by Aaron Hodges
Stepping over the failed attackers, he walked towards the stairwell, then cursed as the thud of the door above echoed down to them. A slender stranger appeared on the stairs above. He wore tight-fitting black leggings and a sheepskin jerkin, matched with a fine woollen cloak. His cheeks were clean-shaven, and as he reached up and pulled back his hood, Betran saw there was some grey in his short black hair. His hazel eyes studied the tavern, lingering on the unconscious men, before turning on Devon.
“Kellian, about time you showed up!” Devon boomed from behind Betran.
The newcomer shook his head, a weary look passing across his face. “Yes…well, I see you’ve been making friends as usual.”
Chuckling, Devon took Betran by the shoulder and gave him a friendly push towards the stairs. “Had to do something to pass the time. But you’re in luck: while you were busy sleeping, I found someone to take us to Godrin.”
“Oh, joy,” the newcomer muttered, turning to push open the door.
Betran and Devon joined him, and together they walked out into the streets of Kalgan.
Chapter 1
Alana lay on the soft feather mattress and stared up at the panelled ceiling of the canopy bed. A mosaic of gold, silver, and precious gems had been set into the mahogany, depicting a creek running through a wooded valley—but in the past few weeks, Alana had spent so much time lying there she hardly noticed it anymore. Her thoughts were far away, lost in another life, in the sporadic images flickering through her mind.
Images of her father and mother, of her brother, of friends and people she’d once known.
Or so she had believed.
She knew now those memories were lies, a fabrication, some foul construction cast over her mind.
A tremor ran through Alana as she choked back a sob. Forcing her eyes closed, she sought the escape of sleep, though she knew it would not come. How long had she lain in this room now, staring into space, sleeping in fits and bursts amidst the silk sheets? A week? Two?
She no longer had the will to care—how could she, when everything she’d ever known was a lie?
Despite her best efforts, a tear streaked across her cheek as she recalled the words of the Tsar.
My daughter, welcome home…
From the start, she had tried to deny it, to fight and rage against the man. Yet even in those first few moments, his words had rung with truth, sending vibrations down to the very core of her being. In that instant, the hazy memories of her past had shattered, revealing the gaping hole where a lifetime of memories should have been. The truth had left her stumbling through the ruins of her mind, struggling to piece the fragments back together, to answer the one, impossible question.
Who am I?
The question had haunted her through the days and nights, stalking her through every waking hour, following her even into the sanctuary of her dreams. Always the answer seemed to shimmer just out of sight. She could not grasp it, could not quite bring it into focus. Finally she had given up, surrendering to the icy grips of despair.
A sob tore from Alana’s chest as she felt the familiar pain in her chest. She couldn’t go on like this, empty and alone. She was a phantom, an illusion, some dream made real by an unknown power.
Silently, she rose from the bed. The massive room stretched out around her, its furnishings of gold and silver speaking of a wealth she could only ever have dreamed of when living on the streets. Except she knew now that wasn’t true. This had been her room since birth, her sanctuary, the one place she should have known before any other. Yet even now she felt only a cold indifference for it.
She stared at the painting on the far wall, of the nobles on the hunt, their bows taut, arrows ready to fly. When Alana had first woken after her capture, she had hardly glanced at the artwork, but on returning to the room, she’d found herself drawn to it. Studying it now, her eyes were pulled as always to the woman standing amidst the hunters. Blonde hair fluttered in an imaginary wind as the woman held her sabre high, a cry on her crimson lips. Her stone-grey eyes seemed to stare down at Alana, an accusation in their murky depths, a perfect reflection of her own.
Thief!
Alana’s stomach churned and she looked away, unable to gaze on her own likeness a moment longer. Heart pounding, she crossed the soft carpets, brushed aside the drapes, and stepped out onto the marble balcony. She paused as the wind struck her, its icy touch robbing her of breath. Tears cold on her cheeks, she stood there a moment, sucking in great gulps of air, struggling to lift her soul free of the despair that gripped it.
