by Jeff Gunzel
But no, they were still here. In fact, it looked like everyone in the village had witnessed her actions. She didn’t how to feel about that.
“Well...” she said, having no idea what to say or where to begin. “It was good to see you all again. I…I suppose I should be going now.”
A gentle hand pressed down on her shoulder when she tried to get up. “Perhaps you should rest first,” Prestine said, smiling down at her. She, as well as the others who had been traveling with Assirra, circled around her. “But after that, I think you should tell the village what you already told us.” Assirra’s face flushed. Now that her people were safe, she wanted nothing more than to leave this place. She knew she didn’t belong here anymore.
“Go on,” Prestine prodded, still smiling. “I think you might be surprised by how many still remain loyal to you.”
Chapter 16
Before she could blink, Assirra realized she had been boxed in by nearly all the village at once. Panic fluttered through her, for it gave the illusion she was about to be lynched. Could she actually make herself hurt them if it were to come to that? But her imagined fears were nothing like that. In fact, she even noticed a few smiles moving her way. So many familiar old faces, she could have easily told ten stories to match each one.
“I...missed you all,” Assirra said, caring little for how awkward her words sounded. She really had missed them. “So much has happened since I left, I really don’t know where to begin.”
“We waited for you.” She turned towards the voice, and gazed upon a young man’s frowning face. “We trusted that you were coming back, even when Yuznal told us each day that you never would. He claimed your title, your authority, but still we bided our time and waited. He declared you a traitor who had abandoned us all. Still...we waited.”
“I know, but—”
“Some of us died here! Yes, they chose that fate over just leaving the village. Still...we...waited...for the High Cleric to return to us, to save us all and take away our pain. He said you would never return.” Scowling, he looked her up and down. “And it appears that he was right. I see nothing but a stranger standing before me. Whoever you are, you are not the High Cleric we remember.”
“No, I am not, Hondrak,” Assirra whispered. “And I’m sorry I’ve caused you so much pain.”
Hondrak sat down in front of her and crossed his legs. No longer scowling, he just looked sad. “We can see that you’re not,” he said, his eyes holding no judgment. “So we would like to hear it in your own words. Who are you?”
One by one the villagers sat on the ground around her and crossed their legs. At least they were willing to listen. It wasn’t like she could stay here anyway, so they might as well hear the harsh truth of what she had become, and how it all had led to this moment. She owed them that much, even if it meant losing her lifelong friends.
Assirra spent the next several hours going through details she never thought she would repeat out loud. Hours went by as she told of her adventures and faced her demons.
She even spoke of her time being held prisoner at the hands of King Milo. That was an emotional story indeed, and was not easy to talk about. More than a few times she had to stop and wipe away her tears.
She talked about Aleesia, a name many knew and remembered quite well. Most were surprised to learn that she was still alive.
Assirra expected a harsh response when she talked about her training as a shadow mage, but was surprised when the tarrins displayed more curiosity than animosity. That was a relief, to say the least. Perhaps they really were more open to change than she gave them credit for.
But most importantly, she covered details about her newfound role in the war against the ghatins. Shadow mages had the ability to kill them, so naturally it was her sworn duty to fight at Viola’s side when the time came. She could no longer lead the tarrins, or even serve their god as the High Cleric.
Her time here was finished and they needed to understand that. Although she would miss them, it felt good to have some closure.
“And now you know what has happened, and why I must leave,” she finished, feeling good about coming clean with so much. “I no longer have a place among you. Please understand, I have no choice in this matter.”
“Then you will not go alone,” Prestine said, rising to her feet.
“Prestine?” Assirra said softly, moved by her unbending loyalty. “I am honored beyond words. Perhaps someday, assuming I even survive this war. But this I must do alone. Your place is here with our people.”
“Is it, Assirra?” Prestine asked, gazing around with open arms. “Is my place here?”
“Of course. Prestine, it is too late for me. This journey may well take my life, and I’ve already made peace with that. Stay in the village, embrace your families and enjoy—”
“Enjoy what?” Prestine cut her off. “What little precious time we have left? How is waiting around to die supposed to benefit our families? You said we could follow you if we chose to.”
“Yes, but that was before—”
“We have no intention of staying idle while the world burns into ash around us,” another tarrin from the village spoke up. “You showed us how to fight for what we believe in. We would have never found the courage to help defend Viola if not for your guidance and strength. How can you ask us to sit back and do nothing while you run off by yourself to fight an unwinnable war?”
“That’s simply not going to happen,” Prestine added, much to the agreement of those surrounding her as they all began nodding at once. “Yuznal was actually right in one regard.” Assirra crinkled her forehead at that admission. “Our people have long been cowards, hidden away from the world in this little forest village.
“Our ancestors were cowards, and their ancestors were as well. It has always been our way because we’ve had no reason to be anything else. But we no longer have that luxury. The ghatins will try to crush our people, just as surely as they’re coming for the humans. The only difference is that the humans are fighting back. Should we not do the same? You may no longer be our High Cleric, but that does not mean our loyalty to you has diminished.
