He stopped and held position in front of the open doorway.
“Who are you?” I called out. “What do you want?”
The absence of an immediate response magnified my suspicion. Deciding some basic self-defense was prudent, I summoned the obsidian, but there was no reply. I gripped the shard. It was cold, unresponsive. If there was magic inside, I couldn’t sense it.
I lowered my hand with a hiss. “Why can’t I cast?”
“Because I can’t trust you to behave,” he replied.
That voice…
Panic tightened my chest. I pushed it aside with a gruff, “Show yourself!”
He didn’t move, but the hood did. Persuaded by the wind, the cowl swept back off his head, revealing his face—and an identity I didn’t want to accept. I stared, struggling to comprehend, forcing myself to breathe past the sudden obstruction in my throat. Ice pumped with the adrenaline in my veins. I backed up, nearly tripping. “No… It can’t be. It can’t be you.”
Harsh features, twisted by magic into something more animal than man, broke with a smile. “It’s good to see you, too… Son.” Ploughing through the piles of carefully arranged bones, uncaring as the skeletons scattered, Jem Reth stepped closer. He opened his arms wide. The movement drew up his sleeves, exposing a measure of thick hide the color of wet steel. He wiggled his clawed hands.
My father wanted an embrace.
I offered him disgust and disbelief instead. “This isn’t possible. You’re not possible.” I ripped the sword free of its sheath. Fighting to keep my arm steady, I pointed the tip at him with a frantic, emphatic, “You’re dead.”
“If I am, then what do you plan to do with that?” Jem motioned at the blade, his enlarged eyes betraying their usual disapproval. “Seems excessive for an apparition. Perhaps you’d be better off with a Rellan priest? Pity there isn’t one around.”
“I’m not dropping the sword, so don’t ask.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, L’tarian,” he said, throwing down my given name like a gauntlet. “What kind of father would take away his child’s favorite toy? Besides, we all delude ourselves with a false sense of comfort, from time to time. When it wears thin, you’ll realize my expiration from this world was merely a terrible rumor. One you so innocently fell for…twice.”
“Bullshit,” I snarled at him. “The first time, I made a mistake. The second time, I made sure. There was no life in you, nothing to heal. When I fused the shard to the Crown of Stones, the spell consumed you. Your body was crumbling. I saw it.”
“But did you ever go back? Pay your respects to my final resting place? Plant a grave marker in the ground? Hmmm? Nothing…? Then how do you know I’m still there?”
I didn’t. If he’s not, if I was wrong… The notion that Jem Reth was still alive, free to terrorize the land and the people I loved, horrified me. Questions, suspicions, and a sickening sense of dread ran in chaotic circles in my mind. My thoughts filtered through every despicable act, every moment of misery, the man inflicted on my life. My stomach turned, remembering how much he enjoyed it, remembering his fanatical drive to conquer and rule, his carelessness with magic. The derision that laced Jem’s every word. The way his voice (encumbered by jagged teeth) wormed inside, igniting my temper, poking at old wounds. How the darkness of his animal hide lent a disturbing prominence to his white eyes, accentuating perpetual displeasure.
Posture, mannerisms, the grief and resentment his presence sparked, no matter how hard I tried to deny his impact; I recognized it. It was all there in the man who stood before me. And more. If Jem was alive for my destruction of the crown, he would have gained access to all nine lines of magic—while I lost all but one.
Dammit, how is he not dead? How is he here?
If it’s true…
If he’s alive…
He’s not. He can’t be. “You couldn’t have survived what I did to you.”
“Oh, it wasn’t my doing,” Jem said, folding his oddly shaped appendages in front of him. “Death saw my potential and returned me to the land of the living. If you have a complaint, I suggest you take it up with him.”
“Is this why I’m here? Did you coerce the islanders into fetching me? Are they working for you now?”
“Islanders? No one lives on this godforsaken rock. Look around—”
“I don’t want to look around! I want the truth!”
