by Aaron Hodges
The crunch of footsteps distracted Braidon from his memories. Alana was approaching, her eyes downcast. He smiled, though it still felt strange, knowing she wasn’t entirely the sister he remembered.
“How did it go?” he asked, nodding in the direction of camp.
Alana shrugged and took a seat on the boulder beside him. “As well as could be expected,” she said, pulling her knees up to her chest. “I’m alive. It’s enough.”
Braidon’s heart twisted at her words. “Is it, though?”
She looked at him sharply, eyebrows raised. “You’ve grown bold, little brother,” she said. “Has your magic so changed you?”
Braidon frowned at her words, wondering whether they were true. He’d come a long way in the months since their escape. Though he remembered little of his old life, he sensed the boy he’d been was not much different than the sheltered child he’d become after their escape. But it was not his magic that had changed him; it was his time with Enala. Her training, her quiet faith; they had given him the courage he’d needed, in a way Alana’s protection never had.
“Not my magic, no,” he replied, biting his lip. “It’s…without you, I had to fend for myself. To grow, to master my fears.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there…”
“No.” Braidon grinned. “I’m glad you weren’t.”
He knew his sister’s protectiveness came from love, but her lack of faith had drained his own. Looking back now, he wondered whether he ever would have come to terms with his power, had she remained looking over his shoulder.
Alana’s face twisted with hurt. “Well, I guess I’ll be on my way then.”
“No, I didn’t mean it that way,” Braidon replied quickly. “It’s just…Enala showed me I was strong enough by myself.” He clenched his fists, allowing a trickle of magic to seep out. Shielded by the power he was already expending to conceal them from their father, it would not be detected by any nearby Magickers. “I even helped Devon, when the Baronians were preparing to attack him. I made him seem a giant, a hero that could not be defeated. And now…here we are.”
“I’m proud of you, little brother,” Alana said, though there was sadness behind her words.
He looked at her then, seeing her pain, and wondered what she had been through in the time they had been separated. Somewhere along the way, Alana had lost the fire in her eyes. He had glimpsed it for a moment, back in the settlement when she’d set the dragon on their father’s Stalkers, but it had not lasted. Bruised and beaten, her neck ringed by scars, Alana no longer seemed the unstoppable warrior he remembered.
“What happened to you, Alana?” he whispered.
She closed her eyes. “I remembered.”
“You remember who you were before?”
“No, I am who I was before,” Alana croaked. “And who I was with you and Devon and Kellian. It’s all tangled up, but I know enough now, enough to hate who I was. I deserve everything that’s happened to me.”
“No, Alana,” Braidon whispered. He reached out and gripped her wrist. “I wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for you.”
“Braidon…” Alana sighed. “I love you with all my heart. But that doesn’t make up for everything else I’ve done, the people I’ve killed, the lives I’ve stolen. You don’t remember—”
“Then help me remember,” Braidon interrupted. His heart pounded in his chest as he took her hand and placed it on his head.
Alana’s eyes widened and she shook her head. “No…”
“Please,” Braidon murmured. “There’s so much missing, I need to see it, to know the truth. Please, Alana.”
“What if you don’t like what you see?” He could see the doubt lurking behind her stony eyes.
“You’ll still be my sister,” he insisted. “It’ll be okay.”
Swallowing, Alana nodded. Her chest swelled as she drew in a breath, and he sensed her power building. He watched it grow in his mind’s eye, saw it swell to a bursting point, and then go from her in a rush, pouring down her arm and into him. He gasped at the icy touch of her power, but there was no pain, only a whispered voice, barely audible, as though heard from a great distance.
“Return to me, brother.”
All of a sudden, Braidon was a child, standing on the ramparts of the citadel, looking out over the wide expanse of Lake Ardath. Silver threads crisscrossed the plains beyond its waters, weaving through the countryside like some great tapestry of the Gods. To the east, he could just make out the three shadows of Mount Chole and its nameless brothers. Dark clouds swirled around their peaks, sending life-giving rain down onto the plains below. To the west, snow-capped mountains stretched across the horizon as far as the eye could see.
“It will all be yours one day, son,” his father was saying. “Yours and your sisters to rule.”
A hand rested on his back, powerful, yet reassuring. Braidon looked up at his father with love in his heart, but the Tsar’s gaze was fixed on the waters of Lake Ardath.
“It has been my life’s goal to make this land safe for you and our people,” his father continued, “but I am afraid.” His head dipped, his eyes closing for half an instant. “I am afraid I will fail you.”
“Father?” Too young to understand his father’s pain, Braidon reached out and gripped his meaty hand. “Are you okay?”
The Tsar glanced down at Braidon. Sadness crinkled the skin around his eyes. “No,” he muttered, as though talking to himself. “I have not failed, not yet. It will not come to that.”
Braidon shook his head. “What are you talking about, Father?”
A smile touched the Tsar’s face. He crouched beside Braidon, his grip tightening on the boy’s shoulder. “Do you trust me, son?”
“Of course!”
“Good.” The Tsar drew him into a hug. “I cannot fail, not with you and your sister beside me. Together, the three of us can do anything. With our magic, we will finally bring peace to this warring land.”
