by Z Brewer
With my katana—still wrapped tightly, safely in my saya—in-hand, I pulled the scarf up over my mouth and nose and opened the flap of the tent. A deep breath later, I was outside, moving slowly through the well-packed snow, but as casually as I could manage. I had to get to the woods, and then deep inside of them. I had to get as far away from this camp as I possibly could before Trayton woke up. Or I was in serious trouble.
“Barron?”
The unfamiliar voice gave me pause, but I did my best to pause only briefly in my steps and throw a questioning glance over my shoulder at the girl who was speaking. She was dressed in the same uniform as Trayton, and as she looked me over, she reached back and gripped her katana, but didn’t yet unsheathe it. “Where do you think you’re going, Healer?”
As she spoke, I gripped the saya tighter and turned, bolting as fast as my body would let me. But it was still not fast enough for the Barron. She leapt in front of me, cutting off my escape. Just beyond her lay the tree line, and any chance that I’d had at freedom. She still hadn’t pulled her sword—something for which I was eternally grateful. “Please,” she said, her voice soft, “Don’t make me drawn down on a Healer. Especially not Trayton’s Healer. He’d kill me if I did, despite his instructions. You’re his everything.”
Her words gave me pause. I was Trayton’s everything? If that were true, then why had he spoken to me the way that he just had inside that tent? If that were true, then why wouldn’t he offer to help me, instead of insisting on standing in my way? Because, my mind reminded me, Trayton was a loyalist, and that meant that he valued Protocol over…well…over everything. Even me.
I fixed my gaze on her, and when I spoke, my breath was hot against Trayton’s scarf. “Step aside.”
With a sigh, she drew her katana. The metal sang quietly as the blade left its saya. Her eyes were crisply blue. “No, Kaya.”
“Trayton would never know that you let me get away.”
“But I would know.” After a moment where we each examined one another, looking for new options to present themselves, she nodded to my katana. “Why haven’t you unsheathed it?”
“Because I made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t kill anyone to get out of this camp. And that’s a promise I indeed to keep.” The reality that I was going to have to face off with an armed Barron settled on my shoulders with the weight of a Graplar. I was going to have to face off with her, and I was probably going to have to kill her. The very idea of it sent a wave of nausea over me. Killing Graplars was one thing. Killing another person was quite another. I was both proud and amazed that my voice didn’t shake when I spoke again. “Now stand down, Barron.”
There would be no hitting her on the head with a club formed by a sheathed katana. I could tell that much just by looking at her. Her eyes narrowed and as she brought her weapon back, I threw the strap loose and began to pull my sword out, its metal shining in the light like a happy greeting. “STOP!”
We both did as instructed, but for very different reasons. Me, because I was deeply relieved that I wouldn’t be forced to kill another person. And she, I suspected, because of who it was that was doing the shouting.
Trayton stumbled out of his tent with his hand on the back of his head, where I had hit him with my saya. As he approached, I’d expected him to stagger a bit, but he moved with uninjured ease. Then I remembered the kiss that I’d placed on his forehead and realized that I must have healed him. He looked at the girl, and pointedly did not look at me. “Let her go.”
She didn’t argue or even hesitate before following his instructions—a testament to the kind of Barron that she was. She simply slipped her katana back into the saya on her back, and returned to camp without another word. Once she was gone, he said, “Back at Shadow Academy, when I told you I wanted nothing more to do with you? That was a lie. Consider this my apology.”
He turned back to the camp then, leaving me at the forest’s edge. Without a word, I watched him re-enter his tent, slipped my katana onto my back, and moved into the woods, as I’d planned to.
What I hadn’t planned on was the heavy feeling of sorrow that was squeezing my chest as I ran.
Chapter 18
As I crested what must have been the fourth or fifth hill, my stride slowed as the adrenaline left my system. But it picked up again the moment I spied a familiar cloaked figure standing face to face with a very large, very angry-looking Graplar. Spittle dripped from its immense jaws to the ground below, and as it reared back, I ran forward with my katana raised high in the air, unwilling to watch my friend die.
