by Blake Rivers
Ami shook her head, clearing it. Her clothes were in tatters, and she felt bruised and cut everywhere; warm blood trickled down her jaw. Feeling Hero’s hand in hers, she was pulled up to her feet, his eyes scanning her face, his rough fingers wiping at her wounds. She winced.
“The birds, those ugly, horrible things. They were flying away with me.” The memory from only seconds ago was vague and unreal. There was that word again, unreal. But it had been real, as the pain above her eye proved. Hero dabbed at the blood.
“Yes, but they didn’t succeed. Your power is stronger than I knew.” Hero pulled away from her, looking into her eyes. “It was impressive.”
Ami smiled, not sure what to say. She should’ve been freaking out—she’d just been on fire, after all—but for some reason she felt calmer than she’d been before. She did have power, though what it was for and how to use it, she wasn’t sure.
The breeze caressed her face, and she took a look around.
Kane and Raven were still mounted, whereas their own horse stood close by, chewing on the grass that spread all around, a rippling sea of long blades touched by the wind. In the distant west broad hills rose and fell in succession, clustered and bathed in sunlight; more forest to the north, while in the south the luscious meadows continued to meet the blue of the sky.
Ami breathed in the fragrant air of perfumed flowers, those that dotted the expanse in yellows and reds, blues and purples, wild and earthy. The world was wide and open in contrast to the constraint of the woods and the horror of the birds.
“Considering the attack,” Kane said, interrupting her thoughts, “we should find shelter before nightfall.”
Hero nodded. “Agreed. The night will not be kind to us if we are caught beneath it. We’ll need to travel into the hills. I know a place we can shelter.” Hero mounted his horse and beckoned Ami to join him.
In a moment of hesitation, Ami thought through the events from moments ago. Power. The purple fire had dealt with the birds, but what if they came back? Could she do it again? Could Hero protect her if she couldn’t? It didn’t seem she had a lot of choice in the matter, but the doubt still remained. She took Hero’s outstretched hand and mounted the horse.
He pointed to the hills lining the horizon. “We shall find our shelter there, and beyond those hills you’ll see the mountains of Edorus. Legacy is further west, and when you see it?” His face lit with a rare smile. “When you see the city spiralling up the mountain? You will see true awe. It’s our home.”
Ami liked the image it brought to her mind, but to her there was only one true home, where her mother and father had sat with her in the garden on beautiful spring afternoons; that would always be her home.
“We will be attacked again,” Raven said. “What do we do then? We can fight one on one, and we can repel attacks, but those birds? I never saw that one coming.”
Hero tightened his grip on the reins. “We’ll have to fight. Princess Ami’s power will come in use I feel.” Hero reached over and patted Raven’s back. “Fear not, brother. We shall reach Legacy, and order will be restored.
“Let’s ride!”
*
The bird circled and landed on the ground, hopping from side to side.
The man looked down at it for a moment, and then out to the party now riding away. He saw the girl sitting behind the Guard. The girl. His sister.
He clutched the sword tight in his hand, a green light shifting from it to his arm and gone. She wasn’t supposed to get away. He gritted his teeth in a grin, grinding them together.
No, she hadn’t gotten away. Not at all. He looked back at the bird. “Follow them. Show me where they go.” The bird flapped and lifted up above the trees.
The man slashed his sword through the air and disappeared.
*
Having covered the lush meadows at a constant gallop, Hero had led them up the rocky ascents and down the overgrown hillsides. They’d reached them quicker than Ami would have guessed, though how many hours had truly passed she didn’t know; her only sense of time here was the sun in the sky and her own fatigue. Each hill had brought its share of tangled thorns and thick brush, snaring her already torn clothes, and then there were the streams between the hills, their waters calm and clear, serene even in the silence of the day, trickles over pebbles. They’d followed one such stream for a long while, hours it seemed, crossing its ford only to follow another to a spring halfway up a hill, back on track for another climb.
