by Lucy Hounsom
He paused. ‘I became increasingly estranged from the citadel. My first loyalty was to Kierik and he was not welcome in Solinaris. The Wielders feared him almost as much as they feared the empire, though he gave them no cause to do so.’
Remembering the frightened faces of the Sentheon, Kyndra disagreed. Kierik had not disguised his desire to rule. And who there could have stopped him?
‘All Kierik wanted was peace,’ Anohin continued with a catch in his voice. ‘To create a world where no one power could grow to dominate another. He saw it as his destiny. Was that so wrong?’
‘I am the instrument of peace,’ Kyndra murmured, remembering. She didn’t know what she felt at finally learning the identity of the man on the mountain, the man who had altered the flow of history. And the question remained: why was she sharing his memories? She glanced up at Anohin to find the Yadin white-faced. He was staring at her, as if seeing her clearly for the first time. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.
‘Nothing,’ Anohin said, visibly collecting himself. ‘For a moment you reminded me of— Never mind. Talking of this has dredged up memories.’
‘I’m sorry.’
Anohin held up a hand. ‘Don’t be. I have lived too long to permit myself such weaknesses.’
‘So if Kierik’s plan worked,’ Kyndra said after a moment, ‘why is he the way he is?’
‘Medavle.’ The colour returned to Anohin’s cheeks in a rush. He began to pace, constricted by the small room. ‘Kierik knew that separating Rairam from Acre would take all he could draw from the stars without killing himself. He needed another source of power to destroy the Sartyan army on his soil.’
Anohin stopped, staring straight ahead. ‘I agreed,’ he whispered, as if reminding himself of the fact. When he looked back at Kyndra, wetness gleamed in the corners of his eyes. ‘Though we are creatures of flesh, the Yadin lack the spark of life. We were a race created from cosmosethic energy and it is that energy which lives in our blood and keeps our hearts beating.’
They are unnecessary things, these Yadin … mere constructs, the result of the Wielders playing at being gods. Kierik’s cold thoughts came rushing back to Kyndra. Except for Anohin, of course … She looked at the Yadin standing across from her. What had Kierik meant when he’d said that Anohin helped to keep the human part of him alive? And did Anohin realize just how much Kierik had despised the rest of the Yadin race?
‘How many of you were there?’ she forced herself to ask.
‘We were five hundred,’ Anohin answered. ‘Men and women. We came to consciousness fully grown and our only purpose was to serve the Wielders, our masters.’
‘But you served Kierik.’
‘I was different.’
‘In what way?’
‘I only ever served Kierik,’ Anohin said. A shudder ran through him. ‘I … I was drawn to him, to his strength and his vision. And even though he was a Starborn, he let me stay, he didn’t send me away. It was then that I realized I could never leave his side. And I never have,’ he added softly.
Kyndra swallowed. ‘So you knew what Kierik planned to do with that book. You knew it would—’
‘I knew it would destroy us.’
‘And yet you still stood by him?’
‘I was willing to give up my life to see Kierik’s purpose through.’
‘But the others,’ Kyndra demanded. ‘Were the other Yadin as willing to die?’
She watched the answer slide like dark poison between Anohin’s lips. ‘No,’ the Yadin said tonelessly. ‘They didn’t know; not until it was too late.’
Disgust and disbelief drove Kyndra to her feet. ‘So you let him kill them? How could you? They were your own people!’
Anohin watched her. ‘After five hundred years,’ he said, ‘the regret has not left me. And yet …’ His expression became distant. ‘Kierik used their power to destroy the army outside the walls of Solinaris. Without their sacrifice, he might not have had the strength, and the killing would have continued.’
It was too much for Kyndra. She gazed at the man before her, unable to grasp the horrible depths of his loyalty to Kierik, to a person so unfeeling. ‘The people living in Rairam weren’t given a choice either, were they?’ she asked. ‘Kierik treated them just like the Yadin. What if they didn’t want to be separated from Acre, from the rest of the world?’
‘You don’t understand,’ Anohin said sharply. ‘If you had seen the empire and the practices enforced, you would not say such a thing. Kierik sacrificed himself for the greater good.’
