The rustle of parchment seemed to clear to her adapting senses when she peered down at it once more. “Owen,” was her whispered gasp. “Owen wrote this.”
“We have taken sanctuary inside a fortress in the forest below Cinis Lumen. We have held secret meetings here unbeknownst to most. They are attacking the fortress now. I huddle next to my sister and pray that Elyon will bring deliverance.”
-From the diary Cassia Caddell, written during her time of hiding in the Spirit Follower dwelling in the Third Age
Twenty-Six
Shouting overhead jogged Cam from her trance. She hurried
from the room and groped through the stairwell. Her feet carried her from a chamber into a hall where part of her team could be seen battling over the chest in the tower room. Without hesitation, her strong ally pried the chest from someone's hands and tossed it out the window hoping a friend would catch it from below. Their opponents gave up the physical fight and rushed to the stairs to escape the castle. Cam grinned helplessly at their cries when they were blocked by the sprawling bodies on the slick stairs. The remainder of Cam's companions heaved sighs of exhaustion and satisfaction as they leaned against the walls, all the while hearing the excited cries of their teammates outside.
“They’re headed towards the volcano, but the other team is right on their tail,” their leader remarked.
Cam smiled broadly when she witnessed Kane and Fiera darting in the woods after her allies. She leaned against the side of the window while calming her racing heart.
The grounds of the castle were nearly desolate while the opposing team chased the others in search of the one with the chest. Cam could only hope that the rest of her team did their job and won the rubies for them.
Cam’s attention was diverted the next instant to a figure far from the running group. Through the tall evergreens and pines, the still figure stood. The moonlight revealed him to be gaunt and ominous. He stared up at the window, a hood covering half his face. The hood fell away and next to the jet black hair on his right eye was fastened an eyepatch. He held up on his arm a crow which he released once he knew he had captured Cam’s attention.
“Leviathan,” her mind gasped. Though she had not uttered his name aloud, she heard his whisper brushing her ear. Laughter threaded his tone.
“This is not the last time we meet.”
The crow swooped up to the window, landing on her arm, pecking her closed hand. She opened it and from the crow's mouth dropped a small piece of damp parchment. The crow released a long, wailing caw and drifted into the night. Cam looked for the Shadow Bearer, but he had vanished.
So had her team. They had wandered from the room, and Cam stood alone before the window with her shadow cast upon the floor. She unfolded the paper and read, "Send word and warning to Tyron to remain in his home. Disobedience will be followed by punishment. May the death tonight be a further warning."
Cam’s fingers trembled as she closed the parchment. “Whose death?” her mind asked her. “Whose life didyou take?” she wished to scream.
“How did you find me?” she murmured aloud. No answer sounded. Silence surrounded her. Cam departed from the room to follow her fellow trainees who had picked their way carefully down the slippery stairs.
“Good move on the stairs,” a girl said, slapping Cam on the back. She mustered a smile though her thoughts were elsewhere.
Back in the pit of the volcano, Barak pressed a single ruby into Cam’s palm. Shegrinnedover at a grim Fierawho was standing next to the pouting Kane. At least Fiera’s extended training period would provide Cam more time to convince Tyron of the revolt. Fiera approached Cam as she pressed the ruby into her necklace, completing the embellishment of the stone.
“Good job,” she said shortly.
“You’ll get there, Fi,” Cam returned encouragingly.
"I know. I have time. That is if there isn't a revolt happening soon."
“I’vebeen thinkingabout that. I’venot yet consideredwhere I should go after this. I could become a Royal and return to the Royalty Realm. I’ve nearly completed the quest I set out upon.”
Fiera shrugged. “You could return home for a visit. Adria and Mista must miss you.”
“I don’t know that I want to. I don’t know what to tell our parents about—about...”
“Terra,” Fiera finished. Cam nodded solemnly. Her sister sighed. “I think you should stay here, for another week at least, so that you can still have time to grieve or whatever.”
