Renegade: A Young Adult Dystopian

by Mallory McCartney

  The vision disappeared, and Roque gagged from the lash back, their magic having pulled each of them into the memory. He looked up slowly, his pulse stuttering. The book was radiating, a deep humming, filling the room. Looking up, the moment hung between them like an eternity. Gone were the brown-eyed creatures from before. Empty eye sockets, long ebony hair, their lips pulled and pinned back revealing their sharpened teeth. They tilted their heads, a small giggle escaping from their lips, and the room exploded in a fury of chaos.

  The lights flickered, sending the room in a disarray of splintered movement. The Oilean stood, their facades gone, and their magic exploded from them. The shadows deepened, whispering dark terrible things as cracks of ability filtered around them. Damien roared forward, his blinding light raging against the night.

  “Damien, No!”

  But he looked back to the group just as the Oilean multiplied, the four of them circling around him and he whispered, “The channels are closed. They cannot get back.” Screams met with the guttural sounds of the fight as the creatures sunk their teeth into his neck, and the darkness overtook him, leaving nothing but ash. Screams multiplied around the room, and he looked to Nei, her panicked eyes searching his own, both thinking the same thing. What could they do, a desolate and a healer from the Shattered Isles?

  Giggles filled the room, bouncing around them, and their consciousness. Hands found his in the darkness, warm and strong as Aine’s voice tickled against his ear, “My daughter has removed the seals on the door and is gone. Do not let me down, Roque.” Brilliant ice blue light filled the room as Aine stepped forward, the queen of the windwalkers growling, “You want them? You will have to get through me first.”

  The Oileans’ joints popped sickeningly as they scrambled forward. “Ah yes, Witch Queen. Witch Queen.”

  The explosion threw them back, Roque’s head cracking against the wall with a sickening thud as recognition burst through his chest. Peyton, who was the witch that had condemned his son. The witch that Morgan had so easily trusted, and she had tried so hard to hide from him. But in time, all secrets bled to the surface. Spots danced in front of his eyes and in the flickering lights, Roque watched as Aine became the substance of her power colliding with the smoky darkness of the Oilean. Squeezing his eyes shut, tears burned beneath his lids at the sudden blinding flare of light, heat warming his skin, becoming too hot, too fast...

  Until the lights flicked back on. Coughing, Roque stumbled forward, his voice rasping, “Nei... Nei!”

  “Here. I’m fine. I’m fine.” His wife lay across the room, looking shaken but unscathed. With ringing ears, Roque stood, any trace of the Oilean and Aine gone. The smoking burn in the floor was the only evidence of what had happened. The room tilted, but Roque walked toward the table, the blackened book pulsing with light, the surface of the wood completely singed underneath it.

  “Roque, no! Can’t you see it?” Nei was before him in a second, pushing against his chest, shielding him from the work they had cultivated over the years, the work that would change the face of their culture, for Emory, for Kiero. The book contained spells from worlds unknown from their country, and he had been the commander behind such an expedition. A desolate orchestrating the most influential artifact Kiero had ever seen. Now all of it was destroyed in a second.

  Growling, he seized her forearms. “Nei, I have to see it! All our work...” He trailed off as tears slid down her face.

  “They destroyed it. I can... sense it. It’s dark magic. It’s not safe, we must get rid of it! Roque, listen to me. The channels are destroyed, closed. It’s over. But those faeries tainted it. They may be gone, they may not be. But their magic is a siren call to them. A weapon. And dark magic only calls to its master.”

  The stirring of the Academy sounded behind them, and his mind was freefalling. Clenching his teeth, he said, “No. No, we will hide it, and until we can understand it, we won’t destroy it.”

  She paled, stepping away from him, shaking her head. “Their blood is staining our hands, and you would have us keep it?”

  “Yes.”

