Roque cringed as the echo of screams resonated within his mind and looking more closely at the book, he saw that timeless world burn, the faeries churning and changing into something else entirely. With smooth inky hair and empty eyes, the four women bowed before the King sitting on the throne of carved bone. It was peerless white, the contrast so great it was like the last star in a blackened night.
The courtroom was empty, besides them. The king wore thick armored plates, his blade glistening as he spun it rhythmically in his palm, his eyes sharp and golden, scar tissue roping around his neck in silver webs.
“For years, we have lived in this shell of a world. It is time to change that,” the king said.
Bowing their heads in unison, their whispers overlapped in haunting tones, “We will not fail you, our King.”
Standing, they clasped dark green emerald gems and, forming a circle, started chanting in the same sharp guttural tones, their plain white robes fluttering around their bony knees. In a flash of emerald light, they were gone, leaving a scorched ground in their wake.
The king started to chuckle at first, then rolled into a deep laugh. The Oilean were born from the heart of darkness itself, and as his trained assassins, they would rid this new-found world of everyone in it, leaving the magic for their own taking.
Just as they did with this one.
The King of Daer looked to the crumbling ceiling and dreamt of the carnage they would make, and he knew he would wait until the day came that the Oilean would connect their worlds. And finally, he would be able to scrounge new lands, filling his starving soul, feeding his magic. He would be able to get his revenge.
Until that day came, he would wait. And he would be ready.
Gripping the blade, the King of Daer, also known as Declan, sent it soaring to the opposite wall, the hilt thrumming with magic. It collided with the stone and exploded, the sword vanishing with the impact in a cloud of smoke, the debris crashing around the room.
The king smiled as the sword materialized back into his palm, fresh and glinting, as he stared at the absent space where the wall was. Beyond that, the roars of his kingdom beckoned to him. Where the rolling forests once stood, a sea of white greeted him, and the hollowed-out bones of the previous fey staked in the ground like delicate art.
Smoke churned in the shadows, and he knew his people could taste the longing of magic lingering in the air, on the tip of the scales.
And so, Declan sat back and waited.
The vision disappeared, and Roque gagged from the backlash, their magic having pulled each of them into the memory. He looked up slowly, his pulse stuttering.
The book was pulsing, and a deep humming filled the room. Looking up, the moment hung in between them like an eternity. Where once sat the exotic fey, now sat demons with empty eye sockets, long ebony hair framing their pale skin. Their lips were pulled and pinned back, revealing sharpened teeth. Tilting their heads in unison, a giggle escaped their lips before the room exploded in a fury of chaos.
The lights flickered, sending the room in a disarray of splintered movement. The Oilean stood, their facades gone, their magic exploding from them. The very shadows seemed to deepen, whispering dark terrible things as cracks of ability filtered around them. Damien roared forward, his blinding light raging against the night.
“Damien, NO!”
But he looked back to the group, just as the Oilean multiplied, the four of them circling around him, and he whispered, “The channels are closed. They cannot get back.”
Screams met with the guttural sounds of the fight as the creatures sunk their teeth into his neck, and the darkness overtook him, leaving nothing but ash. Screams multiplied around the room, and he looked to Nei, her panicked eyes searching his own, both thinking the same thing.
What could they—a desolate and a healer from the Shattered Isles—do?
Giggles filled the room, bouncing around them and their consciousness. Hands found his in the darkness, warm and strong as Aine’s voice tickled against his ear. “My daughter has removed the seals on the door and is gone. Do not let me down, Roque.”
Brilliant ice blue light filled the room as Aine stepped forward, the Queen of the Windwalkers said, “You want them? You will have to get through me first.”
The Oileans’ joints popped sickeningly as they scrambled forward. “Ah yes, Witch Queen. Witch Queen.”
The explosion threw them back, Roque’s head cracking against the wall with a sickening thud. Spots danced in front of his eyes, and in the flickering lights, Roque watched as Aine became the very substance of her power, colliding with the smoky darkness of the Oilean. Squeezing his eyes shut, tears burned beneath his lids at the sudden blinding flare of light.
Heat scorched his skin, becoming too hot, as Roque screamed, preparing for the end. When the lights flicked back on, the heat died with it.
The lights flicked back on.
Coughing, Roque stumbled forward, his voice rasping, “Nei...Nei!”
“Here. I’m fine. I’m fine.” His wife lay across the room, looking shaken but unscathed.
With ringing ears, Roque stood, any trace of the Oilean and Aine gone; the scorched ground and the ashes skittering around the room were the only trace of what had happened. The room tilted, but Roque walked toward the table, the blackened book pulsing with light, the surface of the wood completely singed underneath it.
“Roque, no! Can’t you see it?”
Nei was before him in a second, pushing against his chest, shielding him from the work they had cultivated over the years, the work that would change the face of their culture, for Emory, for Kiero. The book that contained spells from worlds of Langther, the windwalkers, Daer, and the fey, and he had been the commander behind such an expedition. A desolate, orchestrating the most influential artifact Kiero had ever seen.
Now, all of it was destroyed in a second.
He seized her forearms. “Nei, I have to see it! All our work...” he trailed off, and tears slid down her face.
