Kindred: (Into The Darklands)

by K. M. Raya

  “What about Amaranth? We’re not far from the border, can’t we hide there? We can find work in a tavern somewhere…” she bites her lip in deep thought as her eyes cast downwards. “We can change your hair and find some new clothes, no one would know any different.”

  I can tell she thinks her plan will work, but I know it’s no use. If we tried, we’d be putting so many innocent people in danger. “And get a family killed for harboring the princess? I can’t do that; it wouldn’t be right after everything my father has done. My family isn’t worth sacrificing innocent people. We need to get far away from here and disappear. They won’t follow us into the Darklands, it’s the last place they’d think to look for me.” I squeeze her shoulder softly. “Let’s get some rest, we need to leave at sunrise.”

  Anya nods solemnly. “I’ll try to get a fire going.” She shivers and my heart sinks.

  “We can’t—we’re still too close to the castle. It’s dark out and scouts will see the flame easily through the falls. Remember, the Kindred can see in the night far better than we can.” I spread out my cloak over the packed dirt before laying to the side of it. “Tomorrow our cloaks will dry in the sun, but tonight we have to try and sleep through it.”

  A tremor flows over my own skin and I find myself dreading the coming night. Back at the palace, there was a hearth in every room keeping the stone walls nice and warm even during the harshest of weather. Anya and Wesley have lived there their whole lives, just as I have and none of us have ever gone a day wanting.

  We lay on the cave floor in cold silence until I begin to drift off to sleep. My mind wants to shut everything out and forget about the fact that my home is gone, and my family is dead. Behind me, I can hear and feel Anya’s sobs that she tries to suppress. I can do nothing for her tonight though—she lost her brother just as I lost my closest friend. Wesley was our third. Though they were servants and I a princess, we grew up side by side and our bond is stronger than blood. My insides ache as I picture his handsome face. The thought of never seeing him again makes me want to scream.

  For Wesley, I make a promise to keep Anya safe—to keep her alive no matter what we face come sunrise.

  Sera

  “Speak and you die.” The words are whispered softly into my ear as I wake. I can feel the unmistakable sting of a blade pressed against my throat. Through bleary eyes, I blink in the darkness of the cave but can hear shuffling echoing off of the walls.

  “Up!” the gruff voice commands as the blade pulls away slightly and my arm is yanked upwards, hauling me to my feet. I wobble, but the man holds me steady. My fingers twitch—wanting to reach for the dagger in my boot, but the man clicks his tongue just as the thought crosses my mind.

  “Don't go making any decisions you might regret, princess—especially when Belinda has your little friend out there.” Now that my eyes have adjusted to the darkness, I can see shadows moving against the cave wall. Four rough looking men and two equally hardened looking women are rummaging through our saddlebags and inspecting the horses.

  ‘Thieves. They’re either extremely brave or incredibly stupid to be lurking so near the kingswood,’ I muse. As soon as the thought crosses my mind, I reject it. My father’s soldiers are probably either dead, captured or traitors by now.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” I feign confusion but the man scoffs. It’s pointless. Anya was right, he knows exactly who I am, and probably exactly how much I might be worth.

  He’s much older than me, probably by a few decades. His dark brown beard is streaked with grey and hangs down to the middle of his expansive chest covered in leathers and wool. My gaze travels up his considerable height and my breath catches when I meet his eyes. They’re blue, but not in the normal sense. They swirl with too bright color and depth that simply doesn’t exist anymore—at least, not to my knowledge or recollection. Magic clearly runs through the man’s body and one word tumbles around in my head—'mage.’

  I’ve never met a Kindred before and excitement shoots through me. I’ve read stories about them—creatures the likes of which only exist in my wildest fantasies after my father banished them all. It was always an endless source of fascination during my studies as a little girl before my mother, queen Lorena did her best to rid my tutors of any and all material relating to the Kindred.

