Lives of Kings

by Lucy Leiderman

  A long, dark braid descended into his vision. He followed it to a round face with big blue eyes staring shyly back at him.

  “Eifa?”

  Eifa was Eched’s daughter. Kian’s mother had always told him they would marry one day, and in recent years his uncle seemed determined to make the union happen. Kian had given every excuse imaginable for delaying the marriage, including the fact that he felt nothing for her. It didn’t seem to matter.

  “I’m taking care of you,” Eifa said with a smile.

  “Yes,” Kian said, still holding his head. “I see that. How long have I been asleep?”

  “Half a day,” she replied.

  Eifa struggled with a pot of water, spilling more than a third while trying to bring it to Kian’s bedside. He watched helplessly, wincing at the mess. She was only fifteen, and Kian wondered how many of her actions were actually her father’s wishes.

  Finally resting the water near his bedside, Eifa wet a cloth and approached him. Kian recoiled at her sudden advances.

  “What are you doing?” he blurted out. He had meant to be kinder, but he was still in a lot of pain.

  “I am tending to your wounds,” she said, sitting back.

  “What wounds?”

  Eifa pulled back the wool covers to reveal his blood-soaked legs. Vaguely, Kian remembered running through the woods, eager to get home before collapsing. He examined the long scrapes. Someone had already cleaned them once, but he still bled from the deep gashes. Just then he noticed his clothes were missing, and he covered himself.

  “Did you undress me?” he asked indignantly.

  Eifa looked away, colour flushing her cheeks. “Your clothes were nearly in tatters anyway,” she said. “And as you are to be my husband …”

  “I am not —” Kian never got the opportunity to finish.

  Eched came through his door without knocking, as usual. Eifa scurried to tend to the fire. Kian felt she had made some liberal interpretations of her father’s wishes.

  “Eat this.”

  Eched thrust jerky into Kian’s hand, followed by cheese and fruit. Kian wanted to refuse. He wanted to keep what small amount of dignity he might possibly have left, but he was ravenous. He ate so quickly he did not even taste it. As soon as he was finished, he felt it coming violently back up.

  Kian was sick over the side of his bed, the contents of his stomach burning his throat as they landed on the dirt floor. Eched stepped back, pursing his lips, while Kian wiped his mouth and looked up at his uncle. The older man had brows that never unfurled. Now they were knit as tight as ever.

  “Let that be a lesson to you,” he said, pointing at the mess. “You think you’re invincible? You think you can go days without eating, chasing animals through the forest into Kaligan territory? Hiding in the cold with nothing but the shirt on your back?”

  The words were angry but laced with concern. Kian knew his uncle meant well, but his anger seethed. He was not angry at the Kaligan, or the Riada, or Eched. He was angry at his own shortcomings. He was angry because he was not invincible — he was human and magicless.

  “You,” Eched stabbed a finger in Kian’s direction, “need to be careful. You are the last heir of the high king. You have a duty to marry. Create heirs. Only then may the Riada have a champion again. The gods know we need one. That is your duty. Nothing more. You are not your brother.”

  Kian fought past the pain to stand. He was wise enough to keep any retorts to himself and used the opportunity of putting on clothes to measure his words. He was so angry that he shook, but he knew his uncle was right.

  A small part of him, one that he had tried to silence for years, still thought he possessed some magic. He and his brother were descended from the same gods, after all. He reasoned that he could have inherited some of the same gifts. Over the years he had told himself they were late in developing, that his magic would come. Every defeat was just another reminder that he was, in fact, merely human.

  As he slid his tunic over his head, he took a deep breath. A large hand rested on his shoulder.

  “I’ve known you your entire life, boy,” his uncle said. Kian turned to face him. “You are your mother’s son. She used to huff in the same way when she was angry with me.”

  Kian only stared. He did not trust himself to speak.

  “Your mother wasn’t very happy either, when she learned she would marry your father,” Eched said. “She called him old. She locked herself away and cried for days. But my father knew her temperament. He knew that in time she would come to her senses, and she did.”

