by C D Beaudin
He must look like a red shadow against the rock surface. His skin is nearly completely covered in blood and dirt, and his clothes are ripped and worn. He hasn’t slept properly in days and it must show on his face. There was too much dirt and blood for the river to completely wash away, and the bleeding has started anew.
Stumbling, he falls to the rock face, leaning against the cold mountain. He struggles, keeping himself at the wall as he walks, the surface changing as he touches white stone. The city wall is even colder than the mountain. And the fog makes it hard to see where he is.
The Besged part of him has made him heal faster, but it seems like it’s almost reversing after he talked to Revera. He had pushed aside the pain when he had stormed Revera and Karak’s tent, but now he feels the ache again, and is finding it hard to keep going.
But he has to.
He staggers as his hands leave the wall. If he can just get to the fields in front of Rohea, he is sure to be noticed sooner or later if he collapses.
Which should only be minutes away.
He yells as a new pain shoots through his leg. Aradon looks down, shocked to see an arrow right under his knee. Teeth gritted, he grunts as he pulls the arrow out, throwing it on the ground. Looking around, he tries to see where it came from. In the fog, he can’t see anything, but he can hear footsteps. He takes out his bow, lining up an arrow.
But it isn’t him who shoots. Instead he’s hit in the shoulder with another arrow, and instead of shooting back, he runs.
As fast as he can, limping and in pain, he moves through the fields. He’s never retreated like this before, in such cowardice. But he can’t fight now. He just feels so…tired.
Why did I leave the Everbreed behind?
He wheezes, his chest constricting and stumbles as pain overcomes him. Struggling to stand, something jumps on him. He yells as he feels a knife to his lower back.
Turning on his side, a young man holds him down. With his face shadowed by his hood, Aradon can’t tell who he is. They grapple, struggling for control. In a moment of pure fight Aradon manages to get on top of the man, pinning him to the ground. The man’s hood flies back, revealing his blond hair and blue eyes. His skin is a grayish hue, but Aradon’s heart sinks nonetheless.
There are some faces you never forget.
Harden.
Anger. Ego. Maybe it was just spite. But he’d jabbed the knife into his throat. When he’d looked up, he’d seen red. And what would be the beginning of a blood-colored life. But Aradon never foresaw what he would truly become.
A monster.
His hand had shaken as he looked back down at the dead Harden. His first kill. His first taste of the sport that those men around him thought was the most honorable thing in Mortal.
But they knew nothing of honor.
Black and white and red had flashed as Aradon looked up at the crowd of Red Warrior cadets, shock and fear written across their faces. Then his father’s face had sprung rapidly to mind. He’d seen the disappointment in his eyes.
I did this for you, Father.
Hared would rather have died if he’d known the blood that would be spilled in his name. In Nomarah’s name.
Aradon shudders. “Harden, I killed you.” Those are the only words that manage to leave his mouth. His hold relaxes, and Harden uses this to get back on top, pinning Aradon to the ground.
“Yeah. That was unpleasant.” The blond man punches him in the chest.
Aradon can feel his chest constrict even more. He grunts, and Harden punches his face.
“This seems familiar, doesn’t it?” the dead man says through gritted teeth.
He’s right. It’s the same motions they had used when they fought for the first time during training.
They had grappled. Aradon had pushed at him, but Harden was broader. With a harsh punch he had knocked Aradon to the ground. He’d hit it hard, dirt filling his mouth. Harden had scrambled on top of him, not about to let him get onto his feet. Punches. A flurry of punches had planted themselves onto Aradon’s chest, constricting and killing what was left of his breath.
The image of Harden above him now makes Aradon see flashes of bleak colors as he tries not to get killed—no matter how much he deserves it.
Aradon grabs at his neck, but Harden shoves his shoulders down, and a loud snap follows.
“No. You aren’t going to win this time.” He takes out a knife, putting it to Aradon’s throat. “This is familiar as well, remember? This is how you killed me.”
