Endure

by Sara B. Larson

  Akio took the moment of distraction to leap up from the ground and in the blink of an eye slashed a curved sword at my bindings, narrowly missing my head, but freeing my hands. My arms dropped to either side of my face, pain shooting through my body as blood rushed back down to my fingers.

  The moment my arms were free, Akio sprang past me toward The Summoner, knocking him to the ground.

  Ignoring the agony in my arms and hands, I forced myself to sit up and frantically pulled at the ropes on my ankles with my numb fingers as Akio and The Summoner rolled across the floor, both of their robes burning now. Akio had lost his sword. It lay next to the bed, reflecting the hungry flames that were now moving toward me. I heard a howl of pain but didn’t let myself pause to look and see what was happening. Instead, I leaned over the bed, grabbed the sword, and, sitting back up, slashed my feet free.

  I snatched up the device The Summoner had used to bleed me in my left hand and clutched the sword in my right as I jumped up from the bed, leaping over the growing fire to see The Summoner lying on his back, gripping Akio by the throat. Akio’s body was convulsing. I ran toward them, but just before I would have swiped the sword across The Summoner’s throat, he threw Akio toward me, sending us both tumbling to the ground, too close to the flames that were spreading around the room. The sword fell out of my tingling, still half-numb hand, leaving me with only the metal tube to defend myself as I scrambled back to my feet.

  Akio lay unmoving on the ground, but The Summoner stood at the end of the now-burning bed, his palm stretched toward me.

  “You must bleed first,” he said, his voice burning my ears like the flames that filled the room with unbearable heat and a thick, cloying smoke. “Then you will die.” He lifted his hand, but before he could do anything to me, Akio suddenly moved toward him, wrapping his arms around The Summoner’s legs and knocking him to the ground again.

  I didn’t have time to wonder if he’d been pretending to be unconscious or how he’d been able to recover so quickly. It was my only chance to kill The Summoner and escape.

  I rushed toward them just as The Summoner rolled away from Akio and lifted his hand. I screamed Akio’s name as I lifted the device above my head and leaped toward The Summoner. The jet of fire burst from his hand to hit Akio in the same moment that he turned and saw me throwing myself toward him, slicing the sharp metal through the air toward his throat. He threw out his other hand, and it felt as though I’d been slammed by one of Deron’s hardest hits, straight to the chest, throwing me back onto the ground again.

  “Kill him!” I heard Akio’s agonized scream as I rolled to my knees and forced myself to my feet only to have The Summoner grab me from behind and bring the sword up to my throat. I stiffened.

  “Now you shall bleed,” he said as he pushed me toward the fire that consumed half of the room, the smoke chugging into the air, choking me. As soon as I breathed it in, I realized his voice had changed, and it was Damian who said, “And then you will die.”

  Panic seized me, but I forced it down. It’s his blood, I realized. The smoke from the flames that had burned up his blood was causing me to hallucinate, like the cloud Manu had created. The demons must have given their blood extra power. It’s not Damian, I told myself. It’s not Damian.

  He held me so tightly, expecting me to fight back, that he wasn’t prepared for when I let my body slump forward, my entire weight suddenly pulling on his arms. He lurched forward, his grip loosening ever so slightly as he stumbled to regain his balance. But that was all I needed. Using every ounce of strength I had in me, I twisted, ripping my arm free. Swinging it around before he could lift his hand to stop me, I stabbed the metal device straight back above my head — directly into his throat.

  The Summoner’s arms convulsed around my body as he let out a gurgled cry of agony before dropping them completely. He stumbled back, and I spun around, yanking the device out of his neck as I did. But when I saw Damian standing there, his blue eyes wide and glazed with pain and shock as the blood rushed down his throat to coat his black-and-white robes, I had to choke back a scream of shock. I shook my head and stepped forward, out of the cloud, and when I blinked, I no longer saw Damian, but The Summoner, swaying on his feet.