  The mage stares back at me for a beat and then turns away, dragging me behind him with force. His grip isn’t painful, but I go willingly—refusing to struggle like some kind of prisoner. “Rayne! Watch the princess while I gather the horses, we leave within the hour,” he orders and a young man scrambles over—hood flopping off of his head to reveal a mop of sandy blonde hair and kind green eyes—eyes once again, much too bright to be human.

  The others work to finish their tasks quickly and I watch them even though I’m aware that the young man sits next to me, staring intently. I clear my throat. “Can I help you with something?”

  With the light shining through the mouth of the cave I watch him blush and look to his feet which he uses to shuffle around loose dirt and rock. A small amount of scruff on his chin makes my lips twitch into an amused smile. “A—are you really a princess?” Rayne’s voice cracks, just on the brink of adulthood, but not quite there yet. It calms me a little bit. The boy doesn’t seem to be much of a threat to me at the moment.

  “I think we both know the answer to that question, but tell me—Rayne, are you really a thief?” He doesn’t look like a thief; he looks more like a stable hand in his roughhewn tunic and dirty traveling trousers. He couldn’t be much older than fifteen.

  He nods—blonde hair flopping around his face wildly. “I am when I need to be.” He looks proud as he tries to puff his chest out and raises his chin.

  “I see…well, thief, would you please tell me where my friend is? I’m worried about her.” I try to soften my voice—pretending for a moment that I’m still the princess I was yesterday.

  “Your pretty friend is safe with Belinda just on the other side of the waterfall, you’ll be seeing her in a moment, don’t worry.” He pats my knee awkwardly before snatching his gloved hand back like he hadn’t meant to be so forward. I resist the urge to chuckle at the lad.

  We sit quietly as the others finish gathering our things, checking to be sure they’re not leaving behind anything valuable. Little do they know that material possessions are of little to no value to this princess—not that I’d even had time to grab anything before escaping Karn. Unlike most other royals, dresses and trinkets have never been something I cared about. No, I’d always had a penchant for swordplay and archery—much to the disappointment of queen Lorena.

  The thieves must have overlooked that small detail because they neglected to search my person. The mage man had been aware of my boot dagger, but he didn’t seem to find me a threat in the slightest, which revealed just how powerful he might be. Mages are not to be trifled with and I don’t plan to test my luck a second time.

  Mages used to be plentiful, back before my father’s purge. In fact—the Kindred used to be everywhere...or anyone until they were hunted. The year before I was born, my father acquired a new advisor seemingly out of nowhere. Moran was a sallow looking old man with mean grey eyes that shifted when he spoke. He always wore a brown cloak over his knobby arms and bird-like legs and I’d never trusted him. For one, he practiced necromancy—a shameful, blasphemous practice that transformed my once proud father from a formidable king, into a bloodthirsty, prejudiced tyrant that played with things no human should touch. Necromancers are of the old ways, and not necessarily good ways. In the ancient times, death magic was used as a means of control. As Moran’s grip on my father grew stronger, so did his hatred for the Kindred and the perceived threat they posed to his rule. My father’s necromancers believed that power over death was absolute and that the Kindred—with their light magic and elemental control threatened their power and authority.

  As I watch the mage man and his band of thieves, I can’t help but wonder if my father had be
en right in some way to be wary of them. The man certainly doesn’t feel welcoming, but then again...I’m still alive, which says more about him that it does about Sephrian and his brothers.

  Rayne taps on my shoulder, shaking me out of my own musings and beckons me to stand. I follow the group out of the mouth of the cave and into the dawn of a new day. I let out a relieved breath when I see that Anya is safe and sound, resting atop Caspar but then bristle, realizing her hands are bound with thick rope.

  I level the mage with a withering glare to which he stares back blandly. “If you set us free, you can keep our things and we’ll leave it at that, the only thing I ask is that we keep one horse.”

  The gruff man just snorts in amusement. “That’s very political of you, princess, but whether you like it or not, you and your little friend are coming along with us without a struggle.” He bends down until his bulbous nose practically touches mine. “I'm not here to hurt you, girl, but I’ll do what needs to be done without hesitation. That is your only warning.”

