by C D Beaudin
“You did it,” Saine says. “Ethiah?”
She swallows, wanting to shut her eyes but unsure if she’ll open them again. So she meets Saine’s brown gaze, casting over to Kepp. “Nice dance.”
Kepp chuckles, Saine joining him. Ethiah tries but the sound doesn’t work, coming through in squeaky breaths. Lifting her hand, she’s barely able to as she looks at the soul in her hand. I can’t carry this. Placing her hand to her chest, she groans, clenching her teeth as she places the soul inside her, needing a safe place to carry it. It won’t combine with hers like Crozacar did with Karak, but it will be safe inside her. Kepp and Saine help her stand, and she grunts. “Aiocille owes me a villa.”
Saine smirks. “Let’s just worry about winning first.”
Ethiah looks from Saine to Kepp. “Why did you do this?”
Kepp looks at her. “It’s not you I want dead.”
Saine’s eyes darken. “Come on.”
Ethiah’s eyes are defeated. “I don’t know if I can fight anymore.” She shakes her head. “I’m so tired.”
Saine casts a worried glance Kepp’s way. Maybe they don’t think she notices, but the Plainsman starts leading the way to the edge of the mountain. “Let’s just get down the mountain, first.”
Ethiah nods. But the truth is still clear.
Her power is spent.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The grass of Nomarah is grayed under the overcast sky, the crisp wind brushing against his skin as he walks across the empty plain. In no line of his sight does he see trees, mountain, or man. No battle. No Hillstone. There’s no fire raining down from the sky, spat out by Gotham. No First Lieutenant fused with the Dark Lord. There’s nothing.
Just endless flatlands and a gray, dismal sky. But there’s beauty in it, in the silence and solitude.
Sitting down, he lets his muscles relax, stops his mind from wandering and thinking, and just watches. Nothing.
It’s serene. He breathes in, the air fresh and cool. Looking up, he watches a lone bird soar silently across the sky, and it soon disappears into the horizon. He remembers this part of his country, where nothing is in sight, and the world seems endless. He never sat here like this, though. In fact, he never really noticed it before, only in passing. But he’s noticing it now. If he becomes king, nothing will be built here. Nothing shall come into view from this spot. Maybe it’s naïve… Who cares if it is? He’s fighting a war, he deserves a fantasy.
“If I had a choice, I’d die here.”
He looks back, seeing Awyn standing there, her tunic billowing ever so slightly in the breeze. She watches him, blue eyes exquisite. Silently, she drops beside him. “There’s no war. No people.” Her gaze turns to the horizon. “It’s cold.” She blinks, her eyelashes touching her cheeks. “I always liked the cold.” It doesn’t sound like she’s remembering but confessing, as if in defeat.
He wants to tuck a stray strand of silky hair behind her ear. He would have, once. But that was a while ago. So he doesn’t. “I always loved how you liked the cold,” he echoes. Their gazes meet briefly, before staring at the infinity before them once more. “Who are we?”
“That seems to be the question.” She sighs. “Who are we? Why are we here? Why has this happened to us?” Awyn looks at him. “I stopped trying to answer that. You should too, Aradon. It’s freeing.”
“I’ve learned there’s more to life than freedom.”
She smiles weakly. “And I’ve learned there’s nothing else.” She looks away. “Interesting, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“How we’ve changed. I’m a different person. The girl who ran into the Dark Woods never came out.” She shrugs. “It’s taken me awhile to figure that out. I’ve been…well, I’ve been looking back. Seeing the different versions of myself.” Her head tilts. “I don’t like many of them.”
“Why?”
“They’re weak.” She doesn’t look him in the eye. “But some of them are so strong, I…” She lets out a breath, a scoff, a laugh. “I’m so tired of focusing on who I am, who I could be. Who I should be. I know what I need to do. So I’m going to do it.” Awyn’s gaze turns to his. “I should stop thinking.”
It’s a look he’s seen before.
The Tanea. Sitting on the sofa, the fire flickering in the fireplace. Feeling the warmth as they talked. At that time, he thought he’d found a friend. I think now we both know that was a lie.
