by Miles, Amy
“I suppose that will be up to you.” She smiles. She rises to her feet with a long-forgotten grace.
“What about Illyria?” We watch as Sariana bounces on her toes, her hair floating about her face as she giggles with delight. She looks hardly a day over thirty, beautiful and full of life.
She sobers for just a moment, reaching out a hand to me. “May I speak with her alone for a moment before you go?”
I can feel Bastien’s hesitation, but I nod at him. “I’ll be all right.”
He relents and grabs my pack, slinging it over his shoulder. He opens the door, swearing loudly as he is blasted with gust of icy air. The door slams shut behind him, but I doubt he had little control over it.
When I turn back, Sariana’s face is downturned, painted with regret. “I am truly sorry for the trials that lie before you, my dear. I have carried your burden as my own for many years, knowing this day would come.”
“Your prophecy has ruined my life,” I mutter, feeling little warmth from her hand as she reaches out to grasp my arm. “You took Bastien from me, destroyed Eamon’s life, and now you are going to kill one of them?” My voice shakes with rising anger.
“This is not my prophecy. I am just the messenger.” She steps toward me and I have to fight the urge to retreat. “Fate chose you because of your heart, Illyria. Your love for your people proves that. You are willing to sacrifice everything. Not many people would do that, and that is what will make you a wise queen.”
I shift my weight from one foot to the next, listening to the floorboards creak. “What if I can’t do this? What if I’m not strong enough?”
She squeezes my arm gently. “You are already strong enough, Illyria. You just have to believe it.”
I close my eyes, wishing I had never come here. “I won’t let them die,” I whisper.
“There is nothing you can do to stop it. You may be able to prolong it, but some day one of them will die to fulfill their role.”
I step back from her grasp and shove my hands deep into my pockets. “You told me I have this power to control Ether, whatever that is. If there has never been anyone like me before, how do you know I can’t change our fate?”
Sariana’s smile is filled with tenderness as she clasps her hands before her. Against her silver robes, her skin no longer looks pale, but warm and filled with golden color. “If there is anyone who can defy the fates, it is you, but I urge you to be careful.”
Her warning gives me reason to pause. I turn back from the door. “What haven’t you told me?”
She looks toward the back room. “There is more to the prophecy. I did not think you would want Bastien to hear of it.”
I walk back toward her. “Tell me.”
She nods and disappears behind the cloth curtain. I can hear books tumbling off shelves, clattering carelessly to the floor by her feet. A cloud of dust puffs out of the room. She stumbles out, wafting her hand before her face as she coughs.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes.” She chokes, shaking her head. “I hadn’t realized how disgusting it was back there. Poor eyesight and all that.”
Tucked under her arm is a dark-blue leather-bound book, far smaller in size than the one she originally read from. Nearly small enough to fit within a pocket. A blanket of cold settles over me as she opens the book and I see pages of darkly scrawled jagged symbols. They look angry somehow.
“What is this?”
“My diary.” She blows on the book and unsettles a thick layer of dust. She thumbs through, licking her finger each time before she turns the page. Her lips flutter with whispered words as her eyes scan rapidly across the page.
“Not long after I had the first vision, another hit me. I was afraid of what might happen if I added it to the Book of Testimony. If this were to fall into the wrong hands…” She trails off and casts a furtive glance toward the door. I can only faintly hear Bastien’s pacing steps punching through the snow. He must be freezing out there. “I saw you, a power of unspeakable horror, capable of bringing entire worlds to their knees. A tyrant to replace Aloysius, beautiful and savage.”
I don’t have to close my eyes to remember the vision of blood and death that touched me a year ago. Bodies lay scattered at my feet. My friends’ lifeless eyes staring at me from great funeral pyres. I blink away the image. “How does this happen?”
Sariana sets aside the book and approaches me. “There is a darkness within you that wants to be free. You have heard its voice, felt its need. You harnessed it when you attacked Thalar and battled Drakon, but it isn’t gone. Your hair is a reminder of that. Do not forget how volatile you can be when you’re upset. Anger and sorrow are when you are strongest. The death of a loved one could prove disastrous for us all.”
“So both prophecies are true?”
“Yes. They are possible outcomes, but one thing is certain… One will happen. It is up to you which path you choose.”
“No pressure, then,” I mutter. I cross my arms over my chest, trying to hold myself together.
It is almost too much to take in. Eamon and Bastien are brothers. My love for both of them makes sense now, but knowing the truth doesn’t make it any easier. Someday I will lose one of them. I can’t bear the thought of that. “Will I ever see you again?”
“Who knows what fate has planned for us?” She walks me to the door. “Bastien needs you. Be there for him.”
I can only imagine what Bastien must be feeling right now, to discover a long-lost brother and know he has lost everything because of him. And Eamon… he doesn’t even know yet.
“I’m not sure I can,” I whisper to myself as I open the door and step into the blizzard.
Twelve
The winds buffet against us, stealing my breath away as I stumble after Bastien. I can barely make out the shape of his back even though I’m only a couple feet from him. “We have to get out of this storm,” he shouts back to me, cupping his hands about his face.
