Birthright: The Crystal Throne - Book 1

by Kim Fedyk

  “I wouldn’t be so hard on yourself Arleth,” Val said. “The title of the King of Oherra holds a lot of prestige. Shit, the history of our universe is based on the fact that the person holding the Crystal Throne is supposed to protect all the worlds from evil. You met him for the first time, with this impression in mind. You had no reason to expect that he was anything different than what he was pretending to be to you.”

  “I guess you are right,” Arleth said. “But still, I noticed things were odd – none of the servants ever laughed, smiled or even talked to each other; I saw a girl in the courtyard whose back was completely coming apart at her spine. And I had conversations with him one on one. I was even inside his private quarters. How could I not have picked up on his true personality?”

  “Absalom is a great actor. You aren’t the only person he has fooled. Your own mother and father for example; they never suspected he would be capable of attacking the castle. Even after he had usurped the throne, and despite the excellent relations your father had with the other worlds, Absalom still managed to convince the leaders of our three neighbouring worlds – Senan, Rizod and Lothe - that he was justified in seizing control. Absalom’s charm is one of his greatest advantages. If anything, it is remarkable that you didn’t fall further under his spell. It must have pissed him off to no end.” Val chuckled to himself at this last part.

  “I don’t feel remarkable. I am only 17, I’ve been a slave for almost half my life. I’ve never had to lead anyone, make any tough decisions, heck, I’ve only lived on this planet for a week. And I’m now expected to help lead a rebellion. I couldn’t even see through a man I had many conversations with, when the evidence was all but slapping me in the face. What kind of a leader am I going to be? I think I’m going to let you all down.” Arleth was surprised that she had voiced all her concerns to Val, a man she barely knew. Perhaps it was the darkness, the late hour, or simply that she wanted a confidante, but she was glad she had gotten it all out.

  Val sighed, “It is a lot of responsibility for someone so young. I can understand how you must be feeling. Aedan, Selene and I were younger than you when we had the fate of Oherra thrust on us. When Absalom attacked, I was 12, Aedan and Selene were 10. My father Bain took us into the mountains and started training us from day one on how to lead a rebellion and take back Iridian. One day we were carefree children, the next we were the sole survivors, Selene and Aedan had lost their parents and we were expected to lead an army. Aedan became the King of Oherra overnight and Selene was suddenly the only living sorceress . At 10, she was the only person that had even the slightest chance of standing up to a dread mage.”

  “And my magic,” Arleth said. “In 17 years I have never felt a magical bone in my body. What if I don’t have it, what if you are all wrong?”

  Val smiled at Arleth, “That is almost exactly what Selene said all those years ago when she realized the burden placed on her.”

  “Selene didn’t know she had magic either?”

  “No, she knew she did. Her mother was your father’s sorceress, she is an Ayan – magical ability runs in her blood. But at 10, she had never once tried to use her ability; she had no idea even where to begin.”

  “But then how did she learn?”

  “There is a woman named Samara Sunai. She lives by herself on Edika, and there she holds all the magical books and secrets of this world. Samara is ageless; she has been alive since before the Great War two thousand years ago. She is and always will be neutral to our affairs, but since the Great War, each female Amaran has gone to her to be trained on how to use her magic. Usually, normal sorceresses are trained by their mothers or other relatives, but in Selene’s case there was no one else. She spent 2 years in Edika with Samara being trained on her gift. When she came back, she was a full blown sorceress, more than proficient in her ability.”

  “So I will go to Samara too?”

  “I imagine so. I don’t know anything about magic, and all I know about Samara I just told you. You will have to ask Selene. But don’t worry, you definitely have magic, and you are not expected to be able to know how to use it until you have been taught.”

  Arleth made a mental note to ask Selene tomorrow about Samara and her training there. But for the time being she was more at ease. If even Selene didn’t think she had magic, and now she was a match for a dread mage, there was hope for Arleth yet.

  “And Arleth,” Val added. “I am not going to lie and say that this is going to be easy. All three of us had to grow up fast and it certainly wasn’t easy. But I believe that you are a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for. You lost everyone you knew when you were 10, just like us. But we at least had each other and my father to help us out. You were by yourself and then you spent the next seven years of your life as a slave in brutal conditions. I don’t think there is very much that you won’t be able to handle.”

  Val smiled at Arleth and stood up. “I’m going to go off to bed now, we have a busy day ahead of us.”

  Arleth stood up too and put her arms around Val. Awkwardly he returned her hug. “Thanks Val,” She said into his chest. “I feel a lot better now.”

  And she did. As she walked back to her tent she thought about what Val had told her. He was right; she might be new to Oherra, still struggling to come to terms with the fact that she was an Amara and the responsibilities that entailed. But she had been through a lot already in her life and she had come through it all. She supposed she was pretty strong, it wasn’t going to be easy, but she could do this.

  When she got back to her tent she fell asleep as soon as her head hit her pillow. And this time she stayed asleep until morning.

  * * *

  He ran, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. His lungs ached, the icy air felt like a dagger plunging into his throat. But he kept on running; he could feel the snow bear directly behind him. He could almost feel the creature breathing down his neck.