“We could all do with a little less thinking.” Thinking is what makes him wonder if he should even be fighting. Or convincing the Red Warriors to make him king. Maybe he should just let a Sanarx kill him? Or he should kill himself? He shudders at the thought. He could never do that. That’s one thing he actually agrees with the Creed about.
Suicide is an honorless death.
Aradon glances at Awyn, seeing something different in her eyes. A secret. A darkness. And yet there’s nothing. The blue’s different. Dull. Blank. “What happened?”
Awyn shifts, hugging herself. “A lot. I’m broken, Aradon. So broken. The only reason I’m holding on…” she stops talking, as if unsure whether or not she should tell him.
He wants her to tell him. But knowing her, if she does, it won’t be a good thing.
She sighs. “I’ve escaped death so many times. Too many times. It was only a matter of time before it finally caught me.”
Her use of the word “finally” makes his heart skip a beat, and the relieved tone constricts his lungs.
“Death makes me miss life. It’s not like sleeping, you know. It’s more like life than you’d wish it to be.” She sighs. “But that’s only on the Isle. I’ve been deeper, darker. It’s a real place, you know.”
“Where?”
Awyn bites her lip. “The Darkness. It’s not a place many hear of. I’d forgotten it until I realized where I was.” She shakes her head. “I must have read about it, or maybe was told a story.” Her gaze is shattered, tortured. And suddenly fearful. “I won’t talk about it.”
He shakes his head. “I won’t ask you to.”
Her doe-like blue eyes with only the hint of her aunt Revera’s feline sharpness hold his gaze. “I won’t go back there.” She scrambles up, and he can see her panic. “I won’t.”
Standing, he studies her, but can feel her shake. “I won’t make you.”
Awyn audibly swallows, tears swelling in her eyes. “It’s so dark. It hurts. It hurts so much. I was there for decades. Tortured.” She sobs. “Don’t make me go back there. Don’t make me!”
He stares at her, not believing it. Decades? Time must be different in the Darkness. And this girl before him… This isn’t Awyn. Not the Awyn he knew. And maybe she’s gone, but this one is too different…she’s almost familiar. “Who are you?”
Awyn looks at him, horror on her face. “I don’t know. I can’t remember. They call me something, my other selves. They call me…I don’t know. But it’s something good. I know I was something good.” She shakes her head. “But I don’t remember. I try to be strong, and brave…” Her face falls.
“What?”
She pulls away from him. “Brave.” She turns away from him.
“Awyn.”
She shakes her head, eyes closed, as if a million voices are in her head.
“What’s happening?”
She stares at her hand, light forming in it. “We’re one again.” She gazes at him. “She needs me now.” Gratitude is written on her face. “Thank you for everything, Aradon. No matter what happens…I won’t forget you.”
Aradon opens his eyes.
He’s awakened to the clamor of weapons, the fray of war. Panic jolts him upright, but a soft hand on his arm, and he turns his head sharply to look into gentle, silver eyes. They’re strained and exhausted. Weak eyes.
But he knows them.
“Ethiah, what—” He winces as pain jolts through his bloodstream.
“Lie down, Aradon. I’ve moved us to one of the caves with the wounded. We’re safe.”
> “I don’t care if we’re safe, I need to fight—”
She pushes his chest so he’s against the ground. “No, Aradon. This is no longer your fight. Your Cross is weakening you, not strengthening you. Saine is fine for now, but he can’t be far off from the Dia, and you aren’t either.”
“The Dia is the expulsion of power. It shouldn’t weaken me.”
“You’ve been under dark magic. Raea may have extracted it, but when it forced the Dia onto you, it altered the Besged part of you. Perverted it.”
He won’t accept this. “No. No, I need to fight.”
“You don’t get it, Aradon!” Ethiah snaps. “You can’t fight. End of story.”
Aradon shakes his head. “It’s not the end of mine.” He stands, pushing past her.
“Aradon, don’t leave.”
“Why? This is war. This is my fight. I need to do this. What kind of king would have his soldiers fight a war he wouldn’t? A cowardly one. An undeserving one.” He shakes his head. “I hope you understand. But if you don’t…” He doesn’t want to finish the sentence. So, he doesn’t.
