Fate of the Fallen

by Kel Kade

  “I am a sorceress—the high sorceress, to be more precise.”

  “The high sorceress?” Aaslo mumbled. “Like from the stories you told us? The one in charge of the magi?”

  “Yes, and the stories are true, not just fantasies I made up to put you to sleep. Now listen. For all of human existence, certain members of the magic community, collectively called the magi, have been foretelling the future—”

  “You mean prophecies,” said Mathias.

  “Yes. You are part of one such prophecy.”

  Mathias’s heart lurched, and his blood rushed with a thrill. He leaned forward in his seat. “Which prophecy?”

  “The only prophecy that really matters. For hundreds of years, prophets from every country have been following the lines of the same prophecy.” Small red lights popped up all over the spinning globe, showing each of the places the prophecy had emerged, until the entire spectacle was red. “It is the only prophecy known to have visited magi in every corner of Aldrea, and it is the prophecy that foretells the future of us all. For this reason, it is called the Aldrea Prophecy.”

  One of the fine tendrils that had been restraining Mathias’s excitement snapped. “I’m in this prophecy?” he said. Somehow, he knew it to be true. He had felt like he was waiting for something his entire life, waiting in anticipation for something big, bigger than Goldenwood could ever offer.

  Magdelay said, “More accurately, you are the prophecy—at least as much of it as anyone cares to consider. Prophecies have many branches or lines. For every decision and every event, the lines of destiny and vertices of fate can change the outcome.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Mathias. “What’s the difference between destiny and fate?”

  Magdelay closed her hand, and the image disappeared. She glared at him. “I told you we don’t have time for questions.”

  “But you’re so good at answering them.”

  “Don’t try that on me, boy. I know you too well.” After another glance, she sighed and said, “Fine.”

  Mathias grinned. She might know him, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t work.

  She said, “Destiny is your life path—your soul’s plan. It is the map of events and experiences your soul decided to endure during this lifetime. It has many branches because you have many decisions to make. If you are true to yourself, the branches will eventually lead back to your path of destiny. Every soul has a destiny, and we are all interacting, so sometimes our destinies cross. At times, the crossing is intentional and remains part of your destiny. The point where they unintentionally cross is fate. Fate is unplanned, at least by us, but still part of the overall tapestry. These points of fate are most often where people diverge from their destinies. Sometimes people never make it back, and sometimes a person goes so far that the only way back is to return to the point where he or she stepped off the path.”

  Mathias was crestfallen. “So, my whole life is planned?”

  “Were you not listening? Your destiny is planned. The decisions you make determine whether or not you reach it. Think about this. In life, for every action you take, you have a goal. If you cook a meal, your goal is to feed yourself. If you practice the sword, your goal is to defend yourself. Life without a goal would be pointless.”

  “That makes sense,” Aaslo said.

  Mathias looked at him, surprised the forester would accept the notion so readily.

  “So, where do I fit into this prophecy?” Mathias said.

  “In short, the Aldrea Prophecy is nothing but darkness. It is the death of everything—all life, all souls—gone from the face of Aldrea. A great enemy will desiccate the land, subjugating and destroying its people until those few survivors will be met with nothing but despair before they finally succumb. For more than two hundred years, the Prophets of Aldrea have followed the branches of the prophecy—millions of them—seeking hope. Every single branch leads to terror—except one. One, and only one, branch leads to our salvation. It is your branch, Mathias.”

  Excitement twisted in his stomach until he felt sick. “The entire world, all of life, depends on me? You’re not serious. Are you doing this to punish me for slacking in my studies?” He looked to Aaslo. “Was this Aldrea Prophecy in the material I was supposed to read today? It’s a test, right?”

  Aaslo didn’t look at him. The forester’s infernal gaze might have succeeded in burning Magdelay to the ground had she not been a sorceress. Aaslo said, “I don’t think she’s kidding.”

  Mathias looked back to his grandmother. “You’re saying I’m the one. In the stories, there’s always the unwitting hero—the chosen one—”

  “Someone who gets all the world’s problems dumped on him,” Aaslo muttered.

