Relinquish: Book II of the Rising Trilogy

by Miles, Amy

  A small spiral of smoke rises from a chimney, the stone slightly wonky as it perches atop the slanted roof. Two small, square windows can be seen in the front of the home as we approach, smeared with years of grime.

  When Sariana turns to smile back at us over her shoulder, pushing the door open, I realize with a start that her mouth is nearly toothless. How did I not notice that before?

  Nervous tension wiggles down my spine as I cross the threshold into a dark room. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim light of candles set about the room.

  The elderly woman putters about the cluttered room, stepping lightly over stacks of books to lower herself into a rickety rocking chair nestled in the corner. I notice very little of my actual surroundings as I sink to the floor before her, careful not to knock over a stack of leather-bound books to my right. I feel lightheaded as I look at her, mesmerized by the glow within her eyes. It is a stunning trick of light, almost like the brilliant green glow in the eyes of a wild animal after the sun has gone down.

  An unusual feeling passes over me. It feels like something gently massaging my brain. Not painful, just… odd. After a brief moment, the feeling passes.

  The bent woman leans forward. “I have waited a long time to meet you, Illyria. Since long before you were even in your mother’s womb.”

  She rubs her hands over the silken material of her cloak. “I am one of the three high prophetesses. The other two are my sisters, Liliana and Dinara. Sadly, Liliana passed some years back.”

  “And Dinara?” I ask.

  Sariana’s eyes take on a distant look, her voice soft. “She was taken from me, held prisoner by Aloysius before he became king. He feared our power yet was drawn to it at the same time. Together with my sisters, we were very powerful. After Liliana died, he chose to exile me here.”

  “I’m sorry. You don’t care about my life.” She blinks, as if waking from a dream. “I know what it is you seek. I have the answers.”

  Bastien leans forward, his expression one of caution yet edged with longing. “Can you tell us why Illyria is in such turmoil?”

  I glance over at him, watching the shadows that play across his face. He draws back from my gaze, a flush rising in his cheeks.

  Sariana says he seeks the answer to why he still loves me, but he hasn’t said those words. Even now he can’t seem to bring himself to say them. Is he hiding from himself or trying to protect me from more pain?

  “Each of you has been given the DNA of your chosen mate. What Kyan told you is true. Illyria has been selected to be with Eamon.”

  I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until it puffs out between my lips. Bastien’s shoulders tense, but he says nothing, nor does he attempt to look at me. Sariana smiles. “But she possesses your genes as well, Bastien.”

  “So there was a mistake,” I say.

  “No. Not a mistake at all. The genes you received were the exact ones you were intended to have.”

  I scrunch up my nose, utterly confused. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  The crackling of the fire pit just behind Sariana seems to brighten in intensity. I raise a hand to shield my eyes, but almost as soon as I glance away, the anomaly vanishes. I look to Bastien to see if he noticed, but he merely stares at the prophetess with rapt attention.

  This is getting weird.

  Grabbing a shawl from the arm of her chair, Sariana wraps it about her shoulders. I don’t know how she can stand the added layers. Heat rolls out of the chimney grate in stifling waves. Already my clothes have begun to dry from the snows.

  “You and Bastien share the same genes because you were meant to share them. Simple as that. The match you have with each of these men is both genuine yet complicated.”

  “That’s one way to put it,” I mutter under my breath.

  The rocking chair creaks loudly as the prophetess rises unsteadily to her feet. She plods toward a darkened doorway, pushing aside the tattered brown cloth that acts as a door to separate the two rooms. I lean to the side to try to see through the slit that remains, but all I can make out is a wall of bowing shelves stacked haphazardly with books.

  Large and small, square and rectangle. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to the stacks. Some boast golden lettering while others are scrolled in black ink. Upon the floor are scattered pages, filled from top to end with scribbled symbols and letters I don’t recognize.

  “Ah, here it is.” She hobbles back into the sitting room with an oversize book in hand. Intricate scrawling letters are carved into the leather cover and binding, symbols that look foreign yet vaguely familiar.

