CHILD OF DESTINY (The Rising Saga Book 1)

by M. K. Adams

  The warlock seemed taken by surprise. Unsure of what had caused, or how to deal with, her newfound attitude.

  “What’s the matter, little -

  “Why has Jocelyn left?” Her hands shook so she hid them behind her back. Anger and nerves pulsing through her blood in equal manner.

  “It doesn’t matter she’ll -

  “It does matter, to me.”

  Lyvanne spared her gaze from Turiel for a split moment, the others around the table were all looking at her wide-eyed and engrossed. Kwah had a half-smile; she thought he was enjoying the scene more than the others. There were three other men in the structure besides Turiel and Kwah. Lyvanne could tell by the olive colour of their skin that the first two were natives of The Rive. One of whom was a bulky man, both in height and width, a small giant in comparison to Lyvanne. His hair was black and cut short to his scalp, and his strong jawline traced by a hard line of stubble. The other was lean, of average height for a man, and as he smiled Lyvanne noticed that he was missing at least half his teeth. The third man stood with a straight back, his hands clasped behind his back, like Kwah he was an Islander, black skinned and regal looking.

  “We disagreed on strategy, that’s all. She’ll just be blowing off steam,” Turiel raised his hands as if in surrender.

  “What strategy?” Lyvanne snapped back, not happy with his answer.

  “Turiel!” The lean man shouted, cutting off Turiel before he could answer. “She ain’t one of us. Be grateful that we let her stay here, but don’t push our generosity.”

  “She’s only a girl, Drystal,” Kwah intervened, holding a hand up to calm the situation.

  “Drystal is right,” The other islander spoke and all of a sudden Lyvanne regretted her abrupt entry. “She should not be in here. The Annex is for the Council, no others.”

  Lyvanne looked around the wooden structure. She should have paid more attention before she confronted Turiel. This was clearly a structure for the leadership of The Spring, or at the very least where they co-ordinated their plans. She couldn’t read the parchment in full from a distance, but she knew a map of The Rive when she saw one and there was a large one sprawled across the table with the wooden soldiers dotted vicariously across it.

  Turiel didn’t wait for the rest of the argument to unfurl. He waved a hand in the air and moved around the table to stand face to face with Lyvanne. “That was unwise,” he said as he rested his hand on her shoulder and ushered her away and back out into the camp. The two returned to their hut, where Turiel hoped they could talk in peace.

  “Jocelyn is stronger than you know. She’ll be fine, trust me. I wouldn’t let her put herself in harm’s way,” Turiel promised as he knelt down in front of Lyvanne and took both her hands in her own.

  The images of her dreams swirled around at the forefront of her mind. It took all the strength Lyvanne had to try and push them away.

  “What are The Spring planning Turiel? What are you planning?”

  “That’s something you need not worry about. Until the day comes that you choose the same path as these people all you have to do is stay here, do your bit to help out, and stay safe. Can you do that for me? We’re nearly there with your training. It won’t be long before you can leave if you choose to.”

  Lyvanne stared into his eyes for what felt like minutes. She trusted him, but she didn’t know how much longer she was willing to be left in the dark. “I can do that,” she said reluctantly.

  And she did. The next few days she made a point of not keeping to herself, not to please Turiel, but because she had told Jocelyn she would. At times she would help gather firewood or collect the rainwater from the troughs, neither was that stimulating but she enjoyed finding more out about the people she shared a camp with. Most had horrible stories of how they found their way towards the open arms of The Spring. Others were only there to fulfil a sense of justice. She appreciated that every person who took the time to speak to her did so as an equal and not the child she knew she was.

  The days began to blur into each other. She even took up reading again. Using abandoned notes and recipes lying around the camp, she took them back to her hut at night knowing that Turiel wouldn’t return until late and studied them over candle light. She was surprised how much came flooding back to her from Sinjin’s lessons once she put her mind to it.

