by Krystal Wade
“I see you have been talking to Flanna.” He smiles.
“She told me you took over here when you were fifteen and your dad left.”
“She told you the truth. I was eager because of my prophecy, Kate. I knew my being in charge was part of the end of the war. I want, more than anything, for it to be over—for my mother, that her death not be in vain, for my people, and for myself. This world will not survive much longer if the war continues.” He shakes his head.
“What else did your prophecy tell you about yourself?”
“Enough, but we can save that for another time,” Arland says.
I’ve made him uncomfortable. It worries me to know speaking of his prophecy makes him edgy. I wonder if he is going to die, and maybe he’s already aware of that? Pushing past my concerns, I continue to ask questions. Most of them are the same off-the-wall ones he asked me.
“What would life be like here if there wasn’t a war going on?” I have to know the answer to this.
He opens and closes his mouth a few times, pausing on what I expected to be an easy answer. “It has been so long since life was normal, I am no longer sure. When this is all over, I will have to show you.” Arland’s eyes smile at me, but his mouth doesn’t—like he’s hiding something.
I’m not going to have an answer for a long time … if ever.
Marcus and Anna were born into this world full of turmoil, and haven’t been able to enjoy a normal life, and I’m sorry for that. They’ve never experienced the full effects of sunshine, or even happiness, like what’s displayed on the walls outside my room. I’m sure they haven’t been able to explore the forest or caves, or go fishing in a river, or swim in a lake. It must be a sad life. Even if they are willing to go headfirst into battle to try to end the war, there must still be some fear in their hearts, some hesitation, some strong will to live that makes them want to run and hide to save themselves.
We’ve carried on our conversation for so long it feels as though I’m talking in my sleep. I cover my mouth and yawn.
Arland traces the outline of my face with his fingers; his touch so comforting it forces me to give in to the looming slumber.
Arland and I are swimming in a river, cleaning ourselves by the waterfall. The day is long, and we’re both ready to rest for our next journey. He kisses me before lifting me up out of the water. I keep my legs wrapped around his body as he carries me into our hidden cave behind the falls. He sets me down near the back so I can dress, and lights a fire with some timber we collected earlier in the day. I join him and we eat the rabbit we snared. Food is hard to come by in the wild, but Arland is a skilled hunter and we rarely go without. After our bellies are full, we move to the back of the cave and lie on our bed of animal furs, holding on to each other as though we never want to let go.
Arland stares into my eyes. “If I die, Kate, do not stop fighting.”
“You are not going to die,” I tell him.
“I pray you are correct, but if not, you must go on,” he says, more commanding.
I close my eyes. “I can’t think about it.”
He takes my face in his hand, pulling me into him. Our mouths meet and we make love behind the cover of the falls, but it feels more like a goodbye than anything else.
Tears stream across our faces while we rest in each other’s arms. This is the end, and somehow we both know it. Our time with one another has been too short. We want to give each other years, decades even, but the sound of rocks tumbling against the side of the cave tells us we are not going to be afforded that time.
“They have found us.” He grabs his sword and sits up, ready to protect my life. “You have to run.”
“I will not. I am going to fight,” I say, with more fervor.
He looks at me, and we share what for sure is our last goodbye kiss. We approach the opening of the cave, holding our swords. The falls block our view of what approaches, but we don’t need to see them to know the army of mangled creatures has found us.
“Please run, Kate,” Arland begs.
“Do not make me tell you again.”
The first line of daemons approaches along the side of the falls.
“Stad,” he mutters, waving his hand in front of us.
The waters stop flowing, and we find ourselves looking out onto thousands of daemons. It is as if Darkness sent the entire army after us. A rock falls from above and hits me on my head. Looking up, I realize we are both going to die. Daemons are everywhere. There is no time for either of us to run, hide, or even fight. They jump onto Arland from the rocks overhead. I scream for him, stab and slash my sword at the beasts, but there are too many.
I cannot see him.
“I love you, Katriona,” he chokes out. They are the last words he says before letting out bloodcurdling screams of pain.
I’ve never heard someone cry with so much anguish before. I call for Arland, but he doesn’t say anything.
He’s gone. My love is gone.
“Why don’t you just kill me?” I clench my fists and scream. “Why leave me here? Just do it!”
Trembling, I collapse beside Arland and wait for my own terrifying death, but it doesn’t come.
The daemons slink away, leaving me at the mouth of the cave next to Arland’s destroyed body.
“Now you no longer have protection, little girl. You could have prevented this, but now you are weak, and I will find and kill you myself.” An unfamiliar voice laughs as I mourn.
I cry myself awake; I always do, from this dream. It’s always been one of the worst I’ve had of Arland. Most start out more pleasant, but in this one, we know we have no future, no life to live, and no hope throughout the entire dream. I sit up, alone—seems to be the usual here.
The door opens. Candlelight illuminates Arland’s face as he walks in the room.
“Are you crying?” He sits down in the chair and sets the candle next to the bed.
“Yes.” The sheets make the perfect tissue to wipe the tears from my face.
