by Cat Bruno
“The words are old ones, and you will not find a Northerner who does not know them.”
“What do they mean?” she half-screamed, jumping toward him.
She could sense that no one in the room understand why she asked, but all listened as Kennet replied, “In time, the North will rise.”
It was all that she needed to hear. Without pausing, she rushed back to the bed and rummaged through the tousled blankets until her hand struck the sharp edge of the dagger. Then, she pulled it from its hiding spot and held it against her leg, away from where Aldric and Willem could see it. She carried it to her friend, stopping next to him. Delicately, she lifted the weapon.
She whispered, “She was here, Kennet. Just like you said. She came to me as you all slept. She spoke to me, much in riddles, I think. Yet, she is my daughter. And Conri’s. I don’t know how she came to be here, only that she hadn’t much time. Before she departed, she handed me this dagger. Then, the oddest thing happened. She began fading, until eventually she was no longer here. But, Kennet, I swear to you! She was here!”
“What do you mean, Bronwen? She was here? Your daughter? Yet, none but you saw her,” Willem fumed, his voice forceful and commanding, more suited to a battlefield than the room that surrounded them.
Aldric came to her defense before she could mutter a reply, stepping in between Willem and her.
Calmly, he said, “I am not surprised that she wanted only you to see her. What was said between the two of you matters not to me, nor should it matter to these other two.” Turning toward Willem, he said, “Let it be. Give Bronwen this moment. It was not meant for us.”
To Bronwen he said, “Show me what she gave you.”
Bronwen gripped the dagger with her right hand and turned to face him, the small weapon shining despite the nearly extinguished mage-light. She turned it over, allowing the blade to shimmer, and then she realized that it pulsated as well, as if it breathed. Had she not been holding it so tightly, Bronwen might have dropped it, as she imagined it moving and curling about her fingers, as if it were a snake.
Aldric gasped, pulling his hands back from her as soon as he could, and then looked to where Willem still stood.
“Do you know what she holds there, Willem?”
Willem paled, his face so white that he appeared to age within moments, moon years finally catching up to him. He let his mouth fall open and answered, “How can she touch it, yet not be burned? Bronwen, let me see your fingers.”
She moved the dagger from her right hand to her left, gently, and then looked to her palm, concerned by Willem’s words. There were no visible injuries, nor pain or discomfort, even as she held the handle of the blade in her other hand. However, she showed Willem her fingers nonetheless and waited with held breath for him to finish his examination. Three times he flipped her hand, looking at both the inside and the top, in addition to eyeing all of her slender fingers. When it seemed that he had concluded his inspection, she quickly pulled her hand back, again switching the dagger back to her favored hand.
All three men stood within steps of her, hovering as near to the blade as they dared, curious, yet cautious.
Finally, it was Willem who shattered the silence, composed and flushed once again, although Bronwen still noticed small creases about his eyes as he spoke.
“Bronwen, you must tell us everything that has occurred, leaving nothing out. Is that understood? I do not like any of this, but it seems that I have little say in the matter. My skills may be better served elsewhere.”
Unsure of what he implied, Bronwen nevertheless explained to the three wide-eyed men what had happened, fighting hard to remember each detail, some already fading from her memory, which surprised her as she had been certain that she would not ever forget the encounter. Bronwen continued for several minutes, until the retelling of the event had taken more than twice as long as the original meeting itself. Finally, she explained how once the ancient weapon left the girl’s hand, she had started to lighten, the shimmering essence that had surrounded her becoming dull, the edges of her body blurring and shifting. Then, she told them how the girl vanished altogether.
“If not for what I hold in my hand, I would have believed that I had dreamed all of it. Yet, I know what it is I hold, and I know what I am supposed to do with it,” Bronwen added.
Kennet grabbed his face, one hand across his mouth, and slowly lifted his fingers from his lips as he whispered, “Bronwen, are you intending on killing Conri?”
“No! No, of course not. Why would you ask such a thing?”
“Why else would she give you such a weapon?”
