by Chloe Hodge
The darkness’ steel eyes pierced Ashalea’s. “You remember, don’t you? Your foster parents didn’t even hear me as I entered the room and slashed their throats. So easy, just two quick swipes of a claw and the deed was done. Of course, that was too easy for my liking, so I made them feel it.”
“You monster,” Ashalea breathed. “You didn’t need to kill them. They were innocent.”
The darkness drifted a little closer and watched the tears fill Ashalea’s eyes. “That’s what happens when elves become complacent, Ashalea. They become weak. Lose their edge. But you…” He floated closer still. “I underestimated your abilities, and you surprised me.”
“And we know what happened next,” she bit back. “Wezlan beat you, and I survived.”
The darkness shrugged. “I was weaker then. Travelling dimensions requires strength, but now I have my portals there will be no stopping me. You can pretend to be good, Ashalea, but you know what you are, and you know who I am.”
The steel-grey eyes burned. “Say it.”
“No…” she whispered. “NO!”
“Say it!” He tightened the grip on Shara’s neck, the claws drawing blood as she gasped for air again.
Ashalea looked into those golden eyes, now wrought with wriggling red worms, and felt as though she was peering through a looking glass into Shara’s soul. The windows were full of sorrow, apologetic almost, as if to say she was sorry for her foolishness.
Tears washed down Ashalea’s face in the torrential rain and she raised her eyes to the sky. Her fists clenched in fury, and the arrow snapped in her hand, but she knew there was nothing she could do.
She looked him dead in the eyes. “You’re my brother,” she choked.
“Louder.”
“My brother!” She yelled it from the rooftop to the world below, collapsing into a sobbing mess as emotions engulfed her. Her nails bit into her skin, half-moons drawing blood in her clenched fists.
Denavar caught Ashalea as her knees buckled and she sank to the ground. His eyes were wide, but not once did he betray his emotions or divert his eyes from the darkness. He would protect Ashalea to the last no matter the cost.
The darkness’ form blocked out the moon as it rose into the sky, phasing into something else entirely. Its swirling tendrils sucked inward, the claws and rotten arms changing into a familiar tissue. Into skin. It drifted down to the rooftop once more, and when the darkness dissipated something else entirely stood before them.
A young male elf with cropped silver hair, a thin mouth and an angular jaw stood before them. He was tall and thin, and a scar lined his cheek in the shape of a crescent moon. Intelligent, steel-grey eyes regarded them all. He was handsome and held himself like a true regal. He smiled at Ashalea, but his eyes were cold like ash.
“Now you know who I used to be. The face of the man who started it all. My true name is Crinos Hevenor, first-born son and rightful heir to the Moonglade Meadows. But I have much bigger plans for this world, and who better to stand beside me than my own sister?”
He stepped forward confidently, Shara’s exhausted body dragging limply along the stone as he held her throat firmly.
Ashalea couldn’t stand it anymore. “Please, let her go. She has nothing to do with this.”
The darkness eyed the girl next to him, forcing her upright and releasing his hand to place it firmly around her waist. He stroked the angles of her face and throat gently, tracing the bluish black bruises lining her neck.
His eyes met Ashalea again, and he smiled wickedly. “Call her my bargaining power. I know how much your friends mean to you, Ashalea, so I’ll make you a deal. Join me, and I’ll let her go.”
“You can’t possibly expect her to accept that,” Denavar yelled.
The steel eyes shifted to Denavar and narrowed dangerously. “The lover, I presume?” The darkness looked at Ashalea pointedly. “My, you have been busy. Such loyal friends and followers. Would they die for you, Ashalea? Would she?” He shook Shara’s body for emphasis and her head lolled to the side.
Ashalea looked at the darkness with a burning hatred. “I will never join you. I will never give up who I am or what I believe in to become the monster you are! You’re outnumbered and outmatched. Weak from opening your portal for too long. So, what’s your play?”
His eyes simmered a warning. “This is your last chance, Ashalea, I will not offer this mercy again.”
