“Briella,” he says, his voice hoarse.
“Do not call me that!” she roars. “You have no right! No right to that name at all!”
There are tears in his eyes. “I'm sorry,” he whispers. “I'm so sorry.”
“You're sorry?” she shouts. “You left me! You left me all alone! I was helpless without you, and you left me!”
“I know,” he says miserably. “You were right. I was a fool.”
“A fool?” Her voice is shrill. “You were cruel! I was nine years old! Nine! I couldn't survive by myself, and you left me!”
“I tried to find you,” he says weakly. “Really, I did! But you were gone.”
“I was gone because of you! He took me to Zeldek the next day, and it's your fault!” She sucks in her breath, and then snarls, “I hate you!”
He looks hurt, but says nothing as he lowers his gaze to the floor.
“You were my only friend,” she goes on, her voice wild and full of more emotion than I thought her capable of feeling. “My only friend! How could you? How could you do it?”
“I thought—” His voice cracks, and he tries again. “I thought that after I made a name for myself, you could come and live with me too. I just couldn't stand to live on the streets anymore. You know how much I hated it. So... so I took the first opportunity.”
“We were supposed to do it together! We were supposed—” She takes a gulp of air before her voice returns with full vehemence. “You’re despicable!”
With a vicious shove, she releases him, then swipes her hand through the air. An invisible force jerks him to the side, slamming him into the corner. His head bashes into the wall and he falls to the floor in a heap.
Crying out in alarm, Hamish rushes to his side. “What have you done?”
“Only what he deserves.”
Bellator turns on her heel, charging toward me. I shrink back, wishing I could sink into the wall. She grabs my arm, and jerks me toward the door opposite the one we entered by.
“Wait—”
“We're going, half-wit!”
Throwing open the door, she shoves me through into a narrow hallway. The door slams shut behind us. She utters a phrase of indecipherable magic, waving her hand over its wooden surface. A thin veil of black mist curls over it.
“What are you doing?” I cry.
“Locking them in that room until the spell is broken. I won’t have them getting underfoot.”
She turns and shoves me down the winding hall, and into another large cavern. This one, unlike any of the others beneath the castle, is empty except for the large, dusty pillars that hold up the ceiling. Directly across the room from us, however, are two golden doors. Light shines down from somewhere above us, casting a single ray down on the floor before the doors. As we near it, I can make out what the light is illuminating.
An emblem stretches across the floor, reflected in the smooth surface of the doors. Three raised stone serpents knot in a circle around two crossed arrows. The heads of the serpents are raised from the floor, mouths gaping. In each mouth is the impression of a different symbol. One is a dragon with a teardrop stone clasped in its claws, one is a pear-shaped gem with vines entwined around it, and the last one—
I look up at Bellator, alarmed. “What is this?”
“Three bright stars of purest form,” Bellator quotes, her anger seemingly forgotten. “They are the key.”
“The key?”
“You know, I really did miss your stupid questions, half-wit,” she says acidly. “Yes, the key. You see, at the beginning of time, before the Vaelhyreans decided to start killing each other, there were many wondrous things in their possession that they brought from over the sea. One such object was called the Firestone. Now, at around the same time that Lady Batuel was given the arrow that we now seek, King Emyr decided to make use of the captured Firestone. He bottled up the power of it into three precious stones, and gave one to each of the three great ladies living at the time. The first was given to the Lady of Sylvaria, Batuel's little sister; the second was given to Zeldek’s wife, the future Lady of Gaiztoak; and the third was given to Batuel. When Batuel created this hiding place, she asked the two other bearers of the Firestone to lend her their stones so that she could guard her weapon against Caderyn, who, if you were paying attention before, you’ll remember was a powerful and evil lord. All three of them agreed, and handed over their stones to make this key. To unlock this door, we must have all three stones. The Light of Sylvaria...”
She pulls the firestone from around her neck, and places it in the symbol of the pear-shaped jewel with vines twining around it. They are a perfect match.
