On the Wheel

by Timandra Whitecastle

  Her lower lip trembled, so she bit down on it, making the split bleed again. One hand covering her eyes, she slumped with pain, the early morning light touching the hard lines of her cheekbones, the softness of her lips. Beautiful in disarray. He thought of their kiss and allowed himself to indulge in the fantasy that it had been her. The hope. He might as well give her the knife and let her twist its blade deep into his chest.

  Her head snapped up, her fists pressed to either side.

  “Oh great,” a voice cut in, too close, too harsh, dripping in sarcasm. “She’s still not fucking dead.”

  Bashan reached down and yanked Nora to her feet by her short hair. She yelped in pain, but mostly with anger. Nora grasped Bashan’s wrist with both her hands, her face a mask of fury as torn as the sky. The Blade chopped down, swinging toward her unprotected throat. Diaz’s breath hitched. Hand on his sword hilt. He wouldn’t make it in time. He wouldn’t—

  The world around them exploded with a roar.

  The forest lifted, a light rushing through it like the break of a thousand dawns. The trees vanished, broken stems thrown like heaps of autumn leaves into a blazing inferno. The brilliance swept away all gray and left nothing above them, only sky. Diaz’s arms reached out instinctively to catch Nora as she was hurled toward him, curled up, arms protecting her head.

  Winded, on his back, his sword flung far from him, Diaz watched the tempest drive its destruction in a wave of fire over the land, until he had to shut his eyes against the blinding fury. Above the splintering trees, the clouds ran out in shredded ribbons, racing away as fast as thought, the heavens whipped like ripples in a still lake when a stone is thrown into its depths. The waking sun on the horizon blushed the purple of a fresh bruise, and the land about them overthrown in the pale wash of light that followed. Time ran slow and the blood pulsed cold in his veins. The only warmth was Nora’s heartbeat against his chest, his only measure of the moments that passed, oddly muted in the blast of silence. He lay amid nothing, knowing nothing but the ball of light clutched to him, a peace folded around them deeper than sleep.

  He opened his hurting eyes to see the shadow of a man outlined against the blue. A familiar shape with angular lines to his face.

  “Bashan?” Diaz croaked, throat dry and aching.

  “No, it’s me. Shade.” The outline blurred into focus. Shade’s right eyebrow was split and bleeding into his eye. He wiped at it. “What happened here? You were out cold. And what the fuck is Nora doing here?”

  Diaz struggled to sit up, cradling Nora, ignoring the young man’s extended hand.

  Flames crackled in the burned heather around him, and as far as his eyes could see, not one tree remained standing, their ruins scorched and devoid of branches.

  It was the Blade, Diaz realized, his thoughts oozing like syrup. Once again, he had witnessed its power.

  “Bashan?” Gods, he was so slow, rolling over to get to his feet, dizzy.

  “He’s…” A piercing shriek interrupted Shade.

  Sprawled against the remains of a tree, its top ripped off as though in a tantrum, Bashan sat with his head in his hands, screaming as though in intense pain. The blood had washed out of his face, leaving him ashen, only to return a moment later as his head snapped back up, red, only the whites of his eyes showing.

  “No,” he roared at the sky, jumping to his feet. “I will kill her. Kill them. Everyone will die. And we will have peace.”

  He bent double as though he had been kicked, one hand clutching the wrecked tree for support, a wizened laugh spilling from his frothing lips.

  “No. I won’t let you,” Bashan pressed between his teeth, lips stretched into a wide grin.

  Lying unconscious next to Diaz, Nora started to chuckle along with Bashan. Her eyes were closed, and her face was oddly still while her laughter wavered.

  “Owen.” Diaz spoke his thought out loud.

  Shade searched the ring of destruction the Blade had wrought on the landscape.

  “Owen’s here too?”

  “No.” Diaz pushed the young man aside, registering the dark look Shade gave him, shadows deep under his eyes. Diaz’s jaw tensed.

