Days Past
Keira did as Caspian had asked. She’d returned to the tower and when the time came, had taken her exams. The preparation was rigorous, but at least it gave her something to focus on other than the black mass of sorrow and wrath that had balled itself up within her.
She aligned herself with a single goal: to secure a place in the Arcanum and leave the tower behind.
Though Keira and the red wizard had never been a pair to share lengthy conversations, now they would often spend days without speaking to one another at all.
The very sight of him was enough to make her skin prickle with anger.
Yet that was not the only reason she wished to leave.
She felt the void left by Caspian’s absence in every quiet moment, on every solitary walk through the hillside.
It seemed to reverberate through the indisputable barriers of time, as if she could already feel the loneliness of the days ahead.
If she stayed, the waiting would surely cripple her.
Her only true solace was found in the letters that arrived every week or so often.
The first of these were angry and mournful correspondence, lamenting what they had lost, what had been stolen.
But there are only so many ways that one can say that their heart is broken in two, longing for its other half’s return.
Caspian spoke about life within the camp.
Though his stories began with descriptions of the strenuous training or the bland meals, it soon became clear that he was not in fact suffering.
By the time Keira was writing to tell him that she had passed her exams and would be moving to Silverfell to begin term, he had shared comical stories about his fellow initiates, glowing praise from his training officer, and even an eagerness to join the ranks in fullness.
It was a mercy that life in the Arcanum left little time for self pity.
It left little time for anything at all really.
The coursework was rigorous, the instructors scrupulous, and the air of competition between the fellow students nothing short of vicious.
The academy was steeped in a culture of excellence as undeniable as natural law.
Only the strongest would survive, the weak devoured.
Keira embraced the challenge.
It was gratifying to rise to the top ranks of her class, justifying to see others crumble trying to claim her place, and in the darkness of her dormitory, self punishing the pace she kept maintaining it all.
Yet the only true joy was in reading Caspian’s words of praise and encouragement, how proud he was, how much he wanted to celebrate as soon as they were together again, that he’d always known she was extraordinary.
And yes, there was spite as well in the knowledge that her success would reach her guardian’s ears as well.
Yet when her first year was complete (in which she placed top of class), Keira was left with no choice but to return to the tower.
Ignatius greeted her with his customary distant warmth, congratulating her on her placement.
They spoke in stilted conversation about their shared experiences at the academy, but it was not the same as it had been.
She found projects and experiments around the tower to occupy her time, but none of them held her focus for long. After so many months of activity, an endless current of distraction, the stillness daunted her. And then her final refuge went silent.
Two months passed without a single letter from Caspian.
He had written before the end of her term, excited about his promotion to first sword, leader of his unit.
When Keira mentioned the news to Ignatius one night over supper, he said that it was a sign that he was showing promise.
Keira tried to find comfort in that, though his letters became less frequent as his company marched north to join the front.
She could barely sleep as her worries fueled an endless supply of nightmares.
Thus a ritual of sorts was born as she invariably woke in the early hours.
She would stand on the rocky slope before the tower as the sun rose, waiting for the postman to pass with his mule.
In time, he even took to shaking his head with a pitiful expression just for her.
They were just too far in the mountains for correspondence, she told herself.
She just needed to be patient, though when Ignatius had dared suggest this to her, Keira had nearly set the table on fire.
This silence wasn’t ultimately unprecedented.
But in town, rumors were spreading of a breaking defeat on the Northern border, how the prince himself was nearly slain.
With each passing day, her dread only grew.
Then at last, as Keira held her morning vigil, the old postman turned, leading his mule up the lane.
Keira stood to greet him, blood hammering.
This was it. He would apologize for being unable to write to her, or perhaps this would even be a bundle of letters he had been writing for her all along and had been waiting to send.
The postman reached into his satchel and retrieved a single letter.
She could see at once that it was not from Caspian.
The writing was all wrong, the delicate practiced script.
It bore the seal of the king’s army. Keira ripped into it at once.
Her eyes scanned the paper, clutching it with shaking hands.
To the Household of First Sword Caspian,
It is with the deepest regret that I must inform you of the loss of First Sword Caspian, who fell in service to the Crown during the Battle of Icespire Pass. He met his end with honor, fulfilling his oath to king and country.
The king’s army acknowledges him among those who gave their lives in the defense of our realm. His sacrifice stands as a testament to his loyalty and courage, and his name will be entered into the rolls of remembrance.
I extend to you sorrow and gratitude as he begins the next journey. May his valiant memory be your comfort and your strength.
Yours in service and mourning,
General Mallister
Her scream echoed through the hills. The sound of it shook the foundations of the tower. Birds took flight from the fields and circled overhead as around her the ripe grasses withered and dried. The postman and his mule fled as Keira collapsed to her knees.
Caspian was dead.
Overhead, the skies darkened as the clouds churned and swelled. Her tears fell from the sky, stinging harshly against the ground, against her cheeks. The worst had happened, a fate she had always known was possible but had been unable to truly fathom.
Caspian was dead.
The notion surrounded her in a lethal embrace.
“Keira.” Ignatius’s rough voice uttered from the direction of the tower.
Thunder rumbled in deafening peels as lightning flashed overhead.
“You must control yourself,” he said, just behind her now. “Focus on your breath.”
Keira stood, turning on her heel ferociously. A streak of lightning lashed out, striking at the peak of the tower. Of course, he had not come to offer her comfort, not even from this pain which he had caused. He did not feel. He did not love; he never had.
“Caspian is dead.” The words sounded positively feral as they ripped from her throat.
“You are the master of your magic, Keira,” her guardian said as if he had not heard her at all. “Focus now and breathe.”
Rage was burning beneath her skin, boiling in her blood. Her fingers curled into talons at her sides.
“You killed him,” Keira snarled. Red crowded her vision. The anger- It was too much. She felt as though she was going to burst.
“This will not bring him back,” Ignatius said, his voice unwavering as his gaze.
Fury exploded from inside her, reshaping her body into a being of fur and teeth and long, wicked claws. Ignatius faltered in his step, genuine panic overtaking him for only a moment. It was clear his ward had lost herself, had let pain warp her magic past the point of her control.
The beast bared fangs, long as daggers. Her haunches tensed, preparing to pounce.
Ignatius stared it down, undaunted. He had faced greater dangers in the days of his youth and lived now to recall them.
Even as she snarled, lunging with gaping jaws, the red wizard’s mind was clear, his movements steady.
Ignatius stepped through the wind and rain, the very space bending around his body until he was standing several feet away from where he had been only a second before.
She turned, panting hot, furious breaths. Her claws upturned the earth as she charged again. A foolish move, but clearly her reason was blinded, locked behind the barriers of passion and pain.
Ignatius stretched out his hand; a cloud of mist expelled from his palm, unperturbed by the falling rain.
The beast snorted, eyes widening as some part of her mind recognized her error.
Her massive flanks heaved for breath as she took a faltering swipe.
He remained still as she snapped at him once more.
The beast’s strength was waning. Soon her legs buckled beneath the great weight. Her eyes drooped.
At last, the beast melted away, leaving Keira to lie on the sodden ground, seeming now so small and fragile as the rain splattered against her skin.
Keira woke beside the fire. Her head was heavy, her thoughts thick and muddled.
Something was wrong. But at first she could not put her finger on what.
She was safe, curled in her usual seat by the hearth.
Ignatius was sitting across the way, fingers pressed against his lips. His expression was guarded, assessing.
It hit her all at once as if a sudden merciless knife had been driven again into an open wound, leaving behind a cavity, a crack in her very being.