“But I don’t have magic.” At ten years old, Braidon barely knew his place in the world, but he had seen what those around his father were capable of, knew they could do things he could not.
“Not yet, my son,” the Tsar replied, “but I can sense it within you. One day, on an anniversary of your birth, it will appear to you. On that day, you must be strong, must be the master, it the servant. Can you do that for me, son?”
Braidon shivered, his father’s words filling him with an unknown terror. Yet he knew the answer his father expected, and nodded. “I can,” he said, trying to keep the tremor from his voice.
“Good lad,” his father replied, coming to his feet. He looked back out over the lake, a smile on his face. “Every step we take towards a new dawn, there will be those who fight against us. But we will not fail, the three of us. We will stand strong against our enemies, and bring a new era of light into this world.”
Braidon shuddered as the vision faded, returning him to the moonlit mountains. He looked at his sister, opened his mouth to speak, to ask about this new vision of their father, but before the words could leave his mouth he was swept away on a fresh tide, swallowed up by a new wave of memories.
Now, Braidon found himself standing in a familiar garden. Birds chirped, and the colours of summer were all around, in the scarlet of the roses and the blue of the sky, the emerald green of the grass lawns, and the smiles of the courtiers as they strode past. His thoughts swirled as he looked up and saw the towers of the citadel spiralling overhead.
Home.
A part of him rebelled at the thought, and yet he knew it to be true.
“Braidon, there you are!” He looked around and saw his sister walking towards him, a troupe of children following in her wake. “I told you not to go wandering off!”
Braidon scowled. “But I wasn’t doing anything, sis.”
Alana glared at him. “You’re too young to do anything, little brother.”
“I’m older than half of them!” he insisted, gesturing at the other children. �
��At least let me practice with them.”
His sister frowned, and he sensed her resolve wavering. Braidon leapt on the opportunity with both hands.
“Please, sis, I’ll be careful, I swear!”
Alana rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she growled in her sternest voice, “but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She gestured for him to join the other children.
They made their way back to the training grounds, where the others collected their practice swords and formed two lines. They eyed his sister nervously as she strode past. Braidon lingered on the periphery, wondering whether Alana had truly meant what she’d said.
Wandering over, she flicked her own practice blade into the air, caught it by the blunted blade, and offered it to him. “You sure you’re ready, little brother?” she asked, one eyebrow raised.
Braidon nodded eagerly and took the sword before she could change her mind.
“Be careful with it,” she said, a patronising smile on her lips. Before Braidon could say anything, she spun towards the other children. All semblance of kindness left her face. “Anish, get your ass over here!”
A young boy further down the line leapt to obey. “Yes, ma’am!” he said as he joined them.
“Take your new partner through drills one and two. Make sure he’s up to speed,” Alana snapped.
She walked away before either boy could reply, leaving Braidon staring dumbly at his new sparring partner. The boy nodded, though Braidon didn’t miss the fear lurking behind his sea green eyes. As Alana turned, Anish took Braidon through several blocks and counterattacks with the blunted swords, while the other children began to spar.
Braidon was surprised by how quickly he began to pant, the subtle movement required to change stances and heft the heavy blade surprisingly exhausting. Within minutes, sweat was dripping down his forehead, but none of the other students so much as paused for a rest, so he kept on, determined to finish what he’d started.
As he shifted back into the defensive section of the drill, his foot slipped on a patch of mud, and off-balance, he toppled forward. Anish cried out, but his blade was already flashing forward. His head low, Braidon cried out as the blunted edge caught him in the back of his skull. A brilliant red light blinded him and the strength went from his legs, sending him crashing to the ground.
Darkness swirled and for a moment he lost consciousness. When he came to, his sister was crouching over him, her brow creased with concern. She reached out a hand and helped him to sit up. A groan whispered up from his throat as he saw the other students standing in silence, their faces pale as ghosts. They remained behind as Alana helped him to the healer’s wing of the citadel, where a kindly man took away his pain with a touch.
Back on the hillside, Braidon smiled at the memory of his sister’s concern, even as other memories streamed through his consciousness. Alana had been there through them all: fierce and overprotective, but also caring and compassionate, always ready to defend him.
Then a frown touched his lips. The memories from that day in the gardens continued to flow, streaming through his mind in an endless torrent. He witnessed again the drills, experienced the training, the trips into the forests, where he learned to hunt and fish, to survive. In all those memories, Alana was harsh and unyielding, showing no student other than Braidon an ounce of kindness.
But it wasn’t her coldness that scared him, nor her anger or cruelty to those who crossed her. It was the absence he saw now, the missing face he had never noticed in his selfish youth. Because in all the memories he recalled, in all the countless days since his first lesson in the royal gardens, he had never seen Anish again.
At least, not until that fateful day in Lon, when the demon had appeared on their ship, and tried to return them both to their father. Despite the years since their fateful training session, Anish had not aged even a day.
Only his eyes had changed, the sea green giving way to the pitch-black of the demon.
Bile filled Braidon’s throat as he staggered to his feet. Alana rose with him, her eyes wide with concern, but as she reached for him he threw her back. Scrambling from the boulder, he slipped on the smooth rock and went crashing to the ground.
