by Jen McIntosh
The Lady’s lips twisted in a brittle smile. ‘Renila will be just fine. Alvar will look after her. Like me, he’ll want to get his charge to safety. Unlike me, his charge can look after herself. I suspect they will go after Erion with whatever forces he can muster. Once I’m satisfied you’re both safe, I’ll join him.’
Suriya opened her mouth to argue, but Lucan cut her off. ‘Where are you taking us?’
‘I’m not sure you’d believe me if I told you,’ she murmured.
‘Try me.’
‘Far away from here,’ she said. ‘To the city of my people, of Alvar’s people. I cannot tell you any more than that. Not now. Not if there’s any chance that a Hunt of Darklings is right behind us. It’s a sanctuary. A secret that has cost thousands of lives to keep. I won’t jeopardise it to satisfy your curiosity.’
‘Alright,’ Lucan agreed, before Suriya could object. ‘Will you at least give us a general direction and timeframe? If we’re going to be in the saddle for the next two months, I’d like to know now.’
Gaelan rolled her eyes at that. ‘We head east, out the other side of the Ravenswood and up over the Whitefangs. If we make good time, we should be there in a week, provided nothing goes wrong. We can ride hard until we reach the mountains, and maybe up into the foothills, but further up is almost impassable at this time of year. I know one or two routes through the safer passes, but we must walk most of the way.’
‘We’re in no fit state to be trudging through snowdrifts in the mountains,’ protested Lucan, gesturing at the gaunt, hollow cast of Suriya’s face.
‘Not to mention we’re not dressed for it,’ his sister muttered, plucking at her dress.
But Gaelan only sighed and shook her head. ‘You’ll be fine. I’ve got you this far. I won’t let anything happen to you. You have my word.’
It was a mark of just how angry Suriya was that her temper beat his impulsiveness to the first reply.
‘And what is that worth?’ she snarled, standing and pushing her way in front of Lucan. ‘Why should we trust anything you say ever again? You lied to us. Our entire lives, you’ve been lying to us. If you would lie about something as important – as sacred – as motherhood, then what is safe from your falsehoods?’
Lucan saw the hurt flash in Gaelan’s starlight eyes, though it was gone so fast he almost wondered if he’d imagined it. But when she did not reply, he knew he hadn’t. She turned away, stooping to tie off the top of her pack, her white hair falling forward to hide her face. But Lucan didn’t miss the slight tremor that racked her slender shoulders, nor the quick movement of her hand across her face as she dashed the tears from her cheeks.
He glanced sidelong at Suriya, and though her expression softened, her anger did not fade. Her jaw was clenched tight, muscles working as she ground her teeth in frustration, and her breathing was forced, holding her temper in check. It was only when Gaelan had loaded the last of the packs that she turned to face them once more. Her expression was calm – too calm, given how deep Suriya’s words had cut – and resolute.
‘Everything I have done, since the day the two of you came into my life, has been to keep you both safe,’ Gaelan said. ‘Every decision I’ve made, every action I’ve taken – it’s all been focussed on that one, single goal. You can choose to believe that or not. There’s nothing I can do to sway you either way.’
‘You could tell us the truth,’ Lucan pointed out, herding his snarling sister behind him before she could do anything rash. Gaelan nodded, but her gaze was roving over their surroundings.
‘I know,’ she agreed, ‘and I want to. More than anything, I want to tell you everything. But it’s a long, long story, and we are not safe here. Even if the Hunt has followed Alvar and Renila, there are worse monsters than Darklings in this world. Plenty of them roam these forests. If you want to survive, you must make a very simple choice. Trust me and live, or don’t and risk whatever fate has in store for you.’
‘Fate and destiny are for those too weak to make their own paths,’ Suriya whispered, more to herself than anyone else. He glanced down at her, brows knitting with worry. Her anger was gone now, and she seemed distant, so far away that even he could not reach her. The look on Gaelan’s face told him he was not alone with his fears.
‘She needs rest,’ Lucan breathed, ‘not to be fleeing for her life over mountains while winter closes in.’