  “No,” I said, stalking toward him and shoving him to the ground, holding him down with my foot on his shoulder. “You will bleed, and then you will die. And then your master can take what’s left of your soul for himself.” I lifted the device above my head and sliced it down through the air, straight into his heart — if he even had one anymore.

  His mouth opened, and he tried to say something, but blood filled his throat, and with a final shudder, he became still and his eyes grew glassy.

  Trembling now that it was over, I spun and dropped to the floor to avoid the hallucination-inducing smoke, searching for Akio on my hands and knees.

  “Akio!” I called out, hurrying forward, away from the flames that were quickly reaching for The Summoner’s body. “Akio!”

  I heard a quiet sound, not quite a word — more of a coughing gasp — and I rushed toward it to see Akio lying on the ground, half of his body charred and bleeding, his eyes squeezed shut against the pain.

  I dropped to my knees beside him. “Akio,” I murmured. “Can you heal yourself? Can you stand?”

  His eyes opened, searching for me. When he saw me leaning over him, he jerkily shook his head. “Go,” he managed to whisper, his voice gravelly with pain. “Stop … him … he will destroy … the whole world … stop him….” he gasped the words until I reached down and clutched his unburned hand. Tears stung my eyes as I stared down at Akio. “Go … before … they come….”

  “Thank you,” I said, bending forward to press a kiss to his forehead. His eyes closed, and with a soft sigh, the air released from his lungs, and he didn’t breathe again.

  I let my forehead rest against his for a brief moment as a tear slipped out and dripped onto his charred skin. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  And then I stood and rushed toward the open window and freedom.

  Though The Summoner’s horse was bigger, I didn’t want anything that had ever been his, so I hurried up to the mare I’d ridden the whole time I’d been captive on this trek. The Summoner had left the saddle and bridle on both animals, so it only took a moment to swing myself up into her saddle and gather the reins as Eljin had taught me to with Mira, after wiping the grit and tears from my eyes. She needed little urging to hurry away from the burning home, where the flames were now bursting out of the window and licking up toward the roof.

  I’d opened the gate, and when my mare galloped through it, The Summoner’s horse lifted his head and followed after us for a bit before slowing to a trot and then stopping again, once he was away from the fire. Exhaustion and weakness threatened to drag me under as we galloped away from Bikoro and King Armando toward the jungle. I hadn’t exerted myself like that in far too long — and I also hadn’t had enough nourishment to sustain that kind of energy for the same length of time. I had to force myself to hang on until we had put as much distance between us and the Dansiians as possible. The moment The Summoner’s death and my escape were discovered, King Armando was sure to drive his men into the ground to pursue and recapture me. My defeat of his most powerful sorcerer would most likely only solidify his belief that I could make him and his men invincible, even though The Summoner had apparently proven to him today that it wasn’t the case.

  The sound of my horse’s hooves pounding against the muddy ground seemed unbearably loud in the quiet night, and I kept glancing over my shoulder, expecting to see Dansiian sorcerers coming after me, but the city remained quiet, save for the homes that were burning. The one I’d been kept in wasn’t the only one to go up in flames. The pillaging had resulted in many houses being burned down, though that had stopped after the king’s order that they spend the night in Bikoro had been circulated.

  I turned back to face the jungle again, forcing my trembling thighs to grip the mare’s sid
es as I urged her to go even faster. Her legs ate up the ground, practically flying toward the protection of the jungle — almost as if she knew the danger we were in.

  But even as fast as she was going, it felt like forever before we finally raced past the treeline and plunged into the arms of the jungle. The moment the lush vegetation encircled us, I heaved a huge sigh of relief. I pulled back on the reins slightly, slowing her a bit. I didn’t want to risk having her trip or get hurt on the rutted road in the darkness, or my escape would be short-lived.

