The Embers of Light

by Tammy Farrell

  “No,” Drake said. “My son is the Keeper’s guard.”

  “You mean to tell me that you’ve taken the Keeper from her guardian? You know how dangerous that can be.” Silas said.

  Drake’s hands tensed. “There are few of us, Silas. My son had other matters to attend to. These are not like the old days. I am just as good as any to guard her. She is a daughter to me.”

  Silas’s mouth curled.

  Eira smiled gently, dismissing the tension between the two men. “Perhaps you could tell us why you’ve come to seek us out first,” she suggested to Mara.

  Drake’s eyes were dark with frustration, but he gave Mara an approving nod.

  “I have created new Dia,” Mara said bluntly. “Three mortals and a Halfling have received the Light.”

  Eira’s golden eyes widened. “That’s a dangerous game to play, Mara.”

  Mara nodded. “So I’ve been told.” She took a moment to gather her thoughts. “There is a magic being worked on me,” she said, “attacking me from within. Our friend, Ailwen…he has a level of power we can’t explain. His Light is black; he has control of the elements. It’s not what I’d intended,” she said. “I fear I’ve let something in.”

  Eira nodded. “The gateway is the reason the power of the coire has a Keeper,” she said. “Our Light comes from the gods, passed down through generations. But when new Dia are made, that Light comes from another place. It does not come from the giver, but rather, a sliver in time between this realm and the Otherworld. The Keeper cannot control what has been given.”

  “Once the dam has been lifted, one cannot choose which way the river flows,” Silas added.

  Mara stiffened. “Then what am I to do?”

  “You are the giver and the taker, Mara,” Silas said. “You hold both powers. You must take the Light back if you wish to right the wrong. Your only other option is to kill him. An unnatural Light cannot be left unchecked.”

  “Is there no other way?” Drake asked. “Must she take his Light or his life?”

  Silas gave a shrug. “If you suspect your friend to have a dark Light, then yes, she must.”

  There was a long silence between the four Dia. Eira and Silas kept a contemplative gaze on their guests, while Mara became lost in her own thoughts. If Ailwen’s power was strong enough to weaken her, what choice did she have? Taking his Light would be the only way to restore him, but if that didn’t work, could she kill him?

  The thought was completely unimaginable.

  She composed herself, pulling away from the menacing thoughts and looked up to the ancients. “How do I protect myself from the magic working against me? It feels as though I am being drained of life when it’s near.”

  “Act swiftly,” Silas said. “Waste no time in doing what you must, for if you wait too long, you may not have the strength to fight it.” His stare was hard, unblinking, and completely guarded.

  Mara took a deep breath and nodded, a sense of urgency descending upon her. “I think we should be going,” she said to Drake, who nodded in agreement.

  Silas and Eira rose to bid them farewell.

  “Please come and see us again,” Eira said sincerely. “We are honored to have the new queen in our home.”

  “Of course,” Mara said.

  “Draca,” Silas said, shaking Drake’s hand. “Take care of her. Now is your chance to set your wrongs right.”

  Drake nodded, avoiding Mara’s questioning stare.

  As Drake and Mara walked out the door, Mara turned to the ancients and said, “You never told me…how did you help my mother?”

  Silas paused for a moment, his youthful features steady. “We helped her kill our king,” he said simply. “We helped her kill Kain.”

  Mara nodded, consciously keeping an even expression as she turned her back on the ancients. She took Drake’s outstretched arm and walked out of the forest, moving in edgy silence until they reached the clearing. The horses still grazed in the waning sunlight. Mara put her hand on the saddle to mount but stopped and turned to Drake. “What wrongs must you set right?” This was more of a demand for answers than a question.

  Drake lowered his eyes. “I was a deserter,” he said, looking back up after a woeful breath. “I was a guard to Fáelán, your grandfather, the king of the Tuatha Dé Danann, and great-grandson to the Dagda.”

  Mara suppressed a gasp. The Dagda was the creator of the coire, the greatest king the Dia had ever known. “Why did you desert him?” she asked.