And he leaves her.
As soon as he puts the entrance defense in its place, he’s met with Kahzacorian steel. It cuts into his back, deep and sharp. He shouts, and he knows Ethiah was right. The Cross is weakening him. Not strengthening. Soon, his Besged Dia will cross with the Besged State. His power will be stronger than any he’s ever wielded. But it will also be the last fight as a Besged. It’s unfortunate, he thinks. That Saine and I should have our Cross at the same time. Simultaneously ending our race.
He pushes it from his mind.
Turning his sword onto the warrior, he faces a towering Sanarx. The ugly beast’s head is crowned with armor, his sinewy frame donning thick metal plates, and a long, hooked sword in his hand. The Sanarx hesitates one moment and strikes, Aradon ducking and quickly avoiding the blow. Retaliating with a blow to the Sanarx’s back, he knows he’s going to have to get a head shot if he has any chance at killing him.
But with every movement, he feels himself weaken. I may not be fast enough to shoot him. He blocks another blow. I’m going to have to disable him. Aiming for the legs, he feels it’s his best bet as he slides onto the snow, cutting the limbs quickly, standing again. The Sanarx hollers, his legs shredded. It falls to its knees, and Aradon quickly cuts the head off.
Panting, he wavers, falling to the ground. Forehead to the snow, he shudders, trembling. He feels his power. But it weakens him. It’s betrayed him. What used to bring strength now brings weakness. He hates weakness. Loathes it. To be vulnerable is to die. And if there’s one thing he doesn’t want to do, it’s die a mortal man. But now that he thinks about it and is facing it…he doesn’t want to die period. He has too much to live for. Nomarah. The Red Warriors. Ethiah. His father.
Himself. He owes it to himself to stay alive. It’s taken him too long to realize this.
Grunting, he stands, strength not returning but his surety does. He’ll be his own constant. He doesn’t need to be saved.
He can save himself.
Even if that means fully accepting the person he can’t be. The man he so badly wants to be. But by accepting him, that doesn’t mean he has to be him. But he can use him.
A hand grabs his shoulder, gripping him tightly. Too weak to fight back, Aradon tries to struggle, but it doesn’t change anything as he’s brought deeper into the battle. His eyelids drooping, he fights to open them when he hears a familiar voice.
“What’s this?” Karak’s voice probes. But it’s the venom of the Dark Lord speaking.
Idies’ voice is calm and collected. “Fix him.”
Aradon doesn’t need to be fully alert to know what he’s talking about.
Crozacar huffs. “No.”
Idies points a sword at Crozacar. “Fix him now.”
Aradon opens his eyes to see Crozacar cross his arms. “Why should I?”
“Because I’ll kill you if you don’t.”
“Oh, well excuse me then. Let me just heal him up right now.” Crozacar shakes Karak’s head. “No. Let the Cross complete itself. It needs to complete itself.”
“No it doesn’t!” Idies’ voice sounds almost desperate. “If you don’t willingly save him, I’ll take your will.”
Aradon grunts. “Don’t I have any say in this?”
“No you don’t,” Idies shuts him up. “Fine. If you won’t fix him, then tell me how.”
Crozacar’s eyes narrow. “You can’t fix him…but you can transfer the Cross onto another Besged.”
Idies’ shoulders seem to relax slightly.
Aradon knows what Crozacar means. Two Crosses in one body? That’s certain death. The old Idies may have done it, but the new one?
Aradon isn’t so sure.
“Fine.” Idies inhales. A tight grip on Aradon, he turns to the fighting. “Where is Saine?” he shouts into the fray, the fighting around them actually somewhat stopping because of it.
Aradon’s heart sinks when he sees Saine hesitantly weave through the staring soldiers. Crozacar must be telling his soldiers to stop. He eyes the Dark Lord; whose gaze is intense and focused. They wouldn’t stop otherwise. Crozacar gazes upon him now, and nods.
Aradon huffs.
Saine jogs up to them. “What’s going on?”
