A Time of Darkness (The Circle of Talia)

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A Time of Darkness (The Circle of Talia) Page 5

by Lister, Dionne


  “He’s as good an actor as you, Arie. We should have shows and start charging. I knew there was an easier way to earn a living than being a realmist.” Agmunsten rubbed his palms together, while Arie rolled his eyes.

  After everyone greeted Zim, they retreated into Vellonia to meet with King Valdorryn. It was time to plan, and then it would be time to bless the piece of quartz that would help decide Talia’s fate.

  Chapter 9

  Bright candlelight reflected off the polished stone, and Blayke looked briefly at his faint reflection on the walls. Sweetly-scented smoke wafted around him before it curled into small vents at either end of the ceiling. The room was bare, save for a wooden bowl, which was the size of two cupped hands, sitting on the floor in the middle of this small, underground chamber.

  As Avruellen and Augustine had done for Bronwyn, Agmunsten and Arcese had warded the perimeter and stood—Arcese hunched over in the restricted space—waiting for Blayke to take his position by the bowl. Blayke felt sweat on his palms. He looked down into the vessel and saw a chain and amulet, similar to Bronwyn’s, resting on a bed of herbs. Agmunsten grabbed Blayke’s left hand while Arcese slipped a leathery, clawed hand around his right, engulfing it.

  Agmunsten looked at Blayke. “Are your hands always this sweaty?”

  “No.” Blayke swallowed; smiling through his fear was too hard.

  “It will be okay, lad. I can see you’re thinking about what happened to Augustine. If you pay attention and do your job properly, as we discussed, we won’t be in danger. Arcese and I are strong, and I have no doubt Drakon will help us. Are we all ready?” Agmunsten looked from Blayke to Arcese, who nodded.

  Blayke hoped Agmunsten was as wise as his white beard suggested. He breathed in deeply and concentrated on the warmth from the head realmist’s hand and the cool roughness of Arcese’s large palm. They were standing close together, yet Blayke felt exposed, like he was standing out in the open, by himself, surrounded by Morth and his bandits. He focused on the amulet and what it signified and pushed aside his vulnerability—he knew it was there but chose to ignore it. It was time.

  Agmunsten’s voice was deeper than normal as he intoned the rites. “We stand here today to unlink a piece of the chain that binds our salvation. I order you, Blayke, to link with Erme, the water corridor to the Second Realm.

  Blayke tightened his stomach muscles against the rush of power as it filled him.

  “Realmist Arcese, I ask you to link with Quie, the fire corridor to the Second Realm.” Even Agmunsten held his breath. This was where it had gone wrong last time, and Augustine had not known until it was too late. He waited for some sign from the dragon that he should continue. Arcese closed her eyes for a moment. In the seconds before she opened them, Blayke thought his resolve would snap—he wanted to run from this room and never look back. The air felt charged with energy, and goose bumps freckled his arms and legs.

  When the dragon opened her eyes, Blayke thought he saw fear, but it was so brief he may have been wrong. She nodded to Agmunsten, and he let out his breath. “I now link with Zaya, the corridor to the gods, and I seek the blessing of Drakon, god of the dragons.” Agmunsten’s voice had been measured until now, but Blayke heard the tension in his elder’s voice as he spoke faster. It was as if he wanted to get it over and done with before something untoward happened. Blayke hoped, for the hundredth time that day, that none of them were about to die.

  “Do you agree to unlock this piece I present, thereby enabling the possibility of humans and dragons to defeat our oldest and bitterest enemy?” Agmunsten looked to the ceiling as if he could see past the tons of rock above, to the heavenly abode of the dragon god. Arcese and Blayke looked at the bowl. Blayke squeezed the hands of his fellow realmists a bit tighter. The air shimmered, and momentary dizziness swayed the young realmist.

  “Ah, so it is you, humans, but with one of mine. Greetings, Arcese, my child.”

  “Greetings, Father.” Arcese bowed her head in respect.

  The shimmering air pulsed with Drakon’s voice. “I will help, but there is a price you must pay. It is a price set by the Realms, and a trifle compared to what you will lose if you don’t.”