  As reading became more natural, Lyvanne in turn became more adventurous with what she chose to read. Finding carelessly placed letters from around the Annex, or on the tabletops within a hut, before quickly putting them back before anyone woke up. Details of trade routes, the names and locations of other people associated with The Spring, what little information they had on the king’s forces both within The Rive and abroad. She was hooked, not just by the fascination of being able to read but by the contents of what she was finding.

  Gradually she saw less and less of Turiel, who became distracted by meetings and patrols. They would still hold regular lessons as Turiel endeavoured to teach her how to strengthen her mind against invasion, but she often found the lessons had grown stale, disinteresting and all too similar to the last. At times, she thought about saying something, but there was a nagging feeling that even if she did Turiel would only brush it off before disappearing again.

  She found some joy in watching two particular men sing songs around the fires at night. One wore a red cloak, not too dissimilar to the one Turiel would often wear, and a matching red hat. The other was more neutral in his clothes and less dashing to look at.

  “I’m Greyson,” the one in red said on the night she finally plucked up the courage to introduce herself.

  “And I’m Davidson,” the other echoed in a joyful tone. “In case it wasn’t obvious, we’re brothers.”

  She found herself gravitating towards them as Turiel slowly distanced himself, but just like everyone else, they had jobs and duties too, so her time around them was limited. One person who did find the time for her, however, was an extremely round Hemeti chef called Oblib.

  “Not trying to take my place as chef are you, kid?” he said jokingly one night after catching her trying to steal a recipe to read.

  Rather than look unfavourably on her taking what was his, he instead shared what he had and thinking her to be an innocent child often shared more rations with her than he perhaps should have. Lyvanne found him funny to look at, white tufts of hair sprouted out from his ears giving him a peculiar similarity to a night owl, but she loved their time together.

  However, it wasn’t all positives. The nightmares only grew with intensity.

  “It’s only a dream,” Lyvanne reminded herself as she strode through the burning camp. She no longer needed to call out for help; she knew it would pass eventually, but the scenes she saw were never easy to watch.

  Davidson was slumped against a palisade, his chest lacerated and his eyes devoid of life. Oblib ran through the woods in the distance, his clothes were on fire and before she could reach him he fell. She didn’t need to check to know that he was dead too. This time was different to the other nightmares though, this time Jocelyn never appeared. In her place, she found Kwah, fighting the behemoth of a man who a broadsword the size of a small person. Just like Jocelyn, Kwah too died at his hands. She watched them all die time and time again, each more gruesome than before and every time they fell, her heart broke ever so slightly more than the last.

  Chapter 16

  As had become common, Lyvanne woke with a start. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest and sweat poured down her cheeks. It had been just over a week since Jocelyn left the camp and there was still no sign of her return. The nightmares had been getting worse and with Turiel becoming increasingly distant she felt as though there was no one to turn to. But she wasn’t ready to quit just yet. She’d been determined to make this deal work. Until she knew for certain that she would be strong enough without Turiel’s magical protection, then she wasn’t going to leave and put others around her in harm’s way.

  The day started as
it usually did. Some bread and weak stew by one of the readymade fires in the morning, followed by helping where she could in the gathering of wood and others essentials. The camp ticked along nicely, everyone knew their job and they all seemed to be good at it. At times, she would see larger groups wander off into the woods with swords and bows; she often wondered whether they were hunting food or… other prey. As dusk fell she started to become faint. Turiel had been hard on her during training - a welcome change from the nothing lessons which Turiel had crammed into what little time they shared together recently - but whilst the magical onslaught often left her feeling drained it wasn’t anything like how she felt tonight.

  After dinner had been served and portioned out, she took her bowl and retreated back to her hut, much earlier than was usually the case, and whilst the isolation may be frowned upon by some in the camp she wasn’t of the mindset that she wanted to socialise. Unfortunately, the peace and quiet that her solitude brought didn’t help at all. Her head pounded, like one of the smiths back at Astreya were swinging down on her with an iron hammer. Sweat had begun to form on her forehead and at the base of her neck and a shooting pain clawed at her right arm. At first she thought her old wound from her escape at the Accord had festered, but taking a quick glance down there was nothing there.

