“No one is invincible,” I say firmly, hoping with all my heart that it’s true.
He lets out a heavy breath, propping the rabbit along the rocks and over the fire. “He rules with magic, Bravest.”
Something between a gasp and strangled yelp leaves my body as my mind frantically tries to make sense of his words. “Magic? Skies above, Aras! What kind of magic?” I screech, realizing a moment too late that I’ve just used his quirky expression.
“Of the dark variety,” he answers, completely unaware of my newest unbecoming flaw.
Immediately, I stand to my feet, grabbing my dagger and rounding our small fire pit in one fluid swoop. “Are you lying to me, Aras? Because if you are lying to me, I will swipe you across the cheek and leave you to sleep for days!”
Instead of answering me, Aras tends to the rabbit, turning it carefully as if he were an aged cook trying to preserve its flavor. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s scared.
“Well? Are you going to say something or are you just going to leave me standing here like a madwoman?”
“And what makes you think I’m so fond of the sane?” he scoffs, finally glancing up and meeting my eyes.
He must not like what he sees because he stands quickly, two calloused hands flying to my forearms and holding me captive in his grip. “I’m not lying, Bravest. A thousand times over, I wish I were, but I’m not. Why do you think an entire city was kept so isolated, barely leaving their walls and never nearing their boundaries? Why do you think you were left alone? Luck?” he prods.
At his words, the murky images of long ago begin to surface, pulling me away from the present and down their dark, twisting path. The boy with the wild, blond hair stands before me, and suddenly, the words from his lips make sense.
“Cursed,” I say, pulling my arms away from his grasp and folding onto my knees by the fire.
Aras, the snake, actually looks relieved. “Yes. Cursed, or something very much like it. I don’t know many of the details, but I do know that when Knox sent Emory and his followers away, he didn’t want them coming back, or at least not in the same condition that they left. It’s not very unlike what he’s done to The Lost.”
He squats down beside me, a fresh, fiery scent clinging to his flame-heated clothes. “You don’t seem so surprised to hear of this,” he says, urging me to look up into his eyes.
I nod, but my eyes don’t have the energy to do anything other than stare into the dirt before me. “I’m not. In my heart, I knew something was different about my home. I never wanted to explore the feeling. Never wanted to admit it. And goodness knows no one would have ever explained it if I had asked.”
Finding courage, I look up and discover that his eyes radiate only the kindest of care. It’s both a moment that I don’t want to end, and a moment I wish I had never experienced, because it once again makes me feel as if there is something more to this Aras. And it’s this more that I’m afraid I may one day find myself in desperate need of. If there are two things I don’t ever want to be, it’s desperate and needy. The past few weeks have taken a toll of my soul, and I can’t afford to truly need anyone but myself.
“But what does this all have to do with whispered sounds and upset stomachs?” I ask, bringing our talk back to the beginning to where it should have been all along.
Aras’ lips fight a grimace, and he ends up pulling off a somewhat-uncomfortable smile. His theatrics are for naught as I fear I’m beginning to understand this boy in a way I never saw coming. How is it that in a matter of days I can find myself so connected to someone who I almost wish I never knew?
Almost.
“It has everything to do with you, Bravest. As Knox’s daughter, you now hold a part of his power,” he pauses, looking me in the eye with that terrible, caring way of his, “and that means you control his magic. Your magic.”
“And this is what magic feels like?” I balk, stabbing my dagger into the dusty floor at my feet. “The losing of one’s mind and stomach?”
Aras shrugs, finally lowering himself fully to the ground and reaching to rotate the forgotten skewer. He fiddles with the roasted rabbit, almost as if lost in his own world, or wishing he were at least. When he finally answers, I can feel the pulse of true anger beginning to build in my veins. It’s a welcome feeling, the deep, heavy throb. It gives me something to focus on while Aras continues to tear down the walls of my life.
“I told you that I didn’t believe him. He said that if you had kept to Ashen all those years as he thought, then your magic would have been at a standstill, never able to grow or be used.”
