‘No, of course not,’ she replies in a small voice.
I come close to her. ‘Then we have to leave. We shouldn’t stay in one spot for too long, it won’t help, trust me.’
‘I do.’
‘Good. Come on, then.’
‘Sure you can walk?’
‘I’ll be fine.
As we walk through the room, our footsteps echo against the marble floor. When we come to the alter I notice powders in containers that the Magen use in their morning ceremonies to bless themselves. I dip my hand into one and paint lines across my face, and my keeper follows my lead. We have to do whatever we can to look like the rebels.
‘Do you still have those lenses that your father gave you?’ I ask her.
‘The contact lenses?’ she says.
‘Yes.’
‘Um.’ She takes off her backpack and rummages inside, pulling out a small case. ‘Yeah. Why?’
‘Put them on. All of this dressing up will be a wasted effort if they see your eyes.’
‘OK. Can you help me put them in?’
I do, and when I’m done she blinks and looks up at me.
‘Better?’ she asks.
It’s inappropriate to ask, but I can’t help it. ‘Your eyes were an emerald colour before?’
‘Green. Just say green. And yeah.’
I take a moment to look at them, to see her as she was before she was a Pulsar. Like this, seeming so human and unmagical, I almost feel sorry that her ordinary, ignorant life was disrupted by one full of terrible and inhuman things.
We go outside and into a garden. The mist hasn’t touched this place yet, but it’s coming for us. Its ghostly form curls over the roofs of the temple, coiling around the snow-dusted trees and drifting over the pond. I look around, trying to think of a place to go. Where would the Thrones take her? I don’t want to take her to them; from what Harriad said, they’re battling against the rebels right now.
‘The mist is going to cover us,’ I tell her, watching as it creeps towards us, ‘so stay close to me.’
She nods and extends her hand to me. It trembles, and pity surges through me. She knows nothing of this threat, nothing of the horrors that are awaiting her in the mist.
‘The bond will tell you I’m close,’ I assure her.
Her hand remains reaching. ‘I know, but…’
She’s scared. She won’t say it, because she needs to believe she is brave. To her, holding my hand is how she will keep her sanity, how she will remember who she is.
Reluctantly, my hand grips hers, hers small and cold, and yet the moment our skin touches, it ignites something between us—a warmth, a warmth that reminds me of glittering sunlight, bringing with it a solidity, a safeness, a rightness, and it reverberates across my entirety.
‘Let’s go,’ I say, trying to ignore the sudden intenseness between us, and I lead her away from the mist. I know it won’t make a difference, that eventually it will immerse us, but we need to find our bearings, we need to accept this reality before we can conjure our courage.
We enter an antechamber that leads to another hallway. My limp becomes worse the more I use my leg, but it can’t be helped. I look back and see the mist winding around the walls, as if in pursuit.
‘Hurry,’ I say.
We’re outside again, in a courtyard surrounded by flowers and snow and an unnerving silence.
My keeper gasps and I whip my head around, ready to attack, when I see the young boy who is always sitting at the table in the morning.
‘Jacob!’ she says. ‘You’re alive!’
‘Leonie!’ He wraps his arms around her waist, hugging her tight. ‘You’re OK. You’re OK. You’re OK. I knew you would be. I knew it!’
‘Jacob—’
‘I got separated.’ He starts to cry. ‘Th-they attacked from nowhere. So many people died. Th-there was nothing I could do!’
‘I know, Jacob, I know.’
‘And then the mist…’ He shakes his head. ‘I’m so glad you’re OK.’
‘Are there others alive?’ I ask. ‘Any of the Council?’
‘I-I don’t know,’ sniffles Jacob. ‘I-I ran away. I was so scared.’
‘You have reason to be. You know of maidens?’
He nods.
‘And you know of their haze?’
He nods again. ‘That mist, it’s the maiden’s haze, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
‘I want to go home.’
‘Jacob…’ my keeper says.
‘It’s too late for us, isn’t it?’
‘Don’t say that. It’s not too late.’ But even her voice has wavering conviction in it.