  “I left to fight with the Romans,” Drake said. “There was no more kingdom for us Dia. We were living in the shadows. And—” He stopped and reflected a moment. “It was a game of power with no end in sight. No one would win. I’ve told you I was a coward, Mara. I ran from it, left the guard, and when I finally returned, Kain was the new king.” He looked off mournfully. “I often wonder what would have happened had I stayed.”

  Mara nodded seeing the regret in Drake’s eyes. “So now you will right the wrongs by protecting me,” she said.

  “Yes,” Drake said without hesitation. “You wear the Ruler’s stone, therefore you are our ruler. I will follow you to the Otherworld if you command it. This time, I will not walk away.”

  Hearing this gave Mara a sense of comfort. While she’d just learned that she possessed a forbidden level of power, a revelation that should have unnerved her, there was a sense of calmness within that she couldn’t explain—like this power was always meant to be hers.

  When they reached the road, they mounted their horses. Mara sidled her horse next to Drake’s. “I trust you,” she said.

  Drake relaxed at this and gave her a grateful nod. “Not even a descendant of the gods is perfect, Mara. But I will try.”

  “Good,” Mara said. “Now, let’s get back to Ayrith. We have work to do.”

  She kicked her horse to a gallop and looked straight on as the wind blew against them. There was little time to waste. If Ailwen was stricken with a dark Light, she had to take it back, no matter what the cost.

  Corbin sat in the throne room for most of the day, his eyes cast down, mind racing, with his Dia sword on the table in front of him. He ran the tip of his finger along the blade, back and forth, while he thought.

  Waiting was driving him mad. He should have gone with Mara, should have left Drake to guard the vault.

  He was beginning to wonder if the vault needed guarding at all. It was inescapable, and besides that, Ailwen had seemed more like himself that morning, once again, challenging Corbin’s doubts with sincerity. It felt like things were coming at him from all sides and he didn’t know which needed his attention more. Corbin pressed his forehead to his clenched fists. What was he to do if he couldn’t even trust his own instincts? For all he knew, Mara was coming unhinged with her power, his oldest friend might now be his enemy, and Malcolm—the wretch—was likely roaming the world as a mortal.

  What had happened to their time of peace? How had things shifted so quickly? How did he let this happen? Corbin shut his eyes, replaying the last weeks in his mind, searching for answers. But none came to him. He didn’t know what was wrong with Mara and he didn’t know what was wrong with Ailwen.

  Just then his eyes shot up. He couldn’t explain everything, but there was one thing he was certain about…Malcolm was here, just below his feet. He turned his attention toward the hatch in the floor, eyed it warily, and taking his sword in hand, marched towards it, lifted the hatch, and descended the stairs.

  The corridor shortened under Corbin’s long, eager strides, his knuckles white around the sword hilt. He opened the door to the vault and stepped into the darkness.

  The body was exactly as he’d left it, laid out with arms at its sides, eyes closed, and only the faintest movement of breath in the chest.

  Corbin stared down at him—Malcolm, the wretch, his onetime brother.

  He lifted the blade and pressed the tip to Malcolm’s neck, pressing just enough to pierce the skin. A thin stream of blood tricked down, but when Corbin
pulled the blade back, the wound healed.

  “Damn it,” Corbin cursed.

  Mara’s spell still protected Malcolm’s life.

  Corbin pursed his lips, scowled and leaned his sword against the rock. There had to be some way to repay Malcolm for the gift of his malevolence. Corbin paused as Malcolm had once done over Mara—one the predator, the other prey. He glared down at the fiend with his fists clenched until the years of subdued anger, the years of hate seeped down through his limbs. Corbin let out a mad growl and struck Malcolm in the jaw with a fist like iron.

  The corpse didn’t flinch, making Corbin rage harder. His breath quickened and his body trembled as he hauled off again and struck Malcolm in the nose. The sound of crunching bone followed by a stream of blood ran from Malcolm’s nostrils.

  With the next blow, Corbin lost all control; his sense of restraint vanished as his fists hammered down on the body, one after another, blow after blow, crack after sickening crack, in a fury so violent, Corbin could no longer see straight.