Even if he wasn't my friend. Even if he had betrayed me in the worst way imaginable.
My movement grabbed the beast's attention and it darted toward me. But that didn't mean that Gage was safe. From high in the trees came another Graplar's signature screech, and then the giant, blue wall of muscle was on him. Gage unsheathed his katana, but I didn't have time to watch his skill with the blade. The ground was shaking as the first Graplar barreled toward me.
I ran toward the creature, my heart racing with fear and fury, and when I brought my blade back to give it some force, the Graplar snarled. Dropping to the ground, I slid on my knees, slashing its front legs with the razor-sharp sword. It howled and lurched back, stumbling. And in its moment of weakness, I took full advantage. I stabbed my katana into its throat, its blood spurting from the wound, its cries filling my ears. And then, in one fluid motion, I yanked the blade to the side, beheading the monster in an effort that might have made Darius grin with pride.
When I retrieved my sword and turned to assist Gage, I found him alone and uninjured, apart from a shoulder bite that he would easily mend. "What happened?"
"Mine ran off." His words were dazed, as was the look in his eyes as he approached my kill. He crouched beside it, and placed a hand on the dead beast's massive shoulder. "Such a waste of life. I hate watching them die."
"But it's just a Graplar."
"And you're just a Healer." His eyes snapped angrily to mine with a white heat that I had not been expecting at all. Gage hadn’t seemed capable of an intensity of anger like this before now. It was jarring, to say the least. To make matters worse, the anger echoed all through his next words, refusing to fade until his point had been made. "And I'm just a Barron. Living things, all. What makes one better than the next?"
For a moment, words escaped me, and I realized that what was driving me across Tril wasn’t the desire to take lives, but the need to save them. Life was precious. Maybe Graplar lives too. I was torn. And if I hadn’t been looking into two different colored eyes, I might have mistaken him in that moment for Darius. Strange that an outburst of anger would make me miss him, but it did just that. Shaking my head with the realization that I would likely never come to understand Gage, the same way that I would likely never come to understand Darius, I said, "What are you doing here, Gage?"
As if simply hearing his name spoken aloud, he seemed to retreat. "I…I came to find you. You left without even the smallest of farewells. I was worried."
Worried. Yes. I’m certain that’s exactly the emotion he’d experienced upon waking to find his captor missing. "I'd be worried too if I had nothing to report back to my superiors."
A small line creased his forehead. "What are you talking about?"
"Are you or are you not working for Headmaster Quill and the Zettai Council?"
"I am not. And how dare you say such a thing." The word ‘not’ came out so crisply, and so clearly, so sharply that it reminded me of broken glass.
It also made me want to trust him. "Then why were you leading me toward Shadow Academy?"
"She is incapable of trust." He tilted his head back and looked to the sky for a moment, as if the answers to whatever questions he had might lie somewhere above us. "I told you. I knew an easier way around the mountain, but we had to go west in order to get north. It's a rather twisted path, but an easy one, and one I've used many times. Why are you so paranoid and reluctant to believe that so
meone might want to help you?"
Maybe he was right. Maybe I had just been being paranoid. But it’s not like I hadn’t had reason to distrust him. "You could have just told me. What you did was betray my trust. And I don't trust many people as it is."
"Trust me." He said it in such a matter of fact manner. Sensible. Honest. Trust me, and hidden behind his words was the rest of his meaning: the way that I have trusted you.
"Why should I?" I wasn’t certain why I’d asked. I knew the answer already. But it didn’t hurt to hear them spoken aloud.
He didn’t want to answer me, didn’t want to utter out loud the words we both knew were coming. For whatever reason, he found them incredibly difficult to say. That much was evident by his stance and the way his shoulders were drawn up in tension.
His silence stretched on for an eternity. But I refused to be the one to break it.
"Because…” He looked at me with pleading eyes, but still, I wouldn’t speak. Not until he’d answered me. “Because I'm your friend, Kaya. And you're mine.”