‘We can maybe get out of it,’ he says.
‘There is no way to get out of this,’ I say. ‘We’re within the haze now. Unless someone finds the maiden’s true form and destroys it, we’re going to die.’
‘Then let’s find it,’ he says. ‘We can destroy it if we work together! If we believe in ourselves then—’
‘This isn’t a hero’s quest. This is real life, and believing in ourselves is going to get us killed sooner.’
‘But—’
‘By the scale of this haze, the maiden is powerful,’ I say, ‘and with the added distraction of the rebels, I doubt the Thrones will be able to destroy it.’
‘And you can’t?’ he asks.
‘Me? What am I? If a dozen Thrones can’t bring it down, then I stand no chance. And with my leg as it is, I’ll be like dirt under its foot.’
‘So we give up?’ my keeper says.
‘No matter what, we’ll be swallowed up into its domain.’
‘And that’s it? Just wait to die?’
I stare at her. My life is not my own; it should belong to my keeper—but I will not die for her. Though I’m supposed to, I won’t. I can’t. All I can do is try to make sure she’s safe, that she can survive. Looking around me, though, I don’t think anyone is going to survive this.
Hopeless. Survival is hopeless.
She takes my hand and squeezes it.
‘What are—?’
‘I get what you’re saying,’ she says, ‘and I know you’re right. There’s no use in being confident, and belief alone won’t let us survive this, but I know our wits can. If we keep strong, if we can keep our minds our own, then we can make it through this. Otherwise, what is the point?’ Her emerald eyes burrow into mine. ‘I don’t know if we can survive, Korren, but we can sure as hell try.’
I still sense her fear above all else, but there is something else there, too, something strong and determined, and I know that I can borrow strength from her—that we can survive. Somehow, we will survive.
‘Come with me,’ I say to them both, aware of the weight of her hand in mine, the heat emitting from our hold.
I take them to a nearby shrine. I look back: the silver mist is already masking the doorway, and I slam the door shut. The candlelight flickers and in the shrine with us is a soldier speaking to two Magen and a maid.
‘Rebels, maidens, and here I thought the temples held no surprises,’ mutters the soldier, shaking her head.
‘Re-rebels?’ says the maid. ‘Wh-what do you mean?’
‘Go out there and look for yourself if you’re so curious.’
‘Magen, please, tell me what’s going on,’ the maid begs.
‘You two,’ says the soldier, her gaze having found my keeper and Jacob, ‘who are you?’ Her hand lights up in white flames, and I realise that, though the outfits the little lion and I are wearing may protect us from our enemies, they may not protect us from our allies.
‘We’re not rebels!’ the little lion says quickly, pulling down her hood. ‘We just dressed this way to get away from them. I’m the girl you escorted from Agerath Island, remember?’
The soldier observes her. ‘…Yes, I remember,’ she says, and the light from her hand vanishes. ‘Well, what are you doing here? You should be with O’Sah.’
‘I… I… got separated from him,’ my
keeper says.
‘Great. As if I don’t have enough people to protect.’ The soldier sighs. ‘Well, I can work with it, I suppose. I’m Corlia, by the—’
The door slams open, and a soldier runs in, his face and uniform covered in ash. He shuts the door with such force that the shrine shakes. He turns to us, panting.
‘Matthew?’ Corlia says, and goes to his aid.
He clings to her. ‘I-it’s n-not normal. I-it’s n-not normal.’
‘What?’
‘Th-the maiden… i-it’s… oh, gods. The mist… I br-breathed it in and I… I…’
‘Get a hold of yourself, Matthew!’
He pulls her into him, staring into her eyes. ‘I-I saw my brother, Corlia, I saw him.’
‘You saw Eki?’
‘He was so angry. So angry. H-he told me things, horrid things. I… oh, gods, I can still hear him. I can still hear him!’ He collapses onto the floor, covering his ears. ‘This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening…’
Corlia only stares at him, eyes wide.
‘Wh-who is his brother?’ the maid says.
