by S. M. Boyce
She walked over and knelt in front of him, but she didn’t try to touch him. He pushed himself to his feet.
“I need to be by myself,” he said. “Just—just stay here.”
He walked into the forest. A whisper came from behind him, nothing more than a soft, hurt word he couldn’t make out.
This wasn’t her fault. He knew that, and it wasn’t fair to treat her this way. But though she could stop his breath with only a look, there were some things he just couldn’t admit to her. Not yet.
Reflections
Kara snorted in annoyance and sat under a tree, resting her elbows on her knees as she took a second to think. She didn’t know what to do. She weighed her options: run after the bipolar prince who was probably already out of earshot, or wait.
He would come back—right?
She replayed the episode in her mind and trembled when she remembered what Braeden really looked like. In the Stele, she caught only a glimmer. Carden had forced him to change form for a moment, long enough for her to see his skin go gray. But this had been worse. His skin had been gray, sure, but his eyes—his eyes were red, swallowing the irises until they were a glowing wall of hatred and blood lust.
He’d sucked the life out of the forest and out of her. Her circulation had slowed. Her fingers and toes had gone numb, and the color faded almost entirely from the woods. Whatever he’d become, it wasn’t just Stelian. It was something more. Something darker.
No—she didn’t want to think about it.
The sun gave up its last efforts to animate the forest and burned on the horizon, letting the dusk settle on the growing night. The canopy hid most of the stars as the night grew darker.
She shifted her weight and looked around. Nearby was a meadow, with tall, delicate grasses that rustled in a hushed chorus as the wind blew through them. An owl hooted. A bat fluttered somewhere above, blocking the dim and distant starlight in flitting darts of movement. The trickle of a riverbed joined the night’s melody. At first it was just another noise, but the rushing water became louder as she grew thirstier.
Kara pushed herself to her feet and made her way toward the brook, which was easy to find thanks to its loud, bubbling current. A break in the treetops let in the rising moonlight and illuminated the snaking trail of water. The creek was only about four feet across, but it was deep.
She knelt on the bank and dipped her fingers into the cool water, relishing the chill that crept through her hands and up her arms. It flowed over her palms, as clear as the sky. She drank what she could and leaned back against the willow trunk, watching and waiting for Braeden to come back.
There was no way to count the time that went by while Kara lingered. Her anxiety grew worse with each passing minute, and she couldn’t shake the growing fear that Braeden had left for good.
She glanced out onto the stream to distract herself. The reeds along the creek’s bank reminded her of Twin’s animated water-effigy of her sister. The selfish desire resurfaced. Kara was alone out here, and there was nothing stopping her, now, from seeing Mom.
No. The Grimoire said I couldn’t bring Mom back. The dead are gone. Balance and all that.
Still, she eyed the water. What the Vagabond didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. This was Mom, after all. Kara needed closure. Even if she did end up getting a lecture, it would be worth it.
Kara took off her boots, rolled up her pants to the knees, and stepped into the brook. The wind picked up. Leaves swirled on the bank. Branches danced, making the riverbed glitter in the moonbeams that broke through holes in the trees. The water nibbled at her skin, freezing at first, but she walked until the creek lapped at her knees. Smooth river rocks shifted beneath her bare feet and tumbled farther along the riverbed, caught by the strong undercurrent.
She cleared her throat, unsure of what she was supposed to do. Twin sang to the water and was crying by the end of her episode, so maybe any emotional connection would work.
Kara thought of Mom buried in gauze on the hospital gurney. In those last days of life, Mom had recognized her only once—the moment before the heart monitor screamed. Mom had held her hand and whispered inaudibly, eyes wide and afraid and unsure.
“Mom—” Kara choked and lost her voice. Tears stung her eyes. The vengeful sadness clawed at her throat.
“I’m sorry.”
The pool bubbled at her feet. Her heart leapt with excitement and fear. If she saw Mom, she had no idea what she’d say. Nothing would make it right again, words least of all.
“I’d give anything to have you back,” she whispered. The water bubbled in larger, fitful bursts. “I feel like I don’t deserve the second chance I was given. I’m—I’m so sorry, even though I know that’s not enough.”
The water went from bubbling to churning before a small whirlpool appeared at her feet, but Kara never once stopped talking and spoke without listening to the words. Hope made her heart race. Guilt made her sweat. Twin had warned her that this was dangerous. It probably was, but she didn’t care.
A face appeared in the whirlpool. Features appeared on this new figure: a sharp nose, two gentle eyes, familiar ringlets of curly hair. Water dripped from this sculpture of the face Kara was slowly forgetting. She reached out to touch its cheek.
Her voice faltered. The words died off.
