Renegade: A Young Adult Dystopian

by Mallory McCartney

  Tadeas snarled. “I have lost some of my best men on the efforts of this allegiance. How many more? Me? My son? What will become of the Isles then, with no one to rule it?”

  Roque slammed his fist down onto the table. “What will become of Kiero if you leave? Please, Tadeas.” The desperation made his voice crack.

  Sighing, Tadeas gruffly asked, “What can we do against an impossible army? How do we beat it?”

  The raider chuckled. “That is for you to figure out. Maybe it’s time to consult some of our own myths long forgotten by the likes of you. Maybe the only way to win this war is to consult magic.”

  Tadeas laughed. “Magic? You’ve got to be kidding me?”

  But Roque paused, and the raider chuckled. “The King of Kiero seems to know what I am talking about. But work swiftly. You maybe have days.”

  He almost threw up as Memphis severed the connection, and they were thrown back into the present. Memphis rubbed his temples, breathing deeply. He started to pace, muttering under his breath, “What is happening?”

  Memphis followed his agitated movements as he whispered, “There are no desolates that survived, Brokk. My p-parents...”

  Brokk crossed the space in two strides, bringing his best friend into a tight hug. “I know. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” He kept his voice soft as Memphis completely broke down, the loss of their world crumpling down around them all. It would seem Cesan was making sure it would be a fight of might against might. The loss of the innocent lives crashed into him, carving out a hole that would never be healed.

  Minutes passed until they finally broke apart and Memphis gruffly whispered, “What can we do?”

  Running a hand through his hair, Brokk weighed the situation. “Right now, I say we make it through the funeral. After that, we can start digging.”

  “And if we don’t have enough time?”

  Brokk looked his friend square in the eyes. “Then we fight for what we believe in. If that’s still the Academy, then we do what we can.”

  A heavy silence locked in between them and Memphis groaned. “I hate it when you’re right.”

  “I know.” He grimly smiled, clapping him on the back. “Now come on, don’t we have the same class next?”

  He stalled, his gaze lingering on a worn, black book. Dried blood stained the pages, and it looked like it had been shoved back into place. He mused, “And what are you doing here?” He grabbed the book, the worn title staring back up at him, Myths of Kiero. Intrigued, he flipped open the old pages, the book naturally falling open to a worn page, and as Brokk read, his eyes widened with every word. Looking up, he whispered, “I think I found our first lead.”

  Memphis walked over, peering over his shoulder. He soaked up every word, and when he was finished, bewildered whispered, “Do you think it’s true?”

  Brokk smiled wolfishly. “There is only one way to find out. Meet me at my room tonight at twelve.”

  The corners of Memphis’s mouth pulled down. “What about the lockdown?”

  He winked. “You truly think I haven’t discovered an alternate route by now? Just be there.” They filed out, Brokk tucking away the old book with the rest of his things, adrenaline thrumming through his veins. They walked through the bustling hallway toward an afternoon of listening to Professor Smet drone on about the history of Kiero and the trading routes developed over the years. Which to say was pertinent, seeing as their trading partners were the Shattered Isles.

  Casting a look over to his best friend, Brokk’s heart sank. He had never had a family to lose except Emory and Memphis. He had fantasized about what his parents would be like and look like, but they were never a physical thing he had. Memphis’s skin was ashen, his bloodshot eyes squinting against the bustle of the Academy. Every step was too quick, every movement jerky. He didn’t know what he could possibly say that would make this situation easier. So, he said nothing at all as they navigated the hallway.

  13

  Adair

  The days had little meaning anymore. Ever since arriving back at the Academy, he felt hollowed out. Every second, every breath, his heart sank a little deeper, his thoughts consumed by one thing. To find this Book of Old. After he had killed the creature from Sarthaven and passed out, Roque and Nei had moved him so he awoke in their office, bloodied and bruised but nevertheless there with them. With their pale faces staring at him filled with fear. He clenched his fists, remembering the discussion. How they were so proud that he was standing with the Academy even though both of his parents...

