Aster Wood and the Blackburn Son

by J B Cantwell

  My chest felt so tight that I could hardly force air to move in and out of it.

  “You?” I asked. “You killed all those people?” Images of skeletons burned black flitted in and out of my head.

  “Why, of course,” he said. He casually outstretched another finger towards Rhainn.

  I found I didn’t care one bit if I was falling for his trick. I took the bait.

  “No!” I shouted. The staff seemed to lift without any effort on my part, and I gripped it just as much as it clung to me, pointing it directly at him. My mind was suddenly full of every horrible memory, every fear, every ounce of hatred. And I poured all of it into the wood.

  The stream of power that exploded out of the end of the staff was just barely visible, a boiling jet of clear air that seared my face as I wielded it. It enveloped the Coyle, froze him in place, an unmistakable look of pain stretched across his face.

  It felt good. And the longer I held him there, suspended in a bubble of agony, the better it felt. The memories seemed to blend together now, flashing so fast it was like watching one long movie of misery, and I focused all I had on making someone pay for it. On making him pay for it.

  I slowly raised the tip of the staff, and with it the Coyle was lifted into the air, slowly rotating in space like some kind of sick decoration hanging from the frame of the tent.

  A soft sound tickled the edges of my ears, and I couldn’t place what it was. I could feel my face fall into a grimace, my teeth dry as my lips opened into a snarl. The sound came again, a muffled sort of cry. I focused harder, wishing him nothing but pain. Endless, eternal pain.

  Sobbing. It was sobbing I heard, and I faltered. The Coyle tumbled to the floor as my focus was broken.

  Rhainn lay in a heap, his breath coming in great heaving gasps between the thick tears that rolled down his face into the dirt. When the Coyle hit the ground, Rhainn looked up at me, and I could see in his eyes the way he saw me.

  He was terrified.

  I took a step towards him, but he immediately raised both hands in front of his body, as ready to defend himself as his broken spirit would allow.

  “Don’t come any closer,” he said quietly.

  I stood staring, puzzled. Couldn’t he see that I was fighting the monster who had imprisoned them?

  “Rhainn, no, it’s not what you think,” I said, taking another step.

  The Coyle lay motionless on the floor, but a small, weak laugh escaped his lips.

  “You are strong,” he said, almost a whisper. His strength was returning, but slowly. He rolled to one side.

  I turned back to Rhainn.

  “Let’s go,” I said, holding out one hand. My brain was slowly clearing, and I recognized that the opportunity to flee wouldn’t last. “It’s time to get out of here.”

  He tucked his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, refusing to look at me.

  “I can save you both,” I said, waving my hand. The Coyle was pushing up to sitting now, shaking his head, trying to brush off the curse.

  Rhainn looked up, and I could see the war raging in his mind. Whom could he trust? I turned to face him completely. I had to get him to me, but my own feet felt stuck in place. He started to rise from his knees, started to move in my direction.

  The attack came unexpectedly, and in a split second Rhainn was face down in the dirt again.

  “I think not,” the Coyle said.

  Unlike the first attack from the Coyle, this time Rhainn lay as still as the dead.

  I gripped the staff with all the strength I had and turned to the Coyle.

  “What did you do?” I shouted. I felt like my chest was splitting down the center.

  The Coyle didn’t answer my question. Instead, he raised his arms out to the sides, inviting my next attack. I felt the rage building again, the memories, and I wanted to feel that wonderful sensation of justice that came with hurting this disgusting man.

  Then, from the edges of my vision, I saw something that changed everything.

  Rhainn took a deep, rattling breath.

  And hope exploded through every cell in my body. The visor of Jade’s eyes flicked down over my vision, and the staff was suddenly difficult to hold. I raised it automatically, and pointed it at the Coyle.

  This time, the power that came off it didn’t burn. Instead it cooled my red face, blew air into the stifling tent.

