Kindred: (Into The Darklands)

by K. M. Raya

  I jump down, tugging the arrow from the sabers flesh—looking to Rayne who grins at me from the side of his own kill. Savina and Zima went on ahead, chasing down the herd until the very end because they love the thrill of the hunt more so than the actual prize. My attention leaves my kill for too long because I fail to realize it’s still alive until it’s too late. Its tail whips out, striking me in the side of my torso and flinging me into a nearby tree. I hit the fuzzy bark with a grunt before crumpling to the ground, shooting pain flooding my spine and neck. The creature hisses through its tusks, but within moments, a long spear sails through the air, whizzing past my head before landing between its two yellow eyes.

  I follow the path the spear had taken until I see Thallan running to my side. His bright eyes are alight with worry as he kneels, scooping me from the muddy ground with ease. “Are you hurt?” he asks in a rush, eyes flitting over my body in search of wounds. It warms my chest despite the ache.

  I place a mud-soaked hand over the leathers covering his expansive chest, bringing his focus back to my face. “Your spear saved my life, thank you. But I’m alright, only shaken.”

  He stares at me for another moment before nodding to himself and setting me back on my feet slowly. His face hardens once more, becoming the stony warrior I know and...well I know. “You need to be more aware, the beast could have taken your head from your shoulders,” he snaps, bringing a scowl to my face.

  Ignoring the brooding elf, I whip my glare at Rayne. “Some sort of warning would have been delightful!”

  He holds his hands up in defense, green eyes widening. “Don't you go blaming me for that one, you know it doesn't work like that all the time!”

  “Never when it’s convenient,” I grumble.

  Shortly after my arrival, I found out about Rayne’s...special gift. He’s a seer—a rare form of mage with the unique ability to see moments or days into the future. His visions are sporadic and sometimes unreliable, but they’ve been our saving grace many times in the last five years. Hunting is much easier when you know the exact location of your prey at any given time. Actually, Rayne is the reason Roark knew where to find me the day I escaped from Karn. He’d seen where I would go even before I knew it myself.

  Rayne’s pale-yellow hair is longer now and his square jaw is fully covered in the same shade of scruff. He’s grown into a man in recent years...much to Anya’s enjoyment. I grin to myself, my mind taking me far away from the situation at hand.

  “Hush now!” Thallan whispers urgently, holding out a gloved hand to silence us. His eyes are glued to the trees and his head is angled slightly, allowing his pointed ears to pick up on things I have no hope of hearing. I look to Rayne with a raised brow, hoping for some sort of insight, but his eyes remain a clear green instead of cloudy white—a telling sign of a vision.

  Thallan moves swiftly into the trees, abandoning our sabers for a few moments and I follow closely behind. A shadow moves there, sifting in and out of our sight, skirting our position. The figure darts out from behind a tree and Thallan pounces. They tumble to the muddy, murky floor—Thallan’s silver hair tangling with the dirty black cloak of the stranger. Thallan unsheathes his dagger and uses his other hand to grab the back of the stranger’s hood and pulls it back. A man with light brown skin and long, unkempt brown hair struggles beneath him, but he isn't strong enough to beat an elf.

  “Explain yourself, stranger. What business have you in the Veil?” Thallan hisses and the man settles.

  “Is that where I am? Much apology, I was out for a stroll and must have wandered a bit too far.” His mocking voice is deep and gravely, as if he hadn't spoken in quite some time but something about it is familiar.

  Thallan growls. “Enough with the games, human! Who are you and what do you want?” He’s losing patience, not that he has much to begin with. Somehow, the man managed to slip through Thallan’s guard which circles the edge of the Darklands and he’s taking the slight personally.

  The man grunts. “If you would kindly release my neck from the edge of that dagger, I’d be happy to introduce myself.” The human’s voice remains steady, but his hands hold a slight tremor. I still can’t get past the nagging feeling that I know this man somehow.