“We will find a way to help your friend. I promise,” Arland says, misinterpreting my sadness.
“I’m not crying over Brad. I had a dream about your death.”
“Oh, I am sorry.” His voice and face soften a little.
I’m ridiculous. The dreams aren’t real. Arland is here, he’s alive, and yet I’m crying.
“I’ve seen these dreams replay so many different times, I guess I should be used to them, but each time the pain of your death seems to hurt me even more,” I say, telling him too much—once again.
He remains quiet for a moment, as though looking for the right words. “And some of these dreams make you cry over me?”
I cover my face with the sheet. “Yes.”
I’m embarrassed for saying anything at all. I keep sharing my deepest feelings with Arland, as if I am in one of my dreams.
“Get dressed.” Arland tugs the sheet away and offers me his hand.
“W-what are we going to do?” I take hold of him and he pulls me out of bed.
“I have something to show you.” He heads for the door. “Meet me in the dining room—and bring your sword.”
“My sword? Where is this something you want to show me?” I’m frozen in the middle of the room.
“Out.”
I break free of my cold panic and march toward him. “Outside out?”
“Yes.” He laughs.
“You have got to be kidding me!” I hug myself; trembles threaten to bring me to my knees.
“No, I want you to see the daemons the way I do. We are going to make rounds along the perimeter of Watchers Hall.” He smiles as he leaves the room.
Going outside this base to look for daemons seems foolish. I’ve seen the monsters up close and personal. I’m positive I don’t want to see them ever again. I also don’t want to be alone.
I grab my clothes from the dresser, lift the nightgown over my head, and pull on the tunic, pants, and boots. Before opening the door, I see my sword resting against
the wall. I jog back over to pick it up.
I slide the weapon through my holster, and find Arland waiting by a table in the dining area. The way he holds himself, straight, calm—like he doesn’t have a care in the world—is comforting, but I’m still shaking.
My teeth chatter.
“Relax, Kate.”
I look up at Arland and fight against an urge, deep inside, to wrap my arms around him and beg to be taken back to my room. “You want me to relax when I’ve seen exactly what those things are capable of? And you’ve told me Brad is lucky—everyone else dies instantly. So why, exactly, should I relax?”
He puts his hand in the middle of my back—warmth spreads along my skin, rushing through me like fire—and pushes me toward the kitchen. “Because you will not come in direct contact with any daemons. I have plenty of my men in the forest, and most daemons should be asleep by now.”
“How can you know that for sure? If you have perimeter patrols, then some daemons try to get through, right?”
“If one makes its way through, I have plenty of guards to take care of it.” Arland pushes open the door leading to the stables and communications room. “Wait right here. I am going to inform Keith of our departure.”
I nod.
Rubbing the cold hilt of my sword, I look all around. No sounds of happy children or soldiers eating fill the dining room—everything is empty and quiet.
The door squeaks as it opens behind me. Turning around, I see Arland emerge from the dark hallway with a smile on his face and a lantern in his grip. “Keith will have the other guards on high alert.”
“So you told him you were taking this world’s supposed hero out?”
Reaching for my hand, Arland laughs and starts up the stairs. “Not exactly.”
“What did you tell him?” I ask, trying to keep up.
“Here, hold this,” Arland says, handing me the lantern, then lighting the wick.
“What’s this for?”
“I thought you might be more comfortable if you could see.” He unlocks the door and pushes it open.
I gasp for breath; the hairs on my arm stand straight. “W-Won’t the daemons be able to see this?”
“No, our perimeter and everything inside it are invisible to them.”
“What?”
“We have multiple layers of magic over the base, stables and perimeter. Daemons cannot see us. They can stand next to us, but will not know we are here—and Keith is under the impression I am taking a soldier out for training. It is not a lie. Are you coming?” He tugs at my hand, but my feet feel glued in place.
“Training?”
“Yes, training. Again, I want you to see the daemons as I do. I am not asking you to fight them, only observe how easily they can be killed.”
“We’re going to walk right up to one and kill it?”
“No, if it were that easy, we would have already won the war. You will be safe … .”
“Okay.” I follow him up the remaining steps and away from the safety of base.
I see my breath comes out in white clouds of steam. My heart races, but somehow not as fast as I think it should. Arland wraps his hand around mine, and I stay within inches of him. The lantern does little to illuminate the forest. I cannot see past the small radius of light floating on the ground next to me, and beyond it, everything appears even darker than before.
“How long did it take for everyone’s eyes to adjust?” I ask, ready to abandon the failing light.
“Mine took a month, but I refused to use artificial light after the sun was taken from us. Other people’s eyes took longer. The sooner you accept it, the easier it is to overcome,” he says, glancing at the lantern.
I lift the lantern to my face, open the small glass window in the wooden frame, then blow out the candle.
“Are you sure you want to do that? Your eyes will not adjust that fast.”
“The sooner I accept it, the easier it is to overcome, right?”
He nods.
“I’m accepting it, then … so where are we going?”
Arland points to his left and leads us off the worn footpath between the base and the training facility.