  We pressed on for what felt like hours, galloping down the road toward Tubatse and the palace. Were the rumors true — would everyone be gone when I got there? Panic and fear beat in time with my blood as the night wore on. But every time I glanced over my shoulder, there was nothing there except for trees, flowers, bushes, and the prints of my mare’s hooves in the muddy road. I could only hope a storm would work its way up again and wash away the evidence of our path before King Armando entered the jungle. Would he still burn it down if he was searching for me?

  Finally, just before dawn, it began to rain again, and I knew if I kept going, I would end up falling off the mare. I had absolutely no strength left. I had to stop and rest and find something to eat. Though I didn’t dare let myself sleep. If King Armando still decided to burn the jungle down, I wasn’t sure I’d put enough distance between us to outrun the flames that would be coming in a few short hours’ time.

  When I dismounted, my legs nearly gave out on me, and I had to grab the saddle to keep myself from falling to the ground. I hated how weak I was. Tears struggled for release as I let my head fall forward to rest against the leather saddle I’d been tied to for so many days. So much death and destruction … it left me breathless with grief. Contrary to Armando’s belief, I was far from invincible; I’d been extremely lucky up until this point to have survived my battles against so many sorcerers so much more powerful than I could ever dream of being. So many had sacrificed their lives to help me defeat them — without their aid, I wouldn’t ever have succeeded. Without Jude, and Eljin, and now Akio.

  As if she could sense my distress, the mare swung her head around to nip at my arm softly, with just her lips. I reached forward to scratch her chin, though my arm shook from the effort and the painful wounds from the bleedings throbbed even harder.

  “It’s not your fault,” I said. “You can’t control who owns you.”

  I took a deep breath and straightened. There was no time for this. I had to find food and water. I could sit for a minute, to rest and let the nourishment take hold. And then we would keep going.

  I had to get to Damian. I had to prove that I kept my word — I was coming back to him.

  I lost track of how many days — or weeks — we’d been traveling, barely stopping to sleep, scrounging for fruit or roots to survive on, pushing forward as fast as possible to continue to outrun King Armando, when I finally pulled the mare, who I had named Nia after my mother, whose name had been Nialah, to a stop. There, in the valley before us, carved out from the belly of the jungle, was the city of Tubatse. And above it, on the hill across from us, rose the walls that surrounded the palace.

  I stared at my former home, straining to see any sign of life. Heavy, dark clouds, pregnant with rain, strained above us, preparing to unleash their load at any moment. But after waiting for long minutes, hoping to see something — anything — that would defy the rumors, I had to accept what I was seeing.

  The capital city and the palace of Antion were completely abandoned.

  The gate to the palace wall was already open when we rode up to it after crossing through the empty city, passing one abandoned house after another. The only consolation was that it appeared to have been voluntary. There were no signs of fighting or destruction.

  I urged Nia past the wall, just to make sure. I had to be absolutely certain that no one was in the palace before I moved on. I didn’t even know where to go now. My whole focus had been to get here — to get to Damian. But as we circled the empty grounds I had to face the reality that no one was there, including the king.

  Weeds had already sprung up everywhere, the tenacious jungle reclaiming its ground as quickly as possible now that there was no one to hold it at bay. I guided Nia over to the stables where Damian had kept his horse, but it, too, was empty. I dismounted and let her eat what little bit of food for the horses was left.

  While she ate, I turned to face the palace. The silence was strangely deafening — and unnerving. The tent city of displaced women and babies was gone; the army and guards were all gone. No sounds of sparring, or sentinels changing shifts. There was no movement behind the windows of the palace. Only the dark reflection of the storm building in the sky above us.

  I looped Nia’s reins over one of the bars inside the stable and then strode across the hard ground toward the palace, just as the first few fat drops of rain plopped against my face and arms. I broke into a run, but the storm broke faster, turning into a deluge in mere seconds. I was completely soaked by the time I rushed up the stairs — the same ones where I’d fought Iker — and then stopped in front of the massive door that filled the main entrance to the palace. I hesitated for some reason, but then forced myself to reach for the handle and try it. The door ground open; they’d left it unlocked.