‘He was a soldier, too,’ Corlia replies, her face ashen.
‘Was?’
‘He was… he was killed by an enemy some years ago.’
‘He’s d-dead?’
She nods.
None of us say a word, a cold feeling spreading among us. Then the maid begins to cry.
Matthew saw things, heard them? Can it be…?
Survivors have described the haze in many different ways, but all have a common theme: it’s as if the sun has been extinguished, as easily as turning off a light switch. You are in darkness, a complete, infinite darkness. It is cold. You feel alone. You know you’re not. There are voices—all around you they come. You’re not sure what they’re saying, only that they’re dripping with bloodlust. You want comfort, light. You want to be saved. There is no one. No ally. No saviour. You walk aimlessly.
Then it comes. It is darker than the darkness. It has no solid form. It just is. Its black tendrils spread like branches and close around you. The voices become shouts, taunts, laughter. You try to block it out. It is impossible. You’re losing your mind. Then it whispers something, something you can understand: a way out, a way to freedom. Could it be it has spared your life? Could it be it doesn’t want you? You take this chance, you want to be free of this nothingness, you want light again. You do what it says to escape the haze, unaware that your despair feeds it, unaware that it means you no good. You just want out. But this is its game. It gives you hope so that you last longer, so that it can feed longer, and then when it has done, when it no longer needs you, it leaves you as an empty shell, alive but so utterly dead. You would be considered fortunate if you had enough life left to kill yourself.
Each maiden has its own power, its own capabilities. They can conjure images to terrify you, memories to torment you, voices to incapacitate you, demons to rip you apart. No maiden possesses all of these. Nonetheless, you cannot fight this power. Once it has selected its target, you might as well give up.
There is hope: kytaen. They can defeat the maiden, and if a Chosen manages to keep their sanity, they can, too. Maidens are powerful, undeniably, but they can be defeated. Sometimes the victim is too traumatised and kills him or herself anyway, and those who survive may tell their tale with enthusiasm, boastfully almost. You can see the fear in their eyes, though, and you know that if they were to face a maiden again, they would surely fall to despair.
This maiden is not like that. It hasn’t selected a target. It has selected a vast area. A maiden doesn’t usually attack like this; it usually selects its victims carefully, like a handful of people or even an individual, but never a mass of people such as this. I’ve heard tales of such maidens, but never did I dream I would face one. But what worries me even more is that the rebels seem to have, or at least think they have, control over it, and if they do, for what purpose will they use it?
I look at my keeper, who is gazing at me with barely concealed terror. I can’t blame her for being frightened. Maybe she doesn’t know it, but the Imperium will not come to save her or the others, because this is no ordinary maiden—and surely we will die.
I grab her and pull her away, Jacob following.
‘I don’t know the extent of the capabilities this maiden has,’ I say, ‘but the rebels said they control it. I’ve never heard of that before. Maidens can’t be controlled.’
‘So what are you saying?’ she asks.
‘The rebel said they wanted to cut your strings. I don’t know if that means they want to kill you, but the fact is, a Pulsar is always a maiden’s target, because their energy, their magic, is stronger than anyone else’s. Yet it hasn’t targeted you specifically, and you’re not dead. It can’t find you, or it’s not being told to. That means you have a chance to escape.’
We’re nearing the other set of doors in the shrine.
‘Wait!’ Jacob says. ‘We can’t—no, we can’t go outside! W-we’ll, I mean, we’ll die!’
‘You think you’re safe in here?’ I say. ‘We have to escape the haze.’
‘How?’ my keeper asks.
‘The same way the rebels apparently came here.’
‘The portal?’
‘It will take us to The Core.’
‘The Core…?’ says my keeper.
‘How did the rebels make it to The Core alive?’ asks Jacob.
‘I don’t know,’ I admit. ‘But I’m thinking that they didn’t use The Core’s portal.’
‘Then how…?’
‘One of the rebels,’ I begin. ‘They must have someone who can manipulate the trajectory of a portal. I can’t think of another way. It doesn’t matter, though. The portal is our only chance. We have to go.’