“Youdidn’ttakemuchtime,” Camrepliedmoresharplythan she had intended to.
Sorrow welled up in Fiera’s eyes. “I’ll never forget her, and I’ll never befinishedgrievingover her death. It’s oneofthosethings you can never stop no matter what. So for now, I fight. I stay strong, for her. I think that’s what she would want—for all of us.”
Cam nodded slowly. Ceasing a process in being saddened by the death of someone close was something that would never completely go away, not with so many memories of Terra haunting them day and night. To return home would be to see Terra’s phantom walking the very halls and peering from paintings upon the walls.
The following morning had Cam feeling almost excited to have
officially passed training. All of it. She could become a Royal now. Part of her mission was complete. Something in her deflated, however, when she remembered the crow delivering the note. She remembered to take it with her to the Great Hall to show to Tyron.
The hall was abuzz when she stepped in but not in its ordinary way. Everyone wore grave expressions, and the voices were set in low murmurs. “Tyron has had some unfortunate event in the night,” Lia told Cam solemnly as she approached her at the entrance.
“What sort of event?” she inquired.
“His daughter, Khatara was killedin thenight. No, that's not the right way to put it. She was slain. Brutally. No mercy." Cam gasped. Lia paused for a moment, her eyes glistening with concern. "Not only that but they left a warning that they were not to be troubled…or they would strike again. It has put both Tyron and Kane under much sorrow. Tyron is on the brink of revenge. And revenge…"
Cam placed a hand on Lia’s arm. “Revenge what?”
“It’s perilous, Cam. Very perilous.”
At that point, Cam related the event of the previous night and revealed to her the warning. “They will strike ussoon. I can feel it in every shadow that follows me. I know that doesn’t seem to make any sort of sense…”
“I understand.” Lia folded Cam’s fingers over the paper. “Tell Tyron of this. Tell him of all you know.” Cam nodded and departed from the hall.
Cam believed that there was nothing worse for a parent than to
lose a child before they themselves died. It felt to Cam as though she was walking on daggers when she entered the room Tyron and his son occupied. It was as if the deep remorse and unspoken anguish clung to the very air, making it difficult to breathe. Tyron was slumped over his ornate chair.
Kane held himself erect, his still eyes fastened before him at the ground where a small figure was wrapped in linen.
Khatara.
The spirited princess was slain without mercy as a warning. Cam felt she could cry now. She had hardly known her. She had only met her once. Still, the broken figure enraged her.
Cam’s hands shook as she clenched the piece ofpaper in her sweaty palm. She stood for a long moment in reverent silence looking forlornly at the gray leader. Tyron seemed to be at his weakest, broken...but he wasn’t completely.
"I will have justice,” Tyron said, his voice husky and barely audible. He attempted to stand, but Kane drew to his side and encouraged him to remain seated. Kane was fighting tears, fighting the fire in him to lash out, at anything at hand.
"They say that if we don't fight” Here Tyron was cut off by a fit of coughs. “They say that if we don't fight we'll be safe, that her death was just a warning..." He paused, gazing at his daughter's wrapped corpse. "This only spurs our will to fight further. We will p
repare for war, and we will not let them take Mirabelle. They will not have us!" Tyron’s tone was bitter. Relentless. And Cam was not fearful of it.
Instead of answering, she simply handed him the warning she had received. He read it quickly and with a growl threw it behind him. After a moment, his eyes darted to meet Cam’s. His gaze was glazed with tears. "I didn't believe you." He said simply.
"And now we do," added Kane quietly. "We need to do something."
"And we will," Tyron replied. "Did you say the other realms are prepared?"
"They both promised to help," Cam stated.
"Kane, send four warriors to Imber Fel before sundown and have them bring as many as who are willing here. You and your choice of three must travel to Medulla and do the same. We'll prepare for war here."
"And wait for an attack?" Tyron nodded grimly. "If it's not too much trouble, might I go with Kane? The Medulla Realm is my home and the leaders my…” Cam paused, “Parents.”
