The Heir of Eyria

by Osku Alanen

  “I see.” Alessia watched her father. He seemed fine now, happily chewing the pork on his plate. He looked and seemed the same he had been all her life, but for some reason, he seemed more… happy? It was as if a heavy burden had been lifted from his heart. “Also, what of the guards, father? Why did I not see any on my way here?”

  “Oh, the guards? I sent them to secure our city and gather supplies, for we need to prepare for the invasion. You have nothing to worry about, daughter. We are perfectly safe here. You trust me, don’t you, Alessia?”

  “Of course,” Alessia muttered, tasting her food. She knew her father was disappointed in her—in her choice of pursuit. But this was no longer evident in his face. Had he forgiven her, perhaps? No. The man I know is slow to forget. He might hide it well, but he must still feel betrayed by my actions.

  Still, her siblings were no more. A loss like that should change people, shouldn’t it? His father was growing old. With no male heir, their family was at a risk now. His father was too old to father another child. A thought entered Alessia’s mind: this meant she had to marry, didn’t it? If she didn’t, their bloodline would wither and cease to exist. She thought she would feel angry at the thought—to become a mare whose only purpose to was provide children for the good of her line. But why wasn’t she feeling angry? What was wrong with her? A thought entered Alessia’s mind. The living heir! Just like the dark-haired man said, finding him would solve everything.

  Alessia frowned. A dark-haired man? The same one still lying there next to the throne. Raven? Yes. That was his name. Why did it take so long for her to think of that name? How… odd.

  Her father took a knife to the pork he was hungrily devouring. Both his hair and his beard were grey, for he was old. He was dressed in the same black, loose robe that he always wore. His clothes were always made from the finest of materials, and only the crown made him stand out. He was not the man who thought he needed to dress to look like a king—and the death of his sons did not seem to affect this part of him, either. But something was different. She saw a necklace hanging from his father’s neck. How odd. When had her father started to wear jewelry? Something about it seemed awfully familiar to her. Where had she seen it before?

  Alessia gasped aloud. Hands trembling, she scoured through the hidden pocket of her dress. She felt her fingers clasp around Rubaron’s pendant, sighing once she realized it was not missing. She remembered well Raven’s warning of the pendant’s power—and of its danger—but she didn’t let it stop her from having it with her. To have something so powerful in her grasp… the feeling was comforting to her, somehow. Still, the jewelry his father wore was too similar for it to be a single coincidence.

  “Something the matter, daughter?”

  “It’s nothing,” Alessia answered, pursing her lips. She finally realized something was terribly wrong here. The guests did not behave like they should. How could anyone laugh and feast with so much joy when a man laid dead next to them? When their king was almost assassinated? Avalon… if Raven was dead, then where was Avalon? The magus never left the man’s side. Surely, he wouldn’t have retreated without Raven? She turned her gaze back to the stranger sitting in the table, eyes focused on him. In the blink of an eye, it all made sense to him.

  Alessia snatched the medallion from her father’s neck. His father’s face melted, and the familiar face of the dark-haired man stared at her in disbelief.

  “Now why did you have to do that, my lady?” Raven said, shaking his head in disappointment.

  ***

  “See? I told you something is going on!” Rose hissed, voice barely higher than a whisper.

  They had walked right through the front gate. No guards had stopped them or asked them who they were. In fact, there were no guards, which, according to Rust, was highly unusual. When they reached the inner courtyard, Rose had pulled them both aside, pointing at the two strange men by the fountain. At first, Ronan had thought them guards, but no guards he knew would dress in robes—and one of them had blood on him. They all agreed it was best to stay out of their way, for they had enough to worry already.

  The darkness around the castle hid them well. They crouched, leaning behind walls, sneaking, hiding. Luckily, with Rust’s intimate knowledge of the castle, they found another way inside in no time. An open window—that’s all it took to infiltrate a foreign castle. If Raven had already spoken with the King, then there was no reason for the castle be this poorly guarded. None. Ronan could have accepted finding no people outside the castle gates, but when they found no one inside either, he felt shivers going down his spine. Something felt simply wrong.

