Blaze (Tranquility)

by Krista D. Ball

She clung to the memory of Sarissa’s letter, unable to let it go. How like Sarissa to be flip about the murder of a friend. Everything was a joke with her. Now Magic twisted that enduring trait into a sick perversion. Sane people never laughed at murder. Her twin, her second self, was worse than dead. She was pure evil.

  Bethany pulled a burning candle from the wall sconce to use as a torch for the darkness ahead. She ran her fingers along the dusty tapestries that hung along the walls, interspersed between unlit candles. Over two years had passed since she had walked these halls, smelled the light tickle of lilac on the air, felt the soft touch of her mother. She found the tapestry of Apexia tending a market stall and slipped her hand behind it. Finding the latch, she unhooked it and pushed the faux stone door open, its hinges creaking like Aneese’s hips. After looking around to ensure she was alone, Bethany slipped through the small opening.

  She felt along the wall to her right and found an unlit torch. She ignited the oily top with her candle. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust. Bethany coughed from the dust. Around her were piles of rolled carpets, and sheet-covered paintings and mirrors. In the far left corner, she knelt to remove a stone from the wall. She pulled the latch before pushing the stone back into place.

  Bethany pressed against the stone wall until it shifted and opened. To hide her dusty footprints, she pushed one of the carpet rolls over before she slipped through the hidden door.

  On the other side was a narrow, spiral staircase. She heard footsteps above her and the scrape of steel exiting a scabbard.

  I guess they know I’m here.

  Four Elorian males stood in a line in the small domed room at the top of the stairs. Two wore ebony robes &mdash monks from the Black Hand order. The remaining two were knights, wearing the full plate armor of one who took secrecy vows. They lowered their weapons and bowed deeply as they recognized her.

  She walked past them, maintaining the silence. Kiner belonged to the Black Hand, sharing his time between the knights and doing whatever it was that monks did in the dark recesses of the world. Squinting her eyes, Bethany thought the book on the corner table looked familiar, but couldn’t place it. She shook it off.

  Only the carved oak doors before her separated daughter from mother. The Gentle Goddess, they called her. But when Bethany was near her mother, all she could see was that they were so different. Bethany wasn’t mortal, or even an Elorian. She was a daughter of the divine eternal. Of a goddess herself.

  Bethany rested her hand on the door. Behind her, the men were silent. She supposed they did not move in hopes of being as invisible as possible. These four were here the day she stormed out of the room, screaming damning curses to her mother.

  Bethany shook her mind clear of the thoughts that stung her heart. She pushed past her pride and pushed open the great doors.

  Chapter 15

  There will be comfort. There will be peace.

  — Prophecy of the Diamond, First Tablet

  “Hello.”

  Silence.

  Bethany let out a long, slow breath. She blew out her torch and watched the flickering candlelight bounce around the room. In spite of the heat outdoors, the room was relatively cool and damp. She latched the door behind her, not that the others would have come in. Apexia’s room was sacrosanct. The monks and the knights would not have entered this room to light the candles. Only Apexia would have.

  “Where are you?” Bethany asked the silence. “I want to speak to you.”

  Another moment passed. She didn’t need to visit her mother in the chamber to speak to her but it made Bethany feel normal; she had to visit the goddess as opposed to inviting her mother over for tea. Silly, but vital. Not that it mattered much longer.

  “Mama, I want to talk with you. Please.“

  A warm breeze tickled the wisps of hair around Bethany’s face; the ones that had fallen out of their braids during her brawl with Jovan. Bethany inhaled the thick scent of lilac. The wind swirled and kicked up dust until it formed a glowing, curvy figure – her mother.

  Once formed into mortal shape, Apexia stared at her blankly. Bethany eyed her mother and wondered if looking at her was its own kind of flesh-and-blood vision. She wondered if she would look as good as her mother later in life, with Apexia’s silvery-streaked hair and well-set hips.

  “Hello,” Bethany said, standing straight and focusing on not appearing scared. Not that she was afraid of her mother – she wasn’t. Rather, she feared admitting her mistake.