Aradon had gripped Harden’s head, and punched his face. And then the endgame came, and he’d popped the boy’s throat with his boot knife. Aradon’s eyes had widened in fear. Fear of what he would become solely because he needed to prove himself to his father.
Was Nomarah that important? Important enough to betray all that his father had taught him? Important enough to become the monster the Red Warriors wanted him to be?
In that moment, he had decided it was.
Now…Aradon isn’t sure.
Harden goes to punch the knife into Aradon’s throat when the Besged within retaliates, kicking, sending Harden flying forward. Aradon struggles to stand, watching as Harden does the same.
“What are you doing here, Harden?”
The blond staggers but looks up at Aradon.
“Only here at the mercy of my mistress. She blessed me with new life, and now I’m back in this world. I’ll do her bidding until she no longer needs me, then she will send me to paradise.” His words are grateful.
Aradon shakes his head. “Revera never follows through on her promises, believe me.”
Harden tilts his head. “Why should I?”
“Because she promised me Nomarah. And I’m not wearing a crown right now, am I?”
Harden’s brow furrows.
Aradon sighs, relaxing. “Don’t trust her.” Aradon turns away from him, not caring if the corpse behind him will throw a knife his way or not.
A second later he feels the slice of a sharp blade on his cheek. He watches as it falls to the snow. He closes his eyes and turns back to Harden, feeling overwhelming pity for this living corpse.
“Revera wronged you by bringing you back,” he says solemnly.
Harden’s face is haggard.
Aradon shakes his head. “I’m so sorry I have to do this to you again.” Without a second thought he draws his bow and an arrow pierces the dead man’s chest. Harden falls to the snow and melts as if he were ice in summer.
Aradon won’t be dying today, at least not by Harden’s hands.
The yell came from the fields. Awyn dashes through the city, her siblings, Saine, Brega, Hagard, and a few soldiers following her. They look around the plains but can’t see anything in the fog. She hears another cry, with a struggle following, but can’t make anything out.
“No one’s here,” a soldier says.
But Awyn knows she heard something.
A fight. Awyn can hear a fight. She thinks she hears voices for a moment, but that could just be her imagination, it’s so faint.
Then the fighting stops.
She squints to see, the fog thick and gray. No one emerges, making her think she did hear nothing. She sighs, turning away.
I’m truly going insane, I’m imagining things now. She kicks a stray helmet. I thought…I hoped it would be…uh, why hope when I’ll never see him again?
Slowly Awyn starts walking back, the soldiers ahead of her. Brega, Saine, Kepp, and Adriel follow, but Eldowyn remains. Hagard turns to go too, but stops when he sees Eldowyn squinting, looking intensely into the fog.
Awyn looks back when she realizes they aren’t with them, scrunching her eyes up as she too sees something.
“Eldowyn, what—?” Hagard turns his head, and a dark figure approaches.
It’s shadowed, and hazy in the fog. As it gets closer, they can see whoever it is hobbling awkwardly.
She needs to see who it is. Curious, she approaches the person.
“Awyn what are you—?�
�� Kepp calls, but then he and the others turn.
She hears the labored breathing. Whoever it is, he’s male and hurt. As he gets closer, and emerges from the fog, she can only see blood and dirt covering his skin, his wavy hair tousled and caked in blood. Awyn stops, unable to take another step. What reason, she doesn’t know, but only knows that she just…there’s something too familiar about the man.
Instead, Eldowyn steps closer, trying to see past the dirt, the blood.
The man looks up, his eyes shadowed. Something like a sigh of relief comes from him.
“El—” he starts, but chokes, coughing out blood and falling to his knees.
Awyn runs closer to him as he collapses. He doesn’t move for a moment. His clothes are ripped and torn, the back almost completely shredded.
Awyn cries out when she sees the brand on the back of his left shoulder.
“Spirits…” Her voice trails off as she runs right up to him, dropping to her knees in front of the panting, breathless man. She lifts up his face, looking into his blue eyes and brushes away his hair, her eyes welling up with tears. His are dark and tired, but she knows he recognizes her.