  Once inside, I left the door ajar so more light would illuminate the dark, empty palace. There were no candles, no torches or fires, to break up the gloom from the storm. Despite the thick humidity in the air, I couldn’t keep from shivering. The wounds that were finally almost healed in the crooks of my elbows still caused a ping of pain when I bent my arms to wrap them around my body and walked purposefully forward.

  There was no reason to be afraid, I told myself. No one was here. I’d hurry and get what I needed and then continue on. Surely, so many people trekking through the jungle would leave a distinct path, despite the constant rain that would have washed away their tracks. But where on earth could they have gone?

  Shaking off my paranoia, I hurried toward the stairs and ran up to my old room, pushing the door open and then striding straight over to my guard uniforms. I practically tore the Dansiian clothes from my body in my rush to get them off. Once they were in a wet pile on the ground, I reached for the dry, familiar clothes I’d worn for years as Damian’s personal guard. I paused after pulling on my pants, before yanking the shirt over my head, to stare down at the scars on my arms. The slashes where The Summoner had punctured my skin with his disgusting device were red and angry looking, but at least they didn’t appear to be getting infected as they healed. Akio had managed to heal my shoulder completely, my new scars blending in with the old ones Iker had given me. Thinking of Akio reminded me of that horrible night in Bikoro, and his death. I shook away those memories, forcing them to the recesses of my mind as I finished dressing, pulled on the extra pair of boots I’d kept in my room, and then picked up the wet clothes and walked out of my room toward Damian’s.

  As soon as I opened the door to his actual room and saw his bed and desk and everything else left untouched, abandoned, I forgot for a moment why I’d come in there. I froze in the doorway, staring at the shadowed, empty room. Something inside me lurched when I glanced toward the window where Damian had stood when I came to tell him I had to go after Rylan. Had he left the palace thinking I was dead?

  Lightning flashed, blinding me momentarily and making me flinch, and then thunder roared across the jungle, rattling the windowpanes. Shaken from my painful thoughts, I remembered the wet, cold clothes in my arms and rushed toward the fireplace and tossed them down on top of the ashes. I never wanted to see them again — didn’t want anything left to remind me of that horrible night or all the things that had led up to it. I knelt down in front of the hearth and picked up the stone and flint to start a fire. There were only two pieces of wood and a tiny bit of kindling, but after some effort, I was able to get the fire going. The clothes were too wet to catch easily and thick, viscous smoke chugged into the air
as the flames from the logs attempted to spread to the pile of soggy fabric.

  I waited, staring at the fire until finally, the fabric began to curl and turn black, slowly burning away to ash despite the moisture in the threads from the rain. Only once they were completely gone — destroyed — and the logs nearly burned down to nothing did I stand and turn to face the empty room again.

  And that’s when I noticed the parchment lying on the desk, with an unfamiliar ring lying on top of it.

  A strange echo of my heartbeat pounded in my belly as I walked hesitantly toward the desk to see Damian’s familiar handwriting on the parchment beneath the beautiful ring.

  It was a letter … addressed to me.

  My hands shook as I picked up the ring so I could get to the letter. It was much smaller than something that would have fit Damian, and in the center of the band was a large, stunning blue gemstone that reminded me almost perfectly of the color of Damian’s eyes, cut into a rectangle, with smaller glittering diamonds inlaid on the band to either side of the center stone.

  I carefully set the ring down on the desk to pick up the letter.

  My Dearest Alexa,

  If you are reading this, then my pleadings for a miracle have been answered, and you have somehow survived to return to the palace. I know there is no reason to hope for such a miracle, but hope is the only luxury I have left to keep me from giving up entirely and just succumbing to the continual horrors fate seems to yet hold in store for me and my people.

  The ring I left is the ring I told you about — my mother’s ring, the one I hoped to give you to formally secure our engagement. There is no one else I could ever give it to, so I left it behind, as a token of my faith that miracles can occur. That perhaps, they might even someday occur for me. Though I have little reason to believe that, I suppose.