  Apexia inclined her head and shifted her eyes to the side. The candles responded to the silent Power by producing a brighter, more intense light.

  “A bit bare in here, isn’t it?” Bethany asked, grasping at casual conversation. Usually, the room was filled with furniture, or if Apexia was in a good mood, a picnic area in a long, warm field, the sun gentle overhead. Today, no illusions. Just the cold, barren walls and flickering tallow candles with their sickening animal smell.

  Apexia remained silent. She didn’t frown, nor did she smile. Her lips remained pressed together in a thin line, her pale fingers clasped in front of her. Looking at her mother was like looking into a distorted mirror. Apexia’s ears lacked the elven points and instead were smooth and rounded. Her body curved, whereas Bethany had inherited the lean, straight figure of her elven father, whoever that was. Mother and daughter did share the same red hair and innate mule-like stubbornness.

  Bethany crossed her arms. “Aren’t you going to speak to me?”

  “You told me to never speak to you again, right after you called me a whore in heat. Are you expecting me to behave like other mothers and go make you a bowl of soup and pretend I’ve forgotten what you said?”

  Bethany knew her mother would not allow that particular section of their argument to remain unaddressed. Perhaps that was why she had put off going back to see her. Bethany had never meant the vile words, but when Apexia had told her that her birth had been planned to fulfill the prophecies, anger had possessed her. Her mother made matters worse by refusing to reveal the name of Bethany’s father.

  It ignited the rage that always bubbled just below her surface of calm; the rage that came from being one thing and wanting to be another.

  She had lashed out against the one person who loved her unconditionally. The one who gave her life. Her fire was both her blessing and her curse. It made her a great warrior, but it also cursed her to push away anyone who loved her. Too often, her fiery outbursts eventually left her on bended knee begging for forgiveness. Like now.

  “Mama, please. I don’t want to fight.”

  Apexia remained rigid for a moment. Then, she nodded her head. With a flick of her hand, the bleakness of the room faded. Logs replaced the stone walls and the candles disappeared into the backdrop of a roaring fire and oil lanterns. Hand woven carpets in an array of greens and browns covered the floor.

  Bethany took a step forward to seat herself on a plush rocking chair next to a crackling fireplace. “Your cabin,” she said. Her mother once said it was here where she felt most like the human she was born as.

  “You look awful.”

  “Thanks.” Bethany frowned. “Jovan used his fists to make a point.”

  “As usual, you did not understand correction immediately and required several examples before your stubborn head absorbed the information. You got that from your father.”

  Bethany remained silent. She would not fight with her mother.

  Apexia reached to the end table next to her and picked up a platter of sweets. After examining them, she decided on the molasses cookie. She offered the plate to Bethany, who refused. “But, I wasn’t referring to the bruises. You look tired.”

  Bethany shrugged. “It’s hard being mortal these days.”

  Apexia smiled and let out a reluctant chuckle. “Half-mortal. You shouldn’t look as tired as the others.”

  “Well, I do,” she snapped. Being around her mother reminded her of her own inadequacies; her weaknesses. It was hard enough having the sinking f
eeling of weakness whenever Garran’s unsolved murder crossed her mind. She had not come to here to fall deeper into those feelings.

  “You’re not weak.”

  “What?” Bethany asked.

  Her mother looked surprised. “You were thinking that you were weak.”

  Bethany narrowed her eyes. “You haven’t been able to read my thoughts in over a century.”

  “As I said, you’re tired.”

  Apexia leaned forward to pick up the white, porcelain teapot. Bethany started at it, wondering if it had been there a moment before. She couldn’t remember.

  Apexia poured herself a cup of the steaming liquid and asked, “Did you want one? It’s rather chilly outside.”

  Bethany looked out the window and watched the snow falling outside. Orchard Park was in the midst of a heat wave in spring and here she was in a snowstorm. Her mother was always a bit off. “I’m fine.”

  “One thing I love about mortal form is that I can drink tea.”