Beyond the balcony, the rooftops of the citadel stretched out around her, the slate tiles and twisting crenulations falling slowly away to the city of Ardath. A thin haze clung to the city, but through it she could just make out the red-brick walls of the merchant quarter. The distant ring of bells carried from the three-pronged spires of the temple. Slowly the ringing faded, and was replaced by the sounds of the waking city.
A lump rose in Alana’s throat as she listened to the shouting voices and clip-clopping of hooves on the brick streets. Down amongst the people was where she belonged, amidst the chaos and the noise. Not up here, surrounded by stone, amidst the trappings of the Tsar’s power.
She stood at the marble railing and looked into the courtyard six storeys below. Basalt and limestone cobbles wound outwards from the central fountain in a spiral pattern, and small shrubs grew around the edges of the courtyard.
A sudden resolve came over Alana, and carefully she climbed up onto the railing of her balcony. The wind swirled around her, threatening to drag her to her death. Her stomach plummeted into her boots as she looked down and saw how far it was to the ground. A sudden weakness took her. Her legs shook as she crouched down and gripped the railing with both hands. Struggling for breath, she clenched her eyes closed.
What are you doing?
Alana shivered. She didn’t know the answer. The wind caught in her bedclothes and her heart lurched as she wavered on the edge.
“What are you afraid of?” she heard herself ask. “You don’t exist, Alana.”
Tears burned in her eyes, but releasing the rail she straightened. Her throat contracted as she looked down into the courtyard. The spiral pattern seemed to be spinning, and she wavered on the edge, the edges of her vision turning dark. Fists clenched tight, she sucked in another breath. Her heart beat slowed, and her fear receded, giving way to the awful emptiness.
“Alana!” a voice yelled from behind her. Over her shoulder, Alana saw Quinn appear in the alcove. Eyes wide, he stood frozen to the spot, hand outstretched. “What are you doing?”
“I’m sorry,” Alana whispered, tears blurring her vision.
Before he could stop her, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to topple backwards.
Her stomach lurched as she began to fall, and the wind howled in her ears. Air rushed around her as she screamed, the breath catching in her throat. She kept her eyes closed tight, waiting for the thud, the final flash of light as she struck hard stone, for her life to go howling into the void.
The shrieking of the wind seemed to grow louder. It whirled around her, catching at her clothes, clawing at her hair, and somehow the sense of falling began to slow. Time stretched out, until unable to resist any longer, Alana opened her eyes. She gasped as she found herself hovering just a few feet above the cobblestones. Terrified, she thrashed against the wind that still buffeted her. Abruptly the vortex suspending her mid-air dissipated, and she fell the last few inches to the ground.
Air rushed from her lungs as she struck the cobbles. Gasping, she rolled onto her side and clutched her stomach, her lungs straining for breath. She was still struggling to breathe when Quinn dropped from the heavens, his cloak whipping around him as gusts of wind, summoned by his Sky magic, slowed his fall.
He blinked as he touched down, flicking a glance back at the tower. “Well, that’s a new trick…” he muttered. Shaking his head, he crouched beside her. “Alana, are you okay?”
Alan
a cursed as she finally caught her breath. Pushing him away, she pulled herself to her feet. “Why did you save me?” she shrieked, shoving him hard in the chest.
He stared back at her. “You don’t know what you’re doing, Alana,” he replied. “This isn’t you.”
“I know that!” she yelled, swinging on him. She jabbed a finger at his face. “How do you think it feels, finding out that everything you’ve ever known is a lie? That everything I am is some…some construction?”
Reeling back, Quinn held up his hands in supplication. Her words trailed off as she sucked in a breath. Her chest still ached from the fall and her heart was racing, the panic building within her. Wheezing, she staggered, her legs beginning to tremble. Alana slumped back to the ground and drew her knees up against her chest.
Seating himself beside her, Quinn placed a tentative hand on her back. Alana flinched, but this time she did not pull away. In that instant, her hatred and fear of Quinn seemed small beside the desolation within.
“Just breathe,” he murmured, rubbing her back. The silence stretched out, but when he finally spoke again, his voice was soft, reassuring. “I’m sorry. I should have come sooner. Your fath– the Tsar, he thought it best to give you your space.”
