No Man's Land

by C D Beaudin

  “Arlands aren’t trained to give up. We find a solution that helps everyone, and if that fails, then we do what we must.”

  “And have you succeeded? In finding this other solution that helps me? Because keeping me alive won’t help. And it certainly won’t help the world because you seem empty-handed.”

  Dreema raises his chin. “There’s no convincing you, is there? Too far gone?”

  Awyn narrows her eyes. “Now you understand.” She turns to the veil but her entire body freezes.

  In front of her, stands Nelka. She had forgotten about him during their debate. His hand is outstretched. He has a relieved but confident look on his face.

  His eyes shift to Dreema. “Told you I’d save the world.”

  Awyn drops and falls asleep.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “Awyn.”

  Darkness.

  “Awyn.”

  Familiarity.

  “Take my hand, Awyn.”

  She struggles against the bonds of shadow that bind her, but she can’t lift herself from sleep. Knowing whom the voice belongs to makes her struggle even more desperate. But she won’t respond. No matter what, she won’t speak another word to them. And this is what they are, what they were before she met her emotions, the “parts of her Being.” Them. Just them.

  Fighting against the paralyzing sleep Dreema cast her in, there is no renewing energy from this slumber. No peace or dreams. She’s trapped inside a box, much like she was when she was attacked by the Dalorin but this time her soul isn’t being ripped from her. Dreema wouldn’t do that…no, he wouldn’t. He seems to be focused on keeping her and everyone else alive…

  Awyn won’t let herself focus on the possibilities.

  Shutting her eyes, she feels a gust of wind and when she opens them, she’s standing—inside the Veil. Her limp body is sitting against a pillar, Nelka beside her. And Dreema. He’s looking through her, to the Veil, with his hands raised and mouth muttering. Awyn’s heart thuds as she turns, looking into the Veil and seeing the war. The souls. They’ve all been resurrected. She looks farther in and sees the red dragon, his giant wingspan and sharp talons. He breathes fire at—her eyes widen.

  Her friends. Her family. Their swords in their hands and without shields, they fight a skilled attacker. Aradon is lying on the ground, unconscious, an elf maiden over him. Ethiah. There are others she doesn’t recognize, others she doesn’t know. But she still knows their names. Nakelle. Breel. Knights. Even so, she finds her eyes drawn back to the attacker. They battle bravely.

  They fight Karak.

  But it isn’t him.

  “Karak is gone. But the man you fell…into whatever it was with—Calen—is worse off.”

  Awyn doesn’t even need to look to know Fear is hovering near her. “Calen?”

  “Who Karak was before Crozacar, who he nearly completely became in the time after.”

  She looks at her. “He was my hope.”

  Fear puts a hand on her shoulder. “I know.”

  Awyn shifts out from under her hand. So much for not talking to them. Turning away, she crosses her arms, looking at her limp body against the pillar.

  “Awyn. We are one. One being, one soul. We thought we were doing what was best fo—”

  “I have been losing my mind for longer than I thought. When did you first show up? Was it when I started seeing the purple eye or in my cell? Did my insane Being make me think I got raped by the soldiers?” She shakes her head. “No. You’re cruel but you’re not that cruel.”

  “Awyn, we—”

  “Soul said that she had bruises from Zyadar being in my head. Were those fake or did you hurt me to break me, so I’d accept one of you in—because I know Hate wasn’t going to let you be the one to—”

  “She was. Hate was trapped on the Isle, Awyn. It had to be me.”

  “But I don’t understand. It was Adriel that killed me. Do you have any influence over her?”

  Fear shakes her head. “A little. We knew that if I were to take over, that you’d be…” She shrugs. “A little less than a monster.”

  She sighs. “It would strike fear into Adriel, and she may not know it but emotions influence visions. And it did. She dreamed of you, Awyn. She was scared, so she killed you. But I didn’t realize until now that her vision wasn’t only influenced by me. It’s real, Awyn. Dreema said it was real. You’re going to kill all those people.”

  “What do you care? You’re Fear.”