  The Coyle’s face froze once more as the jet hit him, but the agony there was different. His was surprised, and I knew I had done something he hadn’t expected.

  Holding the staff up, keeping him suspended, I ran to Rhainn, kneeling down and shaking him with one hand.

  “Get up,” I said, frantic. “Rhainn, come on. It’s time to go.”

  “Get Cait,” he said, his voice croaking.

  “Huh?” I said. For a moment, I had forgotten.

  Cait.

  I turned and made it across the tent in three long strides. I knelt and scooped her little body up. She didn’t open a mouth full of teeth, like in my vision. She simply hung there, limp and lifeless.

  I ran back to Rhainn, who was trying to sit up now.

  “Come on,” I said, trying to heave him up by the arm.

  “No,” he said. “You take Cait.”

  “You’re coming, too,” I said. My arms were full, one holding Cait and the other the staff. The Coyle didn’t move a single muscle as he hovered in midair on the other side of the tent.

  “No,” he said, his voice rising. “Someone’s got to get rid of him.”

  “What?” I said. “That’s crazy. He’ll kill you.”

  “You promised me,” he said, “that you would take her.”

  “But Rhainn,” I argued.

  “You promised,” he said, his sad eyes falling onto his sister’s face. Her body was little, and I could now tell, starved. But already her weight was feeling heavy, and I hoisted her up on my hip. I could feel the beam of power start to shake the staff in my other hand. The Coyle was fighting it.

  “Don’t be stupid,” I said. “You won’t stand a chance. Get up.”

  Finally, realizing that Rhainn had no intention of following me, I did the only thing I could. I dropped the jet of power from the Coyle, stuffed the staff under my arm, and dragged Rhainn to his feet.

  The Coyle lay on the platform at the head of the tent, lifeless and still. Though not for long, I was sure.

  I gripped Rhainn’s arm and sprinted from the tent, bursting through the open flaps into the light of morning.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “Run!” I yelled.

  Fifty feet ahead of us, with no cry of war or any discernible command, the battle had begun. The army roared so loudly I thought my eardrums might burst. But they ran away from us towards Stonemore, and we were left, mercifully, unnoticed.

  I ran as fast as I dared, dragging Rhainn’s weak, uncoordinated body behind me. On my shoulder, Cait stirred, letting a little cry go and looking up at me, confused.

  I looked behind us, back towards the tent, and just the sight of it was enough to bring on a new wave of fear. Any moment now, he would come for us, glide through those flaps like a ghost and unleash his fire until our minds and bodies were burned just like the people in the mountain church.

  I pushed Rhainn faster.

  Boulders littered the ground, the very beginnings of the mountain range that stretched up on the other side of Stonemore. Rhainn was gasping now, nearly tumbling to the ground several times. I only had one choice.

  We reached the first set of boulders, and I let go of his arm. He fell to the ground, gasping for air, his face terrified. Echoes of clashing metal, the fighting just out of my field of view, assaulted my eardrums.

  “You stay here,” I said, moving his legs so that his entire body was hidden from view from the direction of the tent. He didn’t look at me. “Rhainn, listen to me.” I shook his shoulder and he looked up, dazed. “You stay here and I’ll take Cait somewhere safe. I’ll come back for you. Do
you hear?”

  He nodded, clutching his arms around his middle.

  “Don’t go anywhere.”

  I stood up and, with one last glance towards the tent, turned and ran full-out towards the protection of the trees.

  The world blurred as I bolted through it, the colors of the grass smearing with the small building blocks of mountains, clustering in tighter and tighter groups until, finally, giving way to the first hill. I slowed slightly, hopping over rocks and between bushes, trying not to jostle Cait too severely. Quiet whimpers escaped her as we dashed up the hill.

  But when we made it to the peak of that first little mound, I didn’t stop. I ran on, past five, six others, through slim valleys and groups of trees so thick I had to bust through the branches as I flew.

  Finally, when we had reached an area that was quiet and dim, hidden from the view of both Stonemore and the attacking army, I stopped.