  Reluctantly, Thallan releases the man and stands to his full height, keeping his dagger ready and loose. The stranger stands too and makes a show of brushing the mud from his trousers and cloak, though they’re saturated too much for it to make a difference. The rain keeps falling, plastering his dark hair to his neck and shoulders.

  After a moment, he looks up at the three hunters before him when his eyes land on me. They widen and his mouth hangs open in shock. I stand there, rooted to the spot—frozen. My face remains half hidden beneath a black cloth mask and my crimson hair is tucked beneath my hood, but despite the coverings, Wesley recognizes who I am as easily as I recognize his dark eyes—so much like Anya’s.

  I don’t hesitate, I just fling myself at Wesley and wrap my body around his in a vice grip. His heavy hands yank my hood down so that he can stroke my long red hair. Tears spill over my cheeks as I breathe in his familiar scent. I grip him so tightly, as if somehow, he might disappear between my fingers at any moment. A sob rips from his throat and his arms shake around me.

  Pulling back, Wesley grabs my wet face between his hands as he runs his eyes over my face as if my being here is some sort of a dream. He’s changed so much in five years. Gone is the young, gangly lad that used to tickle and tease me. In his place is a muscled man with long russet hair matching his full beard. His skin is browned from the sun and his hands are covered in calluses and scars. Despite the physical changes, the look in his eyes tells a story in itself. Something happened to my Wesley. In this moment, every day of our childhood runs through my mind at once. My heart is overwhelmed and so full of longing that it physically aches in my chest. I find myself laughing through my sobs, my heart fighting a battle between lingering grief and crazed happiness. The longer I let my eyes roam, the stranger I feel. There’s a tightness in my chest and a flutter in my belly that I never felt when we were children. My mouth grows dry as I take in his thick arms and the new angles of his jaw. His nose looks like it’s been broken a few times, but the kindness in his eyes is still there.

  Thallan clears his throat, reminding me of our audience and I pull away slowly, dropping my arms to my side—feeling strangely empty. “I guess I should explain, shouldn't I?”

  Thallan narrows his eyes and clenches his jaw as his gaze flickers between Wesley and I. Rayne looks equally confused, but his expression doesn’t hold the anger that’s clearly simmering inside of Thallan.

  “This is Wesley, my best f—friend,” I stammer, unsure of what to call him anymore. “He’s Anya’s twin brother.” In truth, we were much, much more than that.

  Rayne gasps and Thallan just raises his pale eyebrow in surprise—clearly caught off guard.

  I ignore them for now and turn back to Wesley. “Five years, Wes. Five years—” I frown with my hands on my hips as I fight back another round of tears brewing behind my eyes. I’m not a fan of tears these days and they don’t appear very often. After my first couple of years in the Veil, the girl I once was fundamentally changed and hardened in more ways than one.

  Wesley looks hesitant for a moment before answering. “I thought you died with the rest of your family in the fires…I searched for you, but I was captured by Sephrian and thrown in the dungeons.” His eyes are pleading. “I swear to you—had I known you made it out…” He looks to the ground for a moment before something dawns on him. He looks back up abruptly. “You mentioned Anya…she lives?” he asks hopefully.

  Warmth blooms in my chest. “She lives.” I smile. “But she isn’t the same girl you remember, she’s a woman now—an important woman.”

  Despite being brought up as a maid in my father’s palace, Anya’s worked her way to becoming one of the most skilled healers in the Veil. She has no magic to speak of, but her skills far surpass anythi
ng I’ve seen before. Tonics, potions, stitchings, teas—you name it; Anya would take care of you. She’s respected by the Kindred who have finally accepted her.

  Wesley looks relieved, as if a weight has lifted from his shoulders. His eyes now hold a light that hadn’t been there moments before. “Thank the gods,” he breathes. “I need to see her at once.” He takes a step forward, arms raised as if to embrace me again.

