by Matthew Wolf
“Will I ever be rid of the darkness?” Gray asked.
Ezrah looked out the window. “Darkness will always exist,” he said, “but just as night needs day, all things have balance, and for that very reason a terrible darkness must always be met with a brilliant light such as yours.”
Ezrah opened the door, and Darius leapt back having obviously been eavesdropping. He grumbled and then moved off, standing beside Ayva. Along the walls were a dozen Reavers and an equal number of Devari. At their head, Meira waited, her ever-present friend, Finn, never far from her side. His grandfather turned back to Gray and spoke with a wise smile, “In the end, my boy, life is always a knife’s edge, whether it is written in prophecy or not.”
A Game of Elements
GRAY MOVED CLOSE TO HIS GRANDFATHER’S side, watching the man’s white robes whisk along the desert streets. Not far behind, the others trailed, moving beneath the moon’s dappled light.
An army of Devari and Reavers.
Despite the time of night, citizens of the great desert city still moved about as well—though many secluded themselves in their homes, for the tension in the air was all but palpable.
It was clear this was a night for blood.
Ezrah, however, with the aid of a dozen Reavers, had used the element of moon and cloaked them all in shadows. It felt strange upon Gray’s skin, as if a dark cloud clung to him. Ayva and Darius rubbed at their arms as well. Only Zane seemed at home in the strange shroud of gloom. And Faye, of course.
They entered a simple alley. Gray breathed a sigh. Immediately, he recognized where they were. It was cold and dark like any other. High above, clotheslines held drying garments of green, blue, and red, with a yellow moon in contrast. A memory of a day long ago sifted back to him.
He looked around. The alley was empty save for the tall, tan brick walls, and hanging clotheslines high above. On his left, in the damp sand lay the pendant. He grabbed it and rose to his feet, moving to leave when he felt something. Gray looked back. There, in the shade of the alley, lay the sword. He sheathed it and with a deep breath he stepped forward into the desert street…
Gray’s vision snapped back to the moment before him.
He looked around to see if the others had noticed his reverie, but Ayva and Darius were just entering, looking confused, by the strange narrow alley. He felt a hand on his shoulder and saw Zane’s copper eyes.
“You all right?” the man asked, looking genuinely concerned.
Gray nodded. “This place… it’s familiar.”
“It should be,” Ezrah announced, ahead of him, coming to a stop. “It was your last memory as Kirin.”
The words were like a slap. A strange terror welled inside his breast, a voice and memory trying to bubble forth, but he pushed it down. Was that Kirin’s dread? But before he could ask anymore, the Arbiter lifted a hand. A block suddenly slid inward, as if someone had punched the seamless clay wall with a square hammer.
A transporter, Gray realized.
Abruptly, a sphere of purple appeared in the air and hung, suspended and weightless.
“A transporter?” Meira questioned, stepping forth, shaking her head of dark hair. Her scarlet robes were freshly cleaned, her three-striped cuffs in stark contrast to the bright red cloth. “Why here? I thought all of them were contained to the Citadel.”
At her side, Finn scratched his head as well. “You never cease to amaze, even for a man of your rank.”
“But more importantly, where does it lead?” Reaver Ethelwin asked, her head held high, stately as ever, looking down her sharp nose. Her eyes glinted with intelligence. Gray had grown accustomed to that expression, passing her in the halls of the Tranquil House. It was neither cruel nor kind, simply unyielding. Reaver Dagon was at her side, only a hair behind—as if both four-stripes had argued where they would stand in position to Ezrah and had resolved this particular arrangement. The four-stripe Reavers bickered like cats, despite their power and rank.
“A valid question,” Dagon echoed. “This transporter looks as if it hasn’t been used in decades. It could be faulty—if so, it could land us on the top of an ice-capped mountain, or place only half of a person in one location, and the other half somewhere else entirely.”
At Gray’s side, Darius shivered and mumbled, “In that case, I vote to go last.”
“It works,” Ezrah declared firmly.
“But—” Dagon began.
Arms folded inside his billowing white sleeves, the Arbiter cut Dagon and Ethelwin’s objections short with a mere glare.