Jem blinked at me. “Hysteria. Hallucination. Paranoia. I’m afraid you’ve been out in the heat too long, L’tarian. You should sit down before your brain bubbles right inside that obstinate head of yours.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I ignored his gasp of insult. “I wasn’t suffering from the heat last night when they boarded my ship. And I sure as hell didn’t bring myself here.”
“No, I’d say a little too much drink did that. One wrong stumble in the dark. A loss of balance. You fell overboard and smacked your head. Rather hard, I’m afraid,” he winced. “It’s a miracle you washed ashore here instead of drowning.”
I wanted to protest, but the desire died as I recalled a clutter of wine bottles at my feet. A sudden fog rolled in. I was running on the rain-slick deck. “The anchor,” I said. “The fog was thick. I wanted to check the anchor, to see if we strayed off course.” My boot caught on a coil of rope. I fell—then I was bobbing in the murky water, barely conscious, as dark waves carried the ship out of sight. Is that how it happened? Did I hit my head and imagine it all? The voices in the fog? The red rain? The strange beings?
It made sense. It was why I couldn’t find the ship. I fell asleep on watch. Jarryd was below deck. He didn’t see me fall. He doesn’t know I’m gone. But how far could he have gotten before he realized? Far enough, I thought, to mess with our link. I could have been unconscious for days. He could be out there, looking for me.
Jem’s voice ripped me back to the moment. “This diversion of yours is over. You had your fun playing captain and sailing around on your little boat,” he moved his beastly fingers about, mocking me. “But you don’t belong on the open sea. You’re a soldier, not a sailor. This expedition is a waste of your talents—and my time. You’re coming home with me.”
I stared, heart aching, muscles tense and trembling as I desperately tried to believe it wasn’t him. But I didn’t have a shred of evidence to refute Jem’s story. He could have been in hiding all this time, plotting, regaining his magic. He could be alive. There was no denying the painful familiarity of our contemptuous exchange. It, alone, was powerful enough to drain the logic from the argument and the quarrel from my voice.
All I had left was a firm, livid, “Fuck you.”
Jem’s sigh was long and dramatic. “I see you haven’t matured since our last encounter. I hoped you might lose some of your bad manners and childish ideals along with your erudite magic, but it appears you’re still the same dogged mule as always. Bumbling your way forward. Never altering course. Because no other could possibly have a better way than Ian Troy.”
“And I’m supposed to believe you do? That your way is better? Plunging the realms into war. Burning villages. Experimenting on your own people—your own granddaughter. Casting on your subjects to make them worship you. For all your talk of freedom, Jem, you didn’t free a single Shinree soul. All you did was give them a new master.” Eyeing his predatory features, I ran a trembling hand back over my head. “Gods, how many times do I have to kill you?”
“Until you get it right, apparently.” Challenge sparkled in his white gaze.
White? His eyes should be full of color.
“That’s not your door.” I gestured at the dark corridor behind him.
“Of course it is.”
“How? Your eyes have no color. If you opened the door, the auras of the stones should be showing in your…” Multiple hues emerged to swirl across his smug stare. “No. That wasn’t… That wasn’t there before.” Was it? Dammit, what’s wrong with me?
“Are you all right, son? You look confused. Weak. Ti
red. Talk to me,” he pleaded. “I am your father.”
Fixing my drifting stare on him, a twinge struck my chest, as I realized, I don’t think I can do this again. How was I supposed to muster the level of emotional strength and resolve needed to kill my father—for a third time—when all I had inside me was pain and a frightening sense of futility? I can’t escape him. No matter what I do. No matter how many times I try. I’ll always fail. And he’ll always live to torment me.
“Why?” I demanded. “Why did you come for me? You could have started over some place far away from Mirra’kelan—far away from me. Why can’t you let it go?”
Jem’s patience snapped with a livid, “Because the empire is mine! No other Shinree has a right to it. I deserve it. I’ve earned it. The blood of emperors flows in my veins. That throne is mine!” he cried, chest heaving, foam flying from his jaw to spatter the air.
