by Elise Kova
“Then I’d better practice.”
“Do you even have the stamina to swing it more than a few times?”
“Only one way to build my stamina.” Vi wasn’t backing down and she would make sure Arwin knew it.
“Why not just—”
“Because this may be our only hope,” Vi interrupted. “Because all the crystals, and crystal weapons, on the Dark Isle have been destroyed. This is the only one left. If it came from the descendant of the last Champion, it may just be the only thing I can use against Raspian. I have no choice. So will you help me learn it or not?”
Arwin stared at her, long and hard, not moving a muscle.
“Please.” Vi had no choice, no pride. Just holding the scythe filled her with a sense of urgency. The idea of preventing the end of the world was no longer an intangible thing. Vi now held proof of what she’d have to do in her hands, and she couldn’t be too arrogant to avoid admitting she was nowhere near ready.
“Very well then,” Arwin said finally. “But I’m going to train you as I would any of my sisters. I’m not going easy on you just because you’re a guest and princess.”
“None of my enemies will go easy on me.” The thin line of Vi’s mouth turned into a bitter smirk. “Bring on the gut punches.”
What followed was a series of beatings the likes of which Vi had never experienced before. She’d always thought Sehra’s warriors had stopped going easy on her when she’d come of age. But like most things in her childhood, that too turned out to be a lie.
Arwin didn’t miss an opportunity to trip her, smack her sides with the pole of her halberd, knock the scythe from her hands, or rap her knuckles for improper grip. Bruises covered her body and everything ached. She wasn’t sure exactly how much time had passed. An hour? Maybe two?
But Vi knew it wasn’t nearly long enough. She had just begun to feel comfortable with the weight of the scythe in her hands.
“That’s enough,” Arwin declared. “You’re spent for today.”
“For today?” Vi leaned heavily against the scythe for support, panting and wiping sweat from her brow. “Does that mean you’ll teach me tomorrow?”
“We’ll see. Don’t push your luck.”
“And here I had you pegged for not passing up the chance to knock me around some more.”
“It may be one of the most fun things I’ve done in some time.” Arwin cracked the beginnings of a smile. It wasn’t much. But it was more emotion—positive emotion—than Vi had seen from her so far. The expression faded as quickly as it came, and Arwin looked between her and the door before starting toward a cabinet in the back of the room instead. “Come here.”
Vi obliged her. Toward the back of the room, near the archery targets, was a tall cabinet. All manner of vial and supplies housed within. Vi knew a clerical stash when she saw one. Arwin selected a small jar.
“Drink this now, and then we’re taking you to Sarphos for him to give you something stronger. You’re still skin and bones and will be far too achy tomorrow to do anything if you don’t take steps to ease the pain now.”
“So we are sparring again tomorrow?” She was excited at the prospect, but the deep ache in her body tempered the fact. Vi leaned the scythe against the wall to take the jar from Arwin and sniff the thick, amber colored liquid inside.
“I said we’ll see.” Arwin wiped sweat from her face using the bottom of her shirt. “Though, I still suspect there’s another, better way for you to use that thing… There must be. I can’t imagine a goddess would outfit her warrior with something not designed for fighting.”
Vi looked at the scythe as she took a long sip of the liquid. It was cloyingly sweet and as thick as honey—perhaps it was just honey with herbs and salves swirled within. But there was a distinct medicinal aftertaste that was so bitter on the back of her palette that Vi was glad for the sweetness.
“I wish I knew,” Vi murmured. She was staring at a crystal weapon. A real, complete, legendary crystal weapon. She could feel its power, even now, thrumming quietly. It whispered secrets to her, inviting her to uncover them. Yet it spoke in a language she couldn’t understand. Perhaps Arwin was right and there was some way to change the weapon. There was so much potential waiting to be unlocked, but Vi didn’t even know where to start. “Unfortunately, the only people who may be able to help me are the Faithful.”
Arwin leaned against the wall, an almost lazy, deadly smile playing at her lips. “Suggest going to the Faithful in my presence again and die.”