“How do you know?” Ayva asked softly.
Ezrah looked to Gray. “It’s been used before. Two years ago to be exact, and by my own grandson.” All in the alley eyed Gray. He felt the weight of their stares—powerful Reavers, menacing Devari, and his friends, each questioning. He held his stance, unwaveringly, but still he had no answer. “If I can trust his life to it, I can trust yours.”
“Enough delaying,” Faye stated, striding forth smoothly, “Who’s first?”
“I’ll go,” Gray said. He felt their eyes on him as he stepped into the waiting sphere. As if suffocated in stone, the purple haze vanished around Gray, leaving behind the cold, wet alley, replacing it with a warm room and stone walls. The walls were lined with books, an elegant white desk sat in the corner, and against a large window that showed a keep cast in shadows was a table. Upon the table sat a board game, pieces laid upon the checkered surface as if the game were in progress.
“This place…” he whispered. It was beyond familiar.
He heard a vwoom sound, and he leapt back as another purple sphere appeared, filling the room. The sphere dwindled and in its place stood Ayva, Darius, Zane, and Hannah.
Darius gripped his stomach. “That… was unpleasant…”
Ayva simply looked around, mystified. “That was incredible… I’ve read stories about transporters, but my spirits, I never thought it would be like that!” She suddenly took in the room, eyes wide. “What is this place? It has the look of a library.”
With one hand, Darius gripped his leaf-blade sword as if there were hidden enemies behind the ornate bookshelves. “I don’t like it… It feels like magic.”
Ayva smacked his hand. “Can you stop that? The desk isn’t going to attack you.”
Darius grumbled but let go.
“It’s Ezrah’s room,” Gray declared, scanning the chamber.
The four turned to him curious. “How do you know that?” Zane questioned.
“Your memory has returned?” Ayva asked, touching his arm warmly.
“Not yet, not all of it at least…” he admitted, but what he didn’t say was that it felt as if his memories were a deluge of water held behind a dam. And that dam was on the verge of bursting.
Kirin was about to return…
Fondling a glass figurine upon the board shaped like a small, orange flame, he knew he’d played it before. It was a game of hidden tactics. A game of war—it felt like a fitting metaphor for what they were here to do.
“What is that?” Darius asked, nodding to the small flame.
Gray opened his mouth to answer when a deep voice intoned, “Elements.”
All turned to see Ezrah. A group of Reavers stood behind the Arbiter: Reaver Ethelwin and Reaver Dagon included, Reaver Meira and Finn not far either. Among others, Faye was there as well, watching him with her mysterious black-rimmed eyes.
“Quaint,” Faye snorted, eyeing her surroundings.
Soon enough, all of their forces were amassed in the dark halls with long windows that overlooked the grand Citadel, and Ezrah spoke. “We shall form two groups—one to search the grounds for resistance while gathering those not yet swayed by Sithel to our side, and the other faction will head directly to the prisons to release our shackled brothers and sisters. I shall lead the second company, while Gray shall lead the first.”
Gray froze. Me? He eyed his grandfather. He opened his mouth to object, but before he could, Ayva, Darius, and Zane joi
ned his side, Hannah included. A group of Devari joined them as well, and a smattering of lower-rank Reavers. They stood behind him, their expressions hard.
Dagon spoke. “Surely, I, or Reaver Ethelwin, or even another should go with the boy—he is your grandson, my Arbiter, but still he is just a boy.”
“He’s right,” Gray said. “Another would be more suited to the task than I.”
Meira stepped forward, Finn close behind. “I will go with the boy.”
Gray gave a breath of relief as she joined his side.
Ezrah nodded and the two groups exchanged looks. “Once it is done, we shall meet at the northern entrance of the Citadel. May the winds be at your sides,” his grandfather declared.
With that, they split, heading down opposite halls.
“Come,” Meira voiced. “This way.”
Gray wasted no time, moving quickly with the others at his side.
“Where are we?” Ayva asked as they ran.
“The restricted halls,” Finn replied. “None but the most powerful are allowed here.”
