Vengeance Blooms

by Chloe Hodge

  A smug smile pulled at her lips. Fragments of her soul fizzled ever so briefly. You’ve lost this day, you miserable creature. Lost your prized possession, lost all your broken souls. And I will be waiting for the day of reckoning.

  As the sun began to rise and tinge the sky with coral hues, she took a last breath and fell into sleep. Pure, weightless, dreamless sleep. Unplagued by nightmares or ghosts of a brother she once knew.

  ◆◆◆

  Shara woke to hushed whispers and hands patting her body. She cringed at their touch and swatted them away, a crazed glint in brown eyes. After continued cooing, the voice became familiar, and green eyes and a freckled nose came into view, framed by silver hair that looked oddly angelic. Ashalea.

  Her body stilled, and the ragged breathing slowed to a rhythmic ebb and flow inside a sunken chest. She blinked blearily, rubbing sleepy dust and dried drool from her face. “How long have I been out for?”

  Ashalea tucked a stray hair behind Shara’s ear. “Three days.”

  “What!” Shara made to get up but was forced back onto her pillow by firm but gentle hands.

  “Your body and mind needed rest. Still do.” The tone dropped and Ashalea’s face was grave. “We were lucky to find you when we did, Shara. Your injuries ran deep.”

  “Not just my injuries.” A glazed look filled Shara’s eyes. “I thought I was going to die there,” she whispered. “I thought I might be going insane. Maybe I still am.”

  “Oh, you’re as mad as they come.” A panicked look stole Shara’s features. “But that’s why I love you. Too soon?” Ashalea added with a wink.

  Shara cracked a weak smile. An uncomfortable silence settled. Then, suddenly. “Flynn! Where is he? Is he okay?”

  “Your brother is safe. He has been confined to a chamber next to the guards’ common room. He is comfortable.”

  “But is he okay?”

  Ashalea frowned. “He is,” she paused, “not himself. It will take time for us to figure out how best to approach his healing. There is no one here with Magicka abilities and this is beyond my skillset, so I have sent word to Renlock Academy. Help is on the way.” She patted Shara’s hand, but her touch was shrugged off.

  “How did you find me?”

  Ashalea smiled. “A little help from our friend here,” she cupped the Onyx necklace, “went a long way.”

  Shara managed half a smirk. “I knew there was a reason it chose you. So, the darkness has been hiding underground near Hollow’s Pass this whole time. It’s no surprise why our search parties couldn’t find Flynn. Did the guards put up much of a fight?”

  “Hardly. Your Onyxonites are too well-trained. And, well, one of the best trained me too,” Ashalea winked.

  “Flynn and I always were the best at swordplay.” The fond memory turned sour as Shara remembered reality again.

  Silence settled once more, so Ashalea tried again. “Would you like to see him?”

  The empty look settled in those brown eyes again. No answer. Shara rolled over in bed to face the wall. Hiding her tears and shame from the woman who rescued her. From her friend.

  Ashalea gazed upon the once smooth surface of her friend’s rolling spine. Hundreds of cuts and bruises riddled her back. Most were on the surface and would heal nicely, but several gashes criss-crossed in mottled red. Ashalea had done her best to heal them, but some hurts ran too deep. They would forever be a scar— a constant reminder of the darkness’ punishment and her brother’s handiwork.

  The elf stayed for a moment, then left the room without a word, aware she was not wanted. When Shara was alone once more, the tears came unbidden. Wet droplets that sank into the feathered pillow. She cried and cried and screamed anguish within its folds so no one could hear her. No one could come running, ask her if she was okay or if she needed anything. No one would look at her battered body with pity in her eyes. No one would see the broken daughter of the mighty Lord Silvaren.

  Eventually the tears dried up and her heart was nothing but a hollow nest. No love, life or laughter to fill it. She thought of her brother and whether he was alright. Then she thought of Ashalea’s last question and shivered.

  She wasn’t sure she’d ever want to see him again.