  “I’ve seen that book in my visions,” I whisper, realizing only as the words tumble from my mouth that it is true.

  “You have seen one similar to this. One belonging to my sister, Liliana.” She drops the book onto the table beside her. A cloud of dust erupts into the air.

  Bastien coughs as he moves to get a closer look. “I can’t read the writing. What does it say?” he asks, brushing his fingers lightly across the worn, faded tawny cover.

  “It is written in an ancient language, similar to your Latin. It is only spoken by the prophets of old… and only on Calisted.”

  I look at the woman, wondering just how old she really is. On Earth, I would guess her to be around eighty years old, although I’ve never seen a woman so old. The eldest among our group was in her late sixties when she passed of a fever some years back.

  “I am among the first of men, those who lived before the war. By your calendar, I would have been born in the mid 1900s. Then the invasion came and I was whisked away with the survivors. Time slows to a near stop on Calisted, preserving not only our bodies, but our minds as well.”

  “And when you returned? Did you continue to age?”

  “Yes.” She nods. The loose skin under her chin jiggles. “I don’t fear death, but I could have done without all of the body aches.”

  I realize with a start that she is laughing under her breath, as if her plight were actually funny. I suppose, being locked away in this tiny cabin in the woods, the tiniest thing might bring you humor… or a touch of insanity.

  “What does this book contain?” I ask, drawing her back from her recollections

  “Ah, yes.” She opens the cover and flips through the pages. A faint musty aroma tickles my nose. The pages creak as she shifts them, yellowed and stiff. I wonder if it is as old as she is. “This is the Book of Testimony. It details all prophecies that’ve been handed down, both minor and large.”

  “And Illyria is in there?” Bastien shifts, drawing his legs in so he can move closer

  “Of course, dear boy, but she isn’t alone.” She taps her chin as she continues her search through the pages. “Haven’t you figured out yet that you are just as much a part of Illyria’s destiny as Eamon is?

  “I’m in there too?”

  She lifts her gaze from the pages to shoot me an amused glance. “Not too bright, though, huh?”

  I struggle to hide my smirk. “Please, continue with your story.”

  “Very well.” Sliding her finger along a page near the middle, she nods. “Here it is. What your friend Kyan told you was true. There are no mistakes with our genetic matching sequences. It is perfectly flawless. No one person has ever received two sets of genes before… until you.” She stares pointedly at me.

  “But why? What’s so different about Illyria?”

  “My dear boy.” She gasps, placing a curled hand over her heart. “You assume it is she that is the special one here, but you are mistaken. Your circumstance, and Eamon’s as well, is far more crucial.” She pauses for effect, making sure Bastien and I are both giving her our full attention. “The reason Illyria has your DNA, as well as Eamon’s, is because you two are fraternal twins.”

  Eleven

  Eamon and Bastien… brothers? The idea is beyond ridiculous, yet Sariana hardly looks as if she is attempting to pull our leg. I glance over at Bastien. He looks stunned. His eyes are wide and
unseeing, his face ashen, and his lips pressed together so tightly the color has fled from them.

  “How is this possible?” I ask for him, knowing how desperately he must want to ask but is unable to do so.

  Sariana’s smile is kind as she stares down at Bastien. I’m surprised to see a warm glow of motherly affection in her eyes. “I know how hard this must be for you to accept, but I assure you it is the truth.”

  Bastien seems to find his voice. “You must be mistaken.”

  “I am not.” She leans forward and clasps her hands together atop the pages. “I was your mother’s midwife.” His eyes clench shut as he shakes his head in denial. I watch, hurting for him as he struggles to accept her words. “Your mother and I have been close friends for many years. Even though she was far younger than I, she helped me through Liliana’s death.”

  “Where is she?” Bastien begins to wring his hands in his lap. I can tell he needs to move, to release some of his energy, but there is hardly space to walk in this cramped room. “I have so many things I need to ask.”

