by Morgan Rice
Duncan was amazed, never expecting such treachery here.
Seavig threw the Pandesian gold back down to the ground.
“These mountains,” Seavig said, “hold more danger than one.”
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Kyra plummeted through the air so fast she could barely catch her breath, the icy mist of the waterfall engulfing her as she tumbled end over end, her screams drowned out by the roaring waters. Down below she could faintly make out Leo and Dierdre, landing somewhere in the huge clouds of white foam, could see their bodies tumbling as they went gushing down the rapids of the River Tanis. She had no idea if they had survived the fall—but it did not look good.
Kyra saw her life flashing before her eyes. Of all the ways she might die, she had never expected to die like this. She looked down and saw a group of boulders at the base into which the water landed, sending up waves of foam. She also dimly saw a narrow opening between the rocks; if she could land there, then maybe, just maybe, she would not break her neck when she landed, and have a remote chance to survive this.
She flailed and twisted, contorting her body as best she could, doing whatever possible to aim for the crevice.
And then it happened. Kyra felt herself submerged as she hit the water so hard, winded, she was unsure if she hit water or rock.
She kept sinking, deeper and deeper, falling like a stone even beneath the surface of the river; she did not think it would ever end. The currents were also pushing her sideways from the tremendous energy of the falls, and as she sank, she knew, at last, that she had not landed on rock. She had made the crevice; she knew she should be grateful for that.
Yet she was still sinking, tumbling underwater, the air pressure killing her ears, as she tried to gain control, to swim. It took her a good thirty seconds until she finally felt her feet hit the bottom of the river, bouncing off the sandy bed.
Kyra reflexively kicked off it, using her momentum to launch her back up for the surface. She got caught in the current, and after swimming with all her might, was finally able to gain control. She kicked and kicked, feeling her lungs would burst from the effort. But there was no choice. To give up meant death. And she was not ready to die.
Just as she felt she could go no further, Kyra gave one final kick and finally exploded onto the surface. She heaved, immediately pushed back under by the currents, then surfaced again, gulping another breath of air before being pushed back down.
Finally, after drifting a good thirty feet more downriver, the tides slowed enough for Kyra to stay above the surface. As she tread water she saw something rush by her and realized it was a log. She swam for it, reaching and missing several times, until finally she grabbed hold of it and managed, slipping, to pull herself up.
Kyra gasped for air as she lay across it, trying to collect herself while the river pulled her downriver, holding on as she bumped off rocks. She wiped water from her eyes and spotted in the distance what appeared to be Dierdre and Leo, floating and flailing in the currents. She kicked, heading toward them, trying her best to direct herself in the rapids.
As she neared she saw it was indeed Leo, alive, she was relieved to see; he was kicking his legs, keeping his head above water, and she was amazed to see he had survived. But her joy was tempered by the sight of Dierdre, lying on her stomach, face in the water, motionless. Her heart dropped as she suspected the worst.
“DIERDRE!” she shrieked.
Kyra yanked Leo up onto the wide, flat log, his paws draped across it, whining, and then she immediately kicked over to Dierdre and yanked her up, too. She turned her over and was horrified to see her friend’s face was turning blue.
“Dierdre!” Kyra cried, shaking her.
Kyra thought quickly. She turned her over the log and slapped her back several times, trying to revive her.
“You can’t die now!” she cried.
She felt a sudden panic at the idea of losing her new friend, and she slapped her back again and again—and suddenly, Dierdre began to throw up water. To Kyra’s great relief, Dierdre grabbed hold of the log, balancing herself as she gagged.
Kyra beamed as her friend slowly came back to life. Dierdre, spent, turned and looked at her, arms trembling, and while no words came out, she could see the gratitude in her friend’s eyes.
Kyra noticed something rush by in the rapids, and she turned and saw it was a piece of their shattered raft. More pieces floated by, the raft now useless, and Kyra realized that this log in the river was all they had.
