”
“For saving me,” she replied, her lips twitching in a smile. “For bringing me back.”
“Now stay,” Devon hissed, gripping her hand tight.
“I can’t…” Alana murmured, her eyes lifting to stare past Devon at some unseen point in the sky.
“No…” Devon trailed off, and for a moment he thought the worst. Sobbing, he bent over her, tears streaming from his cheeks onto her hair.
“Run,” her voice whispered in his ear, so softly he almost thought it a trick of the wind.
Pulling back, he shook his head. “I’m not leaving you.”
“You must.”
“Please,” Alana replied. “I don’t want….”
“Alana.”
“Please, Devon. If you love me, run.”
Groaning, she pushed weakly at his hand and struggled to a sitting position. Her face pale, alive with agony, she looked at him. Devon stared back, seeing her courage, her anger and pain, but most of all her grief. He knew then it was not the Alana he knew looking at him, but the old one, the Daughter of the Tsar.
And she had helped him.
It made no sense, and yet he could not deny the truth.
Slowly he stood, wiping his tears away. “Are you…sure?”
She nodded, tears of her own streaking her cheeks. Her gaze darted to where a hunched figure lay nearby. “Take the boy.”
Striding across the marble tiles, Devon’s heart lurched as he saw it was Braidon lying there. He swung the boy over his shoulder and then glanced back at Alana. She had both hands clasped around the Sword now, concentration etched across her face. As he paused, she glanced up, and a smile touched her lips.
“Run, Devon!”
Chapter 44
Alana let out a long sigh as Devon disappeared beyond the tents, the boy slung over one shoulder. Slumping against the Sword, she let the pain wash over her. A shriek tore from her lips, and shuddering, she prepared herself for the end.
Don’t.
The voice whispered in her mind. It sounded distant, yet it rang with undeniable power.
A frown touched Alana’s brow as she looked around, seeking out the source. But she was alone in the campsite now. Not a soul stirred in the tents around her, all her father’s soldiers and Stalkers having long since fled. Closing her eyes, she gathered herself.
This is not the way.
Her eyes snapped open, but still there was no sign of movement. “Where are you?” she whispered.
Within, came the reply.
“How?” Alana asked, shaking her head.
Let me show you.
Alana sensed the voice wanted her to let go. Hesitation touched her, her old instincts screaming a warning. But then, she was doomed either way. The second she tore th
e Sword from her she would die—no amount of God magic would be fast enough to bring her back. So what did she have to lose?
Letting out a long breath, she relaxed, allowing the other presence to take hold…
And woke in a glistening garden, its endless rows of roses lit by a golden light. Alana looked around, surprised by the abrupt change in scenery—and the sudden absence of pain. She touched her stomach and found the flesh whole.
“There is no pain here,” a voice spoke from behind her.
Spinning around, Alana watched as a young girl approached through the flowerbeds, her eyes aglow with violet light. Two men walked behind her, one seemingly old beyond time, the other muscular and middle-aged, his beard streaked with white.
The three came to a stop before Alana and appraised her with silent eyes.
“You remember me?” the girl asked.
Alana shook her head. “I remember nothing like this,” she whispered. “Nothing good.”
“Come then,” the girl replied, gesturing Alana forward.
Alana dropped to her knees before the girl. The violet glow of her eyes flickered as she reached out and touched a finger to Alana’s forehead. A cool power flooded through her, seeping through her skull, filling her up. Alana sighed, rising into the girl’s hold, her whole body coming alive.
And one by one, she felt the pieces of the puzzle appear, her memory restored. She saw again Devon facing off against the demon, her brother Braidon as he outlined his plan to defeat their father, she saw Kellian fall in the throne room, and Enala die beneath her father’s blade. A sob tore from her lips as she heard again Devon’s words in the wreckage of the Tsar’s tent, his whispered ‘I love you.’
Alana knew she would never see him again, but more than anything she wished she could have returned those words. She had done so much wrong in her short life, caused so much pain. It had been Devon, with his own dark past, who had led her into the light, drawing her out from beneath her father’s sway. Not even Quinn, with all the power of his Sword, had been able to burn that light from her.
Alana looked down at the girl. The Goddess Antonia smiled and gestured at her companions. “You and Jurrien met, briefly,” she said, indicating the younger of the two. “My brother, Darius, has watched you from your father’s Sword for years.”
“I’m sorry,” Alana whispered.
Darius smiled, his aged face more wrinkles than skin. “It seems to forever be my fate,” he murmured. “Until now.”
“I am sorry for my anger, young Alana,” Jurrien added, stepping forward and placing a hand on her shoulder. “I could sense Antonia’s pain, coming from the Sword.” He glanced at the Goddess and smiled. “I have a soft spot for my little sister.”
Antonia snorted and rolled her eyes. “Don’t blame me for your excesses, brother,” she replied. “You were wrecking their ships long before we took flesh.”
Jurrien offered a roguish grin. “Yes, well, you two never were much fun.”
“If only things could have stayed thus,” Darius murmured. His pale white eyes looked to Alana. “But now they must change, permanently this time.”
“I am sorry, Alana,” Antonia cut in. “With my spirit trapped within the blade, I cannot heal you.”
“I know.” Alana shrugged, swallowing her grief. “I’m ready.”
Antonia nodded. “As are we.”
Alana shook her head. “Ready for what?”
“For death.”
Alana blinked, looking from Antonia to the other two. “What do you mean, ‘death’?”
