No Man's Land

by C D Beaudin

  Running a hand through her choppy hair, Brega smiles, awkwardly, not happy but unsure of what to do. “Do you think a man could love me like this?”

  Ethiah gives her a look. “Men don’t love appearances. Sure, they like them. They like to kiss a pretty face and hold a dainty hand. But they love who you are. Appearances are important, let’s not lie to ourselves. But the right man will love who you are beyond the scars. You’ll be fine. Besides, you don’t need a man.”

  Brega chuckles. “I know. But I was raised to need one.”

  “Then be more than who you were raised to be.” Ethiah gestures to herself. “I am. I was going to be married off to a soldier or a silversmith. But now I’m an elven healer. I’m more than who I was raised to be.”

  Brega smiles. “Do you think we can be more than what this war has made us into?”

  The night is dim, but Brega can still tell when Ethiah’s eyes darken. “That I have no answer to.”

  Shaking, Awyn holds the knife to her heart. Tears cling to her eyelashes. It seems they don’t want to fall but her cheeks are soaked in the salt of her sorrows. The tip of the blade to her chest, she gathers the strength to plunge it into her heart, ending her pain. But she can’t get the idea of the Isle out of her mind, or the idea of being a Dalorin from her head. She’ll be a monster. But she’ll be soulless. Untethered and painless. She’d be free.

  Free.

  She winces as she pushes the tip in, but only gets far enough to barely draw blood. It already hurts. Swallowing, she closes her eyes, taking a deep breath and pushes it in farther. Choking on her tears, the lump in her throat aches. Alone in the palace, her cries echo, terrifying her. They could be Soul or Soulless talking back to her. It could be Revera imitating her voice.

  Her hands stop. She knows that in only a few seconds she could be without a heart, she could be free…but does she want it this way? To kill herself? Become a Dalorin? There are better ways. She could summon Revera and have her kill her. She could go to the Dark Woods and let the Dalorin feast on her soul. Can she really take her own life? Has she fallen so far?

  She has. But she doesn’t move the blade.

  Screaming, she throws the knife, it clangs as it hits the wall, then the floor. Hands on her head, she screams and wails. It echoes, making her gasp, covering her ears so she doesn’t hear the voices. Her echoes are demons, ready to enter her brain and take over her body. They could make her kill her friends, her family. The thought of people makes her clutch her legs, burying her face in her knees.

  A scared child, she is. A fallen hero. A desperate soldier.

  A terrified princess. A distant queen.

  An empty shell. A body of skin and bone and blood. Crippled and unfeeling.

  A broken soul. Hopeless, doomed, shattered, and destroyed.

  Nothing.

  Who am I?

  It should be a simple question, but she can’t answer it. She doesn’t know who she is. Who was she? She was Princess Awyn. A prisoner—a victim.

  She’d killed. Fought as a soldier. Been a hero. She was brave and strong.

  Who has she become? She is Queen Awyn. A prisoner in her own mind. Paranoid and hollow. A victim of her own demons.

  She’s a killer. A desperate soldier. And a fallen hero. She has no bravery or strength left to give, not even to herself. She’s abandoned and lost to herself and others. Who will she be?

  She lifts her head, looking at the marble wall ahead of her. Awyn shakes as she looks in the mirror. She sees herself. Not Soulless, nor Soul. Not Brave. She sees who she is in this very moment. Standing, she walks toward the mirror, putting her hand to her reflection. Looking into her own eyes, she sees the scars, the tears, and the pain. She sees every moment in that cell and after.

  Who will she be?

  “Dead.” Her breathless voice sends her reflection away, the mirror turning to marble. She steps away from the wall, turning toward the window. Gripping the drapes, she draws them open, the cool light of the moon and stars above washing over her. The silver glittering over the endless snow of her country, she almost feels the breeze from behind the glass.

  She wishes she had wings, that she could harness the wind and fly to another land. The Northern Lands. She could fly free there. Live in peace and die with time. Half-elves don’t age, but they don’t live forever either. She could die when she was ready, waking in the Other World, a world of happiness and peace, no wars, no sorrow, no death.

