by David Estes
A heavy sigh from his father. “If I’m being honest, I’d hoped he wouldn’t be cursed either.”
“You know I hate that word.” Cursed, Archer thought. Are they talking about me?
“I know.”
“Stop.” This single word was spoken by neither Archer’s mother or father. Yet the voice was familiar, one he’d heard recently. The last voice he’d heard before he lost consciousness on the snow fields.
It was his uncle. Bane. I know darkness. I know violence. I can help you. His uncle’s words came back to him then, sending icy dread through him. He wanted to shiver, but his body refused.
“I know this is hard for you both,” Bane said slowly. “You have your demons, as do I. But you were not born with them. I was, just like your son. He doesn’t need comfort or compassion. He needs truth.”
What truth?
Another tadpole of cold fear swam through Archer as he remembered something else, a memory he knew he’d been ignoring until now. His brother, Garon. His bloodied face, his chest ripped open. No. His uncle was wrong. He didn’t need the truth. He didn’t want it, not if it meant—
“Brother,” the queen said. “He saved Garon’s life. The healers barely got to my son in time. If they hadn’t…” Her words trailed away but Archer didn’t need to know the rest because Garon was alive, and that was enough for him. The utter joy that filled him was sufficient to finally allow his eyelids to flutter open, his lips and tongue working once more.
“Urr,” he groaned, his tongue dry, the inside of his mouth like sandpaper.
His mother’s face appeared quickly, her eyes filled with concern. She cupped his cheek with her hand, which was warm. “Archer. You’re awake.”
“I’m…” he couldn’t find the word for a second. “Cursed?”
She shook her head and he saw the tears that sparkled. His mother rarely cried and it frightened him more than anything. What is wrong with me? “You are special. Like your father.”
“I—I don’t understand.”
“You will. The important thing is that your brother is safe. You saved his life.”
“But the bear. I—I couldn’t stop—just like with Garon. I don’t know how to stop. There was this…” How could he explain without sounding like a madman? There is this voice in my head, Mother. It tells me to murder and destroy and, oh yeah, it screams like a banshee too. Isn’t that nice?
“You will grow used to the voice, son,” his father said, his broad face appearing on the opposite side.
“What? How could you know that?” Something his mother had said finally clicked in his mind. You are special. Like your father.
He sat up rapidly, bringing his hands up before him, palms down. His fingers began to shake, and his mother covered them with her warm hands, tucking them beneath the covers.
She hadn’t been fast enough though, and he had seen. His skin was pale and glassy, free of the tiny hairs that had once grown there. And through his skin he had seen the black veins, bulging upwards like little snakes.
Suddenly he couldn’t breathe even though his mouth was open and he was sucking at the air which was gone, drawn from the room by some force that was not of their world, or so it felt.
What am I what am I what am I?
The door opened and Archer looked up, finally spotting his uncle, who was standing in the corner. Lisbeth Lorne entered, but stopped when Archer’s eyes fell on her. How does she know I’m looking at her?
Her blue eye flared on her forehead, and she murmured, “Shadows in his soul…”
“Father?” Archer’s voice seemed to come from a faraway place, even to him. “What does she mean? What is happening to me?”
“Son, there’s something you need to know.”
Epilogue 2: Falcon Hoza
The Southern Empire, Phanea- Circa 548
Falcon Hoza, once the emperor of the famed and infamous empire of Phanes, read the letter with interest. He always enjoyed getting news from the Four Kingdoms. Though, as an ambassador of Phanea, he often traveled across the borders, he still spent much of his time in the great canyon city.
This message was from the north, and contained the surprising news that one of the Gäric-Sheary children—the eldest, Archer—apparently shared his father’s…gift. At least that was the term being used. Falcon had only met the great knight, Tarin Sheary, once before, and he couldn’t help but to be intimidated given the man’s sheer size and unnaturally pale skin. Falcon wondered if the boy would grow even larger than his father, the thought making him chuckle slightly.
“What is it?” Falcon’s companion said, looking up from the message she’d been hunched over for the better part of an hour, the pair passing the early morning in comfortable silence.
Shanti didn’t look up as Falcon’s gaze fell upon her. Her tongue was out slightly, emerging from the corner of her mouth the way it always did when she was concentrating. Her quill dipped and dived, scrawling words across a long portion of parchment that was now mostly filled with words to her best friend, Sonika Vaid, who was currently living in one of the border cities, Gem City, with her brother Gat and her squad of peacekeepers, the Black Tears. They were trying to quell another uprising, something that was becoming more and more frequent in the south.
Not for the first or last time, Falcon wondered why Shanti was with him and not the Black Tears, the group she’d dedicated so much of her life to serving.
Not that he minded. He’d loved her for a very long time, a love that, unfortunately, she’d never been able to reciprocate, at least not in the manner he wished for.
He drank her in with his eyes, though he didn’t need to—he’d long ago memorized her every feature. He could almost predict what she would do next—there! She lifted one of her hands to tame a stray lock of coppery hair, tucking it behind her ear. In the early morning light, her skin looked more pink than red, and he longed to run his finger along the shape of her jawline. Her lips were a temptation he only refused because he couldn’t bear to scare her away. Losing her would be akin to losing himself.