  He had blocked out most of the conversation after that. But sitting there as they bantered on, the room around him seemed to bend and move, like the ocean, until he was staring at one fixture in the wall. It seemed to pulse, a strange glow seeping around the edges, a deep green. The mist spiraled and churned toward him, making his pulse thrum. Blinking, he was entranced but pulled himself back to the conversation. He had nodded and thanked them graciously, saying that he was honored to be a part of this with them. How of course he had thought his parents were wrong. He had left them reassured, claiming he needed rest and had made his leave.

  The first thing he did after heading back to his room was get rid of the book that had led him to the Gortach. The Faes wouldn’t be looking for it, especially in the common library. If he was honest with himself, he didn’t care who found it; it would only lead them to their death. A day had passed, and he could practically hear that call clamber to him through the walls of the Academy. Find me. Find me. Through his classes, through the night, it called to him. He went through the mandatory day, floating through his classes, his mind constantly calculating how he would get back into that room. How he would claw and tear through the walls, destroying and consuming. Until he found it. He could practically taste that same ancient magic oozing through the walls, and he wanted it. He blinked, looking at himself in the mirror. His bedroom was more chaotic than usual, books and clothes strewn around the space. His skin was deathly pale, bruises covered almost every inch of his skin. Deep bruises lined his eyes, leaving a dark stain. Taking in a shaky breath he started to unbutton his loose shirt.

  One came loose. And then another. Slowly he made his was down the line, until the shirt floated loosely to his sides, and his breath hitched. At his heart’s center, a circle the size of his palm had risen to the surface of his skin. The inky blackness moved with each heartbeat, as tendrils spread across his skin slowly, but surely. His throat burned as he grappled at his skin. What was reality and what was nightmare? The two bled and blended together without any recognition until he didn’t know what to believe anymore. He swiped his hand across his chest as if the movement would clear the blackness from his skin. Sweat dripped down his nose, and his eyes flicked to the back of the door. Licking his cracked lips, he buttoned up his shirt. He wouldn’t wait any longer. Crossing the room, he slipped out, the door lightly closing behind him. The Academy was still, curfew having already passed. A shiver rippled across his skin at the light footfalls of the security patrolling the hallways. Looking to the right, at the end of the hall a dull green light caught his eye. It seemed to ooze from the interior of the walls. The corners of his lips pulled up in a sly smile, and he took a step forward toward the light. The light blazed, cutting into his senses. And he followed it.

  14

  Brokk

  Slipping the worn book into his bag, he tightened the straps on his backpack. Donning his jacket, he whispered, “Ready?”

  Memphis nodded once. They wore practically matching outfits, which was their training gear. Lightweight and water resistant, the jacket and pants were a matte, black material. Perfect to blend in with the night.

  Nodding, he took in a deep breath before slamming his fist into his bedroom wall. Call it paranoia—he didn’t care. In the recent years, he had secretly constructed his way out. Emory had led on how complex the Academy was, and he had tapped into its hidden passageways. He covered his mouth, muffling his cough as drywall dust floated up to him. The br
oken bones in his hands healed within moments. A dark spiraling tunnel splayed before them, diving down into the darkness. Cool air rushed up to meet them, filled with the lingering smell of damp earth and rain. Memphis raised a pale eyebrow at him as he grinned.

  Shrugging, Brokk ducked into the wall. “You know, you can tell me once and a while that I am right.”

  He chuckled. “Oh, is that so?”

  They started their walk, the dampness and darkness overtaking everything. Slowly the room faded away, along with the Academy. Brokk’s fingers trailed the walls, the weathered planks supporting the roof and the sides from caving in. It had been a semi-formed tunnel, one that he had spent endless sleepless nights carving out. Working through his frustrations, his fears, his dreams. Ones that he could never fully express, for years that he held close and heavy to his heart. That the dreams and ambitions of the men around then were controlled by one factor. Greed.

  His voice was absorbed into the density of the tunnel, just barely a whisper. “Have you ever seen the rest of Kiero?”

  Memphis tensed behind him as they walked. “No. Not since I came here.”

  “Do you ever wonder why? That we are trapped here?” Footfalls thudded behind him damply. A beat passed. And then another. “Sometimes I wonder if being trapped is an illusion. We could leave any day, but out there, in the world, I think in some aspects of it we would always be trapped. Trapped in judgements and preconceived ideas of what happens here. Of who we are. Because when are we showing that we are protecting the world when in a second our capital was destroyed?”