  Eched sat on Kian’s bed, running a hand through the thick dark hair that was so similar to Kian’s own.

  “Your mother learned to love your father and do her duty to produce more powerful warriors for the Riada. We have been marrying in the family for generations to keep the lines pure,” Eched said. He motioned for Eifa to come over and took her hand. “You are so like your mother. You will learn to love my daughter, and be kind to her, and in turn do your duty.”

  The girl made a clumsy attempt to step forward and take Kian’s hand. It was too much for him. Despite his uncle’s words being reasonable, Kian’s legs were taking action. Before he could even realize what he was doing, he grabbed his bag, cloak, and bow, and was running from the main building, back into the forest.

  The adrenaline came from needing to get away — to escape. A flight instinct had overcome him. He knew what was right, but he did not want to do any of it. He did not want to fulfil Eched’s plans for him. He could not fathom that that was to be it for him, that he only existed to continue the line and not let his father and brother’s deaths go to waste, or that he held no value apart from being born a part of his family.

  Kian ran until his chest pained him and the stabbing sensation was back in his side. He needed to drink — he knew the pains of dehydration from spending long days in the forest. As soon as he slowed, weakness overtook him.

  Kian stepped sideways onto a root that moved under his foot. Weak, he tumbled down a long ravine, with barely the strength to protect his head as he rolled, miraculously not spearing himself on any branches or broken trees.

  Finally, he landed on soft ground. The earth was covered in leaves too green to have fallen naturally. Kian only thought about this for an instant since the sounds of a creek led him farther into the forest. His thoughts were on water, and he moved swiftly through the underbrush searching for it.

  Kian pushed down all thoughts of panic. He was, once again, far from home with little idea on how to get back. He knelt and splashed his face several times, feeling energy slowly return. He was still exhausted, but his heart eased at having gotten away from the settlement and put distance between himself and Eched. He felt in his heart that what was left of the Riada was just a shadow of the truth — and a decades-long plan for more heirs wasn’t going to help his people.

  Kian examined his face in the water. New cuts bled along his arms and forehead. He picked leaves out of his hair. The blue in his eyes, also like his mother’s, was another reminder of how he was unlike his brother or father. He had heard that when his brother was born, the king had seen the strange mix of green and brown and knew this was a child of the forest and the gods. Kian had no such story of his birth. His father had loved him, but two warriors in the family would have been better than one.

  A shape appeared behind him and Kian turned swiftly, reaching for a dagger that was not at his waist. He cursed his foolishness. He was alone in the woods, with no weapon and no way home.

  Without anything to defend himself with, Kian moved into a low fighting stance. The man in the brown cloak lifted up two dirty hands in surrender.

  “Relax, young prince,” he said. His voice was uncertain and cautious. He had a strange accent Kian had not heard before. Long, dirty brown locks hung from below his hood.

  “How do you know who I am?” Kian asked. He hadn’t been called that in nearly ten years.

  The cloaked man shrugged.
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br />   “Remove your hood,” Kian commanded, trying to sound like a prince. “Let me see your face.”

  The man shrugged again and pulled down the brown hood, revealing a long face with bright green eyes and long, dirty hair.

  “Who are you?” Kian asked.

  “Call me a relic,” the man answered. “My tribe is gone, yet I remain.”

  The answer came to Kian before the man had even finished speaking.

  “You’re a Godel!” he accused. He remembered hearing of the long robes of the Godelan. Their slaves wore next to nothing. His father had been outraged when he heard the Godelan explain that to cover your body was a privilege, and only those with power should do so. Still, after so many years, the man still wore his robes.

  “I am a man of no tribe,” the man replied. “Just as you are a prince of no man.”

  “You’re a magician. You are a slaver,” Kian retorted.