  Mathias’s voice cracked when he said, “—and I’m it?”

  “Yes,” Magdelay said.

  Mathias could sit no longer under the rising internal tension. He stood from his seat and paced the room. “But, what about Aaslo? The chosen one always has a friend, a comrade, a sidekick.”

  Magdelay eyed Aaslo sideways. “He does not appear in your prophecy.”

  “What do you mean? He’s my best friend. My whole life he’s been my brother. He has to be in it somewhere.”

  “He is not, and believe me, I’ve checked. We do not believe him to be a part of your destiny, but rather fate. The council and I decided to permit the friendship because he was not seen as being responsible for your demise in any of the prophecies. I, personally, hoped that this point of fate was a gift of the gods.”

  “How do you know it’s him?” Aaslo said. The forester still had not taken his gaze from the woman, even for a second.

  “It is part of the prophecy: He who bears the mark of the world will call upon the light, and within that light, shadows will swarm the enemy. Death to the god-bearers, he will stay the righteous hand, and bless this land with life reclaimed from their destruction.”

  “He who bears the mark of the world,” said Mathias. “You mean my birthmark.” He reached up to stroke the tiniest smudge at his temple that was usually covered by his hair. “The one that looks like the map of Aldrea?”

  Magdelay said, “Isn’t it obvious?”

  Aaslo finally looked at Mathias. He said, “Everyone chooses you. The whole world wants Mathias.” The forester rose from his seat, grabbed his pack from the floor, and left without another word. Mathias’s mind swirled in every direction. He didn’t know what he might have said, but he felt he should have said something. He knew Aaslo, though. He would say what needed to be said and assume everything else to be understood.

  * * *

  The distance seemed much farther than on any other return to his home. The shuffle of dirt under Aaslo’s feet and the rustling of his pack against his back were louder to his ears than the wailing wind. He glanced toward the southwest to see the sun disappear behind the trees. It would sink beneath the distant mountains soon. He was glad it was not yet winter, when the village would be cast into night much earlier by the mountain on which he lived. Time was short. It was never a good idea to travel through the woods at night. Grams was a smart woman. They had always believed her to be a university professor who had retired upon taking custody of Mathias after his mother died in childbirth. Now, they knew her to be much more. She knew better than to travel at night. Something serious had to have occurred if she felt the need to risk it—something worth endangering their lives. He thought it must have to do with the rider.

  Someone stepped in front of him, and he drew up short. He took a moment to pull himself from his thoughts and realize who it was.

  “Reyla.”

  “Hi, Aaslo,” she said softly.

  He waited, his impatience mounting, while she stood there looking at him. Her brow was furrowed and her eyes were entreating.

  “What is it, Reyla? I’m in a hurry.”

  “I—I ran into Ms. Brelle a little while ago.”

  “And?”

  “She said no—to my proposal. Just like
that. No. She said I couldn’t marry Mathias and was kind of rude about it. She acted like she didn’t even have time to think about it.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “Well, it’s just that I thought he liked me. He and I have spent so much time together—”

  “You and I spend time together,” said Aaslo. “Mathias and I spend time together. Sometimes you both spend time with me at the same time. You and Mathias don’t spend time together.”

  She dropped her gaze to the ground, and he wondered if she truly felt the shame she bared. She looked up again and said, “I realize that now. It was you. It was always you. I’m sorry for doubting that.”

  “I have to go, Reyla. It’s getting dark.”

  Stepping into him, she put her hands on his chest and looked at him with those beautiful stormy eyes. “Please, Aaslo, forgive me. I do love the home you’re building for us, and it’s not that far from town. I know we can be happy together.”

  Aaslo brushed a thumb across her cheek, wiping away a tear, and then took her face in his hands. He kissed her. He kissed her the way he had always dreamed of kissing her on the day she finally professed her love to him. Then he pulled her hands from his chest and said, “I could be happy with you, Reyla. You could never be happy with me.”

