by Talis Jones
Cassandra matched his smirk with the cold gaze of a general in wartime. “Only if you wish to claim a kingdom rather than be slaughtered by my enemies before you can even set foot upon the blessed land.”
His smile slipped from his face. “Yes'm.” Giving a little bow he stepped back to let her steer their final leagues.
Guiding the weather-beaten ship towards the western shore, black foreboding cliffs rose up to block them. Even from their cautious distance, Cassandra could see the Whisper citadel and knew it quite likely that they'd seen her. She'd attempted to disguise their ship with imitations of Titus' flags and figurehead strapped to the bow, but any closer and they'd know perfectly well their ship was not the same. It had to do.
Thick forest overtook the cliffs as they sailed further south towards flatter land. At last she called for the anchor to drop and leaving behind a skeleton crew they boarded the long boats and rowed to shore. Adrenaline and anticipation so acute it turned her cold and numb as marble. Her fingers itched to unleash the magic restored to her veins but still she resisted. A mere fragment of her powers, but she'd expected it. Titus had told her...and yet a silly part of her hadn't been able to refuse hope.
Armed with mortals and only enough magic to create an illusion of strength, Cassandra placed her boots upon Oneiroi for the first time in years. Hands on hips, one resting upon a holstered blade, coat billowing in the fierce seaside winds, her eyes leveled upon the handful of villagers who had dashed towards them with curiosity. Shock crossed their faces as she snared them in her stare and their spines began to bend. One by one they bowed, faces ranging from confusion to acceptance, to defiance, yet still they were all forced to bow. The blood oath had held. Cassandra had no idea how much time had passed on Oneiroi, but the blood oath held. Her chapped lips grinned and satisfaction dripped from it for every Jourdie to witness.
Mine.
Chapter 29
Titus' birds circled in the sky allowing him witness to Cassandra's return. Her blood oath had held, it seemed. His once apprentice impressed him once more. She'd fooled him well enough during their lessons. So much so that when he'd returned to the Island only to be summoned by pleas for him to stop her attack, he'd literally halted in his tracks in shock. Titus thought himself a man of control, mischievous perhaps, but always in control. An error of arrogance, it seemed.
With a sigh he stepped forwards only to land precisely before Cassandra herself. Her eyes widened, startled, but surprise did not fill them. “Hello, Titus.”
Titus' eyes took in the three men circled behind her, weapons drawn at his sudden appearance. A boy, a thief, and a pirate. Such interesting company she kept. “You were told never to return, Cassandra,” he reminded her.
“And yet you helped me defy such orders,” she quipped back.
He tipped his head to the side. “Did I? You give me quite the amount of credit, Feuer.” Turning aside he gestured at the small crowd. “How do you find your homecoming?”
“Satisfying, but unfinished,” she smiled coldly.
Secrets old and new danced in his eyes. A finger tapped his lips as if debating which ones to let escape and which to hold close for later. “You aim to reclaim Mordréda.”
“All of Quidel, actually.”
“You have no army,” he pointed out with a smirk.
“I have an entire region whose blood chants fealty. There will be none to fight me.”
“You have no magic.”
She lifted her chin defiantly. “I have enough.”
“And the Whispers?” he wondered. “What of them? They retain their gifts and they've made some changes. You will not sway any strays from the flock this time.”
“I couldn't care less about the damn Whispers,” Cassandra hissed.
“You should. Abel at last took on a gift from Oneiroi and has turned them into a united force. You're their number one enemy. Is it wise to anger them? To repeat your mistakes only to lose once again? To lose with your life?”
The men behind her stiffened at his words, their grips on their weapons strangling. “Go ahead,” he invited, acknowledging them for the first time. “Pull the trigger. I don't allow such weapons to slaughter on the blessed lands of Oneiroi. You want someone dead then you get close enough to witness the light leave their eyes. You feel their blood seep into your flesh, marking you with your actions. Feuer will die and if you follow her, you will die also.”