  “I’m also sensible, Awyn. At least in my purest form. With fear, everyone’s lives are clearer; save those they love or save themselves. It’s simple. I’m clarifying. So I know what’s right and what’s wrong. Soulless won’t care what you do. Soul will care too much. Hate…she just wants to see Revera dead, because a part of you still does. She’s the part that wants you to die because those beasts will kill Revera.”

  “What do you want me to do? I don’t care anymore. I’m not the Awyn I was. I’m not brave, and strong, and willing to die for the world. Apparently that Awyn is trapped in the Darkness.” She shakes her head. “She’s dead, and I’m the one on the Isle.”

  She vibrates as anger boils in her blood. “I deserve to be free. I deserve to die and stay dead. This isn’t death. It’s a cage. And I want to be free of it. And I will be.”

  “Awyn, they’ll all die.”

  Awyn grits her teeth in Fear’s face. In this moment, she understands it isn’t Fear talking with her. She’d be angry. No. Awyn’s merely seeking someone to understand her. Or to convince her otherwise. And though it may not be real, she’s looking her fear right in the face and saying that nothing will control her. No more. “Then let them die.”

  Fear shakes her head.

  “I don’t care what you think! I’ve never been so sure of anything. All my life, things have been decided for me. I didn’t choose my parents to be killed, or to be locked up in a cell. I didn’t choose to make friends and meet my family, then have them ripped from me. Even my own death wasn’t chosen by me. My own sister decided. The only choice in eighteen years of life I made by myself was to go beyond the bridge, and I will regret that choice until I die.” Awyn nods to herself. “My regret ends today.”

  She blinks, and without even wishing it, she’s inside her body again. She lifts her finger and grimaces. Movement.

  A familiar voice sounds. “Then let’s end it together. We’re with you.”

  Standing, Awyn sets her eyes on Dreema. Filled with the power of a united Being, she nearly trips when a wave rushes through and light forms in her palm.

  The wizard’s staff shines, but she blinks as a crack of light bolts to the staff and destroys the stone, the staff with it. Dreema shouts, and out of the corner of her eyes Awyn can see two dark figures on either side of her.

  “Awh twins,” the voice says in her head. “They embody the power of the Death Spirit. Keepers of the Isle.”

  They clutch their hands, and she feels them grasping her heart, but nothing happens. Nothing can happen. And in this moment, she understands. She once read that the mortal soul is one of the most powerful things on Ardon.

  Maybe the book was right.

  Awyn turns to the male first and throws another bolt of light at him. But even with every blow she gives, she feels her soul weakening. Souls aren’t meant to destroy. But she’s using her’s to tear her foes apart.

  This is killing me, isn’t it?

  She almost feels Fear nod, hear Soul cry, and taste the scoff of Soulless.

  But Hate is silent.

  One last blessing before I die. Her brow furrows. Why am I dying? Because these people would see me live? She shakes her head as she doles a last blow to the male Awh.

  The Awh twin falls, and the female screams horror, the Isle violently shaking, Awyn losing her balance, Nelka and Dreema grasping a pillar to steady themselves.

  “Asa!” The Awh falls to her knees, gripping her brother. “Please, don’t go. Please.”

  Awyn’s heard of the
Awh twins. They’re immortal, powerful. Not the immortality of elves, though. They’re completely immortal. They will never die and can never be killed. So then, why is he hurt?

  “Because souls are alive, Awyn.”

  She looks at Dreema.

  “And what’s alive kills what’s dead. Pure immortality isn’t a blessing. You’ve heard of the undead? What’s dead but also alive? The Awh twins are undead, but are immune to any sword, any spear. Any magic.” He looks at Asa. “But the power of the living?” His eyes are dark. “Souls are pure life, the touch of the Creator.”

  Awyn takes in a sharp breath and regards the Awh twins. “I…I didn’t mean—”

  “Stop talking.” The woman looks at her. “He’s my brother. Nothing you can say will ever take away this pain.”

  Awyn hardens. “That’s what I’ve been trying to say, before we started fighting.” She turns to Dreema. “There’s nothing anyone can say or do. I could win this war. Put my mother’s crown on my head and do my father’s job. Even forgive my sister and let us become a family. But there’s nothing there. We aren’t a family.

