Lives of Kings

by Lucy Leiderman

  “How did you know he’d agree? M-A? How did you know?”

  “He is a commander,” Magician said. “At one time he had a commander. That man probably made a fool out of him. And now he cannot resist making a fool out of those who are beneath him. A cycle of power well wasted.”

  As they walked, Kian had been thinking of M-A. The commander seemed very logical and scoffed at the ways of the tribes. He hadn’t believed Magician and probably wouldn’t ever believe magic was involved in their escape. But he hadn’t wanted to give his name. M-A’s reasoning was similar to what Magician had said about names — how a name was a powerful thing to learn about someone. But surely M-A wouldn’t believe that?

  “Did M-A not want to give us his name because he was afraid?”

  Magician actually let out a harsh bark of laughter. “The Roman is not lost to the ways of magic, for all that he claims he does not believe.”

  “You told me names matter because the gods made people from earth,” Kian said. “How is that?”

  Magician turned to glance back at him. “You are full of questions tonight,” he replied. “Goram and Eila talked life into people from the earth. They called the first men and women, and they came. Your name is the first thing you are given. It separates you from what you were before your birth and what you become after your death: earth. To hold your name is to hold life.”

  “And that’s why you won’t tell me your name,” Kian said.

  “Correct.”

  “But you know my name.”

  “Correct.”

  “Can you control me?”

  Magician turned with an annoyed look. “If you suddenly find yourself remembering everything I ever told you, you will also remember that I said only the right person may control you by your name.”

  Kian thought. “So you’re not the right person?”

  No answer.

  “Am I the right person?”

  “You could be.”

  Magician took to mumbling something to himself. Kian couldn’t tell if it was to deter more conversation or if he was actually angry.

  Another hour passed. Dawn was on the horizon when Kian finally glimpsed the hill where the ritual was to take place. Though he was nearly frozen and dreadfully tired, something flared into life in his chest. He hadn’t known the pain that existed there, dormant. Yet as he looked upon the space where his own father had said the words that had ultimately killed his brother and everyone else capable of saving the Riada, he was shocked to a halt. He had not been to the place since he was a child.

  Magician noticed he had stopped. “What are you doing?”

  Kian shook the images of the flames from his mind. The woman who had intrigued him so much as a child had been swallowed by them. Soon he would have them all back. He would bring them home.

  They reached the place as the first rays of sunlight spread across the landscape, and Kian wondered if it was his perspective that had changed, or the actual countryside. When he was a child, this hill had seemed like a mountain. And after the ritual, it was a monument to the misery of his people. Now it was just a small bump in the earth.

  Magician began to drop the items from his bag into the centre of the ring of stones, charred from the fire so many years ago.

  “I never thought I would return here with my enemy,” Kian thought out loud.

  “I am not your enemy,” Magician said, still busy. “The Romans are your true enemy. They are the ones who force their language and customs on our land, erasing our history.”

  Magician took the golden eagle Kian had stolen and threw it into the middle of the fire pit with pieces of silver and brass.

  “Why didn’t you speak to them yourself the whole time? You know their language,” Kian said angrily as Magician came to stand next to him, observing his work.

  “There is always an element of mystery and fear,” Magician explained, “when one does not understand. That is something you will know about me. I like to be feared.”

  Suddenly he raised the dagger well over his head and pulled at Kian’s arm until his cloak fell back and his bare skin was exposed. Kian realized too late what was happening and fought in vain.

  “What are you doing?”

  “One last ingredient,” Magician explained. “Blood.”

  Kian struggled as Magician held him in a deadly grip. His strength was impressive and unexpected.

  “Kian?”

  Both Kian and Magician were caught off guard. The voice had called from the other side of the hill. They looked at each other. The brief look of confusion on Magician’s face was replaced by something more sinister.

  “Prince Kian?” the voice called. “Is that you?”

  Magician let Kian’s arm go and retreated a few paces as the man climbed the hill to meet them.

  A familiar face crested the hill. Kian’s heart did somersaults as he took in the first person from his own tribe he’d seen in months. He braced himself for anger; after all, it would appear that he had deserted and left them. But instead, the man, who was only slightly older than him, broke into a wide smile.

  Kian had known Adar since they were children. The man with chestnut hair had been friendly to him, even though most people didn’t know how to act in case he became king one day. Adar was one of the hunters, and even so far from home he carried a bow and a quiver at his side.

  Kian had often wished for the life of a hunter. Adar had married a Riada girl he chose himself, and his only task was to provide food for the tribe.

  “Is it really you?” Adar asked again. There were tears in his eyes. Kian was happy for the sentiment, but this was an unexpected reaction. Panic touched his heart and made it race.

  Adar grabbed Kian’s shoulders, smiled widely again, and embraced him. The look on his face was one of sadness and happy surprise all at once.

  “What’s the matter?” Kian asked. “Why have you come so far? What’s happened to the Riada? Is it my uncle? Is he alive?”

  To his relief, Adar gave out a laugh. “Relax, Kian,” he said. “Everybody’s fine. The same as before you disappeared. I only come this way to hunt because supplies are running short. The Kaligan are taking everything. And I still know this land better than anyone.”