“Braidon!” Alana stumbled after him, hands outstretched.
“Stay away from me!” he gasped, holding up his hands to fend her off.
His emotions swirling, he tried to stand. Pain spared his wrist and he was forced to use his other hand to push himself back to his feet. He stared at her, eyes wide, horror wrapping his stomach in iron bands.
“What did you do to him?” he asked. “To Anish?”
Her eyes widened, then dropped to the ground. She shook her head. “You know what I did.”
“Say it!”
“He hurt you!” Alana shrieked. Her head snapped up, her eyes aglow in the moonlight. “So I sent him to our father, to be tested, to be judged.”
“And he failed,” Braidon murmured.
“He failed,” Alana agreed. Her eyes softened and she staggered.
“He failed,” she said again, though her voice was touched now by horror. She closed her eyes. “Like so many others.”
“How could you?” Braidon whispered.
“Braidon…” Eyes wide, Alana reached for him.
“Don’t you touch me!” Braidon screamed.
Tears streaked Alana’s cheeks as she watched him back away. Recalling what he’d felt for her just moments before, Braidon wondered how he could have been so blind. He saw now her overprotective nature came not from love, but a twisted sense of possession. Alana had done whatever she could to ensure he did not mature, that he remained innocent, and therefore malleable.
Even if it meant robbing him of his own past.
“Stay away,” he said one last time.
Turning on his heel, he fled down the mountainside back towards the camp.
Chapter 27
For four nights, the Baronians delved deeper into the mountains, their desperation growing with each passing day. With the Stalkers behind them, they could not turn back, yet as the winter closed in, many began to flag. Their supplies dwindled, and they were soon forced to abandon their wagons, the way proving impassable for even the boldest horses. The paths grew narrower as they pushed higher into the snow-capped peaks. In the thin air, men and women struggled, and the weak to die.
Though she kept to herself, Alana could sense the resentment building amongst the Baronians. They had started this journey on a whim. The attack on the Tsar had been an act of defiance against the man who had driven them from their homes. Only now did they realise they might pay for it with their lives.
By the fifth day, a ritual had developed in the mornings, as those who had passed in the night were counted and laid to rest. Finally, on the sixth day, they reached the peak of the winding gullies, and began back down into Trola.
Through it all, Devon kept on, refusing to show the slightest hint of weakness. He led them through the mountains with his head held high, often with the ancient hammer in hand, as though the weapon could somehow fend off the creeping cold that had stolen so many of his people’s lives.
He walked ahead of Alana now, his gaze fixed on the top of the next bend in the gorge. While he showed no outward sign of his pain, Alana was not deceived. She saw glimpses of it in the way he had begun pushing everyone else away, in his sudden bouts of rage when someone questioned him. More than anything, she wanted to go to him, to ease his grief. But while they had developed an uneasy truce, anything more remained beyond them.
As for Braidon, she had hardly seen him since the day on the hillside. Alana had watched him from afar though, seeing how the magic took its toll, and wishing she could help. Their survival rested on his shoulders, on his ability to keep the Tsar and his Stalkers from tracking them with his magic. While their father himself had departed, she didn’t doubt he continued to search for them. If Braidon’s magic faltered…
She sighed, forcing her mind back to the way ahead. Her brother had made it
clear he wanted nothing to do with her. The knowledge ate at her, but she couldn’t blame him. She had done terrible, unforgivable things. Each night, memories of the children she had sent to their deaths haunted her. It didn’t help that the Tsar had given her no choice, that she had done it to protect Braidon from his darkness.
Because Alana knew in her heart that she had enjoyed it, had savoured the power she held over her charges, the fear she saw in the eyes of the commoners. She had been the Daughter of the Tsar, her power unrivaled, her nobility unquestioned.
Thinking back on the woman she’d been…
“Hello, princess.”
Alana’s head jerked up as a gruff voice came from alongside her. Her heart quickened, but her excitement gave way to disappointment when she saw it was only Joseph. They hadn’t talked since she’d joined the camp, though she hadn’t been surprised to learn he was still around. If Devon could set aside his enmity for her, why not a man he’d fought in mortal combat?
“Princess?” Alana asked archly.
Joseph raised an eyebrow as though to ask if she thought him stupid. Her cheeks warmed and she quickly looked away. “Fine, but keep it quiet, Baronian.”
“Of course.” Joseph chuckled, but his humour didn’t last. As the laughter died away, he looked at her again, sadness in his eyes. “I’m sorry about the old woman,” he said at last.
Alana swallowed. She tried to speak, but the words lodged in her throat. Shaking her head, she looked to where Devon still strode at the front of the column.
“I wish he’d saved Enala instead,” she managed.
“Heard you and the big man were lovers once,” Joseph said.
Alana’s head whipped around at his words. Her boot caught an unseen rock and she tripped, and would have crashed face-first into the mountainside had Joseph not caught her by the scruff of her tunic and righted her.
“No!” She burst out finally, flashing the giant a glare. “We were not!”
Joseph wore a broad grin on his bearded face. “That so?” he chuckled, before setting off again along the trail. “Coulda fooled me.”