Tyron glanced at Kane who said, "I don't see why not. It would help. I'll bring Fiera and Caleb as well."
"Then it's settled. We have a war to prepare for." Tyron swept from the room. His zeal would widen and Cinis Lumen would liven with the prospect of war.
Cam met Kane’s glazed stare. “I need to find records of a certain Shadow Bearer. Do you know where I may find such histories of the creatures?”
Kane shrugged. “The only records that were kept after the war with the Shadow Bearers were kept by Gnosi.”
“Of course,” Cam thought. “And Apollyon must have them. Or must have done away with them.”
“Another party? This guest list is strange. I did not think these
persons to be your friends.” Riah wrenched the parchment from Saffira’s hands. She looked puzzled for a moment. “Am I invited?” she said with a slight smirk.
Riah tensed. He turned slowly. “Not this one, Saff. You will not enjoy this one.”
Saffira frowned and leaned against the table in the throne room. Her eyes trailed over the mass of marked maps which had been hastily yet only partially covered by Riah when she had made an unexpected entrance. He had told her he was planning another party…well more like a banquet, which was true. He did not tell he was supposed to kill each and every guest.
At this thought, he clenched the parchment in his hand. He had completed his collection of names earlier that week and was prepared to dispatch the invitations before the following evening in which the banquet would be held.
Saffira’s fingernails tapping against the wood of the table brought him from deep thought. When he turned, his lips parted as though he were to object, for she had picked up one of the dusty volumes containing whatever it was Leviathan wished him to translate.
“Why do you have these?”
“Father has ordered I study them.” Riah folded the guest list and stuffed it into his trouser pocket.
“Is that why you are tired? You look as though you haven’t slept in days,” Saffira remarked. Her eyes found his, and she smiled slightly. “You haven’t looked in a mirror either.” Riah would have normally scowled or blushed or both which is why he was surprised when heonly grinned. Saffira’s handcameto rest on his headas she patted down his unkempt hair. “Maybe you should wash up before your banquet,” she said in a low voice.
She was standing quite close to him now. So close she was nearly pressed against him. He smirked as if to distract her and snaked a hand around her arm to snatch at the book in her grasp.
“No!” she shrieked. With a twist of her wrist and a swift movement of arm and torso, she had whisked the book from his reach. He stood behind her, grasping at her arms in an attempt to take it. But she thought of it as a game and laughed. Riah was not amused. He gripped the book's corner and yanked it from her hold. Saffira’s face fell, and she crossed her arms in indignation.
“My plan was not to read it, but since you seem so eager to have out of my possession I must ask: What words are written inside?”
Riah shook his head. “I do not know. They are written in a language I am not versed in.”
“I may know it,” Saffira said, reaching for the book once more. Riah grasped her wrist and drew it back. She looked at him with puzzlement etchedinto her expression. “Fine,” shemurmured.
Riah spoke to her in a soft tone. “The text is ancient.” He released his hold. She did not step back.
“If you say so. I must return home. I wish you would dine with us again.” Riah scratched the back of his neck and made no reply. Saffira nodded. “Your father doesn’t approve.” Riahremained silent. He stiffened when she reached to wrap her arms around his neck in a brief embrace. He had only enough time to brush her back before she pulled away.
“Tell meofyour banquet when it is over.” Shestoppedat the door, turned, and said with a wry smile. “But please be sober first.”
“I will not be drinking,” he murmured to himself when she had left the throne room door closed behind her.
What he had not seen was that Saffira had swiped a page which had fallen from the book to the floor and concealed it while Riah was turned from her. She knew the words, the symbols, even the ink smelled infernal. Her hands shook as she read it. Her heart raced, wondering to whom Riah was now engaging with. She knew it to be no woman but whomever Apollyon’s mysterious guest was.