“Awyn.” The name is breathless, almost inaudible.
But Awyn smiles, tears running down her cheeks.
“Aradon.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Aradon’s eyes flutter open. His vision is blurred at first, but when it clears he can see Awyn sitting beside him. He can hear something. A dripping. Her hand carries a cloth as she goes to wipe his face but stops when she sees him awake.
“How do you feel?” Her voice is soft and gentle.
“Great.” Aradon tries to sit up, but pain jolts through him and he groans.
“Aha. Don’t sit up. Lie back down.”
Aradon does as instructed, wincing at the pain. He’s reminded of Kaniel’s hut, in the Dark Woods a few months ago when he first met Awyn. He was so angry at her for trying to heal him.
He didn’t always treat Awyn the best.
She turns away for a moment, and he takes this time to check his surroundings.
He’s in a bed. It’s a fancy one, he can tell. Green blankets above him, plush pillows beneath his head, injured shoulder, and leg as well. Above him is a green ceiling.
He’s in the palace, that’s for sure.
“Awyn, I thought you were dead.”
Her head turns abruptly at his words. “Well, I almost was. But, well, it’s hard to explain.”
“You’re an elf?”
Her brow furrows. “How did you—? You know what, never mind.” She pauses for a moment, but something else seems to trouble her now. “So, when I hugged Eldowyn, did he…?”
“Yes. He knows you’re his half-sister.”
Awyn nods slightly, and Aradon with his vision still a little hazy, isn’t sure if her lips curl into a smile or not.
“I assume Kepp knows?”
“Yes,” she says quietly, not looking at him.
His brows wrinkle in confusion. Pushing through the pain he sits up, making Awyn look at him sharply.
“Don’t do that!” she says loudly, and more harshly, her voice riddled with pain.
Aradon tilts his head slightly, a gesture for her to say what’s on her mind. But she’s just silent, looking away from him.
“Awyn, what’s wrong?” he asks gently. He would reach out to touch her hair if his shoulder didn’t hurt so much. It’s what he’d do to comfort Sefa, and Awyn seems like she needs some comfort.
She breathes shakily, and when she turns her head to his, her eyes glisten with tears.
“I thought you were dead. I thought you were lying dead somewhere. When Eldowyn and Hagard came and you didn’t...” A choked sob escapes her throat.
Aradon isn’t too sure what comes over him, but he pulls her into his arms. For a moment, Awyn is tense, but her arms tighten around his neck, and they just hold each other.
He doesn’t completely know why he needs her like she’s his life force. He doesn’t love her, he hardly even knows her. He knows her past, her present. But he doesn’t know her. But there’s a connection that is undeniable, although he just can’t figure out what it is.
Awyn pulls away, wiping away her tears. The hug has brought her sitting position closer to him.
“You know, this is really all your fault when you fell into the ground,” he says.
Awyn’s jaw drops, and she hits him in the shoulder.
“Hey!” He chuckles but is overcome with pain, feeling his face contorting into an inscrutable wince.
Awyn’s playful expression turns serious. “Sorry. Why don’t you lie down again? I’ll send in the healer.” She helps him lie down and leaves to get the doctor, reappearing quickly with a young elf following her.
“Aradon, this is Ethiah. She will help you.”
The light brown-haired elf smiles sweetly, her silver eyes sparkling.
“Hello.” Aradon nods.
“Ethiah came to us a few days ago, when you were still unconscious. She has been a godsend.”
Aradon listens, but in his head he can only imagine being unconscious for days. Asleep. Vulnerable. It makes him wince in a whole different way, but the elves don’t seem to notice.
Why haven’t I healed yet? Is what’s wrong doing more than just drawing me into craving the Besged state? Is it preventing me from healing?
That’s another thing about Besgeds. If there is something physically or even mentally wrong with them that the healing powers of the Besged are not fixing, they can be forced into the Besged state until they’re healed. Whatever the darkness inside him is that’s trying to force him into the Besged state, it’s trying everything to make it so.
Even reversing his healing.