  “Just like the Romans, whom you and all the Riada bow down to,” the magician replied simply. Kian was beginning to think this man had an answer for everything. More terrifying was the possibility that he was being bewitched into sympathizing.

  “Tell me how to get home,” Kian ordered. “I don’t want to hear any more of your sorcery.”

  The man made an incredulous face, the first sign of any real emotion behind the calm mask. “Sorcery? It is the truth,” he said.

  “You’re evil,” Kian told him. “Our warriors were sacrificed because of your actions.”

  “If that were true,” the magician said, “would I be here today?”

  Kian considered this. He was hesitant to take anything the man said as true, but the magicians of the Godelan had been killed, as far as he could remember. Still, he had to shake his head to keep the man’s words from entering his mind.

  “Tell me how to get home,” Kian repeated.

  “Home to what?” the magician asked. “The settlement the Romans have forced you into? You are living like animals on a farm when you need to be in the wild.”

  Listening to magicians was dangerous. Kian had been taught that from birth. Again he tried to ignore the words that were so tempting to believe. A large part of him was now agreeing, getting angrier at the truth behind the magician’s comments. Still he resisted.

  “Tell me how to get home,” Kian said again.

  “I have a better idea,” the magician said. “How about give you the magic you long for to save your tribe.”

  Kian stood silent, battling with his own will. He knew in his heart that this was wrong. This was not natural magic, and unnatural magic, forced from the earth for man’s will, always had consequences.

  “All right,” the magician acquiesced when Kian continued to say nothing. “If magic is not enough for you, then I will offer you something better. Your brother.”

  Kian’s breath caught in his throat. He had witnessed the deaths of his father, mother, and brother. What the Godel magician was proposing was impossible. But Kian knew their magic was once great.

  “How can you do that?” Kian asked.

  “I can do many incredible things,” the Godel replied. “In these woods, I’ve had time to learn new things.”

  “What’s in it for you?” Kian said. “Why would you do this? The warriors of the Riada destroyed your tribe.”

  “Simple,” the magician said, shrugging again. “I can only offer you the chance to be reunited with your brother and the other warriors. You have to do something for me first.”

  “What?”

  “Find them.”

  Chapter Three

  I was blinded for a moment, my vision hazy with orange and yellow flames in the complete darkness of the beach. My mind, as if detached from my body, floated somewhere above me, worried about Seth. I couldn’t do anything about it. I tried to force myself to return down to the beach, but a part of me knew I just had to wait.

  I don’t know how long I knelt on the sand, swaying with the breeze. Slowly, the sound of my heart hammering in my chest came to me and I knew I was settling back into myself. But just as I was getting a handle on things, I was knocked backward by a violent force. My back hit the sand and knocked what breath was left from my body. I coughed and sputtered for air.

  “Gwen!”

  I couldn’t focus on anything.

  “Gwen! Look at me.”

  I forced my eyes to co-operate. Seth was on top of me, patting awkwardly at my arms and legs.

  “You’re on fire!”

  He was yelling into my face, but to be fair, it was like I was miles away. His words reached me as though through syrup.

  Though I couldn’t feel the flames, Seth was panicked enough that I knew he was telling the truth. I regained control of my limbs and rolled. We were uncoordinated in our efforts, but ultimately, managing to inhale only a minimal amount of sand, I was no longer smouldering.

  Seth sat back, pulling me up with him.

  “You know,” he said, taking long moments to catch his breath, “I’ve been thinking about your fire thing.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” he replied, running a hand through his dark hair, a nervous tic that reminded me of Kian. Or was it that Kian reminded me of Seth? I couldn’t decide which brother was actually older. “It’s not something you had … back then,” Seth said.

  I nodded. Fire was never something I could control in my past life. It was a magic that had come to me later on. At least that’s what I felt to be the truth from the memories I experienced.

  The day the ritual took us forward in time, Seth and I had been ready to run away from everything, just to be together. It was the wrong thing to do. We both knew it, and I knew it now. I felt my past self’s shame and guilt about it. But at the time, two thousand years ago, feelings seemed to win. Due to circumstances beyond our control, however, I was in fire when I died, and it somehow got carried forward.