  “We best hurry,” Rust muttered, picking up the pace.

  They reached the door to the throne room soon after. Rust tried the doors, but they didn’t budge. “Sealed shut,” he muttered.

  “Think we should knock?” Rose said, half-jokingly.

  Ronan stretched his back, flexing his arms. For once, this was a simple problem to solve. “I have a better idea.” He took a few steps back. Then, with the full power of his body, he rammed the doors. The hinges whined and groaned, but the door refused to open. “Give me a hand,” he said, massaging his shoulder. Gods, his arm hurt.

  Rust nodded, and they prepared for another charge, together. Their combined mass proved more than adequate, and the door to the throne room blew open. The guard stationed inside was hit by the force of their charge, and he was sent sprawling to the ground. Ronan expected for him to shout for backup, call for help, react—anything. But the man simply stood back up, ignoring the invaders.

  “What is going on here?” Ronan muttered. Then he saw Raven. He sat there, on the throne, cross legged and leaning back. He wore a crown atop his head. On his feet laid another man—bloody and unmoving. The King? This was a man Ronan had called friend, a companion, a leader. And now, in addition to all that, he was a kingslayer. A young girl standing by Raven’s side caught his eye. The girl’s eyes were hollow, and a trail of tears ran down her cheeks.

  When Raven saw his three companions, he stood up. “Welcome, my friends.” Raven’s voice echoed through the hall. The guests at the tables turned towards them, simultaneously, lifeless and blank eyes following them as they moved towards their old friend.

  “What have you done, Raven?” Ronan said with a tone colored with anger. His fists had curled into tiny balls. He wanted to strike the man, strangle him with his own hands. There was no way this was all a misunderstanding, not anymore. Still, he needed to hear the man say it out loud. To hear all the crimes he had committed.

  Raven shrugged. “This? Whatever do you mean, my friend? This, I believe, is a feast in our honor. We have gathered here to celebrate the safe return of the King’s daughter.” He looked at the body at his feet, gently poking it. “Alas, I’m afraid the King didn’t have a chance to reconnect with her daughter for very long.”

  Ronan scanned the room, looking for the source of this spell that had charmed the people here. He knew there was only one man capable of sorcery of this magnitude—Avalon. But where was he?

  Ronan scanned the crowd, but he couldn’t find him. All this betrayal… it was too much to bear. With every fiber of his being shaking, he walked towards Raven. His muscles were tense, and his heart raced. Rage threatened to drown his thoughts, and following reason proved difficult. He had called this man a friend. He had admired him. Trusted him. Followed him. And what had he done to him in return?

  “Tell me, friend,” Ronan said, clenching his teeth. “what do you hope to accomplish with this foolishness?” His hands disappeared under his furs. Hopefully, his words would be enough to distract the man for a while.

  Raven’s easy smile vanished. “My motivation is the same as it has always been, Ronan, to prevent a senseless war. And to save mankind.”

  “That so?”

  One step. Two steps. Three steps. The man’s silhouette grew closer and closer.

  “So, let’s see if I understood this correctly. You came here to wa
rn the King, and apparently, you thought killing him would work?”

  Raven flinched. “I admit, Ronan, things aren’t going as I planned. I was going for something more… subtle. I aimed to replace their king, but his daughter proved to be too perceptive, too observant. I was forced to improvise.”

  Ronan knelt by the throne, touching the King’s lifeless neck; it was cold. The man was long dead. “And how’s that going for you?”

  “Not as well as I would have hoped. But thanks to the beast you helped slay, Avalon’s reservoir is filled to the brim; this can all be salvaged, still.”

  Ronan lifted his fingers off the dead man’s neck, and as he did, his eyes met with the King’s daughter. There was something different about her eyes. Avalon’s sorcery was strong, but this girl was fighting back. No matter how strong Avalon was, he had his limits. But how could he break the spell if he didn’t find him first? No. There was only one thing left to do.

  Raven was at an arm’s length now. He watched the man he had called a friend with calm, controlled anger. He could strike him now, but was he fast enough? Time and time again, Raven had shown his speed and agility. He was clever and cunning, especially to have hidden his true self for this long. How long had he been planning for this? Surely, he wouldn’t think Ronan would forgive him? To come here unarmed? Ronan felt nothing for this nation, but a friend of his did, and that was enough.

