by Lucy Smoke
This time I can’t stop the scream in my throat because I remember the guard backhanding me for lying and dragging little Ashia out of the room crying. She was banished from the castle later that night, I recall when Madam Armaita flicks her fingers through the clouds to move on. She had been badly whipped and the holy women had urged her to take a vow of charity with them because her new limp would not allow her to work elsewhere in the kingdom. Even though she could have married and moved on if she so wished, she was never the same afterwards. She had remained with the holy women even when she came of age and continued her charity work, forgoing all material wealth in favor of helping others. It was a noble cause, but heartbreaking because I knew she felt like it was all she had left.
My anger grows as the reel spins further. I’m still young, asking Coen for self-defense lessons and training. My nails bite into my palms as the reel finally comes to a standstill on the day that I received Obidian.
“Here we are.” I’m coming to realize that Madam Armaita isn’t talking to me as she mumbles. Even though some of her minor comments are irritating, they fade as I watch my life on repeat through the clouds.
The man—Obidian’s original host— stands with shadows under his eyes, unfocused and clouded. His blond hair is shaggy and too long on one side while the other side is short, almost shaved and there are markings and scratches along that side as though he had yanked the hair out himself. He looks exhausted and when the rope dangles around his neck, he doesn’t even flinch. No last words are said when the King orders his death.
The view turns to King Matric for a moment as my head turns in the memory. The King’s son, Prince Edwin, is just behind him. He looks nothing like his father other than their matching bird noses.
While the King is slightly bulbous and balding, Edwin is reed-thin with thin but long greasy hair pulled back from his face. His eyes are alight as he watches Obidian’s original host dangle and twitch. I shudder as I flinch away from the small smile that appears on his face. Then, my whole world upends once more as I feel Obidian’s voice all over again for the first time, telling me to run, to get away.
My head throbs and my temples burn, blood slips over my upper lip as my nose begins to bleed. I’m crying as he tells me to run and I am. My feet are pounding on the stones of the streets I’ve known my entire life. I’m no longer floating in Madam Armaita’s office. I’m back in Matric’s Kingdom and I am terrified.
My soles are sore, my face bleeding, and the white houses blur as I run through the streets. My legs are pumping as Obidian urges me to safety. Where do I feel safe? I can think of no place that I can hide, but there is a person. There’s Coen. I turn a corner and head for Coen’s shack. The one he rents from the holy women. The red door is in my face and before I can cross into the house, I come to a stop.
Tears are soaking my shirt. I’m crying so hard, I can’t breathe. And a phrase is running through my head, stuck on repeat in Obidian’s deep throat tone. I can’t stop the chant as it rises forward and I look for something to help me. There’s a broken nail to the right side of Coen’s red door. I pick it up and without asking myself what I’m doing, I begin to carve the phrase into the wood.
“Through the shadows, we walk hand in hand with spirits and are once again reborn.”
“Interesting…” Madam Armaita’s voice breaks my trance and I’m no longer drowning in the memory. “But, I think that’s enough of that. Let’s skip the rest and go to the future.”
I’m shaking when she flicks her long nails over the clouds and I gasp, trying to hold my lungs in my chest as I’m flung into something that’s completely new. It’s foreign the touch of an image of myself that moves. I can feel the cold fog on my face, the slightly sweet air swirling in the wind that wipes across my skin dispersing that fog. The wet tears on my face, but I’m too young to understand why I’m crying.
I want to ask if it’s important, the image we saw, but she cuts me off as she begins to explain what will happen next. In real time, I struggle to reach up and wipe away the tears that have inadvertently escaped. My limbs are so heavy they make the action impossible, so I leave the soaking salty remains to linger on my cheeks.
“This is merely a representation,” Madam Armaita says. “It may not happen exactly like this or at all depending on your actions…” I can barely hear her, her voice coming at me from the end of a very long tunnel.
