Secrets of Silverwind

by Sanders, Richard L.

  Anger and fear split her face and her eyes were bright with menace and hate. He understood her reaction now. And regretted coming.

  “How dare you?” Ariana whispered hatefully, her voice quivering, struggling to spit out the words. “How dare you profane that honorable name!” She gained volume and confidence. “Caythis was a good man. The only good Ceteris."

  "What?"

  "You’re not Caythis you evil bastard. You’re Antares!”

  The accusation should have been ridiculous. He should have laughed at her. It was insane. But something inside him clicked. And he remembered. He remembered everything. All that had happened in his distant past came rushing back, a horrible torrent of images and feelings that shook him forcefully.

  And he knew who he was. Antares Ceteris. Antares of Andar. Antares the Destroyer. The lost, broken soul who had inflicted so much pain upon the world.

  The reality was crippling. And seeing Ariana there, who he'd once claimed to love with all his heart and soul, standing before him, fatherless child at her side, in the ashes of her own home—the very place where he’d made her a widow, it was far too much to bear.

  “I am so sorry,” he said. The words came out softly, sincerely. But infinitely inadequate. She looked at him with so much pain. He couldn’t meet her gaze. She took her son by the arm and ran. Leaving him alone.

  He felt the weight of the world land upon his shoulders, extinguishing his spirit. He crashed to his knees and wept. Tears of shock and rage filled his eyes as he scooped up a handful of ashes, crushing them mercilessly in his hands.

  “What have I done?” he asked over and over, in broken whispers, as the consequences of his tormented youth stared at him from all directions. How could his mistakes spread so far and affect so many? What sick fate had given him so much power and so little wisdom to guide it?

  He could feel the burning in his eyes, drips rolling down his face. And he stayed there for a very long time, head bowed, the wind cold against his skin. The rain continued to pour. He couldn’t move or think, only feel—drowned in an ocean of truth, the sharpest blade of all.

  Eventually he pulled himself to his feet and felt compelled to look up at the sky. It was ominous and gray, full of rain. Exactly as it had been on that night. He raised his left hand, palm flat to the sky. Felt the echo of what it had been like. The tortured outcry he'd made. Swollen with hate and fear. Exploding with emotions he couldn’t grapple with. Wishing he’d never been born. Then, in his mind’s eye, he remembered the white stone ring glowing on his middle finger.

  The inferno had poured from his hand in volume that surpassed even his imagination. Had rained down an endless blizzard of terrible fire in all directions, arcing over the whole city. Farther than his eyes had been able to see. The pain had been immense, almost overwhelming, yet he’d relished it. For several minutes the flow had refused to stop—his surging emotions fueling it. Something else had been there too, under everything. Despair. He’d given up. His life had ceased mattering.

  He had been fully taken by an overpowering desire to shake the foundations of the world. The world that’d held him prisoner. The same one that had slapped him with injustice, tragedy, failure, and the imperative to pursue happiness that was always out of reach.

  It’d wracked him, consumed him, and he’d snapped. His lonely soul ripped to countless pieces, unleashing a power never before seen. A power he hadn’t know he carried. It had been unforgiving, and unstoppable. Fueled mostly by hate. Hate toward the world, hate toward his enemies, hate toward his friends—who’d betrayed him—and, most of all, hate toward himself. It had piled up and tortured him every single day. Now the world shared his grief.

  He stared up at the present sky. No fire poured from his hand today. And no ring glowed from his finger. But he was every bit as broken as he had been then. Stiff. Forced to make sense of feelings that, despite being mere echoes of that day, were still powerful.

  He could smell the ash. Taste it in his mouth. It stung his wet eyes.

  “I’m so sorry,” he whispered again.

  He wiped his eyes and nose and stormed into the downpour, staggering, almost slipping as he went. At first, he didn’t care where he was going, just wanted to get away. To escape. To be alone forever. But all around him, small vivid memories jumped out from the darkness, plaguing him, torturing him, like monsters around every corner. He tried to close his mind, to force them away, but one overpowered him completely.