Bronwen shook her head, refusing to hear what Kennet was suggesting, “No, she said that it was a gift from him, from her father. And that it must always stay with her, and that few should know of its existence.”
They were all watching her, and she knew that all three believed her words. Still, she said, “Before she left, when she was nearly gone and only a faint shadow remained, she spoke the Eirrannian words, as if it was a battle cry.”
Aldric smiled, while the other two paled again. “Bronwen, be careful. Those words are traitorous outside of the North. Be careful too of the weapon. Most have never seen such and even fewer can touch it as you do now. I myself would not attempt to touch the dagger without its covering, yet you hold it without fear or pain. I cannot tell you what that means, nor can I tell you what your choice should be. I do know that your daughter must be born as all children are, even those god-touched, and created as such too. What happens after that shall remain your decision.”
Without much thought to the eyes upon her, Bronwen wiped her tear-stained face on the sleeve of her tunic, ignoring the stares and silence around her. She had never been interested in the many gods that the Cordisians worshipped, instead focusing on the practical use of her healing skills and never visiting temple or shrine. Sheva had often invited her to visit the Temple of the Light with her, but Bronwen always declined, gently reminding her that she was a healer not a priestess. Bronwen left both the light and dark gods to others, preferring the smell of freshly cut herbs and the look of a neatly stitched wound to the delicately sculpted images of the temple.
Talk of a destined path or a god-touched future had troubled her for moons, and not of her own making. But, now, just as she had told her daughter, a choice sat before her. She need not be a pawn any longer, she knew. Just as she knew who Conri was, who his father before him was, and who her daughter might be. She knew it all.
Willem’s outburst surprised her, yanking her from her thoughts, as he yelled, “You must not do this, Bronwen! None of it!”
Whether he was talking as a mentor or as a jealous suitor, Bronwen did not know, but either way his words meant little to her now. While she still feared what would happen if she defied the hands of fate, Bronwen knew that she could not harm the girl, even one begotten by darkness.
Walking toward him and taking his hands into her own, she murmured, “I will not have my path chosen for me, by anyone. I am a healer, with oaths and promises, not a child’s toy to be played with by the hands of some mysterious gods. Or by men who think they know what is best for me.”
Kennet, who had been silent for nearly all the time that they had been at Willem’s villa, finally stirred and hoarsely added, “Bronwen, is there any aid that I might offer you?”
She smiled then, dropping Willem’s hands, and turning toward Kennet. For the first time in many hours it seemed, a lightness entered the room, brightening the dark corners that had stretched across the large area. Even Willem, in his fury, was not immune to her smile, and his shoulders released, the tension slipping, if only slightly. Aldric crossed the room, following Bronwen as she walked to the arched entryway that had led them into Willem’s private chambers.
When he caught up to her, he spoke, “Bronwen, I would hear more of your visitor, if you would share it with me.”
She slowed and turned to him. Aldric looked at her and thought that she was differ
ent now, older maybe, less troubled, which surprised him, as he had thought that the evening’s events would have rattled her deeply.
“I have said enough. Allow me that, Aldric, for I do not know what shall come to pass.”
“Of course,” he whispered, letting the matter rest, for now at least, “but allow me to escort you home, Bronwen. The hour is late.”
Bronwen shrugged her shoulders, “What? You think that I will not make it home? Perhaps some god will snatch me up as I walk along the beach,” she laughed, “Really, I will be fine. I have survived worse.”
Willem interrupted to say, “Kennet can walk her home. If you wouldn’t mind, Aldric, I would like to speak with you. I trust that what has happened here and what was said will not travel any farther than the four of us.”
When the other two men had nodded their agreement, Bronwen turned back to the long hallway. Her leather sandals quietly tapped against the light marble with golden rivers etching through it as she neared the main doors of his villa. By the time that she reached the imposing double doors, she could hear loud footfalls behind her, and she raised a quick hand in dismissal.
“The two of you can spend all night talking of my future, if that is what you wish,” she stated, only half turning toward the men behind her, with one hand on the bronze handle of the door.