  The pain grew and grew until she thought she might scream or cry out for help, but just before the breath left her mouth she was flung from the world she knew and cast into one of flame.

  Lyvanne opened her eyes. This wasn’t like the nightmares, this was something else, something more sinister. All around her, the world was on fire, like an eternal furnace burning in her mind.

  She cried out for help, none came.

  “Wake up!” she shouted as she tried in vain to force herself back to the camp. “Wake -

  The pain seared through her body like the dying curse of a scornful demon. Her scream echoed around the wall of flames that surrounded her and as she lay contorted on the black and lifeless floor, a shadowy figure stepped through a parting in the fire.

  “My, my… you are an interesting one,” the shadow hissed.

  The creature was faceless and twice the size a normal person should be. Lyvanne wanted to escape, to claw, and scratch her way back from the oncoming monster, but she couldn’t move.

  “Get away!” she snarled back through gritted teeth as the shadow took another step in her direction.

  “Do not resist me child,” the shadow was only a few feet away from her now. “You have done well, but it’s time for you to rest.”

  Lyvanne tried to remember how Turiel had cast his spells. She didn’t know if there were any secret mental incantations he did, and she didn’t have time to worry about that. Instead ,she prayed to any God who would listen that if she had dormant magical powers that they would surface now. They didn’t, and the demon stepped closer.

  Looking down on her, the shadow, faceless and cursed, appeared as though it was looking into Lyvanne’s soul. All the while drawing closer towards her.

  The pain seared again, and again, she screamed. This time louder than she had ever heard anyone scream before. The flames appeared to recoil from the noise, and the creature, showing its first sign of weakness, clawed at its own chest.

  “Lyvanne!” The voice was like an echo, not just through the flames, but through time and space, so distant that she wasn’t even sure if it was real. “Lyvanne!”

  “Tell me child, who taught you?” There was venom in the creature’s words, a frustration that hadn’t been there before.

  “I…don’t… know what… you’re on about,” Lyvanne sputtered as she tried to regain composure through the constant swell of pain coursing through her blood.

  “Focus Lyvanne! Focus!” There was the voice again.

  She did as it asked, trying to focus not on what she saw in front of her, not on the creature who by now was leaning down towards her, but on where she knew she really was, back at the camp, back in her hut.

  The flames spluttered, their heat diminishing.

  “Come back Lyvanne!” She recognised the voice now. Turiel’s voice. It was stronger and clearer than it had been before. The wall of flames subsided, leaving only her and the creature alone in an entirely vast and empty black space.

  “No!” The creature howled as Lyvanne was torn from the realm it had stolen her away to.

  Lyvanne thrashed wildly as she awoke in the hut. She nearly caught Turiel square in the jaw with a flailing fist, but he was astute enough to dodge it and restrain her until she gathered her surroundings.

  “You’re safe now,” he said, looking down at her as though he had been about to lose a loved one. His pale skin was covered in sweat, and his eyes appeared to be holding back tears.

  “What…what was that?” Lyvanne asked as she tried her hardest not to cry.

  “They’re looking for you.”

  “The king?”

  Turiel nodded. “Whomever you saw in there -

  “The shadow?”

  “Yes, the shadow, was whichever of the king’s warlocks who has been tasked with finding out where you are.”

  “Did he succeed?”

  Turiel smiled. He looked proud, despite the obvious worry. “No, you would know if he had broken through to your mind.”

  “It sure felt like he did. Why didn’t all that happen when you used your power to find me?”

  “When I used my magic to search for you, you were defenceless. If you’d had training back then, it’s entirely possible we would have been taken to whatever realm you just saw.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me that might happen?” she asked, her voice turning dark “Why didn’t you warn me?” Turiel’s words left her feeling entirely vulnerable.