  My, how noble of you. What kind of a coward denies his own desires even in his thoughts? All you want is revenge and blood for your son. It is the simple, undeniable truth, Ronan. There is no use hiding your true self.

  “Quiet,” Ronan muttered under his breath. His eyes did not leave Raven for a single moment. He had no time for the voice’s deceptions, not when he needed to keep a clear head.

  “I repeat, this is not how I wanted things to go,” Raven said. “I did not plan for General Rud’ak to interfere. I wanted to take over this kingdom, peacefully, with no resistance. But no matter what, the Nubian Empire marches towards us as we speak, Ronan. I had to act. Soon, the tides of war will sweep over these lands—but there is still time to stop all this. The stolen son is here, in Eyria. The usurper you see laying here would not have yielded the throne. Only the rightful prince can end this senseless conflict—with my guidance. Join me, my friends. Together, we can save them all.”

  Raven turned his gaze towards Rust. “Tell me you don’t agree, my old friend? This is your home that is on the brink of a war. Tell me there’s another way.”

  “I—,” Rust muttered.

  “Don’t do that,” Ronan’s voice thundered, the anger piercing through the calm front. “I reckon Rust deserves more than your hollow words—we all do. And we all see the man you really are now.”

  Ronan could see Avalon now, his mask discarded. He was looking their way, but he refused to meet their eyes. “And you, Avalon. Is this why you follow Raven? For this lunacy?”

  Avalon did not answer.

  “And you. You claim you did this to save this kingdom,” Ronan said to Raven.

  “Yes,” Raven replied, voice grave, determined.

  “How did killing my son help save this nation?”

  “I—.”

  “Was he, too, one of your pawns? Tell me, how do you murder an innocent child? What monster kills a child? I want to know why. I need to know. Convince me, my friend. How did my son’s death help your cause? Or Eira’s?”

  Raven’s lips quivered. He appeared heartbroken, in anguish. Could it be real, genuine, this display of emotion? Ronan refused to believe it; this man had to be a monster. How else was he supposed to have vengeance? It was an act. It had to be.

  “Believe me, my friend. It was not my aim, not at all. All I wanted was to persuade the woman to take the boy with him. To take him to Eyria.”

  “What happened?” Ronan growled.

  Raven continued with a mournful, anguished voice. “I should never let other people handle a task this important. The men I hired failed, terribly. The woman fought back, and they reacted like scoundrels often do. They didn’t mean to, but the woman died.”

  “And my son.”

  “Yes.”

  “Where is his body, Raven?” Ronan asked, voice dropped to a whisper. “Where is my son?”

  Raven lowered his gaze. “Buried by an oak, not far from the woman’s cabin. Rest assured, justice has been met. The men who did this live no more; their lives were forfeit by my very hand.”

  “So, to mask their deaths, you sent Ivy south with some parentless boy?”

  “I had no choice.”

  “No choice,” Ronan repeated, nostrils flaring. “Why, Raven? Why did you have ‘no choice’? For what possible reason would you have to lure me here, to this foreign land? Why me?”

  “I don’t expect you to believe me,” Raven said, exhaling loudly, “but this world is in grave danger. I have studied the signs, walked across every nation, every kingdom. Even now, deep in the forests, under the very ground you walk, the Daemoni plot. They await their master’s return, and they prepare.”

  This man sounds like my brother. Men… they are nothing but tools.

  “Prepare for what?”

  “To end us all,” Raven whispered.

  Ronan snorted. “Delusions and lies, I reckon. You’re nothing but lies, Raven. You circumvent the truth the best you see fit. You manipulate people. Rust. Rose. Me. Everyone. Why would I believe you after all you have done? What proof have you of this… delusion?”

  Raven frowned, gazing deep into Ronan’s eyes. His deep, pale blue eyes were piercing, penetrating. It made Ronan feel uneasy. What did he see in him?