“Why do you hate them so much?” She’d asked Sarphos. It was time to hear Arwin’s answer… and hope it was something more significant than “because they’re monsters.”
Arwin searched her face as if Vi was hiding the answer to her own question somewhere on it. Finally, “You truly know nothing of the morphi and Meru, do you?”
“I imagine I only know slightly more than you know of the Dark Isle,” Vi lied. She would bet she knew vastly more than Arwin knew of the Dark Isle, thanks to Taavin and Sarphos’s information. But in the grand scheme of things, that was precious little.
“Fair.” Arwin sighed, closing her eyes. When she spoke, it was the first time Vi didn’t feel as though she was being spoken down to, or threatened. “The seeds of the hatred were sown about a thousand years ago, not long after the Great War between the entities they call the Goddess Yargen and the God Raspian.”
“Entities?” Vi interrupted quickly. “So, you don’t think they’re actually divine?” Arwin surprised her with a shrug.
“Don’t know. I’ve never seen them. They must be powerful if all the stories are true… But I could be a powerful goddess to a beetle.” Her eyes drifted to the scythe. “That weapon, however ill designed it is, combined with the tears and the plague—it all makes a compelling argument for these supposed gods’ might. But I don’t know if I could confidently say something is divine when I saw it. So how can I trust someone else’s claims?”
Vi hadn’t considered it that way, and it was almost painful to do so. Some things about her world vision weren’t ready to be challenged. Especially not when so much was already cast in doubt. “Well, that being what it is… you were saying? After this great war and the morphi?”
“Yes, well… Yargen and Raspian are said to have battled countless times—starting different eras of light and dark. After their last row, Yargen won dominion over the world—so the Faithful claim—and was seated in Risen for a time. In the aftermath, the elfin’ra were exiled from Meru and locked away on their island as punishment for their support of Raspian. Much like the morphi, their magic was seen as fundamentally twisted. The race of the draconis were eventually cast off as well… though that didn’t happen for a couple centuries.”
“Did the draconis help Raspian?” Vi had yet to hear of this particular people.
“Some did, some didn’t. Find me a whole race of people who’s entirely good or entirely evil and I’ll eat my boot. But it didn’t matter what they did. It mattered what people said. And people say a lot in the years following world-changing events.
“The core of Yargen’s followers, the early Faithful, claim the draconis are descended from Raspian’s great dragon, crafted by the god himself. They also say the morphi are tainted by Raspian as well, since our magic is said to derive from twilight—neither here, nor there—the moment when the sun gives up its hold to the darkness where Raspian thrives.”
“But the twilight could also be the dawn,” Vi contested.
“Thank you!” Arwin threw her hands in the air. “I’m pleased to see you have some sense. Certainly not a Faithful after all.”
“So that’s why you hate the Faithful? Because they have unfairly labeled your people as allies of Raspian?”
“If only that was the extent of it.” A frown lined Arwin’s face. “Around twenty, thirty years ago, the Faithful grew bolder and far more wicked. They were always bad, but they didn’t have the power they have now. They increased their hold on Meru—on Queen Lumeria
herself. They justified their actions by saying the word of Yargen had changed, and the people believed them. They were the first ones to say the end of the world was coming and, as a result, they were more active in cleansing those who would seek to aid Raspian.”
“Cleansing?” Vi said the word slowly. It had a horrible taste.
“Their words, not mine. They’ve slaughtered innocent morphi and draconis under false trials in Risen. Really, it was all a display of power. The Lord of the Faithful knows no limits to his cruelty. The draconis don’t leave their island just as the morphi can only exist safely here—that’s why my father carved out this place for us using the royal family’s knowledge of the shift.”
“That’s horrible,” Vi whispered. The potion she held in her hands had been forgotten. No amount of balm could soothe the ache she felt for the people of Meru. “Why does no one stop it?”
“Like I said, their actions supposedly come from the goddess herself. Though I have my suspicions…”
“You don’t think they’re acting on Yargen’s orders?”
