The Last Winter (The Circle War Book 2)

by Matt King

  He spit on the floor. What do I care? Let them have their meetings.

  A woman clinging to Amara’s robes started sobbing down below. She held up a picture, slurring some story about her long lost kids. Amara stroked her head like a dog, silencing her cries. He thought back to the look on the reporter’s face after Amara corrected her memories. He wondered if the woman down on the floor was getting the same treatment. Were her real memories lost to her now?

  Are mine?

  He brushed the thought aside just as he’d done every day since then. Thinking about it never led to anything good.

  “Thank you,” the woman sobbed. “Thank you so much. We owe everything to you.”

  Michael stood. His princely cape rippled behind him as he stormed down the balcony aisle. Before he walked through the door leading back to the castle, he thought he felt Amara’s fingers reaching for his thoughts.

  On his way down the stairs, he passed by Talus’s room, situated far away from anywhere the people might be able to see. The monster had an entourage of Pyrians sawing away at the pearlescent crust of his skin, filing the crusty stone into pointed horns and spikes. It’s what passed for an alien spa treatment, he guessed.

  “If anyone asks, tell them I’m out,” he said, stepping inside.

  Talus hesitated before finally choking out a reply. “Yes,” he said.

  Don’t strain yourself. You look like your head’s about to pop. “Make sure they don’t come chasing after me. I’ll be back when I’m back.”

  He left before the moron could muster another response.

  The back of the castle faced the tallest of Amara’s mountains, craggy black peaks guarding her city from northern attack. He looked back over his shoulder to see if anyone had followed. The halls were quiet. Most of the Pyrian guard were busy herding the masses.

  With a relieved breath, he let his real skin shine through, relishing the sense of power as the cracks spread down his arms and legs. Amara’s costume fell away, dropping to the balcony deck in a smoking crumble of white gold. His cape smoldered around his feet.

  He let his power grow until he was hovering above the ground, a red halo surrounding him, and then shot skyward as fast as he could go. He angled himself toward the mountains. The air rumbled beneath him as he passed over the sharp peaks. He wondered if the people in the city could see him. He flew faster, leaving a streaking trail of red behind him as he left the mountains behind.

  He turned toward the setting sun, unsure of where he was going.

  That wasn’t true. Deep down, he knew.

  It wasn’t long until he saw the low clouds at the edge of Amara’s healing. He dipped down until he was only a few hundred feet above the ground. The zone where the two climates met—Amara’s halo of life and the bleak desolation beyond it—was a churning mix of warmth and freezing cold. He flew straight into the storm. As soon as he crossed over into the winter half of the weather, the falling snow sizzled against his body. The ground was a marbled mix of gray snow and black char. He smiled at the sight.

  Eventually, he saw something in the distance he recognized—a tall cylinder of rock rising up from the flatlands. He’d seen it in a movie once, the one about the guy who built the mountain out of mashed potatoes. It didn’t look so pretty anymore. One side had taken the brunt of his blast, leaving the mountain a two-tone mix of brown and black. He slowed to take a look around. With a last burst of energy, he pushed himself higher, landing in a cloud of steam as the snow evaporated around him on the dusty plateau.

  When his feet touched down, he closed his eyes and listened. There was nothing but the sound of the wind tossing snow at his feet. No women groveling, no grown men weeping about the family they’d lost. There was only him and the world he’d created.

  He let the silence soak in.

  His eyes snapped open at the sound of a footstep crunching on rocks. “Who’s there?” he called out.

  He scanned the swirling snow and fog. He strained to listen over the sound of his own breaths.

  What am I scared of? Nothing here can hurt me.

  His breathing calmed. He walked toward the center of the plateau, still casting his stare in a circle. He was about to write off the sound as the wind playing tricks on him when he saw a shape in the fog. He stood his ground, waiting to see if it moved. Part of him thought of Dillon, and he found himself wishing that August would be the one to walk through the fog, if only so Amara could see once and for all that he wasn’t a danger to him.