In the clouds, I am older. Not by much, maybe a few years, maybe less. I certainly look older. My face is paler, my eyes tired, shadows haunting them. There is a man walking at my side. I look at him, examine him. He’s at least seven feet tall. He absolutely overshadows my small frame and his skin is like living onyx. His skin shimmers with scales and black wings protrude from his back. They are the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen, like immaculate stretched leather over bone. The only color on him is visible when he opens his mouth to talk to the older me at his side. The flash of pink of tongue and the whites of his eyes are all that break up the never-ending darkness of his skin.
His hand comes out to caress my cheek and to my surprise, the me in the image doesn’t flinch away from the stranger’s touch. Instead, the me in the picture leans into it. My face finding relief for several moments as he talks to her—to me— comfortingly. Tears break free from my cheeks both in reality and in the future depiction. Something hurts so deeply, a loss that I feel in my very soul. Obidian shifts in my head in the real moment, but it’s weak. He cannot see through my eyes what I can. I frown as I watch. But, his eyes merely hold understanding and a strong compassion.
“Everything comes at a price.” The dark figure in the image is telling me. “Even this. Choose wisely.”
“How can I choose?” The desperation in my voice sounds bizarre coming from me. But the look on my face–the face before me–reflects just that. I’m discontent as I stare at the me above my head. Her eyes water as more tears slip down her face. “How could I possibly choose?”
“Only your heart has the answer,” the dark figure replies. He’s fatherly, much older than he looks. There is wisdom in his words. It infuses every syllable that escapes his lips. The image me snorts and I choke as I lay there, my tears turning to happy ones. That sounds more like me. It’s good to know in the future I’m not completely different.
“My heart is stupid.” There is wistfulness in her tone though. It’s clear that she already has an idea of what she wants to do. Something is stopping her–me. I wonder what she could be trying to decide.
“We must talk about—” I blink up at the image as Madam Armaita slaps the clouds and the scene is disrupted.
“What are you doing?!” I cry out as heat lights a fire to my back. The heaviness keeping me in place is disrupted as well and it ricochets up my back, ripping away painfully. I sob as the fire soaks through my clothes and ties me tighter until my throat closes and I fear I may suffocate.
“Oh don’t be so melodramatic,” Madam Armaita snaps and the pressure releases and I gasp as air fills my lungs over and over again. “Now, deeper we go. Close your eyes. I can’t reveal everything about your future, now, can I?”
I do as she says, turning the scenes that have already been revealed over in my mind. Obidian is tired, his exhaustion fills me and I feel myself begin to drift in a whole new way. My mind fogs as Madam Armaita begins to chant something. Light flashes behind my eyes and everything feel heavy. Moving my pinky feels like lifting a building. So, I don’t. I let myself drift. There’s something oddly comforting about giving myself over to the feeling.
Faces flash behind my closed eyelids. First Coen’s, his strong features. The dark hair, the gray eyes. His bulky presence a comfort. He so rarely smiles and only ever for me. Then Titus, whose eyes are pools of open sky white flecks breaking the otherwise pure color.
Him. Obidian whispers.
Holden is next. Dark brown eyes peering out from creased eyes that are cut into the shape of his skull. Dark hair curling over one side of his forehead, a
grin forming across his face. Obidian repeats Him just before Booker replaces Holden’s face. Booker’s intelligent green eyes watch me, curiosity and understanding circling their depths. A hand reaches out and touches my face. When Obidian whispers Him again it’s fainter, as though it’s a struggle for him, but necessary.
Booker’s image wavers and somehow I know it’s not Booker anymore. Despite the lack of change in features, Luca is the only one who can smile like that, a grin transforming his face from one of seriousness to one of mischievousness.
“Nerys?” My eyes pop open and I’m lying on the couch in the main room. Holden and Titus peer over the side at me as Luca sits to my left.
“Your spirit guide is bound.” Madam Armaita’s voice draws the attention of the room. She’s seats herself in the big plush chair between the two windows of her sitting room.