  He was in the road, the lightly trafficked lane that once connected the enforcer Barracks to the very near dance hall where he’d met Ariana. They were alone, but distant, and several feet apart. She stood on the top of the stairs and he looked up from the bottom. His left hand clutched a crumpled letter, but it wasn’t from her. And the message it contained shook him deeply. He was afraid, more than ever, and that was why he’d sought her out.

  And she’d come.

  He stared into her eyes. They were sore, a look of conflict in them. But her voice was serene as she denied his last, most desperate plea to take him back. He didn’t recall exactly what she’d said, or what his own mouth had fumbled out in protest, but her last words echoed in his mind with absolute clarity.

  “I’m sorry but I love Merak with all my heart. And he loves me. You and I don't work. I know that now. I believe I’ve always known that.”

  He’d been crushed by those words. His eyes caught the glint of a new silver ring on the same delicate finger where his used to be. She was his last connection to the world he grew up in, the reality he understood. Now everything was upside down. All that had been certain was erased.

  He felt betrayed, wanted to escape, to run, anything to get away and never be seen again. The memory dissipated as the winds changed and he stood there frozen in the burned ruins all around.

  “It’s not possible!” he said to the emptiness.

  He didn’t know what he wanted anymore. And wished he’d never been born. Part of him begged to lie down and die. But there were questions he couldn’t answer, questions that couldn’t be ignored. And they tugged at him, propelling him. He closed his eyes and thoughts of Emon and the assault were pushed far away.

  How had he gotten here? Why had the whole world deceived him? Made him believe he was a man he wasn’t? He had to know the complete truth.

  “I’m truly sorry,” he whispered to the wind one final time. Listening to it moan.

  Then Antares turned around and swept away.

  22

  In many ways, this was where it’d all begun.

  He climbed off his jetbike and looked up. It was dark now and the stars shone with brilliance like nowhere else in the world. This place was lost inside the emptiest region of no-man’s land. A secret place of deep, ancient magic. Few spoke of it. But it had been here that his life had changed forever.

  The night was still and crickets chirped from all around. He searched among the caves and eventually found the one with the enforcer’s Seal. It was overrun with cobwebs and other signs of inactivity, he doubted it had been visited in years. He brushed the cobwebs aside and went in deeper.

  Using light from his helmet, he found the thin tunnel that took him to the door, it had no handle. He fumbled in the darkness for the pressure plates and some stones to weight them with. A simple puzzle that’d taken him far too long to solve last time he’d come.

  Inside, there could be no light. No matter what spectrum he switched his visor to, or how brightly he lit his helmet’s torch, he could see nothing. It was a place clouded by magical darkness so, out of necessity, everyone who ventured inside was risking his life. Only hoping he could find his way out. Antares removed his helmet and tossed it aside before entering.

  He felt along the wall, trying to remember his way. His fingers traced runes and symbols whose meaning were not even known to the academy masters. This was the last truly magical place in the world, and so it had been devoted to the most sacred of all rituals. The enforcer’s Crucible.

 
Eventually he let go of the wall and stepped boldly into the darkness. It scared him. The feeling that he was letting go of safety and drifting out into the depths of a black ocean. Helpless. Asking to be drowned. It carried a feeling of entrapment and he knew that, should he become lost, no one would ever find him.

  He encountered one of the pillars. It glowed once he was within a few feet of it. Its light did not penetrate far so he didn’t know where the next pillar was, but it was still a welcome sight. Even if it seemed too bright to his eyes.

  There was a small outcropping on which sat a dish of murky silver liquid. He looked down into it, almost afraid of what he’d see. Instead of his reflection, the liquid stirred and formed the shape of a symbol. Last time it had been the symbol of death, which had dampened his excitement to continue the trial. This time it formed the rune of the undying light. He’d never seen it before, except in texts, and wasn’t sure what it meant. Like last time, he was forced to continue on without understanding the clue the pillar had given him.

