My mind was split between the knowledge of warmth and rest, and knowing the journey had finished. Knowing that Aeden and I were no longer together. I had missed my opportunity of forgiveness. I’d pushed him away for too long.
As I struggled with the bitter flavors of teenage sentiment, I remarked upon the sleepy village. It had been locked up tighter than a widow’s frown. Windows were shuttered against the cold. The cobbled streets were covered in a fine layer of snow. It looked so clean, as if untouched by the meddling feet of discontentment.
Once at Bellas Tower, we each went our own way. A runner had come for Aeden, ever important, he had been summoned by the grandmaster. Adel went straight to the dining hall; he had been complaining of his desperate need for something sweet. Oria went to her room. Caine went into temporary hiding. Sakhira had gone to the library.
As for me. I gathered my courage. I had decided I wouldn’t let Aeden go without a fight. We had been through so much. Aeden had lost his family and everything he knew. He had been a slave and fought in Sha’ril. He’d fought an Inquisitor and lived.
As for me, well, my city had burned before my very eyes. My own father had been killed. He was the man who’d raised me. The man who I’d argued with on the night the mystics had ravaged Gemynd. The night everything had unraveled like a giant ball of flaming yarn. The night I watched my father, the Lord of Bristol, butchered and killed.
There was still a pit of sadness in my heart. But the anger I once had, the anger against Aeden, had faded. Don’t get me wrong. I was still furious at what had happened. I was enraged, broken, sullen, and resolute. But I was still capable of rational thought.
I knew my father would have died that night, regardless of my intervention. I had been powerless to stop those men. That may be what grated at me most. That complete lack of ability. My complete helplessness. I was like one of the stupid damsels I always hated in a Sumor Play.
I also knew that Aeden wasn’t the one who’d stabbed my father. I knew deep in my heart that Aeden was only trying to save his brothers. He was trying to save Adel.
Without realizing it, I’d made it to the female dormitory. It was empty. I’d placed my bag onto my bed. The sudden lack of weight on my shoulders felt odd. It felt good. But I hardly noticed, for my thoughts still circled about Aeden like vultures around a carcass.
I thought on how he had saved the group. I thought on how he had saved me. I remembered how he’d built me a shelter and made me medicine. He had tended to my wounds. He’d pulled me from the bridge after fending off the harpies.
My hands were rubbing at my hip, where the rope at cut off circulation and bit into my skin. The memory was still fresh as newly fallen snow.
He’d flashed a tiny smile when he’d grabbed me and pulled me up. I felt so light in his hands. Strong hands that I still remember holding me, caressing me, protecting me from the dangers of the world.
It sounds silly, but there are times when one simply wants to hide from responsibility. Times when one wants to escape the weight of reality. When one wants to curl up in the arms of a lover and just forget.
It was in that moment that I’d decided to find him. I’d apologize. I’d make him mine again.
Oria could find someone else.
How stupid, young, and ignorant I was.
Without thought, I had made my way through Bellas Tower and to the Dining Hall. But Aeden wasn’t there. My heart sank a little, but I remained undeterred. With sore muscles and tight calves, I walked back up the stairs and into the Tower of the Arkein, searching the Chamber of Light. It was empty. I then moved upward to the Great Library, searching the nooks and crannies we’d frequented.
He wasn’t there.
I left the tower and made my way outside. I circled the twin towers as I stepped upon fresh fallen snow. I slipped under the archway leading into the Gardens of Andir, hoping to find Aeden moving through the forms of the gevecht.
Perhaps I’d stumble upon him as I had before. I’d rush into his arms, and we’d look out from the wall upon the expanse of Skadoian Valley. He’d hold me tight as we’d try to discern the shape of the hidden labyrinth.
But he wasn’t there. The gardens were as empty as a D’seart well.
Just as I was beginning to contemplate defeat, I’d remembered our first night in Andir. I knew where he’d be. It was almost poetic. I recalled the steamy images from Bellas Bathhouse. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of it.
I entered the bathhouse with a pending sense of excitement and a growing sense of angst. What would I say? How would I broach the topic? Perhaps I’d just slide into the water and join him and it’d be like it was. I’d straddle him, and he’d pull me in close, forgiving me, entering me.
But it wasn’t so.
The whispering of voices let me know he wasn’t alone. I lingered when I should have left. I eavesdropped when I should have confronted. I watched when I shouldn’t have.
