by M A Price
The fury was the easiest way to channel it. He wished for it, he raged, and it happened…he wanted to know if it was meant to happen that way. Throughout the twenty-two years he had been alive all he had wanted was to ask someone; to find someone who could understand and let him know if he was doing it right or he was betraying some universal law.
It had been the year of his birth that ‘The Scriptures of The Seven Worlds’ had been banned; destroyed on a decree by Jefferson. His father had once told him how he oversaw it, rounded them up, and helped them burn. That had been one of the days he hated him the most.
Only one of the days though; there had been so many more.
He let his thoughts wander until a sudden pain across his cheek brought him back to reality. He moved his hand down and used the other one to feel the line of his jaw. The dried blood was gone, he couldn’t feel it at all anymore, he looked at the messy wooden cabinet and found a spoon which he raised up. The left side of his face now had a burn from his jaw to his ear. The spoon fell to the floor as he pushed himself back against the wall. How…? He hadn't even known he could char flesh.
There would be no way to cover that up; it was a skill he had ever learned. To be a Healing Wielder was rare; even back in The Seven Worlds. Only those with an immense gift could accomplish such a thing.
A Healer had given him a salve for a cut in the Training Ring a moon rotation ago which he managed to find and apply haphazardly to his face but he was painfully aware of the injury as he stalked down the corridors towards the dungeon.
No word had come from Samiah but that was no surprise; she would be too busy with her duties to think of such a thing. Orders first, as always.
The corridor which led to the dungeons was darker than most others in the palace and not decorated in the same elaborate manner. Just a simple grey; to encourage people to stay away it was claimed but it seemed to be crazed with activity as his aching legs reached it.
Xave stood to attention halfway down, a catlike grin on his face as he watched him pass. Jaxon initially wondered if Xave’s presence was meant for him; but he saw Reyn arguing animatedly with two guards stationed at the dungeon entrance and slowed his pace. They weren't men he had placed there.
“I have every right to enter whichever part of my own home as I so desire,” Reyn stated, a demeanour of calm about him which Jaxon didn’t believe. The guards’ responses couldn’t be made out but judging from the Prince’s vigorous head shake was a refusal. Jaxon finally forced his legs to move the last few steps to join them and nodded in greeting.
“Captain Rowdedge, I believe you’re supposed to be in charge here are you not? Please explain who these men are and why I am not allowed to go where I please any longer.” Reyn’s fury was impressive when turned on you, Jaxon noted taking in the anger sparkling in the other man’s eyes.
He looked at the two guards for some form of recognition, but both were utterly unfamiliar to him. The taller one, a bearded ginger man inclined his head towards him.
“Your Highness, I would love to be of more assistance but I’m afraid I don’t actually know these men and have been indisposed before now.” Jaxon’s attention reverted to the ginger looming man. “Whose orders are you here on? I was informed I was to be in charge of this watch.”
The footsteps from behind told him the answer before he turned. It made perfect sense and he should have seen it before…as Reyn also turned, Jax couldn’t help but notice the disappointment on the Prince’s face as he reached the same conclusion.
“They would be mine,” Xave announced, that grin never faltering. “You seemed to be busy involving yourself in petty arguments Captain, so impressive to incur a burn when you have not been near a fire…” Jaxon felt himself blush. “I thought I would send some of my men here whilst you worked out how to do your job, and as for you, Your Highness, I believe you should probably discuss the matter with your dear Father. He is the one who said you should not be allowed here. It wasn’t even my suggestion.” It was the first time Jaxon had ever seen Xave look disappointed.
Reyn said nothing as he stormed away. Jaxon didn’t waste a second of pity on him as he turned back towards Xave.
“I had an urgent matter to attend to in the kitchens, hence the burn, but your concern is always appreciated. I am more than capable of completing my duties. You have my thanks Xave. Your men can leave.”
Xave shook his head “My men will leave when I tell them, but I shan’t be giving that order today. If I believe you’re doing an adequate job tomorrow, then I will leave it solely in your hands, if not, then they will stay and report back to me whenever I see fit. The Princess was clear on my seniority, after all.”
Jaxon wanted to argue but knew it would be to no avail, so he simply turned and barged past the two grunts. At least they weren’t Unforgiven, that would have unsettled the whole team. The fact that Xave had his own men now was a problem for another day. What kind of man would choose to work directly for such a creature?
The things Xave had done were legendary…his deceptions leading to the capture of Wielders all across Brodanna, the scores of people he had murdered just for wanting to protect those Wielders. Such actions had garnered him much favour with the King. His power had only grown since The Unforgiven seemed to be able to take a permanent residence in the palace. A rise that had continued despite his failure at the Facility.
So much had changed since the last Moon Turn and not remotely in the way he had hoped for. The thing that bothered Jaxon the most about Xave was the fact that he was also a Wielder, an extremely powerful one if rumour was to be believed. Jaxon himself had never joined any resistance effort, preferring the idea of hiding from such a notion for whatever reason at the time; there was always one, but to actively hunt down your own people? It could have so easily been him.
