Coveted
Page 33
Chapter 33
I could never have pinpointed the exact moment when the physical world did not seem to matter anymore. I lived and died and lived again. The cycle was unbroken and in it the familiar sensations of something simply falling away without ceremony as the next phase began. Transitions were hardest for the living. They were the nature of souls and that was what I was. I was not constricted by such mundane things as hunger and injury. I was free to travel, just as I had, skipping from life to life.
But not all of those lives made sense. There were bad decisions, many of them, but good ones too. They were confusing and some were simultaneous. How had I managed that? To live twice at one time? I could not remember how I had accomplished it but there I was experiencing two lifetimes as two people at once.
The castle steps hurt my feet as I skipped up them but I did not care. I was giggling as my little sister chased me. Half a continent away, I was cutting through a Mongolian invader and feeling the heat of his blood as it sprayed my face. I had found my love working as a baker in the market and spent every sunny morning lingering to catch his eye. I had cut into my own flesh only to scream to the gods when it healed, my lonely existence too hard to endure. I had joined the church, taking vows to devote myself to the less fortunate, tolerating days of sore knees and musty smells as I prayed. I had killed a beggar who had grabbed for my sword, feeling the rage of enduring insolence. I had looked at Alistair with complete hero-worship and awe as he announced I would not remain an orphan but made his lady. I stood upon the ruins of a castle, letting the rain soak me through as I recalled the dozens of families I had killed in search of one desire, the dozens I had killed for nothing. I had fallen asleep on the couch leaning against Michael, Riley pinning my feet under his hot fur. I had registered at a high school hoping that this time, finally, my search would come to an end.
I opened my eyes.
Michael was cradling me, concern contorting his features so that he looked 37 instead of 17. "Lucina?"
I nodded and as I did, began to cry. The weight of all I had done crashed into me. The deaths, the selfishness, everything poured out of me as I buried my face into his chest. I tried to breath and get a hold of myself. I needed to be able to speak. I needed to ask. Michael did not make me.
"He is gone," he said. "Likely for some time. We came to check on you."
Alistair was standing over his shoulder, blocking out the sun that would have blinded me.
I was not sure why it mattered so much to know how. I tried to force myself up to see, to confirm that Bran was gone. Michael held me firm with strength I did not know he possessed. "Just an empty vessel," he said.
That explained it all and I truly did feel like a murderer. I cried harder, any hope of coming back to myself taken away. Michael tolerated me so well. He held and comforted me. He did not let go until he knew I was ready.
Alistair walked away but Michael's embrace kept me shielded from the judgement of the sun. When Michael finally helped me stand, I saw Alistair walking back out onto the patio. I had not realized he had gone inside.
"Thank you, Alistair," Michael said. Alistair nodded.
I did not understand until I realized that Bran's body was no longer on the patio.
"I'll dispose of him before I leave town," Alistair said. "Best if we avoid questions." He sighed. "Time for me to go, I guess. I still have a goddess to serve."
"Alistair," I said. "What will happen to you and your soul?"
He crossed his arms. "Are you wondering if I am like Bran?"
I nodded.
A smile spread across his lips. "I asked for immortality and my goddess, Freyja, granted it. She was not too pleased with what Morrigan had done to Bran. Morrigan apparently has a whole army of what Freyja called 'stolen warriors.' She granted my request because she wanted to help level the field a bit."
"So your soul is whole then," I said as if that somehow made a difference.
He nodded. "There is no out for me. I will be this way forever." Perhaps there was horror on my face for he added quickly, "I do not regret my decision. Well, not really. Perhaps there would have been a different fate for me had I not made it but knowing I have helped you has always been enough. I was meant to save you."
"But now I don't need saving," I said with a furrowed brow. He was not making me feel better.
His smile turned bittersweet. "But you do. Morrigan will likely feel more rage than she has in thousands of years when she learns what has happened here. I will return to Scotland in search of her minions and these stolen warriors. She will never get revenge on you. I will always make sure of that."
I thanked him but the words were entirely inadequate. I lacked the wisdom to know what would have been better. All I did know was that I would live with all of this until the end of my life, when death would blissfully wipe my memory. He kissed me on the cheek and walked away.
Epilogue
I stood looking down at the glimmering weapons in the bottom of the hole. Michael had joked we should sell them on eBay and retire early. I had punched him hard in the arm.
It would have been wrong. I could not insult Bran's memory in such a mundanely capitalistic fashion but nor could I bring myself to keep them.
I had brought the weapons out into the trees behind Bran's house and made a grave for them. It seemed a better funeral for Bran than if Alistair had left the body. The weapons were Bran more than the body was. So there they lay, all but one. His claymore lay upon the soft earth behind me. It would always stay with me.
I tossed Bran's book onto the pile. I didn't need to read it anymore. I had remembered it in my head and my heart. I would never forget it.
Michael walked up to stand at my side. He looked down at the mass of metal points. "It's such a shame," he said. "They're antiques!"
I went to punch him in the arm again but stopped myself. It was then that I realized it. Bran may have killed but he was not the dark one of the two of us. It had been me. I had been the one who hurt those I claimed to love most, making them sacrifice for me. Bran had sacrificed his only existence to save mine. His life had been far more noble than all of mine combined.
Since our mending, I had waited for the murderous impulses. I waited for the darkness to show itself in unwitting moments. Aside from my more violent gesture of punching Michael in the arm when he was being a twit, it never had, which only increased my hurt. The entire exercise seemed pointless. I still had the ache for Bran, though it was admittedly more just a memory, a memory of something so strong it could never be truly forgotten. It was there just enough to feed guilt and regret.
I tossed my meagre offering upon the swords, dove and raven feathers tied together with a bow. "And beyond the end of mine," I whispered.
Michael and I worked the rest of the afternoon to backfill the pit. We left no marker. As the summer came, grass would soon cover the spot and no one would ever find it. I stumbled as I picked up the claymore, I was not strong enough to lift it yet. Michael tried to take it from me but I refused. I needed to carry it. I needed to grow stronger. I hoisted it so that it rested against my shoulder. Michael eyed it as if he wasn't entirely sure if he should intervene anyway. I wouldn't let him. He smiled to himself. "Shall we go?" He asked.
I looked back at the disturbed earth, my unmarked grave. Turning back to Michael, I nodded. We walked back up the slope together.
***
End of Book 1 of the Stolen Warriors Series
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About the Author
Tara K. Young has published five novels, two short stories, one novella, and weekly serials available on her website. At a young age, she began having memories of long ago events and places. Without anyone else going through the same experience to talk to, she began writing fantasy as a way to change traumatic memories into something creatively constructive. She lives in Alberta, Canada with her husband, daughter, dog, and three cats.
Other Works by Tara K. Young
Shauna's Inheritance (sho
rt story)
Devil's Sacrifice (short story)
The Monstrous Hunt
Gods' Masks, Book 1 of the Moirean Tapestry
The Whispering War, Book 2 of the Moirean Tapestry
Memory's Emissary, Book 3 of the Moirean Tapestry
Courted Sanctuary
Oculus
Connect with Tara Online
Twitter TYoungWrite
Website Myriad Maia