by S L Matthews
A glimmer of light caught the morning sun, diverting her gaze, and her dark thoughts. A sleek, blue dagger, bearing a flowered, ornamental hilt, stood wedged between the floorboards. Its tip buried deep, a frosted mist leeched into the morning air. The boards around the blade were frozen solid, icy remnants that cracked and popped.
Ava stood for a moment, staring at the dagger. She knew its shape. She’d felt the cold metal against her skin, yet didn’t know why—or where.
Her gaze drifted to another lifeless form, draped in pristine, white robes, slumped against an old leather chair. Ava had barely known Thibold, the stranger from Crossroads, yet he seemed to have known everything about her. The mere mention of her name had brought terror to his eyes. This merchant, this dagger, had traveled for days—weeks even. They found their way to the man who nearly fulfilled their singular purpose—to kill her.
Shrill cries echoed through Ava’s mind as the voices returned. She braced against the windowsill, a chaotic blend of languages coursing through her mind, a chorus of incomprehensible gibberish. In time, however, the languages synchronized. Sounds and voices aligned to something Ava could understand, something familiar. Symbols became words, words became meaning, and Ava finally heard, in perfect clarity. As though the myriad of voices called out at once.
“Vesera!”
And fell silent.
Ava reached for the old, worn necklace, her fingernails chipping away flecks of rust along each facet. She tapped the onyx gems. Darkness swirled beyond the hardened surface, and Ava felt their haunting call, but the voices were gone. Nervous, she pulled the necklace to her chest. The cold gems warmed her heart. She tightened the clasp behind her neck, and an uneasy comfort overtook her. The pain in her head, the screams, and the tremors had all subsided.
The grand chamber stood utterly silent. Panicked cries echoed from the market below, but Ava’s prison remained still, as though lost in time. She heard the sound of her breath and the faint echoes of chips falling from the ceiling—but no more.
She’ll kill us all, Ava thought, recalling Thibold’s last words.
Her gaze bounced from one man to the other. Sorrow filled her heart as she remembered the last victim in Viktor’s play. Tears welled in the corner of Ava’s eyes as she cupped a hand to her mouth. Dijor lay in the center of the room. The man she would gladly trade places with, the father she never had, had died for her—for nothing.
Horror crept into her heart. Three men lay dead before her, two she knew, one she did not. “But Viktor, she’ll kill us all,” she whispered.
Was he right?
The amulet pulsed once more. Subtle whispers entered Ava’s thoughts, reminding her of her mother’s face and soft words. Her gaze turned to the darkened corner of the room. Broken glass littered the floor, along with red wine, gems, papers, and blood. Ava examined her hands. The old amulet weaved through her fingertips as guilt, remorse, confusion, and fear surfaced as one.
“I… was dead?”
A chill crept up Ava’s spine while a breeze swept through Viktor’s chamber. Gooseflesh covered her bare legs, and soothing, salty air washed into the room. Through the open window, in the old market and docks below, was everything Ava ever wanted.
Freedom.
She stepped to the window and embraced the sun’s warmth. Ava took in the crisp, salty air as a bud of hope rose to the surface. She subconsciously glanced to Viktor’s still body, then returned her gaze to the gaping maw of possibility.
I can—leave?
Afraid to hope, scared to dream, Ava wished upon a star that … can it be? A bud of excitement bloomed within; one Ava was quick to suppress. She had dared such thoughts before, dozens of times, even. Each was squashed quicker than the last by Viktor and his armed lap dogs downstairs.
But this time would be different. It just—had to be.
The morning sun dimmed, and a long shadow crept across Ava’s second-story window. As happened every morning, a shiver shot up her spine. Steadily, the sun drifted behind a colossal statue guarding the harbor. Its wings outstretched, they consumed the whole of the bay, cloaking the city in shadow.
She wrapped her arms around her shoulders, but Viktor’s tunic did little to conceal the chill in the air. The silky maroon fabric was soft to the touch and, with its brilliant gold accents, designed to impress. It was made for an oversized lump of a man, however, and tumbled off one shoulder, failing to reach her knees. She had grown accustomed to the cool morning breeze. The shadow of the dragon statue, however, always chilled her to her core.