  Kian could tell there was something he wasn’t telling. “Then what is it? I can tell something is wrong.”

  Adar gripped his shoulders again, as if making sure he was real. “It’s you,” the man said, surprise still overtaking his emotions. “We thought you were dead.”

  “Dead?” Kian asked. “Why dead?”

  No. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go at all. He hadn’t wanted anyone to suffer or lose hope. He hadn’t wanted anyone to look for him. He was going to save them.

  “Shortly after you left,” Adar said, “We …” He shook his head in wonder. “We found your body. We thought a bear had mauled you. Eaten before the winter. We thought it was surely you, with your hair and your cloak …”

  Kian began to understand. His mind raced as he fit together the pieces. Magician had tricked him. He had wanted Kian’s tribe to think he was dead, so that Kian would truly stay for as long as he was needed. His heart ached for his uncle and anyone of the Riada who had mourned for him and had lost hope. He was the last connection to the gods, and without him, there would be no more warriors.

  “Adar.” Kian grabbed the man’s arm. “Go home, tell them it was just a misunderstanding. Tell them I’m alive and that I’m bringing back the warriors. I’ll bring home everyone who’s ever had magic, and we’ll take back our lands!”

  Adar looked at him sympathetically but didn’t move. Kian nearly screamed in frustration. This is exactly why he hadn’t gone home to tell everyone. No one would believe him.

  “Kian,” Adar said, using the calm tone one typically uses with someone who has lost his mind, “our champions are dead. We stand on their graves. You cannot bring them back.”

  “But I can!” Kian nearly shouted. “I can. I know a magician who can do
it.”

  “A magician?” Adar asked. “Kian, there is no more gods’ magic left. Magicians are gone. You know that.”

  “But this Godel can do it,” Kian insisted.

  “Godel?”

  Something flashed in Adar’s eyes. Hate. Another reason Kian hadn’t tried to go home and explain his plan.

  “Kian,” Adar’s tone was low, and held anger, “whatever deal he promised you, only evil can come from it. He cannot bring our seven back.”

  Kian was about to open his mouth to disagree, but Magician’s voice rang out from behind the standing stones. He had been hiding.

  “The hunter is right,” he announced. “There will be no bringing the seven back.”

  Kian’s anger mounted, and he turned to Magician, but just then, Magician grabbed for Adar’s throat. He squeezed with his hand, and as he did, Adar struggled for breath.

  “Stop it!” Kian yelled. “Stop!”

  He stood, conflicted between Adar and Magician. If he helped Adar, he might never see his brother again. But Magician had just told him the only thing he wanted was actually impossible.

  “You told me you could bring them back!” Kian screamed.

  “I told you that you could have your brother back, Prince,” Magician corrected him, his eyes never leaving Adar. “And to do so, you would have to find the others.”

  “What?”

  Adar collapsed to his knees.

  Kian didn’t know what to do.

  “Magic is in short supply here,” Magician said, as if it was obvious. “In the future, where my brothers and your kind have gone, I imagine it is nearly gone. Bring me the others, we’ll take their magic, and you can have your brother and go home. That is our deal.”

  “No!” Kian yelled. “I won’t do that.”

  He tried to get in Magician’s line of sight, to step between him and Adar, but Magician pushed him backward with incredible strength. Kian realized too late that he had been hiding his power the whole time.

  Adar fought against Magician’s magic but was losing.

  Helpless tears streamed down Kian’s face as Magician rooted him the spot while he took Adar’s last breath. The instant the man died, Kian was free of Magician’s grip. He collapsed to his knees.

  “You didn’t have to do that!” Kian screamed. “He was going to go home. He wasn’t going to stop us.”

  “But then the Riada would know this ritual is possible,” Magician told him. “They would know it had been possible the whole time. They’d know they could have spared the lives of their children and saviours and simply sent them forward instead of killing them. Think of how disappointed they would be.”

  “You don’t care about the Riada,” Kian said through gritted teeth.

  “No,” Magician agreed. “I don’t. But I do care about preserving my methods, and I’ve worked ten years on this. My own kind didn’t know it was possible. I knew I could do it, and that’s why I stayed. And now I have.”

  Puzzle pieces continued to click together.

  “You were one of the Godelan who stole the souls and magic out of your own people,” Kian accused. “But you were too much of a coward to die.”

  Magician smirked.

  Kian tried to go after him but found himself frozen again. His anger overflowed into sadness, regret, and disappointment, and he buried his face in his hands. He knew he had made a grave mistake. Even if he got his brother back, how could he face his tribe?

  “You speak of cowards, Prince?” Magician asked. “You ran from your people and sought the company of your enemy, all so that you could have your brother back and have him lead your people instead of you.”

  Kian screamed, still unable to move. The anger was too much to bear. Magician approached him and lifted his arm once more. Kian didn’t even protest. The man ran the dagger swiftly along his forearm until the blade was covered in blood, and then tossed it into the fire.

  “Now,” Magician said, “you will come with me. You will find the others, you will surrender them to my brothers and me, and then you can have your own brother back. Just like I promised.”