“Lead and we will follow, no matter the outcome. We know what we’re up against. None of us expect to survive this war, so do not bother trying to shower us with words of false comfort. If we are going to die anyway, then it shall be fighting for our right to live.
“Order us to stay, and we shall be forced to disobey that order.”
Assirra recognized those determined looks. She was not going to talk them out of this. And why should she? They had as much stake in this world as anyone else. It looked as though she would not be going back to the tower after all. Instead, she would stay here and work with her own people. Together, they would prepare for what was to come.
Soldiers, they were not. A group of tarrins with bows and arrows was hardly an army to anyone’s eyes. But what did that matter? The stakes couldn’t be higher, and there were few things as dangerous as a cornered animal with nothing to lose.
The world would see that soon enough...
*
“Concentrate,” Aurabelle said, continually stalking her way around Xavier’s chair. Gnawing on a drumstick, Owen watched from the corner of the room. It was hard to tell if he was more interested in Xavier’s training, or his fifth helping of chicken. “You must stay focused, Xavier. Do not lose sight of it. See the power, feel it, embrace it as your own. Remember, it is now a part of you, and nothing you do can change that. The sooner you accept that, the sooner we can tear down this mental block.”
“I’m...trying,” Xavier groaned, sweat beading his forehead. “It’s…elusive... It doesn’t want me to—” He gasped, eyes popping open. Breathless, he dropped his hands to his knees. Again, he had lost his concentration.
Aurabelle threw her hands in the air. “We have no time for this!” She stormed up to Xavier and cupped his face in her hands. “I...need...you,” she said, forcing him to look into her eyes. “But you are n
o good to me in this constant state of denial.” She shoved his face back and grunted in disgust.
Moving over to the corner, she closed her eyes and began massaging her temples. “Xavier, there is no time,” she whispered.
“I’m sorry,” Xavier apologized for what had to be the hundredth time. With his head hung, it was hard to tell if he was suffering more from exhaustion or shame. “I’m trying, I’ve been trying.”
“Well, try harder!”
“I think I see yer problem, boy,” Owen said, eyeing the bone in his hand as he rolled it around one last time. Convinced there was no more meat to be had, he tossed it aside and moved over near Xavier. “Something be missing here. Something be different this time around.”
“I’m doing everything I can,” Xavier said, the heavy exhaustion evident in his voice. They had been at it for hours now without any progress to show for it.
“I suspect ye believe that,” Owen reasoned, kneeling next to Xavier’s chair. “Do ye remember yer studies back when ye were getting tutored by—” Owen snapped his fingers a few times.
“Old lady Crownberg,” Xavier growled, wondering why Owen would bring up such a painful memory at a time like this.
“Yes, that be her!”
“Withered old bat...” Xavier mumbled.
“That she was,” Owen laughed. “But she meant well. Problem was you just hated learning if it was a subject you didn’t like.”
“I did everything she asked me to,” Xavier explained. “But no matter what I did, it was never enough. And what does this have to do with anything?”
“It was never enough because you kept giving the wrong answers.” Owen winked. “But those lessons were already doomed to fail. No one was going to get that material through that thick skull of yours, so don’t be blaming her. Then I came along.” Xavier nodded, remembering that day. “I saw something in you, a spark I didn’t see in the other students. So I figured you be worth a test.
“He was a natural,” Owen said, now speaking to Aurabelle. “Every weapon he picked up was like an extension of his own arm. Why, it was like he was born with it in his hand. Never saw anything like it.”
“You were a better teacher,” Xavier reasoned.
“Not by a long shot,” Owen bellowed, nearly falling back as he laughed. “When I was sober, I suppose I did a fair enough job. But you had found your passion, and that made all the difference. Day and night you practiced, displaying the rarest intensity I had ever seen from a young man.” He jabbed a finger in Xavier’s chest. “If you had shown such an effort with that Crownberg lady, then you would be speaking every language in existence.”
The smile melted from Owen’s face. “And that’s what’s going on with ye right now,” he continued. “This ability, this gift, whatever you want to call it. You hate it.” Xavier went to protest, but was quickly cut off. “You do, boy. You think it’s not fair that you have to master this thing you never asked for in the first place. Inside, you resent this whole situation. And quite frankly, I don’t entirely blame you.
“But ye be looking at this all wrong. You have the power to help stop this evil, you just have to figure out how to use it. I still remember the warrior training at my side, and I knew very early that nothing in this world was going to stop you from greatness.
“Well, I need to see him again, because this young man moping around in self-pity is not the man I remember.
“Viola wouldn’t recognize you either, so enough is enough already. You need to accept what can’t be changed. Aurabelle is right: we don’t have time for this anymore. I need the warrior whose passion is unmatched, and I need to see him now.”
Aurabelle stepped around Owen and dropped to one knee beside him. “I think I now have a better understanding of what motivates you, what gives you that edge that few others possess,” she spoke softly, placing her hand on Xavier’s knee. “You do not have the will to control the gift, because you do not see it as the weapon it is.”
She got up and made her way towards the door, stopping once to curl a beckoning finger. Both he and Owen followed her outside. She turned back to face them, half her face already covered with scales as her eye began to blacken. Aurabelle snapped her hand up, fingers extending, snaking upward like living whips.