It is hard to walk. The snow is up to my calves, blowing into swells. I stumble, unable to see the uneven terrain below. My legs are nearly numb, my toes without feeling. I’ve tucked my hands into the sleeves of my coat, but they feel as if I’ve left them bare to the elements.
My hood whips about my face, offering little protection. We’re not dressed for a storm such as this. If we don’t find shelter soon, we’ll be in serious danger.
We should have stayed at Sariana’s. Even as this thought crosses my mind, I know that wasn’t an option. Neither one of us wants to deal with the secrets we discovered within her home.
“I think I know where we can go.” I stumble beside Bastien as he grasps my hand, trusting him to lead us to safety. The sky is a solid sheet of white, unleashing pellets of ice that sting as they strike against my cheeks.
My hand is slick in his, my fingers aching from the cold. I struggle to keep up with his fast pace as we weave through the forest, leaping out of harm’s way seconds before a tree looms up before us. He raises an arm to shield his face as he plunges deeper into the storm. “There!”
I try to see where it is he is pointing, but only large, shapeless shadows rise before us in the wash of white. He doesn’t wait for me to speak before he is yanking on my arm and I find myself tumbling after him, barely managing to stay upright.
At the first sight of a building, I tug back on Bastien’s arm. “Are you insane? You can’t just go into a town and assume it’s safe.”
“I’m not. Besides, who else is crazy enough to be out in a storm like this?” He urges me forward. I can tell he’s trying to be patient, but the blanket of ice settling over us is making that difficult.
I lurch forward through a cloud of breath and run on nearly frozen toes. Where did this freak storm come from? I had hoped moving south, we would avoid the early arrival of winter. Perhaps we didn’t move fast enough.
We speed past several homes on the outskirts of the town. Many of them are missing their roofs, torn away by storms or laser fire. Entir
e walls and foundations have crumbled, leaving hollowed-out shells that we have to pick our way over. I slip as I try to crawl over a pile of bricks. Bastien helps me to my feet, wrapping his arm around my back as I slide down the other side.
Brushing the line of ice off the curve of my hood, swiping sleet from my face, I try to peer into the homes as we pass beside them. Sometimes I can make out an overturned table or pair of chair legs sticking up like a porcupine's quills.
I spy empty cupboards and rotting curtains dangling haphazardly from rusted curtain rods. Lifeless TVs with their screen smashed out and shredded couches seem to be a regular occurrence. Each home we pass saddens me, to be reminded yet again of how much was lost when the Caldonians arrived. Snow blankets everything, but at least within the narrow streets of the town, the wind has lessened and we can see farther ahead of us.
“Where are we going?”
“Just up there.” I lift my gaze to look over his shoulder and realize where he is taking me.
“A church?”
He doesn’t respond as our boots thump against the brick steps and he releases my hand. He quickly slips out of my pack and hands it to me. Turning sideways, he launches himself at the wooden door. It rattles and groans but doesn’t give way.
“You’re going to hurt yourself.”
His lips purse with determination as he hits it again. On the third go, the door gives way and spills him into darkness. “Bastien!”
“I’m fine.” He grunts and appears in the doorway, his dark hair lightened by a thick layer of dust. “It’s filthy but dry. Come on.”
I step over the threshold, feeling a bit out of sorts as I do. I’ve never been in a church before. My mother used to tell me about them. I’ve even seen a few remnants of churches within Thalar’s city limits but have never entered one.
A part of me is still angry with God, if he even exists. Surely he played some role in creating the misery in my life. And if he did… what good is he anyways?
The sound of wind beating against the roof is loud as we close the door. In the far corner, I can hear sporadic splatter as clumps of snow drop through, a telltale sign of roof damage.
The light within is dim so Bastien charges up his laser. It splutters at first, no doubt affected by the barrage of ice that froze over its casing. Finally, it intensifies to a full glow and I’m able to look around.
This church feels old, dating far before the invasion. Its walls are peeling, revealing the wooden frame beneath. I can see deep grooves carved into the plank wood floor where the pews were shifted to be nearer to the remains of a fire in the center of the one-room building.
The floor around the fire has been permanently charred. A small hole above has been punctured through the roof to allow the smoke to escape.
There are signs of life in this room but nothing recent. Only used-up food cans, bedding that has been converted into a rat motel, and a small pair of black dress shoes for a little girl have been left behind. I stare at the shoes, praying this child made it out alive.
Bastien’s rummaging draws my attention as I step farther into the room. I skirt around the hole that drips water and head toward a single-step platform near the front of the church. Tall, tarnished golden pipes line one wall. I peer up at them, confused.
“They were for an organ,” Bastien says, stepping around me to check out a back room.
Beside the pipes is a square, hollowed-out space. I lift up onto my tiptoes to look over the edge. “Bathtub?”
I can hear his laughter through the holes in the wall. “It’s a baptismal. For people who want to be saved.”
“Saved from what?”
He reemerges with an armful of hideous purple clothes. He dumps them onto the floor and dusts his hands off on his shirt, leaving trails of fingerprints upon his chest. “It’s really too complicated to explain.”
I look back toward the baptismal, wondering if any of the villagers sat in the missing pews, praying to their God for salvation when the Caldonians arrived. A lot of good that did them.