Mikael stepped forwards angrily, the barrel of his pistol pressed against Titus' head. “If anyone wants to hurt her, they'll have to go through me first,” he spat.
Titus pressed his forehead more firmly against the cool metal barrel. “Go ahead,” he whispered. “Kill me.” Mikael hesitated. “Why do you pause? I am the man who stripped her of her powers and throne. The one who cast her out into the wilderness of your world. The one who proclaims her death as written in prophecy.” He held the man's eyes with an ancient calm. “Kill me.”
Mikael Myrddin stared into this man of chaos and calm, the man he now recognized from his dreams and nightmares, and anger filled him at his words yet his eyes held such power he found he could not do the simplest motion of twitching his finger upon the waiting trigger. Anger swelled and swelled, Mikael was not a violent man and yet he felt himself become so overwhelmed with fury a part of him wondered if it were some sort of trickery. Any rational thought drowned in the rage of emotion now churning his blood and yet...Titus' eyes...he could not...pull...the trigger–
Mikael's eyes widened and he reeled back as in one swift motion Titus reached up and pressed his own finger upon the trigger. “No!” Mikael cried.
click.
Mikael straightened in shock as Elijah lowered his hands from his ears and the captain shook his head muttering a curse under his breath. Cassandra simply rolled her eyes.
“Are you quite finished being dramatic, Titus?” she drawled.
Titus grinned. “For now. Before I leave, however, I think it time we discuss the prophecy.” Grabbing her arm he magiked them into the solitude of the forest.
Tearing her arm from his grasp she scowled. “What? What is it I must hear that has not already been said?”
Titus clapped slowly. “I must say, you've impressed me. Growing your powers outside of my tutelage, turning Whispers against ancient traditions, managing to hunt down the one object that could return you to the Island...you are truly an apprentice for the ages.” His face sobered quickly. “If only you hadn't taken the shadowed path. Now I suppose it is up to your twin what is to be done with you.”
Cassandra's brow pinched. “Have they returned also?”
“Returned? No no. Not yet.” A knowing smile quirked his lips. “That does remind me...now that you're back, I have an errand to run.”
“Wait,” she snapped. “You insisted on telling me something so tell me.”
His gaze raked her head to toe. “One shall raise Oneiroi from the ashes while the other tears it down. The chaos must be stopped.” His eyes narrowed knowingly. “So do try to behave yourself. Don't tip the scales lest you wish to end up with empty hands and heart.”
“In other words, I can stay so long as I don't rock the boat.”
He nodded.
“Well then, rest assured. I have no need to rock any boat. I've already ensured my rule. It should be a smooth transition. If there's anyone who might risk tipping the scales or rocking the boat, it is Abel. Perhaps for once you might consider giving him a lecture instead of me.” With a huff of impatience she added, “Now return me to my crew.”
“Why do you insist?” he wondered aloud. “You could have built a new life for yourself yet each chance you get you try to strangle it to death as if standing on its corpse might lift you higher.”
“I am building a new life for myself, Titus,” she answered blankly. “It is not my fault if you do not like the life I am building.”
“You are far better suited to the Outer World, I think,” he mused.
Cassandra wrinkled her nose. �
��The Outer World is such a nasty, sticky place.”
He cocked his head to the side. “But isn't that what you intend to do to this world?”
“That is up to them.” Her face remained impervious to judgment.
“Cassandra,” he began before stopping to choose his words more carefully. Despite his love of games and pot stirring, he did not wish ill on Oneiroi or its people. Not really. Not truly. Yet he never had been able to resist the lure of a prophecy and the chance to play with its pieces. He ought to have learned by now. Perhaps he should have tried harder.
Holding her imperious gaze with his own, letting her see the depths of all he had witnessed, he offered some far too late advice. “Sometimes you must let go of who you were to embrace what you could become.”
To his surprise she took in his words, allowing them to turn and dance and crumble within her thoughts. “And if that damns me to Hell?” she asked.