  But she has no wings.

  “Ride a bird.”

  Awyn pivots on her heel when she hears the too familiar voice. “Soulless.”

  “Don’t say my name like that. It’s like I’m Revera.” She leans against the wall. “Don’t kill yourself.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Good. Because you’d be killing us.”

  “Do you even care?”

  “I don’t. Soul does, some of the others do.” She sighs. “It’s just better for all of us if you stay alive.”

  “Does Soul agree with this?”

  “She’s in pain. All. The. Time. It’s irritating.” She tilts her head. “But she agrees to take one for the team.”

  Awyn huffs. “What about you? Would you find it amusing if I jumped off my balcony?”

  “Maybe for a moment. I’m not Revera, despite what some say.”

  “Are the other parts of my Being bullying you?”

  Soulless scoffs. “Please. I’m the toughest of all of them. No feelings, detached from cares.” She smiles. “I’m free as a bird.”

  Awyn glares at her. “Lucky you.”

  “Yeah, well I’m only as free as you let me be, and you have me collared pretty tightly.” She raises an eyebrow. “Mind loosening it for me?”

  “You want me to become a Dalorin? So you can be you in the real world instead of in my head?”

  She bites her lip. “Is that bad?”

  “Let’s see, you want me to kill myself, so yeah, that’s bad.”

  She cocks her head. “Aw. You still have your sarcasm.” She stretches. “That’s my little piece of handiwork.”

  Awyn rolls her eyes. “Yeah, well I wouldn’t mind a little more of your handiwork right about now. If I could be soulless, I would be. I wouldn’t have to feel anything.”

  “And as much as that flatters me, I can’t let you do that.”

  Awyn looks at her. “Why?”

  “Because…” She sighs. “I can’t tell you why.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “Well, it’s my answer. Go bug Soul.” She turns, walking down the hall.

  “I don’t make you appear!”

  Soulless looks back at her. “Don’t you?”

  And she disappears.

  Awyn huffs, looking out the window. Sarcasm? I guess I haven’t lost everything. She turns to go back to her room but stops in her tracks when she sees Revera standing there. Her eyes widen, and she turns to run but feels invisible hands grasp her, and before she knows it, she’s thrown against the window and the glass breaks. In a free fall, Awyn screams, and when she hits the ground, the crack of her bones—

  Awyn sits up, knuckles white from clutching her blankets. Looking down, she’s in her bed. She’s safe. In her room. She’s safe. Looking at the window, it’s still night, but no Soul, Soulless, or Revera. No hallucination. Just an empty room and an empty night.

  She used to be sane in her dreams. Safe.

  Taking a heavy, deep breath, she sinks back under the blankets, her tears flowing, and cries herself back to sleep.

  Sometimes the emptiness is worse.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Standing in the threshold of the Master’s Hall, Aradon looks out with Sidah as the Red Warriors prepare for battle. Some train, fighting in the pit. Others groom horses, readying their horseshoes and repairing their saddles. Weapons are being sharpened, and food is being gathered. There is no armor to be seen. Red Warriors don’t wear armor. It just slows them down. Their cloaks are enough to keep them warm
, their sword protects them, and the brand on their shoulder blade reminds them of why they’re fighting.

  They chose this life. Now it’s time to live it.

  “We’ll stand a chance against the Sanarx.” Aradon crosses his arms. He looks at Sidah. “We do.” He isn’t sure if he’s convincing Sidah or himself.

  “I know.” Sidah takes a deep breath. “Just don’t get any ideas. I’m leading this army.” He looks at him. “You’re my general. Not my king.”

  “I haven’t forgotten the deal, Sidah. When the war is over, you decide if I get my crown.”

  “It may be harder than I thought.” Sidah sighs. “With him around.”

  Aradon follows his gaze to Idies, who duels with the Red Warriors, his identity only disclosed to the few who were at Hillstone. They were sworn to secrecy, and while Aradon trusts Orion and John to keep it that way, he isn’t sure about Joshua, Zachary, or Tahn. Saine, though. He isn’t sure about anything when it comes to him.

