by Jenny McKane
Everard shook his head impatiently. What was wrong with him? He was achieving all that he had dreamed. He was a Grey Guard, a privilege few could hope to gain. It was his ticket out of poverty, but to achieve it, he had to lie.
For he had been born Stromel. If they ever found out, he would be dismissed instantly, if not punished. No Stromel could serve as a Grey Guard – there were very strict rules. His dreams would all turn to ashes. He could not let that happen.
He watched an old man stumbling along the road, barely able to walk. The old man was rasping and finally collapsed outside a stall. Everard quelled the instinct to go to him and see if he could assist. No guardian would ever do such a thing. He frowned and turned in the opposite direction. His horse was tethered not far from here.
He would head back into the city and seek out Avalon. He needed to talk to her, but his heart was so heavy, it felt like a stone in his chest.
He knew what he must do. Commander Vasslo’s orders had been succinct. He had never dreamed that he would be in this position, having to do this. The conflict that he felt tore through him. He gritted his teeth. He had worked so hard to be here, and he couldn’t let anything sabotage that. It was that simple.
He wished that he could believe it.
Everard turned the horse around, spurring it down the roads, heading back to the city.
***
Avalon collapsed into the large cushions scattered around the floor of the living area. It had been a long and trying day. First, having to endure the ceremony. And then, the unexpected tour through the palace, led by Agnor himself.
But the unexpected tour had made it all worth it. The book. She had to figure out a way to get that book.
She leaned back into the cushions. It would not be easy; in fact, it was almost impossible. The palace was well guarded, obviously. Even getting into the palace would be extremely challenging, and then she would have to gain access to the Control Room, which was guarded as well. The chances were slim that she would not be caught.
But, as hard as she thought about it, she could not see any other way. She could build on the fledgling relationship with Agnor and try to see if she could be assigned to the Control Room. Gain his trust. But that would take weeks, if not months, of careful work, and there was still no guarantee that she would gain his trust and be assigned there, and she didn’t have the time. Skyresh and the others were going to be executed, sooner rather than later.
It had been a stroke of luck, noticing the book. Almost a sign. She could not afford to waste the opportunity. She might not get another. She frowned, closing her eyes.
“Avalon! You have a visitor.”
Avalon’s eyes flew open. Her mother was standing over her, a bright smile on her face. Mother was dressed in her usual resplendent fashion. Today, she wore a sweeping gown of lavender silk with intricate braiding on the bodice. For the first time, Avalon wondered how much work had gone into that gown and who had made it. A poor Stromel woman, probably, who had been paid a pittance. All so that her mother could look grand.
Avalon sat up. “A visitor? Who is it?”
“A very handsome young man,” said her mother, her smile widening. “Come, he is in the drawing room.”
Avalon stood up. Her mother cast a critical eye over her, pulling at her gown, which had bunched up. Then, she slowly circled Avalon, tucking some stray hairs back into her bun.
Avalon jerked away impatiently. “Mother! Stop fussing!”
Her mother frowned. “Avalon, you must always strive to look your best,” she said. “Especially for handsome young men. Who knows where it could lead?”
Avalon nodded, sighing. “Yes, Mother,” she said in a bored voice. She had been hearing this forever. It was one of Mother’s life missions, to secure a rich and powerful husband for her daughter. Marriage and family were the only things that a good Jarle girl was supposed to want in life, after all.
How was it, that she had only ever desired to be a warrior, with her mother and father always telling her the opposite? That she should strive to be a proper Jarle lady, whose only ambition should be catching a good husband. She was so different from them, Avalon thought, as she followed her mother into the drawing room. As different as the sun was from the moon.
Everard was standing there, looking somewhat awkward in the grand room. He was gazing around, his eyes wide. Avalon took a deep breath.
“Everard,” she said, smiling.
He turned to her. “Avalon.”
Her mother hovered between them, smiling uncertainly. “Avalon, aren’t you going to introduce us?”
Avalon sighed. “Mother, this is Guardian Everard Varr, who was my partner on my first mission. Everard, this is Mistress Lund, my mother.”
Everard bowed. “It is a pleasure, Mistress,” he said.
“The pleasure is all mine,” sighed Mother, batting her eyelashes. “You must be so brave, Guardian Varr. Thank you for looking after my daughter, out in that awful place.”
Avalon’s smile tightened. Why did her mother assume that Everard had looked after her? They were equals, warriors with the same training.
“We looked out for each other,” Everard smiled. “Your daughter is very brave, Mistress. I have rarely met anyone more fearless.”
Mother smiled. “Yes, well, she was always a tomboy, wanting to play fight with her brother. I suppose that has helped her, doing whatever it is that guardians do.”
Everard nodded. Silence filled the room.
“I should leave you young people alone,” said Mother. “Guardian Varr, it was a pleasure. Please, do come again.” She swept out of the room.
“Sorry,” muttered Avalon. “She can be a bit over the top.”
“She seems charming,” said Everard. He gazed around him again. “You have a very fine home, Avalon. I don’t think that I have ever been in such a place.”
