The Awakening Box Set

by Michael Timmins

  “I do not pity you, Kestrel. You brought this on yourself. I just do not want to do it, even though I must. If there is any pity to go around, it should be for me. It is against my nature to take life. I have always worked to preserve it, but you willingly destroy it wherever you go, and that, I cannot tolerate.”

  For a moment, Kestrel just looked at her. How could this woman have beaten her? She barely came up to her breasts and if it came to a hand to hand combat, Kestrel no doubt could defeat her. Yet, here Sylvanis was, ready to take her life. Little did Sylvanis know her death would just ensure her victory in the long run. Kestrel turned away from Sylvanis so she wouldn’t notice the smile creeping onto her face. Kestrel glided to her bed and sat upon it.

  “So, it has come to this, has it? I won’t fight you. I know your army waits outside, and I’m sure if we were to battle, they would come to your aid.” The look on Sylvanis’ face showed surprise, as though her army would not intervene if they were to do battle. Kestrel considered attacking now. She thought about it for a moment, and then discarded the idea. Sylvanis may have told them not to intervene, but that didn’t mean they would obey if they thought their leader was in trouble. And even if they didn’t intervene, if she was the victor, they would descend upon her like a wave crashing on the rocks. Though the taste of Sylvanis’ defeat would be sweet, she knew she wouldn’t live long to enjoy it. And if she did not die by Sylvanis’ hands, her spell might not work.

  Sylvanis approached her.

  “You know it didn’t have to be like this, Kestrel. If only you could have seen the falseness in your methods, we could have worked something out,” Sylvanis whispered as she moved closer to the bed, than taking a step back as Kestrel stood.

  “And be a slave to your will? You think I would ever do that? I am nobody’s second, especially not you, Sylvanis!” The dim light could not hide the redness of Kestrel’s face as her anger heated her cheeks. The sadness she saw in Sylvanis’ eyes curbed the anger, some.

  “I would never have done that to you, Kestrel, the free-spirited. Your heart has always been free and will always be free, or would have been, if you had just not been so bent on power.”

  Sylvanis approached her again.

  “Now I am left with no other choice, and it pains me… deeply.” With that, Sylvanis turned and walked a few steps away and then turned back to Kestrel. The look of sadness disappeared, replaced by a look of determination.

  “Kestrel El-Clare, I hereby pronounce you guilty of waging war upon innocent people, of turning people into Weres against their will, and using nature to further your own need for power. For these crimes, I sentence you to death, may the earth receive you so your body will replenish the soil.”

  The laugh escaping Kestrel’s lips echoed in the sanctuary. “Innocent people?” Kestrel questioned after her laugh subsided. “There are no innocent people on this land. Using nature for my own gain? What about all those innocent people you mentioned? They strip this land of everything for their own needs! Those are the people who I waged war on. The ones who would destroy this earth you claim to protect!”

  For a moment, the sadness returned to Sylvanis’ eyes, but was gone instantly.

  “We have had this argument many times, Kestrel, and I will not be pulled into another one. The council has spoken, and I have agreed. The time has come for your sentence. Do you wish to fight it?” Sylvanis asked, raising an eyebrow. “You claimed you wouldn’t when I first arrived.”

  “No.” Kestrel replied. The fact she would have her revenge in the end made her quench the idea of killing this upstart right now. “I will not fight, as I said.” She returned to the bed and lay upon it, baring her chest. Her breasts lifted and fell with her breathing. She was surprisingly calm, considering she was about to have a knife thrust into her heart. But she refused to let Sylvanis see her upset.

  Sylvanis approached slowly and carefully, obviously expecting some ruse. She pulled the antler hilted dagger from her belt. She looked down into Kestrel’s eyes and paused, curious of what she saw there. Satisfaction? At her pause, Kestrel’s face blanked, and the look passed. Had she imagined it? What could Kestrel be satisfied with at this moment of her death? She decided to not give it another thought. A decision she was about to learn would be disastrous. Sylvanis brought the knife down and slid it between the two ribs close to the breastbone.