  The memory became washed out and dull, churning until his bearings became clear once more. Curled up on the tunnel floor, cold sweat soaked through his shirt, clinging on the inside of his jacket. You see, we did have one purpose. Shivers racked through him, making his teeth chatter as the voices cut through him. For your greatness, Adair, we needed you. Your body, to act as our vessel. Together, we will be unstoppable.

  Tears slid down his dirtied cheeks, and he pushed himself up onto his knees, whispering to the darkness, “No, please no. You promised me, if I did this. If I k-killed them. I would be free. I would be more.”

  You already are.

  They attacked relentlessly, tearing through his mind, through his ability, through his memories. His secrets and fears all dissolving as he was pushed under, drowning in the old magic burning through his veins. It was like having his oxygen cut off, everything becoming fuzzy except for the last desperate attempts to remind himself of who he was. Laughing with Emory as the sun set, the golden light brushing the world in a soft luster. Walking through the courtyard at night, the rest of the Academy asleep, but when the stars erupted in the velvet sky far above, tracing constellations, leading his heart and his mind to every untouched adventure that awaited him. He would lay on his back, boots crossed over his legs, the bench cool underneath him as the hours slipped away directed by his imagination, and reality would shatter. All that ever mattered was that one day he would break out of his confines, and he would discover exactly what the world had to offer. Because each day that disappeared and he read about the mythology, the history, and the mystery of Kiero, a piece of him died that he wasn’t experiencing it.

  Snarling, he clawed and threw himself at those memories, at the burning desire to hold on. As fast as they came, they were gone, and the walls of his reality disappeared as well. The room was much like the one before, the curling stairs plunging down into the cavernous room. He stepped forward, his footfalls echoing falling alongside his panicked breaths. Down and down he walked. Sweat collected in his palms as he clenched and unclenched them. Finally reaching the bottom of the stairs, he followed the soft silver light bouncing against the slick walls.

  A pale hand stroked his cheek. The touch froze him and broke down every barrier he had, laying him bare. Every dream, wish, hope, longing that had every taken root within him was gone. Until he felt nothing. Until he was nothing.

  Adair. Tears fell as his lip trembled. Don’t be afraid. He felt their nails dig into his jacket, pulling and pushing, and he didn’t know what his reality was anymore. The Oilean hissed in pleasure, clawing at his chest, at his arms, pushing him farther and faster back. Stumbling back, his gravity tipped, the wind was pushed from his lungs. His fingers started to burn, spreading viciously up his arms, binding his legs, surging through his chest. It splintered and pulled him apart, and all he could do was watch in horror as all around him dark spears sprouted from the ground, shuddering and growing taller and taller. And that darkness that had been waiting for him, greeted him with open arms, pulling him close. Forming a cage.

  Flipping onto his side, he dragged himself closer to the bars as he watched the four figures lower themselves to eye level. Their voices bouncing in the confines of his mind—Now, you will understand your freedom.

  “No!” he roared, snarling against his confinements as their figures grew and distorted, the shadows climbing and consuming. The lights were extinguished and everything went dark. And he spiraled.

  The first thing that he heard was the relentless pounding of hundreds of footfalls above him. A sharp ringing filled his ears, and blinking, he realized he was on his back, arms and legs splayed out. Disoriented, he looked up at the tunnel’s ceiling, dust floating down through the semidarkness, lightly coating his face and clothes. Stretching, he slowly stood, brushing himself off. Screams echoed around the Academy, and the tunnel’s walls seemed to move as shocks shuddered dow
n them. To his right, frost had slicked the walls, creating a distorted mirror. He tilted his head, looking at himself captured in the ice. A pink flush had crept into his cheeks, and for the first time in years, he felt alive. Leaning closer, the ice misted from his breath as he took in his sweeping black hair, but he paused, a slow smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he took in his eyes. His pupils widened, bleeding in the now black iris around them, all flecks of the dark brown gone. All traces of him gone.