“But—” I interrupt.
“But, nothing. You know Ashen is different, and now you know it was made that way because of your mother. That was a part of her deal. Ashen was left alone, and no magic was allowed to reach within its borders. The lack of magic was the only thing that kept them safe, or else Knox would have torn them to shreds at the very moment your mother turned away. If he has a weakness, it has always been your mother.”
I shake my head, but I say nothing. Choosing instead to stare deep into the fire as if it could soothe the pounding of my raging heart. Here I thought I had nothing of my mother, but a few sacred words said before her death. A death that I knew nothing about, because it apparently never happened. How is it that a ghost has ruled my life, yet been absent all the same?
“And this magic,” I grit, “it’s surfacing now because I’m beyond Ashen’s borders? I’ve been beyond them before. Why didn’t I feel anything then?”
Aras holds up an irritating finger, pausing to swipe the rabbit off the stick with the short blade that he gathered back at the treehouse. He piles the meat on a small, red cloth before us. The same that Darcy so carefully wrapped our bread in before we took our leave. The sight of it sends a wave of sorrow through my weary head, and I have to look away before I embarrass myself with the tears that want to fall.
“It’s true that you left the borders, but not often, and not for long enough. Now that you’re deep in The Lost’s territory, your magic will know no bounds.” He gestures toward the meat, urging me to take a bite. “I’m just sorry I didn’t believe him. I had no idea it would trouble you in the way that it has, or I would have warned you.” He shakes his head. “I should have warned you anyway.”
“And told me I had a secret, dark magic humming through my bones? I think not, Aras.”
He lets out a soft huff, but we both know my words ring true. If I hadn’t felt it—heard it—I would have never believed him. I probably would have turned right back around and run home.
But the scary truth is, I can feel it. The woods have always felt different to me. Alive. As if it wanted to tell me a deep secret, but it didn’t know how. As funny as it sounds, I’m at home here, as if a part of me is reaching out to grab hold and stake claim. The chilling part is that I think I might let it.
When I finally heed his advice and reach out to grab a piece of burned rabbit, Aras visibly relaxes, his hunched shoulders finally able to find some rest. We sit comfortably then, chewing as we soak in the silence that should have very well choked us to death.
“Just so I understand, you didn’t believe Knox because you thought I didn’t possess magic, or because you didn’t think it would affect me as much as it did?”
Aras reaches out to touch my curled knee, squeezing it once as if the first act alone wasn’t enough to scare me to pieces. “I knew you were filled with magic from the very second I saw you in these woods. It radiates from you like a beacon, warm and true. You are your mother’s child, Bravest, and with Emory as your guide, you’ll always bring nothing but light.”
I fight the urge to shrink into myself, tossing another giant piece of burnt meat into my mouth. My hope is that the motion makes me look less like a beacon, and more like a scraggily girl with untamed manners to match. Much to my disappointment, Aras seems not to have noticed.
“So, as to answer your question,” he continues, “yes, I did know of
your magic, but no, I didn’t think it would rush you quite like it did. I’m sorry for that.”
Rush me? Well, I think it’s fair to say it did a little more than that. Though Aras does seem to be somewhat nice and surprisingly serious at the moment, there’s a nagging question burning at the edge of my skull, begging to be asked.
“And this magic? Knox’s magic? What exactly do you mean by dark? I can think of a lot of explanations, and quite honestly, they all end in one of Darcy’s tales of horror. Please tell me that I’m not about to turn into some evil witch bent on destruction.”
“Bravest Penelope.” He huffs, and my ears burn at the use of my full name. Or almost full name at least. “I already said your magic shines for the good. I know you may not understand it, but in Orien, magic is a part of our everyday life. It rules us, for better or worse, and in our case, it is almost always for the worse. What you have to understand is this: magic is born from the heart. So unless I’ve been greatly deceived, we both have nothing to worry about when it comes to you and your magic.”