“I can’t imagine the goddess being quiet for hundreds of years and then suddenly demanding blood. Can you?” Vi shook her head and Arwin continued. “No, it’s all the depravity of two power-hungry men.”
“Who?” Vi whispered. She didn’t want to hear the answer, because she already knew it.
“Who else? Lord Ulvarth wields the sword, but the one who gives him the orders and the power—the real evil—is the Voice of the Faithful.”
Chapter Fourteen
The real evil is the Voice of the Faithful. The words rattled in her ears, drowning out the buzz of magic from the scythe. The conversation took a blessedly lighter turn as they walked back to Vi’s room, but the weight of earlier revelations was heavy on her mind and shoulders.
“Leave the blade here, we’re going to Sarphos,” Arwin commanded. Vi was too tired to argue.
Leaving the scythe without so much as a lock on her door didn’t feel like enough. But it had been safe and hidden in the Twilight Kingdom for hundreds of years now, so Vi could only trust it would be safe for a few more days.
Though, knowing her luck, Vi wouldn’t exactly be surprised if something happened now that the scythe had been revealed from its hiding place.
Up two floors, Arwin came to a stop before a large, open space. The domed ceiling overhead was framed by metal and otherwise open to the stars in the twilight sky above. Glowing stones hung like pendants over three tables that quite literally grew up from the floor—starting as stone, but transforming into branches that wove themselves in the proper shape. In the back of the room was a desk with a familiar red-haired man hunched over it. On either side of his work station were a series of tables, vials, mixing stations, and other workspaces.
Whatever Sarphos was doing must be intense, for his shoulders were pulled to his ears and his hand moved feverishly over the open page before him. Arwin cleared her throat and he nearly jumped from his seat.
“Sarphos.”
He looked over his shoulder. “What is it now?”
“Don’t look so happy to see me,” Arwin leaned her hip against one of the tables.
“Why would I be happy? You’re always breaking something,” Sarphos muttered. “Or someone, I should say. What did you do to her?”
“She was worse for wear when she came in. Even mild training has her bruising.” Arwin motioned between Vi and the table. “Up with you. Let Sarphos give you a once-over.”
Vi obliged, pushing herself off the floor to sit on the edge of the table.
“Can I trust you with her?” Arwin asked, already starting for the open door. “I have to get to a meeting with the head of the city guards. Someone has been taking up all my time today.”
“I’m not sorry,” Vi called loftily after the woman.
Arwin just snorted before disappearing, not even giving Sarphos a chance to respond.
“You two seem to be getting along better,” Sarphos observed thoughtfully.
“She still doesn’t trust me.” And that fact could be deadly to Taavin. No matter how much easy banter they exchanged, Vi needed to stay on guard.
“She likely never will.”
“Good, the feeling can be mutual then.”
Sarphos looked away from his potions, inspecting her in his peripheral vision. His expression made her wonder if she should’ve kept the thought to herself. But she had little energy to care about whatever verdict he reached about the callous remark.
These people are not your friends, Vi reminded herself. They had their own objectives and histories she didn’t understand. They were a means to an end.
“Have the morphi not been kind to you?” Sarphos asked softly, as he placed a hand on her forearm. Vi thought the motion merely reassuring until she felt a pulse of magic reverberate through her body, probing uncomfortably between her muscles.
“Everyone has been kind.”
“Yet you do not trust us?” Sarphos removed his hand from her and then pointed at her midsection where Adela had wounded her. “Lie back and let me see that.”
Vi did as instructed. “I can’t… because once anyone finds out who I am aligned with… the kindness will end.”
“Mine hasn’t,” he murmured, lifting her shirt slightly. Vi looked down at the raised scar on her abdomen. It could’ve been much worse, given the original wound.
He worked in silence and Vi stared at the glowing stone pendant above her. There was an odd, hollow ache in her—one she didn’t think any salve would be able to fix. One that would make tears prick her eyes if she wasn’t careful.
“Thank you,” Vi said finally.