  “I’m… sorry,” he replied, shaking his head as if disappointed with himself. “All the training we’ve been doing, it’s been to get you to that realm and to help you defend yourself once you’re there. You just didn’t realise it because you never distanced the concept of your mind from your actual body.”

  “Because you never taught me too!” she replied viciously.

  Turiel’s face turned sour. “That’s in part my fault, I admit. I should have been tougher on you in training; I underestimated what you could handle because you’re only a kid. I’m sorry, we won’t make that mistake again, you’re nearly there, the fact that you were able to hold off that warlock long enough for me to get here to help was amazing, Lyvanne.”

  “What did you do?” she asked, her temper slowly subsiding, unsure of what had actually fought off the invader.

  Turiel pulled down his rough spun tunic around his neckline and pointed at a fresh scar, as long as one of her fingers running from the base of his neck and across to his shoulder.

  “When I heard you scream, I came running, but by then you could have been in there alone for nearly a minute for all I knew,” he tapped her on the shoulder as if to say well done. “Whoever it was is clearly powerful, they must have broken through the protective spell I put around you. It can’t have been easy; they must have been working on it for some time. But once I got here I was able to put it back up, it helped me to talk to you through your mind.”

  So he had saved her then, she realised. “You’ve been distant recently/ I feel like I can’t talk to you anymore,” Lyvanne finally admitted. Turiel looked saddened. He was tough, but hurting Lyvanne had been the last thing he had ever wanted to do, only he was too proud to see that it was happening.

  “I’m always here if you need me, little one. I’m sorry for how I’ve been lately. I’ve just been caught up in all of this,” Turiel replied, waving an arm around the hut, but she took his meaning to be The Spring.

  She sat there in silence for a minute, contemplating what to say next, but with a lot of hesitation she finally told him about the nightmares. She recounted every detail, every time she’d seen her friends die.

  “How long have these been happening?” Turiel asked, his tone more serious than it
had been before.

  “A while, long enough that I’m running on pretty much zero sleep.”

  He drew a hand up to his mouth, Lyvanne thought it made him look funny the way he cupped his own chin, but she knew it meant he was in deep thought.

  “Okay, I have a plan.”

  “Go on,” she said tentatively.

  “You and I are going to go on a little trip out into the countryside. It’s obvious that the king is on to you and so are his servants, so it’s time to step up your training. We won’t be coming back to camp until I’m sure that if you were attacked again, you’d be able to fend for yourself. Deal?”

  “Deal,” Lyvanne said determinedly, but at the same time she felt utterly scared. If that was true, then she could be leaving to forge her own path in a few days, what if Jocelyn hadn’t returned by then? Where would she go? What would she do?

  “I have to warn you though, our methods are going to become more extreme. Do you think you could handle that?”

  “I’ll do anything.”

  “Okay, well try and get some rest. Hopefully, if all this works then you’ll not only be able to defend your own mind, but if luck is on our side then it will do something about those nightmares too.”

  Turiel made to leave the hut after giving Lyvanne a quick kiss on her sweat-covered forehead.

  “Turiel!” she called out, causing him to duck back under the entrance.

  “Yes?”

  “The nightmares… they’re nothing to be afraid of right? They’re only dreams?”

  Turiel faced her in silence for a moment. “They’re just dreams, nothing to be afraid of. Goodnight,” He said quietly as he left the hut.

  • • •

  Outside, the hut was surrounded by just about every person in the camp. From Kwah, to Oblib, Drystal and Greyson all waited intently to hear what had become of the girl whose scream had echoed through the wood.

  “She’ll be fine,” Turiel said after making sure he was out of Lyvanne’s earshot, before collapsing by one of the fire pits. Grabbing a satchel of water from a nearby wooden store, he forced a swathe down his gullet to try and ease the pain caused by his shouting.