  Kestrel gasped a deep breath as the excruciating pain shot through her. Her whole body ached. The pain ebbed, starting from her fingers and toes, working its way up. She knew when the feeling reached her head, it was done. She glanced down to see the hilt buried in her chest as Sylvanis released her grip on the dagger. The blood pooled around the wound and ran off to the sides of her body to make a larger pool on the bed between her arm and her side.

  As the numbness spread throughout her torso, making its way to her neck, she could feel her spell surround her soul and encapsulate it. As it left her body, she breathed her last breath in a slow deflation of her chest. Kestrel El-Clare was no more.

  Sylvanis stared down at her hand still grasping the knife. It felt numb, as if it refused to feel what it had been forced to do. She willed her fingers to let go and was almost surprised they obeyed. There was blood on her hand. She wasn’t happy about it. The sound of her breathing seemed to be the only sound in the sanctuary, at least to Sylvanis’ ears. After taking a moment to steady herself, she watched Kestrel’s breast heave its last breath. She walked over to the basin at the side of the sanctuary that was filled with water and dipped her hands in it. She scrubbed the blood from her delicate hands till there was no trace of it left.

  Walking back to Kestrel, she reached down, and pulled the knife from her chest. The wound was a dark tear leaking blood like a tiny stream looking for the path of least resistance. Sylvanis was surprised to find tears in her eyes. Taking a life, even one needing to be taken, was never a pleasant experience. It was something to be sorry for. Sorry there couldn’t have been another way, that maybe it could have just been prevented in the first place… she shook herself; those kinds of thoughts never lead anywhere she reminded herself.

  If it could have been prevented, it would have been. It’s the nature of life; it unfolds the way it wishes, the way it is supposed to unfold. She wiped the tears from her eyes and took one last look around the cave. It was time to get back to Calin. She smiled. She looked forward to a life with him. He would make a wonderful mate. As she turned to leave, something caught her gaze on the floor near the back wall. A gleam of light bounced off some metal, and for some reason, she was drawn to it.

  As she approached, she realized it was the bronze mirror that had been a part of the dresser. When she bent to pick it up, she noticed the reflection in the mirror did not show the back wall as close as it obviously was. A sinking feeling crept into Sylvanis’ heart. “Deireadh a chur,” she cried and waved her hand at the back wall. The image of it wavered then disappeared entirely to reveal another wall sitting back a bit from what had just been there.

  Another wall with words carved into it. Strong words. Strong magic.

  The words on the wall sent a cold tingle along Sylvanis’ spine. She should have known Kestrel’s defeat was too easy. She should have seen through the ruse. She paced about the sanctuary. The light from her spell seemed to flare brighter as the anger at herself and Kestrel began to mount. Kestrel had found a way to cheat, and now there was no way to stop her. Or was there? Could she not add to the spell? Could she not make the similar arrangements? No. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. What Kestrel had done was not natural. She paced about some more. It came to her.

  “I can do the same thing, only differently,” she murmured. Yes. That was it. But she was going to have to act quickly. The spell was still active, but not for long. She knew she didn’t have time to carve the words of the spell into the wall. However, she knew of a quicker way. One to ensure the spell would be sealed and binding. She retrieved her knife and made a cut on her left hand, digging deep into th
e palm. Wincing at the pain, she took a moment to steady herself, closing her fist automatically in response to the burning pain. Now the blood oozed between her fingers.

  She moved to the wall and knelt at the last line of Kestrel’s spell. Her right hand brushed the loose rock from below the carving. She dipped two of her fingers into the blood leaking from her palm. As she wrote the words of the spell with her blood, she sang them aloud. Her clear, soft voice echoed within the room. The spell sounded as a dirge to the fallen, at first. As she neared the end of the spell, the song became brighter, and louder. The dirge became a joyful song which ended abruptly. Sylvanis sagged against the wall as the words and power of the spell left her.