“You shall not walk the dark path alone, Alana,” Darius replied. “We shall walk with you, if you would free us.”
“Why?” she whispered. “You’re Gods, why would you want to die?”
“Because it is our power that corrupts you, all of you,” Antonia replied sadly. “Our spirit, our magic, it touches all things. But only humanity seeks to claim it. It calls to them, driving your strongest, your cleverest, to seek us out. Twice now our powers have been trapped by your people. The last time, we departed the physical realm, in the belief it would be enough. But your father drew us back, took our power for his own.”
“You want me to destroy you?” Alana asked.
“We want you to destroy it all,” Jurrien replied.
“All magic comes from us,” Darius added, “and it will die with us.”
Alana stared into the faces of the three Gods, and realised for the first time there was fear in their eyes. These three beings had lived an eternity beyond anything she could imagine, had watched over humanity for eons before the scrambling priests had first summoned them to flesh.
Now they were asking to join Alana on the final journey, to go with her into the darkness of death, and look upon what waited on the other side.
She swallowed. “Are you sure?”
The Three Gods nodded.
“Then tell me how.”
Chapter 45
By the time Merydith gathered her people near the bottom of the valley, the last of the enemy had either fled or been slain. She had found a fresh horse from the few that had survived the battle, and now sat in the saddle, looking out over the weary faces of her people.
Less than a thousand were left, and of those there were few who had emerged unscathed. Even so, they looked back at her with triumph in their eyes. She knew that every one of them was celebrating their life, that of all those who had perished today, they still breathed the fresh evening air.
Helen and what remained of her Magickers had joined them once the enemy had fallen back. The effort required to split the valley in two had cost them dearly. Helen had informed her with sadness that two dozen of their number had collapsed and died soon after. Their sacrifice that had won the day, Merydith knew, and she embraced the woman like an old sister.
Looking over the gathered allies, Merydith searched for their other saviour. The hammerman Devon had appeared at the decisive minute, leading a horde of black-cloaked warriors as he charged the enemy’s rear. She could see many of his people scattered amongst her ranks, but of the hammerman himself, there was still no sign.
Damyn and Mokyre stood to either side of her, their watchful eyes on the campsite. Her guards had died defending her amidst the chaos of battle, and the two clansmen seemed to have taken the role upon themselves. Weary as she was, Merydith didn’t have the strength to argue with them over it.
Turning her horse to face the survivors, she was about to speak when a voice shouted out from the crowd.
“Devon!”
Merydith let out a long breath as she saw the hammerman stumbling from the last of the tents. Her heart lifted at the sight of Braidon in his arms, and almost without thinking, she looked at the campsite, waiting for Enala to emerge. But as Devon neared, it became obvious the hammerman was alone. Her heart twisted, but she forced herself to dismount and stride out to meet Devon.
“Well met, hammerman,” she said, an uncharacteristic grin on her face. “Your timing was impeccable.”
He paused, offering a nod, and then continued past her. Merydith’s smile faded, replaced with irritation, and she followed the hammerman into a cluster of black-garbed warriors. An older woman stepped out to meet him, and together they lowered Braidon to the ground.
“I think he’s okay,” Devon murmured as the woman crouched beside the boy.
The woman touched a finger to his neck, waited a moment, and then nodded her agreement. “He’s sleeping.”
“What happened, Devon?” Merydith cut in, her irritation mounting.
Devon glanced in her direction, and sighed. “Sorry, Queen,” he croaked. “I…it’s been a long day.”
Merydith opened her mouth to snap a retort, and then caught herself. Letting out a long breath, she forced a smile. “It has,” she agreed. “And as I said, I am grateful for your aid.”
“Thank them,” he said gesturing to the black-garbed warriors scattered amongst her people.
“In time,” Merydith replied. “Fir
st, what has happened to the Tsar, do you know?”
“He’s dead,” Devon grunted. “And all his powers with him.”
Merydith’s heart swelled at his words. “Truly?”
“Ay,” Devon replied. “Though it cost everything.”
His voice was tight with barely controlled emotion, and Merydith read the pain on his face. Not knowing what to say, she reached out and squeezed his arm.
“Thank you, my friend,” she said. “You have given us everything.”
“Not me,” he murmured, looking past her to the gathered allies. “The Tsar’s Daughter. Alana.”
Merydith nodded, though in truth she did not understand what he was saying. A cry came from the ground, and the boy lurched up, his sapphire eyes wild.
“Alana!” he cried.
“Easy, sonny,” Devon said gently, moving to his side.
“No, what, where am I?” Braidon gasped, pushing aside the helping hands of his friends.
“You’re safe, Braidon,” the woman said gently.
“Selina?” he frowned, finally taking in his surroundings. “Where is Alana?”
Selina lifted her eyes to Devon, who quickly looked away. “I’m sorry, sonny,” he said quietly. “I couldn’t save her, not this time. She’s—”
Before he could finish speaking, a rumbling noise came from the campsite. All eyes turned back to where the dark tents of the Tsar’s army lay empty. A light had blossomed there, stretching up into the sky. Green, blue, red, gold, and a thousand other colours crisscrossed the column, growing more intense, until it seemed the world itself would flicker out before its power.
A sharp pop sounded, followed by a terrifying boom that shook the very earth. The column of light swept outwards. Her people cried out as the magic rushed towards them. Merydith threw herself on the ground and closed her eyes, but even then the light seared at her eyes. Her ears filled with an awful buzzing, and she smelt burning in her nostrils.
