Soul Blaze

by Legacy, Aprille

  “I don’t know what to bloody well believe anymore!” I sobbed. “I’ve been played and used and lied to but I don’t know who by! I don’t know who’s telling the truth. I don’t know who’s lying. It’s driving me insane.”

  He cupped my face in his hands and made me look up at him.

  “Do you remember anything?” he asked softly, and for a moment it sounded as though he was pleading.

  The sunwas setting... “Something,” I whispered, suddenly recalling my flash back in Ar Cena. “I remember... a sunset. A sunset over a forest. And it was so beautiful.”

  He smiled, and brushed a thumb against my cheek, much like I’d done to his portrait.

  “Our first kiss.” He told me softly. “And,” I said, images now flying before my mind’s eye. “I remember yelling... and screaming,” I narrowed my eyes, struggling to recall. “Fire, I think. And,” I looked up into his eyes, which were only inches from my face. “Your eyes. Immense sadness.”

  He pressed his forehead against mine and closed his eyes. I didn’t mind a bit. His presence was calming the frantic need for my magic. It was dulling the obsession.

  “Our last kiss.” He said finally. I closed my eyes, my lashes brushing his cheek. I felt his hand leave the one behind my back and work its way up towards my hair. I didn’t stop him as he undid the tie holding my hair in a bun. The long waves cascaded down and tumbled over my shoulders, the breeze pushing it back slightly.

  “Did you love me?” I asked him.

  His thumb brushed my cheek again, but this time his hand remained there, half cupping my face.

  “I still do,” he whispered, and when he leant down to kiss me I didn’t stop him. His kiss, though soft at first, quickly became desperate. He let my other hand go, but I didn’t reach for my knife. Instead I wrapped my arms around his neck and stood on my tip toes so as to deepen the kiss. His arms went around my waist, clutching me tightly.

  He broke the contact suddenly. “I have to go,” he said, his voice low. “But we’ll see each other again soon. I want to help you regain your memories, Sky. Don’t listen to Iain and Netalia. They’re the ones who banished you, and they’re using you now. Don’t be a pawn.”

  He kissed me again. I held him to me for one final moment; the second he’d broken away, I’d felt the obsessive need for my magic rise again, and I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to control my actions.

  “Go,” I whispered, stepping back. I clenched my fists as the urge to attack him rose. “Go, now, quickly.” He frowned, stepping forwards. The tension lowered slightly.

  “Sky, what is it?” “I’ll explain later, but right now I don’t know how long I can control this,” I hissed. It was causing me physical pain to stand there, immobile. “Go!”

  He went. I gripped my head as it pounded.

  The fire. The whitefire.The power inmy blood, inmy veins.

  I needed the magic or I’d go insane. “That was quite a performance,” Netalia remarked, suddenly appearing next to the bench I’d been sitting on. She had my swords in her hands. “You were meant to kill him, not kiss him, Rose.”

  “You’ll forgive me for not committing murder,” I retorted sharply, the pain in my head roaring. I clutched my head. “It might come as a surprise to learn that I’m not as soulless as you are.”

  “The irony kills me,” she remarked dryly. “Come with me. Now.”

  The kind grandmother was gone. In her place was a bitter old woman who hated me.

  She’d always been that, I realised as I followed her. She was never my friend.

  “The fire,” I asked her, and I winced when I realised it sounded like I was begging. “Please. My magic.” “You didn’t do what we asked,” she replied. I followed her into the castle, the cool shadow of the building enveloping me. “But I will appeal to Iain.”

  “You will?” I asked, hope rising in my chest. It’s a trap! I thought furiously, struggling against my own consciousness. She won’t hand it over, they’ll never hand it over, run, go now, don’t be an idiot!

  But try as I might, I could turn my body around. Not if there was some chance that I might get my magic back.

  Instead of leading me towards Iain’s office, she took me down a flight of stairs.

  “Where are we going?” I asked nervously. I followed her against my will.