Ava leaned against the window, studying the majestic statue. Between its massive legs, families darted about in panic. The old market had turned to chaos as waves of people escaped the tremor’s destruction. Buildings crumbled around them, and the city, along with its inhabitants, all bore the same, gray coat of dust. Within the chaos, a small boy staggered. He appeared lost—abandoned—aimlessly wandering through the market. Ava’s eyes widened in terror.
Dari!
She vaulted across the room, hurdling broken fragments of ceiling and debris. She stumbled over table legs and crashed into an old armoire as she fled to the double doors. She flicked open the lock and barreled into the empty hallway to the sound of sheer panic. Cries of pain and agony echoed from beyond.
She approached the balcony and gazed upon the belly of the Guilded Wyrmling Inn. Broken tables and chairs filled the floor, along with scores of battered survivors.
Ava’s golden blonde hair was matted and ragged, patched in clumps of dried blood and wine. Her body was scraped and bloodied, covered in a fine layer of blackened dust, yet by the looks of it, she had fared better than most.
She scanned the line of wounded, most screaming in pain, some injured or dying. Some were frozen in time, destined never to move again. The longer she stared, however, the more her gaze narrowed, the more her thoughts darkened.
Where were they when I needed help?
She scowled, silently condemning the masses. How many were leaving on the next ship to the east? How many of these men had she—entertained? Her lips narrowed, and her jaw tightened, a cursed breath escaping her lips.
Her gaze drifted to the massive, stone fireplace and the bench she had directed Dari to earlier in the morning. To her relief, he sat quietly, his knees wrapped in his arms. He gently rocked as chaos ensued around him.
Ava looked beyond the wounded and the subtle rays of light that penetrated the seaside windows. Dust filtered through as the sun beckoned her forward. She brushed off her waist, aligned her tunic, tugged on its hem, and took her first, fleeting steps down the stairs—toward freedom.
| Chapter III
Burning Tide
Three ships drifted off the shore of Wyvern's Rest, close enough to witness a plume of dust rise against a backdrop of Highland bluffs, far enough that no one would hear their screams. There would be no aid, and as the icy waters of the Abyssal Sea clutched at Cooper's chest, there was no guarantee of survivors. He clung to Taryn while they drifted from the sinking vessels: one burning, one listing heavily into the blackened waves, and another already succumbed to their murky depths.
The war was over: weapons sheathed and battle lines blurred. Those in the water fought for survival. Those aboard the flaming pirate ship had a fight of their own as constant screams echoed from above. A resounding splash indicated one more survivor—for now. A massive groan echoed across the waves as the Promenade tugged against the Cyrean frigate, pulling it further into the Abyssal Sea.
Taryn moaned while waves crashed against his body. Cooper winced, pressing against his brother’s blood-stained shirt. He cursed the fate that brought Taryn to the sea, coming to terms with two undeniable truths: he would be responsible for his brother’s death, and there was little he could do to stop it.
The horrific rumble continued to echo from the nearby bluffs while the waves grew more agitated. A sense of dread overtook Cooper, his gaze fixed on the fabled city skyline. The black waters of the sea
slowly rose, replacing crumbling city walls and man's indifference with an ever-growing wall of water.
The wall grew as a wave raced toward the trio of hapless ships, and those still clinging to survival. In time, the towers and city walls disappeared altogether. Cries of panic ensued as soldiers, pirates, and civilians caught sight of the wave. There would be no escape. While the unstoppable force bore down upon them, Cooper clutched Taryn's collar, desperate to distance himself from the vessels.
With the force of a thousand battering rams, the wave crashed into the pirate ship. Icy water spilled over the deck, dousing the flames and sending all aboard hurtling into the sea. The ship groaned as it listed, its entire deck coming into view. The vessel lurched forward, careening over helpless victims and smashing into what remained of the Cyrean Frigate. Barrels, weapons, and humanity thrust into the burning deck of the Orcus.
Terrible screams echoed through the water, dying out an instant later. While the pair of ships intertwined, the decks reignited, leaving Cooper with a single, terrifying thought.