  Snapping my mouth shut, I decide to play along. It was worth a try, but I need to be smart. I need to keep Anya alive at all costs even if it means cooperating with these strange people. One of the women helps me onto my horse after binding my hands with a rope. I suppress a gasp as the rope begins to glimmer with tiny red lights. Mage binding—impossible to break without magic of your own. The binding doesn’t hurt, but my skin tingles pleasantly and I feel my whole body come alive. Looking to Anya, she doesn’t seem to share these strange feelings. Her dark brows are drawn together, and she seems to be itching at her wrists.

  The group rides in a circular formation which blocks my entire view of the road. It’s protective as much as it is restrictive. Anya has yet to speak a word, but I watch as she holds her head high and keeps her brown eyes forward. Much to my surprise, young Rayne is the one to take point. He leads the group with watchful eyes, scanning the horizon for threats and obstacles. ‘Puzzling…’

  Turning to the mage, I clear my throat. “What’s your name, anyways? If we’re going to be traveling companions we should start with manners, shouldn’t we?” I squint at him. “I can’t keep calling you mage man in my head, now can I?”

  He eyes me sideways. “You’re very perceptive, princess.” He huffs. “You can call me Roark.”

  My muscles tense up. “Can you please not call me that? I’m not much of a princess anymore.” I look away, hiding my face in my thick red locks. “Besides, there are some who might kill me if they knew...or worse, they could sell me,” I clip—whipping my eyes back to Roark in accusation.

  His brow furrows. “I’m not here to sell you, so forget that notion right now, girl.” His voice is stern and something in his tone makes me believe he’s telling the truth.

  “Then where are you taking us? We’re of no use to you and your...thieves,” I tell him as I gaze around at the travelers surrounding me. “If it’s coin you’re after, I have none.”

  Roark shakes his head in exasperation. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that just now, prin...Sera,” he catches himself. “What I want isn’t important. I’m just here to retrieve you. But I can tell you that we’re headed to the Darklands, if it eases your mind any.”

  Unsurprised, I just shake my head. We were heading there anyways. Being Kindred, I’d already come to the conclusion that they must live in the Darklands because if any of my father’s soldiers spotted them in the kingswood, they’d have been hung without question.

  I let Patch fall behind Roark ever so slightly, signaling that the conversation is over for now. The events of the previous day are taking a toll on my unprepared body and the saddle is the only reason I’ve managed to remain upright. I can feel my eyes glossing over, wanting to close and sleep away the day. We ride in silence for the rest of the day and well into the next day and night, only stopping to eat or rest for short periods of time. Anya and I spend the time silently, keeping each other company, but not really having the strength for conversation. We have no idea what comes next for either of us, but at least so far, Roark and his people don’t seem to be treating us like prisoners. In fact, they even removed our bindings the day before.