  Aaslo felt as if his chest were being torn in two, but he didn’t have time to mourn his loss. He moved to step around his lost love, and she reached for him.

  “Aaslo—”

  Mathias’s words echoed in his mind. He said, “I cannot settle for being second, Reyla. It’s over.”

  If she said anything more, it was lost to the wind. Aaslo increased his pace and jogged briskly until he reached the foot of the mountain. There were no roads or trails to the home he shared with his father, and they were careful to keep it that way. The first stars of the night could be seen beyond the treetops as they swayed to and fro, and Aaslo was frustrated that time rushed so quickly whenever he was in a hurry. Now that he knew the gods had a plan, he was sure they were sadists.

  The lantern was lit when he arrived home. He could see it resting in the center of their table through the open doorway. The table had only two chairs, and one of them was occupied. He kicked and scraped his boots on a piece of rough pine by the threshold, then stepped inside the humble abode, probably for the last time.

  “Pa.”

  Ielo looked up from his meal and gave Aaslo a lopsided grin. It had been some time since all of his father’s face worked properly.

  “Aaslo, a fine day for catching leaves, I see.” The old man nodded toward him, and Aaslo brushed a hand through his hair, sending the brown and gold flecks fluttering to the floor.

  “And boar, from what I hear.”

  Ielo stabbed his knife into the chunk of meat on his plate. “I took a bit off the flank for dinner and left some with Ms. Brelle. The rest is out in the meat shed.”

  Aaslo perused his father’s form. “You’re uninjured?”

  “I’d’ve said so if I weren’t,” Ielo muttered.

  “I’m not sure you would,” Aaslo replied. “I’m leaving.”

  “It’s dark now,” Ielo said. “You don’t need to be out in the forest at night. I shouldn’t have to say that.”

  Aaslo crossed to his bed in the corner and pulled a small chest from beneath it. He put a few of the supplies from his pack into the chest and replaced them with items he thought might be needed for a journey.

  “Where are you going?” Ielo said.

  Aaslo glanced over his shoulder to see his father turned in his chair, staring at him with concern.

  “I don’t know,” he said as he went back to packing.

  “Then, you go with Mathias?”

  “What do you know of it?” Aaslo said, looking back at him again.

  “Only what you’ve told me, which is nothing,” Ielo replied. “But, I doubt you’d leave this house at night for any other reason.”

  “A rider came into town. She’d been attacked and was nearly dead. It spooked Ms. Brelle, and now she and Mathias need to leave town.” He paused, wondering how much he should say, then decided his father deserved the truth. “Mathias is some kind of prophesied hero, and she’s taking him away to save the world. They’re leaving at night”—he glanced up, looking at his father pointedly—“through the woods.”

  Ielo looked at him as if he suspected a head injury, then nodded. “They’ll need a guide, I suppose. I can do it. I’m more familiar with the forest on the route out of town.”

  “No,” Aaslo said. “He’s my brother. I may not be a part of his destiny, but our fates are intertwined. I will go with him.”

  “Then, you’ll leave the forest?” Ielo said.

  Aaslo smirked. “Someone has keep the chosen one’s head on his shoulders.”

  Aaslo was abruptly reminded of the gods’ sadism. He only ever got a half smile from his father, but he got a whole frown. Pausing, he said, “Before I go, tell me about Mother. Do you know where she went? Maybe I could find her.”

  Ielo turned his gaze toward the fire. “I don’t see the point. You already know that after we married, she decided she didn’t want to live in the forest. She was going to leave before discovering she was pregnant. I begged her to give it a chance. She agreed to stay long enough to wean you; then she was gone. I don’t know where she went. She said she wanted to live in a big city. She wanted romance and fancy things.”

  Aaslo felt like he had been punched in the gut. First his mother, now Reyla. He shook his head. “What good are fancy things? Seems better to have practical ones.”

  Ielo grunted and nodded. He said, “How far do you intend to follow him?”