  Memphis chewed his lower lip. “But that wasn’t our fault.”

  “No? If the Academy didn’t exist, where would we be now?”

  He snarled softly. “That sounds like a declaration of someone who is giving up. I’m not saying that the foundation is wrong. I’m saying that it’s up to us to find out exactly what the intentions are now. I’m not giving up.”

  Smiling softly in the night, he replied, “There’s my stubborn friend.” They continued their climb, the moldy tunnel twisting softly and gradually. He shifted his pack, his mind wandering with the possibilities.

  Memphis whispered, “I remember the sea.”

  Stumbling, he didn’t say anything. They didn’t talk about their past much.

  “I remember the smell and the salt crusting on my skin. How the waves looked during a storm. How they looked when the sea was still, like glass. My dad and my mom ran a small bakery on the outskirts of our town. I remember walking along the shoreline and thinking that there was nowhere else that I ever wanted to be. Even though I was young, I understood that much.” He gulped down a shaky breath. “I feel like every word they threw at me that day is true. That I am a monster. That we are all monsters. That this school is just breeding madness to be a sharpened weapon, and now, it’s unleashed upon the world.”

  He stopped, turning. “We are not the monsters. Cesan, and his beliefs, he is the one proving your parents’ accusations true. But he doesn’t define us.”

  Memphis started walking, and brushed by him, scoffing. “What, we are suddenly the renegades? The dashing underdogs?”

  Rolling his eyes, Brokk followed. “No, you prat. We are just utilizing our free will of investigation. To find out what exactly is worth fighting for now.”

  That got a true chuckle from Memphis, “I hope you’re right about this.”

  He purred. “That’s the beauty of life, my friend, you will never know if it’s right until you try.” The ground started to elevate, coming to a small opening. Grinning, he slid ahead of Memphis, finding the worn handholds. Using his upper arms, he lifted himself up, scaling the rickety ladder with ease. One final lift and he pushed his shoulder through a rotting door. Moonlight greeted them. Spilling out onto the grass, he helped Memphis up, and they were consumed. The cool night breeze whisked against their skin, and he took in the forest surrounding them.

  During the day, the forest was ordinary, bustling with life. But in these moments with dappling, waning light painting definition and obscure shadow, he believed that anything was possible. That maybe Stratton had found something about their world that had been long forgotten, hidden in darkness. By the art of deduction. He knew Stratton had placed the book there. On the Gortach’s chapter, the old paper was blood-stained and weathered, old notes scribbled from years ago. He would recognize that stark handwriting anywhere. Scrawled in the margains, Adair’s notes were everywhere.

  Looking to the east, he inhaled deeply, raising his eyebrow at Memphis. “Ready?”

  His friend mockingly bowed. “Lead the way.” They started walking, heading for the heart of the woods. Whatever lay ahead, they had until dawn to find their answers.

  The hours slipped away. They walked in the still night, as the moon climbed higher into the sky, illuminating their way. Sweat trickled down Brokk’s temple as he whispered, “Okay, so according to this, to access the seer’s gateway, we present it with the blood of the questioner.”

  Memphis paled, looking to him. Steeling himself, he flipped open a small knife from his jacket pocket.

  “Right,” he mumbled more to himself than Memphis. Sucking in a breath, he stared at the blade’s edge. The sharpness of the weapon winked back at him, almost mockingly. One. Two. Three... It bit in hard, splitting his flesh. Blood welled and pooled on his skin. Hissing through his teeth as it dripped to the ground, he waited. The ground shuddered beneath them as his blood absorbed into the earth. Jumping back in surprise, they watched the trees bow before them, forming an intricate gateway. A blood-red ruby adorned on top.

  “It actually worked.” Memphis’s voice sounded distant and in shock. It ground to a stop as he blinked hard, making sure he was seeing things correctly. Where a doorway should have been, the space remained empty and singed edges revealing a cavernous room. The floor was jet black, the odd ember floating a few yards in front of them, flaring with fiery hues before winking out.