The others soon join them, Hagard clearly not enjoying being sober with a sword in his hand, and Eldowyn’s worry plastered on his face, a mask that seems to be permanent these days.
Idies looks at Crozacar. “Now what?”
The Dark Lord quirks an eyebrow. “I can’t really do much without blondie’s consent.”
Idies scoffs. “You never do anything with consent, so just do what you have to do.”
“What did I say before? Oh right. No.”
Idies lunges at him, an angry growl. Aradon falls back as he’s released from Idies’ grip, falling hard onto the snow.
“Aradon?” Eldowyn helps him stand, Hagard lending a shoulder to balance him.
“Are ye alright, laddie?”
“No.” Aradon feels flushed, cold, and sick. “No, I’m not—” He wavers, nearly falling to his knees, watching silently as Idies wrestles with Crozacar. No one intervenes. No one would dare. This battle is thousands of years old. Idies and Crozacar must fight it alone.
“You boys can’t get anything done.”
Crozacar and Idies stop fighting. Aradon turns with everyone else at the sight everyone’s been waiting to see.
She’s finally showed.
Hagard is the first to pounce. “Good of you ta show up at ya own war, witch!”
Revera doesn’t spare him a glance. Her eyes are trained on Idies and Crozacar. “Dark Lord.” Her eyes flicker down his figure. “You’ve ruined his beauty.”
“Lady Revera.” Crozacar mockingly bows. “It’s been a minute.”
“I would have preferred an hour.” She glances at Aradon. “You look weak.”
Aradon tries to stand, but ultimately fails.
She nods. “You are weak. Your body fails you.”
Anger boils. Aradon gets to his feet, ignoring the pain. “You did this to me, you demon!” He charges at her, but she only needs to look at him and he’s on the ground, searing pain in his head.
“Have you not learned yet, Besged? You cannot beat me, no one can.” She sounds bored, making him angrier, but for the life of him he cannot move. She kneels down, the action making him feel the warning in his friends’ eyes, their shuffled footsteps as they approach her. But they don’t make a move.
She gently lifts his chin to meet her eyes. “They’re afraid,” she whispers. “As are you.”
“Fear only cripples those who let it.”
She smiles softly. “And you won’t let it?”
He says nothing.
Revera tilts her head. “You’re strong, Aradon. But I’m stronger.”
“You’re not strong.” He coughs, blood spattering onto the snow. “You’re a monster.”
“I have an itch.”
She chuckles, shaking her head. “If that itch is the death of your host, then I’d agree.”
“Karak’s dead?”
Aradon’s head perks at Ethiah’s voice.
Revera’s head tilts. “He knew that his death would make his body unstable for you, Crozacar. Your soul is already being pushed out.”
Crozacar shakes. “Shut your mouth, you snake. You know nothing. I’m Crozacar! I’m the Dark Lord. I die when I say I die. I fall when I say I fall!” He lifts his hand, fire swirling from his palm in a blaze. It clouds around Revera, but when it disappears, she’s left unscathed.
“You must realize by now, Crozacar. I’m not like you. I didn’t accept the dark magic.” Her palms flame with blue fire. “My magic is fueled by mortal souls. One of the most powerful energies in Ardon.”
The flames grow, and soon her eyes glow blue. Wind picks up, the ground shakes. “I may not have the dark magic and the power that comes with it. But I have surpassed you in every way but one.” In a flash she’s right in front of him. “I didn’t destroy the world. I saved it.”
She slams her palms to his chest, and Crozacar screams as the flames shoot through him, blue light shining from his mouth, his eyes, his nostrils. He’s illuminated by it. The blue soon turns to dark red and another scream sounds. The light diminishes in a second.
All around them, the ground cracks. The Sanarx, as if on instinct, begin to run, but they fall into the cracks, their screams twisted. The sky thunders, and a black shadow passes over the army. When it leaves, the Tarken have disappeared. Men stand, confused, and wondering. The undead are gone.
Aradon stands as Crozacar slumps to the ground. The Dark Lord groans, rocking slightly. “What-what happened?” He looks up at Revera, and Aradon can see two ice-blue eyes. No black. “Revera? How is this possible?” His head hangs, and he silences himself.