  “As far as he needs to go.”

  CHAPTER 3

  The warmth had left with the sun, and Mathias wished he had grabbed a warmer coat. Having never traveled beyond the town, he hadn’t realized how cold it could get riding atop a horse in the wind. It had only been an hour since they left the house, and he was already wishing for a warm fire and cozy bed. His horse snorted, and Mathias cringed. He felt like every sound was a call to the bandits—or whoever they were. He rode the horse that had belonged to the mysterious rider, and it looked none the worse for wear. It was difficult for him to accept that his grandmother was a sorceress, but the proof was in the beast. Magdelay had healed and soothed the injured animal in a matter of minutes, and now Mathias was riding it away from his home.

  “Grams,” he said in a harsh whisper.

  “What?” she said.

  Although he couldn’t see her, he could feel her tension. She was alert, her gaze constantly roving the dark forest that surrounded them. The road was narrow between Goldenwood and Mierwyl, barely wide enough for a wagon. During the growing season, the trees and plants had to be continually trimmed or the road would disappear in a matter of weeks.

  “Is it safe to speak?”

  “I sense no one in the area. Speak quietly if you must.”

  “You told us that magic is inherited. If you’re the high sorceress, then that means I’m a magus, too, right?”

  The silent minutes that followed seemed to stretch into infinity. Finally, she said, “I am not your grandmother, Mathias. You are not of my bloodline.”

  Mathias shivered, and it had nothing to do with the wind. Of all the things he had thought she might say, that had not been one of them.

  Before he could rouse a response, Magdelay added, “You are, however, a member of one of the twelve bloodlines.”

  “But not yours.”

  “Correct. Your parents had been married little more than a year when you were born. Your mother was a young sorceress of the Sereshian bloodline. She possessed moderate power and had little experience. The Council of Magi agreed that it was in the best interest of the world for you to be taken into protective custody. Your parents protested, of course, but it was not their choice.”

  He yanked on the reins, causing the horse to snort loudly as it came to an abrupt halt. Mathias’s face he
ated, and he shouted, forgetting the potential threat. “You stole me from my parents!”

  Magdelay stopped and turned her horse so that she faced him. “It was for your own good. Your parents could not have protected you from those who sought your death. It was some time before they accepted that, but, eventually, they did.”

  “What happened to them?”

  “Nothing happened to them,” she said. “Your mother is the sorceress of Bellbry Court, a position she could never have earned on her own talent, except she married the earl.”

  “Wait, my father is the Earl of Bellbry?”

  “Yes, although your mother is technically in the higher position, despite the fact that she received it by virtue of her marriage—and, I suppose, the council’s guilt over taking their child.”

  “You don’t speak very highly of my mother,” Mathias said with accusation. His shoulders were tense, and he wanted to throttle something.

  “Of course not. She is a Sereshian, and not just in name. She is fully committed to their cause.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s politics—politics with a long history.” Magdelay guided her horse back down the road, and Mathias begrudgingly followed while she explained. “As you know, magic is only passed down the bloodlines. People without magic are called seculars. Although we live longer than seculars, it is difficult for us to procreate. We have more success if we mate with seculars. Doing so waters down the bloodline, though, so the practice is discouraged unless the bloodline is in peril. There used to be fifteen bloodlines. Now, there are only twelve. Not only that, but the oldest of us, elder magi like me, bear a fraction of the power carried by our ancestors. The younger generation—magi like your mother—dream of possessing even half that of an elder. In short, human-borne magic is dying.”

  “So, you hate her because she’s weaker than you?”

  “No, I pity her for that. I dislike her because of her cause. Each of the bloodlines approaches magic—and its impending expiry—in its own way. Some approaches are compatible. Others are not. I am of the Etrieli line. We pursue the advancement of applied magic through research and development. Your mother is a Sereshian. They use magic for profit and care nothing for its restoration. They believe their bloodline is best served by acquiring as much wealth as possible while they have the advantage. We have been at odds for as long as the bloodlines have existed.”