  Thallan thrusts his sword between the two of us and Wesley looks offended and scowls. “What are you playing at, elf? I mean her no harm.” He puffs up his chest. “You on the other hand…”

  Thallan lunges forward and grabs a fist full of Wesley's dark hair, pulling backwards and to the side to reveal his broad neck. “And why should we believe a word you say, necromancer?” he hisses.

  I surge forward, pushing Wesley’s head higher, revealing a raised white brand on the brown skin of his neck. ‘No! It can’t be true… not my Wesley.” The proof is right in front of me, though my mind struggles to comprehend it. The mancers that controlled my father for so long had a telling brand that marked them for all to see and be intimidated by. The mark is a raised circle with single arrow tipped line pointing straight up and slashed through the middle. That mark means only one thing—Wesley is the enemy.

  ~~~

  Standing in the Generals quarters, I gaze out of the small window next to the constantly blazing hearth.

  My chest squeezes as I watch my childhood friend dangling in a mage net from a tree just outside. The rain has stopped, but water drips from the trees, bouncing off his sullen face as he shivers in the dull wind. From here, I can see how uncomfortable he looks with that crackling magic coursing over the rope, but I have to force myself to think of him as my enemy. Here in the Veil, we don’t have dungeons to throw our prisoners into, we have mage nets. We let our prisoners swing outside for all to see and keep an eye on. Being so far up from the forest floor, it’s almost as cruel as a dark, dank cell.

  My mother—General Rathbone, drones on and on behind me but I largely tune it out. I watch Wesley swing there with a heavy heart while the others make preparations for tonight's feast. The sabre kills had been taken to the pits, just outside of the Veil’s borders to be skinned and harvested for their scales and meat. Saber scales aren’t as strong as drac armor, but since drac scales are rarely given, sabers supply our warriors with superior armor to the standard iron.

  Somewhere in the room, a throat clears, and I turn my attention back to the room. My mother sits behind her desk, watching me with a bland expression, but fire rages in Thallan’s eyes. He refuses to take a seat, instead standing stoically in front of the General’s desk, but he watches me closely like always. I meet his glare with one of my own. He doesn’t intimidate me the way he once did. The cold Commander can grumble all he likes, but I have every right to be distracted.

  “It’s my understanding that you are familiar with our prisoner,” my mother states.

  Nodding, I take a few steps closer, crossing my arms over my chest and widening my stance. “I do—although, he’s not the boy I knew as a child.” My eyes flit to the window and back again.

  “And did you make a habit of consorting with necromancers?” snaps Thallan causing me to falter. My heart sinks and a bitter taste floods my mouth.

  “Excuse me? We were children the last time I saw him alive!” My glare could burn him to cinders, but he simply clenches his jaw. I tilt my head to the side. “Are you accusing me of something?”

  He scoffs. “He’s our enemy and likely a spy for Sephrian, the fact that he found you in the middle of a hunt says enough.” Thallan steps closer. “He knew exactly where you’d be, princess.”

  I hiss through my teeth as I stagger back—eyes widening at the venom in his words. For a split moment, something like regret flashes in his eyes before it’s covered up with a bland frown. I’ve not been called ‘princess’ since my first year in the Darklands. At first, many of the Kindred treated me like diseased vermin. As the daughter and heir to the king who slaughtered their families and banished them from the kingdom, they held me just as responsible—regardless of the fact that I’d been an infant at the time. The name ‘princess’ had been turned into slander—a taunt I worked hard to escape. I’m no longer princess of Karn, instead...the queen of a nonexistent kingdom. Sephrian holds my throne hostage still.

  The General rises from her desk, but Thallan and I remain locked in one another's gaze, glares battling for dominance.

  “We’ll let him swing for a while,” my mother suggests—wandering over to the window with her hands clasped behind her back. “Let's give him some time to ponder his situation.” She turns back to the rest of us. “Tonight we’ll feast and enjoy some music, and come sunrise we’ll question the prisoner.”

  Sera