Alas, he knew, her heart was forever with another, one who was as unreachable to her as she was to him.
They didn’t live together, not exactly, for such a thing was for lovers, not friends, but their caves were directly beside one another, separated by a few feet of stone that could be crossed in a moment. When they were both in Phanea, they took turns crossing to each other’s homes in the morning, spending hours in enjoyable companionship, talking sometimes, other times not. What they did mattered not, at least not to Falcon. All that mattered was that they were together.
Some of Falcon’s friends, including Sonika, regularly labeled him a fool for pining after someone as distant as the stars, but Falcon cared not. In the stories he read, such patience was rewarded one way or another. Aye, sometimes such tales ended in tragedy, but there was always that fleeting moment of immeasurable joy before the end. He would die a million deaths for such a moment with Shanti.
I will wait for you, he thought. Always.
Just then she looked up, furrowing her brow. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to stare?” she said. She was joking, he could tell, her eyes sparkling like the emeralds her people, the Terans, had once mined when they were enslaved by his father.
“It’s just…”
“Just what?” she asked, and her eyes grew sharp, a challenge in them.
You’re so beautiful. “You have a spot of jam on your chin.”
She laughed. “Do I?” She wiped at her skin, removing the smudge that had been there long after they’d finished their breakfast. He’d wanted to kiss it away the entire time, which was why it had taken him so long to read his messages, distracted to his limits.
“You got it,” he said.
“You never answered my question. What made you laugh before?”
Shanti was an ambassador to Teragon, and so she spent much of her time at sea and in the lands even further south than Phanes. Whenever they were
both back in Phanea, they swapped stories of the goings on in their respective areas. “The eldest prince of the north is going to grow at least as large as his father,” he said.
“Truly?” Though Shanti had never met Sir Sheary, Falcon had described the knight to her in great detail. “He shall be as tall as a mamoothen.”
“And as strong to boot.”
Shanti smiled and turned back to her letter, finishing it with the flourish of her signature. The scroll was so long it would require three stream workers to send.
Falcon hesitated before voicing the question on the tip of his tongue. “Shanti…” he started, his voice growing husky. He’d only asked her this thing twice before. The first was a year after the battle known as the Fall of All Things, and she’d grown angry, refusing to speak to him for a long few months afterwards. The second time was five years ago, and instead of becoming angry she’d looked sad—so sad. He hated seeing her that way, which was the primary reason he’d waited so long to ask her again. Will you be my wife?
“Falcon,” she said, looking up with eyes he could drown in. “Don’t. Please. Don’t ruin things.”
Oh gods, how he wanted to be hers. But he didn’t want to destroy what they had. It would have to be enough. “I—I’d better get to training,” he said.
Satisfied, she smiled and stood, going to him as he did the same. “As should I,” she said, kissing him once on each cheek, the embrace of dear friends and nothing more.
Never more.
“Goodbye, Shanti. See you tonight?”
Her smile broke him in two, but the pain was worth it—would always be worth it. “Yes,” she said. “Of course.”
Falcon made his way to the place that had once been his home, the palace passed down from dozens of generations of Hozas. After the Fall of All Things those many years ago, Falcon had relinquished the empire, calling for a new and radically different form of government, one the Four Kingdoms had never seen before. Instead of a single ruler, they had devised a system of various delegations, each with equal voting power. To Falcon, it had seemed like the fairest way of making decisions, as each member of society had a voice through the elected officials for their area.
However, as the years wore on, animosity between delegations grew, and recently there had been rebel uprisings when decisions were made that went against one or more of the parties. It was the job of Sonika’s Black Tears to quell such uprisings, a strange change for a group that had once been rebels themselves. But Sonika believed in the fairness of the new system, so she did everything in her power to maintain peace.
Falcon, however, wanted nothing to do with it. He might’ve been born to be a leader, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be one. If so, he would’ve remained emperor.
Passing through the Phanecian marketplace, he easily forgot the cares of the realm, getting lost in the familiarity of the world he’d grown up in: The tantalizing spice-infused smells of smoked pyzon and roasted nuts; the brightly colored silk scarves, dresses, and other clothing worn by most women; the malleable leather armor favored by men; a group of women dancing phen sur—Falcon was surprised to see several men in their midst, performing the graceful forms unabashedly; others practicing phen ru, the martial art of attack, twisting and turning with power and agility, and still more training at phen lu, using the fluid motions to defend against invisible foes. Though war had been absent from the Four Kingdoms for many years now, Falcon was glad to see his people’s traditions carried on with such vigor.
He reached the palace, which was now known as the House of Order, a place for the delegates to meet and vote on the issues of the day. Though the uprisings had been growing in frequency and strength, the grounds behind the white-painted walls had thus far been unaffected.