Ami found each step to be an adventure, exploring her paintings and seeing what was underneath, behind and beyond. It was exciting.
Hero was focussed on his own thoughts and spoke little, whereas the other two Guards were the opposite in their manner. Although shy of her, they were only too happy to talk with each other, small discussions like storms that blew into one another; Ami only caught partial words though, and none were of interest.
Soon they’d crested another hill, the never-ending colours and shapes of new horizons greeting her again, only this time there was something more.
A grey stone building, crumbling and mossy, sat alone among the long grass of the hilltop. Most of the stone had fallen away, leaving an empty ruin; the roof was missing, and only three walls remained. It was decrepit, an ancient monument to a long ago age.
“What is this place?” she asked as they dismounted.
“It used to be an outpost, built long, long ago. We’re at the half way point between the Solancra Valley and Legacy.” Hero pointed to the east, and Ami saw the distant line of trees. He pointed west, and jagged mountains had become their new skyline. “It was ruined many hundreds of years ago, but as with most outposts, it was also a fort.”
He pointed to the corner beneath the partial eastern wall. There Ami saw a square hole in the ground. As they drew closer, she saw steps in shadow that led down into the hill, into darkness.
Hero squeezed her hand. “We’ll be safe tonight, and at first light, we shall set off again for home.”
“What’s down there? I mean, why would we be safer down there?” Ami peered into the hole. She didn’t like the idea of leaving the light, and the day was so warm and inviting, even though it was nearing its close. She would quite happily sit on the hillside and look out across the miles of greens and browns and greys, letting the setting sun fill her senses.
“I promise you,” Hero said, “it’s safer than being out in the open. We have been lucky that Adam has not attacked again, but we’d be more vulnerable at night.”
Ami sighed and gave one more glance to the light, before stepping into shadow once again.
Overhead, the deep red sun bled across the sky, headed to the mountains in the west.
Raven and Kane followed Ami and Hero beneath the ground as a dark bird circled high above, a speck of black in the dying blue.
*
The stairwell was cold, and Ami was blind. Her hands groped the wet walls for balance, the smell of mould and wet earth stinging her nostrils. Their footfalls overlapped and echoed against the stone as if a small army, and the thought of going deeper into the hill made her want to turn back and run for the surface; the space was too enclosed, the air thick and pungent. A slime was gathering on her fingers as she let them drag across the walls, through earth, over tangled roots.
“How far do we have to—” Ami’s question hung in the air, the sound of her voice echoing from the army of footfall, coming from the lips of each dark soldier; the soldiers were dead, buried in the walls, whispering her voice into her ears.
“Not too much farther,” Hero whispered, silencing the echoes. “See? We’re almost there.”
The darkness lightened to grey and then a pale yellow as the stairwell rounded to the left, opening to a large room. Ami recognised the layout as a church or temple, the ceiling high and lofty with arched rafters that pooled in shadow; lit torches flamed against rough-cut walls, bringing life to stone faces of women and cherubs, worn and watching. Wooden pews sat either side of an aisle, and in
front and centre, stood an altar table.
Ami stepped forward to touch the nearest pew. The wood was smooth, the grain a pattern, stark against the flames.
“This fort is a place of worship, for what better time is there to pray than when you’re hiding from your enemies?” Hero paced the aisle, speaking into the void. “I haven’t been here in many a year, and yet, the torches still burn.” Ami followed his gaze to the crackling beacons held on iron brackets. “The flames were lit centuries ago and have burned ever since, kept alight for people like us, for people needing sanctuary.”
“They say no one knows who built it,” Raven said, standing beside Ami, “or for what purpose, but you can feel the power here.”
It was true, there was a feeling, a hint, an itch of power. It was weak, but she felt it all the same.
They walked down the aisle, and Ami touched each pew she passed, watching the shadows shift across the crude, bare floor and dance upon the walls. There was a loneliness here, and Ami thought of her parents then, her home, and missed them all the more.
“Wonder where they go?” Kane said, pointing to doors that flanked them on either side, each closed and dark between the pews.