As their log cruised downriver, Kyra, Dierdre, and Leo instinctively climbed up onto it, sitting on the broad, flat surface, just wide enough for them all to fit. Leo lay down on his stomach, whining, clearly suspicious of the log—luckily it was too heavy and wide to spin. It straightened out and cruised like a spear down the rapids, and the current, fortunately, slowed enough to make it manageable as a vessel.
“It’s not roomy,” Kyra smiled to Dierdre, “but I suppose it will do.”
Dierdre smiled back, looking exhausted but alive.
“We haven’t much farther,” she replied, studying the horizon ahead. “See that fork?” she asked, pointing. “Where the river splits, that’s where we get off. From there on, we are back on land, on foot.”
Kyra saw the fork in the distance and was relieved there was an end in sight; she’d had more than enough of this river, and was eager to get back onto dry land.
She took a deep breath for the first time. She glanced back over her shoulder and saw the waterfalls, now far behind, and she could hardly believe they had all survived. She realized how lucky they were to be alive, and in one piece. She looked back ahead and wondered what other perils lay in store for them.
They continued downriver as hours passed, Kyra watching the changing landscape with awe. The trees shimmered, all shades of white, as they crossed through the Whitewood, white leaves falling everywhere, lending the place a magical feel. Kyra watched it all, shivering, her clothes wet from the spray, and Dierdre finally reached out and pointed.
“There,” she said. “See those two boulders? They mark the road to Ur. We must get out here.”
Kyra and Dierdre did their best to direct the log for shore, reaching over and stroking and kicking the water. But despite their efforts, nothing worked. This big stubborn log refused to be directed.
“We’ll have to jump!” Kyra said, realizing they were about to fork the wrong way downriver.
They stood and as they did, Leo barked at the water, clearly reluctant.
“It’s okay, Leo,” Kyra reassured him. “Stay by my side and we’ll swim to shore together.”
Kyra looked up ahead and saw the rapids forking, gaining speed, and as reluctant as she was to jump back in, she knew it was now or never. She and Dierdre exchanged a look and at the same time they both jumped into the roaring river, Kyra grabbing Leo as she did.
Kyra found herself submerged, frozen again, her skin pierced by a thousand small needles as she swam for shore. While the currents carried them downriver, they swam sideways, fighting their way toward the river bank. The water slowed and became more shallow, and finally, Kyra was amazed to find herself standing on the river bed, then crawling on her hands and knees as she emerged from the waters and onto the sand.
Kyra collapsed on the sand, Dierdre and Leo beside her, dripping wet, exhausted, sand in her face and hair—and no longer caring. She breathed hard, spitting up water. She lay there, unmoving for several minutes, her arms shaking from the exertion. She wanted to sleep for a million years. Would this quest ever end? she wondered.
Kyra did not know how much time had passed when she felt a hand beneath her arm, helping her up. She looked up to see Dierdre standing over her, smiling down.
“You saved my life—again,” Dierdre said.
Kyra stood and smiled back, brushing off sand and feeling the weariness in her bones.
“Well, I guess if a waterfall can’t kill us, nothing can,” she replied.
Kyra brushed th
e mud and sand off her body and off Leo, too, as he came close and licked her palm. The three of them turned and faced the white wood before them, an endless stretch of ancient white trees shimmering in the late afternoon sun.
“Through these trees leads the road to Ur,” Dierdre remarked.
“How far do you suppose it is on foot?” Kyra asked.
Dierdre shrugged.
“A few days more.”
Kyra studied the darkening woods, devoid of shelter, heard the strange animal noises calling out beyond, and she searched everywhere, filled with sadness, for Andor, hoping beyond hope that he had somehow made it.
But he was nowhere to be found, of course. They were alone, utterly alone, the three of them, without provisions, without a horse, with nothing but the weapons still strapped to Kyra’s back.
Kyra knew there was no time to waste. She took the first step into the wood, joined by her friends, back onto the long and lonely trek to the Tower of Ur.