  Where was his father?

  He had gotten him into this mess, he was the reason he was exiled to the Ice Plains. Where was he?

  14 year old Absalom kept running, looking desperately for something to hide behind, maybe something he could use as a weapon. Nothing but miles of flat, open ice met his frantic searching.

  He wasn’t going to make it.

  He was going to die out here, all alone, mauled to death by a snow bear.

  Terrified, he turned his head to look behind him. The snow bear, red eyes intent on its prey was steadily advancing.

  In a blind panic, Absalom turned back around, and when he did, his feet lost their traction on the ice. He fell heavily onto his bottom, skidding across the ice a few metres before coming to a stop.

  He only had a moment to look up before the snow bear was on top of him. He screamed even as a huge taloned paw swiped viciously towards his face.

  Absalom sat up in bed, he was breathing heavily and his shirt was drenched from sweat. That nightmare had haunted him most nights as a teenager, but he hadn’t had it in a long time. His failures of the past few days must have brought it on.

  Completely awake now, he got out of bed and walked over to the window. He looked out across the plains. Through the darkness, he could just make out the rows of tents and campfire pits. He commanded a formidable army. Absalom smiled, an army that to a man would die for him. He caught movement between the tents, and watched as one of the guards walked down the row and then upon reaching the end, turned to scan the mountain range.

  The mountains.

  Absalom’s smile fell away in a heartbeat. Somewhere in those damn mountains, Aedan was sleeping soundly. He hated Aedan, he hated the Amaras, and he hated what they had done to him and his family.

  Unbidden, his mind returned to that dark corridor in Iridan Castle where he had first heard his mother’s screams.

  He hadn’t been allowed into the room when his mother was giving birth, but he was curious and excited for a baby sister so he had waited outside. At first he had heard her screams of labour. Pa
inful, bloodcurdling cries that had seemed to go on forever. Absalom remembered how hard it was for him to hear, but he wanted to be there the moment his sister was born. He paced up and down the corridor, with his hands over his ears. And then, when he could bear it no longer, her screams had stopped. There was silence for a moment and then a baby cried. Absalom smiled, his sister was born. His pacing had taken him to the far end of the hall. Smiling, he hurried back so he could see her. He had taken only a few steps when he heard his father yelling and his mother’s weak responses. He hesitated; he didn’t want to walk in on them having an argument. He already wasn’t supposed to be here, but he figured their joy at the baby would mean he wouldn’t get punished. But if they were arguing? He didn’t want to get in trouble. But his mother’s screams made up his mind.

  “Aban! Don’t.” Her screams suddenly turned into hysterical crying.

  Absalom hurried to the door and pushed it open. He was just in time to see his father slam the sword into his mother’s chest. His mother’s tear-streaked face turned to look at her son in the doorway in that last instant, her mouth opened in an “O” of shock.

  Absalom had screamed then and had rushed into the room. His father turned to him, trying to shield him from his mother’s body, but it was too late. He rushed over to his mother and buried his head in her chest. With her last bit of strength, she put a weak hand on her son’s head, “I love you Absalom,” she said, “Don’t ever forget it.”

  “I love you too mom,” he sobbed into her chest. “Please don’t die.”

  But she was already dead, her mouth frozen in a smile meant for her son. It was then, when Absalom looked up into the dead face of his mother, that he noticed the bloody body of his baby sister lying beside her.

  His sorrow turned to rage in a flash. He rounded on his father, “What have you done?”

  His father, not knowing how to respond to his son and in his own rage, didn’t answer. Instead he took one last look at his dead wife and baby daughter and ran out of the room.

  “Answer me you coward,” Absalom screamed after him. But there was nothing but silence in response. He turned back to his mother and gently closed her eyes. “I will avenge you,” he whispered into his mother’s ear. He stood up and turned to the midwife who was cowering, wide eyed and white-faced in the corner.

  “Take care of them,” he all but growled at her as he raced out of the room after his father. When he had caught up to him, his father was being restrained by the king’s guards. He was yelling, cursing and spitting at the king who was standing in front of him. To Absalom, he looked like a rabid dog. In that instant he lost what little feeling was left for his father. He was utterly embarrassed that this man was related to him, he hated him more than he could even begin to explain. He would never again look on his father with respect; he just wanted to see him dead.

  But that hadn’t happened. No, the virtuous king had decided it was best to exile them both. They were both outlaws; any city that allowed them to stay would be considered traitors. Absalom had hated the king for his decision, but the man he blamed for his fate was his father. He hated him more than anyone else on the planet.

  For the ten years they lived on the Ice Plains, not a day went by that he didn’t wish his father was dead. When he went to bed night after night starving, frozen to the bone, he blamed his father. When his skin turned red and raw from the wind, he blamed his father. When he fell through the ice and became so sick they had to beg help off of the Dursk warriors, he blamed his father. But the Ice Plains were a harsh environment, no matter how much Absalom wanted to kill his father, he was smart enough to know that the only way he would survive was if his father did too.

