“Aurelia, stop—we don’t have time. We need to help.”
She felt Ion lay a hand on her back. “No, she should have it…”
“We don’t have time!” he said, shooting to his feet.
She looked up at him furiously.
“We can give her a proper burial later,” he said softly
She sighed. Ion was right. She stopped searching and knelt over, gently placing her hand on the back of Elara’s head. “May you be free.”
“May you be free,” Ion repeated.
Aurelia looked at him and smiled sadly. The Northern words seemed to flow so naturally from him. “Let's go,” she said, wiping the tears off her cheeks. She hadn’t even noticed that she had started crying.
Without another word, they followed the rock wall. It was nearly a kilometre before they could round the corner to the battle on the beach. The cries fuelled Aurelia; the image of Elara’s corpse propelled her forward. She looked to her right, her eyes following the strip of jungle that ended at the southern coast. There were more ships, but their rowboats were still far from the shores.
Suddenly, one of the rowboats was blasted out of the water by a wield from the jungle. From this distance, Aurelia couldn’t tell what wield had been used, but the sight of the wooden pieces blasting through the air brought her hope. She watched as the armoured soldiers attempted to stay afloat in the water.
Maybe they could still do this without Elara.
Aurelia and Ion neared the edge of the long rock wall, where only a thin strip of beach wrapped around to the small shore on the other side. She clutched her Godstone, opening the connection between them.
They reeled around the corner.
Her jaw dropped. The fighting stretched along the full length of the beach, people fighting for as far as the eye could see. The sand was covered with bloodstains. Four boats holding ten soldiers each were at the shore. They were outnumbered, but the Free-Wielders were holding them off well. However, there were at least ten other rowboats approaching and even more soldiers swimming to shore, their boats having been overturned. Elara must have been drowning them in her waves, just like Vincent had done at the Redcliffs.
“Ready?” Ion said. Aurelia could hear the sound of his glove tightening on his sword’s hilt.
She nodded firmly, her eyes focused on the nearest group. “It’s Gentry!” she said, her eyes widening. Gentry was cornered into the side of the cliff by three soldiers, one of whom was massive.
“Let’s go.”
Aurelia roared. She whipped her arms out to her side, stretching her fingers out. She took a deep breath as she gathered the strength to conjure her wield. She listened to her stone and felt the fire in the air. Then she exhaled. Balls of fire burst in front of her palms, just far enough away that their immense heat was tolerable.
They moved across the sand towards the group. Gentry had created a barrier by wielding a tornado of foliage around himself. Any time a soldier tried to cut into it, a branch would shoot him down. One of the soldiers was being particularly persistent, nearly breaking through.
Aurelia swung her arm through the air, launching the fireball at him.
The gigantic man turned around. His face was covered in dozens of small, gushing cuts from Gentry’s assault.
And one of his eyes was freshly gouged right out.
Chapter 45
Spearield, 1st Day of the Month of Fire 1114 A.F.F.
It had been easy enough sneaking out of the underground cave. Kuba had just waited until everyone’s backs were turned and then snuck out the way he came in. None of the adults had expected anyone to want to leave. Now, standing at the edge of the jungle, Kuba was almost certain he regretted the idea. Cries of pain and guttural screams carried across the waters. The sounds made a heavy pit in his gut. It made him want to be ill.
Kuba watched as his brother and Aurelia made their way to the corner of the cliff. How could they have expected him to stay behind with the toddlers? But he also couldn’t believe what he was about to do. A month ago, he was safe in Zar, and now he was about to run into battle.
A hard pit formed in his throat, matching the one in his gut. Kuba forced it down with a gulp.
A noise clattered from the jungle behind him and a shiver ran up his spine. The fighting from the west side of the island was getting closer.
“It is the things that scare us that are truly worth doing,” Kuba whispered under his breath, echoing Vincent’s words.
He had been training for this, honing his skills. He was ready.