  Soft music drifts over the Veil and I find myself swaying from side to side. Elvish music is strange, even after listening to it for over five years now. Human legends talk about elvish music. They say its haunting melodies have the power to lure humans into the Darklands—so swept away by the beauty and otherworldliness of it, they never return home again. It’s nonsense of course but listening to it now I can see how a mortal might believe it. I might even believe it myself because here I still am after all this time.

  All around me, my Kindred brothers and sisters sing and dance as musicians prop themselves up higher than the others on various tree branches or the railings of bridges. An elf woman swings her feet from a thick branch, holding a stringed stick type instrument that weaves beautiful tinkling chimes and a slender, dark haired man pounds softly on a leathery drum made of saber skin—its thump, thump, thump beats in the background like the heartbeat of the forest.

  Leaning against the railing of a bridge just beneath the barracks, I try to ignore the sense of someone watching me. I already know it’s Thallan. I’ve grown used to the Commander’s gaze over the years and have mostly learned when to ignore it. Thinking about him right now makes my blood boil. How dare he question me like that? How dare he insinuate that I had anything to do with Wesley and that horrible brand on his neck?

  Grumbling, I choose to focus my attention on the spectacle Rayne is making of himself over there with the soldiers. Many of them watch him with smiles on their flushed faces as he regales his harrowing tale of our saber hunt this morning. Rayne is drunk and well on his way to losing consciousness, but he holds himself up tall, puffing out his chest and slurring every other word as a crowd watches in amusement. It was Rayne’s seeing that led us to the larger than average saber herd, and he loves to let everyone know that. I just chuckle to myself, glancing down to where Anya sits at a wooden table with Zima, Savina and a healer apprentice named Solara. Anya perches her chin on her steepled hands and watches Rayne with shining eyes full of love. For just a moment, a twist of jealously clenches my insides, but I push it away. After a while I drag my tired body through the mass of reveling soldiers and other Kindred who came out for tonight’s festivities. I make my way towards my quarters—nestled within a gap in two lone trees, surrounded by lanterns and a wrapping bridge. My home is a source of pride for me these days. I helped build the thing myself with my own two hands. It’s a beautiful wooden building with twisting vines that snake their way up the outer walls, converging in on one another like a lattice of greenery.

  As I cross the platform, a tingling sensation snakes its way up my arms and spreads throughout my body until I’m certain there are eyes on me. I don’t have to guess who it is. He’s been watching me since the day I arrived, and at first it bothered me. Snapping my head up, I focus in on a pale golden pair of eyes, watching me closely. Shayde is just as magnificent today as the first day I laid eyes on him. He sits on a low branch next to two other shadow dracs chatting amongst themselves in the shadows—well away from the bright lights of the fires and lanterns. His cat-like eyes glow in the darkness, and the harsh angles of his otherworldly face glimmer under the moonlight. Tonight, Shayde has his long-woven hair
pulled back behind his head with a leather band and his chest remains bare, letting his powerful, leathery wings dangle behind him like a sliver of silken night sky. I lift my chin slightly, letting him know that I see him clearly. His lips tip into a smirk, allowing one gleaming fang to peek out and glimmer against the faint light. I shiver pleasantly. Everything about that drac is appealing to a darker part of me. I know he isn’t human...not even close, but then again, neither am I.

  Shayde has been a steady presence in my life since I came to the Veil, and yet I’ve never managed to exchange a word with the man. He’s elusive, private and mysterious. I’ve asked around about him, but it seems he doesn’t really interact with anyone outside of his drac colony. It makes me wonder if he dislikes other Kindred, or regrets allowing them to share his land with his people. And yet…if it were true that he disliked Kindred or non-dracs, I can’t imagine why he’d spend years watching a red-haired mage girl who didn’t even know who she was until tragedy struck. His interest in me is perplexing, but I don’t dislike the warmth of his gaze every time it touches my skin.