  Mending the Fallen

  A circle of mages and one old wizard surrounded a young man in the centre of the room. Bound and gagged, he writhed in his chair, face engraved with savagery and malice. They were trying to revive Flynn Silvaren. The thing that sat before them was nothing but a shell of the former. A handsome, twisted mess that reeked of darkness and evil.

  Every day Wezlan led a session like this, combining the strengths and Magicka of all present to set his soul free and release him into the light. Every day it seemed like they would win, but then darkness would claw every ounce of humanity back and wrench it deep within. The mages were exhausted. Most present were either too old or too fresh to be of much use, not to mention that power over light and darkness were some of the more trying skills to master. Elements such as water, fire, air and earth were much easier to summon as they existed everywhere in concentrations within both nature and manmade things. Light and darkness were trickier. Both relied upon the sun’s strength and the gravitational pull of the moon. Refraction of light was fleeting, all around them— the source of life.

  It frustrated Wezlan to no end that the goal was out of reach. Once, the Divine Six would have snapped their fingers to achieve success. This was a different age. Even Denavar could do little to shift his mood, and Farah, Wezlan’s constant shadow these days, was unable to talk him out from behind a frazzled beard and gruff exterior. It was the same today. Wezlan stormed off in a flurry of robes muttering, and Farah ran after him, loyal as always. Ashalea sighed. Her mentor was rarely in a good mood these days; the lilting laughs and easy smiles they shared few and far between, and Shara kept to herself, locked away in her room, alone and vulnerable.

  Ashalea knew that her friend would need time to heal before returning to her usual self. Hardened warrior or not, being tortured by someone you love is something no would should ever have to endure. And if they had any chance at getting their Guardian back to her usual smug self, healing Flynn was the way to do it. She sighed. Not that it was going well.

  “Keep up the good work everyone. We will crack this soon; we just have to keep trying.” She tried to sound positive, but her words were forced. Their downcast faces tended to agree. “Get some rest. We’ll try again tomorrow.”

  She left Flynn’s chamber, which was now occupied by four guards, and made her way to the common room, rubbing her temples in exhaustion.

  “Ashalea,” a voice called softly. She knew it so well by now. Denavar. Twinkling blue eyes and white teeth beamed at her. He grabbed her by the waist, pushed her into the shadows and kissed her hard on the mouth. Her breath halted in her throat and she melted into him, letting go of everything but the feel of his body pressed against hers and the forceful yearning of his lips. His fingers traced the curves of her thighs and hips, his mouth moving to plant soft kisses on her throat and the tips of her ears. There was something different about him. His eyes were weary, the chiselled jaw lined with stubble, the usually straight shoulders slumping slightly. She realised how exhausted he was, and, perhaps how vulnerable. It made her want him even more. She took his face in her hands and gently pulled him to her lips again. It was tender now, loving, and the burning desire she felt deep down shifted to a different feeling. A strange fluttering that moved within her belly. Is this? No. She felt silly even questioning it.

  A chorus of laughter broke them out of their reverie, and they sunk into the wall, Ashalea’s face buried in his chest as she tried not to laugh. How delightfully naughty they were. How childishly free. The group passed them by and the two of them released each other. Ashalea cleared her throat awkwardly, looking shily at the floor and adjusting her tunic. What just happened?

  “Perhaps we should, um?” She pointed towards the common room.

  His eyes glinted
devilishly, and he pouted slightly. “But the fun was just getting started.”

  She rolled her eyes and laughed. “Are you always like this when you don’t get what you want?”

  He shrugged. “You’re a harder egg to crack, but I always get what I want.”

  She punched him playfully. “Save your charms for later. I need to see Shara.”

  Ashalea left him standing there, eyes burning in her back. She still found him a mystery, and all the feelings that came with it were too scary to unbox. A little stab of jealousy hit her as she thought about what he said. I always get what I want. Was she just a game to him? Another conquest for the victor? She forced the thought back down. She had to believe she was more than that to him. Especially since she thought she might—

  “Ah, my Moonglade princess. Been hiding in shadows, have we?” Lord Harvar Silvaren stood before her, a pleasant smile on his face.