Kuba ran out from his hiding spot in the trees just as Ion and Aurelia circled the far corner of the rock shield. He ran down the narrow path of sand that bridged the long stretch of jungle to the giant rock.
How had this become his life? Kuba blocked out the sounds of battle and closed his eyes, letting the smell of the salty sea overwhelm him. An overwhelming crushing sensation bore down on his ribcage and his stomach fluttered incessantly. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to calm himself.
It smelt nothing like Zar, nothing like the pine trees and snow. But both smells shared a unique freshness, as if the air had been barely breathed. A metallic smell wafted around him and he was wrenched out of his fantasy of home.
He set his eyes on the corner of the rock. He could do this. He did it on the boat, he got them here, and now he would fight. He would fight for his family: for his Aunt Evie, his Uncle Malek, Ion, and Aurelia. He would fight to save them.
He rounded the corner of the onyx rock. The beach was covered in blood, and soldiers were flooding to shore.
Kuba froze at the sight of the slaughter. A zapping feeling jolted the base of his skull and his heart pounded so hard he was sure he was going to throw it up. He spun back around to the safe side of the rock, pressing his back into it and looking down into the sand.
“Breathe, Kuba,” he told himself, trying to catch his breath. He closed his eyes and consciously tried to take stock of his surroundings. The feeling of the rough rock behind his back, the sounds of the ocean and the screams…the screams. Kuba opened his eyes, he was hyperventilating.
He held his chest—it was lifting and falling much too fast—and turned around to look at the beach again. It was wrought with fighting and some of the powder-white sand was stained a deep red. Kuba immediately caught sight of a giant soldier near him, battling his way across the beach. The soldier’s armour bore the full Highwings symbol. Kuba held in a breath, his hand trembling on his chest; the soldier was an Eleventh. The thoughts that usually accompanied his panic began to flood into his mind.
They were all going to die.
Kuba kept his eyes locked on the scene in front of him, unable to move. The smell of the salty air was tainted with the metallic scent of blood. Kuba watched as the incoming boats were bombarded by onslaughts of wields. But the wields were not enough; there were far too many soldiers.
He saw a flurry of palm leaves and branches flying out of nowhere, right at the giant soldier’s face. The soldier bent backward at the knees and the whirl of vegetation passed right over his nose. Another flurry of plants came hurtling through the air, but the giant man did not see it coming this time. A large branch knocked him square in the chest. Kuba heard the breath get knocked out of the soldier’s lungs as he hit the ground. Sand flew into the air and back down.
The soldier quickly picked himself back up, ripped the helmet off his head and rubbed his eyes. As he did, dozens of thorny palm tree leaves flew into his face. Kuba lurched as the dozens of tiny scratches on the soldiers face began to drip blood. The man screamed in pain as one of the thorns slashed his eye. The blood trickled down his face and into his mouth but the soldier just licked the blood off his lips and then flew into a rage.
“You!” the soldier heaved, pointing his sword across the beach. Kuba followed the line of his sword. He was pointing at Gentry. “Argh!” The soldier launched himself across the beach at Gentry, knocking anyone in his way to the ground.
&nbs
p; A clang of metal pierced through the air as Gentry brought his sword above head to stop the attack. Kuba gasped as Gentry fell to one knee under the weight of the blow. The soldier leaned into his sword even more.
Gentry let out a small squeal when his own blade began cutting into the tip of his nose.
Kuba tucked further back behind the rock, his gut heavy with guilt because he wasn’t helping, but fear kept his feet rooted to the ground.
“Gentry!” a voice yelled. For a moment, Kuba thought it was he himself who had called out. He wished it had been him, he wished he could go save his friend. But his trembling legs wouldn’t move.
“Robert, don’t!” Gentry shouted.
Suddenly, the soldier stumbled backward, lowering his sword. His hands clutched at his throat as if he could not breathe. The soldier gasped repeatedly, grabbing at his throat with his free hand.
Kuba brought his hands to his own throat just to make certain breath was still getting in.
He caught sight of Robert nearby, closer to the water. He had his arms outstretched and, even from a distance, Kuba could see that his eyes were white.