‘I know,’ Gaelan murmured with a worried grimace, her gaze still fixed on Suriya. ‘But I can’t help her if she won’t let me, and there’s very little I can do for her here. We have to keep moving.’
Lucan studied his sister’s wan and drawn face one last time, before he took a deep breath and nodded. ‘Alright. Let’s go.’
As Gaelan had predicted, they made good time on the journey through the Ravenswood. Storm seemed to relish the challenge of charging through the thick undergrowth, trampling heather and bracken alike with her massive hooves. It was only when Gaelan scolded her for leaving such an obvious trail that the mare deigned to take more care with her steps.
They stopped only when they had to. Mostly when Suriya or Lucan were near to dropping from the saddle, or Copper was stumbling from exhaustion, risking throwing them, and once when even Storm frothed at the mouth with weariness. The only one who showed no signs of tiredness was Gaelan, though she never seemed to sleep.
When Lucan grew bold enough to ask, all she replied was, ‘I can sleep when I’m dead.’
He didn’t have much chance to puzzle over her somewhat cryptic answer as later that day they began the steady climb upward into the Whitefangs. He’d mentioned it to Suriya that evening when they unrolled their bedrolls and set up camp. But she’d retreated so far within herself that she could barely respond. She’d nodded vaguely, but he could tell from the glazed expression on her face she hadn’t heard a word he’d said.
In fact, she’d barely spoken since they’d shared that nightmare about Erion. Sleep had not come easily for her since then either. She would toss and turn for hours, often waking from her fitful slumber with a frightened shout. She wasn’t eating properly. Not that any of them were, on their limited rations of bread and dried meat. What little food and water she would consent to take was only due to his persistence.
Matters got worse as they climbed through the forest coating the foothills. They were fortunate enough with the weather and rode further into the mountains than Gaelan had expected. But out from beneath the shelter of the trees, they suffered from the bitter winds that swept down from the jagged peaks.
The days were cold, and the nights were worse. They couldn’t risk a fire, so Suriya shivered near constantly. At Gaelan’s whispered instruction, Lucan had dressed his sister in as many layers as he could, but none of them had been wearing travelling clothes when they’d fled the castle. They were lucky they’d at least been wearing their fleece-lined winter boots, and someone had packed two thick cloaks in the saddlebags so they wouldn’t freeze.
But it wasn’t enough for Suriya, who’d never coped well with the cold. Every winter, for as long as he could remember, she’d retreated indoors. While other children would be racing outside to play in the snow, she could always be found curled up by the fire with a book.
So every day, Lucan would wrap her in their blanket. Tuck her hands, which were too numb to take the reins anyway, against her chest to keep them warm. Then he would nestle her in the saddle in front of him and wrap his cloak around them both. At night, Gaelan would help him lift her from the saddle. Suriya was now too weak and tired to protest at Gaelan’s proximity, and they would settle her between them both to keep her warm. As she huddled close to him, Lucan would try to coax her to eat something while he and Gaelan exchanged worried glances.
But the day came when the weather closed in, and the ground became too treacherous for even the bold Storm and stubborn Copper to manage with riders on their backs. On foot, it was slow going, especially as Suriya stumbled with almost every step. She leaned on Lucan, and he was forced t
o carry her on his back through the more precarious passes. He sweated from the exertion, despite the biting wind. Even Gaelan was breathing heavily and conceded to calling more regular halts.
But even when the snows came, soaking them to the core and leaving them chilled to their bones, she would not risk a fire. They were forced to huddle between the horses for shelter and warmth, and Suriya grew weaker still. It was only concern for his sister that kept Lucan going, fighting off the sickness he felt clawing at him with every breath.
He lost track of time as they weaved their way across the mountains. They could have been up there for as little as a day or as much as a year for all he could tell. The hours blurred together, ever-present storm clouds merging day into night. Gaelan cursed the weather with growing frequency, her irritation near irrational, as if the storm’s existence were a personal affront.
He ceased worrying about Renila and Alvar, or even Erion, as his focus narrowed to keeping his sister alive. But then the storm became a blizzard so vicious she staggered against him, and he no longer had the strength to keep them both on their feet.