  “Idies has no authority anymore. Besides, will the regiment listen to a corpse?”

  Sidah clicks his tongue. “They only listen to me.” He glances at Aradon. “Who I listen to is a different story.”

  Aradon’s brow rises. “Will you follow Idies?”

  “Who said anything about following him? I said listen. Even so, he’s insane now.”

  “That may be an understatement.” Aradon watches as Idies yells over the cadet he just beat in a spar. “I can’t believe I’m related to him.”

  “I can’t believe that’s him. I thought Idies was supposed to be noble. That man is not.”

  “He’s soulless, according to Ethiah.”

  “Speaking of which, did I catch a little spark between you two?”

  “No spark. I thought…” He shakes his head. “No spark.”

  “You’re about as believable as that man being Idies.”

  “We have no proof he is.”

  “He’s a Besged.”

  “Saine’s a Besged.”

  “Fair point.” Sidah pauses. “As much as I don’t want to admit it, we need him. Even if he isn’t Idies, he’s a Besged.” Sidah looks on at the fighting king. “We need all the manpower we can get.”

  Aradon’s brow rises. “He’s not a man.” But he is Idies. He hates knowing that it’s true. He isn’t the man he thought he’d be, nor wanted him to be. “He’s a corpse.” But Idies is who they have. And they’ll take what they can get.

  Aradon turns into the hall, Sidah staying behind. The empty hall is somewhat peaceful, a place where he can be alone with his thoughts. They always feel more real, in a big, empty space. When he was living in the Tanea, he’d screamed into the empty fields a few miles away, or the forest, just to relieve some steam. He’d wanted to kill so badly, but he wasn’t able to. They’d said he couldn’t. So he’d screamed. And punched trees. He couldn’t spar with anyone because he’d go too far, nearly killing his opponent.

  Now, it’s so relieving he no longer has to hold back. He can kill—unleash the monster—and it’s justified because of battle. Afterward, though. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do.

  I guess if I’m not made king, I can just go back to being an assassin… He scoffs at himself. I can’t go back to that. I may not be holding back anymore, but it’s for a good reason. Mortal doesn’t need the Bowman, an honorable soldier. Or Slayer, a mindless killer. It needs Aradon, who’s a combination of the two. He just doesn’t know which one he’s more like, and if they claim victory, he’s afraid to find out.

  “When I was a part of the Resistance, I actually thought I’d found something I could believe in.”

  Aradon turns at the voice, seeing Saine walking down the aisle, the doors closing behind him.

  “I thought I could get over my obsession to kill you.” Saine doesn’t even seem like he’s talking to Aradon, but to himself, trying to convince himself.

  But then his eyes settle on his. “However, it fell apart, and I remembered why I was here, why I had gone through battle, starvation, falling from a tower, and fighting in another battle. I remembered why I made myself endure your snide remarks. Because I needed my revenge. And yet I still found myself questioning why I had done the things I did. Why had I killed my mother? And betrayed Adriel? Kepp? I care about them so much. And yet I destroyed my relationship with them.

  “I killed my mother. And for what? To avenge my father? He would hate me now.” He huffs. “But that just makes me want to kill you more. When you killed my father, you awakened the demon inside me. I was happy and a good child. Then you took my father from me and everything went away. He would never have wanted me to go down this road.” His eyes narrow. “But I did because of you.”

  “You can blame me for killing your father, but you can’t blame me for what happened next.” He’d learned a lot in the Tanea, including when and when not to accept blame. He’d blamed himself these past several months, but he knows that what Saine has become is not his fault.

  Saine’s face pales in blank anger. “You’ll get what’s coming to you, Aradon.” His voice vibrates in his rage. “Mark my words, you’ll pay.” Saine grips the hilt of his sword, but he leaves.

  Aradon is once again alone with his thoughts.

  He was going to kill me.