  Silence slipped between them, interrupted only by the occasional pop from the fireplace or creak of the walls from the wind. How does one pick up after years of silence? Bethany had so much to say that she couldn’t say anything at all.

  Apexia placed her cup on the table and asked, “Why are you here?”

  A heavy feeling settled in Bethany’s stomach. The directness she often valued in her mother was also a curse when it was pointed at her. “Because I missed you.”

  “No you haven’t.”

  Bethany let out a deep breath. “Mama, please. You can pretend we are sitting in the middle of a snowstorm when it’s almost summer. Why can’t you pretend that I missed you?”

  “I lack the talent. Not to mention that I am the Gentle Goddess of All,” Apexia said, outstretching her arms and looking at the ceiling. “She who rides the wind and brings comfort to a troubled world. She who does not lie or pretend.”

  Bethany pressed her hands against the arms of her chair, slowly pushing herself up. With her face in full throb, she was in no mood to listen to her mother prattle on like a lunatic.

  “Sit down. I’ll behave. You’ve never had a sense of humor.” Popping the last of her cookies in her mouth, Apexia waved her hand near the table. A plate of miniature pastries appeared. She picked up one of the flaky treats and asked, “Tell me the real reason why you’re here.”

  “Sarissa.”

  Apexia sighed. “What did she do now?”

  “Wrote me a letter, apologizing for killing Garran.”

  The goddess dropped her pastry and stared. “I always said Sarissa got the sense of humor for the both of you. Have you told Allric? Or Torius?”

  “No, not yet. Now that I think about it, I suppose I wanted to tell you first. I know that you haven’t spoken or felt her presence in a long time.” She shrugged and looked back outside to the falling snow. “At least, you now know for certain that she’s alive.”

  Apexia’s eyes grew wet. “It makes it easier to kill someone when they are alive.”

  Bethany’s heart raced. She had known deep within her that Sarissa would have to be killed. She even knew it would probably be her doing the deed. Knowing and acknowledging were drastically different.

  “Don’t look at me like that. You may not have admitted it out loud, but we both know that only death will stop Sarissa.” Apexia stood up and walked to the fireplace to warm her hands. “When I gave birth to both of you, I could see so many possibilities before you. I knew the risks when I gave birth to the Diamond of prophecy alongside a Powerless daughter. But I wanted to see you both live and laugh, and even love.” She turned back to Bethany and offered a weak, sad smile. “I don’t regret any of it. Not for one moment. I love you both.”

  Bethany swallowed past the lump in her throat. Their last words before today were a screaming match over Apexia’s choice to bring Sarissa into the world, having seen the possibility that she would become addicted to Magic. She dropped her eyes to avoid the sad gaze of her mother.

  “I have to leave. Allric needs to know about this,” Bethany said. In fact, she had no intentions of telling anyone about the letter, but she needed to get away and clear her mind. Talking to her mother brought back too many hurtful memories and realities.

  Apexia’s expressionless face was all the evidence necessary for Bethany; her mother didn’t actually believe her. Nevertheless, she was thankful that Apexia was playing along for once. “Of course. But, before you go, would you tell me something?”

  Bethany nodded. “What?”

  “How is this new fellow? Arrago, is it? I’ve noticed you with him.”

  She felt the heat surge in her cheeks. “Fine.” Bethany returned her mother’s intent gaze and then broke into laughter. “I have no idea. I’ve had better conversations with Apples.”

  “Apples is a horse. They are famous for their conversational abilities, whereas Arrago is a man. If it is any comfort, men say the same things about us.” Apexia’s voice raised in pitch, just slightly, but enough for Bethany to notice. “He is a good man, I think.”

  Bethany raised an eyebrow.

  “Don’t give me that look, young lady.” Apexia chuckled and walked back to her chair. “Other than your little slip, you’ve successfully blocked me from your mind. I’m left to make random comments and assumptions in hope of delicious gossip. The dead rarely gossip.”