“Gods, if you could see yourself like I do.” I swallowed, despising the manic gleam in his eye, hating how every word that ever left his warped mouth scraped like a blade over my skin. “You’re not fit to rule. You’re not even Shinree anymore. You disfigured your body with a shortsighted spell. You perverted your mind with the madness of a Langorian King. Did you even hesitate before destroying another life with your corruption? I assume that’s why you’re still sane. You filled the void created by Draken’s death by binding your soul to someone else. Is that how you healed?”
Jem watched me a moment, his gaze wild, calculating. “You left me for dead, weak and injured, in the middle of the swamps. It took weeks to crawl my way out.”
“Good!”
He frowned at my petulant tone. “When I finally did, I needed a place to mend outside the watchful eye of those loyal to the High King. I made my way to a Kaelish port and bought passage on a ship.”
“You went in public, looking as you do?”
“I lifted a cloak. And a basic glamour spell altered my appearance. I had enough magic in me for that. Maintaining it was all I cast for months until my strength returned. Though, the deprivation was made easier by my sudden lack of addiction. Thank you for that,” he smiled. “It didn’t hurt that my surroundings were ideal for recuperating. Arulla is quite beautiful. Have you ever been?”
My grip on the sword tensed, hoping my hunch was wrong. “Why Arulla?”
“Why not? Pristine beaches. Lush jungles. A brewing government divide to occupy my time.” He hesitated. “And a familiar face.”
Shit.
“Imagine my shock at discovering Langor had not only sent an ambassador to Arulla, but that Draken’s sister had taken the job. I have to say, I understand why you were taken with her. Jillyan is an educated and exhilarating woman. Talented. Strong. Bold. Devious,” he flashed an admiring grin. “It’s too early to tell which of those traits passed onto her child, but it’s clear whose physical features the babe favors. The paternal line is most evident.”
I said nothing, knowing how badly Jem wanted me to ask, to show concern and give him fodder. He wanted me afraid, imagining the many ways he’d take advantage of such vulnerable targets. And I was.
“Jillyan claimed you were unaware of her delicate condition when you parted ways, but…” Jem wavered, studying me, “the look on your face, says otherwise. How interesting you, who knows the pain of growing up fatherless, abandoned your own unborn child. What an unexpected surprise.” Pride swelled in Jem’s voice. “Like father, like son.”
“You’re wrong. I am not you!”.
“So you keep claiming. But the evidence says otherwise.”
“What have you done to them?”
Jem blew out a dismissive breath. “What kind of monster do you take me for?”
Brandishing the sword, I took a step.
“Calm yourself. I haven’t touched them. If you don’t believe me, go. Check on their health. Arulla is seconds away.” Jem waved behind him. “Unless you truly care nothing for your child?”
“Do you think me so reckless? That door could go anywhere.”
“I just said where it goes. Really, L’tarian, your mistrust is exasperating.”
I eyed the void, warring with temptation. “What do you want from me?”
“I wanted to give you one last chance to become something more, to share in the glory our blood affords. To stand beside me as any loyal son would. Now…” Jem threw off his surcoat, revealing the supple armor underneath. It was plainly of Arullan design, crafted to fit his hybrid form. Stones adorned the hilt of his sheathed sword. He folded his clawed hand over the grip and pulled the weapon free. Sun glinted off the steel, but the stones emitted no glow.
His eyes were white again. Yet, the doorway was still open. How?
A swift, piercing ache struck my forehead. I rubbed at the pain as it spread to my eyes. Pinching them closed a moment, I opened my lids to a burst of white. As the glare eased, the landscape jumped and wavered. It altered. “What is this? What’s happening?”
In one breath, I was standing in the arid, vine-swept graveyard. In the next, I was in the middle of one far more familiar—and fresh. Mountains rose in the distance, evaporated, then rose again. Fissures divided the expansive field, soggy with blood and littered with uniformed corpses. Both vanished, then returned a moment later.