  Again he braved the blackness. Wandering helplessly. Groping for something, anything, to give him bearings. The longer he wandered without finding another pillar, the more panic he felt. It took discipline to control his fear.

  A brilliant light scorched his eyes. He’d found another pillar. He squinted and approached. This time, as he leaned over the dish and watched the silver liquid shift, it showed him his reflection. But it wasn’t how he looked today. It was his face as a youth, more of a boy than a man. Bright blue eyes were curious and determined. The face he’d worn last time he’d been here. At that time, when he’d found this pillar, it had shown him the face of an anguished man. The face he wore today.

  He was moved by the sight of his younger self. The innocence in his eyes. If only he could go back to that time, or tell himself to take a different path, how much better life would be.

  The image vanished and the silvery liquid turned black. He didn’t understand the clue any better than he had the last time he’d been here, so he continued on impulse, gritting his teeth as he took another leap of faith into the blackness. Lost again. Wandering for what felt like hours until he found the third pillar. This one revealed the path to the door, a great black gate that blended into the carved walls like a chameleon. He looked into the final dish. The silver liquid swirled and seemed to take a long time to settle. He remembered last time, when, to his horror, the symbol of death had made a second appearance. But this time, something happened that shouldn’t have been possible. The liquid kept changing shape, alternating between three different symbols. As if unable to decide. At first, he saw the symbol of Life, then the symbol of Death, which stayed in place for a while before transforming into the symbol of Truth. This pattern repeated without change for some time before settling into black. The last symbol to form clearly was Truth.

  It was a fascinating thing to witness but ultimately told him nothing. He turned away and, guided by the pillar’s light, approached the revealed door. His footsteps walked along what had always been called Destiny’s Path leading to The Serenity Gate. When he reached it, he placed both palms flat upon it, just like last time, and waited. The silence seemed to stretch on forever.

  Eventually a tiny breeze brushed him as the magical winds moaned. He listened carefully, under the moaning a message was being repeated.

  “What seek you?” The wind asked. The same question it’d asked him before.

  “To enter,” he said.

  It was a true answer, but not the truest and the gate did not budge. He frowned and thought hard to himself. It was not possible to lie to the gate, and surprisingly difficult to be completely honest with himself. As much as he wanted to.

  “Truth,” he said. Again the gate refused to open.

  He searched his heart and felt the weight of his guilt crush him. “Penance,” he said. "Restitution." No reaction from the gate. He searched himself even deeper, scouring for things that he was passionate about, thoughts that shocked him with emotion. “The Past,” he said, among a dozen other things.

  As simple at the gate’s question was, this process could take a very long time, perhaps forever. And, last time he’d come, it’d taken several hours before the gate moved. His answer at that time had been “Respect.” He tried it again but to no avail.

  He sighed in frustration and let his mind relax. His concerns and fears slipped away. He found a measure of harmony as he thought of the stars outside, stabbing through a black tapestry, eternally silent and constant.

  Finally his lips parted and formed the word, “Forgiveness.” It was barely a whisper but the gate understood it and made way.

  He heard water rushing and could smell wet, stale air. He entered this new room, a cavern. The walls dripped and were carved out like a huge imperfect dome. The ground at his feet was a hard glassy rock surface full of tiny holes and twists. He stepped across, to the cliff’s edge, and peered down at the black lagoon a hundred feet below. Jagged rocks stabbed up through the water, breaking the surface like spears. He remembered this place vividly and the same paralyzing fear that gripped him then returned.

  Feeling a bit dizzy, he took half a step back. Trying not to think of how easily he could fall into the eerie blackness. Was it shallow? Was it deep? Could he miss the rocks? Would he ever find a way out if he survived the plunge? These were questions that had stormed his mind then, those years ago, when he’d stared for eternity at the challenge before him, trying to think of another way, to cheat, to keep the victory but avoid the dive.