  No one is.

  “You can come out now,” Michael said. “I know you’re there.”

  The figure walked forward. He wore an old-looking brown trench coat, with an angled fedora that kept his face hidden. A trail of smoke flowed behind him. Was he smoking a pipe?

  “You are a hard man to find,” he said. His voice was deep and commanding. “I wondered if we would ever meet.”

  “Who are you?”

  The man stopped to take Michael in. He took the pipe from his mouth and slipped it into the pocket of his coat. “My name is Paralos. And you, I presume, are the all mighty Gemini.”

  “Paralos?” The old man standing in front of him didn’t look anything like the boogeyman Amara had built him up to be. He looked like someone’s grandfather, not the second most powerful god in the Circle.

  “Not what you expected?” he asked.

  Michael shrugged. “I never really thought much about it.”

  “Liar,” Paralos said absently. He looked past Michael and walked to the edge of the mountaintop. He studied the landscape with his hands behind his back like someone looking at a painting in a museum.

  “Do you like what you see?” Michael asked.

  Paralos spoke without turning around. “You are an efficient killer. I should expect no less from Amara.”

  “You came a long way just to compliment me.”

  “I came to see you for myself,” he answered. He turned around, giving the snowy valley a final look. “And as it turns out, you are far less impressive in person.”

  “Not what you expected?” Michael shot back, bringing a smirk from the god.

  “You are aware that I can’t hurt you,” he said.

  “I know.”

  “And that I am prohibited from looking at your thoughts. Relax, champion. I only wish to talk.”

  “About what?”

  “The future,” he replied.

  “If you’re here to surrender, you should probably talk to Amara.”

  Paralos gave a slight grin. “It was clever of her to brand Dillon as the Gemini. Foolish, however, to bring you back with her. Dillon has sworn to kill you, you know.”

  “I’m not afraid of him.”

  “No, I don’t suppose you are.”

  “Or the woman he has with him.”

  The god raised an eyebrow. “You’ve met Aeris?”

  “One of yours?” Michael asked. “Polaris almost took down both of them by herself. That’s no challenge to me.”

  “You long for a challenge.”

  “Maybe.”

  “And what if I told you that a bigger challenge was on its way?”

  Michael hesitated, afraid to answer with his first thought: You know that’s what I want. The god could be trying to trick him into saying something. He decided to say nothing.

  “His name is Velawrath,” Paralos said. “He is unstoppable, even by the likes of you.” He shrugged. “Not that you’ll get the chance.”

  “What do you mean, I won’t get the chance?”

  “Amara doesn’t trust you. That’s clear. Otherwise you wouldn’t have had to sneak out here without her permission.”

  “I didn’t sneak.”

  “Then she knows you’re here?” The god didn’t wait for his response. “No, Amara would never risk using you in a real fight.”

  Michael motioned to the empty, lifeless valley. “I’ve already been in a real fight. Or do you need a better example?”

  Paralos scoffed. “You were a weapo
n fired far from anything resembling a battle. A coward’s champion if there ever was one. Dillon is more of a fighter than you could ever hope to be.”

  He’s just trying to make me mad. Michael looked down at his skin. If the intensity of red along his cracks meant anything, Paralos was succeeding. “If Dillon wants to see what kind of fighter I am, he can come and find out.”

  “With Talus there to protect you?”

  The question felt like fishing, like the god was trying to trick him into letting go of information. He wondered if the old man was lying about getting inside his head. “Talus didn’t make the trip,” he said. “We don’t need him.”

  For a moment, he thought Paralos was going to call him out on the lie. Then he looked to the sky. “No matter. She will call on him soon enough. Velawrath will make him suffer just as he will you.”

  “I told you. I don’t need that monster to take out anything you send for me.”

  “Monster? Is that what Talus is to you?”

  “All he’s good for is fighting.”

  “And what are you good for?”

  “I’m starting to want to show you.”

