“I need another bowl, a clean one, now!” Roger commands.
Keeper divulges into a full seizure as Roger struggles to hold him down, keeping him from flailing off the bed. I run to the kitchen looking for a bowl. Flinging open cabinet after cabinet I finally find a clean bowl, grab it and run back to the room. As I pass the entryway I see three men carrying a knight to the infirmary. I try to keep my focus as I run back to the room. I come in to see Keeper on his side, spitting up blood.
“The bowl!” Roger holds out his hand to me without looking, focusing on Keeper.
I hand him the bowl and he tucks it under Keeper’s cheek for the blood.
“What can I do?” I choke out. Tears burn at my eyes.
“We need to flip him to his other side and put the red liquid on his wounds before they get infected and he dies.”
I stand next to Roger, who’s still holding Keeper’s wrists.
“Place your hands under his back. On my count we’ll flip him. We have to do it fast, or he could choke on the blood.”
I place my palms under Keeper’s ribs, feeling the warmth and stickiness of the wounds.
“Ready?” Roger looks to me.
I nod. We push with a grunt flipping Keeper to his back. He gurgles, choking on blood.
“Flip!”
I plant my palms under his back and push as adrenaline surges through me, flipping him to his other side.
“The bowl, he’s still coughing up blood.”
I grab the bowl and stick it by his face on the other side.
“Ok, now I need to keep holding his wrists or he won’t stay still like this. You need to pour the red liquid.”
I turn and grab the bowl of cherry-red liquid, holding it above Keeper.
“Ready?” Roger asks.
I nod and pour the liquid over Keeper’s wounds. His back and stomach tighten. A harrowing gasp escapes his dry, blood-drenched lips.
“More,” Roger commands. I pour the bowl faster, scooping out the remainder with my hands and slathering it on the wounds. “Good.” He nods at me to toss the bowl. “Rub it into his wounds, they’re too deep to soak it up on their own.”
I force the heel of my palms hard on the liquid, pressing deep along the rib cage. Keeper stops moving.
“Is it working?”
“Keep doing it.”
Using my fingers, I spread the liquid across the distance of the cuts, lengthening from his chest across his back. Slow, deep breaths being to raise and lower his chest.
“It’s working.” Roger eases his grip on Keeper’s wrists. “You can stop.”
I take my hands off his wounds as Roger lets go. Keeper lies there, still, but breathing. “There’s nothing more we can do for him now but let him rest.” Roger pats me on the back. “You did good, kid. You did good.”
A burning liquid climbs up my stomach to my throat. I turn to the nearest bowl and heave up stew and bile.
“I’ll get you some water.” Roger hands me the clean side of a cloth and walks out of the room.
I wipe my chin and walk over to the bed, looking at Keeper. His wounds fade from deep red to pink as they start to close. It’s working, but so far only on the ends. The middle of the cuts, where it’s deepest, has yet to change. I walk to the side of the bed, looking at his face. It’s dark and dirtied, mouth and chin smeared with blood. I tilt his chin towards me to get a better look. He has prominent cheek bones and an apple chin.
“Let him rest.” Roger sneaks up behind me with a glass of water.
“His chin is still bloodied.” I say.
“That’s alright. He’s got a lot of cleaning up to do if he makes it through the night. Let’s worry about that first. Drink.” Roger pushes the glass into my hand. I take it from him, press it against my cracked lips and gulp down the cool water. My tongue and throat seem to ache at the touch from dehydration.
“You need to rest, too.” He places a hand on my shoulder.
I shake my head handing him the emptied glass. “No, I need to see to the others.”
Roger stops me. “I will tend to them. I have more experience with it than you anyway. You are our leader now, you need to rest.”
“A real leader wouldn’t rest until she knew all her knights were tended to.” I push past him with two steps and grip the wall, feeling lightheaded.
“I thought you might feel that way. It’s admirable, my lady, it is. But if you are not well, no one will be.”
My legs turn to jelly. “What did you put in my water?”
He places an arm around my back supporting me. “A sedative to help you sleep.” Walking me to Keeper’s room he sits me gently on the bed. I fall over without control, head hitting the pillow. “I promise you my Knight Divine, I will take care of everyone. Rest now.”
I reach up a shaking hand as my vision blurs.
“Rest…” His voice fades as he turns, walking out of the room. “Rest…”
I can’t fight the urge any longer, my eyelids seal as sleep overtakes me.
“Is she alright?”
“Yes. She was unharmed in the battle.”
“That’s a first.”
“Indeed.”
“I’m glad to hear it, anyways.”
“We should probably let her rest. She still needs it.”
“I agree. Let’s not wake her.”
I hear the door creaking.
“How’s he doing?” The voice is more distant now, not in the same room any longer.
“I’m not sure. He hasn’t moved, but he’s still breathing.”
Door opens.
“Thorn, I’m sorry to intrude, but we need you in the infirmary.”
“I’ll be right there.”
Footsteps.
“Thank you, for looking after her and making her rest. She’s stubborn, that one.”
“Indeed she is. A good quality in a leader, if it can be controlled.”
“Keep a watch on him for me as well. Let me know if you need anything, will you?”