Riah sat at the head of the table with seventeen guests flanking
each side. He gulped. Some of them were children. Four, to be exact. The oldest, he guessed to be no older than twelve. The youngest…three? Younger than his own son. Riahknewthechildren would be first to die, for their bodies were less likely to resist the poisons.
The table before him was set with scarlet cloth, silver platters, and heaps of greens and goblets of wine.
When the banquet had first begun, his guests fidgeted in their seats. Riah did not remember knowing any of them. Several were old. Others were adults. Only one young man seemed to be his age. They were all silently wondering why they had been brought here. Their fear was as visible as everything else in this room, for in a realm that preached freedom, the compulsion to comply was all too present.
Riah had swallowed whatever indignation he felt when his father had spewed the lie that they were being rewarded for “realm contributions” whatever those were. Leviathan had spent several hours instructing Riah on the poison used in the wine. Only a small amount of the poison was necessary. Leviathan had poured it into the wine.
“Why must they die?” he wished to question. But knowing his father’s stern stare was the inevitable and unrevealing answer, he sealed the words inside. Apollyon had claimed these people to be harmful. Apparently, they were aligned with a number of the Royals and were obstacles in the way of Apollyon’s scheme of revolt.
“Revolt," Riah thought. "Why the hell does he wish to overtake Mirabelle?" Apollyon was growing more secretive as the days passed. Riah hardly ever saw him, and when he did, Leviathan was present. Questions could not be asked. Answers could not be received.
“I am trapped,” he realized. Riah was tuning out the chatter of his guests who had all apparently known one another before the feast. “If I continue this duty for my father without knowing why, I risk the lives of many for a reason I do not comprehend. If I do not complete the task…”
Death. His father would kill him. Or worse…he would become one of them. OneofLeviathan’s kind. Andyet, perhaps that is exactly what he should become in order to attain his goal. The position held power… “And slavery.”
The three-year-old died first. Riah had seen her face contort, heard her soft moan, and seen her slump heavily onto the table. Her face was gray like stone. Her eyes blank and glazed. The mother of the child had shrieked, wailed, cried. But presently, this did not matter for they were all grasping at their throats, feeling their faces twist and limbs grow numb. They slumped to the table, floor, their chairs.
And Riah watched each of them die.
All except one.
The
man had not drunk for the entire evening. He sat midway down the table, leaning forward. His eyes flashed with anger, buthewas notconfusedor raisedin apanic.“Why?” his voice was husky. The long dark hair framing his neatly chiseled jaw hung in waves to his shoulders. His black eyes were glazed.
“Because of what we believe?” The man’s accent was thick and unknown to Gnosi’s prince. Riah rose slowly with parted lips. The man pushed his goblet far from him. “I spent the majority of my childhood in Imber Fel. I learned to detect poisons there. I did not know it was in mine until…” he waved a hand towards the first victim. “I do not drink wine. Perhaps I should tonight. That death would be quicker but…”
“But what?” Riah’s voice was tense.
The man’s eyes were lit when he raised his gaze. “But I will not kill myself. I am no murderer. Are you? Did you poison us?”
Riah wavered as anyone would expect from someone who doesn’t make murder a common occurrence. “You want this, boy,” the man said. “You want power. And killing me, killing us is how you will attain it. You will only enslave-”
ThemanjerkedforwardfollowingtheimpactofRiah’s blade in his chest. He slumped backward. “Yourself,” the man finished in a choking voice in which blood had burbled from his mouth. His eyes remained upon Riah. A cold smile spread across his lips, but before he could utter another word, Riah withdrew his dagger and slit theman’s throat. Theblood spilled onto the table, leaking to the floor. The light was swallowed from the man’s eyes.
Riah felt the rush in his veins; A rush that seemed sickening and exciting simultaneously; guilt and bloodthirst. “Is this what powerfeels like?” The man, though dead, seemed to mock him. This is what enslavement felt like. Riah yanked the thought from his mind and strode from the room, leaving the corpses behind the blood to reek until the appalled servants found them in the morning.
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