  Things fell apart. This was always so. Owen trusted him to keep Nora safe. But how? While the trappings of Suranna’s curse still bound him to Bashan and the Blade for his freedom, Diaz found that bond to have an ever fainter tug. He had promised to guide Bashan to the Blade. Now the prince had the Blade. Oath fulfilled.

  Bashan rose.

  Diaz unsheathed his other sword just in case the prince or whoever was riding him chose to attack.

  Nothing moved but the wind between the stumps and the heavens silently circling above them.

  Bashan turned in a circle, scanning the horizon. The blast from the collision between him and Nora had flattened the forest in a radius of several miles, bent and snapped trunks marking the ruin. The snow, lifted off the ground, now hung in the air like a mist, leaving the world distant among the gray, and shifting.

  Bashan came to a halt, facing the direction in which Gimmstanhol lay. His lips quivered with quick emotion, a variation of intense joy and disgust in fleeting expression. Without another word or outburst, he started off at a brisk jog, beelining for the ancient wight city.

  Diaz’s feet followed immediately, only to hesitate after a few steps. He turned back. Shade was half crouched over Nora’s prostrate body. The young man raised his eyes; he looked to Diaz to make a decision on where to go next.

  Diaz swallowed hard. He couldn’t leave the two of them alone here in the wilderness, only to follow Bashan in a desperate attempt to stop him from reaching Gimmstanhol. Could he?

  He swished both his swords, relishing the feel of them in his hands. So natural, even when only the air was his sparring partner. He could sheathe them and, taking Nora between him and Shade, guide them out of the wastelands. It was what his heart wanted to do, his treacherous heart. He could just give in. Retrace the paths they had come by, leave Bashan to his own curse. And yet…

  Diaz placed a hand on his heart. He felt hot shame crawl into his chest as his vision darkened with thoughts of what the Blade could do. He had already brought trouble to the gates of his own people, to his father, through Suranna’s scheming and manipulating, playing him like a pawn. No, Bashan couldn’t be allowed to march on the wight city.

  Diaz stared down at Nora and Shade, both of them disheveled and grimy, wounded and broken, and felt fate like a stab to the chest.

  “Take to the west,” he told Shade, slowly, painfully. “In a few days, you will come to the shores of the Estran Ocean. Walk south, and eventually you should come upon a few settlements. Wight fishing villages mainly, but there’s also a trade outpost with a small harbor. You won’t find it on any map.”

  “You’re leaving us?” Shade asked incredulously. “To go after him? Seriously? He’s fucking insane. I mean, he always was, but now he’s even worse.”

  “Enough wights have died at the hand of the Blade. I must follow the pilgrim’s code: guide the lost, protect the innocent, punish the wicked.”

  If I can, he added silently.

  “And so you’re gonna get yourself killed too, huh? Look, I understand you want to do the best for your people. But…we’re your people, too, you know?” Shade rose, running a hand through his hair. “With all due respect, Master Diaz, you don’t owe those wights anything. They never wanted you among them? Fine. Because you belong with us. We need you. She needs you.” He gestured down at Nora. “She’s pretty damn lost. You can’t give her up now.”

  Two words pressed through gritted teeth. “I’m not.”

  Shade didn’t understand—to protect Nora, Diaz had to leave her behind. He had to go after Bashan, draw him away from Gimmstanhol and away from Nora. He could still see the wayward prince ahead through the wreckage of the trees.

  Shade grabbed his arm.

  “Godsdammit, are you really that dense? It’s you she wants, you dumbass. That’s why she’s been following
us since we left the isle, following you. You’re the only thing that has a stronger pull than whatever mess her head’s in. And you don’t even realize it.”

  Diaz’s head reeled, but he took the first step forward. Shade let go.

  “Go west,” Diaz managed to say, fixing his blurring sight on Bashan’s lone figure.

  “Fuck you, Diaz.” The young man relented and crouched down beside Nora once more. “Go die, then.”

  Yes.

  That seemed to be the plan.

  Chapter 3

  Nora slowly dragged herself out of the dark hole of her mind, shadow hands grasping for her all the while, pulling her back down into the nightmares. A falling sensation and a sharp burst of pain made her suck in air through her teeth, made her focus on the here and now. For a moment, she was simply pissed off enough to gather the last bit of strength she needed to push down the rising heads and maneuver herself to the forefront of her own mind. Back in charge, bitches.