He smiled. “Then we shall meet again.”
“I am not yet ready,” she whispered.
Titus sighed softly. “I know. Do not be afraid. You will not be alone when you find that you are.”
Silver limned her eyes for the briefest of moments before she shook her head angrily. “If you've said your piece then return me.” She held out her hand, but he ignored it.
“No time,” Titus winked devilishly.
In a blink he was gone and Cassandra was left to fume and trek back to shore on her own. Fortunately it was not as far as the thick foliage pretended. Even so, her thoughts became consumed by regaining her powers and playing with him like a child's toy for once.
“Nothus,” she hissed under her breath right before stubbing her toe on a hidden tree root.
Israfil didn't even look up from her weaving as Titus appeared in her small roaming home. “Is she back then?”
“Ja and much the same.” He chuckled to himself. “I left her to walk back to her trespassing ship after our little chat.”
A sigh of exasperation left the woman and she at last raised her eyes. “Must you jab the sleeping bear?”
“She wasn't sleeping to be sure. Besides,” he shrugged. “The walk will give her a chance to cool off.”
“Or plot your demise.”
“Or that,” he didn't disagree. “Regardless, we have more pressing matters to deal with now that she has managed to make a return.”
Israfil pressed her lips flat before nodding to a basket upon the bed. “He's over there. And he's sleeping, so don't jostle him.”
On catlike feet, Titus walked towards the small bed and leaned over to peer into the bassinet where a little boy not yet two years old napped soundly. He was growing far too large for such a bed, but that would be taken care of soon enough. “Hello little Eisen. Are you ready for an adventure?”
“Where will you take him?” Israfil queried, a hint of maternal worry in her voice.
Carefully Titus picked up the boy, tugging the blanket until it draped lightly over his peaceful face to block the light outside. “Wherever the compass guides the ship. You know I have no control of such things.”
Her eyes fixed heavily upon the sleeping child. “I never wish death upon a child, yet I can't help but hope he returns to us sooner than later.”
Titus's gaze grew long. “Won't matter much. If the prophecy unfurls then the time will be long on Oneiroi regardless of how quick it may pass where he hides.”
“What if he doesn't return to us to stop her?” Israfil whispered fearfully.
“Of that I am sure,” Titus shook his head. “Cassandra will make her next move soon enough and my trips between worlds will grow few and far between until he does.”
The seer's eyes widened. “Will things turn so bad?”
Titus' face was uncharacteristically grave. “Ja, I believe it will. Oneiroi will grow too dark to provide peace. Passage for souls will be refused. Only with the Island's call will my ship leave its harbor. Time will grow long, generations may even pass before the brother-twin returns to us.”
“Would...” Israfil bit her lip in hesitation for she already knew the answer. “Would he not be safer here?”
Titus looked at the child with pity. “You know he wouldn't be. Besides, he can only save us if we cast him out before it's too late. She cannot discover him before he is ready and he will not be ready without powers he can only gain as a Whisper. He must go brave the world on his own, Israfil. You know this.”
“Ja,” she sighed. “Ja, I know.”
“Alvidar, Israfil. Let us hope Feuer does not rage out of control while I am gone, ja?”
Titus stepped out into the bright light of day, the boy clutched tightly in his arms. Little Eisen stirred at the sudden shift in brightness, pressing his face deeper against Titus' shoulder then settled just as quickly. His boots stormed down the street with purpose, heading towards his ship. Cassandra's magic aligned with water yet she had rages of fire. Her spirit was conflicted and he could only imagine the pain of such a war, a curse of an unsettled soul. He hoped such a case would not afflict the boy slumbering peacefully in his arms. Twins however could be so very different or so alarmingly alike. Only time would tell.
He laughed under his breath. Whatever family took him in would have the great misfortune of meeting him as he entered the infamous “Terrible Two's”. Hopefully such an impression would not foretell his fate in the Outer World...