Twisting the handle, she added, “Are you coming, Kenny?”
Without waiting to hear his reply, she pushed open the door, startled for a moment as she realized that it was still quite dark, the shining moon still high overhead. At least it is no longer raining, Bronwen mused, surprised that after such a strange evening, a new day had not yet begun. Before she could even ask, Kennet had summoned a small orb of mage-light, cradling it is his hands. Bronwen wondered why he did not let it hover above them, like he had often done, and when she asked, his reply surprised her.
“I have little control over my magics, Bronwen, and I fear that I tried too much today. As it is, I could only just barely draw the mage-light, and I had thought that to be a skill that I had mastered of late.”
“Well, then, let us hurry home, I do not want to overburden you.”
No further words were spoken between the two friends as they traveled back the same path that had brought them to Willem’s villa. Both were too distracted by their own thoughts to offer much in the way of conversation, and so the silence continued, words empty next to all that had occurred. When they arrived at Bronwen’s, Kennet looked pale and weak. Clearly, the small amount of energy he had used to summon the mage-light was too much, and Bronwen felt overcome with guilt.
“Kenny, won’t you stay here for the night? You look a right mess.”
He smiled weakly at her words, knowing that he was often the one muttering them at her, and then declined the offer, perhaps wanting nothing more than to collapse onto his own small pallet in his room that he rarely used.
Bronwen stood in her doorway, the door still hanging open, and watched as Kennet stumbled the final steps to the long, rectangular dormitory, his orb of light dimming with each step, until he reached the door, and the light vanished entirely. When she could no longer see him, she closed her door and stepped silently down the few steps that led her to the shelled path that weaved about the campus. Instead of walking directly on the broken shells, Bronwen’s feet landed in the soft sand to the side of the path, where her steps would be muffled. She quickly jogged back toward the beach, from where she and Kennet had just come.
Crossing over a large mound of sand, she eased her way down until she was facing the sea. A strong breeze battered her tunic against her light skin. When she neared the water, her heart quickened. She turned, unsurprised, to see the dark-hooded figure waiting for her. Bronwen slowly made her way to him, patient and calm, acceptance growing with each step.
44
“What do you make of this?” he asked.
“It matters not what I think, as you well know. In the end, it is not either of our decisions.”
Willem glared at the man who sat across from him, looking ashen and thin among the brightly-hued pillows that decorated the finely carved sofa. He had changed little since the last time he and Aldric were alone in a room together, yet the dark mage barely resembled the man that he had once been. Troubled by his thoughts, it took a few moments for Willem to reply, and, even then, his words sounded harsher than he had intended them to be.
“Why are you here, Aldric? And remember, I am not some young girl to be tricked and manipulated.”
Aldric waited to answer, not failing to notice the way that Willem’s cheeks flamed with impatience, causing him to nearly smile at his old acquaintance’s discomfort. Even though he had been masquerading for moon years as a healer, he was still a true Rexterran, a royal son no less, who was used to getting exactly what he wanted. Many moon years before, the two had met, while they both still lived in the King’s City. Willem was not unlikeable, Aldric recalled, yet here he now sat, both exiled and devoted to a young woman who had been god-touched.
He smiled, amused. A girl striking in appearance, yet naïve, without any real talent beyond healing. For all that he could see, Bronwen had no hidden skills, no ability or inclination toward magic, not even mage-sight, a talent that was often found among the Northerners. Yet, she had been marked, as any with power could sense, he knew.
“To be honest, Lord Willem, I only came to see my nephew, who had requested my help. I had grown tired of the mercenary life, my body no longer as young and quick to recover as it once was. When I received his letter, I was laid up at an Agerian inn, near enough to Tretoria. And so I came.”