  A deep chuckle passed through his lips, and he tentatively traced the outline of his features, growing more distorted with every second. Flicking the melted droplets off his fingertips he murmured, “Finally, it’s time.” Clenching his fist, he slammed it into the ice, the impact should have shredded his skin and his knuckles, leaving a bloody print. Instead the cracks split through the ice, racing up and through the sheets as they fell around him. The ice fractured around him, and he flexed his unharmed hand, grinning viciously.

  The ground shuddered beneath him and looking up, his hair stood on end with anticipation. The temperature continued to drop, his breath outlined in front of him as he looked onward to the war that raged above him. He could practically taste the ancient magic spurring through the Academy because it was the same that coursed through him. A gravitational force that wouldn’t let him go, couldn’t let him go. And he would answer it.

  Bowing his head, his body became magic and smoke, and soon he was flying, cutting through the physical barriers of the school. He was no longer a man, no longer just Adair Stratton. The voices purred inside him, coaxing him onward, as he became destruction, chaos, and rage. He became the monster he was pegged for, the fear that was whispered behind his back. The one that was always there in the depths of his heart. As he raced to escape the tunnels, inside he battered against his confinements, screaming, unable to do anything but watch as the magic sealed him within, overpowering and enhancing him, and the magic relished as he burned with one desire. To end the Academy.

  18

  Brokk

  For the first hour, he had screamed. Gut-wrenching wails as he heard the Academy torn apart, stormed by Bresslin’s forces. For the second hour, he had fought. Against the chains, against the forces of the world he didn’t understand. Couldn’t understand. There was no rhyme or reason to their destruction, and the smell of smoke, the harsh tang of winter cut into his face. As the third hour rolled around, his head hung limply, the sounds of war crashing around him.

  The metal bit into his wrists, blood slowly seeping onto the ground, a steady drip. He sagged, no longer wanting to hear the dabarnes shatter through the icy courtyard, the screams rising and falling, as the Academy was caught completely unaware by Bresslin’s rage.

  First, I will make you beg.

  He cringed against the memory slithering through his mind of the Gortach’s sick whispers.

  Then, I will make you bleed.

  A whimper escaped him, and he clenched his eyes shut.

  My name is Brokk Foster. I will not break. I will not break. I will not break. He repeated this over and over to himself, trying to shut out the increased sound of smashing concrete, the roars of the monsters, the roars of the residents of the Academy. The singing of metal against metal, of ice crackling over everything, alive or not. The ground shuddered, and he was sure the world would split apart from the forces clashing together.

  “Brokk.” He squeezed his eyes tighter, and for the first time, he let his mind wonder what it would be like just to drift away from their government, from their politics. Like the raiders had done. And the Shattered Isles. Leaving Kiero to battle over an acclaimed crown.

  “Brokk!” Defeatedly wrenching his gaze, he squinted through his non-swollen eye at his best friend, cringing at how true Bresslin was to her word. Memphis’s wrists and ankles where melded into blocks of ice, his body stretched taut, blood running down his arms, the chain collar tight around his throat. They were on the outskirts of the forest, left broken and beaten, their torture listening to their home falling into ruin, seeing enough but not all. “We have to do something.” Memphis’s voice cracked.

  “If you have any plans, I would love to hear them,” he rasped.

  “So, we just give up strapped to a block of ice? Brokk, Em is in there.”

  “Don’t you think I know that? But what can we do against a bloody army of demons!”

  Memphis’s face grew ashen as he spat, “We can try.”

  Try. He wanted to laugh bitterly at the word. How many years had he spent trying? Trying to figure out his past. Who his parents were, why they didn’t want to keep him. Trying to live up to the expectations of the Academy, to grow up to become one of Kiero’s guardians. Guardians, which was just another word for soldier. But he had tried to stay true to his heart and what he knew was right, and that was all he could ever want. He looked at the world around him, the hush of the forest, snow encrusted and timeless. His gaze drifted toward the Academy, the smoke curling up toward the sky. Was he ready to try, to potentially die? His heart hammered as he licked his dried lips. “Memphis, you know you can be a prat, right?”

  His friend wolfishly grinned. “On occasion.”