‘He didn’t intend to sacrifice himself, though – he built himself a world to rule. The only things he chose to sacrifice were the lives of innocent people.’
They faced each other across the small room. Anger had chased the shadows away from Anohin’s eyes. ‘You haven’t answered my question,’ Kyndra said. ‘Why is Kierik the way he is? You said Medavle had something to do with it.’
‘Medavle overheard us discussing the plan. He thought, much like you –’ Anohin’s voice was bitter – ‘that separating Rairam from Acre was too drastic a course.’
‘What could he do to stop it?’
‘Nothing,’ Anohin said bluntly. ‘He was strong, but he couldn’t defeat a Starborn. And when he heard about the fate Kierik had planned for the Yadin, he knew his own life was soon to end.’ He clenched his fists. ‘I did not know,’ he grated. ‘I saw him near the archives, after he’d planted his revenge. He was agitated, but I did not guess why. If only I had—’
‘His revenge?’ Kyndra interrupted.
‘Medavle is cleverer than me,’ Anohin admitted. ‘I had not realized the extent to which he’d explored his own abilities. He laid a trap for Kierik in the archives, a trap made of the same energy that Kierik planned to siphon from the Yadin. He drew it from his own veins and set it to seize on the first person who walked through it, knowing it would be Kierik.’
‘What did the trap do?’
‘Medavle used his own life force to bind himself to Kierik. It was risky, but I don’t think Medavle cared whether he lived or died, as long as he brought Kierik down. When Kierik set the book’s instructions in motion, the Yadin began to die. A black wind they couldn’t see stripped away the power that gave them form. Afterwards, I found nothing left of them, just empty clothes. It was as if they had never been.’
Anohin spoke harshly, a shield against his memories. ‘But when that wind touched Medavle, it couldn’t take him. Kierik was absorbed in his new world, in killing the Sartyans. He didn’t see that the wind, unable to consume Medavle without first consuming him, had turned. I was there.’
Kyndra stilled. This was where the vision had left her.
‘I was there,’ Anohin said again. A tremor shivered through his body. ‘I knew something was wrong, for I had felt the touch of the wind upon me, though Kierik’s protection prevented me from being destroyed. It should have faded after consuming the Yadin, but it did not. It returned to Kierik, seeking Medavle, and tore through his mind – shattered it.’
Anohin’s voice broke. ‘He fell to his knees. I can still hear his screams, like echoes down the years. The wind ripped him apart, scattering his reason beyond recovery. And he was still tied to Rairam, tied to his new world. What happened to one, happened to the other. The breaking of Kierik’s mind still resonates across the land, even to this day.’
‘What?’ Kyndra whispered, stunned. ‘Do you mean the Breaking?’
Anohin smiled bleakly. ‘The Breaking is Medavle’s legacy, his curse upon a world whose creation he opposed. He has had his revenge.’
As if on cue, a familiar wailing started up close by. Anohin moved quickly to the curtain. ‘Excuse me just a moment,’ he said, ‘I must go to him – I keep him near me these days.’ He looked back at her from the doorway and his gaze sharpened to a threat. ‘Now that you know Medavle’s history and the things he is capable of, follow my example. Stay away from him.’
The curtain fell back into place behind the Yadin,
its loose threads brushing the floor. Kyndra sat alone in the bleak cell and wondered whether the years had wreaked the same damage upon Anohin as Medavle had upon his master.
27
Brégenne turned her face to the light.
She stood in the day chamber, a small space bathed by tied Solar energy. Even at midnight, the heat here was like the noon sun. Exotic plants spewed their fronds across her path, forcing her to tread carefully. The fashion of collecting flora had become so popular that storing it and growing it was now the day chamber’s sole purpose.
Brégenne tilted her head and imagined a playful wind shaking light into leaves, chasing the ever-changing dappling on the boughs. She imagined a swift, or some bright bird, riding the thermals, circling into the sun. In her mind she saw a meadow, a town and a water mill lazily turning. She saw a mother bid a pale-haired daughter take care, to be back in the house before the afternoon’s end. She watched the daughter head alone into woodland, hands wrapping each tree, scooping flowers from the ground. The small group that followed her had darkness in their eyes.