They stepped into the chancel, passing more statues and carvings, heads of men and animals, swords crossing. Two more torches illuminated the space for them.
They stopped at the altar rail.
“Hero, will we be safe here?” Kane held to his sword, looking back the way they’d come.
“I think so. We’re very deep in the hill. Rest, all of you.” He opened the small gate and stepped to the altar, laying his hands upon the dusty wood. He wiped across it, the flickering torchlight reflecting his image on its surface. “Open each door, find sheets. We make camp here tonight. I feel a storm coming.”
*
Raven and Kane searched each room off of the nave and brought the sheets they’d found to the altar. Hero shook one out for Ami, billows of dust floating to the floor, and placed it around her shoulders.
Thunder reverberated through the stone space, echoing and roaring as rain ran down the stairwell, pooling at the bottom. Ami closed her eyes and lay on her side, the floor cold and chilling. Flashes behind eyelids, lightning on water—she let the sounds of the coming storm take her away. She saw it, the sky lighting a harsh white, a popped bulb. It had been pink, she remembered, pink forks of lightning. The garden had been flooded, the rain falling as a continuous sheet—but she was safe, standing with her mum at the back door, watching it all, watching what looked like the end of days. The lightning! Roofs were rivers, gutters waterfalls, and she was alone in the tropics, watching from the jungle of her imagination. She saw tigers in the shadows, stalking her, their gnashing teeth sharp, bright eyes so green against the white face of a man walking past, pushing his slick black hair from his eyes—his piercing eyes—his mouth a grin of tigers teeth; no, not a tiger, a vampire. She stepped into the garden, the lawn mower whirring as her dad pushed it across the grass. The heat hit her hard and Ami grabbed the doorframe as her head spun a little. She drank her milk, good, cold—felt much better. Her mum was knelt by the flowerbed, digging with a trowel, and she gave her a quick wave, hot blades of grass sneaking between her toes. “Graeme? Don’t mow over there, you’ll cut down my roses!” Ami’s dad killed the power just in time, and noticing her, he plucked one of the red flowers from the bush and brought it to her. “Hello sweetheart, had a nice day?” He kissed her cheek and presented her with the flower. Ami smiled and took it, lifting it to her nose, smelling the sweet fragrance. “Would look lovely in your hair,” a voice said. “Such love he shows you.” Ami turned and caught a fleeting glimpse of pale skin, long black hair; but then he was gone, through the swarms of people on the street. It was grey and cold, and her scarf hardly kept the cutting wind from her neck. She pulled it around her tighter and pushed her gloved hands deep into her coat pockets, joining the flow to her right and heading back toward the college. Was that thunder? She looked up, but saw nothing but grey. It was an English winter. She walked down the street, avoiding those who did not see, avoiding those who looked too long. A man stepped in front of her, blocking her path, his face white, his lips red and parted—what’s up with his teeth? She passed him quickly. “Can’t ignore me, I’ll find you.” Turning the last corner, Ami looked up from her sketchbook. He was there, walking toward her, a smile playing on his lips. He looked good. Better than good. He was every bit as handsome as she remembered. He stopped in front of her. “Hi,” he said and bent down, placing a kiss on her lips. Ami blushed. “Hi there,” she returned, unable to take her eyes from him—but something wasn’t right. His eyes were too green, his skin losing colour. With his long white finger he drew a heart in the air, his sharp teeth parting.
She turned to the full length, gilded mirror behind her. In the reflection was a beautiful young woman—grubby, her clothes tattered and torn—but beautiful. Her hair was long and brown, mussed from much travelling.
She smiled. The reflection smiled.
Another mirror appeared to her left, one to her right, each reflecting her own image—though no, that wasn’t quite right.
The reflection to her left was slipped into a pink dress of lace, frilled and to the calf. It looked amazing on her, she had to admit, something a princess would wear, but it did seem rather odd. On her right the reflection wore a curve-hugging black dress that reached above her knee; black boots reached just below. She looked dangerous! Her reflection smiled and swept her hair back behind her shoulder.