“They destroyed it. I can...sense it. It’s dark magic. It’s not safe. We must get rid of it! Roque listen to me. The channels are destroyed, closed. It’s over. But those faeries tainted it. They may be gone; they may not be. But their magic is a siren call to them. A weapon. And dark magic only calls to its master.”
The stirring of the Academy sounded behind them, and his mind was freefalling. Clenching his teeth, he said, “No. No, we will hide it, and until we can understand it, we won’t destroy it.”
Nei paled, stepping away from him, shaking her head. “Aine’s and Damien’s blood is now staining our hands, and you would have us keep it?”
There was no trace of the rest of their society having disappeared with the Oilean. No blood stained the floor. Ash was the only trace left, floating gently down to the ground. Roque looked up at her.
“Yes, we are going to keep it. We don’t even know what we are dealing with yet. All those years of forming this group will not go to waste. The whole point of this group was to prepare and compile a history of each world’s culture and magic, a peaceful agreement to bridge foreign allies with Kiero. To pass down to our children so they could live in a world not in arms with one another.”
The memory became washed out and dull, churning until Adair’s settings become clear once again. Curled up on the tunnel floor, cold sweat soaked through his shirt, clinging on the inside of his jacket.
“You see, we did have one purpose.”
Shivers racked through him, making his teeth chatter as the voices cut through him.
“For your greatness, Adair, we needed your body to act as our vessel. Together, we will be unstoppable.”
Tears slid down his dirtied cheeks, and he pushed himself up onto his knees, whispering to the darkness, “No, please no. You promised me, if I did this, if I k-killed them, I would be free. I would be more.”
“You already are.”
They attacked relentlessly, tearing through his mind, through his ability, t
hrough his memories. His secrets and fears, all dissolving as he was pushed under, drowning in the old magic burning through his veins. It was like having his oxygen cut off, everything becoming fuzzy except for the last desperate attempts to remind himself of who he was.
Laughing with Emory as the sun set, the golden light brushing the world in a soft luster.
Walking through the courtyard at night, the rest of the Academy asleep, but when the stars erupted in the velvet sky far above, tracing constellations, leading his heart and his mind to every untouched adventure that awaited him. He would lie on his back, boots crossed over his legs, the bench cool underneath him as the hours slipped away, directed by his imagination, and reality would shatter him.
All that ever mattered was that one day he would break out of his confines, and he would discover exactly what the world had to offer. Because each day that disappeared and Adair was taught about the mythology, the history, and the mystery of Kiero, a piece of him died because he wasn’t experiencing it.
Adair snarled and clawed and threw himself at those memories, at the burning desire to hold on. As fast as they came, they were gone, and the walls of his reality disappeared as well. The room was much like the one before, the curling stairs plunging down into the cavernous room. He stepped forward, his footfalls echoing and falling alongside his panicked breaths. Down and down, he walked. Sweat collected in his palms, as he clenched and unclenched them.
Finally reaching the bottom of the stairs, he turned, a soft silver light bouncing against the slick walls. A pale hand stroked his cheek. The touch froze him and broke down every barrier he had, laying him bare. Every dream, wish, hope, longing that had ever taken root within him was gone.
Until he felt nothing.
Until he was nothing.
“Adair.”
Tears fell as his lip trembled.
“Don’t be afraid.”
He felt their nails dig into his jacket, pulling and pushing, and he didn’t know what his reality was anymore.
The Oilean hissed in pleasure, clawing at his chest, at his arms, pushing him further and faster back. Stumbling, his gravity tipped, and the wind was pushed from his lungs. His fingers started to burn, the heat spreading viciously up his arms, binding his legs, surging through his chest. It splintered and pulled him apart, and all he could do was watch in horror as all around him dark spears sprouted from the ground, shuddering around him and growing taller and taller.
And that darkness that had been waiting for him, greeted him with open arms, pulling him close, forming a cage. Flipping onto his side, he dragged himself closer to the bars, and watched the four figures lower themselves to eye level.
“Now, you will understand your freedom.”
“NO!” he roared, fighting against his confinements, and as their figures grew distorted, the shadows climbing and consuming, the lights were extinguished. Everything went dark, and he spiraled.
The first thing that he heard was the relentless pounding of hundreds of footfalls above him. A sharp ringing filled his ears, and blinking, he realized he was on his back, arms and legs splayed out. Disoriented, he looked up at the tunnel’s ceiling, dust floating down through the semi-darkness, lightly coating his face and clothes.
Stretching, he slowly stood, brushing himself off. Screams echoed around the Academy; the tunnel’s walls seemed to move as shocks shuddered down them. To his right, frost had slicked the walls, creating a distorted mirror. Tilting his head, he looked at his reflection in the ice.
A pink flush had crept into his cheeks, and for the first time in years, he felt alive. Leaning closer, the ice misted from his breath, and he took in his sweeping black hair, but he paused as a slow smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He took in his eyes next. His pupils widened, bleeding in the now black iris around them, all flecks of the dark brown gone. All traces of him, gone.