*
Kyra, Dierdre, and Leo hiked through Whitewood, leaves crunching beneath their feet as the white trees swayed all about them, walking quietly for hours as they headed west, into the setting sun. Kyra wondered if they would ever reach Ur. She was relieved, at least, to be on this side of the River Tanis, and she was beginning to allow herself a sense of optimism. She felt her heart beat faster as she realized that Ur was not that far away now. With no more unexpected encounters, she could reach it in a few days’ time. They even had food now, thanks to Leo, who bounded behind them happily, holding three dead rabbits in his mouth that he had killed along the way. Selfless, he did not eat them, waiting for all of them to share them together.
Kyra thought of her father as they went, wondered where he was now, if he was winning his battles—or, she dared not imagine, if he were already dead. She thought of Aidan, even of her reckless brothers who annoyed her. She wondered if she would even have a Volis left to return to, or if the Pandesians had laid it to waste. She knew it was only a matter of time until the great armies of Pandesia heard what they did, until they all came searching for her. She knew it was a race against time until she reached the safety of Ur.
Why? she wondered. Why was she needed in Ur? Who was her uncle? Who was her mother? What powers did she have that could help her father? And why had it all been kept secret from her? Were the prophecies true? Would she truly become a powerful warrior like her father?
There came a rustling of branches, snapping her from her reverie, and Kyra suddenly felt Dierdre’s arm against her chest, stopping her. The three of them stood at the edge of the wood line, and Kyra looked out and was surprised to see a road before them, winding through the forest. She was even more surprised, as she studied the wide, well-traveled forest road, to hear someone coming on it. There was a great rustling followed by the creaking of wooden wheels. It was, she realized, a carriage.
Kyra’s heart pounded as she saw, rounding the bend and coming toward them, a large carriage with the blue and yellow of Pandesia emblazoned on its side. The carriage neared, the horses trotting by, and as it passed them, Kyra looked up into the carriage and saw, behind bars, the faces of several girls, terror in their eyes. They looked to be about her age.
Kyra felt a rush of indignation.
“They’re taking them,” she remarked. “They’re taking them to their Lord Governors.”
Kyra watched it race by, and it was quickly followed by another carriage, filled with armed Pandesian soldiers on the lookout. The horses moved by at a quick trot, leaving a cloud of dust as they turned a bend and disappeared as quickly as they had come.
Kyra and Dierdre exchanged a look, and Kyra could see the shared indignation in her friend’s eyes.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Dierdre said. “But if we go after them, we will never make it. You realize how badly outmanned we are, don’t you?”
Beside them, Leo snarled.
Kyra did know; she also knew in her heart that, whatever the odds, whatever the risk, there was no way she could let that carriage go. It would haunt her for the rest of her life. Injustice had crossed her path, and she could not choose to let it go.
“Who would I be,” Kyra asked, “if I turned an eye away?”
Kyra looked at her friend and she could see the fear in her eyes, but also the inspiration—and finally, the shared resolve. She nodded, and she knew her friend was with her.
Kyra reached back, tightened her grip on her staff, and before she knew it, before she even thought it through, she was running, bursting out of the tree line, joined by Dierdre and Leo, the three of them sprinting, away from Ur, away from their quest—and toward justice.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Alec knelt in the soil, not feeling the mud on his hands, the cool breeze on his face—not even feeling his own body—as he knelt there, numb, bent over his brother’s grave. He wept and wept beside the mounds of dirt, hands raw from having dug all night long, from having buried his brother himself.
Alec felt nothing now; he felt nothing but raw, hollowed out, kneeling there, before his family, all alive just days ago—and now all dead. It was surreal. There, before him, was the brother he had sacrificed for, had sent volunteered to The Flames for. But Alec did not feel a hero; on the contrary, he was overwhelmed by guilt. He could not help thinking that this was all due to him.