  “You of all people should know this. Have you ever wondered why you encounter so many Daemoni? Why the lives of everyone around you are in constant peril? You know as well as I do that meeting these monsters is a rare occurrence. That’s why kings and emperors rely on hunters and mercenaries; they can ill afford sending their soldiers to avenge some dead farmer’s daughter. They can’t waste days or weeks following them into whatever hole they withdraw after they feed on their pray. But you, Ronan… you cross paths with the Daemoni constantly; they follow you wherever you go. Why is that, I wonder?”

  “Bad luck, I reckon,” Ronan muttered. Raven had a point. But for it to mean something… It had to be bad luck. It had to. What other explanation could there be? That he was cursed? Preposterous.

  You know the answer, the voice whispered.

  No, I don’t know, Ronan thought. I know nothing.

  “I think you do know the reason,” Raven insisted, eyes gazing deep into Ronan’s eyes. He paused for a moment, considering something. “You hear the voice, don’t you?”

  Ronan’s breath halted. Raven’s words were horrifying, numbing. They sent a chill down his spine; hairs all over his body stood up. How could he possibly know that? No one knew this of him. The voice of his mind. His madness made manifest.

  “Ronan, what’s he talking about?” Rust said. He had stayed far back along with rose. It was as if they feared coming close to him. But he was now right by Ronan, eyes full of worry, doubt, fear.

  Rose frowned, eying Ronan suspiciously. “What voice?”

  “You can’t possibly know that, Raven,” Ronan whispered, hands trembling.

  Raven left the throne he had taken by force. He walked to Ronan, and was now standing by him, shoulder to shoulder. He let his hands fall on Ronan’s shoulders, and whispered in his ear: “I hear a voice, too.”

  Ronan took a step back. He felt his jaw clench. It was as if something was stuck in his throat. “That’s impossible,” Ronan mouthed.

  How curious. Could it truly be…?

  Ronan bit his lip, hard. Hard enough to draw blood. He felt the stench of iron reach his nostrils. The smell and taste of it felt familiar. Too familiar. He wanted to tell his friends everything, but he didn’t know how. How could he tell them of the voice inside of him? The madness he had succumbed to for so many years, slaughtering men and women alike with n
o remorse, no fear. The very voice that had earned him his name. The Berserker.

  “I’m afraid it’s the truth. In a way, we are the same. But on the other hand, we couldn’t be more different. I serve justice, while you follow a dark path. We are the same but also the opposite. The voice inside of you seeks only destruction, while mine seeks to prevent it. I seek harmony, you seek only death.”

  “No,” Ronan gasped. After all these years, he felt the same tingling of his arms, and the same shade of crimson clouded his vision. The voice inside of him had been but a whisper in the distance, but now it felt like someone was standing right by him, breathing in his ear.

  Brother, the voice whispered. I should have known. The feeling I got from this man was peculiar, and I couldn’t quite place it, but now I understand. I have been blind, but I see you now.

  “Ronan,” Rust said, voice filled with worry.

  Ronan held his head in his palms, he sat down on the marble floor, curling his body into a tiny ball. “No, no, no, no. This isn’t happening. Not now.”

  I did not anticipate finding you here, brother. But I see now that our meeting was inevitable. Time and time again we are destined to cross blades. Ours is a never-ending struggle. For more than a millennium we have continued this struggle. You have chosen a strong vessel, yes, but so have I.

  “No, no, no, no, no. Not like this. Never again.”

  “Give in, my friend. Once you submit, you will realize it is for the best,” Raven roared, hands placed on Ronan’s shaking shoulders once more. They were close enough to embrace. He comforted Ronan, caressing his head gently.

  Submit, both the voice inside Ronan’s mind and Raven whispered in flawless synchronization.

  The shaking in Ronan’s body came to a sudden stop. Ronan exhaled. Once. He pushed Raven away and growled. “You’re a damn fool.”

  “What?” Raven hissed.

  Ronan exhaled deeply, straightening his back. “I said you’re a damn fool, Raven. You think the bastard is on your side? Pathetic.” Ronan spat on the floor. “No. You’re a pawn, just like I was for all those long years, trapped in my own body, forced to stand witness to all the horrifying deeds my own body did.”