by Aaron Hodges
An awful silence stretched out at the king’s words. Elton exchanged a quick glance with his fellow guards and saw his own confusion reflected there. The king’s anger was clear, his tone brisk. But whatever the reason, the stakes were too great for him to address Plorsea’s ally in such a fashion.
And then there was the matter of his plan. Did he truly mean to hold their army back?
Elton shook his head. He knew this man, had served under him for years. He would not abandon the other nations in their time of need.
A wave of heat swept over them as the dragon let out a long breath. Its eyes glittered and Elton saw the anger there, bubbling beneath the surface. The great claws shifted, slicing massive grooves through the soft ground.
Very well, Enduran’s words came at last. When you decide your course, we would be pleased to know your plans. But do not delay long, king. We will not wait forever.
“Very well, dragon,” Fraser nodded his head. “Until next time.”
Without another word, Fraser turned his horse and rode back down the hill. Elton stared as the king passed through the men, searching for sign of… what? He kept waiting for the man he knew to appear, the kind soul edged with strength, the man who had ruled Plorsea for more than a decade.
Can this truly be the same man?
Their eyes met as he rode past and for an instant Elton thought he glimpsed a smile on the king’s lips. His stomach clenched with anger, and he felt a desperate need to speak his mind, but he held back. Fraser would not welcome open criticism, and it would not do to alienate himself now. He had already seen what became of those who crossed the man.
Yet doubt clung to the back of his mind. Questions whirred through his thoughts, feeding his uncertainty.
He shook his head, trying to ignore them. Yet as he mounted and turned his horse down the hill, a single thought clung to him, persistent and undisputable.
This cannot be the same man.
*************
Inken wrapped her arms around her knees and rocked herself in the darkness. It stretched out all around, endless in the tiny space of the cell, wrapping them in its doom. Beneath her the damp stone seeped through her thin pants, sending a shiver through her body. Despair hung around her like a blanket, dragging her down.
A steady stream of tears ran down her cheeks, but she did not make a sound, determined to keep her sorrow to herself. Somewhere in the empty darkness sat her companions: Caelin and Gabriel, and the other one. The one who had sucked the last droplets of hope from her soul.
Sucking in a breath, Inken fought down another bout of sickness. She had hardly eaten in… she could not say how long had passed since the events in the throne room. The darkness offered no hint; only her steady pangs of hunger suggested the passage of time. Food had come once, a tray sliding through a slot in the bottom of the door, but that seemed a long time ago now.
Panic gripped at the edges of her mind as she scrunched her eyes closed. It made no difference, but at least it stemmed the tears. She could feel herself teetering on the brink of some abyss, one from which she would never return. Around her the silence stretched out, thick with its own presence, filled with a dark promise.
This will be your tomb, it whispered to her.
A long, drawn out groan came from her left. Gabriel, she guessed. He had been the first to break, to lose his mind to the lure of the darkness. His whispers woke her sometimes as she slept, though it grew harder each day to distinguish between reality and dream. He spoke to some creature in the darkness, one only he could see.
Inken released her legs, drawing another lungful of air from the suffocating dark, as if that alone could sustain her. The nausea came again and she retched, though there was nothing in her stomach. Her chest ached and her throat burned as she spat bile onto the grimy stones.
She struggled to stay strong, to keep herself from the madness which had claimed her friend. But knowledge of the man in the cells with them drove away all thought of hope. A scream rose up within her, but she fought it down.
In the darkness the world seemed to spin, drawing her further from reality. She grasped at the ground, her fingernails scraping through the muck coating the bricks. She felt a stab of pain as a fingernail caught and broke, but the ache at least drew her back from the edge.
Gasping, she looked around again, desperately seeking some break in the darkness. But there was only the unrelenting nothingness.
She swallowed and felt the action catch in her parched throat. Her chest heaved and she began to cough, the sound coming out like a bark in the tiny cell. Shuddering, she swallowed again, desperate to stop the fit.
When it finally subsided, Inken leaned her head against the wall. The cold bricks collected what little moisture was present, providing a small supply of water. It was all that sustained them now. She licked at a droplet, biting the inside of her cheek to keep herself from choking at the taste.
Her stomach growled and she wondered if they would ever be fed again. Their new companion said food came occasionally, but they had no way of knowing how long had passed since the last delivery. It would not be enough to sustain them anyway. She could feel her strength fading away.
Inken struggled to think, to keep her mind occupied. How many days now since Eric and Enala fled? Since they had lost Michael? How many days had the Three Nations survived without their Gods? How many more would they last?
Frustration grew in her chest, rising up to fight down the fear. They could not remain locked up in this wasting darkness; she would not allow it. The world outside hung in the balance, the threat of Archon pressing in from all around. His servants were everywhere, could get to anyone. The presence of their new cellmate proved that.
She needed to get out.
Rising, Inken felt her way to the door and slammed a fist into the wood. The dull thud echoed in the darkness, but the panels did not move an inch. She was not surprised – this was not the first time she’d tried. Even so, anger flashed within her and she lashed out with her boot. Then, with a screech of rage, she threw herself at the heavy door.