Ashalea found her feet and raised her chin and weapon in the air defiantly. Wezlan, Denavar and Flynn mirrored her movements with their weapons. “Let her go, or we will end you right now.”
The darkness laughed, and it retained the sickening raspy texture of the monster he turned into. He shrugged with amusement and Ashalea realised with nauseating realisation it was all just a game to him.
“So be it.”
In seconds he moved Shara’s body to stand before him, one glowing red eye peering out from beside her face. He sniffed her neck and ran a finger through her raven hair. Denavar, Flynn and Wezlan launched towards him, hands outstretched, and weapons raised.
Ashalea exhaled with a steady breath as she aimed the bow and arrow, but it wasn’t her mark she focused on, it was Shara’s eyes. They met her own and revealed a beautiful doom. They poured love and respect, friendship and admiration. But most of all, they conveyed forgiveness. They simply said, ‘it’s okay.’
It all happened in slow motion. The darkness grinned evilly as he shifted from behind Shara. His hands grasped the delicate neck marred with blue and black and twisted in one swift motion.
“No!” Horror etched her features as Ashalea launched for her friend, realising all too late what was happening. Shara’s hand was raised, reaching towards Ashalea’s, their fingers pawing at the universal divide between them, their tips falling just short as they had once before.
A sickening snap filled the air and the golden glory of Shara’s eyes snuffed out. Her body fell to the floor, her arm still reaching gracefully towards Ashalea.
What happened next was a blur. Ashalea stared with unseeing eyes as her friend hit the stones, wet raven hair shielding her face from prying eyes. She crawled towards her friend, trembling as she grasped at cold fingers she had tried so hard to reach. She sobbed, tucking the dark strands behind her friend’s beautiful face. Sunken eyes forgiving and thankful in her final moment.
The icy dread stopped gnawing. It entered her body as the rain filled the empty chasm of her heart. Her throat was raw as she gazed at her best friend.
“Shara,” she sobbed.
Someone’s voice screamed in anguish and her eyes moved to Flynn as he leapt through the sky towards the darkness, twin blades raised; justice and revenge in two sleek arcs of steel. He’d become a rabid beast, rage and torment driving his body with a hunger that demanded feeding. His twin was dead now, and his heart half full.
Ashalea saw Wezlan and Denavar muttering and a nagging tick in her mind reminded her she should be moving, fighting, reacting. She tried to move, but the chasm was almost full, and the cold had seeped too deep into her veins.
She could do no more than stare at her friend. Cradling her head, stroking her hair. What’s the point?
A piercing screech startled Ashalea to reality, and she suddenly realised the darkness had been hit.
Go, Flynn, fight for your sister. For Shara.
The silver haired man, the one called Crinos, who called himself her brother, disappeared, and the dark swirling tendrils of death returned. One rotten arm batted Flynn away and the black warrior flew a few metres, hitting his head hard on the stone wall. The darkness’ other arm cradled long claws to the place his shoulder was, and black blood dribbled to the ground, one droplet landing on Shara’s olive face.
The simple act of disgracing her lovely broken body with his filth was enough to spur Ashalea into action. Something bubbled inside her and came racing to the surface. She screamed with all the rage, sadness, pain and torment the darkness had ever given her, and without words her bod
y began to glow with fierce golden light, too powerful to look at.
She shone atop the tower like a beacon of hope; a lighthouse guiding the ships to come home. A new energy filled Ashalea’s bones. She felt stronger, more powerful. The light grew stronger, brighter, until its blinding beauty erupted into the night as far as the eye could see.
The darkness howled in pain, and the violently phasing body was blown into the sky, shadows eradicated in an instant. It glared at Ashalea with seething hatred before it scattered like embers in the wind, and she knew, this was not the end.
Light
Ashalea’s skin glowed as if the stars had collided and birthed a new planet. Power radiated from within her body, electrified and responsive to every nerve. When she called the Magicka to the surface, it had felt like she was on fire, burning with the brightness of a thousand suns. The intensity left her shaking, but resplendent.