Oria had beat me to it.
She straddled Aeden like a whore in a brothel. She rode him like some animal in the wild. She kissed him like some drunken maid.
I was furious. I was hurt. I broke into a thousand pieces.
Chapter 80
“There are no words for sorrow and regret.” Prince Mazin – Adumbrate Peak
The weeks passed rather uneventfully. My anger simmered like a pot of stew over a fire. I found comfort in my studies, diving into them like a fire hawk into water. I had a fervor of intent that drove me to excel. It prickled at my skin and tugged at my awareness. It compelled me to learn, to study, to become better.
You wouldn’t understand, but there are inequalities in life, between men and women. Some I recognize are simply physical, yet, many are structural. As a woman I’ve been viewed as weak, as inferior, as unworthy of training. Much to the detriment of those around me. I didn’t become Queen Bristol of Gemynd through luck or by accident.
At the time I compared myself to Aeden. I was irked by the unfairness of his position.
I didn’t have the benefit of Aeden’s private lessons. I didn’t have the ear of Zabal like Sakhira had. What I did have, was my wit and my charm.
I’ve learned that a woman can accomplish much in the shadows. We approach conflict from the side, from the hidden corner, away from prying eyes. Obscurity can be an incredible ally. Miscalculation and underestimation can be deadly for those who fail to check their flanks.
So, despite the supposed ban on avauncen students teaching others, I convinced Tilly to help. I used my womanly charm. I approached with a smile and with the social graces only the nobility knew how to muster.
As for Tilly Steck, she was odd. Tilly was from Sawol. I’m not saying that these go hand-in-hand, rather that she often made mention of the White City. She’d refer to it as a place of wonder, beauty, and progress.
Her oddness came from the way she’d stare into space when she thought. It was defined by the things she’d say. It was given shape by how she’d look at me, as if hungry for more affection, for greater intimacy. It was seen in her hushed whispers, forcing me to lean in close.
I tolerated her because she knew things I did not.
Tilly, however, wasn’t the only avauncen student. There was also Rafe.
Rafe, strangely, offered less in the way of the arkein, and more in the way of revenge. He was sweet and comforting and at times oddly distant. I should have known, then, that something was different about him. But I didn’t pay attention. I was too focused on Aeden. I was too focused on gaining Aeden’s attention and making him feel the emotional hurt I had felt.
Rafe knew this. He knew how I suffered. It was because of me that Rafe did what he did.
I regret it now. It was foolish. It was injudicious.
Thea stopped. Her voice fell silent, replaced by the crackling of a large campfire. Peter didn’t move as he waited for her to continue. He watched her with interest and patience.
“I must pause for a moment,” Thea said, looking into the distance.
Peter tore his eyes from Thea and stared into the fire. He watched as it crackled under a purple sky. He delighted in its comfort and its warmth.
“That was a difficult time, and not just for me.”
Thea took in a breath as if to say more, but she didn’t. Instead she let it out slowly as her shoulders sagged ever so slightly.
Peter looked up from the fire and studied Thea. The firelight played with her features. The soft colors cast her in equal parts light and shadow. They highlighted a woman who’d accomplished much. A woman who’d known love and lost it. A woman who was still searching for purpose.
Thea resumed rather abruptly.
“I will finish my story,” she said, “as I said I would, but I won’t bore you with the details.”
Peter felt inclined to complain. He wanted to tell Thea he enjoyed the details. Details are what made a story come alive. But he didn’t. Peter knew when to remain silent, and so he did.
Thea didn’t look up as she resumed. Instead, she stared at the fire, as if the story she was relaying were somehow written in the flickering dance of firelight.
“We had all changed after the Sages of Umbra. The month after we had returned was proof of that. It was like we carried a new weight and a new purpose. Like the burden of knowledge had somehow weighed us down, tying us to the Fold, as Verold whispered its quiet enticements.
“Sakhira had delved deeply into a hidden and older aspect of the arkein. I only knew this from rumor. Harmon had told Laurent, who had consequently, told everyone else. Laurent was horrible at keeping secrets. He was like a sieve trying to hold water.
“Harmon, he had been such a strange kid. His death had seemed so accidental. He had always been clumsy, bumping into things, tripping on flat surfaces. It was therefore, no great surprise when he had fallen, right off the bridge connecting the two towers.