  Agmunsten stood taller, bracing himself to take the news on the strongest shoulders he could offer. “Tell me the price so we may get on with this blessing.” Blayke wondered what the price would be, and knew, from the head realmist’s voice, it would be a big one. He shut his eyes and drew a deep, calming breath.

  “Listen carefully, and repeat this to no one. When the price is asked, you will have one chance to act. If you hesitate, the chance will be lost, and so will Talia. The two you must sacrifice are….”

  All three realmists paled, and Blayke blinked back tears. When Drakon finished speaking, the energy flowing to the channels ceased, and as Blayke reached down to gather the quartz in his shaking hands, he wished he were an innocent child once again. He didn’t know how to carry this new burden and thought death would be so much easier. His fingers touched the pendant, and he fell to his knees. Agmunsten and Arcese stood in silence as Blayke knelt on the floor and wept.

  Agmunsten covered his face with his hands. They had survived the blessing of the quartz, so why did it feel like they had failed?

  Chapter 10

  Bronwyn hadn’t thought she would be sad to leave Vellonia—since she doubted she would ever leave at one point—but found herself wiping her eyes as she said goodbye to the king and queen and all the dragons she’d met since coming here. The dragon she had spent the most time with, Arcese, was the one who was most difficult to say goodbye to. Standing on the shore of the underground lake, they embraced, and Bronwyn wanted to never let go. Even though Arcese’s leathery scales were not soft, she felt peace in the large creature’s arms. In the short time they were there, this dragon realmist had taught them all much about earth magic—knowledge that would be invaluable in the weeks to come. Arcese’s calm and kind nature had captivated Bronwyn. The young realmist wished she were more like the dragon.

  Bronwyn stepped into the boat and sat behind Blayke and Arcon. Sinjenasta jumped in after her, making it rock so violently, she grabbed the side. He lay in the back of the boat. A strap uncoiled from the floor to secure itself over the panther’s back. Once all were harnessed safely, the boat glided away from the edge of the bank. Their belongings were being flown out by one of the dragons and would be waiting when they reached the outside.

  Looking at the water, Bronwyn could see no evidence of Symbothial’s murder. Such a violent, sad moment—the ending of his life, and no sign to suggest it had ever occurred. If only she could erase it from her mind as easily. I won’t forget you, Symbothial, and I’m sorry.

  Bronwyn turned and waved until the boat rounded a bend and she lost sight of her friends. “I think I’m going to miss Vellonia.” After a minute, when no one responded, she spoke again, “What about you, Blayke? Are you going to miss it?”

  He had been unusually quiet after the blessing of his amulet, and nothing Bronwyn asked could pull a reason from him.

  “I will, for sure, if only because it could be the last peaceful time we get to have. I’m not looking forward to what’s out there.” Bronwyn didn’t have an answer, as she suspected it was true. Arcon stayed silent and tried to figure out what was upsetting his nephew. He had never seen him like this, and Fang had no ideas either. Maybe it was just that he was growing up and realizing the nature of what lay ahead. Maybe his distaste of killing was affecting him.

  The boat jerked as the speed increased. They all held on—even Sinjenasta extended his claws, trying to gain purchase on the timbers underneath him. This time the boat didn’t drop, but circled, faster and faster, until Bronwyn thought she might vomit. Finally, the boat shot out of its whirlpool, spearing towards a hole barely bigger than the boat. The young realmists gripped the boat with strained fingers, and Bronwyn shut her eyes, not wanting to see the moment her head would bash against the rock of the hole that looked too s
mall. She had tried to bend over and put her head on her knees, but they were travelling too fast—the force of the air keeping her upright.

  As they passed from Vellonia like a cherry pip spat from a mouth, Bronwyn thought she felt a rock lightly graze her head; then the warmth of the sun reached her through the cold wind of their flight. The boat hit water and slid to a halt, drenching Blayke and Arcon in the process as a sheath of water, upset by their landing, washed over the front of the vessel.

  Bronwyn opened her eyes as her belt unclasped. “Oh, look: our horses!”

  In her excitement, she stood and almost fell from the boat as it rose out of the water to hover next to the top of the riverbank.