  “Patience, Bastien. There will be time for that later, but I assure you that she is pining for your return. It broke her heart to give up her sons.”

  Bastien plunges his hands into his hair, beginning to rock slightly. “I have a brother,” he whispers.

  “I guess that explains why you two are always at each other’s throats,” I say, trying to lighten the mood.

  He blinks and then a hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “I never was too good at sharing.”

  Although I know he meant it to be a joke, I don’t know what to say in response. He seems to realize the hidden depths to his statement and looks away. I turn back to Sariana. “Even if Bastien and Eamon are brothers, that still doesn’t explain how I got their genes. Surely someone would have noticed when I got two pairs instead of one, twins or not.”

  The same strange massaging feeling I felt earlier passes over me. I stiffen. “Please don’t do that. I’m right here. You can ask me anything you need to know.”

  The woman’s eyes widen. “You can feel that?”

  “Of course. I just think it’s a bit rude,” I reply curtly.

  Bastien kicks out his leg and bumps me. “Be polite.”

  “I’m not the one rummaging through her brain.” I meet her startled gaze and shove her out of my mind.

  Sariana’s lips tremble as she attempts a smile. It falters completely and falls away. “Impressive. No one has ever felt my touch before, not even Aloysius. Apparently you are more powerful that I first thought.” She pauses to appraise me. “I wonder…”

  “Wonder what?” Bastien snaps, his frustration showing through at the woman’s silence.

  “Perhaps she will be able to feel Aloysius’s mental control. If that is the case, she might be able to fight back.”

  I surge forward, grasping the woman’s hand, a thin layer of skin stretched over bony knuckles and twisted joints. “Is that even possible?”

  She shrugs. “It has never been done before, but then there has never been anyone quite like you either, my dear.” Her fingers curl in my hand and I suppress a shudder as her nails dig into my palm. It isn’t painful, but it feels as if she is anchoring down as she draws me near. “If you cannot, all will be lost.”

  Her grip releases as she sinks back into her chair. She looks weary. Her head leans back against the chair, as if too tired to hold it upright any longer. She closes her eyes for a moment. Bastien looks to me, no doubt wondering if she has fallen asleep before us. She startles me as she sits upright. Her finger glides over the pages, searching for something.

  I look beyond her and see small trinkets scattered about the room, items I assume hold great importance from her life on Calisted. There are no pictures on the walls, no albums on shelves, or family heirlooms proudly displayed.

  This room is filled with knowledge. What a lonely life she must lead here. I find myself feeling sorry for the old woman.

  “Here it is.” Sariana pokes a finger at a page near to the back of the book. The binding creaks as she lifts it closer to her face. She squints against the dim light. “Kyan has told you that a destiny binds you, Illyria, but even he does not know all of its details. Very few people know more than what is shared as bedtime stories, but I know what is missing.”

  “How?” Bastien asks.

  “I was the one who received the vision,” she says in a hushed tone. The winds howl outside, making it difficult to make out the words. “My brother shared the same vision and afterward wrote it down in this very book.”

  “Your brother?” I frown. “You never spoke of him before.”

  “That is because he is the lesser of us, a mutation if you will. On Calisted, only women are born into the lineage of seers. He received the gift. When my parents discovered his abilities, they sent him away for fear that he would be killed. No man is supposed to possess the sight.”

  “Eamon does.” I protest.

  “No, he can see the future. That is different. We see all. Past, present, and the things to come. Kaladan is in seclusion on Murilian, one of the moons orbiting Calisted. It is an inhospitable place, one that Aloysius isn’t about to search.” She pauses to look at me. “Someday you will go to him. He will help you if you tell him that I sent you.”

  “And what about you? Were you exiled here?” Bastien asks.

  “In a sense. I chose this fate once we realized Illyria had been sent here. We knew that someday she would seek answers, and I had to be here for this time.”

  I tuck my lower lip between my teeth as my stomach clenches. In her hands lie the answers to why Bastien and Eamon are tied to me. As desperately as I want to know, I am terrified at the same time.