“Of course. Go now, Thorn. I have things steady here.”
The door closes. I turn on my side, eyes still too heavy with sleep to open. He’s alright. He’s still alive. But…what about the others? How many knights passed in the battle? I couldn’t remember. I try to bring forth the memory of the battle to no avail. The sedative is still strong in my veins, shutting my whole body down, forcing me to rest.
¶I awake with a start. Some fever dream has forced me awake yet again. I am drenched in sweat.
“You…you saved me.” Keeper sits at the end of my bed, shirtless, hoodless, gloveless. “You could have left me there, followed the dragon.” He turns to me. His face willingly exposed for the first time. “You chose to save me and retreat…why?”
I shake my head, still unsure if this is a dream. “I would never leave you, nor anyone behind. The dragon was the one who retreated. It was not worth it. Your life on the other hand, was.”
His piercing blue eyes bore into mine. I’d always thought they were greener, but under the hood it was hard to tell. They are a very clear, crystal pale blue shaded under thick blond eyebrows that match his head of blond hair. Those eyes…they remind me of someone. He tilts his head at me, reading the confusion on my face.
“You are not in your hood and clothes,” I explain my gaze.
He turns forward with a hard swallow. “Do you remember me?”
Now it is I who is confused.
“Remember you?” I reiterate the question. After a moment of studying his face I answer, “There is something to your eyes that I cannot place.” It hits me. “No,” I shake my dirtied black locks. He curls his lips inward and nods. “It cannot be…” I sit up on my knees, leaning towards him and inspecting his face.
“Lady Jaria, I am your brother.”
XVI: Awakening
¶My heart stops at the words. Brother. Images of the little boy from my childhood fill my mind. Those same blue eyes. My mother. The pies. It cannot be.
�
�It is impossible.” I rack my brain for the remainder of the conversation with my father. I try to recall a part where he told me why that little boy came by so often, why Helwain took him away, but there is none. Keeper’s eyes look to mine, on the verge of tears. “How? How can it be true?” The words barely escape my mouth, dry and gasping.
“Our mother was Lady Akidira.”
Our mother? Lady Akidira? No. My mother lived at home with me.
“No, no. My mother lived in the house with my father and I. She picked apples in the forest while he worked the fields. She baked pies…”
“I was that little boy.”
“It cannot be!”
“Jaria.” He raises a hand, “Please, listen to me.”
Tears burn at my eyes. I’m exhausted. I’m hallucinating. I have to be.
“Please.” He beckons for my attention. “Lady Akidira was our mother. She was scarcely seen by those in The Realm. Only the Saints knew her personally, save our father, Eraer.”
“How could my father have known Lady Akidira?”
“Our father. He used to work the gardens of Dragon’s Den long before he worked in the fields. He was the only staff member she had employed. She refused to have others protect her or wait on her hand and foot. She’d go talk with him out in the gardens. Before long, they fell in love. It was forbidden for them to marry, so they kept their relationship a secret.”
“How would you know this?”
“She became impregnated with me around the time of the blood dragon.”
So Keeper is my older brother?
“She died…Lady Akidira died in Mount Kitum with the blood dragon, it’s written in the tales.” I say.
“Have you heard of Connar? One of the Seven Saints?”
“Yes. In fact I have met him.”
“Yes. Then you know of ‘The Writings of Assassination’?”
“Somewhat. From what I have been able to determine ‘The Writings of Assassination’ are widely discredited. Pages of the book were even ripped out.”
“Precisely. Because ‘The Writings of Assassination’ tell the truth about Lady Akidira.”
Memories mare my mind of my mother, assassinated in the town square. Highly uncommon for a civilian of the Realm unless they were charged with high treason. “My mother was murdered.”
“Yes. Your mother was Lady Akidira.”
I stand from the bed.
“Jaria, wait.”
I brush past him into my chambers. Blood and cherry liquid stain the bed sheets.
“Jaria,” He stands in the doorway behind me. “It is the truth. Her death had to be faked in order for our parents to be together in the Realm, to have you. When she had me, she gave me up to the foster homes. She got pregnant a second time, with you, and faked her own death. She changed her name and lived in the village with your father. People hadn’t seen Lady Akidira in person, other than your father. No one knew it was her.”
“But how was she found out? Assassinated? Why?”
“Helwain had always been suspicious of her, having taken the throne in her stead. He knew she had been pregnant before her ‘death’. When a baby showed up on the doorsteps of the foster home unexplained, he was even more suspicious. As I grew up, I began to bear resemblance to Lady Akidira. She tried to change her hair, weather her face, but she could not fool everyone.”
“How did you know she was your mother? Why did you come by so often for the pies?”
“In truth, I didn’t know. The children of the foster home always went for her pies. I loved her instantly. Something felt very comforting about her, she was so kind to me. So, they allowed me to continue to be the one to get the pies. I knew nothing further.”
“She must have known it was you…”
“Yes. She did. Eraer did too, he knew what she was risking every day when I stopped by.”
“The night she was taken away…” I say to myself.