  She was losing a lot of blood; the spell had demanded it. She could heal herself. But what was the point? She knew what she had to do to finish the spell. Unsure how much time she had, she dared not go and tell Calin what she had to do. She smiled sadly at that. She wouldn’t be able to tell him anyways. He wouldn’t understand, and he wouldn’t allow her to do it. But she needed to do it. Someone had to stop Kestrel. And that someone had to be her.

  She also felt responsible for what had happened. If only she had not fallen for the trick Kestrel had played. She should have been more observant, more cautious, more suspecting something was amiss. These self-recriminations plagued her, even though they would avail nothing. She had to correct the mistake, not chastise herself for it. That was exactly what she was going to do.

  Calin would understand, eventually. Once he read the spells on the wall, he would have to understand. They would all have to understand. It was a shame she would never get to take him as her mate, she thought with remorse. She had delayed long enough, and time was running out. Lifting the knife high, she plunged it into her heart.

  Calin had waited long enough. Sylvanis was gone for far too long. Something must have gone wrong. He looked at Adonia and saw she was worried too. Her fox eyes met his and he knew she also felt something had gone wrong. That was all he needed. He spurred his horse forward at a gallop and heard a chorus of shouts and growls from behind him. He did not have to turn to know the entire army was on his heels.

  Adonia had mounted a horse as well and was on his right and back just at the edge of his peripheral. They raced across the wet grass to reach the Calendar. Calin was off his horse and halfway to the entrance to the sanctuary before his horse even realized he had dismounted. His sword left its sheath as he took the stairs three at a time. The stairs, slick from the rain, he was forced to catch himself as he reached the last of them, nearly slipping. What he saw stopped him in his tracks. Adonia’s footfalls echoed behind him, as she also raced down the stairs, almost knocking him over.

  “What is it, Calin?” Her hushed voice came from behind him, obviously wondering why he had stopped so suddenly. He could sense her move from behind him. “Oh.”

  Calin dashed across the cave reaching the far wall and fell to his knees. Sylvanis’ body lay in a pool of her own blood, her antlered hilted knife protruding from her chest. He scooped her still body up.

  “Sylvanis? Sylvanis?” He whispered, but he knew. He knew before he even reached her, she was dead. He hugged her body as tears fell from his eyes. Why had this happened? he thought. Why?

  “How? Why?” questioned Adonia. He turned his head to see her, not ready to let go of Sylvanis. She stood by a bed at the side of the room. The bed held the body of Kestrel. The red stain upon her chest and the stillness of her body revealed she was also dead. From what he could guess, Kestrel had died first, her blood was drying while Sylvanis’ was still warm. So Adonia was right to wonder. How had this happened? From the look of it, Sylvanis took her own life.

  Calin shook his head. It’s impossible, he thought. She would never do that. She was a Druidess. She worshiped life. She hated taking it. It was impossible for him to believe she would have taken her own. Adonia stared at him, searching for answers. He could tell she had come to the same conclusion— Sylvanis must have taken her own life. But unlike him, she could believe it. She was more pragmatic than him. Anything was possible in her eyes. It was just the why of it she couldn’t figure out. He watched her, Sylvanis cradled in his arms. Neither spoke, but only looked at each other. He had often wondered what he would do after this war had ended. With Kestrel gone, it was ended now. He had never imagined Sylvanis would be gone as well.

  Adonia moved towards him now, but she seemed to be looking behind him, towards the back wall. He looked back at the wall and for the first time noticed the carvings on it. He had never been much of a reader, which Sylvanis had teased him about unmercifully. Again, the tears welled up in his eyes, but he willed them not to fall. It was hard enough to read, without having tears in his eyes.

  “What does it say, Adonia?”

  “Well, we have our reason, Calin… we have Her reason.”

  He hugged her limp body all the tighter as Adonia read what Kestrel had carved and then what Sylvanis had written with her own blood. He hugged her all the tighter because he would never be able to tell her how much he admired her for her bravery. He would never be able to tell her how much he loved her.

