by H. R. Holt
“We believe he was the younger,” one of his advisors told him.
Thomas swallowed hard, felt the bandage on his neck, and looked at the aged man with a raised eyebrow. He didn’t care how old the brat was. He wanted his head on a silver platter, so that he could put it on display for his parents. They would come for him faster then, and he would end their lives. He was dreadfully tired of being bored. They didn’t care, of course, so he had sent them a present: three of his favorite dragons. Since they were a present from the ruler of Idenia, he knew they would be perfect to cause death and destruction. He was waiting on a death toll any second, so that he could have something to report to his beloved queen. She was angry with him now, but she wouldn’t be after hearing the death toll.
“Nice to know, Kaien,” he said bitterly.
He heard the door open and watched as two of his guards walk in without announcing themselves. He didn’t want to be disturbed, and yet here they were, disobeying him. This rebellious behavior was quite unlike them! As he was about to question their actions, a small child walked through the throne room doors. When he was in the light, Thomas recognized him as one of his brother’s sons—the one who’d survived the attack.
Kevnar stood with his hands behind his back, placing his feet together resolutely merely inches from the step up to the throne, and turned towards the window. He raised his head, letting the sun embrace his skin.
“Kill him!” Thomas demanded his guards. He stood to his full height, pulling his sword from his sheath. “I will then!”
“I don’t think you want to do that,” Kevnar said, his voice hardly loud enough to hear. He turned to Thomas and let his large blue eyes gaze into his enemy’s. “I think it best that you put down your sword before someone gets hurt.”
Thomas realized he didn’t have power of his hand as he dropped the sword and listened to its clang as it fell to the floor. He sat down with his eyes still focused on the sword, not understanding what was going on. Luella had never used such power on him before, but this youngster could?
Kevnar approached, placed a hand on either side of Thomas’s head and a thumb over his eyes. He closed his large eyes and absorbed the evil in the half-demon’s mind, devouring all the darkness he could find. When he pulled away, Thomas was crying and held the boy to him, begging for forgiveness. The advisor and guards came to the youngster and bowed down to him, tears streaming down their face.
“I forgive you,” he assured them sweetly. Kevnar pushed Thomas away gently after a moment, taking the bandage off his neck. He was healed. “I forgive you, but there is something you must do for me.” He leaned close and whispered in his new friend’s ear. “Restore goodness to Peniolea.”
Thomas nodded and stood, letting Kevnar take his throne and crown. The former king bowed low along with the others, pledging their services to him until death came for them. Without another word, Thomas stood and headed towards the exit, ready to do what was needed to be done in order to restore goodness to Peniolea and the Cathene Continent. He had never felt so sure of anything in his life.
***
“So… let me get this straight: the Black Moon takes place tomorrow night? I thought it wasn’t for months!”
Since she could tell her husband was tired of answering questions, Anekaya stepped in with a sigh to answer Isaac’s questions. He was still adapting to the idea that Reverie was gone, much less that the Black Moon was coming sooner than he’d expected.
“Yes,” she said, resting her head on Windrew’s shoulder since they were riding together. “It is to take place tomorrow night.”
The reason was simple, at least to them: the imbalance in the territory was too great, which made the universe unstable. In order for the balance to return, someone of pure magic (Reverie), dark magic (Luella), and neutral magic (Esme) had to meet and state the imbalance. If they agreed and said the balance was perfect, the Ancient Ones would leave for another half century. When they came down this time, Windrew was sure that they would see that Nadia was gone and choose someone else to become a Summoner. The wizard was also sure that Luella would have Esme state that there was no need for a Second Summoner, even if such was not the case, and then Luella would kill her once the Ancient Ones disappeared.
“This is too much to take in,” Isaac stated as he rode alongside them. “Ok… so if Luella kills Esme, she becomes the neutral balance, right? Who becomes the dark balance?”
“She is still the dark balance, Isaac. She is merely going to be disguised as neutral.”
“Can’t the universe sense that?” he furrowed his brow. “The last I looked, dark magic is dark magic; good magic is good magic; and neutral magic is neutral magic. I hate trying to decipher these so-called “prophecies.” I mean, I’ve read the books…”
“Neutral doesn’t need to exist,” Windrew stated. “It only exists so that the Ancient Ones know they have an ally when they return and don’t have to look for the signs themselves.”
“They sound lazy to me,” Isaac said with a sigh. He realized they were glaring at him, so he continued rambling. “The good balance is going to be Reverie. I get that. I do. The dark balance is going to be Luella. I get that. What I don’t get is: how come the Ancient Ones, with all their powers, can’t detect corruption?”
“It’s not that simple. I wish it were,” Windrew said and stared at the road ahead. He remembered reading about the Ancient Ones when he was a youngster, and felt the same aggravation Isaac was feeling. “The Ancient Ones, before they ascended to the stars, surrendered all of their powers so they could have the ability to bestow powers.”