“It was Laurent who’d found him. Harmon’s body was broken upon the stones, blood had pooled and frozen beneath him. His body had grown stiff in the cold of a Vintas night. That discovery had changed Laurent. It had affected him, and as a consequence, it had affected Dan. The two were as inseparable as fire and heat.
“They didn’t handle it well. They said it wasn’t an accident. They claimed it was murder. It’s the reason why they left with Aeden. I should have listened.”
Thea paused to take a drink of water. Her eyes held the faraway look of someone deep in thought. She blinked and continued.
“Which brings me back to that fateful morning. The morning Rafe stabbed Aeden with a magical shard of ice. A shard conjured from the moisture within the air itself.
“I will never forget that day. Aeden’s look of surprise, of pain, of fear. It stabbed at me with a tinge of regret and a certain, cold indifference. I had paid him back. He finally knew my pain. But at what cost?
“Aeden had never looked so vulnerable.
“Rafe could have killed him. I should have known that. But I had been so angry, so naive, so full of emotion that I’d been blinded to that possibility. I had wanted Aeden to feel my pain, and he had.
“Yet, as I left, the final image of him bleeding on the floor tore at me. It stained my soul. It spoke of darker times and a shadow about my heart. It was a callous act forged in a pit of despair.”
Thea paused again.
Peter looked up. He studied Thea for a moment. He thought he glimpsed a tear, lingering at the edges of her vision. Thea made no move to look away. Her expression remained neutral. Instead, she merely continued, almost mechanically.
“Aeden had been treated by Master Ashdown. He had recovered fully, although, I don’t think he ever forgave me.
“I truly broke him that day, as he had me. I guess that made us even in a twisted sort of way.
“On his final night, the night before his departure, I had decided to try to make amends. I had sought him out. Just to see how he was. Just to see him one last time. Part of me feared he’d never came back. Dimutia is wild. It is untamed. The stories about the Amevi are so incredulous as to make one not believe them.
“But I never had the chance. I only caught Master Glass step in close to Aeden, after the Grandmaster had talked to him. It was strange how much attention Aeden received. Even the silent giant, Master Xuban had come to see him off.
“I remember the whispered words of Master Glass. ‘Fear is but the crucifixion of man upon the planks of past and future.’ He had said it was an old Q’Bala expression. I barely caught the whispered words of ‘red door,’ and ‘when you get back.’ I couldn’t catch any more of their conversation. I couldn’t catch Aeden.
“With that he left.”
Thea’s eyes looked sullen. She tore her gaze from the fire and they sharpened with purpose.
“It’s time to get some rest. We’re near the Rainbow Mountains. From there, it’ll be a short trip to Bryn Yawr and the Temple of Gehenna.”
Epilogue
“Once risen from their slumber, a shadow will fall upon the fiery plains of Verold.” Canticle of Bodig
The annalist sat within the Schism, a lone specter in the night. A single candle flickered sullenly, casting a gloomy light. It sputtered and danced as if frightened and aware of the impending doom. His thoughts were woven and shaped by hidden hands playing upon some unseen loom, yet there was respite.
Upon the table was the response, now wound and tight. Scripted, short, and concise was the penned pirate’s riposte. They’d meet off the fabled shores of Dimutia in the dim hours of night. The answers he’d requested would finally yield to the gentle probes of insight.
The dim corners of awareness hinted at truth. History unfurled like some massive sail as the annalist watched from a distance, so far removed from his shadowed youth. Questions gave way to answers as thought gave way to dissent.
Aeden had been at the Siege of Sawol.
A looming headache anchored the annalist to the present. It threated to split his head and tear at his mind. The brittle fabric of reality was being unwound by unseen hands and spoke of malcontent. The unbound principles of the arkein, continued to work their latent bindings, foreboding and forewarning of death’s waiting kiss.
With a final glance upon the vellum sheet, the annalist leaned close and blew out the bright. The cabin fell into darkness, touched only by the moon’s reaching light. He sat unmoving, as he hurtled toward the abyss.
The Schism swayed and rolled as the annalist’s thoughts slowed. His mind cleared. Resolute and strong he closed his eyes, preparing for Dimutia’s unwelcoming bliss.
THE END
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Coming soon(ish) Part 4: Dimutia
Into the Fold Page 44