Jorel?
Cooper fought to suppress his thoughts. His friend had gotten out of far worse…hadn't he? He distanced himself from the ships, but he was no match for the oncoming wave. Like a brick wall, it hit the pair of brothers. Frigid, salty water blasted against Cooper, who fought to maintain a grip on Taryn’s vest.
The wave thrust Cooper deeper into the sea, along with what remained of the doomed vessels. Huge sails dipped into the water, collapsing across the litany of bodies already claimed by the sea. The ship emptied its bowels onto the helpless souls below. Cooper raised his hands, shielding his head as debris rained down, churning the icy water.
“Taryn, we need to get away from…”
Cooper’s gaze fell back to his brother, but Taryn was gone. Cooper grew desperate as the sea whipped into a frenzy.
“Taryn!”
But Cooper’s was one of a hundred screams, of soldiers spilling into the frigid water, and of civilians desperately clinging to survival. The pirate vessel performed its death roll, and Cooper’s voice was drowned out, with no sign of his younger brother.
His voice tightened and his heart raced. Cooper continued to scream Taryn’s name, desperate for an answer. Thoughts of their childhood returned: memories of the inn, of Ava, and a promise yet to be fulfilled. Even amid chaos, among screams of terrified men and women, an unmistakable voice cut through the Sea.
“Ava!” Taryn’s voice cracked, his tone strained.
Cooper sliced through the water, his heart beating through his chest. His legs and feet were numb, but his mind was clear, focused on a single objective. He climbed over fallen crates and pushed aside floating bodies while Taryn’s call continued to ring out.
“Ava!” he screamed again, tears filling his words.
Cooper spotted Taryn floating on his back. The waves lapped over his brother’s face while Taryn’s bloodied hand clutched a small, silver charm around his neck. Cooper took an enormous breath and dove under the waves, kicking his way under fallen masts and burning sail.
When he finally arrived at Taryn’s side, Cooper’s brother was fading. Taryn’s hysterical calls continued to ring out, though it was clear his wound had taken its toll. Cooper grabbed the winged charm and tucked it back under Taryn’s shirt.
“You’re gonna need that soon. We’ll give it to her together.”
Every cruel joke and every spiteful word made at the expense of Ava’s charm flooded Cooper’s mind. He cursed his immaturity while he scanned the nearby water. A broken door ebbed through the waves, Cyrean soldiers clung to its side. Cooper paddled to the door, lifting his brother onto the floating debris. Flying fists and belligerent curses awaited them.
“Find your own way out, damn pirates!”
A red-cloaked soldier shoved Taryn’s body into the water, shooting a scowl in Cooper’s direction. Cooper lunged for Taryn, but he slipped beneath the waves, followed by the relentless taunts of the soldiers.
“Taryn!” Cooper yelled, diving under the waves once more. He reached for Taryn, whose body was falling toward the depths of the sea. Cooper grabbed Taryn’s vest, then looked back to the water’s surface. He eyed the silhouette of the broken door and the two shadowy forms hanging onto one side.
Cooper kicked upward, racing toward the surface. With his arm outstretched, Cooper launched through the door, flipping it on top of the Cyrean soldiers. In one motion, Cooper lifted Taryn onto the door and kicked away from the crippled ships.
He continued to kick, desperate to distance Taryn from the chaos of the sea, but a cold hand clutched Cooper’s leg, pulling him away from the floating door and its injured passenger. Frantic, Cooper lunged for the sword around Taryn’s waist, stripping it from its sheathe. He spun, driving the blade deep into the back of the Cyrean soldier.
The pair plunged into the murky water, Cooper driving the blade into the red-cloaked soldier. He twisted the weapon until the soldier ceased fighting, sinking deeper into the Sea.
Cooper’s eyes shot to the surface once more, searching for the second soldier. Like a shark, its silhouette circled the broken door and Taryn’s body, still clinging to life. To his horror, however, other shapes had joined the hunt, desperate to remove themselves from the icy waters of the Abyssal Sea.
Cooper’s heart pounded. He gripped the hilt of the sword and braced his boots against the lifeless soldier’s armor. He lunged, propelling himself toward the surface. His arm shot backward; however, the sword wedged into the crimson armor.