“Why is this happening to me?” she croaked, trying to keep herself from sobbing.
“It is…difficult to explain,” Quinn said. “But I’m here now. Maybe I can help.”
Alana closed her eyes, still struggling to control her breathing. Quinn’s hand moved across her back in slow circles, his warmth and presence strangely comforting. The thought gave her pause. This was the man who had hunted her and her brother across the Three Nations. She had fought with every ounce of her strength to escape him, yet he had just saved her life with his magic. Sitting with him now in the quiet of the courtyard felt strangely warming, and she shivered at the familiarity of it.
“Are you okay, Alana?” he asked into the silence.
Shaking her head, Alana glanced at him. The sight still set her heart racing, but she fought the instinct to run. “Quinn…please…help me?”
He nodded. His hand slid beneath her arm and he pulled her up. “Come with me.”
Alana obeyed, taking his shoulder for support. She felt strangely exhausted, as though her plunge from the balcony had stolen away the last of her strength. If not for Quinn, Alana wasn’t sure she could have made it back it inside, let alone up the long stairway to her room.
Still in her nightclothes, she allowed herself to be led through the winding corridors and endless courtyards of the citadel. There were fewer guards now than on the first day she’d woken, though she hadn’t bothered to ask anyone where they’d gone. Those they did pass kept their eyes fixed straight ahead. Even so, Alana’s cheeks warmed with embarrassment. The silk nightgowns she’d found in her clothes trunk barely went down past her waist. In the life she could remember, Alana would never have worn such tight-fitting bedclothes, but here there’d been little else to choose from.
Alana’s thoughts were jerked back to the present as warm air touched her cheek. Blinking, she looked around, surprised to find herself looking out over a sprawling lawn and garden. Beyond the short-cropped grass and twisting rosebushes, the outer walls of the citadel towered overhead, the dull grey stone standing out in sharp contrast to the vibrant colours below.
Pathways of red sandstone and blue marble twisted away from where they stood, threading their way through the green lawns and passing beneath archways of flowering vines. Despite the icy winds of winter beyond the citadel walls, the air here carried with it the touch of summer. The trees dotting the gardens were in full blossom, the reds and yellows and blues of their flowers seemingly aglow with magic.
Despite the warmth, Alana found herself shivering. She knew this garden, had seen it in the dreams that had plagued her during her flight across the Three Nations. She had seen herself and her brother here, running across the lawns, playing in the distant trees.
“I know this place,” she whispered.
Quinn smiled. “That’s good.” Taking her hand, he led her onto the lawn.
Alana was barefoot, but the grass was soft beneath her feet. Closing her eyes, she savoured the touch of sunlight on her skin, the warmth of the air, the distant chatter of laughter. Looking around, she sought the source. To her wonder, a troupe of children came running across the grass, closely followed by a woman in a sunflower yellow dress. Scarlet hair bobbed as she ran, her pale skin aglow with the morning sun. She wore no jewellery except for a pair of emerald studded silver bracelets, and there was a smile on her face as she watched the children.
The smile fell from the woman’s lips as she saw them watching. Leaving the children to their play, she wandered over. Alana started to speak, but before she could get a word out, the woman swung on Quinn.
“She shouldn’t be here,” the woman hissed, her voice taut with anger.
Quinn’s eyes flashed and he stepped forward, placing himself between Alana and the woman. “Afraid of an audience, Krista?” he asked coolly.
She glared at him, eyes narrowed. “Never,” she snapped, “but the children do not need the distraction. The boy, Liam, is taking his examination this week.”
“We will not interfere, Krista,” Quinn said with a smile. “Now, I suggest you get back to your charges. They seem to have wandered off.”
Krista glanced around and swore when she saw the children disappearing through an archway. She took off without another word.
Chuckling, Quinn turned back to Alana. “You’ll have to excuse Krista.”