  Cait was crying in earnest now, hot little tears staining white paths down her dirty cheeks.

  “It’s okay,” I said, panting. I headed for a section of solid rock, searching for a crevice where I could hide her tiny, frail body.

  It didn’t take long. Soon, I was setting her down. Her little hands clung to my shirt, and I thought my heart would break when I looked into her eyes, deep brown like her brother’s. I was frantic to get away, to get back to Rhainn. I knelt down before her.

  “Listen to me, Cait,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “I have to go back for Rhainn.”

  Her whimpers increased, and she opened her mouth wide, ready to unleash a wail of misery.

  “No. Shhh,” I tried to comfort her. I hugged her, and she wrapped her little hands around my neck.

  Under my shirt I felt a strange sensation, like a bug was crawling up my skin. Suddenly, I remembered the moth from the field.

  “Look,” I whispered into her ear.

  I put my own hands over hers, breaking their grip around my neck, and looked into her face. Then, slipping one hand beneath my shirt, I cupped it around the fluttering moth and held it out to her. Immediately, it stopped struggling, and simply sat in my palm, it’s bright wings slowly pulsing up and down.

  “This is my friend,” I said. “He will keep you safe while I’m away. Here.”

  I held it out to her, and she opened up her hands, her face amazed. The little creature slid from my palm to hers and then rested there, at once strong and fragile.

  “I know it’s scary,” I said. “And I know you’ve been through a lot. But I have to go get Rhainn now. You have to be brave, just this one last time.”

  Her breathing slowed a little, and she seemed to consider my words. Finally, she spoke.

  “Rhainn-y?” she asked.

  I smiled. She was so little. So precious.

  “Yes,” I answered. “Do you want me to go get Rhainn-y?”

  She nodded vigorously, the hope of seeing her big brother flaring in her eyes.

  “Okay,” I said. “But you have to stay right here and wait for us to come back for you. Can you do that?”

  She looked around at the hidden place I had found for her. Then she tucked her slight body into the crevice, making herself as small as she could, and nodded.

  “Good girl,” I said, smiling again. I turned to go, my attention already on the next task on my list, when her hand shot out and grabbed mine.

  “What is your name?” she asked.

  I was surprised. A moment ago she had barely been able to speak.

  “My name is Aster,” I said. “And you’re Cait.”

  She nodded.

  I turned to go, but something stopped me from leaving.

  “Why do you ask?” I asked, pausing.

  She paused, unsure for a moment before she spoke.

  “That man,” she finally said. “He told us that nobody would have names anymore. That there’s only masters and hollows. He said that the only name we would ever use again was his.”

  The warm feeling that had started to creep into my heart while talking to Cait suddenly turned to ice.

  “So that’s how I know to trust you,” she said, tucking her arm back inside the hiding spot. “Because you have a name. And it isn’t ‘Master’.”

  My eyes stung. But I smiled anyways. It had probably been a long time since she had seen a friendly face, and I saw no reason to keep one from her now.

  “I am nobody’s master,” I said quietly, squeezing her hand.

  Her only response was her long, warm gaze.

  “I’ll be right back,” I said.

  And I turned and ran down from the hills.

  I wanted to stop. Several times I almost did, overwhelmed by the vileness of everything that was touched by the Corentin. I wanted to lay down on the hard earth, to vomit until I was empty of all this horror and sadness.

  Until I was hollow.

  The thought brought me up short, and for the first time I actually did stop. I was on the edge of where the trees met that first hill, and I stared up at the blue sky beyond the tallest branches above.

  Out there battles raged. Armies fought for control over souls. Demons directed the players like children playing war with plastic soldiers.

  But in the far reaches of this and every world, hope persisted. I remembered what the Watcher had told me, that when these battles were done, no matter the outcome, the universe would continue on. In a million years, none of this would matter. Someday, this would all be gone. Each pine needle brushing up against my skin, each pebble crunching beneath my boot, would eventually cease to exist in this form. Maybe, even, as soon as when I stepped out from under the shade of these trees, they would disappear to everything else but my memory.