Her companions gawked at her in awe, and even Wezlan was lost for words. Denavar was back to her side in an instant; expression a mixture of concern and amazement.
“Ashalea, are you okay?”
She could barely open her mouth, but when the words came, she never felt surer of herself. “I feel like a new person, like the Magicka has brought me to life. Everything that once felt missing now feels found.”
Wezlan put a steady hand on her shoulder and she turned around, peering at the familiar twinkle of his eyes with her emerald green ones. He smiled; the same one she’d grown so fond of in the last few years.
“You’re ready, Ashalea. You are a true Guardian, and your powers are fit for a Moonglade Queen.” He gestured to the full moon now descending to the earth. “You have learnt how to draw Magicka from the moon— a gift only Moonglade elves can accept.”
He beamed, pride etched in the hidden smile beneath his now erratic and unkempt beard. Wezlan’s smile faltered as he watched her face fall, and he followed her gaze to Shara.
Flynn sat crouched beside his sister, head downcast and bleeding from a hard hit to the head. He mourned in silence, head bowed in a dutiful vigil, hands tightly holding hers.
Ashalea glided across the weathered stones and sat opposite, patting his hand in equal dismay. She gazed at Shara’s face, scrutinising her bruised neck with wayward eyes. She shifted thoughtfully and closed her eyes, mouth set with determination.
“Ashalea, what are you—” Denavar made to move but Wezlan put a hand on his chest and shook his head. They watched in silence.
Minutes passed as she searched her entire being for the power required. When she’d retreated into the deepest depths of the mind, her eyes snapped open and the emerald green eyes glowed with heavenly gold.
I won’t abandon you, Shara. I won’t leave you in the dark.
Placing one hand on Shara’s neck and one over her heart, Ashalea called forth the Magicka; willing it to restore, to cleanse and bring life. She called upon the moon to lend her its power, and prayed to the Goddess, Prianara, to shine a guiding light on Shara’s soul.
She muttered a small prayer to herself, too. “Light is the creator that breathes new life. Let me be the oxygen to fill her lungs. Let me be the current to start her heart. Please, just let her live.”
The same blinding white light glowed from beneath her palms and burst forth into the sky. Wezlan, Denavar and Flynn squeezed their eyes shut and covered their faces, and all the while, Ashalea worked. The bones in Shara’s neck mended back together, and the light traced the length of her spine, ensuring all was as it should be.
The white light raced under her chest, through her ribs and into every passage of her heart, jolting the muscles and encouraging the blood to race again. Ashalea held her breath, squeezing her eyes shut and praying that this unearthed power would pull through. More time passed, and she was on the brink of giving up when something small nudged at her hand. And again. Softly, but certain.
It nudged over and over, growing stronger and more persistent. And suddenly Ashalea realised what it was. She exhaled air out of puffed cheeks in a whoosh and whooped in elation.
“Her heart is pumping! It’s beating— getting stronger. She’s alive!”
All eyes flew open and Flynn leapt up in elation. He rested an ear on Shara’s chest and listened intently. Her body flinched, and with a huge gasp of inhalation, Shara jerked upright, coughing and spluttering as her body fought for oxygen.
Ashalea’s eyes returned to green, and she placed two hands over her mouth, tears threatening to spill. “Holy shit,” she whispered.
“Only Ashalea could have that foul mouth,” Shara managed.
Ashalea burst into tears. “I learned it from you.”
She almost fainted from the amount of energy used and collapsed into Denavar’s arms as he wrapped them around her. The pair beamed in elation. Wezlan stood dutifully, a smile too huge to be hidden spreading across his face.
Flynn cradled his sister, crying with happiness. With a big bear hug, he enveloped her small frame and squeezed with joy.
“Flynn… Flynn, you’re crushing me,” she managed to squeak a laugh.
“Oh!” He quickly retreated, but she sank into his chest gratefully. The golden eyes, somehow even brighter in this moment, scanned the group until they rested on Ashalea. She mustered her best smile and mouthed the words.