  She opened her eyes and saw Shade towering over her, above him the endless, empty sky.

  He sat down heavily next to her and took a sip from his waterskin.

  “Oh, hey.” His eyes widened as she struggled to a sitting position. “You’re back.”

  “I guess.” She scratched the back of her head, the filthy hair stiff between her fingers. He offered her the skin and she took a large, thankful gulp. “Where are we? Where’s Diaz? And Bashan? What happened?”

  “Damned if I know.” Shade shrugged but wouldn’t say more, even when she pressed him. They shared the water between them in silence.

  Nora could still hear the memories, feel their echoes scraping the inside of her skull. So many lost to the Blade. Traces of the wielders and the lives of their sacrifices—most of them were faint, but she could sense them waiting for their next chance to break out, killing machines, godlike beings, harbingers of destruction. All of them twisted and corrupted by their hunger for power, by the Blade, taken by it body and soul. Leviathans reeled in by the long line, hook deeply embedded, inescapable. Always taking, always killing, always ending in death. Cycles and circles and gotta keep spinning. It made her dizzy.

  Shade looked paler than usual, his fingers cold as they brushed against hers.

  “You all right?” she asked.

  He lifted his shoulders once more.

  “I don’t know, Nora. The person who fathered me has the almighty Living Blade of legend. Diaz is trying to stop him from obliterating the wight city with it. Owen’s dead. And you killed Garreth. Define all right.”

  “I’m…sorry, Shade.”

  “Yeah. I know.” Shade winced. “Still hurts.”

  She squeezed his hand, and they were content to sit beside each other for a while, to watch the sun set in a brilliant blaze of glory.

  “Nora?” Shade was still holding her hand. For a fleeting moment she thought of the time in the gardens with him, when he had taken her hand just like this, and they had run into the night, jumping into the dark pool of water. That had been good.

  “Yes?”

  “We better make camp here.” Shade turned his head away.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll get the wood, you…”

  “Dig the fire pit.” She mimicked Garreth’s gruff tone out of habit. Her hands flew over her mouth.

  Shade pursed his lips and tried a weak smile.

  “Yeah. Let’s get something warm into our bellies. It’s been a long day.”

  They enjoyed little shelter, little warmth from the smoking fire. The wood was too wet from the snow, but they did manage some hot tea. Shade passed her a cup, and Nora passed it on to Owen.

  The cup clattered to the ground, spilling its contents over Nora’s thigh, making her yelp with the scalding pain. Shade and Nora both stared at the steam that rose from the frozen ground.

  “I’ll make you a new one,” Shade said and waved a hand. “Come on, give me the cup.”

  Nora jerked her head back, nostrils flaring. “He was there. Owen was right there.”

  Shade looked pained. “No one was there, Nora. Just you and me.”

  “No. He was right next to me.” Whispered words fell from her numb lips. “I felt him.”

  “Sure. You felt him. Just give me back the cup, and I’ll fix you another—”

  She rose abruptly and walked a few steps away from the fire to cry alone, shoulders shaking.

  * * *

  Nora woke the next day, entangled with Shade’s long limbs and the wet cloak they had fitfully fallen asleep in. Nothing to look forward to but a day of damp travel. Snow covered their footsteps, obliterating their passage along with time as each gray day bled into the next. Howling winds on one day, howling calm the other—it didn’t matter as long as they kept moving. Movement was key. When they stopped to rest, the ghosts of those not there would catch up with them, emerging in the spaces between them.

  During the day, Shade led them ever toward the light of the dying sun and the sea. They splashed for days through brackish water, holding hands as though they thought to never let each other go again. Just the two of them, facing the elements. But it was never just the two of them. Nora had brought something with her, a hive of fury.

  Every now and again she risked a look behind. She could feel the Blade in her mind, not following her, but still hovering close enough. Sometimes its haunting felt like someone breathing down her neck. When she turned around to look, a swirl of mist was forming into the nightmarish shape of one of the wraiths within. But then it would turn out to only be the outstretched limbs of a blackened tree or a stone looming in the veiled world around them.