The familiar curves of her mom’s face bent into unnatural angles when she stopped speaking. The kind eyes went dark. The teeth sharpened. This new—thing—screamed. It had a shrill voice, like a banshee, and the terrifying monster sprang toward her. It crashed into her and broke, falling back into the river as nothing but reeds and pebbles. Droplets of water splattered across the river and onto the bank.
Kara threw herself onto the shore and crawled back to the willow, where she hugged her sopping knees. The night was biting and icy now. Every breeze set her skin aflame with the painful cold.
Flames flickered and sputtered in her hand as she huddled against the tree, shivering and trying to light a fire to get warm, but she couldn’t focus her mind enough to light a fire. The jagged teeth of the creature flashed again in her mind every time she summoned a spark or a puff of smoke. Its shrill scream rang again in her ear.
Something brushed her shoulder. She jumped, but it was Braeden. Through the deep cold from the water and the still-raging panic of creating the water-demon, she managed a thin smile at the relief that he’d come back.
His pack shifted on his back as he knelt over her, eyebrows pinched with concern. His lips parted to say something, but she shook her head.
He nodded and opened his bag, pulling out a blanket to drape over her shoulders. Once she was wrapped tight and starting to get warm, he set his hands on her neck. A wave of heat flooded her body, but it was more than just the unconscious thrill of his touch. The water evaporated from her skin, and the wind’s chilly bite faded, her clothes and hair now dry. Her fingers twitched, their feeling returned, and she sighed with contentment.
His strong hand reached for hers as he helped her to her feet and led her back around the willow toward the griffin, which she’d forgotten was even there. She glared at it, wondering where the useless thing had been during the fiasco with Braeden.
They sat on the grass underneath a tree. She curled into the blanket Braeden had given her even though she wasn’t cold anymore, since it gave her an excuse to not look at him. He leaned against the tree for a few minutes before he said anything.
“Are you going to tell me why you were soaking wet?”
“No.”
She wanted to bury the image of the demon thing that had destroyed her last memory of her mom. She shivered, despite the warm blanket, and suppressed the urge to cry. Her mom was dead. Her dad was gone. She wanted to go back in time, to forget everything that had happened and stop the crash and live a normal life. No yakona. No Ourea.
No death.
She glanced at Braeden out of the corner of her eye. He stared into the night, his hands ripping apart already torn blades of grass. One
elbow rested on his knee as he stared off into the dark woods. The silence grew heavier with each passing second, until she couldn’t bite her tongue any longer.
“You’re terrifying when you’re angry.”
He took a deep breath and rubbed his face. “You definitely never want to spend much time with Carden, then.”
“I’ve seen you as a Stelian, but that wasn’t what I saw today. You became something else.”
He sighed and looked at his hands, dropping the shards of grass.
“That was my daru,” he said. “Every Blood and Heir has the ability to harness that untapped power, and when we do, we become exponentially stronger as long as there is a source of energy around.”
He looked over to her, but shifted his gaze to the grass as soon as he caught her eye. The whoosh of the trees drowned out Kara’s thoughts, and a humming sound replaced them until he continued.
“Most of the time, the other kingdoms need their subjects nearby to summon their daru. The Stelian Bloods, though, can absorb energy from almost anything. The air, the earth, breath. I’m even more powerful around something evil, as long as I’m stronger. That’s why Carden can always control me, because he’s more powerful. But sometimes, when there’s no other choice, I can pull strength from just my own hatred. There are legends that the daru is the Blood’s soul in its rawest form. If that’s the case…”
If so, his soul was a dark and twisted thing. Kara forced herself to swallow and hold his gaze, even though her heart raced at the memory of his blood-red eyes.
“Yakona fear me, Kara. This is what I’ve spent my life running from. It’s why I needed your help. I’ve been searching for the Grimoire because I wanted it to free me from what I am.”
“That’s all in the past tense, Braeden. You don’t want it anymore?”
“Of course I want it. You just can’t help me. The Vagabond won’t allow the Stelian bloodline to die out.” He picked up the shredded pieces of grass, which started smoking from just the heat in his palm.
The reality of Ourea sank in, and a weight settled on Kara’s shoulders. Magic could kill. The Grimoire was far more than a book. It could kill an entire race by turning just two yakona into vagabonds. Two powerful people, granted, but still. She watched him. He hung his head and slouched, refusing to look up from the ground.
“That daru thing isn’t really you,” she said. “I don’t think your soul is evil. You saved me from an isen. When you asked if I wanted to see her dad, you were only trying to give me the opportunity you never had with your mother. I haven’t known you too long, but I’m not a bad judge of character. I think you’re a good person.”
“Thank you.” His voice was thin and quiet, and it was obvious that he hadn’t believed a word she’d said.
“There’s something I want to show you,” she continued. She reached into her satchel and pulled out the partially finished map. It was missing only one piece.
“Is that—?”