Thunder rolled somewhere, but was unimportant.
She reached to touch the image on her right, and as the girl’s finger touched hers, a ripple passed through the glass like water. It hit the frame of the mirror and the gold painted wood shook free, falling to the ground of darkness.
The girl stepped aside and beckoned her forward.
There was a walkway beyond her, daylight pouring through stone arches to the left, a gentle breeze blowing through the glass, touching her face. She could smell grass, trees, flowers—the girl beckoned her again.
Behind her was nothing but darkness and the only way forward was the mirror, the glass doorway, the girl who was her.
She stepped forward, cool ripples whispering across her skin.
Now she saw the sun through the stone archways, the walkway long in front of her. She looked to her booted feet on the white stone, her black dress tight; oh yes, this felt dangerous.
From the arches she saw short grass and a rosebush the other side of the wall, and she dared to reached out and pluck a flower, blood red and dangerous, like her.
Smiling, she continued along the walkway, vaguely aware of a purpose, vaguely aware of a fear. The sky was a deep blue, and the sound of thunder echoed in the distance. There was a voice—but it didn’t matter. Eyes in front, she walked to the doorway at the end of the sheltered walkway.
A large canvas stood on the last stone ledge within, a raging sea that climbed a mountainside, a dark castle within a rock face. So dark and unlike her, the strokes so perfectly her.
She turned into a dark room where a fire burned in the hearth, the flames throwing shadow and light across the red and gold rug, the pattern a fiery maze of lines. A bookcase leant against the wall, a window beside it, and standing before her, two solitary chairs. The nearest was unoccupied, but from the other she sensed a whispered beckoning, a pulling of power.
Ami was drawn toward it, and to the white hand that rested upon the arm.
Part Two
Adam & Hero
“how many of our daydreams would darken into nightmares, were there a danger of their coming true!”
— logan pearsall smith
“the tyrant is nothing but a slave turned inside out.”
— herbert spencer
Chapter Five
“You found your way. This pleases me.”
Ami drew close to the chairs, the room feeling all too elemental, as if it were only a stage set, soon to
be shifted. She couldn’t define a sense of space or time, and apart from the rug, the floor was as black and empty as the walls. Her feet moved on their own accord as she took the empty chair, her eyes closing in on the white figure in shadow, two eyes glinting green. The fire warmed her, and Ami felt comforted, swaddled in the orange heat.
“I know who you are,” she said, not meaning to speak at all. There was no fear in her voice as she thought there should be. “You’re the man who is trying to kill me.”
A dry chuckle came from the shadow. “No, I’m not trying to kill you.” His long thin fingers flexed on the arms of the chair. “I want only to tell you a tale.” He leaned forward and leered at her, his gaunt face a contortion, his lips stretched in a grimace, torn by sharp, uneven teeth. “I am Adam, and you and I share the same father. A father who has failed us both.”
“My father hasn’t failed me,” Ami said, but Adam only smiled, his face a grotesque in the dark.
“I’ll admit, I was rash to start with. Hunting you at home, I should’ve known the Guard would bring you back here anyway. The heir. I tried again, but the unicorns kept you from me. When my flying thieves tried to steal you away, you displayed such power that I knew I had to change tact—so I used your greatest gift, your artistic temperament, the reason you’ve become known to us all.” His grin widened and Ami shuddered. “I slipped into your mind, your memories, where we can be alone.”
“Why are you hunting me? Where am I?” Her thoughts were panicked, but her words were calm as if spoken by another. She felt the plucked rose still in her palm and she gripped it, the soft petals smooth in her fist.
“All in good time,” he said, and leant back into shadow. “But first, sister, you’ll listen to the tale I have to tell. A tale that starts with imagination, creativity and dreams; these are such things that created the city of my birth, the city of Legacy, by the power of a unicorn horn and the vision of men. Men like our father.”