Faster and faster, my view fluctuated, but my focus never wavered.
I couldn’t stop staring at the bodies.
I recognized their uniforms and weapons. I remembered how they fell, and how they lay: limbs bent and tangled, torsos gutted, skulls split—skin withered from the effects of a Shinree spell. The desiccated remains jumped with involuntary movements as ghostly birds pecked at sockets and ruptured skin. Decay thickened the air as the flies buzzed.
There was no confusing it, no denying it. I remembered every nuance, every sight and smell of the battlefield where I discovered the Crown of Stones. And this is what I did with it. These were the lives I took with my ignorance and my arrogance, forever scarring the land, the world. Me.
I winced as the white glare grew and waned again. It was earlier in the day now, before I cast. Spectral soldiers swarmed around me, engaged in combat. Gore splattered. Weapons clashed, as Langorians and Rellans slaughtered each other with abandon, flickering and sputtering, in and out of existence—completely oblivious to my presence.
But were they shifting, or was I? Had I been plucked out of time and dropped in this place, this moment, that forever haunted my existence? Was I here to watch them die all over again?
I couldn’t breathe without gagging on the foul air, couldn’t think.
I couldn’t remember where I was or what came before.
The dead flickered back, but they were different now. Soldiers were replaced by civilians. Clothing and appearance altered. Wounds formed. Skin puckered and dried. Hundreds of places and people cycled through. So many…
“Why are you showing me this?” I barked. “Who are they?” Jem merely smiled, but he didn’t need to reply. The answer was obvious. Over all the years, over all the battles, the scuffles and bounties, the tavern brawls, all the mistakes and the magic… “This was me. They’re all dead because of me.”
A heavy, warm, wet sensation filled my palms. I looked down at my hands. They were clean. But they’re not. They’re not clean. And they never will be.
Watching the countless withered corpses cycle through, my stomach turned. My voice shook, as I confessed. “This is why I left. This is why I didn’t raise my child with Jillyan. Why I never can. I—” I shook my head, releasing a frenzied, ragged cry of acceptance, “Goddammit, I did this! And you know I’d do it again.”
Struck down by the truth, I slumped to my knees. The blood and the bodies and the past vanished a moment later. The terrain settled around me, as the present returned. With it, came the sound of running steps. They were loud. Close.
I looked up. Jem was nearly upon me, sword raised, a storm of dust at his heels.
I had a breath before his blade collided with my head.
Blades sliding apart, he stepped back, twirled the sword in his grip and returned with a violent hack at my chest. A quick parry kept me in one piece. A headbutt should have garnered some reaction, but he didn’t even blink. Jem’s physical strength and endurance wasn’t merely magic-driven. It was augmented by his altered, animal-like form. Mine was backed by something simple and base: rage—and the knowledge that, if I died here, his rule would be inevitable.
I shoved him off. Dirt clouded the air as Jem’s boots slid.
He came at me again. Again, I pushed him back.
Fury fled his dark lips with a growl. Skeletal remains fractured as he lunged. His brutal strike knocked the weapon from my grasp. Evading his follow up swing, I spun aside, and pulled the second sword off my back; driving an elbow into his shoulder, as I came around. It was a solid hit, but Jem’s balance never wavered. His weapon cut the air, slamming into mine with unrelenting stamina as he chased me across the field.
Rock and bone scattered under our feet. I could hardly see through the dust.
Tripping on a skull, his fist caught me in the temple. I dove to avoid a second strike. Mouth and throat drying with each breath, eyes stinging from the grit, I rolled over to find him above me. Scooting back amid his laughter, I extended the sword for a fast block as I stood. Our weapons met—so close, my face warmed with the heat of his breath.
The battle-lust in Jem’s gaze was fierce and absolute. He would kill me.
There was a point in my life when I might have let him. After being forced to acknowledge all those my magic destroyed, I would have found few reasons to live. But regardless of the burden of guilt sitting like stone in my stomach, I wasn’t that man anymore.
The Wandering Isles Page 3