“Helwain had begun visiting me at the foster home. He would ask me questions about my mother, my father, if I remembered anything. Of course, I did not. He grew wary when I came home with an large amount of pies week after week…I think he just knew. I never met our father, but he must have always feared Helwain would find them out.”
“Then why wasn’t he sentenced to death as well?”
“Helwain could only prove that I was Lady Akidira’s son, he could not prove Eraer was my father—just yours.”
Turning to face the fire I let the heat wash over me. “He knows now.”
“How?” Keeper asks.
“He framed me. The entire Realm was after me. I fled. I can only imagine what happened to my father…” I drop into a chair in front of the fire. Keeper walks over and eases himself into the other.
“I’m so sorry.”
“I don’t want to think about it. Tell me what else happened to you. How did you escape the Realm and wind up here?”
“After she was found out, Helwain took me into his care, keeping my identity a secret.” Reflections of flames dance in his eyes. He stares deep into the fire. “He imprisoned me.”
My eyes turn to him. He sits still as stone.
“He fed me enough to keep me alive. He did not want the rightful son of Lady Akidira, born out of wedlock, to take his throne. He tortured me.”
“Tortured you…” My voice drops at the thought of the little boy being tortured while I went on living, free.
“Connar came to me, decades later. I thought I had hallucinated him. He appeared to me day after day, telling me about Lady Akidira and how she was my mother. He would tell me the true tale of the Seven Saints. He told me about you. With his help one night I finally escaped, while Helwain slept. He told me what I must do, where I must go.”
“What did he tell you?”
“He told me to head to Fort Guarded Dusk and become a knight. He said that I must conceal myself in order to conceal my identity, so Helwain would never be able to find me.” His gaze softens as he turns from the flames back to me. “He told me one day when you were ready, he would regale you with the same stories, leaving out who I am. He said when you were ready, he would send you to me, and that I must protect you at all costs. For when the day came that you escaped the Realm, Helwain would fear his throne more than ever. I had to guide you here to ensure you would fulfill your life’s quest of becoming the next Lady of the Sanctums.”
I draw back and stare at the flames. “Why…”
“Why what?”
“Why couldn’t you tell me sooner? Once I had completed my quest…I got the sword, I was branded, I survived…” I turn my arm up to look at the scar. “You knew it was me, yet you continued to treat me like a child and hide your true intentions.”
“It was for your own protection. You were still very much a risk.”
“A risk?”
“Jaria, you ran away and I had to come find you. Had Helwain found you first…I might never have seen you again and all would be lost. I couldn’t let you risk everything simply because you did not understand why I was treating you the way that I was.”
I stare off into the fire, watching the dancing flames create patterns. I ask,“What now?”
“Now that you know who I am, we can proceed differently. There won’t be much time now until Helwain unleashes his full plan. He’s sent dragons out twice already, it will happen again, and soon.”
“I still don’t know what my power is…”
“Your power?”
“Yes. I was talking to Wizard about it, how I heard the dragon’s thoughts as it was dying.”
“You could hear the dragon’s thoughts within your own?”
“Yes.”
He leans back and nods with a grim smile.
“What is it?” I draw my gaze from the fire.
“You may be more powerful than I had thought possible.”
“Do you think I can control dragons?”
“Control them? No. But you can hear them, which means it’s very likely they can hear you
as well.”
“What good will that do us?”
“A lot, believe me. The dragons are only attacking because they’re under a spell from Helwain. With some work, you could learn to snap them out of it and have them fight for us instead.”
He stands from his chair and walks across the room.
“There’s more.” I confess.
“Tell me.” He prods.
I scoot forward on my chair clasping my hands, digging half-moons into my palm with my fingernails.
“Jaria, tell me.”
My eyes flicker up to his and hold his gaze. He flinches at my stare and draws closer. “What is that?” He leans down to my face, looking into my eyes “There it is again.” His voice drops with a tilt of his head.
“I was struck by lightning, in the Tomb of the Western Locks. Wizard has a theory that, not unlike my sword, I possess lightning and potentially the ability to wield it. Though, I have no idea how…or how to even try.”
“Why did you not tell me of this sooner?”
“I didn’t know how to tell anyone, or how to try and harness it.”
“Don’t try to focus on it, let it focus on you. When the time is ready, your power will reveal itself.”
He traces across the room into his bedroom. A moment later he reemerges with under armor over his bandaged skin.
“No more cloak and gloves?” I ask.
“The time for hiding is over.”
“What shall I call you now, then?”
“You can call me by my birth name.”
“And that is?”
“Ethan.”
I walk into the infirmary to assess the wounded, when someone calls to me.
“Knight Divine!” Roger yells at me from across the grounds.
I jog over to him. He’s tending a soldier with blood pooling from his abdomen. “How can I help?”
He motions for the water bucket nearby. I grab it and run back, sloshing bloodied water onto the floor.
“He’s not going to make it.” Roger leans into me with a whisper. My eyes move to the knight. Drenched in sweat he heaves, suppressing cries.
“I’m just a chef now…I can only do so much.” Roger pleads, to himself, more than anything. I swallow. He wants me to break the news to the boy.
“What’s your name, knight?” I ask the boy.
The Writings of Assassination: Book One Page 19