  Settle down, young cub. I don’t feel like fishing you out of the river today, Sinjenasta chided.

  The group stepped off, one by one, and Bronwyn took extra care not to embarrass herself further, although she couldn’t resist running to Prince. She stroked her fingers along his nose and hugged his neck. “Oh, I’ve missed you so much. I thought I’d never see you again.”

  She nuzzled her face into his, becoming reacquainted with the dusty fragrance of sweat mixed with hay that she loved.

  “It’s just a horse. Why do girls get so excited over horses?”

  Arcon answered, “I can’t say why, lad, and let me tell you: there’s a lot of things you will never understand about women. I think you should just get used to it.”

  “How come you’re not married?” Blayke had always wondered but never asked.

  Arcon, one foot in a stirrup, hesitated, clearly taken off guard by the question. He raised himself into the saddle and looked to the sky. “Oh, look at those dark clouds. I think we might get some rain today.”

  “Nice try at avoiding my question. Come on; you have to tell us.”

  “I don’t really, but what the Third Realm. I’ll tell you a bit about my life as we ride, but don’t expect it to be exciting.” He chuckled. A lot had happened in his life, but it had happened so long ago, he sometimes felt it had happened to someone else. The memories he pulled from the depths were cloudy, and it saddened him that he couldn’t picture the faces of the ones he had loved the most. “Many, many, many, many years ago, when I was twenty, I met a young lady. Her name was Marcie. We met at the Bayerlon Spring Fair. She had hair the color of fiery autumn leaves, and her green eyes enchanted me the first time I saw her.”

  Bronwyn, Sinjenasta, and Fang all listened eagerly as they rode. Bronwyn cried when Arcon told them how, after they married, as Marcie gave birth to their first child, she started bleeding. Arcon had just begun training as an apprentice realmist. There was nothing he, or the midwife, could do. Both Mother and Baby Boy died. Arcon had married again, when he was a lot older, but never had children—the memory of losing his son was always too painful, and he realized after becoming a realmist, that he would outlive his children if he had them.

  “I don’t really want children, but I hadn’t thought about getting married. Does that mean we should choose other realmists?” Bronwyn asked.

  “Don’t look at me.”

  “What? I wasn’t looking at you, Blayke, you idiot.”

  “Idiot? Gee thanks.”

  “Well, if you don’t want to be called ‘idiot’, don’t say stupid things. And, I might add, thanks for the insult. What would be so bad about marrying me?” She looked straight at him, her eyes alive with challenge.

  He looked at Bronwyn. He couldn’t deny she was striking, with long dark hair and large gray eyes, and he would be lying if he said he hadn’t noticed her “assets.” But there was something he couldn’t name, something that meant she didn’t excite him. He studied her closer: the shape of her square jaw, prominent cheekbones, straight nose—all were familiar. Blayke stopped his horse, not sure whether to be happy, angry, or both. The question was out before he had a chance to reconsider. “Arcon. Are Bronwyn and I related?”

  Now it was Arcon’s turn to stop. The question he had been waiting for, and dreading, had come earlier than expected. Over the years, he had rehearsed his answer and decided the direct approach would be the best. “Yes.”

  Bronwyn had halted, staring at Blayke. Sinjenasta stood beside Bronwyn’s horse. Fang climbed onto Blayke’s shoulder and rubbed the top of his furry head against his partner’s neck in a gesture of support.

  Bronwyn looked at Blayke with a new perspective, and she cursed herself for being so caught up in her own dramas that she never noticed the similarities. Although he had green eyes and was taller than her, their features were similar, even the way he held his head while waiting for an answer, as he did now, slightly to one side. Zebla’s hounds! Are we really related? How are we? Is he, is he, oh gods! The words rushed out of her mouth, “Arcon, tell us. Who are we?”

  She had waited a lifetime for an answer, and her heart beat faster in anticipation. So many nights she had fallen asleep imagining what her mother and father looked like. Did she have sisters or brothers? Then something other than joy intruded, something she hadn’t anticipated: fear. Was she ready? Would she like who her family was, or were they murderers, greedy, or horrible?