He had been sent to find Wielders before but one way or another they always became the unsuccessful missions. Some form of suspicion had always been expected but to his knowledge none had come; yet. Maybe that pot of luck his mother had always joked about as he grew up was finally starting to run dry.
The air cooled as he descended the steps to the even bleaker dungeons. They had never been known for their prisoner’s rights but he was well aware the standard they had been kept in, in recent years, was diabolical. They made the poorest part of the Spykelands look luxurious.
Eight cells were contained below, six general ones for the petty criminals and two private rooms for Wielders or similar high-profile offenders. Jala seemed irate in the dirt between the common cells as he finally descended the last stair. Her face was passive but Jaxon could tell from the fall of her shoulders and the tightness of her small mouth.
“Captain,” she sighed coming to a stop before him, tucking her violently white hair behind her ears. Jaxon couldn’t help but recall the one time he had confessed how beautiful he thought she was, Jala had simply laughed, pushed him away and declared herself highly uninterested in him.
The two had become firm friends from then on and Jaxon had never been one to push an issue. It had taken several moon turns before he actually realised he was the wrong gender for Jala’s liking. She was younger than all the others, the newest initiate, but seemed to have more life than the rest of his team put together. Himself thoroughly included.
“How have things been?” he prompted and she huffed at first, her hair moving with her as her body drooped.
“The morons upstairs keep coming down and I can’t think of very many more ways to tell them to go the hell away without getting my head removed from my shoulders,” she admitted it casually, protocol out the window, as it so often was with her. “…And the prisoner Jax…I don’t even know where to start with that one and I’m not saying she shouldn’t be here or anything crazy but treating anyone like that is a crime and she’s not breaking…”
Jaxon moved his finger to his lips “Sssh Jal.”
She opened her mouth to continue but he attempted his best Captain face, which se
emed to silence her.
“Do not tell me that here Jala, we don’t know who’s listening anymore.” He pointed to the top of the stairs and she let out a groan. “We have to be careful with what we are doing and who we are trusting now. Later. We’ll meet somewhere later but not now.”
Jala seemed apologetic but indignant as he walked past her and continued on, seeing the empty cages, all reeking of waste and vomit. He forced himself not to gag as he reached the door which then led to the two rooms at the end. A small hallway held the desk and Flern the Dungeon Master. Flern displayed his wonky toothless grin and pointed to the room on his right. Jax didn’t bother with a response as he willed himself to enter.
A cage made of Wielder resistant material took up three quarters of the room, thick bars around every side, nothing seemed to be inside except an overflowing bucket and a woman curled up in the corner.
Rags barely covered her emaciated body as she huddled on the stone floor. The woman’s blonde hair was tinged with grey and blood was splattered up her legs. Her rotten tunic had a slash in the middle revealing the curve of her breasts, bruises ringing every part he could see. A matrimonial Mark which looked like it had been cut away. She seemed to be pulling it together to cover what remained of her dignity as her head shot up slightly at the sight of him, bright green eyes finding his own hazel ones.
Samiah stood to attention on his side of the bars, her scrutiny glued to the inhabitant before them.
“Have you spoken to her?” he asked tersely.
“She won’t respond to me but Flern told me her name,” her words seemed casual, as if she was observing a daily event in Kara’s square. His gag reflex threatened him again.
He looked at her expectantly, hoping not only for the name but for a trace of the Samiah he knew privately but only the soldier seemed to be in existence.
“She’s Becca Youchnore,” she uttered, Jaxon felt the pit of pooling power in his stomach want to reach out, to scream as he let her words sink in.
He said nothing else as Samiah informed him that she had previously been held in Torlung but moved here under Jefferson’s orders for further interrogation. He barely listened as she continued referencing Xave believing the knowledge would draw out her esteemed husband, but Jaxon couldn’t believe that Ivloch Youchnore would be foolish enough to come for the broken woman in the cage.
He certainly hoped he wouldn’t, not to the death trap that this place had become. Samiah rambled on, more details he didn’t care for, but he made no attempt to even acknowledge her now as he slowly stepped towards the bars of the cage. The woman's eyes hadn’t left him since he entered.
“Becca, my name is Captain Rowdedge...”
“I know who you are,” she responded defiantly. Samiah walked to join him, surprise and annoyance highlighting every feature at Becca’s response. He made other attempts to talk to her, to offer her some food or new garments but she refused to reply. She just stared at him with those eyes. He was certain he was going to see them later in his nightmares.
Samiah seemed to cool as he continued to garner no more activity than she had, even leaving briefly to check on Flern and Jala. He knew he could enter the cage, could move the woman, could force her to talk to him, get her cleaned up…but something held him back. He knew she wasn’t a Wielder from rumour, and there had certainly been many regarding the Youchnores, but even if she was the bars would have stopped her gifts from working.
A horrible mixture of guilt for staying away for so long and dread that he had finally seen the woman mixed awkwardly in his gut. A strange knowledge that her presence in these walls would change everything for him…
Samiah returned giggling after a conversation with Flern, and he left the bars swiftly and turned to meet her.