  Each strike had a purpose, each assault was repayment for who Malcolm was, what he had done, and the trail of pain he’d left in his path.

  Blood covered Corbin’s hands; bones crushed beneath his fists, skin tore away from the motionless face.

  Finally, when Corbin was breathless and near exhaustion, he stepped back to examine the now mangled, completely unrecognizable pile of skin and bones that had once been Malcolm’s head. Corbin stumbled back at the sight of what he’d done, breathing hard. Then he gave a bitter laugh, for when he blinked, Malcolm’s face returned to normal, looking as though it had never been touched. The nose no longer sunken in, the eye sockets intact. The only evidence of Corbin’s attack was the spatters of blood on Malcolm’s shirt.

  Corbin laughed again, feeling a bit lighter in spite of himself, and sat in the darkness, leaning on the wall, staring at Malcolm.

  “I wish you were dead,” he whispered.

  He sat in silence for a long while when his head turned up at the sound of Annora’s shouts. Her tone was panicked as she called him again. Corbin didn’t hesitate. He grabbed his sword and raced from the vault, climbing the stairs three at a time until he came out in the throne room.

  “Corbin!” Annora cried out again.

  He followed the sound of her voice and came up beside her at the door to Ayrith.

  “What is it?” he asked, his eyes darting around.

  “Look,” Annora said, pointing down the mountain.

  A young man and woman walked up the path. Immediately, Corbin knew they weren’t human. In his crazed rage over Malcolm, he’d missed their presence, didn’t sense them coming. He’d been caught off guard once again.

  Ailwen appeared behind them. “Well, this is curious,” he said.

  Still holding onto his sword, Corbin glanced at Ailwen and the two of them raced down to meet the strangers.

  “Halt!” Corbin ordered, his sword drawn as he approached. The two strangers stopped in their tracks and held up their hands.

  “We mean no harm,” said the young woman.

  Corbin watched them carefully. The two could have been twins. Both had the same narrow bone structure, curly brown hair, the same hurried gait, and the same golden eyes. Mara had told him there were other Dia, but to see two, who’d just walked up the mountain, standing before him was unreal.

  Unsure how to proceed with the unexpected visitors, Corbin kept his sword drawn and his eyes sharp. “What do you want here?” he asked, exchanging glances with Ailwen.

  “My name is Seren,” the young woman said with a warm smile. “And this is my brother Tristan.” The young man gave a nod, less inclined than his sister to speak. “We’ve come seeking shelter with our own kind, having just escaped from imprisonment,” she said.

  Corbin frowned. “Imprisoned by whom?”

  Seren took a bold step forward, showing no fear. Corbin noted her tattered sleeves, and the dust covering her well-traveled skirt.

  “Slave traders,” she said. “When we managed to escape, we came north, and that’s when we felt,” she paused, looking for the right word, “others. We thought we might find protection if a clan was settled here.”

  Ailwen motioned to Tristan. “Does your brother have a tongue, or does he always let you speak for him?”

  Tristan smirked. “I’ve a tongue,” he said dryly. “But she has a better way with words.”

  The two were unarmed, and noticeably ragged; their clothes ill-fitting and worn and their leather shoes nearly shredded at the toes. Corbin’s first instinct was to turn them away. But how could he?

  Annora came down the mountain when Ailwen and Corbin lowered their weapons. At first her eyes were wide, surprised by the unexpected sight of new Dia, but then she smiled at the strangers and introduced herself with an extended hand. “You two must be hungry,” she said.

  “We are,” Seren said with a hopeful glance at Corbin. “Very much.”

  Annora turned to Corbin for instruction, but he had none to give. Should he grant entry to these two strange Dia, knowing nothing about them, or should he send them on their way?

  He took a step aside for a moment to think.

  “They look harmless, Corbin,” Annora said, coming up beside him. “At least let them get something to eat and a warm bed for the night. You can decide what to do with them tomorrow, when Mara and Drake return from the market.”

  Corbin exhaled and nodded. Annora had no idea where Mara and Drake had really gone, or why. “Very well,” he said. “But don’t make them feel too welcome just yet.”