A small smile found my lips.
“My only friend, as it were." His eyes were downcast as he said the last part, and my heart broke for him.
Damned be the Zettai council. Damned be Quill. And damned be Gage if he really had been working for them the whole time. But I didn’t believe he had. I couldn’t believe it. Gage was my friend. One of the very few that I had. To be honest, apart from Maddox, he was my only friend.
The smile on my face grew and relief flowed through my veins. I gave him a playful shove. "Come on. We should set up camp before it gets dark."
As we got to work gathering wood for the fire, I couldn’t help but notice that the relieved smile on my face was mirrored on his.
Chapter 19
The next day we spent walking the ridge of hills that surrounded King Darrek’s fortress, and by nightfall, it was clear that there was only one way to get inside of the castle. Through the mines below. Where all of the Graplars seemed to congregate.
Inside that castle was definitely where we wanted to be. After all, one man had the ability to control the Graplars. Therefore, one man must have the answers to why the Graplars were moving into the lowlands. Not that I planned to confront King Darrek. But surely information could be found in his quarters about the beast’s he was using to kill off Healers.
We’d just agreed to enter the mines, when Gage stopped me from descending the hill with a gentle yank. “Where are you going?”
“To the mines…?” My voice squeaked, just in case he wasn’t sure exactly how uncertain I was feeling about the task. “I thought we agreed—“
“You can’t go like that.” He looked me over, shaking his head. “Look at the miners. None wear cloaks or carry weaponry of any kind. We’ll have to stow our supplies up here.”
As I watched a large group of elite guards move inside, a lump formed in my throat. A very worried lump. “What about our katanas?”
“I told you. No weapons.” He gently pulled my saya over my head and cast me a look that was clearly intended to comfort me. “It’s for your own safety. If we go down there armed, someone is going to notice and kill us before we reach the door.”
I wanted to believe him, but even as I stripped away the cloak and scarf, and whittled only down to the most basic clothing, I had my doubts. What if Graplars tried to eat us? What happened if we got caught? We’d be killed. Or imprisoned. Or something even more horrible.
But I had to trust Gage. Because he sounded like he knew what he was talking about. He’d spent months travelling all over Tril alone, perfecting the art of blending it. I was still relatively fresh out of the Academy.
We hid our belongings beneath some brush, and I followed Gage down the hill. My heart was rattling with nerves the entire time, but with relative ease, Gage led me behind one of the groups of miners and we followed them inside.
The mine was enormous, with hundreds of caverns and too many trails to count. The walls and floor were black, and hanging all about on thick metal chains were lanterns, lighting the way for the miners to see. Fortunate for us, there was enough darkness to conceal our faces and clothing, even from just a few feet away. It wasn’t long before Gage spotted a black stone staircase, leading up to two large, black doors. “That must be the entrance to the castle.”
“Then let’s go find out what King Darrek is doing with all these Graplars.” I pushed past Gage, so that I was leading the way, and we slipped up the steps and through the door with ease.
On the other side of the door, we were greeted by immaculate paintings on the walls of a long hall way, beautiful tiling on the floor, soft, pleasant lighting, and the sound of music playing in the distance. We wandered the corridors silently, uninterrupted, until we came to two large, golden doors—doors which matched those that had led us into the castle in the first place, in every way but color. I looked at Gage and dared a whisper, “His bed chamber, you think?”
Gage merely shrugged. So I pushed open the doors and we stepped inside.
Darrek's bed chamber was smaller than I had imagined it might be--not that I'd spent a significant amount of time thinking about where Tril's greatest enemy might sleep--but not small, by anyone's description. Not by a long shot. It was comprised of three distinct spaces: the sleeping quarters, what looked like a study of some sorts from where I was standing, and a dressing room filled with the finest of fashions. I stood at the foot end of the bed for a moment, looking over its gilded frame, the thick curtains that hung from its intricately carved posts, the enormous rug that covered the floor beneath its immense frame. This was the bed of a king.