“Did you ever do this? Come into a church?” I ask as I move back toward him.
He lifts the purple material and I realize they are something resembling a cloak. There are two armholes, but the material is so huge it would swallow you whole.
“There used to be one down from where I lived. Mom knew I was fascinated with some of the carvings and windows, so on my birthday, she would sneak me out so I could sit in the pews and watch the moon rise, casting a rainbow of colors on the floor. It was almost magical.”
He holds out one of the cloaks to me. “Put on this choir robe. We gotta get these wet clothes off or we’ll get sick.”
I hesitate, not because of the overwhelming smell of age and disuse that clings to the fabric, but because I’m gripped by a memory: waking half naked in his arms after he pulled me from a lake. He saved my life that night, giving me his sweater to keep warm. I had thought he abandoned me in the city. I was wrong.
“I won’t look,” he says, and I realize he’s staring at me with an odd expression.
I don’t trust myself to speak. Instead, I turn my back on him and wait to hear him do the same.
My clothes don’t want to go without a fight, clinging to my damp skin as if it were surgically attached. I wiggle and thrust out my hips, hopping on one foot and nearly tumbling right over until finally I am free. I toss the uniform to the side. It lands with a thick splat.
Holding my breath, I slide the purple robe over my head. It bunches at the floor, covering me from neck to foot. I can’t even find my arms. Bastien turns and peeks over his shoulder, his grim expression shifting into one of mirth, shaking his head. “It suits you, I think.”
“Very funny,” I growl, doubling over to wring melting snow and ice from my hair. I realize I’ve just expelled enough moisture to form a small puddle at me feet and yank back on the fabric to keep from soaking the musty fabric.
I watch Bastien as he flattens out several more layers of cloth. “What are you doing?”
“Making a bed.”
I glance toward the windows. Although they are covered by years of grime, I can still see light outside. “It’s not dark yet. Shouldn’t we wait to see if the storm passes?”
Bastien looks up to find me nibbling on my lower lip. “You really don’t want to sleep near me, do you?” He sighs and points to a far corner. “I’ll stay over there if that makes you more comfortable.”
I’m about to respond with a cutting remark, but then I remember the snow last night and how Bastien remained outside to give me the space he knew I needed.
“No.” I shake my head, wishing I hadn’t lost my hair string in our mad dash for shelter so I could get my hair back out of my face. It hangs in thick, heavy locks over my shoulders, dampening the top layer of the robe. “It’s fine. I just… It’s weird, ya know. After what Sariana said.”
“I know,” he whispers.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.” He shakes his head as I sink down beside him. “Not tonight. Maybe not ever.”
I wake sometime in the middle of the night to silence. The pounding of the sleet has fallen away and the stillness that remains feels eerie.
Bastien breathes steadily behind me; his shoulder and leg presses against my back. I had forgotten that he likes to sleep on his back with a knife in hand. Just like me. I look down at the glint of steel in my hand. Old habits die hard.
“It stopped a little while ago.” His voice rises from the dark.
I stiffen. “Did I wake you?”
I peer into the dark, wondering why he doesn’t speak. Is he as aware of how close we are as I am? The last time we lay like this was— I cut off that thought before it takes me into dangerous areas.
“Can you not sleep?” I whisper.
A rustling outside the church makes me crane my neck. I can feel the tension coiling in my muscles as I wait for the sound to come again. When it does, I can hear the distinct ruffling of feath
ers and let my head fall back down onto my arm.
My right side is numb, but I’m too afraid to move, to shift closer to Bastien or farther away. I can feel his warmth against my back, and I close my eyes, wishing it didn’t feel as good as it does.
“I’ve been thinking.”
I stretch out my leg and nearly moan as the needles ripple along my calf. “About earlier?” Flexing my toes brings more jabs of pain, but they slowly begin to subside and feeling returns.
“No,” he quickly says, leaving little doubt to just how far he wants to tread away from that subject. “About your mission. It doesn’t make sense to me.”
Now I do roll over. It takes some effort to toss my dead arm over, but I manage to shift onto my back. I stare up at the ceiling, noticing for the first time that I can see a small patch of cloud through the hole in the roof.
He continues on as if I asked him to. “I’ve been going over it again and again in my head, but I just don’t get it.”
Rising up onto his elbows, he looks down at me. His face is clothed in shadow, making it impossible to see his expression. “Why are we really going to this base?”
I frown. “You don’t know?”
“Kyan sent word a week ago that we had discovered Drakon’s location. I know about the downed Sky Ships and my scouts have evidence that he is moving forces away from the base. If that is the case, why not fly you directly to my base? By the time we reach there and then add on top the travel time, Drakon will have had the chance to escape again.”
My hair feels dry against my forehead, slightly curled and frizzy. Staring at the patch of sky overhead, I wonder how long it will be until daylight returns and we can leave. Surely not soon enough for me to escape this conversation.
“I know something is missing.” His voice is tight, controlled. “What haven’t I been told, Illyria?”
I can’t look at him. It doesn’t matter that I can’t really seem him in the near-pitch dark. I just can’t face him, knowing that Kyan lied to him as well.