When her rage finally subsided, Inken leaned against the door and slid to the floor. She panted heavily, exhausted from even that brief exertion. A shudder went through her as the despair returned. No one had come; no one had even acknowledged her screams. They did not post guards in this dungeon; there was no need.
Caelin had already told them where they were. This was not the citadel’s regular dungeon and this was no ordinary cell. This place had been created a century ago for a single purpose – to hold the dark creatures Archon had unleashed upon their world. The darkness still stank with their evil.
“Are you finished then?” a voice came from the darkness.
Inken closed her eyes and forced her breathing to slow. She clenched her fists, feeling the sticky wet of blood on her palms. She had done far more than break a nail in her mad fit. Turning, her eyes searched the dark, drifting to the empty space where the voice had come from. She knew where he sat, where he had sat for untold weeks and months before their arrival. He was a broken man, of that she was sure. The fight had gone from him, stolen away by the black cell.
“No, Fraser,” Inken hissed. “I will never be finished. I will not allow the darkness to win. Never!”
“So be it,” replied the king.
Three
Eric stared across the sunlit clearing. His heart thumped hard against his ribcage and he struggled to swallow the lump crawling its way up his throat. His eyes flickered sideways as Christopher and the others stepped up beside him, but they quickly returned to the vision in the centre of the field. Silence hung in the air, thick and heavy.
Enala stood opposite them, her face bathed in the sickly green glow of the Soul Blade. Long strands of grass rose up around her, twining their way around her legs and knitting through her blond hair. She held her arms open, the Soul Blade clutched in one, the other clenched tight in a fist. Her eyes were closed, her face lined with concentration.
Sucking in another breath, Eric fought down his panic. He could hardly believe they had found her. With Christopher’s help they had sought out the tendrils of God magic seeping across the island, finally tracing them back to this clearing high on the mountainside.
Except now they had finally found her, Eric had no idea what to do next. Unclenching his fists, he wiped the cloying sweat from his fingers and glanced at Christopher. A chill fog hung on the morning air, hovering just above the treeline. His chest heaved and he could feel the blood thumping in his head, but he knew they could not afford to hesitate. If Enala fled, they might never find her again.
Looking back to Enala, Eric stepped towards his sister.
As his feet touched the damp grass, Enala’s eyes snapped open. Eric froze as their unnatural green glow found him. Not a trace remained of Enala’s usual sapphire blue, and with a wrench in his stomach Eric felt another trickle of hope leave him.
When she did not speak, he gathered his courage and took another step.
“Stop,” his sister’s voice screeched like steel on stone.
Ice spread through Eric’s stomach, doing nothing to slow his racing heart.
Even so, he locked eyes with Enala, willing the girl within to break free. “Why?”
“I told you not to follow me,” the forces holding Enala ignored his question. “I told you –”
“I will not abandon you, Enala,” Eric interrupted.
Watching her closely, Eric thought he glimpsed a trace of recognition sweep across his sister’s face. Then the iron glare returned and her teeth flashed, her lips drawing back into a scowl.
“Leave, now,” the rasping voice growled.
“No,” Eric took another step forward, alone in the clearing. He stared at the thing possessing his sister, refusing to back down. “I will never leave you, Enala.”
“Then you will die!” the voice roared.
The hairs on Eric’s arms stood up as he felt the crackling of magic. Then the clearing erupted into chaos. Screams came from behind him as tree branches swung down to smash the Trolan soldiers from their feet. He heard Christopher cry out, and then he had no more time to worry about their fate. Grass erupted beneath his feet, twisting up to bind his legs in place.
Eric acted without thought, his hand already reaching up to draw the Sword of Light. He knew from bitter experience only God magic could match God magic. Steel hissed on leather as the Sword slid free of its makeshift scabbard, white flames igniting at his desperate touch. Heat washed across his face, and then the flames were all around him, burning the green tendrils to ash.
Turning quickly, Eric risked a glance at the Trolans. The men huddled in a circle with Christopher at their centre. Flames leapt from his hands, incinerating any branch that came near. Together they retreated backwards from the clearing and their mad princess.
Glad they at least were safe, Eric turned back to Enala. Thoughts twisted in his head as he searched for a plan to free her. Looking at her expressionless face, the haunting green eyes, Eric felt pain twist in his heart.
Are you still in there, sister?
Enala strode towards him, the long grass billowing out in waves around her. Green light flooded from the Soul Blade, contorting the features of her face, revealing the wild magic within. Purple veins stood out stark against her pale skin, her muscles tensed with the power of the Soul Blade.
With a roar, Eric pushed back his emotion and slashed through the grass, stepping up to stand before her. He stared into the emerald green eyes, seeing the power swirling within but seeking out the girl he knew so well. But there was only the madness of power there. The same power he felt each time he touched his own magic, but magnified a thousand times by the ancient might of the Gods.
She is gone, the thought hissed in his ear, trickling into his soul.
Yet Eric would not give up. He could not abandon her to this fate. Somehow, he would find a way through.
“Enala!” he yelled through the chaos of the clearing.