“That sounds simple,” Isaac stated.
“It’s not,” Windrew said and caught the younger man’s gaze. “Trust me.”
“Well, my main concern is getting there before tomorrow night. I have nothing against horses, don’t get me wrong, but they aren’t the best way to travel right now. We can’t cover the miles between here and Auzeil by tomorrow.”
“I’m working on that,” Otis said as he rode up beside them. He was covered in soot and holding a strange round whistle. “I’ve been working on this since I found out. I gathered the materials when we took a break. They were all hard to find, but Mona helped me out. She’s great, let me tell you.” He looked behind him and saw her seated at the helm of one of the wagons.
“Just tell us if the whistle works, ok?”
Windrew was used to Otis rambling on, especially about his being healed. He looked at Isaac’s ear, which was beginning to scab, and wanted to heal his friend. Isaac wouldn’t let him; he said he needed his pain. Otis was a nice man, even though he’d been keeping to himself since Brornar passed on. He felt guilty that he was spending some “alone time” with Mona when his friend was poisoned. Even though they hadn’t known each other long, friendships were easily made between allies in a time of war.
Otis blew on the small round whistle, which emitted a soft, almost whimsical sound. As soon as he’d blown on it three times, they saw a herd of white horses with wings emerge from the clouds ahead of them. They looked like clouds at first, but, as they flew closer, the onlookers could tell they were horses.
“They’re beautiful,” Anekaya said quietly.
“Yes. They are,” Windrew agreed.
They watched as the creatures landed, caught up in the magnificence of their coats and brilliance of the single spear in the middle of their foreheads. One of the unicorns, no doubt the leader and most beautiful, stepped up and stared at them, his twinkling brown eyes settling on Otis.
“How may we be of assistance?” The voice seemed to come from the depths of the darkest cave and was enough to make everyone shiver. He was a powerful force, no doubt, and Otis’s dismount accentuated such authority.
Otis bowed low before the stallion over one knee, spreading his arms into the sky behind him. Although Isaac had often thought memorizing all the bows in the continent would prove a waste of time, he knew for a fact, now more than ever, that it didn’t. T
he cause needed all the help it could get.
Once the leader, Deleau, acknowledged Otis’s loyalty, he allowed the young man to stand with a nod of his head. They knew each other well, had actually met when he was a child. Otis had always possessed the ability to call him and so had his parents. They often thought it was a curse, however, because so many used to detest them for having the ability to call animals. The last battle had changed all of that and made Otis and his parents more appreciated.
Although Deleau sensed many mortal eyes on him, he didn’t need to address them. He wasn’t afraid of them. He didn’t need to; he was immortal. With a brilliant bow, he made many of them gasp in astonishment and, though he didn’t express it, he was pleased by his admirer’s reactions.
“Deleau, we need your swiftest soldiers to journey with us to Auzeil,” Otis answered once the stallion was looking him in the eye. “I know it may come as an inconvenience, since you were in a battle of your own the last I heard.”
As with all horses, the unicorns often had to fight for territory. Deleau’s older brother, Zezaun, had been attempting to take some of the mares away from the herd. Being the leader, Deleau simply would not have that, and battled for supremacy. Since hardly anyone ever defied him, he won easily only a day after he began.
“The swiftest will be at your aid,” Deleau said with another bow. He didn’t want to gloat about how little time the battle had taken to end, since he was aware Otis wouldn’t know. After all, he’d recently been faced with a situation of his own. If he hadn’t been, Deleau would definitely have gloated, since it was one of many things he often did. It wasn’t his fault he was great.
“Thank you, kind king,” Otis said and bowed.
Within the next few minutes, the small group that had come with Deleau had riders and the stallion king was calling for more. The sky was soon blanketed by horses that were the same color as he was, all looking as if they’d been cut from the clouds. As Deleau returned to the sky, Otis thanked him and everyone watched until he disappeared.
“Alright. I believe it’s time to go,” Windrew said at last. He looked at Otis and nodded curtly, then at the soldiers around him who were seated on white unicorns. The other horses had been set free, knowing where they needed to go. He couldn’t believe that it was nearing the end of everything he’d become so familiar with, but he also couldn’t be more relieved. Looking at Anekaya, who sat upon her own steed, he realized that she was thinking the same thing. They smiled thoughtfully at each other; they were all the other had now.
As they rose into the sky, Windrew looked at Isaac, who was too focused on finding Reverie that he didn’t go through the same excitement as the other riders. While they whooped all around him, he remained focused on the last image he had of her, knowing why he had to keep his pain. Isaac knew he had to remain alert, ready for anything, but there was a part of him that felt torn. Even though he’d told himself she wasn’t the same person, she was, and he was madly in love with her. In all of infinity, surely that counted for something?