Willem again watched Aldric, refusing to believe that he had arrived in Litusia so innocently. Nothing could be so simple to one such as he, and he remembered how sharp Aldric’s mind had been, remembering too a few nights spent in discussion with the mage. With no attempt to hide his doubts, Willem asked, “Surely, you do not expect me to believe that your arrival here has to do only with some familial responsibility? Wasn’t it the boy’s father who had your titles stripped? We are far too old to play such games, mage.”
“I seek to fool no one. Not here. I came for my nephew, and for the coin that he offered. I will not try to deny that I am not intrigued by this girl, Willem, as are you, no doubt. Do you think that I missed the way you look at her?”
By the way Willem’s cheeks reddened and his eyes flamed, Aldric knew that he had not been wrong, and that the former Royal Captain had developed complicated feelings for his Bronwen. Yet, he did not wish to further anger the man, knowing that he needed to know what the Rexterran knew of the girl.
With a wave of his hand, Aldric said, “Fear not, my old friend, you are not the first nor will you be the last man to have fallen for a woman half his age. What is it, though, about Bronwen that has so many men, and not just men like my nephew, bewitched?”
“I am far from bewitched, nor do I need to explain myself to you,” Willem thundered, letting his anger erupt as he rose from the chair.
Aldric smiled again, which he did rarely, the corners of his mouth turned slightly up, until Willem lunged for him, and, despite the many years that he had spent traveling with various war companies, Aldric froze, unable to fight off the much larger and stronger man in such near quarters. His chair, heavy and well-made, had flipped backward, and Aldric lay beside it, on the cool tiles of the floor, with Willem hovering above him, one hand back and ready to strike while the other arm was pressed across his chest.
Regaining some control of his senses, Aldric relaxed and called upon mage-skill that had been honed and perfected all the moon years that he had lived in exile. While Willem’s cocked hand trembled, Aldric quickly closed his eyes, opening them as he rose his right hand. He could see the small flame glowing out of the corner of his eye.
Without hesitation, he threw the flame, not caring where it struck, as he was not attempting to injure Willem, knowing enough to understand that such a result would forever keep Bronwen from trustin
g him.
The small fireball struck the chair where Willem had been seated, and upon impact, the silky fabric ignited into flames. Willem fell off of him, turning to watch as the cushions blackened and smoke filled the room.
“What in the hells did you do that for?” Willem screamed, rushing to the chair. “Help me douse the flames!”
Aldric gingerly stood up, rubbing at his back, “There’s no use. The flame can’t be extinguished unless I call it back. And I’m not too inclined to do that.”
“Damn you! Just call it back!”
“Your word that I won’t be harmed while I am here, sir,” Aldric stated, a small flame still burning in his hand.
“Fine, I will not touch you again, unless you seek to harm Bronwen. Is that fair enough?”
As a response, Aldric raised his arms until they were at shoulder height, and, with his palms facing out, he drew his hands back in, toward his chest, repeating the gesture again and again, until the flames began to lessen. When the fire no longer burned, Aldric dropped his hands to his sides, noticing that the chair was far too damaged to be repaired, but cared little.
He turned toward Willem and added, “My apologies for the chair, sir, but I happen to like my face, although it is not as pretty as yours.”
Before Willem could respond, Aldric spoke again, “Now, if we could get back to the matter at hand. I have a few questions regarding Bronwen. How did she come to be here, at the Academy I mean?”
“Why would you think that I would answer any of your queries? Stay away from her, Aldric. Do not forget that even with what gifts that you may have acquired since last we met, you would still be no match for the one who watches Bronwen,” he hissed through gritted teeth.
“Did you not hear the message that her daughter sent? That all three of us would be needed. Do not discount my presence here, sir, nor my skills, as they might be needed,” replied Aldric.
Willem shook his head, although Aldric could tell that his words had not gone unheard by the master. There was much truth in them, even though he had not fully understood why he had come to Litusia. When he had read the letter from Kennet, a strange feeling had overcome him. Once he met Bronwen, the feeling returned, and, although he was not a man to act on whim or impulse, he had been drawn to the girl, to what she offered, to whom she would become. Even with the path that she walked. But, he felt needed for the first time since he had met Leorra.