Avalon nodded. “Yes, it is all about status,” she said tightly. “Only the best. Mother redecorates every room regularly. She models them on rooms in other Minister’s homes. The wives are competitive, in that way.”
Everard stared at her. “You are lucky that you have never wanted for anything, Avalon.”
“I suppose I am,” she replied, gazing around the room, trying to see it through his eyes. It suddenly felt oppressive. She had to get out of here.
“Would you like to go for a walk?” she said, turning to him. “Perhaps we could just wander. I am feeling restless.”
“Of course,” said Everard.
She put on her heavy winter cloak, and they walked out into the streets of the city. Avalon could feel his eyes on her, but she tried to ignore it. It was true what Mother had said. He was very handsome. She knew that most young women would give their eye teeth to be seen with him. His declaration of love hung between them, almost a weight that she could not shoulder now.
She had to stay focused.
“Avalon,” he said gently. “I know that you are not ready to discuss what I brought up, but I want you to know that I will wait for when you are ready.”
Avalon sighed. “You shouldn’t wait for me, Everard. I hardly know what I feel anymore.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized the truth of them. How did she feel about Everard? She knew that she was attracted to him, but he was a loyal Grey Guard, and they could never hope to share that same passion anymore. He would continue to go on missions for the realm, never questioning what he did.
He frowned. “You have changed, Avalon,” he said. “And it is something to do with what happened, in the Far North. I can sense it.”
“Have I?” Avalon smiled. “I suppose going through something like that does change someone.”
Everard stopped suddenly in the street. Snowflakes fell around him, spots of white on his black hair and cloak.
“Tell me,” he whispered.
Avalon stared at him. There was no way that she could tell him anything. He would be honor-bound to report her, and then he would feel awful, considering that h
e had declared his love for her. She would be putting him in an impossible position. Everard was devout, just as she had been. She had never sensed any conflict within him. To him, it was black and white. He was firmly on the side of the regime.
She wished for a second that she could tell him. That she could sway him, and together, they could formulate a plan to get the book. The chances were higher for success if two of them were working together, rather than her doing it alone.
But no. She would be signing his death sentence, as well as her own. They would both become enemies of the realm. She couldn’t do that to him, even if he could be swayed. And she didn’t think that he could.
“I’m just exhausted,” she said, smiling gently at him. “I should rest before Commander Vasslo calls me in for another mission.”
He continued staring at her, but eventually he nodded. “If you say so,” he said. “But remember, Avalon, that I am always here, if there is anything that you do need to talk about. I will not judge you. You can trust me.”
She nodded. “Of course, Everard. I admire you, you do know that, don’t you? And I respect you. You are a fine guardian. If things had been different...” Her voice trailed off, into the wind.
Everard reached out, stroking her face gently. His hand was cold on her skin. Avalon almost felt like weeping. It was still hard. She knew what she had to do, and she was resolved, but it didn’t make it any easier. She was about to lose him, and everyone else in her life. Her family. Her friends.
They would all disown her. She would never be able to contact them again – if she survived. She was about to put a torch to the whole life that she had ever known.
“It’s going to get dark, soon,” she said, wrapping her cloak tighter. “And it’s cold. I should get home, Everard.”
“Yes,” he said, still staring at her. His dark eyes were sad. “I should get back, too. I am staying at Headquarters, on the other side of the city.”
Avalon smiled, sadly. “Well, who knows, Everard? We might be assigned together again, one day. Have you heard what your next mission will be?”
He shook his head. “Not yet.” He didn’t look at her.
“Stay in touch,” she said, the words hanging in the air. She turned, walking swiftly away from him. Don’t look back, she told herself.
Everard stared after her for a moment. Then, he slowly walked in the opposite direction.
Avalon kept walking. She knew that she had no time to waste. She would go home and change out of this stuffy dress and back into her usual clothes. She would pack a small bag and hide it somewhere close, where she could grab it quickly. She was resolved that it must happen tonight. Time was ticking, and she would have a greater advantage under the cover of darkness.
She let herself back into the house, careful to not make a sound. For a moment, she stared around, at everything that was familiar to her. She would not be seeing it again, she knew that.
As she walked softly down the hallway, she hesitated. She could hear the voices of her mother and father in the drawing room. Should she go and talk to them before she left? One part of her resisted. They would try to get her to join them for the evening, and she did not have time. But another part of her told her that she should. She would probably never see them again. She tried to quell the distress that rose in her chest at the thought.
A good bye. Yes, they deserved that. They were puppets of the regime, and they had always tried to control her. They had never wanted her to become a warrior, but they were still her parents, after all.
She walked further down the hallway, stopping just outside the room that they were in, her hand on the door knob. Just as she was about to turn it and walk inside, she stopped.
Her heart started to thump, wildly, as she listened to what they were saying.
***
Skyresh stared at the grey walls of the cell that he had been thrown into without really seeing them. He had been here for three days now. Three long days, where the only thing that had broken the monotony was the guard coming in to bring him food and change his bucket. He had no idea whether it was day or night anymore.