The guards opened the gates ahead of him, and he couldn’t help but to enjoy the respect his name and past station granted him. He enjoyed his other job, the one he performed while home in Phanea. As a master of phen ru, he taught the children of the delegates the art of attack. On the opposite side of the palace, Shanti would soon begin her own training, for those of the children who’d selected to learn phen sur. Most of her students were girls, while almost all of Falcon’s were boys. The final group learned phen lu and was comprised of a mixture of both genders. They were taught by a woman who’d once been one of the Black Tears.
Falcon approached his students, who were already stretching and preparing for the few hours of training ahead of them. When he clapped his hands and then placed his fist over his heart, they straightened up, formed a line, and mimicked the gesture.
He walked down the line, inspecting each boy in turn. There was only a single girl, a nine-year-old named Ava who was as tough as any of the boys—perhaps tougher. Her father was a delegate from the Teran district, and though her mother was Phanecian, she favored her father’s coppery hair and reddish skin. He stopped in front of her, admiring her form, the confident positioning of her raised chin.
He moved on, firming up some of the boys’ stances, noting leather that was smudged or unclean. None of the Phanecian martial arts were only about physical movement. No, they were about overall cleanliness, spirituality, and mental strength. These precepts had been lost during his father’s reign, but finally Falcon felt like they’d been brought back to the forefront, a small victory.
“In a week’s time we shall compete in the annual phen ru-lu-sur tourney,” Falcon said. “Are you prepared?”
“Yes, Master Hoza,” the thirteen boys and one girl said in unison. It had taken a while for Falcon to get used to the title ‘Master,’ considering the connotation the word had once held. Now he clung to it as a shining example of how far they’d come. It no longer meant master of slaves, but educator, teacher.
He shook his head. “No, you are not.” He was pleased that none of them flinched or turned their heads to look at them. Their obedience was impressive, a testament to their progress since joining his group. Back then he could barely get them to pay attention for more than a few minutes. “But you will be. At ease. Face your sparring partners!”
The next few hours passed quickly, a mix of sparring and instruction, culminating in a free for all ‘battle’ where Falcon determined who was eliminated. At the end, the girl was the only one left standing. She’d accomplished the same several times before, but Falcon could still tell it irked the boys. “Use your failure to motivate you,” he said. “Even a defeat can be a victory if you respond to it correctly.”
The group disbanded and Falcon, against his better judgment, left to see if Shanti had finished up yet. Why do you torture yourself? he thought, though he already knew the answer. Because I love her.
Love. It was something that seemed so simple in the books he read. There were always obstacles, of course, but the pairs were determined to break them down, no cost too great. But what if the cost of love was never getting to enjoy it? Was it worth it then?
Yes, he thought. For Shanti, I will be broken forever.
He climbed a marble staircase, determined not to be seen. Sure enough, over the balustrade in the courtyard below were Shanti and her students. Opposite to Falcon’s group they were all girls save one, a boy who carried himself with a willowy grace that was equal to that of the dancing girls.
His breath caught, because Shanti was dancing with her students, performing an example of each step, each movement, pausing between each to offer instruction. If she was not a woman, she would be the wind and the rain and a ray of sunshine combined into one being. She transcended beauty and grace, and yet…
Shadows continued to cling to her eyes, her expression. It was a stark reminder that she had a dark past, as they all did.
And then her eyes found Falcon’s and he was caught in the act. He expected her to frown, to fire darts from her eyes, but she didn’t. No, instead she smiled.
Though it might’ve been his imagination, he thought he saw the shadows lift from her face just a little.
One week later
Thousands had flocked to the grounds of the House of Order for the tournament. Not only would the delegates’ children be competing, but all trainees from across the realm, some traveling as far as from Gem City or even Iris, the furthest Phanecian city from the capital.
The night before, Shanti and Falcon had hosted a dinner with Sonika and Gat Vaid and the rest of the Black Tears, who had arrived earlier that day. Now, the peacekeepers were spread throughout the crowd as a reminder that this event would remain civil.
Amongst Falcon’s students, there was an air of nervous excitement. They had worked hard over the last year. The final week had been particularly brutal, as Falcon has extended their training hours each day until he was satisfied that their preparation would be unmatched by any save Shanti.
Each class would face another class, the students participating in single combat until all from one group had been eliminated. The format made for a long day, with victors from the outer rings moving toward the inner rings until the finalists were left to fight in the center circle.
Falcon spotted Shanti and her students making their way through the throng wearing all black. Though they were marching in step, there was no stiffness in their gait, their movements lithe and graceful. It’s as if she’s created a dozen miniature versions of herself, Falcon thought with a smile.
Shanti’s gaze drifted to meet his, and she returned his grin, though hers was filled with a competitive fire he’d rarely seen in her over the years. He was thankful for the martial arts; in a way, they’d brought her back from the dead.
And me too, he thought.
Once Shanti’s students had passed by, he refocused on his own, giving them last minute instruction and words of advice. “Enjoy the moment,” was the final thing he said to them, for no tournament was worth it if you didn’t have a bit of fun.
His first three students to fight were all defeated by boys trained outside the House of Order. Each gave it their all and did him proud, however, and he hugged them as they wiped away tears before anyone could notice. One of the parents of the boys approached. “You promised us victory,” the man said sharply.