Pandesia had swept through his village for one reason only: for vengeance. Alec had shamed them when he had escaped The Flames, and they had come here to send a message to all those who dared defy them. If he had never escaped, Alec realized, his family would be alive today; ironically, he had set out to sacrifice his life for his brother’s, but had ended up killing him instead. He wished for nothing more than to be there with them, beneath the earth, dead and buried with the family he loved.
Alec felt a strong hand on his shoulder and he looked up to see Marco standing over him, reassuring, looking down with a face filled with sadness and compassion. It was also a face of strength, a face silently urging him to go on.
“My friend,” Marco finally said, his voice hesitant and deep, “I understand your grief—no, in truth, I cannot understand it. I have never had a loss like yours. But I know what it’s like to have nothing. To feel like nothing. To have what you love taken from you.”
Marco sighed.
“But I also know that life pushes on, whether we want it to or not. It is the tide of a river that cannot be stopped. You cannot kneel here forever; you cannot collapse and die. You must go on. Life demands you go on.”
Alec wiped away tears, embarrassed to be crying before his friend as he slowly became aware of his presence.
“I don’t see how I can,” Alec said.
“To want to go on living, you must have a reason, a purpose,” Marco said. “A will. Can you think of no reason? No purpose? Not one reason to live?”
Alec tried to think, his mind a blur, spinning. He tried to concentrate, but he found it hard to focus on any one thought.
Alec stared down at the earth, cast red by the sunrise, and he saw his life flashing before him. He was overcome by memories of he and Ashton playing when they were kids; of pounding steel in his father’s forge; of his mother cooking; of happy times in this village when it seemed as if they would all live here forever. Life was perfect, it seemed, and always would be—before Pandesia invaded.
As he had that last thought, slowly, something began to crystallize in his mind. Alec slowly remembered Ashton’s final words. He recalled the look in his brother’s eyes, the feel of his hand clutching his wrist.
Avenge me.
They were more than words. They were a command. A life sentence. His brother’s look at that moment, the fierceness in his eyes, a fierceness he had never seen in his life, still haunted Alec. It was unlike his brother to ever condone violence, to condone vengeance. Yet in his dying moments he wanted it, more than Alec had ever seen anyone want anything.
As his words rang in Alec’s mind again and again, like a bell tolli
ng, Alec began to hear them, like a mantra, rising up in his mind. They ignited a fire that began to course through his veins as Alec turned and looked away from the graves, from his village, and out, toward the horizon. Toward Pandesia.
They drove him to stand.
Alec looked out, eyes red from crying, and slowly, his sadness gave way to a tide of anger, as his jaw set. It felt good to stand: it allowed the heat of anger to pulse up within him, until it coursed through to his very fingertips. It was anger driven by purpose. A desire to kill. A need for vengeance.
Alec turned and looked at Marco, and he felt his muscles bulging, muscles he had developed from years of striking the anvil, and he knew that he, indeed, had something left to offer this world. He had strength, a knowledge of weaponry—and a desire to use them both.
“I do have a reason,” Alec finally responded. “I have one thing left to live for.”
Marco stared back questioningly.
“Death,” Alec continued. “I must find the Pandesians who murdered my family, and give them the same death they gave my family.”
As he uttered the words, Alec felt his own conviction, and it felt good. It was as if he were speaking outside of himself.
Marco nodded back, seeming satisfied.
“That is reason indeed,” he replied, “as fine a reason as anyone has to live. Finer indeed than I myself have. You have a cause now, my friend. That is more than most people have in life. Consider it a gift.”
Marco clasped his shoulder.
“You are not alone,” he said. “There are others, too, who crave vengeance. Others who want to cast off the yoke of Pandesia. I know of them. They are my friends. They hail from my city: the city of Ur.”
Marco gave him a knowing look.
“If you want vengeance against a vast army, you will need help,” Marco continued. “I want this vengeance, too, and these men can help us.”
Alec felt a resolution growing within him.