***
The darkest dreams flitted through Reverie’s mind, almost as if they were starlings on a night of blistering cold. They sought shelter in the corners of her mind, attempted to slay the rhythm of her heart until it beat in a symphony of monotones and passion existed no more. While the world around her revolved in melancholy silence, she felt herself become overwhelmed by the most macabre thoughts. She thought of death; destruction; and chaos, almost to the point where she found herself fascinated by them.
The bedroom where she lay was in the same tower where Esme resided. As she walked in to visit her daughter, who she hadn’t seen in almost eighteen years, she knew what she was going to see. The rivulet of panic floating up her spine was as cold as a winter brook, filled with nothing but ice and dead things. She hoped her daughter would forgive her one day for doing what she planning to do, but hope could only work so many miracles.
Reverie was lying on a bed decked out in deep scarlet linen, already dressed in the white gown for tomorrow night’s ceremony. Her hands were beside her, with rings on all fingers, and her hair had been cut short—all for the ritual. The Ancient Ones had decided centuries ago that long hair was a mortal desire, signifying elegance and arrogance, which were unnecessary for someone who was essentially good or neutral. It was the same reason Esme had let the servants of the prophecy cut her hair.
Esme sat beside Reverie on the bed, feeling tears escape her eyes. She wasn’t sure she could speak for a minute, didn’t know if she wanted to. Would Reverie disappear if she did? She didn’t know, and not knowing always scared her. The moment should have been perfect, since she had waited so long, but it was the exact opposite. It was wrong. Esme had met her daughter again at the end, and couldn’t help thinking that she had been present at her beginning. It wasn’t fair!
“Darling, I need you wake up,” she said, taking Esme’s hand in her own. She let out another sob, remembering how small her daughter’s hand was those years ago. Knowing what she had to do, she took a deep breath, and pulled her hand away from her daughter’s. “I need you to wake up.”
Esme took the back of her hand and slapped Reverie, who turned her head and moaned but didn’t wake up. With a heavy sigh, Esme slapped her again. Reverie opened her eyes and stared at Esme, wondering who she was and why her cheek was hurting. Had this woman slapped her? Why? Who was this woman and why did she look so familiar? There were so many questions running around in her mind, but she could only manage a yawn.
“What’s with the collar?”
Esme grabbed hold of Reverie’s chin and forced her mouth open. She pulled a small vial of black fluid from her pocket and poured it into her daughter, tears streaming down her face, and released her. Before Reverie could overcome the stringent taste, almost like licorice, the door opened and Luella rushed in. She stared from daughter to mother, eyes full of rage.
The fluid reached Reverie’s stomach and she felt pain unlike anything she had ever experienced. She opened her mouth to speak, but black goo poured out of her mouth, staining her chin and dripping onto her dress. Reverie fell back, her eyes rolling to the back of her skull while her entire body succumbed to spasms.
“I’m sorry, darling,” Esme cried. “I had no other choice.”
Luella rushed to Esme, grabbing her throat. She began squeezing with both hands, and then opened her mouth until it was the only feature on the lower half of her face. Instead of normal teeth, they were all sharp and ready to tear flesh. Esme’s eyes remained opened, ready for the inevitable, but it never came. Gasping for air, Luella pulled away, releasing Esme, and tried to breathe. She fell to the floor with her eyes wide but seeing nothing.
“Mother?”
Esme turned, holding her throat, and saw her daughter seated on the bedside. Her chin and dress were covered with the black fluid, and her eyes were darker than any moonless night. Esme realized with a shudder that she had ended her daughter’s life, replacing her with a monster of darkness.
Although the collar she wore fell to ground, giving her freedom to use her powers, Esme knew she would be unable to do anything. Reverie didn’t need a collar; she didn’t need an army or allies; and that was because she could do it all. As if to prove her assumption, the sun was replaced by a large dark moon that cast a gray light through the sky. Esme realized with a sigh that the dreaded night was upon them.
“Yes, darling?”
“I think we need to talk,” Reverie said and pat the bed beside her. “We have a lot to catch up on. From now on, please call me...”
Before she could finish, she threw her head back. Esme could tell that she was fighting and knew immediately that Reverie was attempting to return. Without breathing, Esme waited, regretting that she had ever attempted to kill her own flesh and blood. Hadn’t there been good intentions? Hadn’t Esme been given the ingredients from a trusted source, and then made it herself? Why hadn’t the poison ended her daughter’s life so that evil couldn’t take over th
e continent? Why was she becoming corrupted? Had Esme underestimated the powers that had been bestowed upon Reverie at birth? Was daughter more powerful than mother?
Reverie looked at Esme, the darkness having won for now. “Call me Oblivia.”