  “All right, but don’t fall off your horses, or run away. Before I tell you, I need your promise to try and understand why we couldn’t tell you.” Both nodded, willing to promise anything to know part of who they were. “You are brother and sister: twins, in fact.” The news was met with a sharp intake of breath from all but Sinjenasta and Phantom.

  It surprised Arcon that a weight lifted as he spoke. He had never enjoyed keeping secrets—they eroded inner peace, especially when the information had the potential to hurt those you loved. So many times he had opened his mouth and almost said something without meaning to. Now he didn’t have to worry. There it was.

  The two young realmists sat atop their horses, mouths open. Bronwyn’s reins lay forgotten across her horse’s neck. Blayke stared at Arcon, not knowing where to begin. He reached up and absently stroked Fang’s back. Finally, he broke the silence. “Why were we separated? Why did it have to be a secret?”

  “The Circle knew you were important for Talia’s future, and we couldn’t risk anyone knowing you were alive. If someone did find out, we thought separating you would mean if worst came to worst, at least one of you would survive. We took you from your parents as soon as you were born. Your mother held you, and, when you were taken away to be cleaned up and settled, we told them you’d died.”

  Bronwyn’s voice grew louder with each frantic question. “Surely they asked to see the bodies? And what about Avruellen? You kidnapped us! Who are our parents? Are they still alive?”

  She thought of all the questions her aunt had fobbed off over the years. She was angry she had not sometimes asked what was in her heart in order to spare her aunt’s feelings, when it seemed, now, her aunt had no feelings to worry about in the first place. When Bronwyn looked at her brother—her twin brother, no less—she saw a friend she was only just getting to know: they were practically strangers, so much time lost. Bronwyn had always felt something was missing, and now she knew what it was.

  Arcon spoke with a gentle voice. “We put you to sleep with power from the Second Realm to make you both still and quiet. We slowed your heartbeats until they couldn’t be felt and gave your skin a blue tinge. I also had to tamper with your parents’ minds so they easily accepted what we told them. I’m sorry we had to do it that way, but if we hadn’t, there would be a good chance you would have been killed for real. At least this way, you will see your parents again.”

  He mentally kicked himself at the last, because he wasn’t ready to answer questions about who their parents were. They couldn’t be told yet and needed impartiality to do what needed to be done. There would be people who would have to die on their way to defeating the gormons, and Blayke and Bronwyn’s actions would decide the outcome. If they knew the truth, it might stop them doing what they should. Not to mention they’d want to race to them right now, when there wasn’t time.

  �
��So, Uncle, who are our parents, and who are you to me, really?”

  The last question hurt Arcon in a way he hadn’t thought was still possible. He had loved the boy like a son, and he was his great (a few times over) uncle by blood. He knew that revealing this secret would have repercussions, but he didn’t think they would pain him so much. Well, the boy’s trust in him would have to be sacrificed for the time being—better that than Bronwyn and Blayke finding out this news at an inconvenient moment, like while fighting a gormon.

  Arcon dismounted and walked over to Blayke. He looked up at his nephew. “Blayke, I am your real uncle, if a few generations removed. I know this is a lot to take in, and I don’t think this was really the right time and place to tell you, but it needed to be said. I love you like a son and always will.” He turned to Bronwyn. “Bronwyn, your aunt is your aunt; she is also my sister. We are both responsible for taking you from your parents, but please understand, we had no choice. I know she loves you more than anything in this world, so please don’t be too hard on her when you see her.”

  Arcon mounted his horse. “We have to get moving. We’ll talk more about this tonight when we’re not sitting on horses. As for your parents, you will see them soon, but not just yet.” Arcon raised his hand to still Blayke’s question. “Not now, lad. I’ll tell you all you need to know soon enough. Right now, Avruellen’s waiting for us, and there’s no time to waste. Who’s having the first turn at warding our symbols?”

  “I will,” volunteered Bronwyn.

  “Okay then. Hop up behind Blayke and hold on around his waist. We’ll do shifts of eight hours each. Blayke can go after you, and Sinjenasta can do the night watch. I’ll take first turn tomorrow.”

  “Is it safe for you to do it again so soon?” Blayke’s concern was echoed by Phantom’s hoot.

 

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