Strange things had started to happen. Sometimes, he saw the Goddess materializing like a shaft of light before him. He would reach out his hand towards her, but she always melted away just as he touched her. She never spoke. He had no idea whether he was having a vision, or if his mind was starting to play tricks on him. He had heard that it could happen to people who were locked up by themselves indefinitely.
He knew what they were doing to him. They had not been able to break him in the interrogation room. They had branded him with a hot poker and beat him until his face was a bloody pulp, but he had not said a word, so now they were trying to break his spirit another way.
He had no idea what they had done to the others. He had seen Minna briefly before they had thrown him into this cell. She had been stumbling, supported on either side by guards, barely able to walk. Her feet were a mess of jellied red.
Skyresh crouched in a corner, desperately trying to think of a plan, but it was so hard. He was weak and starving. The food they gave him was minimal, barely enough to keep anyone alive, and he only had a small amount of water.
He blinked. He could see, clearly, an old man that he had once known, sitting across from him. The old man had been a Wandering Storyteller, who would travel from settlement to settlement, keeping the old stories alive. When Skyresh had been small, he would always look forward to when the Storyteller would come.
Skyresh watched him. He had a long grey beard and flowing grey hair. His magenta gown swirled around his feet, and he held a staff in one hand. He was exactly as Skyresh remembered him.
“Why have you come to me, old one?” he said, staring at the man. He felt a shiver go through him from the top of his head to his toes.
The old man chuckled. “It is not for you to ask such questions,” he replied. “It is enough that I am here. You are weak, my child.”
Skyresh rubbed his neck, wearily.
“You must stay strong,” the old man continued. “Did I ever tell you the story of the owl who flies in the sky?”
Skyresh shook his head. “I have heard of owls, but do not know much about them.”
The old man smiled. “In the old days, the owls were warriors who flew into the skies to aid the Anasta warriors in battle.” He paused, clearing his throat.
“I will tell you the story of a special owl. His name was Samkeit, and he was the companion of a great warrior Queen, who was called Aliza. On the day that the dark army advanced into the realm, Samkeit flew above Aliza to aid her in the battle. The bond was strong between the two of them. So strong, that Samkeit almost knew what Aliza was thinking, even before the thoughts came into her mind.” The old man scratched the floor of the cell with his staff as he talked.
“But on this day,” he continued. “Samkeit was troubled. He could barely hear Aliza talking to him, as they got closer to the enemy. He knew that he could not save her. Suddenly, he was compelled to fly away from his Queen. He flew back, over vast skies, his wings leading him. He did not know where he was going, or for what purpose.”
Skyresh’s eyes started to close. He was so very sleepy. The old man’s voice was lulling him…
“You must listen, Gwalen,” said the old man, prodding him with his staff. Skyresh jerked awake. Where was he? Then he remembered. He was in a cell in the camp, and an old Wandering Storyteller had appeared before him.
The old man resumed his tale. “Samkeit kept flying until he came to a river. He circled above a large stone, a stone which held special powers. He watched as the old Queen carry the youngest onto the stone. The youngest Queen was just a baby, who had not yet been named. Samkeit hovered in the air above them, knowing what the old Queen was about to do.”
“What was the old Queen doing?” Skyresh whispered.
“She was trying to invoke an old spell,” the old man said, “to banish the dark army, once and for all, but it was doomed t
o fail. The dark army was too strong. Samkeit watched in horror, as the army took the Queens before the spell was finished. The old Queen was killed. And Samkeit watched as the sword was raised to kill the youngest.”
The old man took a deep breath.
“But as Samkeit watched, he saw another man walk into the clearing. He took the baby, staring at it. He decreed that he would take the baby and give it to his wife, who was unable to bear children and was wasting away with the sadness of it. He would raise the baby as his own daughter, and she would never know that she had once been an Anasta Warrior Queen, the last in a long line, who had ruled Masgata since the dawn of time.”
Skyresh frowned. “Why are you telling me this, old man?”
The Wandering Storyteller smiled. “You have met the Queen who was unnamed,” he said. “You have always known in your heart. It was why you spared her life. You have always known that she is either your greatest ally, or she is your greatest enemy.”
Skyresh stared at him. “Avalon?” he breathed. “You are saying that Avalon is the youngest Queen?”
But the old man was fading before his eyes. Skyresh leapt up, trying to grab him, but his fingers clawed at the air.
“Come back!” he shouted. “You must tell me more!”
Skyresh panted, collapsing onto the ground. The cell door suddenly slid open, and a guard stood there, staring down at him contemptuously.
“Talking to yourself, Gwalen?” The guard spat onto the ground. “First sign of madness, they say.”
The guard kicked him, causing Skyresh to writhe in pain. The guard laughed then walked out of the cell, slamming the door behind him.
Skyresh stared up at the ceiling. Was he going mad? Or was it another vision, and the old man was telling him something very, very important?
He sat up, slowly, his eyes opening wide. Avalon. He had to get to Avalon. He had to find a way to get out of this place and soon. He had to save himself so that he could save her.