“...the Breath of the Dragon...”
She pulls the dragon necklace from around her neck, and places it in its slot. It too is a perfect match.
“...and the Eye of the Storm.”
She holds her hand out to me.
I reach to the medallion around my neck. “How did you know that I had this?” I ask, bewildered.
“I saw it when I was beating you up in the arena,” she replies. “Now take it off. Zeldek knows what we are after now, so we don't have much time before he comes for us.”
Reluctantly, I pull it off and drop it into her hand. She sets it down in the last slot. Like the others before it, it is a perfect match.
“Step back!” she orders, and pushes me away from the symbol.
At first, nothing happens. Then light begins to pour from around the outline of the snakes, and the entire symbol on the floor starts to revolve. Slowly, jerkily, the doors open.
“There’s something you need to know before we go in there,” she says. “Do you remember that story I told you about how Zeldek discovered you?”
“Yes. What of it?”
“Well,” she hesitates. “I wasn't completely honest with you when I was telling it.”
I cast a wary glance in her direction. “What do you mean?”
“Well, my story was true, with one exception. You see, Zeldek did search for Batuel's descendants, and he did kill all of them but one. But, it wasn't a little boy. It was a little girl.” She hesitates again. “It was me.”
I gape at her. “You?”
She nods, looking away.
“But,” I am at a loss for words. “Isn't that why Zeldek wanted me?”
“Oh, no,” she says. “That's why Zeldek wanted me. He wants you for a different reason entirely.”
I feel helplessly confused. “If you knew that, why did you risk so much to break me out and take me with you? If you just wanted my medallion, I'm sure you could’ve stolen it off of me or killed me for it.”
She purses her lips. “I can't tell you yet. But once we enter that room, I am going to need you to do exactly what I say as soon as I say it. Can you do that?”
I hesitate, and then nod. “But why didn't you tell me in the first place?” I ask.
She fiddles with her grime-coated dagger. “The truth is, I didn't think that you would have agreed to come with me if I’d told you that the arrow would have been mine.”
To be honest, I'm not sure what I would have done. I’ve always had the feeling that it would end up belonging to her anyways. For me, the quest was more about my freedom than finding the arrow.
“Come on,” she says, and starts around one side of the symbol.
I walk around the other, and we meet in the doorway. She straightens up, pushing her dishevelled hair out of her face, and we start into the room together. As soon as we have passed through, the doors close behind us.
The room we find ourselves in is like nothing else that I passed through in all the rest of Arnon. The walls, pillars, and floor are made of white speckled marble that is as smooth as glass. It is spotlessly clean, as if the floors have been scrubbed a hundred times over, and the only furnishing is a marble altar in the centre of the room. There are steps leading up to the altar, and a light shines on the surface of it. Something glimmers beneath the light.
Bellator step
s toward it, her eyes alight with a strange, hungry curiosity. The heels of her boots click on the tiles, and the sound echoes throughout the hall. I follow cautiously, hoping that Bellator hasn’t brought me along because breaking the curse requires a sacrifice or anything like that. That would be just my luck.
As we approach the altar, I can see what is on it. On the bare surface of the marble lies an arrow. That is, two halves of an arrow. The golden shaft and iron arrowhead shine as if newly polished, and the white feathers at the end of the shaft are smooth and unmarred. Below the arrow, carved into the stone surface of the altar, is the same prophecy that’s on the parchment that Bellator showed me.
Bellator stops a few metres from the altar, and falls to one knee. “My lady,” she says reverently, “I have brought the boy and received the final piece of the key.”
There is a whispering like the wind through leaves, and then the same voice that spoke to me in the tomb says, “You have done well, my daughter.”
Suddenly, a shimmering figure appears on the steps of the altar. A pale, transparent woman in a glittering white dress stands before us. Her face is delicate and beautiful, but it is marked by pain and sorrow. Blonde hair flows about her face in perfect wisps and her hands are clasped at her waist. Transparent chains stemming from the altar hang from her wrists and clink against the floor.