  “We share blood, but Raea isn’t my mother. Adara’s my mother. And she was unwell, certainly. But she raised me. She held me when I was a baby. I once said I didn’t know who to call mother. I learned that Raea is a terrible parent.” Awyn scoffs and pauses.

  “My family tears themselves apart. There’s nothing there.” She looks at him. “And my friends? What friends? Aradon was a pawn. He made me feel safe. I was his pawn too. He wanted my army. And I was going to give it to him because I was so desperate to feel sheltered. And Saine? He’s the closest one who ever came to understand me because we both nearly had our souls ripped out.” She shrugs. “Hagard was good. He was real. But I don’t know anything about him.”

  She wants to take a breath but remembers she can’t. Tears fill her eyes, and she doesn’t even care if they fall. She doesn’t care about anything except having it over.

  “But Karak…” her words are strangled. “He was my hope. But like hope does, we betrayed each other.” Awyn looks at the Awh who holds her brother, tears streaking her pale face, black eyes vacant.

  “This isn’t who I am. I’m not a murderer.” Her gaze turns to the Veil. “But I’m not a queen. Nor a warrior. I was once. But I don’t want to be anymore.” She faces Dreema, and she sees his tired expression. “I can fight. I know I can. And maybe I can win.” She shrugs. “But I don’t want to.”

  Chains. Thick, black, metal chains hang him from no wall, nor hook. In the Darkness, he and Calen are lined up beside each other, suspended from some invisible corner of darkness. Bloodied and cut up, they can only wait for Crozacar to fall asleep and torture them for hours of the night. Karak never before loved the sunrise so much, and while he cannot see the gold dance across the sky and dazzle the snow, he feels the relief when Crozacar awakens in his body and talks with his mouth. His words aren’t evil, but his spit is so poisonous it hurts Karak and Calen with every syllable.

  “Bring me from the dark, and I will serve you.”

  Karak glances at Calen, barely able to move his head with the collar around his neck. “What?”

  “Bring me from the dark and I will steal the light.”

  Karak’s eyes widen. “No. Stop.”

  “Pick me up, and I will cut down those who oppose you. Give me a sword, and I will kill the enemies of My Great Lord.”

  “Please, stop.” I don’t say please. I don’t care.

  “Chain me, and I will accept the lashes, for I have sinned.”

  No. “Stop.”

  “Cut me and I will accept the slashes, for I have done wrong.”

  Sweat drips down his forehead, panic filling him. “No. Stop. Stop it.”

  “Stab me, and I willingly bleed, for I have betrayed My Lord, for I have abandoned his holy purpose. Kill me, and I will swallow the dirt I am buried under. For I was raised from dirt, and to dirt I shall return.”

  “Stop! Just stop!” Karak demands.

  Calen’s expression is dark as he looks at him. “You vowed yourself away. You said these words for Crozacar. You pledged yourself to serve him. This is your fault.”

  “I wasn’t the one who said yes! You were.”

  “Maybe.” He shakes his head. “But by the time we uttered those words I was already pushed so far back into our mind that you had nearly forgotten me.” He huffs. “You could have gotten us out of there. Oaths aren’t binding, Karak. Even when bound in blood. Death contracts, blood oaths…they don’t mean anything. Bones can be broken, why can’t words?”

  “I didn’t want to leave.”

  “I know. But I made a mistake by saying yes. You knew it was a mistake, but you stayed.”

  “Crozacar gave me power. He gave me purpose. He killed my family and you said yes to him. I was just the end result. I’m a creation, Calen.”

  “No. I’ve learned things in here. Seen things. I learned that you aren’t a creation. You’re me, just as I am you. You’re not an intruder. The intruder here is Crozacar.”

  “Then fight with me. We can kill him from the inside, can’t we?”

  “Maybe.” Calen shakes his head. “But we deserve this.”

  “No. I deserve this. You don’t.”

  He looks at Karak. “But you don’t care about me. You don’t care about anyone.”

  Karak would shrug but the chains won’t allow him to. “That doesn’t mean I want you to die. I don’t want me to die.”

  “I don’t want that either, Karak,” Calen scoffs. “But like I said, we deserve this.”

  When their eyes connect, Karak looks into the blue eyes of himself. He sees the pain he’s caused, and the pain caused on him. Calen swallows, gaze hopeless and dead. “We’re a breed of monster that needs to die.”