Copper’s reins were wrenched from his hand as they collapsed on each other, tangling limbs as they crashed down the slope before breaking their fall in a deep snowdrift. Gaelan shouted in alarm, but her voice was ripped away in the wind, and there was only darkness around him.
Suriya gasped nearby, and he scrambled through the snow until his hand found hers, fingers knotting. The wind howled overhead, and Storm roared in challenge as the blizzard worsened. He thought he heard Gaelan screaming their names but was sure he’d imagined it. She would never sound so desperate, so afraid. The cold seemed to seep right into his heart, and he felt the fight in him go out. He closed his eyes and sighed. He was so very tired. It would be nice to rest for a while. Suriya whimpered, her fingers struggling weakly in his, but he could not summon the strength to move.
The ground around them trembled as a terrible voice shattered the night. The words were foreign – a language far beyond Lucan’s comprehension, but there was no mistaking their ancient power, nor the fury and censure that laced them. Forces greater than his understanding warred in the sky above him, and he cowered in fear.
Suriya’s hand was ripped from his, and he cried out for her, begging her not to leave him. He didn’t want to die alone.
‘Nobody is dying today,’ a familiar voice promised in his ear. Gaelan. It had been her voice cutting through the wind with such despair. Her voice that had thundered through the mountains, challenging the storm to its claim on their lives. Strong hands gripped him, pulling him out of the snow and lifting him up into a saddle. He cracked a single eye open and saw her bend to lift a small, limp form up into her arms before leading Storm back up to where they had fallen from.
‘Suriya?’ he whispered.
‘She’ll live,’ Gaelan’s voice assured him, echoing within the vaults of his mind. With a sigh of relief, Lucan slipped back into darkness.
There was a fire crackling in the centre of the camp as Lucan clawed his way out of sleep. The blizzard had abated, and though the snow still fell, it drifted down in fat, fluffy flakes that seemed harmless by comparison. He sat up, trying his best to ignore the sudden sharp pain that split his skull, and looked around for Suriya. She was seated across the fire from him, huddled beneath her blanket and sipping from a steaming cup.
Gaelan appeared from the shadows, crouching beside him while she examined his head. ‘Careful,’ she admonished. Sure enough, he winced as her delicate fingers grazed over the tender spot on his brow. ‘You gave yourself quite a bump there. You’ll be fine, but you’ll have an awful headache for the next few days.’
Lucan nodded to show he’d understood and smiled at her. ‘Thank you,’ he said. She returned his smile and stood, stepping around him to stoke the fire before handing him a cup like Suriya’s, filled to the brim with hot broth. He sniffed at it.
‘Sorry,’ said Gaelan. ‘The packs are thin – it was the best I could manage at short notice.’
But his mouth was watering in anticipation. It smelled delicious. He hadn’t even known his mother – Gaelan, he corrected himself again – could cook. He was about to take an enormous gulp when he saw the admonishment in Suriya’s gaze.
‘It’s hot,’ she warned with a wry smile. ‘You’ll burn your tongue.’
He choked with relief to hear the humour, pathetic as it was, in her voice, and the look on Gaelan’s face told him she felt the same. Suriya ducked her head as embarrassment flushed her cheeks, and Lucan did not miss the glint of tears in her eyes. She knew then. How distant she had become. How worried they had been for her. And although she might not understand or even recall what had transpired, she remembered enough to feel ashamed. It was unfair of her to judge herself so harshly, but that was Suriya. Whatever had caused her melancholia was gone, and though she was not completely herself again, the worst was now over.
‘What happened?’ he asked, turning to Gaelan.
She did not answer, looking to the sky as if for guidance. He was not sure if she received any, but she heaved a great sigh and lowered herself with sinuous grace to sit between them by the fire.
‘The place that we’re going,’ she began, ‘the city – it’s home to an ancient and powerful race of beings. But it’s their last sanctuary, the last place in the world that they’re safe, so they guard it fiercely. It’s protected by powerful magic – wards and spells and enchantments as old as the rocks we’re sitting on.’