  As if sensing my turmoil, Bastien takes my hand in his, twining his fingers through mine. It is the first time we have really touched in a year, but the strength of his hands is exactly as I remembered. “You don’t have to do this, you know? It doesn’t matter what that prophecy says.”

  “On the contrary.” Sariana breaks in before I can speak. “You of all people should want to know.”

  “Me?” Bastien’s gaze hardens.

  I squeeze his hand and take a deep breath. “I’m ready.”

  “So be it.” The prophetess raises the book so high I can only see the ridgeline of her brow as she begins to read. “During our darkest hour, six teenagers will rise to lead us out of tribulation. Born of our time but returned to the past, they will suffer the fate of all humanity until the day comes for their birthright. The great tyrant will lash out against them. Some will falter, but only one will save our people. A girl will rise among them. She alone has the strength to harness the Ether.” She hesitates before continuing. “You have heard this before?”

  “Yes, apart from that Ether bit. What is that?” Bastien asks. His grip on my hand tightens.

  “Ether is power. The power that controls the waves, hangs the stars in the sky, and keeps everything in motion. It is life in its more basic and wonderful form.” She lifts her finger and continues. “A sacrifice will be given. A new leader rises to rule with a compassionate hand. All will seem lost when death takes the man she loves, but another will rise up to take his place. One shall live while the other passes on. A love debt paid by a single cry.”

  As her voice trails off, I feel numb, like I’m hovering above my body and looking down upon myself. Her words ring with resounding truth within my soul. Frightening and mind-blowing but real. I have no doubt this will come to pass.

  I cry out as Bastien’s arm falls over my shoulder, drawing me close. His grip is tight, his expression grave. “Is that all of it?”

  “Yes. Illyria’s destiny ends with the birth of her firstborn children, a twin boy and girl.”

  I suck in a breath. “I will have children?”

  “Oh, yes.” She smiles down at me. “Several actually. They will be a great blessing during the trials you will face.”

  A strange warmth spreads through m
y chest, chasing away the chill in the air. Children. I never really thought about having kids. Growing up in the rebellion with hardly any food, I knew the cost of bringing a child into the world, but now… the world is changing. Is it possible I could someday be happy?

  I turn to smile at Bastien, to share in my joy, but I stop short. The pain in his eyes cuts me deeply. “What wrong?”

  He shakes his head. I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he struggles to control whatever hidden emotion he is feeling. “Are the prophecies ever wrong?”

  “No. I’m afraid not. This will come to pass as has been foretold.”

  “I don’t understand.” I duck my head so I can look into Bastien’s face, but he turns away. “The prophecy is good. It says we can win. We can save our people.”

  “Yes,” he nods. “But at a great cost to you.”

  I look to Sariana for help, but she merely stares back. “I have already made my decision to marry Aloysius. The sacrifice has been made. This is what we planned. Now I know it will work.”

  When he finally lists his gaze to meet mine, I am rocked by the depths of the hollowness I see. “One shall live while the other passes on. A love debt paid…” He trails off.

  “Oh.” I clasp my hand over my mouth. How did I miss that part? “You mean… Eamon or Bastien?” I look to Sariana with pleading eyes, but she is no longer looking at me. Her eyes are closed and her head leans back against the chair.

  I watch in wonder as the age lines begin to melt away from her face. The snowy white recedes from her hair. A rich mahogany replaces it, flowing over from the crown of her head like a waterfall. The curve of her back straightens. “I am free,” she whispers.

  Bastien scrambles to his feet. “How did you…?”

  “I didn’t,” she replies, raising her hands before her eyes, twisting them back and forth to admire the long, graceful fingers. “My mission is complete. I can go home now.”

  “But Aloysius—” Bastien protests.

  “Is no longer a threat. We can’t help him. We are free from our burden.”

  I grab Bastien’s hand, relying heavily on him to help me up. “Does that mean there won’t be any more prophecies?”