She felt a sharp scratch on her arm. Brégenne looked down, grateful for the thorns that had broken her trance. Memories of summer were abhorrent, for they always led her back to the playful wind and the wildflowers. She inhaled the chamber’s sour greenery and tried to put the sunlight away, but it turned with her, clung to her and sank into hibiscus and rose, until all she could smell was its ripe truth.
The blood on her hands the night she returned for revenge had not been cleansing. It had felt gritty with self-disgust. She had thought it would bring her peace. But their screams had not satisfied, their pleas for mercy not warmed. They were her kin, they’d said, they had only done what was best for her, they’d said. Taking her sight, they’d said, would cure her of witchcraft. She wouldn’t have to worry about the moon, or how – under its light – she could sometimes do things other people couldn’t. They’d make sure she didn’t see the moon and all of that strangeness would stop. And so they followed her to the woods and they ignored her screams and they tore away all the beauty in the world.
Brégenne didn’t forget and she didn’t forgive, but in the end their deaths meant nothing. The only thing vengeance had given her was a prison, barred with memory, where the hot summer wind blew all year long and the wood beckoned and her torturers lived on.
She clenched her fists, but felt no pain from her short nails. A hot jumble of thoughts coaxed her back to the present.
I have failed her.
Kyndra had gone to the Nerian – Kyndra, whom she had brought here against her will. And with her had gone Nediah.
Brégenne screamed at the plants. It was a quick, stifled cry and she hated it as soon as it left her mouth. She pressed her lips together. That distant day was still with her, alongside the girl she had been, her anger and horror hammered into hard, foolish armour. Brégenne closed her eyes and felt a single tear on her cheek.
Time passed. The false sun slowly dimmed, granting the plants their few hours of darkness. Enough, she thought, the shade of the girl stirring inside her. She wondered what was happening in the Deep. What questions had Kyndra chased there and had she found answers with the Nerian?
Brégenne turned to leave.
A wave of force hit her without warning. If she hadn’t been holding the Lunar, it would have thrown her from her feet. As it was, she staggered, seeing the air ripple before her face. Almost immediately, a scream sounded, somewhere beyond the door. Strengthening her Lunar sight, Brégenne rushed from the day chamber, leaving its doors – heavily beaded with condensation – gaping open behind her. The scene that greeted her was one born from a nightmare.
Kyndra felt as if she’d awakened from a long, strange dream. Surely, if she pulled aside the curtain, she would find the steep staircase leading down from the attic to The Nomos. Reena would be there, chiding her for sleeping so late, red hair tied up in a kerchief to start the day’s chores. Jarand would appear from the cellar, dusty and smiling, a wink for Kyndra creasing his eyelid. Perhaps her mother would ruffle her hair, as she sometimes did, taking the bite from her reprimand.
An ache arose in Kyndra’s heart. Discovering the Breaking’s true nature would not reverse the destruction it had wreaked upon Brenwym. And how would that knowledge help her to stop its continued destruction of Mariar?
Alone in Anohin’s cell, she remembered the pouch she’d seen swinging from Kierik’s neck and her palms tingled. She wanted to touch the red earth again – it was yet another mystery and she added it to her list of questions to ask Anohin. Impatient, Kyndra pulled aside the curtain and followed the whimpering that echoed about the corridors.
She didn’t have far to go. The sounds came from behind a door, the first proper door she’d seen down here. It was fitted with a lock and stood ajar. Knowing she would have to face the madman again, Kyndra bit her lip and gently poked the door open.
Anohin knelt beside a large bed, but whirled immediately. His expression was so fierce that Kyndra stepped back despite herself. She tried to look unthreatening and slowly Anohin’s snarl faded. ‘No closer,’ he growled.
Kyndra nodded and looked around. This room was larger and far more comfortable than the Yadin’s. The bed had a soft-looking mattress, stuffed thickly with feathers, and two heavy bolsters lay on the carpeted floor. She noticed there were no sharp edges anywhere. The bedside table had blunted corners, as had the chairs and the small desk. What use was a desk to a madman? The lack of sharp objects and the furniture’s rounded edges were the only clues that hinted at the state of the room’s occupant. Kyndra looked at Kierik and wondered whether he had ever tried to kill himself.