  Groaning, he shook his head. “If we die—”

  “Most of our plans usually could end with that option. They haven’t yet, and today I have no intention of breaking our streak.”

  Fear filled every ounce of his soul, but he knew he wouldn’t forgive himself if he caved. For himself and for Emory. With a pounding heart, his eyes frantically ravaged the forest, looking for anything that could help them.

  A crack exploded in front of them, and Brokk cringed, desperately whispering quietly, “Please. Help us.” He had spent his lifetime in these woods. A lifetime of endless nights. The pounding of his paws against the earth, moonlight carving his path, all his fears and worries stripped away. It was those nights that he shifted, and the symphony of magic and mystery filled his senses. He wasn’t so oblivious to not know he was being watched.

  The myths around their world, but specifically the woods around the Academy, were one of legends. That before the magic was born in them, in the form of abilities, their world was divided. It was said that the woods were a sacred place, defended by Warriors. Fae whose magic could surpass your wildest daydream, and they protected their border against the darkness breeding in the magic. Over the years, the myth changed into many variations, saying that the Warriors had disappeared, sacrificing their magic into the bowels of Kiero, seeping into the air, the trees, their food, their bodies. And as such, people born with abilities came about, naithe, or blessed.

  At first, it started as a gentle murmur, children born from parents of no abilities, and it spread through Kiero like wildfire, tainting what started out as awe into madness. He didn’t believe that they were chosen, but the myths of the Warriors curled around his heart, tucked away, and only allowing himself to hope on those nights in the woods that they weren’t gone from their world. Maybe it was futile, but he had no other ideas, and as he whispered those words into the icy wind, he clenched his eyes shut, his heart lodged in his throat. For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath, the clashing of the war raging beyond them.

  Brokk.

  He froze, straining against his imagination, but there again on the wind, his name whispered like a gentle caress. With a racing pulse, he allowed his senses to float beyond him, to give himself up to that part of himself even though it was temporarily lost from him.

  Brokk, find a way back.

  A way back home, which was never really lost. Fear tore through his chest, but he couldn’t stop himself as he dove into his ability, at first being met with nothing, the enhanced metal having neutralized him. But there, underneath that void curtain, a flickering ember pulsed, straining but there nonetheless. He did not falter as he slammed into it, and the world exploded. He caught a glimpse of Memphis looking at him, waiting for an answer, before fractured light erupted around him and he was falling. His scream ripped
through him as he was blinded by the swirling of light, but also of memories. It was like standing on a hillside, watching the world spin into rewind, time having no meaning anymore because he was in control.

  “They will think all is lost.” He dove toward Bresslin’s voice, not fully understanding what this part of him was, but he trusted it. Because he trusted himself.

  “And they will watch as we destroy everything they love,” the Gortach grumbled. “You aren’t afraid they are more powerful than you think? Especially the shifter?”

  Bresslin smiled. “The only way they could get out of their restraints is if they knew the spell protecting it, wouldn’t they? It would be impossible they would know that saying ceol would transfer the energy consumed by the metal back into them?” The Gortach rumbled a laugh as Bresslin brandished her sword in front of her. “It’s time.”

  He felt like he was being wrenched back, diving back into that sea of endless blinding light. The energy crackled around him, and he could sense it, the currents raging around him, and he was falling. The wind howled as his eyes flew open, forcing himself to take in the scene. Brilliant slashes of gold, silver, and blue dove around him like waves crashing to shore, flashing and roaring in their spectrum.

  He was afraid, but also mesmerized as one voice above all the rest stood out. “Brokk.” He dove toward Emory’s voice, his anchor holding him steady back to his reality. She had known he had this... this time travelling ability. In his heart, he had known but had always pushed it away, fiercely not allowing the part he didn’t understand to dictate his life. A sharp ringing filled his senses, and the light fractured and splintered once more, and he was slammed back into his present body—to a gaping Memphis by his side.

  “By fire and flame...”