  Surprisingly, we manage to bypass Amaranth altogether—taking a little known and much overgrown pathway that winds around the edge of the mountainous kingdom. I’m still unsure how far the rebellion has reached, but I do know that both of my brothers never made it out of Karn. Gavriel wouldn’t have left without taking me with him. Forrest was Lord of Amaranth—ruling the smaller kingdom under the ever-watchful eye of one of my father's advisors. In many ways, Forrest was just as ruthless as the king. He was a bitter man and never had a good word to say to me. Gavriel served as Lord of Zegrath closer to the sea when he came of age and as soon as he’d taken over, I preferred to spend time at the stronghold with him rather than my father’s cold palace. My heart aches as I think about Gav. It kills me to leave him behind, even though I know there’s nothing left of him. He was such a good man, always sticking up for me when mother brought me down time and time again. She’d hated me and Gav had an amazing talent for deflecting that hatred. For now, I get to mourn in silence.

  ~~~

  We stop for the last night about a half days ride to the border of the Darklands. Anticipation keeps me awake even while I know my body needs the rest.

  I’ve dreamt of seeing the Darklands in person since as long as I can remember. As children, Anya, Wesley and I spent many of our days in the wood—pretending to slay dragons and fight giants. Such creatures were nothing more than stories at the time, but nerves creep through my body because now that we gaze out over the border of my father’s land and into the wilds of a mysterious world, I’m left to face the reality that magic still exists.

  “Can you believe it?” Anya breathes with wide eyes as she pulls Caspar to a stop next to me. “After all these years we’re actually here.” I smile, but it falls flat. My eyes return to the tree line in the distance. From here it looks like a straight black line up against rolling green hills of the outer plains.

  Reaching out and dropping Patch’s reins from my gloved fingers, I grasp Anya’s hand in mine and squeeze. “Stick close to me, we have no idea what we’re walking into.”

  Her hand shakes in mine and I squeeze again to reassure her. “This won’t be like the kingswood, but I won’t let anything happen to you,” I promise, though we both know I can't back it up.

  “Wes would be so jealous,” she teases, and I can't help but grin, though my heart sinks into my stomach. A sad smile tilts her lips and her eyes shine with unshed tears.

  I hang my head. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t get him out—”

  “Stop,” she insists as she lets Caspar’s reins go and covers my hands with both of hers. “There’s nothing you could have done. Sephrian surprised us all and you can’t keep trying to blame yourself. We’re only girls against an army of Kindred, Sera.” She frowns. “If you blame anyone, blame your father.” Her voice is filled with disgust for the man we both steadily despised through the years—the man who caused so much heartache and loss. I know she’s right. She’s being stronger than I ever gave her credit for. Looking to my right, I catch Rayne gazing longingly at Anya. He blushes before looking away suddenly, knowing I’d caught him. Over the last few days I’d noticed he paid particular attention to her—though she’s oblivious to it entirely. It’s my only source of entertainment on this long journey and I wonder how long it’ll take for my friend to realize she has an admirer.

  The crossing of the border is more anticlimactic than I’d imagined. In my many daydreams I’d pictured a wall of dark, foreboding trees—reaching for the skies like spindly, creeping arms and horned dragons swooping from the lightning and thunder clouds to snatch me off Patch’s back. It’s all rather dramatic, but seeing it up close, the entrance looks like nothing more than a dense wood. But the land becomes gradually more untamed the closer we get to the tree line. Through the first set of thick branc
hes and stumps, it’s clear to me that I’ve entered a place of deep magic. The trees are taller than the spires of my castle and thicker than at least seven kingswood pines lumped together. Their bark is so dark brown that its soft, fuzzy surface almost looks crimson in the dark evening light. To my astonishment, small patches of violet colored moss cling to the trunks and dangle from the jewel green needles overhead.

  The canopy above is so dense that I can barely make out the darkening sky. The trees meld together, their branches dancing against one another but never fully touching and leaving tiny little fissures of pale pink light filtering through. Dust motes hang in the green tinged air and the whole place smells of sage. We make our way deeper in until the sun has disappeared entirely, only to be replaced with the moon—shining full and bright enough to light our way through the cracks in the canopy. Shafts of moonlight shine down in small cylindrical beams that create spots on the lush forest floor. My eyes widen as a few of our traveling companions make a strange, sudden gesture with their hands, only for sparks of light to erupt from their fingertips, lighting the ends of a few small torches to light the way. Some of the torches blaze yellow and red, but others glow blue and purple and give off next to no heat.

  Anya and I look at each other for a moment with open mouths and wide eyes before swiveling back to take in our surroundings. Everything is lush and beautiful...so unlike the dreaded Darklands my tutors and Karn’s legends had warned me about.

  “The Darklands don't seem so…dark to me,” I muse aloud and the thieves surrounding me chuckle quietly and Anya bites back a smile.

  “Don’t be fooled by the pretty colors, young one,” comes a deep, feminine voice from behind me. “The most vicious predators are often wrapped in an alluring outer shell. How else do you expect them to lure their prey?” I just nod my head at the woman—Belinda’s wise words. She’s a pretty, yet stern woman with yellow hair streaked with grey and fine lines around her mouth and eyes. She holds a torch of sparkling blue flame. I’ve noticed, over the last few days that Belinda seems to be Roark’s right hand woman.