The pair continued to sink, their descent aided by heavy plate and the sea’s insatiable hunger. Cooper gave two more desperate tugs, but the sword would not break free.
His breath was failing.
Cooper’s gaze darted to the surface once again. His view grew darker, sinking into the sea’s eerie depths. The faint shadows had closed in on Taryn’s life raft, and Cooper knew—he was out of time. He scowled at his accursed blade, then bent his knee and kicked toward the surface, leaving it to the same fate as the soldier.
Four pairs of legs clutched onto the door, then a fifth, then a sixth. Cooper kicked faster than his legs were capable, yet more silhouettes swam toward Taryn. Cooper was exhausted and out of breath, but he forced himself to swim faster and faster. He neared the shadowy figures above and desperately searched for a way to fend off a half dozen men.
Then, like a shadow born from his nightmares, a limp silhouette slid from the raft, helplessly drifting into the sea. Cooper’s spirits plummeted, for there was no mistaking his brother’s form, drifting from safety.
Icy water lapped against the shoreline as Amoran stood, pushing his grey, matted mane against his head. He tugged at his chin, reforming the peculiar point of his beard and twisted tips of his mustache. His thoughts were dark, his expression solemn, staring into a void near the shoreline. His carriage, along with his travel companions, lay buried under a mountain of rock and remnants of the broken highway.
Amoran’s lips quivered, shaking his head in disbelief. “I’m so sorry, Camille.” His voice broke, remembering the child-like giggle that shot from her mouth at, well—everything. He sighed, lifting the polished hilt of a finished blade from the rocks. The sword was snapped in two, though the memory of its bearer lodged deep within Amoran.
Several rocks tumbled down the embankment, pulling Amoran from his quiet contemplation. Cries echoed from the broken square, along with the idle mumbling of a man, working diligently on the slope.
Among the lifeless, milky white creatures and splintered pieces of wagon knelt a dark-haired man, leaning against the broken trunk of an old oak tree. His blue cloak, ragged and torn, rustled in the breeze while he lifted one boulder at a time, allowing them to tumble helplessly toward the icy waters of the sea.
“Anduin?” Amoran whispered. He braced his hand against his old knees and leaned against a boulder, eyeing the Lieutenant in disbelief.
“Anduin!”
Amoran paused for a response, bu
t the Cambrian Lieutenant continued the deliberate removal of boulders from the tree trunk.
“Lieutenant Celaera!”
He glanced up to Tindera Square and the shadows that lingered along the broken highway. Yet there was no response from the embattled soldier.
Amoran looked closer. Chunks of the Cambrian soldier’s armor were missing, blood saturating the pieces that remained. His mangled leg bent awkwardly beneath his body. Yet without hesitation, he dug.
“Oh no,” Amoran whispered. “Camille.”
He navigated up the rocky embankment, stumbling over rocks and loose boulders. Several minutes, and a dozen curse words, later, Amoran reached his young friend. Through all the commotion, Anduin never raised his head, and never stopped digging. Amoran extended a cautious hand. He grasped the lieutenant’s shoulder, hoping to break his concentration.
“Anduin?” he questioned once more, concern leaching into his voice.
The young soldier paused but did not remove his eyes from the hole near the base of the tree. Amoran winced, studying Anduin’s wounds until his gaze wandered across the soldier’s wrist.
Wrapped delicately around the lieutenant’s forearm was a slender, golden chain. The chain encircled his wrist before diving into the palm of his hand, where it met with a small, golden locket—Camille’s locket.
“She’s not dead,” Anduin whispered.
They were broken and soft, yet his solemn words shattered the silence. Anduin gently unfolded his fingers, allowing the broken trinket to dangle from his wrist.
Amoran traced the necklace with his fingertips, recalling memories of the past week and the raven-haired young travel companion who had made it all more bearable. His heart swelled until a deep longing consumed him.
He lowered his head. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant. I dove into the water after her.” His words grew more agitated as he recounted his search. “I found the wreckage and cast it aside. I—I found dozens of those damned creatures.”