This time his cries seemed to give the wild magic strength. A twisted grin spread across Enala’s face and a dark laughter followed.
“There is no Enala here,” she raised the Soul Blade and swung at Eric.
It was a clumsy swing but Eric leapt back all the same, terror in his heart. The God magic was gaining strength, driving Enala deeper inside, away from the light of life. If that light went out, there would be no coming back for the girl within.
She would become a demon.
They had already witnessed the destructive powers of one such creature. In his old age their ancestor Thomas had been overwhelmed by his magic, losing his soul to the dark depths of the power within him. The demon that took his place had wreaked havoc across the Three Nations, slaying the Gods of Earth and Sky before Eric finally destroyed him using the Sword of Light.
Eric had no intention of watching the same fate take Enala. In his heart, he knew he did not have the strength to do the same to her as he had to Thomas.
“Enala, you have to listen. This is not you, you do not need this power. Fight it!”
The laughter came again. This time when she raised the Soul Blade it was not the grass that came for Eric. The ground shook, and with a roar it tore apart beneath his feet. He leapt, reaching now for his own magic and its power over the Sky.
Winds raced around him, his magic leaping at his desperate need to propel him into the sky. Looking down, Eric watched the crevice tear its way through the forest. Trees groaned as the fissure widened, sending them tumbling into the depths below.
Wiping sweat from his brow, Eric turned and searched for Enala. His eyes swept the shattered clearing and found her hanging over the crevice, suspended there by a host of vegetation springing from the earth below. Her murky green eyes watched him, the breeze toying with the copper lock hanging across her face.
Tears stung Eric’s eyes as he watched her. “Enala, please, please, you have to break free!”
This time he caught a flicker of doubt in his sister’s eyes. A surge of hope washed through him – he had not imagined that! It could only have been Enala. Somewhere in the dark depths of her mind, her soul still fought for freedom. He just had to find a way to help her break free
But the wild magic had other plans.
“Die!” the voice screeched, and green light flashed across the clearing.
Eric gripped the winds in threads of magic and drove himself higher as vines flashed towards him. He ducked as a tree branch swung for his head, then he was clear of the trees, racing upwards as the vines chased after him.
Then, growling, he spun in the air and raised the Sword of Light. White fire swept down, incinerating the vegetation below. He coughed as smoke wafted up to catch in his nose. Rising higher, he searched again for his sister, eyes watering.
She rose through the smoke, the vines lifting her above the treetops. Gripping the Sword hard in his hand, Eric drew more power from the blade. The white of its magic blazed within him, but his magic wrapped it tight. A grin tugged at his lips as he revelled in its power.
The grin faded as he stared at his sister. He could not allow the magic to corrupt him, not if he wanted to keep his sanity. His joy faded as he realised raw power could not free Enala. He could not fight the power possessing her, not without risking her in the process.
The Sword could draw on any aspect of the Light element, but he had yet to master even the simplest aspects of its power. Without that mastery, it offered little more than protection against the power possessing Enala. The rest was up to him.
Taking hold of the winds, he dropped towards Enala. The emerald eyes watched him come, the power behind them studying his descent. The corner of her lips rose in a deathly smile.
Eric shuddered as he saw the demon within, its confidence growing with every clash. If it was allowed to escape, the God magic it possessed would wreak untold havoc.
Lightning flickered as Eric drew on the power of a distant storm. A bolt raced acr
oss the sky, striking his outstretched hand with a crash of thunder. It flickered in his palm and danced up his arm, a faint numbness lingering with its touch. He watched it with detached curiosity and then turned his gaze to Enala. Silently he prayed the lightning and the Sword would be enough to protect him.
The earth below them groaned and snapped shut with a dull boom. The vines holding Enala began to contract, lowering her back to the ground. Letting out a breath, Eric followed her down until they both stood again in the clearing. The silence stretched out as they stared across the broken clearing.
“I will not allow you to be born, demon,” he addressed the magic for the first time. “Fight it, Enala!”
“Oh, Eric,” the thing within his sister cackled, mimicking Enala’s true voice. “You are already too late.”
Eric stared into the depths of his sister’s eyes as she raised the Soul Blade, searching for a hint of recognition. His stomach twisted in a knot as the truth of her words crept through the cracks in his mind. The magic was too powerful. For more than a week it had burned its way through Enala’s body, tearing at her soul, driving her deep into the depths of her conscious.
“Not yet,” he breathed as he recalled his battle within the otherworld known as The Way.
There, Eric’s magic had come close to possessing him. Only Enala’s desperate, dying cries for help had given him the strength to beat it back.
Closing his eyes, Eric lowered his head.
The risk is too great, the thought whispered in his mind. If things went wrong, both of them would be lost. They were the only ones left who could wield the Sword of Light. Without them, the Three Nations would fall to Archon.
Yet he could not turn his back now, not if there was still a chance to save her.
Eric’s hand trembled, his thumb running along the diamond embedded in the hilt of the Sword. He could sense the power throbbing within Enala, preparing for another attack. He had only seconds to react now, mere moments to change his mind. But even as dread spread through his chest, he knew he would take the risk.