Chapter 30
Frantic footfalls and panicked breaths echoed down the stone halls before bursting through the heavy wooden doors. Abel stood swiftly, the other Whispers stilling in surprise at the interruption. Silence gripped the room save for the messenger's wild pants until at last they slowly raised their head, locking eyes with the rest.
“She's back.”
The mayor of Mordréda leaned back in her seat, drumming her fingers along the table in thought. “What of the Whispers? They still control Quidel from the reclaimed citadel.”
Cassandra dismissed them with a smile. “The Quidelish bow to me alone. When thousands rise against those whom are sworn to protect them, what can they do but leave? It will be a bloodless battle.”
The woman looked tired, exhaustion aging her face further. “Bloodless...” she murmured to herself. “Such a thing cannot be promised.”
“What I can promise,” Cassandra replied, her tone raising the little hairs on the back of the mayor's neck, “is if Quidel willingly stands behind me now, my reign shall be peaceful. Should it attempt to betray me, a feat ultimately impossible with the blood oath, I will seize its will and force a battle that may indeed not conclude without a taste of blood. Regardless of how you wish to proceed, I will get what I came for. How your people suffer is up to you.”
Mayor Rohan held the Whisper's stare, a tiny bead of sweat trickling down her temple as she kept her calm façade in check. She remembered too well the violent campaign with which Cassandra had forced the blood oath upon them. They'd slept soundly the night news of her banishment reached them, yet here she was. Older and more determined, Cassandra posed a renewed threat. Or did she? Rohan believed the cursed Whisper's words despite thinking it foolish to do so. Cassandra simply wanted a throne to sit upon and a people to govern. That did not mean it could not be peaceful, indeed their lives could prove much unchanged. Better than to face her wrath, to be sure.
“Will you be proposing this uprising to every town leader across the region?” she asked skeptically. Surely the Whispers would put a stop to it long before she could succeed.
“I think they already know I'm here,” she hummed. “Did you not feel my return stir in your blood? Did you not feel the hollowness of my absence when I was gone?” The older woman swallowed for it was true. She had. “I come to you in person because this will be the heart of my strike. The citadel is just up the hill. I only need one city to prove my point and this way you can set an example for the rest.”
Rohan let out a slow thoughtful breath through her nose before standing and extending her hand. “We aid you and yo
u protect us.”
Cassandra shook the woman's hand, her grip crushing. “You betray me and I will bathe the land in your blood.”
With a firm nod of understanding from the mayor, Cassandra swept from the room with Mikael and Elijah at her heels. Behind her Rohan began hastily scratching ink upon paper, messages likely to be spread to the other towns, before stirring the building into a frenzy with barked orders. Fear had lingered in the stern woman's eyes, but Cassandra was not a lunatic set upon needless slaughter to get what she wanted. So long as they protected her back rather than fend off her front, she need not resort to violence. An irritating relief now that her powers were a mere drop of the pool they once were. Forced to deal in illusions and bluffs rankled her to her core. No, not bluffs. Illusions perhaps, but she meant every word.
The sun arced past its peak as she strolled down the main street through town with purpose in her stride. Mikael marched straight as a soldier, his eyes constantly surveying the area for threats. Elijah had a boyish eagerness in his movements. Once he'd realized she would not start a war, did not wish to hurt innocents in order to regain a throne he hadn't been told she'd lost, he'd stood firmly by her side with fanciful ideas of royalty playing through his mind.
Step after step her feet stormed over stone and as the citadel grew closer more steps joined the war drum rhythm of her stride. Closing in upon the gates she watched in satisfaction as weapons aimed were lowered. They could not kill innocents which made the Jourdies crowded around her a living shield.
With a chilling groan the gates to the courtyard dragged open and Cassandra alone took a step forwards, a dark look upon her face at those who had come to greet her. “Good evening, Abel,” she grinned though no warmth touched her face. “Did you miss me? Or do you wish you could run a sword right through me and have it end my presence once and for all?”
Abel's glower darkened further. “You were not to return. Ever. That was the decree.”