In comparison, I thought of my own bed at home in our small cabin. It wasn't so much a bed as it was a mattress on the floor, stuffed with handfuls of cottonweed and whatever feathers my father ripped from the hides of birds he'd brought home for dinner. In comparison to this bed, it was small, inferior, and a sad sight to see. But I'd have chosen my bed a thousand times before I dared even lay on this one. He must be arrogant, I thought. Only an arrogant person would sleep in a bed this huge, this overdone. My entire family could sleep on this bed comfortably, with room for two additional full grown people. Why would one man feel so entitled to such comforts, such extravagance? Who gave him the impression that he was so deserving of such luxuries, when there were soldiers out there fighting his war, freezing inside of canvas tents and dreaming of home? My stomach curled into a tight, hard ball as my gaze fell of the pile of silk pillows that lined the bed's massive headboard. If Darrek thought himself to be a good leader, he was sorely mistaken.
Two bedside tables, just as ornate in carving as the bed, stood sentinel on either side of the headboard. Atop each were elaborate candelabras, stuffed with a dozen candles each. On the right table sat a silver tray. Atop the tray was a book.
It might not have caught my eye at all, but the book was so worn, so old, and so plain that it stuck out from the gilded elegance of the room, and my eye was immediately drawn to it. Its cover was aged, distressed leather, and the whole thing seemed to be held together by a small leather strap, which was carefully tied around the binding. The only bit of extravagance on the cover at all was the letter D that had been tooled into the leather on the front of the book.
Mesmerized by this bit of simplicity, I moved to the table and picked up the book, turning it over in my hands. The leather was surprisingly soft and supple, as if it had been held thousands of times over the years. I ran my fingers over the embossed initial on the front, and wondered if he'd miss the book if it somehow went missing while he was away. I imagined that he would, but that wasn't about to stop me from opening it, and from reading what was kept on its aging parchment pages.
I carefully unwrapped the leather strap from around the book and flipped to a random page in the center. At the top, in swirling, elegant script, was a date. Below that was a carefully written journal entry. It was strange, seeing the handwriting of the man who'd started the war that had ravaged Tri
l for over a hundred years, but stranger still was the diary entry that I had flipped to. It wasn't long, but the confident passion in his chosen words gave the brief entry weight.
The key to my immortality lies within my grasp. To Kingsland and Wood's Cross my armies must travel. I will find what I seek at any cost. Then, I will grasp eternity. --D
Eternity, I thought. That madman really believes that he can live forever. But how? And, perhaps just as importantly, why?
I turned several pages, and found myself immersed in his words.
There is no doubt in me now. My motherstone, the amulet that connects me to my Graplars and has given me long life, is failing, as is my ability to control the Graplars. They descend into teh lowlands now without my instruction. Wood's Cross holds new life and better control for me, but the Zettai Council stands in my way once again. Surely, there must be a way to retrieve the new motherstone between the two moons. But how? --D
Motherstone? Was he referring to an amulet, like the one that Instructor Baak had used to control the Graplars at Shadow academy? Was that really what he was looking for at Wood's Cross?
With much reluctance, I returned the diary to the tray on the table beside the bed. Despite the ache in my chest from reading the delighted words of a mad man, I wanted nothing more than to take the diary with me and memorize every word contained between its leather bindings. What better way to learn about King Darrek, about what made him the way that he is than by reading the pages of his journal? But my good sense got the better of me, whispering into my subconscious that if Darrek noticed anything at all amiss in his bed chambers, he'd send out his guards on a rampage to locate whoever had intruded on his personal space. I longingly tapped the worn leather cover with my fingertips before turning to find Gage, who was staring up at a painted portrait that was hanging on the far wall. Encasing the canvas was a large gilded frame--as richly overdone as Darrek's bed. The painting itself was of a man, dressed in the finest garb I'd ever seen. The face of the portrait had been carved away, cut from the cloth, leaving a large hole where Darrek's face once had been. The image was disturbing. "What kind of person rips his face from his own portrait?"