“Is that—”
“Lady Batuel,” Bellator confirms, bowing her head again to the woman.
“Are— are you a ghost?” I ask Lady Batuel.
She casts her weary gaze on me. Her pupils are almost completely white. “I am the spirit of Lady Batuel, left as an imprint on Theara. My soul has been cursed to eternal torment until the spell that I placed on this arrow is broken. And yet I will gladly wait many more years if it will prevent this weapon from falling into the hands of my brother, Zeldek.”
“It won't,” Bellator says confidently.
Batuel eyes her. “The curse can only be lifted by one who is worthy. Are you sure that you are that person?”
Bellator holds her head high. “'She of dark and she of light, for her own soul she shall fight',” she quotes, and then takes another step toward Batuel. “I am of light, as your heir, but also of dark, having been trained in black magic by Zeldek. I have fought hard to keep him from stealing my will, and have come out with full control. What more can I do to prove myself?”
Batuel purses her lips. “You may have won control of your will, but have you won the battle for your soul?”
Bellator looks unsure. “I never gave Zeldek my complete loyalty.”
Batuel sighs. “I hope for your sake that what you say is true. You are my last descendant, my child. If the arrow rejects you, then nothing can save the world from its impending downfall.”
“I will use the arrow to fight Zeldek,” Bellator assures her.
Batuel clears the way for her, gesturing up the stairs.
Bellator hesitates, glancing at me. “My lady, there is one request that I ask of you.”
“I will grant it if it is within my power,” the spirit replies.
“May the boy come with me? It would be nice to have his support, even if I fail.”
Batuel gives me a searching look. “It is a strange thing that you have asked. The only other to have tried relied only on his strength alone to break it, and he did not succeed.” She frowns thoughtfully. “I see no harm in it. He may go up with you.”
Bellator starts toward the stairs, gesturing for me to follow. I keep a safe distance, hanging back at the foot of the steps. She ascends and her lips move as she quietly repeats the words of the prophecy.
Batuel’s gaze remains fixed on me, curiously. “Why you, I wonder? You are still a child.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
She adjusts the chain on her wrist. “Your destiny is a great one in the eyes of many.”
That only makes me feel more uneasy. Is that the same destiny to which my father referenced? If so, I want no part in it.
I grow uncomfortable under Batuel’s gaze and move around the stairs to stand beside Bellator. Bellator turns to look at me, and I am surprised to find a hint of nervousness in her eyes. I nod to her. Taking a breath, she tightens her jaw, and reaches out her hand toward the arrow.
“Give me your hand,” she says under her breath.
“What?”
“I said, give me your hand!”
I reach up and grasp her left hand with my right. Her palm is sweaty, and she stiffens at my touch. Her index finger presses into my wrist.
Cold shoots through me, freezing my veins. The cold fills me up and then drains into my right arm. On the altar, the golden shaft of the arrow glows blue.
“Befugnisse umschlingen,” Bellator whispers.
“What are you doing?” Batuel cries out, alarmed.
“Befugnisse umschlingen!” Bellator says, louder this time.
The cold begins to leave my body through my hand and into hers. Yet at the same time, I can feel a burning sensation filling my veins, and surging through me, giving me strength like nothing I have ever felt.
“Befugnisse!” she shouts at the top of her lungs. “Umschlingen!”
And I realize what she is doing. She is joining our powers together, both our strengths and our weaknesses, and putting it all toward mending the arrow. It is brilliant, really, but terrifying if it doesn't work. The arrow considers us to be the same person right now, and if she fails to break the curse, the fate that would have been hers alone will become mine too.
A wave of light shoots out from the arrow, blinding me as it ripples to every corner of room. My knees wobble. I’m growing weaker and weaker by the second, like water drained from a bucket, and it feels like the bucket is almost empty.
I try to say her name, to tell her to stop, but my words come out unintelligible and garbled.