  Riding back to Kevah, the city is gray as Adriel and the others enter its white walls, the people more so. The city hungry and dismal, the people hopeless and dying. She and her brother have somewhat brought order back to the land, but not enough. Awyn’s gate was still being erected when they passed. It’s taking longer than anyone expected it to.

  The people watch them as they pass along the second level of the city, through the streets. Stairs connect the levels as swifter exits and entryways, but for horses they must wind up the staggered but smooth streets that zigzag up the mountain city until they get to the courtyard.

  The local’s bodies are shriveled, more homeless and poorer than ever in Meran history. Homes have become bartering tools, some giving them up for food, others trading everything they have so they have a warm bed for the night. It’s sad to see them like this. At one time, she wouldn’t have cared so much. But over the past six months, they have become her people.

  And she’s failed them.

  “You haven’t failed them.”

  She looks at Eldowyn. “You’re listening to my thoughts, now?”

  “You’re one to talk.”

  She sighs. “Sorry. I’m just tired.”

  “We’re all tired.”

  “It would seem so.” She closes her eyes, shaking her head. “I’m just glad we only have two weeks left. Two weeks, and it’s the endgame.”

  “The endgame. It seems surreal and we aren’t even there yet.”

  She looks at him. “Soon, brother. Soon.”

  He gives her a small, weak smile, and they return to their silence. Approaching the third level, Adriel hears someone yell, and something hard hits her temple. She blinks, stunned. Looking down at her lap, she sees a rock. Brow creasing, she looks over, seeing a small crowd of people looking at them, murder in their eyes. They hold ropes and rocks, no formal weapons as they’ve probably all been sold for a scrap of bread. Their faces are haggard and fatigued. Dead, lifeless eyes, bodies thin and bony with oversized clothes hanging from their skeletal figures.

  “Now!” a loud, authoritative voice commands.

  Adriel’s heart quickens, ready to ride away. She turns to her brother. “Eldowyn—”

  She hears his grunt and watches as he’s dragged from his horse by two men and shoved to the ground. In an instant, they start beating him. Eyes wide, Adriel hops from her horse and rushes to him, but is held back by two men. “Stop!” she commands, but they don’t listen. “I order you to stop!”

  The men attacking Eldowyn strip him of his coat, shirt, and shoes, grabbing his belt and weapons. Eldowyn grabs at them, but there are too many of them.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Adriel struggles against the grasp of t
he men, but they grip her tighter and bind her hands behind her back.

  “My Lady,” General Babinoux shouts, but someone orders the people to seize him, and it only takes Adriel a moment to see General Borez shouting out commands.

  “Take their weapons! We storm the palace today!”

  The people watching cheer, the soldiers that journeyed to Hillstone with them are tied up and struggling to free themselves. Adriel screams as they start dragging her up the street, watching as Eldowyn, Ethiah, Babinoux, and the guards are treated the same.

  “Unhand me!” Adriel demands, but they don’t listen.

  From the corner of her eye, she sees them shackle Ethiah’s hands in metal cylinders that will block her powers. Borez knows everything about them, he knows what they can do, and he’s prepared for it. “You’ll be executed for this,” she screams.

  “A chance we must take, elf,” Borez shouts from behind them. “You and your family have forced our hand. We’re taking control of Mera, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  “Queen Awyn won’t let this pass,” Adriel warns, but knows it will have no effect.

  Borez chuckles. “I’m sure the queen will be comfortable in her old cell.”

  Adriel exchanges a wide-eyed, panicked glance with her brother. No. This can’t happen. I can’t let this happen. They’ll kill Awyn. And Eldowyn. They’ll kill all of us. Adriel summons her strength and she pulls on the grip of her captors, tugging on the rope so hard they stumble back, falling to the ground.

  A few feet from her, Eldowyn causes a scuffle of his own, but she can’t focus on it as she’s pushed to the ground, tripping over her captors as someone from behind kicks her forward. On top of the men, they grab her, harshly handling and tying her so she can no longer move. They do the same with Eldowyn, though, he knows how to fight and actually frees himself until he’s knocked down with a large rock.

  The people are rising up. And there’s nothing they can do about it.