‘How did we get through then?’ Suriya asked. Lucan glanced at her, glad to see that her ordeal had not dulled her sharp wits. Had it been the magic that had driven her into such a depression? Would she recover, now they were beyond its reach?
Gaelan sighed again and looked deep into the fire. ‘They are my people. I have as much right to claim sanctuary within the city walls as anyone else, so the magic can’t keep me away.’
Lucan opened his mouth to speak, but Suriya got there first. ‘And what about us? Those spells, they tried to keep us away, didn’t they? How are we still here?’
‘Because I found a crack,’ Gaelan explained, ‘and I shielded you long enough for you to pass through it.’
‘And now we’re through it, we’re safe enough that you’ll risk a fire and tell us where we’re going,’ Suriya finished for her.
Gaelan nodded and took a deep breath. ‘It’s called Khaladron – it means “swan song” in the old language – and it was the crowning jewel of an empire that encompassed the entire world. But that empire is long gone, nothing more than ashes and ruin. Khaladron is all that remains.
‘It was chosen to be our final refuge. Of all our great dwellings, it was by far the easiest to defend – and our enemies knew nothing of its existence. The only way in and out is over these mountains or by sea through a narrow inlet. Both are protected by powerful magic.
‘It took centuries to build, and longer still to weave the spells that defend it. But most will tell you it was worth it. They say there is nothing in this world now that can compare to Khaladron’s beauty – an oasis of peace and tranquillity in a desert of death and destruction. It was our final masterpiece before the waning of our power.’ She broke off and snorted. ‘Honestly, I always found it a little fanciful for my tastes. Hardly the greatest example of our skill. But it’s all gone now. Only Khaladron remains.’
She trailed off, lost in a past that stretched back far further than they could ever imagine. Her eyes glittered with unshed tears as she bowed her head in remembrance, and her knuckles were white where she clenched her fists in her lap. They were all quiet for a time while she composed herself. It was only when she took a deep, shuddering breath and raised her head once more that Lucan dared to speak.
‘Your people,’ he asked. ‘Who are they?’
Gaelan nodded to herself but did not meet his eyes when she answered. ‘We have a name for ourselves, in our own language, but you couldn’t pronounce it, and it wouldn’t mean anything to
you anyway. We’re mentioned in the stories Renila told you … they call us the Immortals.’
‘And Sephiron was one of you,’ Suriya added. It wasn’t a question. She and Lucan both remembered Renila’s stories.
Gaelan snarled, starlight blazing over her skin. ‘Never speak that name again,’ she hissed. Suriya flinched, and the fire flared between them. Gaelan took a deep, steadying breath and nodded. ‘Yes, he was one of us. Our greatest mistake. One that brought us to our knees.’
‘You knew him,’ Suriya pressed, her eyes glowing with certainty. Gaelan didn’t dispute it. ‘How old are you, if you were alive during the Rebellion?’
‘Old enough that such numbers no longer have meaning for me,’ she said, her voice heavy with ancient regret. Then she sighed. ‘Do you mind? I don’t enjoy talking about that period of my life. Even after all this time, some horrors never fade.’
Lucan nodded before Suriya could object. ‘Will you tell us more about your people then? About where you come from?’
Gaelan smiled and leaned back, her eyes lifting to the heavens once more. ‘For as long as there has been death, there have been those who sought to defy it,’ she began. Lucan knew that he had heard the words before, but now they were given new meaning. One of Renila’s stories – the Old Tales, Gaelan had called them once. ‘For most, the quest would cost their last breath, but upon a precious few, the Gods smiled. They were blessed with untold power – swiftness and strength beyond measure, unparalleled senses and inhuman beauty, and magic to be wielded as they wished. But greatest of all was the gift of life everlasting.
‘And so, the Immortals were born. Thirteen they numbered, revered by all those doomed to die. Centuries passed and our numbers grew. Kingdoms rose wherever we settled, and mortals flocked to us as sheep who follow their shepherd. Over time, we spawned an empire that would cover the earth, and – if you believe the stories – more just and true rulers it has never known.