  There hadn’t been one. And, in the end, he failed by refusing to try. He’d left the woman tied up below. Perhaps she’d been alive and real, perhaps she was long dead, or perhaps she’d been an illusion. He would never know. But that moment here, that refusal, had special meaning to him. Because it marked the beginning of the end.

  Until that initial failure, he’d been the envy of every other student at the academy. The prodigy. His skill with magic came so easily and naturally. He’d been named champion-elect, the youngest ever. Of course he would succeed in his Crucible, which he’d taken a year earlier than most—practically every graduating enforcer succeeded. And he was the best. Sure, everyone’s challenges were unique, but why should he fail when others, much weaker than him, succeeded? His failure was a possibility that had entered no one’s mind, least of all his own, until it became reality.

  His eyes combed the waters as the potent memory flowed richly in his mind. And he wondered if, given the same challenge, he could jump today. If he had it within himself to throw his life into the hands of fate for someone else.

  He didn’t know the answer and tonight nobody was down below waiting to be rescued. Only the eerie black water waited to greet anyone who took the bone-chilling plunge. He stared at it, as if challenging it.

  Then, after a long time, and much introspection, he turned away from the cliff’s edge.

  ***

  The pale moon was full and it lit the way. His bike climbed the shadowy peak to the center of Skyhaven. The upper plateau glowed like the top of a candle with all its lights.

  Antares wanted to remain under the radar. He wasn't here for the government, or the war, and he didn’t care about the state of the city right now. He was here for only one thing, the academy.

  Ever since he’d left the magical cave, he couldn’t resist following the path of memories that’d led him to this place. All of his most powerful memories, in some way, were connected to this tall, mystical tower. With all of its secrets and darkness, it was the link. And he knew he had to see it again for himself, with his eyes, to achieve closure.

  He brought the bike to a slower speed as he entered the top of the city. It hummed quietly, gliding along the main road that trailed the south end. The city was no more familiar than it’d felt before, but now he realized why. New buildings had been built and old ones replaced. New colors and personality had altered the ancient sophistication that gripped the Skyhaven atmosphere. That and, when he’d lived
here, most of his time had been spent within the confines of the academy grounds.

  Not many people were out this late. Inevitably he attracted a few curious glances, but no one bothered him. He took the east road which, though longer, allowed him to stay on his jetbike. It wound around the outskirts of the plateau and took him to the edge of the academy grounds. Briefly he was sure he was being followed but when he checked behind him, he didn’t see anyone.

  He remembered the wrought-iron gate, how it had looked many years ago. It’d stood polished and open as if welcoming the world.

  In his mind’s eyes he saw Sierra standing next to it. Gazing up as it loomed over them both. She looked very much like he did, though softer and more angular. She was his fraternal twin and her tiny hands held a worn-out bag filled with her few meager possessions. There was a sad but peaceful expression on her face.

  She was going away.

  They were forcing her to leave the academy for lack of magic talent. It stung to relive the experience of seeing her go. It’d happened at the end of his first year and, for reasons he did not accept at the time, she’d had to leave. They’d never been apart before. Had always been together, even in his earliest memories at the orphanage. They’d looked to each other for strength and friendship. So life without her didn’t make sense.

  She gave him a gentle smile and a wave. “Have fun,” his memory of her said. He recalled running to her, throwing his arms around her, begging her to stay. But it hadn’t been her choice.

  “Sierra,” a deep voice said. “We’re going to be late.” It was one of the masters so his words were law. She stiffened and looked up. The master took her bag and reached for her hand. “Come on, time to go.”

  “Not yet,” she said and ran to the hedge and picked a simple blue flower. She gave it to Antares who was so devastated. “Here,” she smiled sweetly. “Be brave." He watched her go, waving from behind the gate. And then she was gone. The memory fading with her.