  “Iain is working down here today,” she replied, not looking up at me. I knew she was lying, but I couldn’t stop myself following her. It was no surprise to me when we emerged into the dungeons below the castle.

  Before I could even begin contemplating resisting, she turned, gripped my wrists and secured iron shackles around them.

  “You knew the end of the bargain you’d get if you didn’t follow through,” she snarled, anger marring her soft features. “So here you stay.”

  I fought back, managing to get my hands free. I swung both fists at her, catching her just under the chin. Her head jerked back, and just as I was feeling guilty for hitting an old woman, she lashed out at me, and magic my own magic, I realised with dread - hit me with full force.

  I was knocked backwards into a cell. As I struggled to my feet, Netalia slammed the door closed with awful finality. Blood trickled down her neck from the wound on her jaw.

  “I’ll be back down in a couple of days to discuss your trial,” she said through the bars and my blood ran cold.

  “Trial?” I asked in disbelief. “Trial for what?”

  “I’m sure we can think of something.” She smirked.

  I flew at her, the shackles around my wrists clinking as I gripped the bars that separated us. “You’re making a mistake,” I told her through the bars. Our faces were inches apart. “I’ll get out of here, and then I’ll make you realise just how big that mistake is.”

  “That’d be a lot more terrifying if you weren’t alone behind bars without any magic,” she said, her features smug. I wanted to hit her again. She turned and began to walk back up the stairs. “Sit tight, Sky. Your fate is already decided.”

  I repeated all of the swear words that I’d shouted at her that first day in this very cell, spitting them through the bars with as much venom as I could muster.

  But she didn’t turn around.

  She didn’t come back. I was alone.

  ~Chapter Eight~

  I don’t know how long I stayed in that cell. Days blurred together, and I slept only out of exhaustion. The shackles chaffed my wrists. I grew hungrier and hungrier all of the time, until hunger didn’t exist anymore and there was only hollowness. My lips dried and cracked and bled.

  I forgot what sunshine felt like. The only light in the dungeons came from the torches which burned endlessly. I slept sitting up in the far corner, my chin on my chest.

  “What a right mess you’ve gotten into,” the familiar voice berated me once again. I’d gotten used to this hallucination. “Is this where you disappeared to, daughter of mine?”

  “Yes,” I croaked. “I’m stuck in here.” “Then you need to get yourself out,” my mother propped her hands on her hips and looked about. “You need to come back to me.”

  “I can’t,” I whispered. A tear leaked out of my eye and trickled down my cheek. “I can’t, Mum, I’m sorry.”

  I closed my eyes for a second, and when I opened them she was gone.

  “I’m sorry.” I repeated.

  The tear had run dry. I was too dehydrated and exhausted to keep crying. Hours passed, and only when I found myself growing sleepy did I realise it must be night. I slept obediently, though not comfortably.

  Footsteps coming down the steps to my cell jerked me awake. I eyed the stairs off apprehensively; another hallucination?

  Netalia came into view, her robes clean and pure, the wound on her neck gone like it had never existed. She was carrying a small tin bowl.

  “The date for your trial has been decided,” she was saying. I barely heard her, my attention focussed completely on the bowl in her hand. “And I’ve heard rumours that the outcome is not go
ing to be good.”

  She grinned to herself and put the bowl down in front of the bars. I went to scoot towards it but stopped myself, assessing her warily. She chuckled.

  “It’s alright. We need you alive for your trial, remember?” She turned and headed back up the stairs. I dived for the bowl then. I pulled it through the bars carefully, the small amount of liquid it contained sloshing around. I went to plunge my face in it but then thought better of it. I picked it up in my hands, taking care not to tangle it in the shackles still clamped around my wrists. I inhaled cautiously, trying to figure out what it was. I couldn’t smell anything, so I lifted it to my lips and sipped warily.

  It was a beef broth. I took a long draught, swallowed and took another. When I felt it hit my empty stomach, however, I immediately tore myself away.

  I remembered from my Outdoor Education class in school the dangers of eating or drinking too quickly when dehydrated. And I could not afford to throw this all back up.