  We would all be forgotten, the history lost. Only she would watch, and keep the record, forever.

  No, I didn’t want to be hollow. I wanted to take in every tiny piece of this world until it was painted on the inside of my mind like a tattoo. I ran my hand down the crusty bark of the closest tree, reveling in the feeling of it beneath my palm. Without me here to see it, to take in the endless layers of wood that made up the trunk, to feel its hard skin, and smell the scent of the forest, who else would? Maybe only the Watcher, and nobody else.

  Without realizing it, I began moving again. The disgust I had felt just moments before mingled now with a chorus of emotions that drove me onward. And with each thought, each feeling layered together like the paper-thin sheaths that made up the bark of that tree, I was renewed. I was made whole.

  I dashed through the last of the trees and broke through the barrier to the field. Ahead, the scattered boulders loomed, and I slowed slightly, searching for Rhainn’s hiding body. To my right, the soldiers surged towards the city. People hung from the walls, going up or down I couldn’t tell. But then I forced my attention back to the search. My heart thudded as I got closer to the spot where I had left him. There was no sign of the Coyle. Could he still be down, rendered powerless in the depths of his tent? The thought lightened me as I scoured the dry grass for signs of Rhainn.

  I ran and ran until I had passed all but the smallest of the boulders, but the boy still did not make himself visible.

  “Rhainn!” I whispered, backtracking and searching beneath each rock I came across. When I came up empty, I stood in the field, confused, turning around on the spot. Had he moved to a different hiding place?

  I scanned the horizon in every direction, slowly, methodically, searching for the boy I had left behind. I turned in the direction of the Coyle’s tent, not having looked that way at all since crossing out from the trees.

  And my whole body reeled at the realization of what I saw. What I didn’t see.

  It wasn’t just Rhainn that had vanished into the morning. Where the tent had stood not ten minutes before, now nothing but empty ground remained. Every sign that the tent of the Coyle had ever been posted in this field was gone.

  I stood for several long moments that seemed to stretch into hours. Then, finally, the horrible truth floated
down around me with suffocating force.

  “Rhainn!” I wailed, no longer caring if I was discovered.

  I ran to the spot where the tent had been. Not even the grass showed a trace that anything had ever occurred there. It swayed in the breeze, unflattened and straight. Along the tips of the blades, just the slightest hint of boiling power remained. All other traces of the Coyle and the boy I had promised to help were gone.

  I kept turning around, kept looking, but it was some time before the sounds of metal clashing against metal penetrated the inner reaches of my brain.

  I stared out over the army, still dazed. They were right up against the walls now. The men and women who had descended from the city to the field before it were fighting with a skill I hadn’t expected of them. Pink dresses and multi-colored bow ties dashed around the army men, who were weighted with armor and slow on their feet. Several of the armored warriors fall, the arms of the brightly clad people raised in victory each time one of their enemies met his end.

  But they were too few. In mere minutes the army seemed to swallow these brave fighters who dared to leave the relative safety of the wall to fight. Finally they, too, were trampled beneath the feet of the approaching men, their bravery lost to the dirt, slick now with blood.

  Slick like the staff in my hands.

  I took off running, and as I did I let out a howl of fury so deep that I didn’t recognize my own voice. Only those men on the outskirts of the force turned their attention to me, but I moved so fast that I was upon them before they even thought to approach. My staff preceded me, held out in front of me with both of my shaking hands, my attacks already bursting from it like explosions from a cannon. The men in my way were tossed backwards to the ground as I plowed through them. I didn’t stop to see if they were dead or injured, or just stunned. All I knew was that I wanted every one of them to hit the dirt. I wanted this entire field to be laid out, flattened, until they admitted their defeat and left us. I wanted my message heard.