“Yeah. Remember the little blue square you gave me? It’s pretty important. It’s one of the pieces to a map that’s going to take me to the Vagabond’s hidden village. The last piece is in Losse.”
“What happens when you find that one?”
“I’ll go wherever the map takes me.” She took a deep breath and looked at him. “I trust you. I meant it when I said it before. You’re the only one who knows about this map. If you’re willing, I want you to find the village with me.”
He nodded, but still would not look at her.
“Braeden, I might not be able to make you a vagabond, but I’ll do whatever else I can to help you.”
“Thanks, but I’ll help even if you can’t fix me. I’m different from my father. I can protect something because it’s more important than me, not just because I can benefit from it in some way.”
She smiled, and he returned a thin grimace, but they let the quiet settle on them once more. Her hands sweated from the heat of the blanket, so she let it slide down her back and took refuge in the melting chill of the woodland night.
Not too long ago, she was pulling up to the rental house in her beaten old Camry, pretending that the sunken library and the Stele and the random magic book she’d discovered were just a long and vivid daydream. But Deirdre had ruined everything. Her dad had taken over the isen’s body only long enough to say goodbye and tell her about—
“Dang it!” Kara leaned forward, rubbing her temples. “I’m so stupid! I completely forgot—well, we can’t go back now.”
“What?”
“My dad,” she explained. “He told me to get something out of the house. He took over Deirdre when she—” Kara stopped, trying not to remember.
“Your father took over Deirdre after she stole him?”
“Is that not normal?” She wanted to laugh as soon as she said it. Normal? Really? Nothing was normal in Ourea.
“No, that’s incredibly rare. You have a strong family, Kara.”
“Why?”
“When an isen steals a soul, there’s a brief moment of struggle where neither can dominate the other. It’s the soul’s one chance to escape, and only a few ever have. But I’ve never heard of a soul taking over the isen to speak through them. Your father didn’t get away, Kara. He chose an eternity of slavery to talk to you. Do you know what he wanted you to find?”
“No.” Guilt chewed at her stomach. She shook her head, trying to remember, but the whole night was a fragment marred by blurry figures. She curled against the tree, her hatred for Deirdre growing in the pit of her chest.
“We should go back, Braeden.”
“Absolutely not. That house has to be monitored by Stelians at this point. I doubt they expect you to return, but Carden will have scouts there just in case.”
“If Dad’s still caught in Deirdre,” she continued, not listening, “what happens if she dies?”
“All the souls she has trapped will be released.”
“Then I’m going to kill her.”
He took a shaky breath. “I understand that hatred. I really do. But it can be consuming. Trust me. Deirdre is also incredibly strong. To put it in perspective, she’s the only isen I’ve met and not killed. Ever.”
Kara wasn’t listening.
The two of them sat in silence for a while, watching the grasses dance in the night breezes. She massaged her temples.
“So isen can change their shape to be anyone, right? Anyone they’ve stolen?” she finally asked, trying to piece together the new information with what she already had.
“Yes. If an isen steals your soul, it takes your skills, your looks, your powers—everything, right down to the last thing you wore. They can take on your appearance at will and use your magic at any time. They are the worst kind of enemy.”
“Are they all evil?”
“Most of them are just insane. They have to steal a soul every decade or so to maintain their immortality, and if they ever stopped stealing, they would eventually grow old and die. But having all those souls in one body makes them go slowly crazy. All of the eldest isen are mad, simply because they store so many souls within them. A lot of isen don’t last longer than about a thousand years, because they accidentally kill themselves doing something stupid. Niccoli is the exception. I don’t know how he has maintained his sanity enough to still lead a guild.”
“Maybe he hasn’t.” Kara shrugged and lay back on the grass. “Why aren’t there legends about these things?”
“There are plenty of creatures based on isen, just nothing quite like them. Anyone who sees an isen is stolen or killed, with a few rare exceptions”—he glanced over to her to prove his point—“so there isn’t much to go on.”
She whistled and stretched out, the soft grasses by the tree tickling her neck. Ourea was one hell of a place.
The Kingdom of Losse
Kara didn’t sleep.
The bright moon broke in speckled waves across the meadow, illuminating the freckles on Braeden’s face. He tossed and turned in his fitful dre
ams, half waking each hour to murmur and turn over, but at least he didn’t change form again.
The griffin moved closer about an hour after Braeden fell asleep and now sat at Kara’s feet. Only its feathers and fur, which bent in the wind, moved. It watched the forest as if something was coming, its neck arched toward a silent threat she couldn’t see. Her muscles tightened. She thought she could sense the lingering tension, too, but figured it was probably just the motionless beast in front of her that made her uneasy.
A thin halo of the morning sun appeared on the pink and yellow horizon and its first ray fell squarely on Braeden’s forehead. He opened his eyes as if it had poked him.