My keeper’s eyes widen. ‘We can’t leave my dad!’
‘We have no choice.’
‘Yes we do, and I won’t leave him!’
‘Think about my position!’ I yell back at her, inclining my head towards her. ‘I can’t protect you, don’t you understand that?’
‘I-I know… I know… I know, but I can’t leave him.’
‘I won’t risk your life for his,’ I say.
‘So now you decide to be my kytaen? Well listen to me! We need to get my dad! I will not leave without him. We can’t just—’
The shrine shakes, causing the maid to scream. It passes after a moment. My keeper and I stare at one another, comprehending the situation.
‘What happens to him isn’t important,’ I continue in a softer voice. ‘You have to be our only pri—’
‘Then I’ll go get him on my own!’ she exclaims.
‘Don’t be ridiculous! You don’t stand a chance on your—’
‘I probably don’t stand a chance anyway, right?’
I don’t reply.
‘Exactly. So it makes no difference whether I go or not,’ she says, defiant as always. ‘If you want to get me out of here, you have to help me get to my dad. I won’t leave him.’
I sweep my free hand over my hair. Why does she have to make this so difficult? Still, isn’t it more admirable that she’s willing to risk her life for that of her father’s? Yes, she’s putting his life before my own, but I am only a kytaen.
I stare at her. I told myself I wouldn’t give my life for hers, and I don’t want to. But I can’t leave her on her own either.
‘I can’t promise I can save him,’ I say.
‘I know.’
‘And you’re sure you want to do this?’
‘Yes.’
I nod my head slowly. ‘All right then.’
‘Jacob,’ she says, ‘stay here. You’ll be safer with her.’ She gestures to Corlia, who is trying to calm Matthew.
Jacob shakes his head. ‘I’m all for Operation SOW.’
‘SOW?’
‘Save Orin Woodville.’
‘Kid, seriously?’
‘Sorry.’
We turn towards the doors.
I open the door.
LEONIE
BE BRAVE
It’s quiet. The mist is too thick to see our surroundings, though I can see flashes of light, like bolts of lightning in the distance, powerful enough to reach us. I hear people scurrying around us, but despite calling out to them, they don’t respond—running for shelter, maybe. Distant booms! are carried through the mist, far away, but enough to rob me of my nerves.
Korren stops and I almost slam into his back.
‘Korren?’ I say in a small voice, and look past him.
His foot has hit against something, though it’s clouded by the mist. It pushes away a little, just enough for me to see it and—
‘Oh God,’ I breathe.
Corpses lay cold on the ground, some with bloody wounds and others with no obvious damage. Jacob holds my hand.
‘Let’s keep moving,’ says Korren. ‘This isn’t—’
Jacob is pulled from me, and I swirl around to see a soldier, eyes crazed, holding a shard of glass to Jacob’s chest.
‘Jacob—!’ I begin.
‘I’m sorry!’ the soldier cries. ‘I have to kill him. If I kill him, it will stop, it will all stop, it will all be OK again. If I kill him. I just have to kill—’
The jacket Korren was wearing sweeps past me, whipping my hair in front of my face, and when I turn I see a beast. He dashes past me before I even have time to blink and knocks the soldier and Jacob to the floor.
‘No!’ I shout, thinking the force of their collision would have caused the glass to pierce Jacob, but when Korren moves away, Jacob is safe and free from the soldier’s grip, and the soldier himself has been pinned down by one of Korren’s fiery talons.
‘Filthy weakling.’ It’s Korren’s voice for sure, but his mouth doesn’t move as he speaks.
The soldier laughs; he laughs until Korren pierces him with the sharp edge of his talon, and then he’s silent.
The beast turns to me.
I realise I’m holding my breath, my body trembling. I know this is Korren, I know that, but I’d forgotten that he’s not a human—he is a being designed to kill. His fiery eyes hold mine, watching me. I find that they’re not as intense as they once were, that they’ve softened somewhat.
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