Chapter 2 #3
With a sharp bark of laughter, he spreads his arms wide, sword dangling loosely in one hand.
The weight of it seems more like that of a feather than of hard steel.
“Who is mad?” His eyes become wild and unhinged, as if the battlefield itself has crawled into them.
“I stand in front of you speaking and showing you the truth, yet you try to tell your mind that your eyes and ears are lying.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I step back.
“Because you do both, kill and honor. You do what the runes once did before they were abused. Create balance.”
“The runes did not create balance.”
“Says who?” he challenges.
“Oh, I don’t know, the wars they caused,” I bark.
“Greed of the flesh was not the rune’s fault. They were a gift from the gods; our lands need runes once again to bring peace. They make everyone equal. Humans without magic can stand a chance against us.”
“I don’t need more enemies coming at me.” Humans with magic! No, thank you.
“Put yourself in the human’s shoes. Or would you rather keep them as low as cattle?”
I point my sword at him. “I do not treat humans as such. I value them for the blood that feeds my magic. Call me a monster again, and I will carve out your tongue.”
Not all vampires treat humans with respect, but I am not one of them.
This needs to end. “You’ve been fighting too long, my friend. Madness has claimed you,” I tell him.
“Madness has claimed us all.” His smile drops like a stone tossed into a calm river. “When the time comes, I need to know you’ll be ready.” His eyes feel like possessive chains around my ankles.
“Ready for what?” I widen my stance just to prove to my mind that I can move. His magic has no claim on me.
“To rule and to keep safe the runes.”
“There are no runes! I’m not a king.”
“You’re not? I see a man more worthy of a crown than your king.”
“Don’t speak ill of King Galen.”
“Try saying that with passion,” he mocks, raising an arrogant eyebrow.
I swing my sword with everything I have; the force of my lunge has my boots sinking ankle deep into the ground. He meets my blow with confidence. A deafening clang pierces through the strange time bubble he has created.
For a split second, it shatters. The noise from the real battle wails and slashes through me, shocking me to my core, thrusting me into the chilling cold realization that he’s telling the truth; he’s a time-weaver, and shit, he must have the magic of foresight too.
Zap! The time bubble erects again, but this time, I hear more of the battle outside. It’s not as strong.
“Now you believe me.” He grins, taunting me, but I see the sweat beading on his brow. He’s growing tired. His magic is fading.
I’m not going to enjoy killing him. It is a travesty to kill such a rare creature.
“A wiser man would let me finish our conversation,” he says as if having heard my thoughts.
“I’m a soldier. It’s not my duty to be a wise man.” I move forward, aiming for his chest. “Only a deadly one!”
He blocks it! Dammit!
Our swords clash like two bickering lovers who hate to love each other.
He’s the most skilled fighter I have struck metal with; there are no tricks I can produce that will best him. It will come down to who exhausts first. One small mistake will be the tiebreaker.
I sidestep his swing just in time, but the tip of his blade catches under my arm directly on my armor, where the metal turns to leather, allowing me more movement.
Pain blooms, hot and sharp, but it is shallow enough that I can still swing my sword.
It will heal slowly. Had I not used all my magic, I could have healed it in an instant.
I drive my knee into his stomach. The blow isn’t strong enough to penetrate his armor, but it shakes his balance.
That’s my opening.
He staggers; his boot slips on the bloody mud. I slash my blade down his exposed arm, cutting deep, to the bone. His sword falls to the ground.
Everything I do next is just a reflex of my training.
I don’t mean to do it.
It’s like blinking your eyes on a windy day; it just happens, a subconscious way to protect yourself.
I step in close, bringing my sword down in a brutal arc, aiming for the weakest spot in his fae armor.
They love details. It’s what kills them: all those etchings in the metal surrounding their collars and chest plates weaken the metal.
Thinning it, and over time, if you hit it enough, it makes the metal more brittle.
Right as my sword hits the metal, I hear the crack.
I regret it. A part of me feels like my sword has pierced my own heart.
I just did something terrible; I have no idea what the consequences will be yet.
My sword breaks the metal. The rest is so easy, so light to the touch; it’s like sinking my teeth into freshly baked sourdough bread.
The armor's outside is hard and crusty, while beneath, his flesh is as soft and airy as bread’s interior—no match for my bite.
The taste is tangy, sour; my mind rejoices, because killing him means I get to live.
Regret follows instantly, like the guilt after overeating on a strict no-carb diet—you want to vomit, but you don't, knowing it's wrong to start a new sickness. The urge to binge and purge lingers. My mind, convincing as ever, tells me it’s okay: overeat carbs, kill if you must! Feel your heart beat. See, you’re alive. You can walk it off.
I don’t have to push as my sword sank into his heart.