We enter an area overrun with thick underbrush, snapping and echoing around us. I check over my shoulder, but cannot see more than a couple feet around me.
He puts his finger over his lips and has me walk behind him. If Arland wants us to be quiet, there’s something out here that can hear us. My stomach twists and knots around; my mouth waters. I’m sure the stew I had for dinner is going to come back up.
“We are here,” he says.
“Where?”
“We have been monitoring a growing population of daemons in the area, waiting for the right moment to attack.” Arland stops and sits on the ground, pulling a bow and arrows from a quiver strapped to his back.
“Now is not the right moment, is it?” I ask, ready to retreat.
“No. We are here to kill daemons that break off from the rest of the group or get anywhere near us.”
“You brought me out here to watch you kill stragglers?” I plop onto the soggy ground next to him.
“More or less,” he says, shrugging. “And to show you the differences between the daemons—assuming you can see.”
“I can’t see much of anything.”
“I believe I have something that will help with your vision.” He closes his fingers into a fist and reopens them, revealing a tiny blue flame in the palm of his hand.
“Arland … .” I grab his hand and watch the flame dance. I reach out to touch it—like a child swiping her finger over a candle—laughing as the soft heat caresses me. “How did you do this?”
He gently pulls free, then transplants the fire to the tip of an arrow. “Squeeze your hand into a fist and whisper, Solas.”
“Like it’s that easy,” I say, with as much sarcasm as I can.
Arland creates another flame. “When you have been practicing as long as I have, it is that easy. Try thinking of what you want to happen.”
I want Brad to be healed. I want to see my family.
Crossing my legs over each other, I hold up my left palm. “Is this old magic?”
“No, old magic is more powerful than this.”
“What does it do?”
“Stories have been passed down through generations of how everyone could command fire, and fire would listen. But we know little. It has been so long since it has been practiced.”
Arland notches his arrow and pulls back. “Go ahead, try it while I take care of this stray daemon.”
My muscles tense. I desert the plan to create fire and grip Arland’s thigh. He looks down at my misplaced hand and grins.
“I am sorry,” I say, moving it.
“Do not be sorry,” Arland says, deep and seductive.
Pulling the arrow, he squints his eye, then lets go. The burning wood shoots through the air, creating a trail of blue in its path. Spinning and whistling, the weapon suddenly stops and ignites something into flames. Faint grunting sounds make their way back to us. Whatever he hit appears to be a hundred feet below. We’re sitting on a ledge high above the daemons, and it’s so dark, I didn’t even realize.
“Why didn’t you tell me we were so far away from them?”
“Did you believe I would put you in harm’s way?” he asks, imprisoning me with his smile.
“I-I … I guess I did—you did tell me to bring my sword.” Afraid to meet his eyes, I trace lines in my palm with my fingertip. “So what was that you hit?”
“A tairb. They are fast, smart daemons.”
“Won’t the others realize one has been killed and look for—?”
Arland creates another flame, then lets an arrow fly through the air. “From the information we have gathered, they do only what they are told.”
“And the coscarthas?”
“They all do what they are told.”
“And whoever leads the daemons doesn’t care that you kill them?”
&nbs
p; He looks down at me, all playfulness wiped from his face. “I am sure whoever leads them does not care about anything.”
“Why don’t you kill all of them right now?”
“My men have watched and followed these daemons for weeks, trying to discover where their orders come from. If we kill them all, our chances of obtaining information will diminish. We kill only the ones who get too close to our perimeter.”
He repeats his assault on the creatures, one right after the other. Every now and then, blue streaks the sky from other areas, aiding the effort to kill the daemons below. Watching how easy it is for Arland to end their lives, and how the beasts don’t retaliate, makes me feel somewhat safer.
“I am going to miss the next one on purpose. Pay close attention.”
Arland released three consecutive arrows, then points to the ground, where a small deer grazes.
“I think you really missed.” I laugh.
“No, that is a Shifter,” he says, his tone serious.
“A what?”
“Shifters were the worst kind of daemons, until we discovered them. They would turn into cattle or chickens, wait until we brought them into our stables, then shift into their real forms and kill everyone.” He grits his teeth. “But we are aware of them now. Any stray animal causes a great deal of concern.”
“Do they ever turn into anything other than animals?”
He shakes his head.
“Are there other types down there?”
“There are other daemons, but none visible tonight. Would you like to try that spell now?”
No, but I promised I would try to discover what makes me Light, and I’m doing this for my friend. Closing my eyes, I focus on Brad, home, and magic, then make a fist. “Solas,” I whisper.
Nothing happens.
“Try again,” Arland says, his voice low, deflated.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know magic. I don’t know spells, and I certainly don’t know how to kill anything.” My hands tremble. My face burns. The Seers got the prophecy wrong. I am not the Light. I’m not even sure I’m from this world. Looking around, I try to remember how we got here, so I can run back.
Arland’s smile fades. Standing, he looks me over, then glances toward the daemons below.
“We should return inside. There is nothing remaining out here for you to see. If my men find any hounds or serpents, they will inform me, and we can make another trip.” He offers me his hand.