  Of course, she admitted to herself, that wasn’t the only reason she kept glancing over her shoulder. But so far, no sign of Diaz. She half expected him to be waiting for her every night. She’d feel her excitement rise the more wearily she dragged her feet. Surely he’d be waiting. Round the next bend. Behind the next ridge. Only he never was, and her slim hope turned into a simmering boil of anger at herself every evening.

  Gradually, the ground grew firmer under their feet. The water receded. Most days the mists reached to their chests as if they were ready to drown them where the stinking mud had thus far failed. But as the cold morning sun woke them from each other’s arms two weeks later, the mist hung only before their lips, and boiled around their feet during the day. Tufts of cotton grass and reeds stood out among the low shrubs, and the icy wind carried the scent of salt.

  Shade’s spirits lifted. “Do you smell it? The sea. We’re close.”

  Nora turned to him. They were making their way along a low ridge, fetid marsh pools reeking on either side.

  “Hm? Yeah. Sure.”

  “That means we’ve nearly made it.”

  “No, it doesn’t.” Nora frowned at the horizon. “It means we still have weeks of journey till we get to lands peopled by humans.”

  “Nah.” Shade insisted on being glad. “Diaz said there are fishing villages on the coasts. Fishermen have boats. Boats make for faster travel.”

  “Yes, because going somewhere by boat was such a brilliant idea last time.”

  “Don’t worry.” Shade grinned, a spark of his former self lighting up his eyes. “There won’t be any mermaids to snag you.”

  “No, but there’ll still be waves that make you throw up your lunch. It’s not a pretty picture.”

  Shade fell silent. When he pressed his lips together, she thought he looked very much like his father.

  They marched on through the rest of the day.

  “What is your problem?” Shade asked that evening as they sat down on a hummock of grass next to their little campfire.

  “Nothing.” I keep on seeing my dead twin brother—probably not the answer Shade wanted to hear.

  “I know you’re not sleeping.”

  “So?” Nora snapped. They hadn’t talked much during their trek so far; she saw no point in breaking that silence now. Shade, however, seemed unable to keep his mouth shut.

 
“Are you mad?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Because it seems like you’re always so mad, and I’m not sure whether I’ve done something to make you mad. In fact, I can’t think of any reason you could be mad at me.”

  “You didn’t do anything. And I’m not mad.”

  But she wanted him to shut up now and leave her alone. Nora rose and walked into the gathering dark, restless, sorry for being sharp with Shade, but, well, he irritated her. Or something was irritating her at least, and he was aggravating it.

  Since the mists had cleared, it felt like a thought was embedded deep in her flesh, but she couldn’t grasp it to pull it out. It fled from her touch, but it was there, a splinter in her mind. Every step away from the Blade made her skin tingle with…what? Freedom? The ageless ghosts had fallen silent, and she missed them. Or rather, not them, but the spiritual umbilical cord that had bound her to Owen. She yearned to hear his voice, which echoed in her head. Sometimes she saw him as clearly as if he were walking beside her instead of Shade, but he felt…far away now. Distant. What did it mean?

  She scanned the horizon again, searching for…not Owen. For something. Anything, really. Yet there was nothing but gentle dunes, stunted shrubs, and stagnant pools covering the ground for mile after mile, powdered by snow. No-man’s-country. Ancient magic held the land wrapped, broken, trapped between two states, firm and fluid, earth and water. The last barrier between the worlds of men and wights.

  Ah.

  She twitched.

  She had felt it. Felt him. For a fleeting moment she had felt Owen’s hand on her own.

  Gently, she retraced her thoughts, following the edge of the idea to see whether she could tease out more. These lands had been made by the Blade itself. They had been laid to waste in the death throes of a goddess. It was said ancient magic still crackled here, on the edge of things, lighting swamp fires that guided unwary travelers down into the black deeps, lives lost, secrets swallowed. But still here. Always here. Only hidden. Buried.