  “It’s something that kind of changed when you … became … you. This you,” Seth continued, spitting out sand between words. “So whenever you do this fire thing,” he motioned to the smoking and charred trees nearby, “it must be you.”

  I had never thought about it that way. Any time anything magical happened I would quickly blame it on my past self. Still, something about this nagged at my mind.

  Just then I felt people running toward us. The vibrations of several bodies were easier to detect than actual people approaching us in the night. A flashlight shone on my face and I winced.

  “What happened? What are you doing here?” the person barked.

  Two police officers were staring at us, waiting for an explanation. The smell of burning hair made me nervous — how obvious was it that the fire was my fault? Luckily, whatever blast I sent out had disappeared into the sand and the ocean. A small patch of trees was crackling as palm leaves burned. I tried to keep the guilty look off of my face.

  “Some kids were setting off fireworks,” Seth said, slipping an arm around my waist. I felt the hum of magic coming off of him, though faint. “Over there.”

  He pointed to the burning trees.

  The two security guards looked us over, not totally convinced.

  “You need to leave,” they told us. “Go back to your hotel.”

  With that they jogged toward the palm trees.

  “Did you use magic on them?” I asked after they had left.

  “I tried to,” he said, frowning. “It’s difficult. It’s like there’s a stopper or something.” He got to his feet with a moan. “Let me know the next time you’re going to throw me somewhere, okay?”

  “Deal.” I nodded. “What’s that burning smell?”

  Seth helped me up. My arms and legs appeared to be fine. I could feel my hair blowing against my back in the breeze, so at least I still had that. I took a few steps and felt cold.

  “Uh, Gwen?” Seth was fighting laughter behind me. For all that I had nearly killed him, and myself, and anyone around us, he now stood smiling awkwardly.

  “What?” I asked, dre
ading the answer.

  “Your, uh, dress seems to have been, uh, caught between you and the sand … got heated up.”

  I pieced it together. The back of my wrap was mostly in tatters. I made Seth look away as I rearranged the sarong, still thinking of his comment about my magic. Was he right? Was I doing this?

  The thought made me nervous. If I was doing that to myself, what else was I doing? The way my mind, the logical modern-day Gwen mind, had retreated upon so much magic occupying my body worried me. It was the same thing that happened when I let the storm loose on the magicians and put all of my friends at risk, too. I couldn’t risk letting my sense of reason just fly away into the night. Not to mention, what would be left then? Would I trade places with her? Would I become a passenger in my own body?

  By the time we got back to the hotel, Moira and Garrison were already waiting for us in the lobby.

  “What happened?” Garrison asked, rushing forward to check me for injuries.

  “I’m fine.” I brushed him off. “How did you know?”

  “Seth’s magic,” Moira said, pointing at him. “I felt something was wrong. Did you hurt him?”

  Huh. What else didn’t I know about their connection? I looked from Seth to Moira as if I could see the threads that linked them. Her words made me feel even guiltier.

  “Of course not,” Seth answered for me. Though when he walked with a limp, the others looked at him skeptically. “I might have been knocked down,” he conceded.

  Moira led the way back to our hotel room, where I explained what had happened. They seconded Seth’s comment about the fire being something of mine — not of my past life.

  “Maybe that action,” Garrison suggested, “something that happened between you and Seth, set off what’s been blocking our magic since England. What were you doing when it happened?”

  Seth and I looked awkwardly at each other.

  “I don’t know,” I said finally, “but I need to get better at this.”

  “With more magic, you’re more dangerous,” Moira said thoughtfully.

  “I know that.”

  Garrison slung an arm around my shoulders in the supportive way he always did, forgetting how crabby I had been to him earlier that night. I appreciated that arm more than anything right then. I took a deep breath, readying myself for the barrage of questions that would follow my big reveal.