Ayva swallowed, not in fear but in awe. Darius shivered and Zane merely looked purposeful, his hand upon his blade’s hilt. Gray took in their surroundings as they moved. The halls were sparse, aside from dark stone that seemed to pulse with magic, as if thousands of Reavers had left their mark upon the stones. Twice, he saw rooms that were huge libraries with limitless ceilings and endless rows of books. As he passed, the musty scent of ancient tomes wafted forth. Windows to either side showed more glimpses of darkened courtyards or stone ramparts, familiar and yet not. They continued on and a strange feeling filled Gray, growing with every step. It was in the very air—it felt lifeless, absent of laughter, chatter, or the warmth of another.
A feeling of absence.
He saw Meira and Finn react too, as if their scarlet robes itched.
They breached the dark halls suddenly, appearing in a white courtyard with grass and alabaster stone statues. In the center sat a pool with a huge statue of a flame—sigil of the Great Kingdom of fire—spouting water, and the Citadel’s Star of Magha, drawn in red tiles in the water’s shallow depths.
Finn looked around, puzzled.
“This doesn’t seem so dark and dangerous,” Zane declared, scratching his stubbled jaw. Hannah was close at his side. The two hadn’t parted more than an arm’s length since their reunion.
“Because we aren’t in the upper halls anymore. In fact, this is the Neophytes’ Chambers,” Meira explained. “Or it was, for whatever is going on here is not normal. We were preparing for an attack, but this is much worse.”
“This… this isn’t right,” Finn agreed.
The others, Devari and Reavers, seemed equally unnerved—a few of each running off to scout.
“I don’t get what’s going on,” Darius said. “What’s all the fuss?”
“The room is empty…” Gray said, lifting a hand to the air, feeling its coldness. It felt strange, as if he was reading both the ki and the flows of wind at the same time. “Whatever used to be here is gone.”
“How long?” Finn asked.
Gray breathed in the scent, using his ki and his nexus. He almost thought he could feel the emotions on the air, stale and faint, but there. Fear. Sadness. Chaos. There was no sensing how long it had been. At last, he shook his head, frustrated. “I’m sorry, I can’t tell.”
Darius growled. “Would someone mind telling me what in the seven hells you’re talking about?”
Reaver Meira answered darkly, “This room is empty, and it’s not supposed to be. Women, men, and children normally fill this room with life…”
A chill ran through Gray, and he saw the others give equal reactions.
Ayva eyed the surroundings, sidling closer to him. She wrung her silvery dagger in her hands and spoke, hopefully, “Perhaps Sithel simply took them elsewhere?”
Two Devari returned, breathless.
“What did you find?” Gray asked
“Nothing,” the Devari answered. “A few dead, but that’s it. They’re all gone.”
“Gone…” a few others whispered, Reavers and Devari.
Gray gripped his nexus with anger and stillness, searching. The wind flowed along the halls, running through hollow courtyards and vacant halls. Sheets ruffled from the wind’s presence upon tousled but empty beds in a hundred different rooms. The ramparts were clear as well. No guards. Nothing. He retreated back into his body with a gasp, opening his eyes. The others were looking at him curiously. “It’s empty—all of it,” he announced. “Not a single sign of life.”
The others shook their heads, baffled.
“How is that possible?” questioned a short, brown-haired Reaver with two-stripes upon her cuff. “There must be some life—something!”
“I speak the truth,” Gray answered.
“Then what now?” Zane asked at Hannah’s side.
“We must do what we set out to do,” he pronounced. “We will join the others at the Citadel’s entrance once they have rescued the prisoners. Until then, we will search for any that I might have missed. Whatever the case, they had to have gone somewhere.”
“He’s right,” Meira said. “Besides, we’ve dawdled here long enough. Come,” she ordered, leading the way.
As they moved, Finn joined his side. “It seems you have a knack for sensing what’s ahead,” the Reaver said insinuatingly.
“Is that a question?” Gray asked.
Finn lowered his voice. “Is it truly wind?”