  “It seems Adair didn’t disappoint me.” The voice was deep and ancient, a dead calm making each word ripple with malice. Squinting into the darkness, he saw nothing. Until two luminous silver eyes appeared, glaring back at them, with one intention. Hunger. Everything slowed.

  Memphis scrambled for his weapon. The predator hidden in the shadows ran toward them. The clicking of too many nails, his senses screaming at him to react, to run, to fight, to do anything. His scream cut through Brokk’s core. “Brokk!”

  The world stopped as he dropped his pack, shifting in one smooth motion. Only to see exactly what the Gortach was. In this form, his heightened senses picked up what his human one couldn’t. Everything was sharper to him in the night, maybe that was part of the reason he preferred it to the daytime. He took in the Gortach’s sickly body, its strong and multiple limbs propelling him forward. His rotting skin, sharp teeth, and the stench that collided into him, the promise of death.

  Whining, he charged toward Memphis and his friend ran, swinging himself onto his back as they took off into the night, maneuvering through the trees faster than he thought possible. A roar crashed behind them, followed by the thunderous crack of splitting trees as the ancient creature tore after them.

  “What did we do?” Memphis whispered, desperation and fear tingeing his voice.

  Leaping over a fallen tree, the earth quaked, throwing his weight forward. Growling, he didn’t stop, fear flickering so many thoughts all at once, but one seared through him. Adair. Snapping his teeth, he swiveled hard left as the Gortach suddenly appeared by their side. It lunged forward, missing them only by a hair’s width.

  “It stopped!” Memphis twisted, looking behind him briefly.

  He flattened his ears flush against his skull as a ripple vibrated through the air. The forest went completely and utterly still. One howl sliced through the night. Then another. And another. His paws pounded against the forest floor, his nails digging into the earth and ripping away from it. A cold winter wind battered suddenly against them, sweeping thr
ough the trees. Bowing against it, he couldn’t stop. They had sought the truth and had unlocked another war just waiting for them. Snowflakes, dense and unyielding, dropped from the sky in masses, like crystalized diamonds.

  “Snow? This early?” Memphis blinked against the magnitude of melting flakes hitting his skin.

  Around them, tree trunks started to crystalize and freeze as the temperature started to drop. The once earthy bark became smooth and encased, the glimmering surface blending in with the storm that transformed the night in a harsh winter landscape before their eyes. Everything around them became white. Sniffing as deeply as he could, Brokk tried to pick up their scents so they weren’t heading in a circle, going in the wrong direction. He was met with nothing but the frozen tang of winter.

  Slamming to a stop, he threw Memphis off, shifting back in a single motion. He choked. “I’ve lost our scents. Also, that seer has unleashed an army behind us.”

  Memphis was immediately at his side. “We have to keep going, Brokk. Come. On.”

  Nodding, he clutched at his panic in leaving his backpack behind. But, as every good student, he was armed to the teeth in his clothes. He took a step back, readying to shift again, when a solid sheet of ice formed in front of them, thick and impermeable. Stopping, the boys watched as the wall of ice flowed all around them. Closing them in. Reflecting their shocked faces back at them, distorted and gleaming.

  His breath was ravaged, but he already had the knife palmed in his hand as he and Memphis moved into a defensive stance, their backs flush to one another. The wind howled viciously. Shivers raked his body, and his breath came in puffs in front of him in the night. The moonlight reflected off the snow-covered forest floor, illuminating the definition of the landscape more. Nothing stirred. His palms were so clammy, and his joints were becoming stiff and frozen from the dropping temperatures. But there, to his right, a flicker of movement as he bared his teeth. From the night, Bresslin Stratton materialized. Her skin was pale, her hair drawn back. As she locked eyes on them, she smiled softly, her eyes empty with dark bruises underneath them. The Gortach appeared by her side, as well as the sound of hundreds of scraping claws and silver eyes staring back at them. Brokk’s hand started to tremble as Bresslin stepped forward, unsheathing a monstrous sword, the edge dipping in toward the middle of the blade, creating twelve wicked-looking teeth along its edge. His mind unraveled the history from their weapons class. The Curse, it was called. A blade embodied with unbreakable teeth, while also capturing the opponents’ blade, destroying it. The snow crunched under her leather boots.