  So he bided his time, keeping himself warm with thoughts of his revenge, until finally the day came when he didn’t need his father anymore. It had been 10 years since they had first entered the Ice Plains. Unbeknownst to his father, he had established a sort of uneasy alliance with the Dursk who had healed him when he was a child. Absalom had grown from a boy, into a hard man, strengthened by the harsh climate and the constant danger. The Dursk, a warrior clan, respected this in him. The chief also had hopes that Absalom would marry his daughter, a fact that Absalom was not shy to play up to his advantage.

  With the Dursk his allies, he no longer had any reason to keep his father alive. He remembered the pure joy he had felt when he had plunged the dagger through his father’s heart. With his dying breaths, though, Aban had told his son the true reason he had killed his wife and baby.

  That was the moment that Absalom should have been liberated. His revenge fulfilled. But he was far from satisfied. His father’s revelation had taken the joy out of his death. His father was a coward and he deserved death and Absalom was happy to deliver it to him.

  But his revenge was not over. With his father dead, all of his anger towards him transferred to the king.

  It was at that moment, hovering over the body of his father, bloody knife in his hand, that he knew he would do whatever it took to become king of Oherra. He would kill the king and avenge the death of his mother and sister. And he would ruin the Amaran name so thoroughly that no one would ever respect their line again.

  Absalom slammed his hand against the window. He hated how he had been forced to beg to the king. How he had made himself seem weak. It didn’t matter that it was all an act, a carefully contrived plan to enact his revenge, it still galled him that he had been forced to subjugate himself before that man.

  Absalom heard footsteps behind him and turned quickly around. Rogan was just entering his bed chamber and was making his way towards him.

  Did the man never knock?

  “Ah you are awake, good.” The dread mage rasped at him.

  And if I wasn’t, what were you going to do? Wake me up? Absalom thought angrily.

  “I have started the torture of the kitchen servants. It has proven to be quite pleasing...”

  Absalom barely listened as Rogan explained in detail the torture of each servant.

  Why Rogan had the need to come to his bed chambers in the middle of the night, to give him these details was beyond him. The dread mage loved death and torture, but really couldn’t it have waited until the morning?

  “....And the Ranin Bud....” Rogan droned on.

  “Wait! What about the Ranin Bud?” Absalom interrupted, this was actually something he was interested in.

  “As I was saying,” Rogan said, “The Ranin bud was activated a couple of hours ago, I sensed it. It seems to have gone off perfectly according to plan.”

  “Well that is good news,” Absalom smiled.

  He turned away from Rogan as his sorcerer continued on describing his torture methods. He gazed back out the window.

  A lot had changed since he was that 14 year old running from the snow bear. He was no longer that scared boy. He was no longer the young man that had been forced to beg before the king. Absalom looked out at the mountains, a smile growing on his face.

  Sleep soundly Aedan dear; your death is fast approaching.

  Chapter 23

  “I don’t think we have to worry about Absalom having any influence over Arleth,” Val said.

  “Why not?” Graydon interjected.

  The two of them were sitting in a circle with Aedan, Selene, Winn and Bain. They were in Aedan and Selene’s tent, catching each other up on what each had missed over the last few days. Breakfast was laid out on the floor in the middle, but they had hardly touched it.

  “I spoke with her last night. She voiced her concerns to me that she had let Absalom fool her so easily. She was quite mad at herself and her lack of judgement. It was quite obvious to me that although she trusted him before, she is not questioning what we have told her in the slightest. She recognizes Absalom for the usurping bastard that he is.”

  “That’s good,” Aedan replied. That was one less thing he needed to worry about.

  “How do you know she was telling the truth?” Graydon asked.

  Val shot Gra
ydon a look of incredulity. “Why would she lie?”

  “How am I supposed to know? But how can you be so sure she isn’t?”

  “Because I know what I heard and saw,” Val said, a hard edge coming into his voice. “Are you suggesting that I don’t know what I’m talking about?”

  “Graydon you are right to be concerned,” Aedan cut in smoothly, trying to avoid an argument.

  Val looked at Aedan in shock.

  “However,” Aedan continued, holding Val’s gaze. “Don’t forget that both Selene and I spent an entire afternoon with her.” He turned to look at Graydon. “I had come to much the same conclusion as Val from those few hours. Since she is my sister though, I thought my judgement might be at risk. So it is comforting to have a second opinion.” He looked back at Val and smiled, “And your judgment has always proven accurate in the past. Even still though, just because Arleth herself believes us and believes herself to be in control of her emotions and thoughts, it doesn’t mean that Rogan didn’t do something to her without her even knowing. She was in Iridian castle for a few days, there is no telling what could have been done to her without her knowledge.”

  There were nods of agreement from around the circle.

  “And that is why Aedan and I have decided that I will cast some spells on her to figure that out,” Selene cut in. She and Aedan had discussed this late last night before they fell asleep. They had agreed that it would stay between them; Arleth likely wouldn’t take kindly to the idea that Selene was prying around in her head with magic. But this was too important for them to risk her saying no if they asked her. So they had agreed that only the two of them would know. Now however, she had no choice but to tell them. Aedan had opened up the door, and the questions were inevitably going to follow anyways.