The soldier stumbled forward, towards Robert, grabbing at his throat again and again. Finally, he fell to his knees and the grip around his sword faltered. The blade fell in the sand. Kuba breathed a breath of relief.
It looked like the soldier was about to pass out, but then he jumped up, grabbed his sword, and shoved it straight up under Robert’s sternum.
Every muscle in Kuba’s body froze as the blood began to spurt out of Robert. The white faded from Robert’s eyes, and the Godstone fell from his hand. The soldier, with his bloodied eye and scratched-up face, lifted Robert off the ground, still skewered on his sword, and then tossed him down and spit on his body.
“Robert!” Gentry yelled from across the battlefield, trying to plow his way through several soldiers. “You’ll die for this, Hectar!”
Kuba turned back around the rock wall. He leaned against it, trying to steady himself as the world spun. He crossed his arms over his chest just to make sure his lungs were still working. Even though they were, he felt like no air was being taken in.
He had just seen someone who had taken them in die.
And he knew who killed him.
Hectar.
A sword cut through the air. Ion was exhausted. He had been exchanging blows with one of three soldiers, and he was losing. He could never get ahead. This soldier had precision and strength—Ion barely had a few weeks of training.
He blocked another blow, their swords locked together. Ion seized the opportunity to look towards Aurelia. She was only a few feet away, alternating between conjuring streams of fire and swiping with her short blade. The man she was facing was large, armoured, and not backing down. It was as though the pain and heat did not affect him.
Just moments ago, from across the beach, Ion had heard Gentry yell a warning to Aurelia. The giant man with the gouged-out eye was Hectar.
Ion’s opponent pushed back, releasing their swords. Ion stepped back in the sand, briefly dropping his sword to the ground before taking a deep breath and bringing it back up this his side.
“Argh!” He ran forward. He swung. Blocked. He recovered, bringing the sword out to the side and swinging it at the soldier’s ribs. Blocked again.
Ion’s torso was twisted and his arms were out to the side as he locked swords with his opponent. Then the soldier dropped one of his hands from his sword, using the momentum to draw back his leg. He smashed his foot right into Ion’s stomach.
Ion fell backward, his sword falling from his hands. He was going to throw up.
The soldier was over top of him—his sword raised over his head.
Ion rolled to the side as the sword came down. The blade crashed into the sand only a few inches from his face. He breathed a sigh of relief, but it was short lived. The soldier brought his foot down on Ion’s chest.
“You’re not getting away this time,” he growled as he raised the sword above his head again. Ion couldn’t move. He was pinned between the sand and the crushing weight of the soldier’s foot.
Balance, he thought. As the sword came wailing down at him, Ion kicked the soldier’s other foot with his leg. The soldier tumbled to his knees, and Ion rolled out from under him.
Ion pulled himself to his feet and kicked the soldier in the head, but the man was still conscious, crawling onto his hands and knees. Ion gave him another boot to the face, and this time, the man dropped. Ion picked up his sword and turned to survey the battlefield.
More soldiers closed in on the beach. He searched for Aurelia. She was further away now, being backed into the rock. She was struggling to fend Hectar off, and she was clearly tired.
He set off towards her. Time seemed to be moving in slow motion.
Aurelia blasted another fireball into Hectar’s face. His skin was melting, but he still wasn’t backing down. Ion watched as the large man brought his hand up and whipped it across Aurelia’s face, sending her flying to the ground.
Ion sprinted faster.
Hectar raised his massive sword above his head as Aurelia scrambled for her little blade.
“NO!” Ion shouted, lunging in front of Aurelia. He fell in front of her on his knees, right below the giant man. When Hectar’s massive sword came crashing down, Ion raised his own to meet it.
For a moment, he thought he had stopped it, but Hectar was too strong. Ion’s heart sank as he felt his sword fumble out of his grip and Hectar’s blade sink deep into the space between his neck and shoulder.