  Bethany rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t matter if he is a good man, or not. I’m supposed to be with an elf king, whatever that means. It says that right in the prophecy. Dozens of monks throughout the ages have debated every single aspect of the prophecy except the part about the elven king. I’ve accepted that I will be forced to marry someone of the scholars’ choosing. That’s what the Creator Gods want. That’s what the prophecy wants. That’s what the scholars demand.”

  “So?”

  Bethany blinked. “Huh?”

  “The Creator Gods want you to marry a king. So what?”

  Bethany knew her jaw hung slack but couldn’t seem to bring it back into place. “You, of all people, know the answer to that. My entire life has been designed around those tablets. You gave birth to me because of them.” Bethany regretted the words when they escaped her mouth. The knowledge of her planned birth was the original cause of the rift between them.

  Apexia leaned forward and placed her hand on Bethany’s knee. It was strange having her mother touch her again. Apexia squeezed gently and said, “I cannot see the true future. I only see the possibilities. Do what you must.” She leaned back in her chair and smiled. “The universe will cope.”

  “Do what I must,” Bethany repeated, uncertain what to do with the permission to disregard prophecy. “I’ll remind you of that.”

  Chapter 16

  She will see the world in its chaos and will know that her path is righteous.

  — The Prophecy of the Diamond, First Tablet

  Amber crashed through the forest, branches snapping against her arms, roots cracking underfoot. Magpies and crows squawked their displeasure as both trees and underbrush trembled in her wake. Her heart pounded and she gasped for air.

  It didn’t matter how sick she was. It didn’t matter how much she ached. She needed to put more distance between herself and them.

  She had eluded Sarissa for too long; she couldn’t stop running now. Elven lands were close, if she wasn’t already in them. More Elorians and elves appeared on the roads and the weather grew warmer as she ran further south. She didn’t know why she was being pulled in that direction, but if she could make it to an outpost, she could turn herself over to the protection of the Knights. She would be safe. They would save her.

  She pushed the dangling branches out of her way with one arm, clutching her stomach with the other. She longed for more arms to hold her swollen, aching breasts. Even with the Magi following her, her body fought to keep alive the life that stirred inside her - unwanted life from that bearded bastard who had forced himself on her. And the bitch who had watched it happen.
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br />   Gasping, Amber slowed to catch her breath and listened for pursuing horses. They whinnied somewhere in the distance, the pounding hooves sounding farther away. She doubled over, bracing her hands on her thighs as she swallowed in air. A sharp pang split her belly and she fell to her knees, body convulsing as dry heaves descended.

  When the convulsion finally ceased, she collapsed on the ground next to a large pine. Just out of arm’s reach were unripe wild strawberries, beckoning to her. Clawing at the ground to pull her exhausted body forward, she reached the berry patch and frantically stuffed the white, bitter fruit into her mouth. Though she knew that eating too fast or too many was liable to make her sick again, hunger controlled her. It did not care about later; it only cared about the now and she obeyed by shoving fistfuls of berries and leaves into her mouth.

  Beyond the strawberry patch was an even larger spread of juniper berries. Never give to a woman with child, she remembered her mother once saying. Unless she requests it.

  She stopped eating and stared at the bluish-green berries hidden amongst the fir branches that skimmed the ground. In her healing training, she had helped two women miscarry and Amber still remembered the violent sickness that resulted. Sickness didn’t scare her as much as recapture.

  Covering herself in leaves and the little bits of ground cover that she could find, Amber curled up on her side facing away from the tempting juniper. Her heart still pounded, keeping her exhausted mind awake. She thought again about her escape and how simple it had been. Too simple. Sarissa and the bearded beast left her alone in the cottage. The guard had fallen asleep outside of her cell. No one stopped her.

  She’d even grabbed proper clothing, footwear, and a pack of food before escaping. It was all too convenient and Amber knew they had let her go. But why? Every night for at least two months she’d asked herself the same question. They chased her, herded her, and yet never captured her. Amber wondered if Sarissa was that poor of a tracker to be unable to find a pregnant Rygent in a sea of trees.