  Syndor watched as Calin and Adonia exited from beneath the Table. He had watched Sylvanis descend earlier. He continued to watch as Calin, and then Adonia race down into the opening. All the while, he stood motionless in a grove of trees not far from the Calendar. His acute eyesight was just enough for him to determine who it was coming and going into the sanctuary. He was a tall man, and slender. His olive-colored skin placed him from either the Greek isles or Egypt, if one would guess, and they would both be correct. He had been born from both lines, his father from the isle of Crete, and his mother from Egypt. His dark hair he kept cut short, for which he was thankful for today considering how wet it was with all the rain. He disliked being wet, and in turn, cold. Nothing irritated him as much as having wet hair hanging into his eyes. The woolen shirt and breeches he wore were soaked through, which was also somewhat of an annoyance.

  He considered his options. He had to assume Kestrel was dead. With both Calin and Adonia walking out alive, it seemed only likely. They had left carrying a body, which he assumed was that of Sylvanis.

  As he waited for them to leave and take their army with them, he decided he needed to make sure Kestrel was, in fact, dead. If she wasn’t, she would be very angry with Syndor because he had pretty much deserted her. If she was alive, the chances are he might end up dead, but he needed to know, and the only place he would find answers was in the sanctuary.

  He waited in the rain a little longer to ensure Sylvanis’ people were all gone; after all, he could only get so wet. When he was sure they were no longer in the area, he left his hiding spot and jogged to the Calendar, and over to the stairs. He slowly made his way down the steps.

  He did everything cautiously. That was his way. That was why he was still alive, while the others were all dead. That was why, when it looked very much like his side would lose, he disappeared. He was sure Kestrel had been furious with him, but he never liked to lose. So, he just removed himself from the playing field.

  Syndor moved quietly into the cave. His snake eyes easily becoming accustomed to the dark. His tall, thin body moved with a grace that belied his gangly features. His arms were perhaps a little long for his body, as was his legs. He did not like to move around in his hybrid form but had learned early on he could shift his eyes to those of a snake, his were-form. He preferred to stay in his human form, unless he was fighting, which he tried to avoid.

  Not that he was a bad fighter; on the contrary, he was a very skilled swordsman. It was just bad things could happen in a fight. No matter how good of a fighter you are, a stray arrow from some peasant could take you in the throat. That was why he liked to travel in human form. Peasants get jumpy when they see someone with snake-like features.

  Por had always been the opposite; he would run around looking like the boar he was, his tusks jutting out from his lower jaw. He loved scaring peasa
nts. He never thought one of them might just own a bow, or maybe two of them. Alas, Por was dead. His arrogance had led him to fight Calin, and no matter how strong Por was, Calin was unequaled in sword fighting.

  The best way to get out of trouble was to never let it find you in the first place. Syndor was not an attractive man, but he did have a way with people. He guessed it had to do with his eyes. People always said if you looked too long into his eyes, you would do anything for him. It certainly had gotten him out of trouble before. You always had to know when to disappear when you had to.

  He was surprised to see Kestrel’s body lying on the bed. It looked as if she had not put up a struggle at all. This was surprising, indeed. If there was one thing Kestrel relished, it was a fight. He stared down at her for a minute wondering what had happened here, when something near the back of the cave caught his eye.

  He noticed the Druidic light reflect off something on the ground and moved over to examine it. He looked at the floor of the cave near the back wall and saw a dark pool of liquid. He bent and dipped his finger in it and brought it to his lips. His forked tongue flicked out of his mouth to graze the liquid on his finger. It was blood, but not Kestrel’s. It must be Sylvanis’ blood.

  How odd. If he understood what happened by what he saw, Kestrel had died first, then Sylvanis. But then who killed Sylvanis? Syndor looked around the cave searching for clues. His eyes ran over the back wall and stopped. His eyes moved back and forth as they read the lines of the spell and prophecy on the back wall. Now it all made sense. Syndor stood and moved back to Kestrel’s body.

  “You are quite devious, my dear. Quite.” Syndor couldn’t help but smile at his Lady’s way of cheating death.

  “I will watch over you. It’s the least I can do for abandoning you to your fate. However, it looks as if you managed to avoid your fate… for now.”