Aradon’s eyes narrow, and he looks at the elf. “I’m sure Awyn told you I’m a Besged.”
“There was no need for that. My mentor taught me to sense Besgeds,” Ethiah says as she bends over Aradon, checking his wounds, bandages, and stitches. “Looks good.”
“I felt myself healing a few days ago, but then the pain got intensely worse. I thought I had just put the pain aside when I...” He pauses, knowing it’s probably better for everyone if he doesn’t say he’d been with Revera and Karak. “Fell. I needed to get to Rohea, so I pushed through it. But I should be healing by now. Being a Besged—”
He stops himself. Why is he telling them this? It only makes him even more vulnerable.
But Ethiah nods. “I agree. You should be healing at a rapid speed, but I see very little sign of improvement.” She opens her mouth to continue but stops herself. She turns to Awyn. “Um, Princess, would you mind leaving for this part?”
Awyn’s face says no, but then she must realize what Ethiah is talking about and red flushes her face. Hurriedly she nods and escapes the room.
“I would applaud, but I can’t.” Aradon glances at his injured shoulder.
Ethiah smiles, but it disappears as quickly as it came.
“You should be healing. I sense something is stopping you.” She stands and hovers her hands above Aradon’s chest. Ethiah closes her eyes, and light appears under her hands as she moves them about, the light moving with her. Aradon can only stare in awe.
After a minute, Ethiah stops, relaxing and opening her eyes. “As I had predicted,” she starts. “There is magic in you. Well, in your Besged. It is causing some problems. Not only in your healing process but also your transformation.” She looks at him more intently. “You haven’t been able to change into your Besged state, have you?”
Aradon shakes his head.
“Every time I’m even on the verge of the change, I can feel a heavy pull—a dark pull—and I retreat from it. The strange part is that it feels familiar in a way, but it threatens to grab me and never let go.”
Ethiah’s face is solemn and she lets out a quiet sigh. “I believe, well, I can’t know for sure, I am only an apprentice, but I suspect there is magic within you. It’s not preventing you, though, it�
�s pulling you in. It’s wanting you to grasp it. I do not know the reason or origin, but I implore you to be careful, Aradon. Whatever this magic is, it’s extremely powerful. And if it ever succeeded in drawing you in…Spirits help us all.”
When she leaves him, his physical injuries feel slightly better. But now he’s filled with worry of what is to come—and the confusing thoughts of how she and her mentor know so much about Besgeds. It almost makes him think…
Don’t be so stupid, Aradon. You’re the last one. He sighs and looks to the door where Ethiah left. She reminds me of Sefa. Just the way she speaks…blunt and yet caring. He slips deeper under the blanket. I wonder if I’ll ever love someone like I loved Sefa.
Peeking through a door at the front of the room, Brega nervously scans the room for her friends and the one family member she has left.
The throne room is filled with courtiers, servants, and guards. Soldiers and friends are gathered to watch as Brega is made queen. Awyn stands in a beautiful blue dress, beside her brothers and sister, who is dressed in a yellow gown. Her brothers wear handsome vests and pants, their swords at their sides.
Saine is on the other side of Adriel, in the same attire as Kepp and Eldowyn. Hagard’s white snakeskin vest shimmers in the light, with only Saine and the dwarf with any cuts and bruises. Aradon is beside him, shoulder and leg bandaged, face bruised, but regally standing nonetheless in a nice set of clothes that keep him comfortable. Beside him, Ethiah in a light purple dress makes sure he can stand every five minutes—and blushes whenever Aradon glances at her.
Brega takes a deep breath and makes her way to the entry doors.
At the back of the room the doors open, and the trumpets flare as the priest strides in, carrying a green pillow with a golden crown upon it. He stands in front of the throne, and the trumpets continue to herald the royal pageantry as Brega slowly begins her walk.
Her golden dress trails behind her, the fabric shimmering and shining in the light, set off by her golden hair the maid curled, and the luminescent gold eye paint she applied. Brega walks at a steady rhythm with two generals trailing her, their green capes flowing behind them.