“So it’s weaponry that tickles your fancy, eh? Combat, blades—protecting the weak in the line of duty is your mission in life, your passion, if you will. What exactly did you think the gift was, some sort of curse that makes one lose themselves in a fit of savagery whenever it kicks in? I can see why you would think that, since that has largely been your experience up until now.”
She rammed her hand down into the ground, her withered arm worming its way through the packed earth. Vines erupted up from the ground a short distance away, wrapping a nearby tree with a crackling sound. Squeezing with the grip of a thousand pythons, the thick tree crumpled under the pressure, its heavy trunk disintegrating into shards of splinters and dust. What little was left snapped back down into the ground as leaves scattered in an explosion of feathery green.
“The gift is not evil, Xavier. In the wrong hands it could be considered a curse, a tool used by the wicked to wreak havoc and chaos. But Xylia was no fool. Do you honestly believe she would have trusted the gift to just anyone?
“You were the chosen, Xavier. Why? Because you have a heart of gold. She saw that, I see that, and Viola has known this since she first laid eyes on you. Why are you the only one who cannot yet accept this?
“This is your last chance!
“With this gift, you can do more good than you ever imagined. Reject it, and you will always be remembered as the coward who was too afraid to seize his own destiny. If that isn’t enough to motivate you...
“Could you do it?” she asked, seemingly shifting the conversation in another direction. “Could you really stand by and watch her die because you were too frightened to do anything about it? If you won’t do it to save the realm, than at least do it for her!
“Our time is up. Either control it, or let it consume you until your soul becomes ash. I wanted you to stand by my side, but I must push forward with or without you. Without you, I know that I go to my doom. But at least I will answer the call, and die with honor.”
Xavier’s head spun. They had been through this time and time again. But no matter how hard he tried, he could only view this power inside him as some kind of monster. It was a monster, a living entity with a mind of its own, a will of its own. Blackouts, no memory of what he had done after the beast took control, how would he ever accept such a thing?
So dizzy... I have to sit down. I have to... He began to sweat; his pulse pounded in his ears. Oh no... No, no, no, not now. “Get away from me, both of you!”
“We’re not going anywhere, boy,” Owen assured him, crossing his arms defiantly.
“But I still can’t control it. It’s trying to—”
“But nothing triggered it,” Aurabelle said, confused by the timing. “No aggression displayed, no threat anywhere nearby.” Her eyes went wide. “Xavier, you’ve taken too long. The gift is challenging you!”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Owen asked, looking around uneasily.
“It is meant to merge with its host,” Aurabelle explained. “Both Xavier and I are hardly the first to serve as hosts. This ritual is thousands of years old. But the gift has never served a host for this long without bonding. If it separates now in search of a new host, I fear that Xavier will not survive the transition.”
Xavier doubled over, hands clutching his throat. He had been through the change a few times now, but this time was different. Struggling for air, his chest blazed as if the air itself were made of fire. Acid pumped through his veins, and his body felt like it was eating itself from within. Dark scales bubbled up on one side of his face, each one steaming with the acrid scent of burnt pus and searing flesh.
When Owen tried to intervene, Aurabelle tackled him to the ground. “It’s too late for that,” she said,
knees pinning the big man’s shoulders down. “There is nothing we can do. Interfering now will only break his wavering concentration, and that will doom him for sure.”
“That’s not good enough!” Owen bellowed, pushing his way back up. “I won’t stand by and—”
“And what?” she said, slamming his shoulder back down. “How exactly do you plan to interfere with an ancient force nearly as old as time? Either they will bond, or they will separate. He will die, or he will live. We’ve done all we can, but it is now up to him.”
Throwing his head back, Xavier let out an unworldly scream. Even if the gift did not tear his body apart from the inside, the pain would surely make him go mad. Trapped between two worlds, his conscious mind still tried desperately to cling to this one.
Intuitively, he somehow knew if he slipped away again, this time he would never return.
“I...won’t...let you...take...my mind!” he screamed, ripping a dagger from its sheath at his side.
“No!” Owen shouted, certain Xavier intended to take his own life rather that give in to the force within.
Xavier slammed his hand down, driving the blade into his thigh all the way up to the hilt. Foamy strands of saliva frothed from his mouth, his cheeks trembling as his body shook. The explosion of pain rattled down through his entire leg. Blinding agony pulled him back momentarily, his mind clear for that fleeting instant.
Viola looked up quickly, startled. Placing the bag near her feet, Xavier drew back his hood. She gasped, seeing his face for the first time. He was so young. Shaggy blond bangs hung down over the top portion of his face. He gave his head a shake, revealing his light blue eyes. “Would you like to see something?” he asked, his soft voice sounding even younger than his boyish looks would indicate. Viola’s heart skipped a beat when he smiled at her. Voice caught in her throat, all she could do was nod.
The memory flashed through his mind, yet he seemed to be watching it from afar. It was the first time he and Viola had ever spoken. Everything had changed since that fateful day, but not his feelings for her.