“Send word to the others, they are to relieve us for the evening in one hour. They are not to leave before we come back at sunrise and not to let anyone else enter this room, even Flern.” Samiah looked perplexed but saluted quickly and moved towards the door. “And Samiah?” she stopped and faced him, “Bring back some new garments for Mrs Youchnore and some food. Ask Kress, she will oblige me.”
Samiah tilted her head but Jaxon could have sworn the look of annoyance was back.
Eighteen - Mara
Katanya trained her at dusk and dawn, adamant she must know how to deal with both.
They worked when she was wide awake, tired, full, hungry, anxious or happy.
“When something goes wrong you don’t get to pick when it happens, you just have to deal with it,” she reasoned. Some Moons meant they worked with magic; others with sword and shield.
“Your power will always be there but you can use it too much. Burning out will mean you’re useless and you crumple to the floor. If you near it then you’ll need to pick up a sword and fight for your life.” Another of her lessons.
They also tried archery, something which even Katanya admitted Mara probably would not master.
“We can’t all be good at everything,” she shrugged, picking up her own bow and shooting the arrow directly at the centre of the target. She was quickly learning there were very few things Katanya Leshi was not good at.
Dealing with people, however, was one of them.
Various camp members would come down to the river, Katanya’s favoured training spot, to watch, try and join them, or merely for a chat. Most of them Katanya grunted at or outright ignored. Idyn, now they had got over their awkwardness, she welcomed.
“He isn’t the best with a sword but he’s incredible with short weapons, a fantastic tactician and smarter than most,” Katanya evaluated, high praise indeed from her. “He’s also not half bad as a person and won’t ask stupid questions.”
Stupid questions, to her new mentor, meant anything she didn’t want to discuss. Those topics seemed to change, depending on her mood and keeping up was becoming one of Mara’s harder tasks, although she secretly quite liked it.
Katanya reminded her of Tess in some ways. The only friend she had ever had, except Elex.
She sensed more of a kindness in Katanya, more than Tess had ever possessed; but they both said exactly what they wanted to say. The time after training when she sat on the river bed with Katanya whilst they both washed was quickly becoming her favourite times of the day. Katanya was always insisting she might not be there the next day, but her red head always waited each morning.
Idyn joined them sometimes and it was even nicer; the two people she was slowly starting to feel closest to in one place. An easy conversation always forming between them; or as easy as Katanya ever let it be. Something seemed to pull her back as soon as she let herself relax, as if she had to try not to let either Mara or even Idyn in.
They had trained with their power today; power was a weapon as Katanya had chanted. Mara hadn’t particularly got the hang of actually using it as one. Katanya had managed to knock her off her feet, throw her around the glade and keep her in place without so much as a sweat on her brow. Mara had knocked Katanya’s sword from her hand and at one point made her trip; an accomplishment or fluke she wasn't sure. Despite the bruises she could already feel forming up her side it had been worth it.
Idyn was absent as they moved towards the river bed, Katanya pulling off her boots and letting her ridiculous amount of hair fly free from its braid. She looked like a goddess with her hair down; she was beautiful anyway, the sort of beauty one reads about or penned some form of epic, but the effect of it flying free reminded Mara of a princess or famed warrior queen.
If she ever got out of this alive perhaps, she could be the muse for her first real story. Katanya would have hated the idea so she vowed never to tell her as they slumped down. Maybe she would just hear it in an inn one day…
“You don’t want to hurt me. That’s the problem.” Katanya groaned, removing the top of her armour, careful not to stab herself with her spiked shoulder blades. She hadn’t bothered with breeches today, instead just wearing her usual black skirt over dark leggings. A look th
at was uniquely her. She was wore a pink shirt, it was short sleeved, and highlighted the fine muscles of her arms and the tattoo she had at the top of the right one. Mara hadn't noticed it before.
The tattoo was of a man’s face. Hair fell around his face, stopping just before his shoulders and a broad smile. His image was framed with a heart of vines. If its likeness was accurate and he was who she believed it to be, then Kyllian had been a handsome man. She wanted to ask but was smarter than that; Katanya wouldn’t answer her. It would be a stupid question on any moon. She would walk away and their usual talk would be ruined.
Idyn had told her about the saga of Katanya and Kyllian, and the tale had made Mara's heart ache.
“Why would I want to hurt you? I don’t really want to hurt anyone.”
Katanya huffed as if that was a ridiculous notion. “You might not but you have to. The world isn’t the fairy-tale you want it to be. People are going to hurt you, some are going to go out of their way to do so and you have to be able to defend yourself.” She knew she was right. Her whole life had taught her she was right; but knowing something and acting on it were very different.
“Your power knows what it has to do. It has its own voice and you have to listen to it or you won’t get anywhere. You’ve heard about gut instinct, right?” Mara nodded at Katanya’s question. “Users have a stronger one. Our power can know things; the right course of action, it can be a guide when things are wrong. Listening to that voice and yourself, is one of the biggest steps you can take. It’s what will keep you alive-
“Power is universal, everyone has some in one way or another, even if it’s not as a Wielder. Trusting yourself with it isn’t. It makes all the difference.”
“What if I can’t trust myself with it? What if I’m not good enough?”