A deep chuckle passed through his lips, and he tentatively traced the outline of his features, growing more distorted with every second. Flicking the melted droplets off his fingertips, he murmured, “It’s time.”
Clenching his fists, he slammed it into the ice, and the impact should have shredded his skin and his knuckles, leaving a bloody print. Instead, the cracks split through the ice, racing up and through the sheets, and ice fractured around him. Adair flexed his unharmed hand, grinning viciously.
The ground shuddered beneath him and looking up, his hair stood on end with anticipation. The temperature continued to drop, and his breath outlined in front of him as he looked onward, to the war that raged above him. He could practically taste the ancient magic spurring through the Academy because it was the same that coursed through him, a gravitational force that wouldn’t let him go, couldn’t let him go.
And he would answer it.
Bowing his head, his body became magic and smoke, and soon, he was flying, cutting through the physical barriers of the school.
He was no longer a man, no longer just Adair Stratton.
The voices purred inside him, coaxing him onward, as he became destruction, chaos, and rage. He became the monster they claimed he was, the fear that was whispered behind his back.
And as he raced to escape the tunnels while, inside, Adair battered against his confinements, screaming, unable to do anything but watch as the magic sealed him within, overpowering and enhancing him.
He burned with one desire.
To end the Academy.
Chapter Eighteen
Brokk
For the first hour, he had screamed, gut wrenching wails, as he heard the Academy get ripped apart, stormed by Bresslin’s forces. There was no rhyme or reason to their destruction, and the smell of smoke and the harsh tang of winter cut into his face, as his head hung limply, the sounds of war clashing around him.
The metal bit into his wrist, a steady drip of blood slowly seeping onto the ground. He no longer wanted to hear the dabarnes shatter through the icy courtyard, the screams rising and falling. The Academy was caught completely unaware by Bresslin’s rage.
“First, I will make you beg.”
He cringed against the memory, slithering through his mind of Gortach’s sick whispers.
“Then, I will make you bleed.”
A whimper escaped him, and he clenched his eyes shut.
My name is Brokk Foster. I will not break. I will not break. I will not break.
He repeated this over, trying to shut out the increased sound of concrete being smashed, the roars of the dabarnes, the screams of the residents of the Academy. The singing of metal against metal, of ice crackling over everything, alive or not. The ground shuddered, and he was sure the world would split apart from the forces clashing together.
“Brokk.”
He squeezed his eyes tighter, and for the first time, he let his mind wonder what it would be like just to drift away from their government, from their politics. Like the raiders had done. And the Shattered Isles. Leaving Kiero to battle over an acclaimed crown.
“Brokk!” Defeatedly wrenching his gaze, he squinted through his non-swollen eye at Memphis, cringing at how true Bresslin was to her word. Memphis’s wrists and ankles where melded into blocks of ice, his body stretched taut, blood running down his arms, the chain collar tight around his throat. They were on the outskirts of the forest, left broken and beaten, their torture listening to their home falling into ruin, seeing enough but not all.
“We have to do something.” Memphis’s voice cracked.
“If you have any plans, I would love to hear them,” he rasped.
“So, we just give up, stay strapped to a block of ice? Brokk, Em is in there,”
“Don’t you think I know that? But what can we do against a bloody army of demons!”
Memphis’s face grew ashen as he spat, “We can try.”
Try.
Brokk wanted to laugh. How many years had he spent trying? Trying to figure out his past. Who his parents were, why they didn’t want to keep him. Trying to live up to the expectations
of the Academy, to grow up to become Kiero’s guardians.
But he had tried to stay true to his heart and what he knew was right, and that’s all he could ever want.
Looking at the world around him, the hush of the forest snow was encrusted and timeless. His gaze drifted to the Academy, the smoke starting to curl up toward the sky. Was he ready to try, to potentially die?
His heart slammed against his ribs as he licked his dried lips. “Memphis, you know you can be a prick, right?”
His friend grinned. “On occasion.”
Groaning, Brokk shook his head. “If we die...”
“Most of our plans could end with that option. They haven’t yet, and today, I have no intention of breaking our luck.”
Fear filled every ounce of his soul, but he knew he wouldn’t forgive himself if he caved. For himself and for Emory.
His eyes frantically ravaged the forest, looking for anything that could help them. A crack exploded in front of them, and he cringed and desperately whispered, “Please. Help us.”
He had spent his lifetime in these woods. A lifetime of endless nights. The pounding of his paws against the earth, the moonlight carving his path, all his fears and worries stripping away. It was those nights that he shifted, and the symphony of magic and mystery filled his senses. He wasn’t so oblivious to not know that he was being watched. The myths around their world, specifically the woods around the Academy, were one of legends. That before the magic was born in them, in the form of abilities, their world was divided.
It was said that the woods were a sacred place, defended by Warriors who once lived in the lost city of Nehmai. Immortal fey whose magic could surpass wildest daydreams, and they would protect their border against the darkness breeding in the magic.
Over the years, the myth turned into many variations, saying that the Warriors had disappeared, sacrificing their magic into the very bowels of Kiero, seeping into the air, the trees, their food, their bodies.
Heir of Lies (Black Dawn Series Book 1) Page 19