“It’s my oath to heal,” Sarphos said simply and lowered her shirt.
“It’s not your oath to keep him a secret.” Vi didn’t have to specify who he was. “Perhaps the opposite. So, thank you.”
“I still don’t know if it was the right decision.” He looked her right in the eye. “Make sure you and he prove to me that it was. Prove to me that this prophecy you’re involved in, your goals to help all the people of this world, are real. Prove to me… that I didn’t just let the murderer of morphi survive for no reason.”
Vi gave a small nod, accepting the vial Sarphos held out. She downed it, and the next, feeling steadily stronger. Over the third, she asked, “Take me to him?”
“I had already planned on it.”
Vi opened her eyes to the eerie skeletal trees of the Twilight Forest and took a deep breath.
“Are you all right?” Sarphos asked from her side, releasing her hand.
“Yes. It’s easier to pass through the shift if I keep my eyes closed and hold my breath. Much less jarring that way.”
“Interesting,” he murmured. “I’ve never passed through a shift with a non-morphi before now.”
“Glad I could be your experiment.” She tried to keep her voice easy. “I see you got us closer this time.”
“Now that I know where it is, I can come here directly.”
Vi wondered if she should interpret the statement as a thinly veiled threat—that he could lead anyone here in an instant.
“Saves us time.” Vi stepped ahead, crossed the stream. Without another word, she side-stepped through the narrow opening of the cave.
“Vi?” Taavin called out. This time, his voice didn’t come from the ground, but directly across from her. The glowing stone Sarphos had left the last time illuminated him faintly as he breathed a sigh of relief. “I thought I heard your voice.”
“Sarphos is here too.” Vi gave him a quick once-over. His eyes were attentive and bright, the luster had returned to his skin and his muscles seemed better defined. Even Taavin’s hair looked clean. Whatever Sarphos had given him had truly worked wonders overnight.
Her relief was light and palpable, but only until Sarphos entered, and the atmosphere in the close space suddenly grew heavy.
“Sarphos.” Taavin gave him a wary look.
“Voice,” Sarphos resp
onded just as curtly.
Silence, long and strained, stretched between them. Vi waited, holding her breath. Of course meeting Taavin when he was healthy—healthier—would be different for Sarphos than helping a dying man.
“Shall we just get on with it?” Vi broke the silence, and their staring battle. The less the two interacted, the better. Sarphos was already in too deep to back out now, and he knew it. Taavin still needed his help, and he knew it. At least, she hoped they’d both arrived at the same conclusions.
“Very well.” Sarphos’s tone took on a more detached and clerical nature as he set down the bundle of clothes he’d brought and stepped forward.
For his part, Taavin said nothing, holding out his arms and waiting. Sarphos poked, prodded, and pulsed his magic over Taavin. Vi folded and unfolded her hands before her. Her whole body was tense, every muscle trembling just beneath the surface, though she didn’t entirely know why.
Was it because she was nervous either Taavin or Sarphos would snap, attacking the other? Was it worry that Sarphos would find something terribly wrong? Or was it because of what Arwin had said about Taavin and the Faithful earlier?
“Right, then… the healing so far looks good. There’s still quite a bit of infection so I have a few draughts I’d like to make you.” Sarphos stepped back toward the opening. “Give me a minute or five?”
“Take your time.” Vi caught his eyes, trying to silently stress the words. Sarphos may have picked up on her meaning, giving her the slightest of nods before pushing back toward the entrance.
“You’re certain we can trust him?” Taavin asked.
“Yes.” Vi leaned against the wall behind her by the opening so she could listen for Sarphos’s return. “If he was going to hurt either of us, he would’ve by now. If he was going to out us, he could’ve—I’ve tried to keep an eye on him, but I’ve hardly been with him every waking moment. No one in the Twilight Kingdom knows he’s smuggling me out or helping you.”
“It’s just… the morphi…” Taavin rubbed the back of his neck, staring at where Sarphos departed. “They don’t take kindly to Faithful.”