His words, while meant to be reassuring, leave me with a feeling of unease. He tries not to show it, but he’s hiding something. I know it.
“Aras,” I prod, startling him as I grab onto his hands. “What exactly does he do with his magic?”
Aras begins to shake his head defiantly, his hands pulling from my grip.
“No! Please!” I shout, hating the pathetic plea in my voice. “Tell me. You owe me that much. I deserve to know what I’m walking into.”
Aras stands, turning his taut back to the fire and toward the shadowy woods. I’m expecting it, but my heart still jumps when I hear his words.
“Knox is a king who is both clever and cruel. Though he possesses the skills of his ancestors, he rarely uses most of them. The Oriens have become so scared and pathetic that he doesn’t need to. Instead, he enjoys tricking the people by giving them everything they need, and then ripping it away when he sees fit. Most people love him, only because they are afraid to hate him. And if his own set of skills wasn’t enough to keep him safe, he also has a fierce group of men who guard him at every turn, keeping any who wish him harm at bay. You couldn’t get within ten feet of him without one of them killing you first.”
“But you still haven’t answered my question, Aras. What can he do? What is it that makes his people so afraid?”
“Knox’s magic toys with the elements around him. He is able to connect with nature, animals in particular. Though his obsession with them is a little unhealthy.”
“Aras,” I interrupt, begging him with my tone to stop dancing around the question.
He hesitates, thickly swallowing before hitting me with the final blow. “He sets people afire, Bravest. If they don’t follow his demands, he burns them until there is nothing left. A wisp of a corpse floating in the breeze. And he enjoys it. Every single second. It’s his way.”
It takes the sharp tinge of a rock against my bare foot before I even realize that I’m moving—the woods calling me forward like a safe haven from my troubles. Aras tries to reach for me, but I push him away, determined to accomplish something on my own, even if it is my demise. I hear the sound of my name as I round through rough trees that seem to block my every move. I stumble around every trunk, and I don’t have to look down to know that my feet are bloody and torn. Finally, I sink onto my knees, folding into a thicket of brush at the base of a large tree.
As I huddle in silence, the brush snagging against my fallen, damp hair, it’s not Aras’ words that haunt me, but the words he failed to say. The words that were still left warm on his lips.
The dream reaches out, creeping back from the dark. The man stands before me, knowledge shining in his eyes.
You should have just set me ablaze.
For it’s not just my father’s way, but what if it could be my own?
Twenty
This time when the woods surround me, I’m not afraid. It’s different now that I know what I am. What I’m destined to become. My only concern is control. Will I be able tell the magic when to breathe, or will it breathe for me? And when it hits my being, striking me at the core and overpowering me with its essence, will the people I care for have time to get out of the way? Or will I want to hurt those people the most?
That’s the thing about magic. I don’t know anything about it, except that it’s in me, and it’s dark.
There’s a splash at my back, and I spin on my heels, surprised the dead man decided to join me after he already said his peace. But it’s not him. It’s the panther, and his blue eyes pin me in a paralyzing stare. He crosses the same water that I walked though just one night ago, but it feels different this time. He’s not come to break down my barriers or to show me a reflection of who I should be. No, there’s purpose in his eyes today. And our purpose doesn’t lie here.
Around us, the scenery changes. Though still in the woods, we’re somewhere new now—somewhere I’ve never been. The treetops are even denser, and I struggle to recognize the time of day. It could be near dusk, but it could also very well be midday. Light doesn’t live here; that much is clear. The limbs above dance about and clatter with the bounce of small animals, scurrying around for their next meal. The panther’s ears twitch, but he remains firmly by my side. I have the strangest urge to reach out and run my hand through his silky fur, but before I do, he slinks forward, calling me along with a flick of his tail.