“Bellator, enough!” Batuel cries from somewhere nearby. “You’ll kill him as well as yourself!”
But her hand is frozen on my wrist, and I doubt that she could let go if she tried.
“Please!” Bellator’s voice is a weak echo in the centre of the light. “Please mend.”
The moment the echo has died, the light fades. Bellator releases my hand, buckling forward into the altar. Everything is dark and splotchy. I grope for something to steady myself, but feel the cold floor against my back and realize I’ve already fallen. The next thing I know, Batuel is bent over me, her cool, breezy hand beside my cheek.
“Are you alright?” she asks, concerned.
I blink, and my vision clears a fraction. “I- I think so.”
A sinister chuckle rumbles through the floor. “Let’s hope that he is. It would be a shame to lose him before the battle has even begun.”
Alarmed, I jerk upright as Zeldek sweeps into the room, his red robe billowing about him. The golden doors slam shut behind him with a bang.
With a shriek, Batuel throws herself against the altar, her eyes widening in terror at the sight of her brother.
“Well done, Bellator,” Zeldek says, approaching the steps. “You have exceeded all of my expectations and then some. Bringing me both the arrow and the boy in one stroke? Your loyalty will be greatly rewarded.”
Bellator remains motionless, inattentive, not seeming to notice the intruder.
“Is that true, Bellator?” I demand. “Have you been working for him this entire time?”
“Of course she has been,” Zeldek scoffs. “You’re too naïve and trusting, half-race! Bellator is and will always be my most loyal pawn.”
Batuel shakes her head, staring at the weakened warrior with numb shock. “You lied to me,” she whispers, the hurt of the betrayal saturating every word. Then her voice erupts like a thousand gales blowing. “You lied to me! You told me it wasn't for him!”
“Trust is a funny thing,” Zeldek says, his voice strangely bitter. “When you give it, it may turn around and destroy you.”
Batuel looks up at him, her empty eyes flashing. A
wind I cannot feel begins to blow around her and for just a moment, I can see the resemblance between her and Bellator. “You are wrong!” she hisses. “I cast the spell! The arrow will remain broken if she is unworthy!”
“But my Bellator was never one for following the rules,” Zeldek sneers. “She found a way around your idealistic ‘pure-of-heart’ guideline. By channelling the power of the most innocent soul through herself, she has manipulated your spell into thinking she was pure of heart. It will have mended.”
“No!” Batuel roars, and I know that if she wasn't a ghost, this entire place would be falling on us by now. “You cannot fool the spell! It knows! It always knows!”
Zeldek gestures toward the altar. “Let us see if that is true.”
Batuel turns to Bellator. “Did it mend?”
There is a long moment of silence as all three of us wait with bated breath. Then Bellator straightens up, lifting the slender shaft from its resting place.
“Yes,” she breathes. “It has.”
Chapter Forty
S he turns to us, the arrow of Arnon lying across her outstretched hands. The broken pieces have been welded back together and the golden shaft is lit with the iridescent glow of the remainder of our combined magic. But there is a bitter taste in my mouth as I behold it now.
A greedy look enters Zeldek's eyes and he takes a swift step toward Bellator. “At last!” His voice trembles with emotion. “All of your efforts have come to nothing, my sister. Your arrow is finally mine!”
He reaches out his hand toward it. Batuel winces and looks away, unable to bear the sight of her long-protected weapon going into the hands of her murderer.
Bellator snatches it out of his reach. “Please. If you think I'm going to just hand it over to you, you're a bigger fool than I realized!”
I let out my breath in a rush, and Batuel utters an exclamation of joy.
Zeldek's mouth drops open. “How dare you? You foolish girl! You cannot control the amount of power that weapon contains!”
“Oh? Do you want to help me test that theory?” she says, drawing her faithful bow from her shoulder.
“It is not your destiny to kill me,” Zeldek warns. “You know that just as well as I do.”
Broken Arrow (Darkened Destiny Saga Book 1) Page 29