  I set the bowl down reluctantly, and then stood and walked away from it. I could already feel a modicum of strength returning to my limbs. I stretched as high as I could, feeling my skin pull taught over my ribs. I glanced down and blanched as I saw them showing clearly through my skin underneath the thin material of my shirt.

  They were going to let my out for my trial. I had one chance. I was going to take it. I carefully got down on the floor. It was cold and gritty beneath my fingers, but I ignored the unpleasantness. Straining, I pushed myself off of the floor.

  I managed three push ups before I collapsed, utterly spent. I rewarded myself with another sip from the precious bowl.

  I alternated between napping, drinking and trying to do my push ups. I didn’t know when they’d set my trial for, but I knew I didn’t want to find out the hard way. I listened for any sounds of someone coming down the stairs, but no one came that day, nor the day after.

  The day I finished the broth I completed fifteen push ups. I sat on the floor, breathing hard. My clothes were utterly filthy, and I’d accidentally ripped one side of the pants. I didn’t sleep on that side anymore; the floor was too cold on my bare skin.

  I crawled over to my bowl and picked it up. I licked the bottom optimistically, but I’d done this so many times already that all I tasted was old tin.

  I sat it in my lap anyway and curled around it. It retained a small amount of heat, and any warmth was welcome. I wriggled bare toes on the floor of my cell, sighing as I yet again relived the moment when I’d kicked off the solid, sturdy boots they’d given me.

  And the man, Phoenix. He said he’d see me again soon, but whilst I hadn’t conformed to the age-old tradition of the prisoner scratching tally marks on the wall, I guessed that it had been about three weeks in my cell. What did this man classify as soon?

  He said he loved me. I was beginning to feel like a fool for believing him. I flexed my arm experimentally. I was rewarded with a tiny bulge of new muscle. I grinned. If anything, I wanted to land a good solid punch on one of the two. I’d already guessed that my sentence was going to be the worst of the worst. What I didn’t understand was why they were going through this charade of a trial.

  It suddenly struck me that there might be other people present. If so, would I be able to appeal to them? I pursed my lips; Iain and Netalia were too smart to risk anyone bailing me out of my ‘trial’.

  I screwed my eyes shut. The aching, yearning pull for my magic had taken over again. I fought it down. It left me weak and I couldn’t afford that. I would only have one chance.

  I was on my own. With this thought, I got back on the ground and slowly began to count off my push ups again. I was napping lightly in my corner sometime the next day. I was dreaming of white, flickering flames, and when Netalia’s footsteps woke me, I felt invigorated, stronger somehow.

  I knew today was the day of my trial. “Glad to see you up and about,” she said mockingly, approaching my cell. “Let’s go. I don’t want to keep them waiting.”

  My heart leapt at ‘them’. There was going to be other people. I could win them over. I could appeal to them. Maybe this was going to be a real trial after all. She led me up the cold, stone stairwell. I followed obediently, wondering if I should strike her now or wait to see if my trial would be fair and just. I decided on the latter; I hated Netalia, but something in me repelled the idea of striking the older woman… again.

  We emerged into a long corridor, but it was abandoned. I looked around as we walked, seemingly at the tapestries hanging on the walls but really looking for my way out once I escaped. I winced as the shackles on my wrists shifted, scraping the raw wounds beneath them.

  We arrived at double doors, and my heart sank as I realised that this was it, and I hadn’t managed to pick my way out.

  “Good luck.” Netalia said sarcastically, and then pushed the doors open.

  I took a step forward hesitantly. She nodded, and I continued in. It was a large stone hall, with seats that stretched up to the ceiling; what I would’ve called bleachers back in my world. My heart leapt as I saw that they were all full, that every seat in the room was taken.

  My heart sank just as quickly as I saw that they were faceless shadows. Every one of them was identical, a mass of shadow with the distinct form of a person. I heard a slight chuckle and cast my gaze forwards.

  Iain presided over the hall from behind a high, wooden desk. He wore his usual robes, his features smug. I licked dry lips as I remembered the magic he held in his possession.