  “No.” Kian shook his head. “I won’t.” Magician ignored him, lighting a fire in the pit that roared to life in seconds. Kian refused to look up.

  “The spell is underway,” Magician said. “I will go to the future, find others of my kind, and, eventually, find yours. I will make sure that each of them is killed, and you can go home to tell the Riada what you’ve done. Or you can help me find them, and spare your brother.”

  He finally allowed Kian to stand. Magician released him, but misery descended like a shroud. More than anything he wanted to fall into the fire and die, but he knew he couldn’t. At least one shred of goodness had to come from this mistake, and he would do anything to make that happen.

  He stared into the flames, trying to block out the sight of Adar’s body and the knowledge that his uncle and the tribe thought he was dead. He could only look for the good he was committed to doing one day. He would save his brother, no matter what. He would bring him back and let the Riada have their king, even if he died in the process.

  “What is going to happen to this land?” Kian asked hoarsely.

  “I cannot know the future,” Magician replied.

  “When will we reappear?”

  “When the first of your kind experiences magic,” Magician said.

  The tears were drying on Kian’s face, leaving cold streaks. He stepped close to the fire until it hurt his face and body.

  Magician said some words in a language Kian didn’t know. They reverberated until they became a constant hum. The humming turned to shouts, whispers, and screams.

  Magician smiled at the sounds of agony but Kian couldn’t stand them and had to cover his ears, only to find the noises were inside his mind. A black space started to grow in the fire as a sliver, and with it a chill hit Kian’s face even as the flames threatened to burn him.

  He wanted it to end. The noise was unbearable. As Magician took a step forward, Kian did as well — straight into the fire.

  A moment of sheer agony passed through him as the flames met his skin and engulfed him. He held his breath and forced himself to keep going.

  Two steps, and he stumbled on the rocks lining the pit, falling hard on all fours. The blackness turned out to be a glimpse into the night. It was just as cold here now as it was when they left. For a moment Kian thought nothing had happened.

  Magician walked around, observing the stars as if he could read them. He seemed just as lost as Kian.

  “Get up, Prince,” Magician said.

  “Where are we?” Kian’s voice came out as a rasp. The contrast between heat and cold was causing him to shake uncontrollably, and his teeth chattered. He slowly got to his feet.

  There was no fire in this pit, no golden statues or silver coins nearby. Adar’s body was gone.

  “I don’t know,” Magician admitted. “We are in the same place, at the time when the first Riada warrior experiences magic.”

  “So,” Kian reasoned, “they could be old men?”

  “Or children,” Magician said.

  “And your people?” Kian asked.

  “We’ll have to find them,” Magician said. “Not to worry, I can find magic. We are all connected.”

  Kian laughed hoarsely. “They will not be angry at you for failing to fulfil the ritual? You left them to die.”

  Magician’s eyes flashed with anger. “My fate has been worse than theirs. Time moves differently in this world, but I have no doubt they have fared well. And I know they will forgive me when they see the wonderful gift I have brought them.”

  “And what’s that?” Kian asked.

  “You.”

  Chapter Seven

  “What did he say?” I asked Garrison for the hundredth time. “Exactly?”

  He sighed and buried his face in a magazine. We sat in an airport in Singapore, waiting for a connecting flight to London.

  Kian had tracked us down aft
er seeing us on the news. Garrison said he hadn’t been angry when he called — just worried. Kian, it turned out, hadn’t gone that far. I don’t know where he was, but he was waiting for us to arrive in Ireland. Unfortunately, getting off a tiny island after a natural disaster shuts down all air traffic is difficult.

  The witch doctor’s sleeping draught had side effects, and I found myself dreaming of the past more vividly than ever. We were at a loss for magic after using it on the tsunami, but at least now we knew who the magicians really were. It felt better to call them by their real name: Godelan.

  I still couldn’t find any information about their tribe; it seemed to be as lost as ours, but I had seen them pledge themselves to our king. It had to mean something.

  Since they now knew where we were, we abandoned all care with magic. Getting off the island was still difficult, though, and we tried to avoid being seen together as much as possible, travelling in pairs as siblings.

  Two days after the earthquake, Seth and Moira were on a plane to Sydney, Australia. It made me uneasy. The witch doctor’s words about Moira spun in my head, and I watched her while still on the island, waiting for something to happen. She remained her normal self, though — quiet and reserved.

  Garrison and I followed the next day on a flight to Melbourne. From there we flew to Singapore to meet the others. Then we would fly to London and then together to Ireland.

  I was growing to hate airports. Airports, airplanes, and everything that had to do with travelling, including eating the terrible food that you can only find in airports. After two straight days of stressing about what to do when we saw Kian again, as well as what Seth was up to, Garrison had had just about enough of me.

  I was nervous in a very human way. Modern Gwen felt anxiety. Seth and I had never discussed what happened between us when we saved the island, and Kian had disappeared after kidnapping me. Then rescuing me. Then leaving me while I was basically comatose.

  Sometimes I’d be angry, other times I worried about him. I began to bite my nails and nearly fought with Garrison when he knocked my hand out of my mouth for the tenth time on the flight to Australia. The stewardess told us to shush.