  Ashalea’s face reddened as she fought for composure. “I…”

  “You disappeared after the session and the servants couldn’t find you. No matter.” He waved it off. “Walk with me.”

  She breathed an inward sigh of relief. They strolled through the hallway, headed towards the war room. He continued. “How goes the progress with my son?”

  Ashalea frowned. “Every time we come close to mending his soul, he slips back into oblivion. The mages just aren’t powerful enough to take control.”

  Harvar stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Maybe we’re not looking at this from the right angle.”

  Intrigued, Ashalea arched a brow. “Go on.”

  “Magicka isn’t enough to bring him back. At least not with the cohort your wizard brought with him. We need something more powerful. I suggest we move him into his personal rooms and…” He considered. “And bring in Shara.”

  “What?” Ashalea gaped at him incredulously. In the week since her rescue, Shara had refused to see Flynn. The memory of it all was painful enough, let alone looking into the depthless eyes of her brother again. “Remember this is the man that tortured her for near a week, regardless of whether he was actually conscious of that fact.” She shook her head. “I think it’s a bad idea. We’re trying to get her better, not worse, and her reaction when last I asked if she wanted to see him was not so good. I shouldn’t have asked so soon.”

  Harvar rebutted. “Shara and Flynn have a strong connection. They care more for each other than anyone else in the world. Maybe it’s because they’re twins.”

  Ashalea stopped in her tracks. “Twins? I didn’t know that.”

  Come to think of it, they did look exceptionally similar. She weighed Harvar’s request and a little piece of hope kindled in her belly. She didn’t like the possible repercussions to Shara’s wellbeing, but it was a risk that could make all the difference. She raked her hands through her hair in exasperation.

  “The connection between them could be the last push we need. If Shara accepts, then we can use their bond and the love they share, however buried it currently is, to bring his soul back, but I will not force her to do this.”

  “My daughter is strong. I can think of no one else who’d be more capable.”

  It was the first praise Ashalea had heard him give his daughter and an angry snake writhed in her belly.

  He smiled but there was sadness in his eyes. “I love my children, but love is weakness. We Onyxonites grow up on the premise of strength in resilience. We grow up training from a young age. The most talented children are hit the hardest. Starved the longest. Praised the least. Such as it was for my children.”

  “How can you treat people so barbarically?” Her anger turned to outrage.

  “Do you think my son and daughter would be alive if it weren’t for their training? Would Shara have survived torture at the hands of her brother? Would Flynn be sitting in that room right now, fighting to be free, if it wasn’t for his resilience? To be barbaric is to be primitive, uncivilised. It is to show brute force when mercy will otherwise do. We are not these things, Ashalea. We prepare our people for the worst to come, and we train our mind and body, so we can dispense justice when required, and survive. That is our way.”

  Ashalea couldn’t deny there was truth in his words. Most other people would have broken then and there under the darkness’ daily rituals of pain. She considered had the roles been reversed if she would have survived. She thought not.

  Harvar placed a hand on her shoulder. “I am strong because I have to be. While I cannot let the world know how deeply I care about Shara and Flynn, it is a comfort to feel that love in my heart. In my bones. They reflect myself, and while it hurts to see what they’ve endured, it comforts me to know that they will endure.”

  Ashalea felt the anger wash away as she realised just how hard it would be to keep these feelings behind a practiced mask. She withered a little. “I understand, and I’m sorry for judging you. Your practices are just so different from what I grew up believing.”

  He smiled once again. “You are a good friend. Tough, strong, loyal. But you have a gentleness about you, a kindness. Shara needs someone like you watching her back.”

  “Little good that did her when she was taken,” Ashalea mumbled under her breath. She paced a few steps and then whirled. “Okay, Harvar. We’ll try it your way, but only if Shara accepts.”

  The lord nodded. “As you wish.”

  Ashalea’s jaw set. “Let the games begin.”

  She made her way to Shara’s rooms, halting before the door in hesitation. Hadn’t she been through enough already? Hadn’t she suffered enough to last three lifetimes? This was not a conversation she welcomed.