“Thank you.”
A Promise
After a moment of hugs, prayers, well wishes and affirmations to many Gods and Goddesses, the group abandoned their revelry and snapped back to reality with the stark realisation that events were unfolding terribly.
There they stood, on the highest peak of Renlock Academy, gazing at the discordance seven floors below. Mages, elves and Onyxonites dotted the fields in a flurry of activity; their voices distorted as they rang through the air.
The fire Ventiri had started was now raging through the building, licking wood and stone alike, hungry in its path for destruction. The flames sprinted as though it were a game— how fast until it reached the tower and burnt the company to a husk.
Denavar groaned. “I’m too handsome to be burnt to death.”
Ashalea winked at him. “I always did want to be cremated.”
Someone laughed. A bright jingle in an otherwise bleak situation. They turned their heads to Shara and found she was crying with amusement. Ashalea and Denavar looked at each other and raised a brow.
“After everything we’ve been through, you are still cracking jokes,” she wheezed. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Wezlan glared at them all, back to business. “I’m glad you’re all so happy but I don’t share your enthusiasm. Many men and women died today to protect the Academy; to protect the Magicka here and to stand for its merits. The fire climbs higher, and if Renlock burns, we have achieved nothing.”
The irony of the last half hour was not lost on them. After the efforts made to rescue Shara, not so permanently defeat the darkness, and then somehow bring their bronzed beauty back to life only to be trapped on the tower, was too much.
No one wanted to say it, but everyone was thinking the same thing. Finally, Denavar sighed and cleared his throat.
“Everyone is out of the building. We saved as many mages as we could, and those that are left still fight. The elemental mages will be weak from battle. Their water Magicka will not be enough to distinguish the flames.”
“The elves or Onyxonites would host the survivors until we found a new base.”
Denavar nodded. “I love the Academy, and to let the Magicka in this building die, would be a terrible outcome, but is it worth our lives? By combining our remaining strength, we can use a portal to escape the roof.”
Wezlan grunted stubbornly. “I will not turn my back on Renlock. It has survived generations. It is the house of Magicka.” He trailed off quietly. “It is my home.”
Denavar nodded. “It has become mine too.”
The group sobered and broke off individually to watch the flames climb the building, thinking of anything at all they co
uld do to help.
Below, mages of all factions did their best to conjure water onto the building. It was a slow race against time, and it appeared they were on the losing side. Elves with the knowledge of such powers joined in, and everyone else found whatever objects they could to transport water to and from the lake to throw onto the building.
Ashalea watched them scurry like ants, little pinpricks of rainbow colours on a plain of death below. She considered their options, and an idea popped into her head.
Smiling, she took the weathered hands of her old mentor. “Wezlan, no one denies the bravery that took place today. Nor do we turn our backs on the Academy. And, it just so happens that I know an old friend who might help.”
The bushy eyebrows went up, and everyone turned around with interest, watching her every move.
She sat down, clearing her mind of the world and its woes. She buried deep within and sought to find the similar tendrils of Magicka that served as linking veins of communication, such as she’d shared with Kaylin rather unsuccessfully before.
Her mind wandered to the horse; her loyal companion that had served her so well on the journey so far. She hadn’t seen him in some time and missed the snippets of conversation and feel of the saddle on his sleek build as they galloped over fields and — she shook her head. Focus, Ashalea.
It was a long shot, but she hoped her newfound power would be enough to go the distance. She felt dangerously weak from reviving Shara, and she’d never tried this Magicka with someone… or rather something, so far away. She felt the power charging, reaching the velocity needed to stretch out.
Ashalea set it free, and in her mind’s eye she could see the light racing from her chest, climbing down, down, the tower, over the dead and across the fields towards the lake. It plunged into azure waters, spiralled over and under corals, around some wayward seahorses, through a group of startled sprites and into the whirling path of the dragon.
It reached the mighty beast and dived into his mind. The sunlight orbs blinked open, and they formed the bond.