Pain ripped through him. It felt as if his arm was being torn off completely. His vision went red and the taste of blood filled his mouth.
“Ion, no!” Aurelia shrieked. He felt her hands catch him as he fell back, the impact causing him to groan in utter agony. He could feel his body begin to convulse. His eyes fluttered and his vision faltered, fading from red to black.
“No, Ion, no.” A familiar, faint voice rang in his ears. It sounded beautiful. “Stay with me, please.”
Ion felt droplets of water hit his face, and a warm hand rested on his cheek. He tried to say something, but only coughed up blood.
And then there was nothing at all.
Chapter 46
Azul, 1st Day of the Month of Fire 1114 A.F.F.
Kari had figured out exactly two things in the years, or hours—she wasn’t quite sure how long—she’d been locked away. She paced the cell they had put her in, the poison she had drunk so long ago finally starting to wear off.
First, Apollyon was a Human-Wielder. He could inflict primitive pain but couldn’t quite control her conscious decisions.
And second, if she pretended to be in his control, the pain went away.
A familiar slithering feeling crept up her spine, and Kari prayed to the skies that a Human-Wielder could not read minds. The controlling wield coiled around her brain.
There were no glowing wings this time. She let out a sigh of relief; at least that had all been in her head.
“Feeling better?” a warm voice rang out.
This time, Kari was sober enough that she could follow it. She spun around and found herself facing more darkness. “Much.”
“Shall we continue, then?”
Kari said nothing, and nor did the voice, but she suddenly felt compelled to move forward. She followed the force, taking about four wonky steps, until the compulsion faded.
“Good.” Kari could feel his breath on her face. “I knew we would be able to understand each other.”
Kari nodded, though she knew he probably could not see.
“One last test, young Kari,” the God-King said. “I need to know how truly loyal you are.”
Kari caught the whimper in her throat before it could escape. A droplet of water from her damp hair rolled down the back of her shirt. She nodded again.
“Your arm was injured in the Strategy Trial?”
Kari shivered. “Burnt.”
“Break that arm.”
>
Kari’s heart leapt into her throat and she felt the pull of his controlling wield. In that moment, she wished her body would just give in and do his bidding so she wouldn’t have to. Although she could feel the weight of his words, the pull of his wield, it was not strong enough to sway her.
She took a few steps back and knelt on the floor. She couldn’t control her crying and her chest heaved with each sob. The room spun around her and she wished the Nightwine—yes, that’s how she got in here—was still as potent as it had been a few hours ago.
Kari took a deep, shaky breath. She placed the palm of her burnt arm down in front of her and twisted her arm so her fingers were pointing back at her and the inside of her elbow was pointing away from her body. Her arm wobbled under her weight. Sweat and snot dripped down her face and mixed with her salty tears. She locked her arm and lifted herself off her knees so she was on her toes.
Kari choked on her tears and her heart pounded. Her chest heaved and she wished his wield would take over, that it would make her do it. She waited a moment, and though she could feel it creeping around her like some invisible force, it wasn’t strong enough to force her.
“Argh,” Kari growled viscerally.
“Do not resist, young Kari. I promise this is just a test. Life will be good after this.”
Kari gritted her teeth so hard she could feel the enamel grinding off. Resisting wasn’t her issue—it was the exact opposite. She wanted him to make her do it. Why couldn’t he make her do it?
She growled again. She had to do this or he would know. Or there would be more pain. And his pain was worse, so much worse. Kari breathed in a mouthful of air and tears. She thought of Mímrvor and his sweetest tunes.
Then, with all of her weight, she jumped off her toes and down onto the joint of her arm.
A crack ripped through the dark room and so did Kari’s scream.
“Good, Kari,” Apollyon said. “Let me take the pain away for you. You will feel this wound no more.” Kari stopped screaming and bit down on her lip. She could feel his attempt to help her, but like the other wields, it did not work. Not fully at least, the pain was muted but still present. At least he couldn’t see her convulsing on the floor.
All the King's Traitors Page 27