  “Are you going to come in, already? Or twiddle thumbs in preparation?” The voice behind the door was droll but lacked conviction. Shara. Beautiful, broken Shara.

  Ashalea smoothed out her tunic and took a deep breath. Why is this so hard? Cattle have more courage than I do. She opened the door to find her friend under the covers, food untouched on a tray beside the cot. She sat down on the edge of the bed, knotting the blankets between her fingers.

  “Shara, you need to eat to get better,” she said softly.

  “Why? So I can walk the halls an empty shell? So I can flinch at every shadow and indulge the whispers of everyone around me?” She bolted upright in fury. “There is nothing left for me out there, Ashalea. I will never be the woman I was.” Tears filled her eyes. “I will never be the Guardian I was meant to be.”

  Ashalea laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “Right now, I don’t need you to be any of those things. I just need you to be healthy and well. I just need you to try.” She wiped a stray tear as it leaked down Shara’s face. “I have something to ask of you. It’s not a fair request, or a kind one. But it may be the thing that helps us to free your brother. To bring back Flynn.”

  Shara’s eyes shot up, bloodshot and overly big for her gaunt face. “How can I help?”

  “Your father believes the connection you and Flynn share may be the final push we need to bring him back. His humanity hangs by a thread, but we think we can tap into his soul through an emotional bond. Through you.”

  Ashalea could almost see Shara’s mind ticking as she considered.

  “Why doesn’t father try?”

  Ashalea bit her lip. “I know you both love your father, but with everything you and Flynn have been through together growing up, I think it has to be you. And the fact you are twins, well,” she shrugged. “You never told me that, you know.”

  “It was easier to keep to myself. Not knowing where he was or what had happened made me sick. We’ve always had a strong bond. Sometimes I felt like he was calling. Like he was in danger. But I brushed it aside. Thinking about everything made it that much harder to concentrate on the next job, on the task at hand.” She wrung calloused hands in her lap. “One day the calls just stopped. Like the connection had been severed.” She barked a bitter laugh. “How little I knew.”

  Ashalea patted her hand. “You couldn’t have known what had happened
to Flynn. None of us would have guessed. But none of that matters anymore, Shara. We can save him, but I can’t do this without you.”

  Shara raised her chin, eyes burning. “What must I do?”

  ◆◆◆

  It was just before midnight and Ashalea’s heart was racing. She’d barely slept, tossing and turning, mind ablaze with thoughts of what tonight’s session would entail. Her eyes drifted to the moonlight shining through her window and she remembered a night not so different years ago. The night she lost her parents. Foster parents, she amended.

  Just a little girl on her sixteenth birthday, dreaming of wondrous gifts and an adventure through the woods. All her ambitions dashed in mere moments.

  Ashalea snorted. That girl died long ago. A harder, stronger, more ruthless one took her place. Her fingers traced the scar on her belly as she thought of the darkness. How could someone be so evil and full of hate? What purpose is there in the death and destruction of innocents?

  Power. What do all villains in the pages of history have in common? Power. What do they want more than anything else? More power.

  She stretched, messy silver hair unravelling from a crude bun. It was time. Her tunic was on and weapons strapped in mere moments; all memories of a life she would never live erased from her mind like a stone popped into a pond.

  She burst open her doors and strode the length of the hall to the amphitheatre outside. Wezlan was already there, fussing over the clearing and demanding the guards to take positions. Tonight’s display was not meant for prying eyes, but he’d demanded they try their Magicka at night and outside, playing the moon to Ashalea and Denavar’s advantage.

  Flynn would soon be ushered to the amphitheatre under the watchful eye of Harvar and his guards. Shara would join them and the session would begin.

  Mages came dribbling out one by one, rubbing at bleary eyes, stretching and splashing tired faces with cold water from a pitcher. When they were ready, they took their place in the circle. Farah came out, flaming hair bouncing, a shy smile on her lips. Denavar joined soon after and Ashalea couldn’t help but feel that familiar pang of jealousy as she caught the girl stealing sly looks at him. Who wouldn’t? He’s gorgeous, charming and incapable of blending in. Even more irritating was that he offered a few cheeky smiles in return.