  Paralos smirked. “Has Amara told you how Talus came to be? No, of course not. I shouldn’t have to ask. Better that you don’t know.”

  “Know what?” He had the feeling of being baited again, but the bait was too tempting to pass up. Besides, what was the harm in knowing?

  “Talus was a simple Pyrian before he became what he is now. Not the fighter that you know. On Pyr, the Pyrians assign children to a job based on the aptitude they show early in their development. Talus was labeled as a melicant, someone without the mental capabilities to function as anything but a grunt worker.”

  Suddenly the flash card sessions started to make sense. Michael stifled a laugh.

  “He was mercilessly derided, laughed at by the rest of his peers. Then one day, he was challenged to a fight. A boy from a higher order thought it would be fun to use a melicant for fight training. Talus was beaten mercilessly. He was on the verge of dying from his wounds. That is when Amara came to him.”

  Michael felt a knot form in his stomach. He had an urge to run away, but some part of him needed to hear what he feared was coming.

  “She visited him and listened to his pleas for help. Not soon after, Talus started to grow larger. Stronger. All Pyrians carry the virus that forms the rocky patches of coating on their skin. Talus developed the virus over his entire body. He started to fight. And he won, even going so far as to gain fame on Pyr. Then one day he stopped.”

  “Why?” Michael asked.

  “He didn’t feel like fighting anymore,” Paralos answered. “He hated the way it made him feel.”

  “So why did he?”

  “Amara paid him another visit.”

  Michael turned away, not sure he wanted to hear what came next.

  “She used her powers to change the way he thought. He was always grateful toward her for saving his life, but after, she became everything to him. He entered the contests again on Pyr and charged through his foes undefeated. No one could touch him. When Amara needed a champion during her war with Ule, Talus is who she chose. He fought without equal, and he did it out of devotion, even if it wasn’t his choice. Tell me, does any of this ring true with you, Gemini?”

  “No,” Michael said quickly.

  “None of it?”

  “I told you, no.”

  “And how might the story of your beginnings go?”

  “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

  Paralos took the pipe from his pocket. “Then I’ll just have to guess.” He took a long drag. Smoke drifted from his mouth when he spoke. “You had an unpleasant past, possibly enough to want to take your own life. Amara came to you at your weakest.”

  “Shut up,” Michael said.

  Paralos pressed on. “What was your affliction? A lack of mental ability? No, that doesn’t seem likely. Maybe it was a lack of mental control.”

  “I told you to stop.”

  “Things were better after Amara came. She was attractive to you in more ways than one, was she not? She soothed your desires. Gave you hope. But there was something wrong, wasn’t there?”

  Michael turned to face him. “I’m warning you.” He could feel the heat coming off his skin. His breaths quickened.

  “What was it, Gemini? Was it the nagging feeling that you lost something in the deal? There was, wasn’t it? I can see it in your eyes. Tell me, have you ever felt betrayed by your memories? Now that she has you under her control, have the sweet nothings turned to stone?”

  “SHUT! UP!”

  Michael unleashed the power boiling inside him and focused it on the grinning devil. Through the rush of searing heat filling his ears, he could still hear the sound of the god’s laughter. When he opened his eyes, he saw a figure in white where the man had been, transparent as Michael’s energy flowed through him.

  Michael reigned in his blast, collecting the power back inside him. Throughout the valley, the buildup of snow had been wiped away, leaving nothing but vines of smoke in its place.

  “Tsk tsk, little one,” Paralos said, still in his ghostly form. “You’re not that strong yet.”

  “One day I will be,” Michael growled back.

  “You won’t live to see that day.”

  “Who’s going to stop me? Velawrath? You want to send him to die, go ahead. It’ll only make me stronger. After I finish with him and Dillon and the rest, I’ll be coming for you.”

  “Amara will never allow you to get that far.”

  “She doesn’t control me.”

  Paralos’s grin stretched wide. “She is the only one who controls you, and she always will.”