  Annora beamed a white smile and quickly turned to usher in her new guests. Ailwen hung back, leaning on his sword, and his eyes fell on Corbin’s bloodstained sleeves.

  “Practicing your technique?” Ailwen raised a questioning brow.

  Corbin shook his head and looked away, finding it hard to hide his unease. Ailwen looked like the friend he knew, and sounded like the friend he knew, but no longer felt like the friend he knew. “I suppose,” he said dismissively. “Come,” Corbin said. “Let’s go see what stories these two have to tell us.”

  Corbin sat in grim silence as the two strangers occupied Annora and Ailwen with the story of their lives. They’d been peasants since birth and dragged through the realms by their mother. The two seemed honest enough, but in truth, if they were lying, Corbin had no idea how he’d know the difference. He’d encountered few Dia in his life, and knew little of what might motivate wanderers such as these.

  The young man, Corbin noticed, was the observer, always letting his sister speak, and only opening his mouth when called upon. Seren was the more talkative sort. Corbin didn’t think more than a minute would pass without her prattling on about something. She was charming, that was clear, likely a valuable tool during their travels, but Corbin was getting bored with the discussion, and wanted to go back to the silence with his thoughts.

  He drank back another tumbler of ale while Annora lit the candles on the table.

  “I thought there would be more of you,” Seren said with an inquisitive smile. “We sensed a strong power from the mountain. I’m surprised to find only three occupy it.”

  “There are more of us,” Annora said. “Barrett and—”

  Corbin cut her off before she could tell the strangers too much. “That power you felt…that would be Mara. She will return with my father by dawn.”

  With her elbows on the table, Seren rested her chin on her folded hands. “A Dia with a father. Is he an ancient as well?”

  Corbin looked her straight on. “He has not lost his mind to the ages, if that’s what you’re asking. But yes, he is a son of the centuries.”

  “Fascinating,” Seren said. “I look forward to meeting him.”

  “Ailwen has a father as well,” Annora said.

  Corbin gave her a warning glance and a slight shake of his head.

  “But he is no ancient,” Ailwen added.

  “I see,” Seren said, her gaze lingering on Ailwen
.

  When she caught Corbin watching her, she looked away and yawned. “I am very tired. I think perhaps it’s time we get some sleep. It’s been a long journey.”

  “Yes, of course,” Annora said. “Let me show you to your rooms.”

  “I think I’ll get some rest as well,” Ailwen said, pushing away from the table. “Have a good night, brother.”

  Corbin nodded and said nothing more as they left the room. When he was alone, a glacial sense of isolation washed over him. He let his head fall in his hands, fatigue flooding through his bones. But he couldn’t sleep. Not until Mara returned. Not with the strangers under their roof. He looked on the hatch that led to the vault. Not with the wretch right under his feet.

  The sound of footsteps echoed all around him. A sweeping winter chill hovered in the air. Corbin’s head shot up from the table, his mind in a fog of sleep. The candles in the throne room had all gone out, the heavy darkness pressed down on him. He scanned the room, seeing no one, but feeling eyes upon him. He stood, shook the sleep from his mind and pulled a dagger from his belt.

  The footsteps started again; light, clicking steps that came from every direction. Corbin whirled around, and from the corner of his eye he saw a white figure sweep past him. He turned, but saw only darkness. With a pinch of panic, he looked at the vault. The hatch was closed, the lock secure.

  He heard the footsteps again. They quickened as though someone was running away, and the flash of white dashed by the doorway. Corbin ran after it into the great hall and froze, the footsteps silenced, the white figure nowhere in sight. He circled the great hall, his eyes sharp, then headed for the chamber hall. Every door was closed but one. As he passed each door, he listened. No movement came from within. When he reached the open door to his chamber, he stepped in, eyes darting from side to side.

  When he found it was empty, he let out a breath and surveyed the room. A sense of ease came over him, his shoulders relaxed, and when he turned, Seren was standing in the doorway.

  “I heard commotion,” she said, her eyes falling on Corbin’s dagger. “Is it usual for you to roam the halls at night armed with a dagger?”