It happens like breathing. Effortlessly.
“I’m sorry!” I choke. I let go of my sword as his flesh and bone now hold it in place. I grab him. He staggers for a moment, and then his knees give out, hitting mine before he falls into my arms.
No, no, no! I want to take it back, reverse time, pull my sword out, and not have his death on my conscience.
“I’m sorry!” A tear falls from my eyes. Its path down my cheek is slow as it pushes through the dried blood, dirt, and sweat, attempting to forge a bitter path.
“You were scared of the truth. I knew you would be. I saw how today would end, and I do not blame you for it.” His confidence is now a whisper, each breath tight and pained, like fire that screams when water is poured over it.
“Then why didn’t you run from me?” I hiss in outrage.
“We are soldiers. We don’t run from what scares us. We embrace it.” His lip twitches in agony.
I lower him to the ground, locking eyes with him. Magic creatures can heal faster than humans, but heart wounds are often fatal.
His eyes cry with discomfort. I look at my sword and begin to reach for it. Once I pull it free, he’ll bleed out in seconds. His pain will vanish.
“Wait!” He seizes my wrist.
“Keeping it in only prolongs death,” I gently admit.
“Let me finish.”
I slowly nod. “What’s your name?” I ask.
His teeth grind when he exhales. He lays his head back and looks up at the sky. I know the sight he sees.
“I won’t let the birds have you, friend,” I assure him.
“I know.” He nods as tears roll down his cheeks. “My name is Everett."
There are those consequences.
“Prince Everett of Solaria?” I ask with dread, already knowing the truth. That’s why he’s a skilled fighter and wears such ornate armor.
“A prince is just a man, and a castle is merely stacked stones. We’re all the same in the end.” Everett’s breathing slows. “My death will win you this war. My father will stop.” He smirks. “One man’s death can win a war or start it. One man can change everything.”
I hold him closer. “My name is Titus.”
He closes his eyes. “I know.”
“So you can foresee.”
Everett doesn’t reply. I want to shake his shoulders. I crave his snarky rebuttals.
The surrounding battle is louder; the bubble he trapped us in is on the cusp of breaking because his time is almost up.
Instead, he asks, “Do you know what happens to a fae’s magic when they die?”
I glance at my sword. The blood pouring from his chest slows now. His heart is barely pumping.
“We release our magic into the land again, but we have a choice, Titus. We can gift it to another.”
Slowly, I push my hands on each side of my sword, trying to slow the bleeding, but it is a fool’s folly. He and I both know it. He doesn’t flinch when my hands press in. He has moments left now. “I don’t understand.” I lick my lips, feeling all the cuts that sting under my parched tongue.
Everett’s hands grab me. I expect a sword to meet my flesh, but it is just his fingers. He speaks words I don’t understand, and then a surge of icy cold numbness sinks into me. I hear my heart slow, and the blood in my veins sounds like a calm river brushing against a peaceful bank.
His eyes glow, locking me in place and binding my tongue shut so I cannot utter a word of defense. Then a massive, luminous shadow rips from his body and curls into a ball that rests on his chest.
“I give my magic of time-weaving to you, Titus Tarragon, to use until you find the Vitalis; then, I release my magic back into the lands.”
His words spill free like a blow to the stomach. Too much at once, impossible to shove back in. My body sways like a sword, forced to endure and be responsible for its actions. His words keep pouring like blood into my mind. Echoing like a beast crawling out from a deep cave.
My inner magic is no more than a drop of water on dry, cracked earth—it tries so hard to rise, grow something to defend me, but it can’t.
“But my magic of foresight, I release back into the world. If you were to see what you must endure, you would grab the sword from my heart and thrust it into yours,” he rasps.
“Wait!” I shout as I jerk back. I expect his hands to pull me closer so this crazy conversation can continue. Instead, his glowing magic surges into my body, raising every hair, widening every pore, stretching every bone, muscle, and vein until I feel like I’m about to be ripped apart.
Did I die? No, the pain is too intense.
I fall forward onto Everett. “No!” I wince as I roll off of him in shock.
I want Everett’s hands to grab me, but they fall by his sides, knuckles landing on the blood-soaked soil; it looks so peaceful, so… right, like a body buried in the soil, allowing multiple creatures to feed off it. Now they won’t starve and die. Death fuels life; it’s the ultimate life cycle.
His chest doesn’t move, but his leg produces one final twitch. His eyes gaze up at the sky, and the smile on his lips falls slowly, like a boat drifting off into the sunset on calm waters. Peace washes over his face as I watch him pass over.
I lean closer to him, reaching out and running my palm down his face to close his eyes. “What did you do, Prince Everett? Why did you choose me?” I whisper.