  A crash of thunder sounded in the sky behind Michael. He turned around to see a streak of red lightning traveling toward him from the horizon. When he looked back, Paralos had already dissolved into a sparkling haze. He took off through the clouds.

  Galan arrived on the top of the plateau in a whirlwind of sound and light. His red, slitted eyes searched the mountain top, finally coming to rest on Michael.

  “Someone was here,” he said. “Who was it?”

  Michael’s eyes flitted to the clouds. His heart thumped in his chest, his skin still feeling paper thin against the power beneath it.

  “Speak!”

  “No one,” Michael replied. “I was just out for a walk.”

  Galan streaked forward and grabbed him by the jaw. Michael tried to pull away but the god held him with unmoving strength. His black and red eyes bore into him.

  “Paralos,” he said, tossing Michael to the ground. “You fool! What were you thinking?”

  Michael picked himself up. “I didn’t tell him anything.”

  “You are coming back with me. Amara will hear of this.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Galan narrowed his eyes. “You are going back to answer for what you’ve done.”

  “What have I done?”

  “Your little display lit up the horizon. You’ve panicked our guests and the Ministers have been sent to calm their fears. Dillon’s threat was supposed to come from the east, not from here.”

  “Good,” Michael said. “I’m tired of hiding from them. I don’t want to do it anymore.”

  He heard the low hum of a synapse forming behind him and swirled around. On instinct, he let loose enough energy to lift himself off the ground, ready to streak away.

  Galan’s hand wrapped around the back of his neck. “What you want is irrelevant.”

  The god threw him into the synapse. Michael came tumbling out the other side. When he got his bearings, he recognized the familiar fire pit in the center of Amara’s chambers. Standing in front of the fire was Amara. Her unblinking gray eyes stared down at him.

  “It will be best if you don’t fight,” she said. “I will know everything.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The rainstorm was a fitting reflection of Bear’s mood. It
had been falling ever since he stepped through the portal to Balenor’s world. Through the streaks of water on his room’s window, he could see lights below where Balenor’s army was starting to gather. I’ve put these men’s lives in danger. Maybe even gotten them killed.

  He turned away, unable to look at them any longer.

  The room was full of plush seats, long open couches, and cabinets stocked with enough food and drink to last him a week. He hadn’t touched a bit of it. The Horsemen probably could have used it all more than him, but they’d been led away to nurse their wounds. He hadn’t been told where. Instead, he was taken to the room with instructions to wait for the gods. He rubbed his furrowed brow, trying to force himself to see past his failures, but it was no use. His eyes settled on his armored gloves. He still had scuff marks from his fight with Icomedes. Every day of his training with the Horsemen, the brothers tried to hammer home one idea—get your hands on your enemy. No matter how outmatched he was, no amount of skill could overpower his strength. Wasn’t that their plan for him? Icomedes never let him get close. Instead, Bear had let himself get roughed up and tossed around.

  Just like Cerenus had done.

  Meryn walked through the door to his room. She closed it behind her.

  “Where’s the rest of them?” he asked.

  “There was no need for them to come. I told them the news. I wanted to speak to you alone.”

  “I see.” He wondered if the strange sensation in his gut was the same thing people felt right before they were fired. “How did they take it?”

  Meryn tried to smile, but it came off looking more like a grimace. “Soraste is hard to read sometimes. In some ways, I think the news galvanized her. She has a determination that is unmatched. She’s gone back to retrieve Ion.”

  “And Balenor?”

  “Surprisingly calm. Although he couldn’t do without stating how Amara would surely be coming for him now. Then again, he wouldn’t be Balenor if he wasn’t worrying about something.”

  He snorted, as close to a laugh as his mood would allow. It faded quickly. “You heard about the other champion?”

  “Icomedes,” she said.

  “Who is he?”

  “He is the leader of the Ysir, an elite military unit of the Herengei. The Herengei world belongs to Cerenus. I can only assume that Cerenus sent Icomedes after you as a test.”