  “So dramatic.” Crozacar’s voice sounds in the dark.

  Karak grits his teeth. “You spread ice like a blizzard.”

  The Dark Lord narrows his eyes. “Ooh, I’m hurt.” He smiles. “I like your skin, Karak. The ladies are drawn to me.”

  “You’re in a battle, not a brothel.”

  He shrugs. “Yeah, but that brunette elf is eyeing me up.”

  “You often mistake glares for praise. You are blinded by your own ego, Wilke.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Seriously, work on your attacks.”

  “Maybe I should take a page out of your book and divide a continent.”

  “I did do that, didn’t I? Quite literally.” His grin is a child’s, smug and gleeful. It quickly fades. “I’ve been hearing things, Karak. Bad things.”

  “You stole my mind. Am I not allowed to think now?”

  “It’s what you’re thinking.” He cocks his head. “Rebellious, are we? Think you can unmake the maker?” He pokes Karak’s chest with his finger. “I created Karak.” Like magic, his hand flexes and he pulls a small knife from his sleeve. Karak recognizes the blade. It’s enchanted. Can kill anything. “Do you want me to kill him?”

  “Yes,” Calen speaks.

  Karak glares at Calen. “Shut up. Killing me is killing you.”

  “No, killing you is killing a part of me. I’m the boss here.”

  “Actually, I am,” the Dark Lord corrects.

  Calen glares at Crozacar. “This is my body.”

  “It’s my mind. Now, at least. I’ve struck a deal with the Spirit of Darkness. Zyadar will keep you chained here, in the Darkness, until I say otherwise.”

  “You’d trust Zyadar?” Karak questions. “Over your lieutenant?”

  Crozacar grimaces. “Are you that stupid?”

  “I was the one you trusted. I was the one who fought with you. I was the one who gave up who I was to serve you, to fight for your cause. I bled for you. Killed for you. Tore nations apart. For you. You were the hand, but I was the sword. And you cast me aside for he who would sooner see you tortured in a fiery pit than help you?”

  Crozacar grips Karak’s neck, and he suddenly realizes he could alw
ays breathe. Interestingly, he never really thought much about breathing.

  “I was tortured in the fire. I saw the face of death more times than there are stars in the sky. I bled. I fought. I tore myself apart, just so it could be over. I was the hand and the sword. But he kept bringing me back. So now, I’m finally doing something where I can use him, and he can use me. I’m his channel. I have his power. I am him, and I will trust whom I see fit.”

  Karak’s eyes narrow at him, and he sees Crozacar for who he truly is. “You aren’t Zyadar. You’re greedy. Hungry for power. You’re the worst thing since Aramon to happen to Ardon, but guess what? You’re about to be outdone.”

  “That sorceress?” He makes a disparaging sound. “Revera’s a child, obsessed with revenge and her need for justice.”

  Karak cranes his neck so he’s closer to the Dark Lord, the collar painful but he doesn’t care. “I wasn’t talking about Revera.”

  Karak bites Crozacar’s neck. His hand flails upward, and Karak bites down on the knife, grabbing it with his teeth, resting it on his tongue. Eyes trained on the bleeding Crozacar, he speaks to Calen. He said we were rebellious.

  “I guess you aren’t bad after all.”

  You hurt me.

  He hears Calen snicker, and drawing in a deep breath, he holds onto that. He remembers the golden smile of his sister, the loving embrace of his mom, and the laughter he and his dad shared. He remembers the good.

  And suddenly he feels himself with Calen again. One person, one soul. He looks at where Calen used to be and doesn’t see him. He’s whole again.

  Setting his eyes on Crozacar, he swallows.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  He doesn’t know why he stood in front of Aradon, saved him from Crozacar’s sword. He shouldn’t have. But lately, it seems he’s doing many things without thinking. It’s how he was trained. The Red Warriors teach you to not think. The Creed is carved into one’s mind. Not having to think about what was right or wrong. The Creed knew, and it became instinct. A natural reflex to save a man with the brand. Just as it had been instinct to end his mother’s life, so he could finally get his revenge against the man he just saved.