“What does that mean, bound?” Titus asks. Luca remains quiet as she answers, his hand running up and down one of my arms. I grab his fingers over his tenth pass of elbow and he jerks his gaze to mine, relaxing when he realises I’m okay and his gaze returns to the Madam.
“It must have been something dreadful, an action against the laws of daimons and spirit guides for him to be bound as he has been. If it were easy to kill a spirit guide, he might have been. But, as it is not, this was likely a punishment. He is still able to do his spiritual duty as a spirit guide and fill his host with feelings, emotions, and sometimes power, but for the most part his abilities have been severely restricted.”
“Is this why he hasn’t been able to talk to her besides a few sentences or words here and there?” Luca asks.
Madam Armaita’s face softens as she gazes him before she answers. “Yes. It’s also likely why she hasn’t developed any abilities as of yet.”
“Abilities?” Holden looks down at me curiosity before returning his attention to Madam Armaita.
“All daimons are gifted with abilities–usually a power that already resides within them. Sometimes, they are even able to tap into their spirit guide’s powers. It’s not encouraged.”
“Why?” Titus asks. “If they share a body, why wouldn’t she want to use what she can, especially if it can help and protect her from harm?”
“It’s dangerous because it’s not her ability, meaning her control over it is iffy at best.” Madam Armaita frowns at Titus. “There was a daimon many centuries ago that was able to tap into his spirit guides power and it corrupted him.”
“Corrupted him?” I say. Surely it couldn’t be so bad. I agree with Titus, if we share a body then my power is his and his is mine. I thought that’s what it meant to have a spirit guide. To be one. “Isn’t my power the same as his?”
“No, it is not,” she snaps. “This daimon’s spirit guide was an Ice Phoenix in a past life, but the daimon’s ability was the exact opposite. He was a fire wielder, an elemental human. The two abilities collided within him and drove him to madness.” Her voice grows dark and the sun shining in from the windows seems to dim under the seriousness of the subject, the air in the room feels colder.
“He leveled entire cities, murdered hundreds, and was practically unstoppable. He sucked his spirit guide’s very essence away so that his spirit guide became crazed as well. They performed horrible acts, always wanting more power, always wanting more blood.”
Madam Armaita’s face is blank, devoid of emotion, her voice smooth but empty of depth. “It always depends,” she continues. “On the person itself, on if they can handle that kind of power. Theirs or their spirit guide’s. Never both. Never again.”
I have to know. “If he was so unstoppable,” I say. “How did he die?”
Madam Armaita blinks and the icy feeling in the room drops considerably. Her gaze finds mine. “His spirit guide had to be ripped from him. Once we separated him from his spirit guide, transporting the poor dear into a new body, he was entombed. It’s the only way they can be killed. It took many lives just to accomplish that, but once it was done, the host was able to be put down.” She says it, referring to the daimon as though they were a wild animal and in a blinding moment of fear, I see myself like that. A wild animal being hunted and put to death. “The host was still powerful, but he was considerably weak after having his spirit guide ripped from him.”
Great, I think. So, if I ever wanted to be free of a spirit guide, I’d die. That’s lovely to know. Madam Armaita stares at me as though my thoughts are on full display. Curiosity pushes me to ask something more.
“What was his name?”
“We don’t speak it. It’s a sign of disrespect to the thousands of people he killed to say it. But, if you must know, his name was Judas.”
“How can we unbind Obidian?” Luca asks, drawing the conversation away with a steel tone as he squeezes my fingers with his. Madam Armaita shrugs tiredly, her face more haggard than it was originally. The ceremony or spell or whatever she had done to me must have taken more from her than I realized.
“I wouldn’t know.” She sighs. “I’ve never performed a binding or an unbinding myself, nor have I been present for one.”
“You must have some idea, Madam.” Luca leaves my side, his hand slipping away and leaving my fingers feeling cold. He bends to a knee at her chair and her face is absolutely taken with him. Her wrinkled fingers come out and trace his cheek.