Alana hardly heard him. One of the children had caught her attention. She started after them, eyes narrowed, trying to catch another glimpse of the boy. She could have sworn she recognised him. The breath caught in her throat as the boy she’d spotted glanced back. For a moment he stared at her, a frown on his young face, then he turned and disappeared through the arch.
“That was the boy from the stepwell,” she whispered.
Quinn rested his hand on her shoulder. “His name is Liam.”
Alana shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. “What is this?”
“The truth,” Quinn murmured.
Her breath coming in ragged gasps, Alana looked into Quinn’s eyes, seeking some sign of deception. He stared back at her, his face soft now, his forehead creased with concern. Gone was the steely glint of the Stalker who had chased her across the Three Nations. From the depths of her memories, she heard again the question in her dreams.
Are you ready, Alana?
She closed her eyes. For weeks she had fought the truth, clinging to the belief the Tsar and his people were evil. According to his laws, all Magickers were to be brought to the citadel. Once taken into custody, they were never seen again. The day her brother’s magic had woken, she had known they had to flee, or face death. But now…now everything was wrong.
The boy she’d seen was the same one Quinn had arrested in the stepwell so many weeks ago. He should have been dead, and yet there he was, healthy and alive, happy…
A sob tore from her lips as the last of her resistance crumbled. “Why is this happening to me?”
“Your magic,” Quinn said.
“My…magic?” Alana whispered. Her mouth opened and closed as she struggled to find the words to reply. “My…no…that’s not possible.”
Clutching her chest, she staggered back, struggling to keep herself upright. Before she could fall, Quinn grasped her firmly by the shoulder.
“It’s the truth, Alana,” he said as she steadied herself. Taking her hands in his, he held them tight. “You have the power to alter minds.”
Silently, Alana shook her head. Her hands slipped from his grip as she sank to her knees. Wrapping her arms around her chest, she locked eyes with Quinn, silently beseeching him to take back the words.
Instead, he knelt beside her, unblinking. “We believe that, somehow, your magic went wrong,” he continued inexorably, “that you lost control, and wip
ed away the memories of yourself and your brother. Your power must have imprinted another…reality over your own consciousness.”
“How is that possible?” Alana croaked.
“I don’t know,” Quinn murmured. “I have never seen you lose control before. All I can tell you is that you disappeared with your brother on his sixteenth birthday. We searched for you, locked the city gates and sent out men to search the streets. But for weeks, there was no sign of either of you. Not even your father, with all his power, could find you.”
“It wasn’t until I sensed Earth magic near the northern gates that we picked up your trail. I didn’t know it was you though, not until that night in Sitton Forest.”
Alana closed her eyes, struggling to comprehend, to make sense of this new reality. She thought back to their escape from the city. A cold breeze blew across her neck as she recalled her conversation with the ship captain, how he’d suddenly changed his mind and allowed them to depart.
“How…how can…” she trailed off, fighting back tears.
“I’m sorry this happened to you, Alana,” Quinn said. He paused, taking a breath. “But…you were happy here once. You had a place, a role in this world.”
Tears welled in Alana’s eyes. “I don’t remember…”
Quinn smiled. “Then let me show you,” he whispered, offering his hand.
Trembling, Alana stared at him a moment. Fear spread through her chest as she wondered what fresh revelations Quinn had in store for her. It seemed that every word from his mouth further unwound her sense of self, making a lie of everything she believed in. A yearning rose within her, to flee back to her room, to hide beneath the blankets and block out the world.
Yet there was no running from this truth. She could hide no longer. Swallowing back her terror, Alana reached out and took his hand.
Chapter 2
Devon fell in with Kellian as they left the tavern. He was aware of his friend’s irritation, but couldn’t help but grin as he caught the man’s eye. After all, the unconscious men in the tavern were hardly his fault. Knowing it would be recognised, Devon had left his warhammer kanker at the inn, but in the end it hadn’t mattered: as much as he’d wanted to lay low, Kalgan was a small place nowadays, and his reputation amongst the survivors of the war was well-earned. Whether they succeeded in finding Enala’s contact tonight or not, they would have to leave the city by morning, or risk being hunted down by a mob of vengeful townsfolk.