There’s fire in the distance. Though I cannot see the flames, the smoke drifts through the trees like long, curling fingers, begging me to come nearer. A figure moves about in the dense light, and I instantly still. Whoever it is doesn’t know we are here, and I have a feeling that we should keep it that way. The panther seems to think the same as he stops before me, bending down on all fours into a predatory crouch. I move to step up on my toes and eye the figure through the trees. As I do, a sharp sting explodes from my left ear, and I reach up to find blood pooling on the tips of my fingers. Wild footsteps crash through the woods. It takes me a second to realize that I’ve been nicked by an arrow, and whoever did it is coming this way.
At first, I’m frozen, my boots pinned to the forest floor, and then I hear the sound. It starts as a low growl, deep within his throat, before building up loud and high, striking out like a whip. The panther’s cry is so sharp that my skin erupts with chills and my unruly hair nearly stands on end. The footsteps stop and the panther turns to look at me, a demand in his eye.
He tells me to run, and I do.
My last thought as I crash through the trees before me is of this panther. If he is magic, then maybe, just maybe, it’s not quite so bad.
ↄ
When my eyes open, they feel as if they can see everything, even what is not really there. My head lolls back and bounces with movement as the dark leaves around me spin in and out of focus. For a moment, I pretend I’m still lost in an endless dream, and I don’t even feel the grip that tightens around my body as I struggle to stay alert. Because that would mean admitting I’m still stuck in this mess of a life, and the strong chest that my shoulder is pressed against belongs to Aras.
As scared as my dreams make me feel, I’m not ready to come back.
The gleam of the fire comes into view, and I close my eyes, hoping Aras will believe I’m asleep. I’m disappointed to find the light so low. It means I wandered farther than I thought, and Aras had to waste precious time tracking me down in the near dark. I can tell by his gait that he’s irritated, or maybe that’s the effect of carrying a half-dead lunatic through the woods. I have a feeling he’ll let me know either way.
I know we’ve arrived at the fire when the soothing warmth hits my chilled skin, and Aras lowers me to the ground with surprising care. He must be more worried than I thought.
“You can open your eyes now. I know you’re awake.”
I decide not to delay the inevitable and open my eyes to find him kneeling before me, a tender look upon his face. I frown. “I’m fine. I just needed some
time to myself.”
He snorts. “Well, you certainly got that. Took me long enough to find you passed out in that brush.” His eyes squint and he lifts his hand to my hair, pulling at a tangled patch.
“Ouch!” I yelp, reaching up to feel if I’ve just lost half of my scalp.
“Sorry,” he says, although he doesn’t look it.
I start to open my mouth and tell him so, but a deep hint of green teases my line of vision. My mouth pops shut in a surprised lurch. There, laid out neatly to dry by the fire’s edge, sits my green tunic—memory riddled and vomit free. My heart does a happy skip. Aras notices my pause, his eyes moving to follow my own.
“I figured you might want to change back into it again, since you seem to enjoy looking anything but like a lady, I mean.”
My eyes jump to his with suspicion, and he twitches under my gaze. I know enough about Aras that I can tell when he’s being a jerk, and when he’s being nice and trying to hide it. I decide to not let him in on my little secret.
“It’s a finely made, sturdy tunic, and anyone would be lucky to wear it,” I say, snatching it up and cradling it to my chest.
His expression turns broody as he finally moves away and plops down on the other side of the fire. “You shouldn’t believe everything Crisp tells you, Bravest. It makes you seem rather naïve.”
Choosing to ignore his sour words, I shoo my hands at his face, urging him to turn around while I grab the only other pair of dry pants from my bag. Thankfully, he obliges, and I swiftly move to change out of my damp clothes. Once the heavy fabric drapes over my shoulders, I feel at ease, as if home is just a touch away and not a figment of my dreams. I sigh contently, settling back down beside the fire. Surprisingly, Aras has left some rabbit out, and I fill the silence around me by zeroing in on a much-needed snack.
“You should get some good rest tonight. We have a half-day’s journey tomorrow before we arrive at the compound of a friend of mine. Much of the walk is uphill, so it will be more difficult than the terrain we’ve crossed so far.”
Look to the Stars (The Orien Trilogy Book 1) Page 15