“If I were looking for something so rare, I would look in the records of the Pharaoh's Library,” she finally says.
“What’s that?” I whisper to Holden as Madam Armaita says something in a much lower voice to Luca so that the rest of us cannot hear. He nods his head to her as Holden leans over the back of the couch and answers me.
“It’s a library in Cephei, the city of Phoenixes. It’s said to hold all information regarding fire elements and creatures.”
“Why would we go there?”
“Because your spirit guide has a fire ability,” Madam Armaita speaks up.
“How can you tell?” I would have known if there were a fire burning inside of me. Wouldn’t I? Would I be able to tell? Madam Armaita stands from her chair, brushing Luca aside as he attempts to help her up. She strides over to where I rest on her settee couch and I sit up, looking into her eyes.
“You have a burning in your eyes,” she says, gazing down at me. “It fills with a beautiful determination when you look at your soldiers.”
“My what?”
She gestures around her to the boys. “These boys are not just your friends, little daimon. Your spirit guide has chosen them as your soldiers, your protection.”
“Why would I need protection?” Her hand touches my face and I almost jerk away, but her fingers bite into my chin, holding me steady.
“So many questions,” she huffs. “Your ability must be extremely powerful if your spirit guide is in his bound form and is still able to pull this many potentials around you. You’re like the sun and they, your planets. Even they can’t help but feel the pull to you.”
I shake my head. The very idea is preposterous and I want to tell her she’s wrong...if only I felt as though she were. Despite how ridiculous it all sounds, there is a ring of truth to her words. Like I’ve been looking for the answer to an equation for months and once she’s given me the right answer, I can see that this was it the entire time.
“Do other daimons have them?” I ask.
She nods. “On occasion they will be drawn to particularly powerful daimons. It usually happens over time though, not all at once. This was likely brought on by the combination of your special circumstances. Your spirit guide is bound and therefore is unable to protect you as much as he normally would and considering the threat you’ve been under— I have heard about that King of yours, it only makes sense that he would send for help.”
“He’s not my king,” I say. “Not anymore.”
Luca nods to the Madam as he comes over and extracts me from her grip. Holden and Titus watch Madam Armaita with fascination. Despite her comment about Matric, their appearance in my life so sud
denly makes sense. I still dislike the phrase she used, calling them my soldiers. As though we’re about to become a battalion in a war none of us knew anything about.
“Thank you for your help, Madam Armaita,” Luca stands and bows over the smaller woman, pressing a small kiss to her smooth cheek.
“Anytime dear, you know you’re welcome here.”
The sky is bleeding into sunset when we leave, the blue washing away as red and orange overtake it. My temple is pounding and the inside of my skull feels like the good freaking Madam took a sledgehammer to it and beat my brain half to death. I’m sure when I lie down tonight, my brain matter will start leaking out of my ears. Holden wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me closer as the crowds heading for the platform get even more impenetrable as we move forward.
A little boy runs out from between people’s legs and crashes into Luca. We all jerk to a halt as the boy looks up at Luca and hands him a small piece of paper before dashing away again.
Titus, Holden, and I watch as Luca unfolds the paper and reads it. His face morphs from relaxed to tense within a split second and his green eyes jerk up to mine.
“We need to go now.”
Chapter 6: The Escape 2.0
My lungs scream for a reprieve as I follow Luca and the guys through the streets of Ragnarok. My ribs protest against the strain, legs pumping harder and harder as Luca picks up the pace. With every inhale and exhale, my throat burns as air slides in and out. Buildings blur in my peripheral. Titus and Holden slow down to stay on either side of me. Am I the only one dying here? They aren’t even breaking a sweat.
Luca leads us through the throng of people at the train station and out into another shopping plaza. He hasn’t said a damn word since he announced that we had to leave several minutes ago and we’ve been on the move ever since. I can’t keep up this pace. Their legs are twice as long as mine so I have to work extra hard just to be able to stay with them.