Eyeing the Reaver, judging if he could trust him but knowing Meira had—and for some reason he trusted Meira—he at last nodded. He was no longer afraid of the wind and its power, but he realized that in this world it was a banished element. As such, others seemed wary of him, as if debating whether to treat him as a demon or a spirit. Glancing over his shoulder, the other Reavers and Devari gave him strange, almost brooding looks. “It seems it’s not as common as I expected.”
“Wind is a banished element as you know,” Finn explained. “Many fear what they don’t understand, but do not blame them. Their hearts are in the right place. But a word of advice if I might?”
Gray nodded for the man to continue.
“I would be cautious with that power of yours if I were you,” he said. “The world may be less forgiving of a man who threads wind… A man who reminds them of The Wanderer.”
Gray felt sweat flash across his brow, but he remained silent.
As he moved through the Citadel, he realized the truth of what he’d seen. Absence. The quiet was thundering. Ayva and the others stayed close as they moved, as if hoping to banish the silent night with the sound of their breaths. Moonlight lit the eerie courtyards, shining like a gravesite without headstones.
They passed a dark hall, and he slowed.
The others stopped.
“What is it, Gray?” Ayva asked.
Gray looked down the hall, gaze narrowing and his vision racing towards a wooden door at the end of the hall. Something pulsed inside him, like fingers gripping a string within his heart, pulling him towards the door. He listened. Distantly, he felt the others following.
Zane fell in at his side as he reached the door. “Do you sense someone inside?”
He shook his head. “Not someone, but something. What is this place?”
“This is the Neophytes’ Quarters,” Reaver Finn stated.
Gray gripped the door knob, and his arm began to tremble. His heart hammered in his chest, but he wasn’t scared. It was Kirin. He twisted the handle but it was locked. He felt a hand on his shoulder as Zane pulled him aside. “Allow me,” the fiery man said, raising a hand and a bolt of fire blew open the door, wood shards flying through the air.
“Agh!” Darius exclaimed, coughing from the cloud of dust. “Real subtle. My favorite characteristic in you, Zane.”
Zane snorted, uncaring.
The other Devari and Reavers stood behind them. “Gray,” Meira said. “We have no time for this. We have to meet
the others and search for survivors. There is nothing in here.” Gray ignored her, leaping through the debris into the room, then with a thread of his power he used a gust of wind to wash away the cloud of dust, revealing a room set in pitch-black. A colored-mosaic window took up the back wall, though shattered. Boards were set over its gaping holes, letting in a faint, eerie wind that cut through his clothes and chilled him to the bone.
“Little cold and dark in here, isn’t it?” Darius voiced, rubbing his arms.
“Allow me,” Ayva proclaimed, eyeing Zane with a playful smile. Then raising her hand, a globe of light formed, golden and brilliant, bursting the shadows around them and revealing the room.
The others gasped.
The stone was stained a deep red, almost black.
Blood, Gray knew, and lots of it, as if a war had been fought. Someone had obviously attempted to scrub it away, but to no avail. On the sides of the walls, furniture lay shattered. Otherwise the room was barren.
A Devari cursed, “This room, it is forsaken… We must leave it at once!”
“What are you talking about?” Zane asked.
“So this is it then,” Finn said in realization, eyes tightening. “The room in which the last Leader of the Devari, Ren, met his end.”
“What happened?” Ayva asked.
“Ren was betrayed,” the tall Devari answered spitefully, hand on his blade.
Finn shook his head. “The truth is no one knows exactly, all we know are rumors.”
“What rumors?” Darius questioned.
Gray remained silent as they conversed. His arm shook at his side. What is this feeling? he thought in rising dread. Morrowil grew hot upon his back, rattling in its sheath.
Meira answered, “Rumors that a boy, a young Devari, killed his master and his brothers. But it is impossible—no single Devari, let alone a non-Sword-Forged one, could kill the Leader of the Devari.”
Gray closed his eyes and had flashing visions and searing emotions.
Scarlet robes. Flash. A beautiful face—Vera’s. Flash. A sword in her stomach, blood covering his hands. Flash. Dark tentacles. Flash. Blood-curdling screams, rending the cold air.