  My magic. And I wasn’t leaving here without it.

  “Come forwards, Sky,” he said, leering at me. “Where I and the witnesses can see you.”

  I obeyed absentmindedly, too distracted by the shadows in the seats surrounding me and the thought of my magic.

  “What are they?” I asked.

  “Exactly as they seem,” Iain replied. “Shadows. Now, shall we get to business?”

  He took my scowl as a reply.

  “You are Rose Evermore, of the human realm?”

  I didn’t reply.

  “Sky of this realm?”

  No answer again. He frowned down at me. “You’re only hurting yourself, Rose,” he remarked. “Here’s your chance to speak up.” I ignored him. I could see Netalia out of the corner of my eye; I’d already decided she was my target once I’d seen the desk Iain was hiding behind. I couldn’t scale it in time without him attacking me, and I knew that if I tried to run, Iain would strike me down with my own power.

  Iain continued on to read out my supposed charges. I didn’t flinch or show any emotion as he labelled me a traitor. For starters, I’d only been in this new realm for so long and therefore thought myself unable to be a traitor to a country I’d never been loyal to… that I could remember.

  I balled my fists as the false trial continued. I bit my lip until it bled when Iain called for the death sentence as my punishment. I’d known that this is what this trial had been coming to all along.

  “Won’t I just reincarnate?” I asked sarcastically, interrupting his spiel. “Not for another thousand years,” Netalia spoke up from right behind me. Cold sweat trickled down my spine. “And then we’ll deal with her the exact same way we’ve dealt with you.”

  I turned and lunged. The chain of my shackles caught her in the chest and we fell to the ground. A moment of shame struck me as I saw her white hair splayed out over the stone floor, but that shame vanished as she raked nails down my face, cutting deeply. I cried out, but didn’t budge.

  “Release her!” Iain boomed, and I heard the hint of panic in his voice. “Rose, release her this instant!” “Or what?” I called loudly. I could feel blood trickling down my neck, warm and sticky. “Or you’ll blast both of us? I don’t think so.”

  “Do it!” Netalia snarled, and fear shot through me as I saw the madness in her eyes. She’d rather do away with both of us than let me escape. “Do it, Iain!”

  “I dare you.” Someone else said. I looked up. The man from my bedroom stood in
the doorway, flanked by people whom I didn’t recognise. The sight of him filled me with renewed hope.

  “Jett,” Iain spat. “What are you hoping to accomplish here?”

  “Why don’t you wait and see?” Jett replied calmly. “Release my daughter and you might not have to find out.”

  I took a sharp intake of breath, but only Netalia heard. “Attack them!” Iain cried, and the shadow spectators swooped down. I immediately lost sight of Jett and the others. They were cut off from me by a mass of whirling darkness. One shadow descended on me and grabbed at my arm. I gritted my teeth as icy coldness racked my body. I fought it, using my shackles as a weapon again. Netalia scrambled to her feet and fled into the shadows. The one that had attacked me vanished as I fought it, but it left me feeling weak and cold.

  They feed off of energy, I realised. Another came for me, and I took up a fighting stance. Before it could reach me, however, a tongue of yellow flame swallowed it up.

  “Alright?” a young man asked me. I recognised him as the one who’d come down to my cell shortly after I’d torched Netalia, the one with golden hair.

  I nodded, the motion making my chains clink. He glanced down at them. “Here,” he said, motioning for me to hold my arms out. I did so. He wrapped his hands around the chain connecting my wrists, and yellow sparks shot between his fingers. The chain fell apart, though the shackles themselves still clung to my wrists. “Better?”

  “Slightly,” I told him. “Who are you?”

  His face fell. Before he had a chance to respond, more shadows fell on us. We fought them, though I could feel myself weakening each time I made contact with one.

  I battered one aside, and as it shifted into smoky nothingness, I saw Jett shoot a huge tongue of dark flame at Iain. The man behind the desk fought it, white flames barrelling down at the younger man on the floor.