Anohin turned back to his charge. One hand soothed Kierik’s back, stroking in large circles. The other held one of the madman’s curled fists. It seemed that the outburst was over, but then Kierik raised his eyes and saw Kyndra standing motionless in the doorway.
His gaze pinned her with the same intensity as earlier. And then Kierik let out a howl and thrashed about, kicking the quilt off the bed. Anohin shot her a glare, but Kyndra found she could not leave. The pouch hung in plain view on Kierik’s chest, jostled by his flailing. It was the same one – she was sure of it. She recognized the old, cracked leather and moth-eaten drawstring. Kyndra felt the earth as if she held it once more, bloody grains burning her palm.
Kierik stilled. His gaze had not left her. An expression, almost lucid, sharpened his scarred face. Then one hand rose and closed protectively around the pouch, hiding it from view. Without realizing it, Kyndra started forward, but Anohin was there, blocking her way. ‘Stay back,’ he ordered.
‘You stole that from Brégenne,’ she accused. ‘Why?’
Anohin shooed her out of the room and Kierik’s howling started up again. This time Anohin ignored it and closed the door behind them. ‘Do not go in there again.’
‘I don’t want to hurt him,’ Kyndra insisted. ‘I swore not to.’
Anohin’s shoulders lost a little of their tension. ‘Your presence here upsets him.’
Kyndra folded her arms. ‘Why did you steal the pouch from Brégenne’s room?’ she asked again.
‘I didn’t steal it. Kait retrieved it for me. The earth belongs to Kierik and was stolen by Medavle twenty years ago.’
‘So Medavle was here, then.’
‘Briefly, but I was careful to conceal myself from him. I wanted to be able to watch him without his realizing it. When he turned up here, I could hardly believe it.’ His eyes hardened. ‘You see, I had not known until then that Medavle had survived the fracture of Kierik’s mind – he’s linked to Kierik by the strands of his own life-energy.’
Anohin pulled off his gloves and tucked them behind his belt. ‘It is because of Medavle that I had to smuggle Kait out of Naris. I sent her to follow you on your journey here, to make sure he didn’t try to harm you.’
Kyndra stared at him. ‘You … ?’
‘Yes. I think Medavle came here for one reason
– the bag of earth. After he escaped with it, I tried to track him using my own brand of power, but he managed to disappear. It’s been only a few months since he resurfaced, and on the other side of the continent.’ Anohin’s look sharpened. ‘A farming community in the Far Valleys.’
Kyndra’s heart thumped in the silence. She remembered Medavle’s black eyes piercing her during the Inheritance Ceremony. She’d dreamed of them too.
‘What had he found to interest him in so distant a place? I wondered. It wasn’t until later that I knew the answer: you.’
Kyndra’s mouth dried. When she didn’t speak, Anohin continued. ‘I don’t know what Medavle’s plans for you are, Kyndra, but he is the chief reason why I’ve chosen to help you – why I’ve offered you asylum amongst the Nerian. Medavle is dangerous, unstable and still consumed with hatred for Kierik. At least while you’re with us, you won’t encounter him again.’
Kyndra kept her face neutral with difficulty. Was Anohin unaware of Medavle’s role in rescuing her from the second test? Didn’t he know Medavle was once again in the citadel? You are my hope, the dark-eyed Yadin had told her. But hope for what?
‘Why did Medavle steal the bag of earth?’ Kyndra asked slowly.
‘I don’t know.’ From the frustrated set of his face, she guessed it was a question that had troubled Anohin for a long time. ‘But the earth could be dangerous in the wrong hands.’ The Yadin’s eyes were suddenly sharp on her face. ‘It must stay with Kierik.’
‘Why?’
‘It is time to return to the hall,’ the Yadin said curtly. He strode off down the passage, leaving her in his wake. Startled, Kyndra stared at his retreating back.
‘Do you know why Medavle was at my Inheritance Ceremony?’ she asked, hurrying after him.
Anohin stared straight ahead. ‘I have suspicions, but nothing certain.’