Chapter 107 #2
For a long, silent moment, Darin looked at Finn, and something unspoken flowed between them.
Then Darin looked at the Smiths forming a circle around them.
They were his family, and once, they’d thought he was going to lead them.
It had only taken a few short breaths for him to recognize what had to happen.
He was a Smith, and he’d never been a coward.
Every Smith knew, from birth on, you followed the law. You followed the orders of your seniors. If you didn’t, then your senior punished you. It was expected.
A leader was expected to be the sword of justice.
The blade was already swinging. Finn was the hand that had to hold it.
There were no exceptions—not even for the heir.
If a leader couldn’t do what was just when it was hard, how could they do what was just when it was easy? The Smiths knew this. No one moved to defend Darin.
Finn turned to Celia and said, in a voice I recognized as one of sorrow and regret, “Your demand has been heard. You’ll have your retribution.”
Finn conjured a sword of blue fire.
Darin stared at the sword and then at his brother. A look passed between them—one of shared confidences; of friendship; of brotherhood that went deeper than blood. Of understanding.
From the moment Darin knew who Finn was, he’d stood beside him. He’d never resented that Finn was the heir—he’d willingly stepped aside. He’d helped him. He’d been his friend.
Like he’d said, he’d always wanted a brother.
Darin’s jaw hardened, and then he nodded. “Make it quick.”
Finn’s knuckles turned white on the sword’s pommel. The blue fire flared brightly. He let out a breath and shuddered.
Then he said, “Heir Smith, I banish you.”
“What?” Celia gasped. She’d been watching Darin with a bone-white, haunted expression, but when Finn released the sword, she jerked forward, her hand raised. “You can’t—”
“I can. The punishment is equal in weight. It’s just retribution.” Then, turning to Darin, he said, “I banish you—”
“No.” Darin shook his head. “I’d rather die. Finn. Don’t. Do not. This isn’t a punishment I can bear. It’s not. No. Finn. Do not—"
Finn held his hand out, twisting it sharply. “You are no longer a Smith. You are no longer a conjurer. From now on, you are nothing. You are no one. I banish you. I banish you. I banish you.”
Darin made a choked, ragged sound. He dropped to his knees, slamming to the concrete. A black tattoo bloomed across his right cheek. It was a large X.
Finn’s mouth trembled as he looked down at his brother. He stared for a long moment at Darin, who was gasping and clenching his teeth, fighting back agonized cries, as if something were being torn out from inside of him.
As one, the Smiths bowed their heads.
Celia stared down at Darin, a pained, broken expression on her face. She wrapped her arms around her waist, and the puppy whimpered from under her shirt. Ragnor gripped her arm and slowly pulled her away. Celia took one last look at Darin, and then the Bards limped together from the street.
Finally, Darin stopped trembling. His agonized cries quieted. He lay still, his chest heaving, his cheek pressed against the concrete.
“It’s too much,” Darin whispered. “It’s too much to bear. I can’t . . . Finn. Take it away. It hurts—”
Finn nodded. He bent down and gently pressed two fingers to Darin’s temple. When he did, Darin’s eyelids closed, his tension fled, and he fell asleep on the sidewalk.
“What did you take?” I asked.
Finn could draw out memories and make people lose their pasts.
His stoic expression broke, and his mouth trembled. “Everything,” he said brokenly. “I took everything.”
I nodded and folded myself against him.
Finn wrapped his arms around me, holding me as if I were the only thing keeping him standing. “I couldn’t kill him. I couldn’t kill my brother. I couldn’t. I’m sorry. I couldn’t—”
“It’s okay.” I rubbed Finn’s back and held him in a tight hug. “It’s okay. It will be okay.”
Finn stared over my shoulder at Darin’s unconscious form. “When he wakes up, he won’t be able to conjure. He won’t know himself. He won’t know his past.”
I nodded. “What if someone tries to hurt him?”
He stiffened and whispered, “Then they’ll answer to me.”
We stood for a long moment, comforting each other. Slowly, the Smiths began to drift away. The sky was lightening from dawn-gray to a shattered gold.
I stared out over the horizon, watching the sunlight breach the city spires. In the distance, a siren sounded, like a bird signaling morning’s light. In response, a jackaltooth howled.
I’d told Finn it would be all right, but would it?
“Do you think it will be okay?” I whispered.
Finn nodded. “It will be okay.”
“Because where there’s despair, we’ll be hope?” I asked.
He smiled slowly and tipped my chin up, cupping my cheeks in his hands. His thumbs brushed away tears I hadn’t known were there.
“Yes,” he said, “because the truth is that it will be all right. Even if we aren’t here to see it. It will be all right. And until then, we’ll fight. We’ll keep fighting.”
We both knew this wasn’t the end. The horror was chained. Jagger was dead. But they weren’t the source of darkness—they were only its shadow.
Like Finn had always said, there’s a spiritual battle raging on the physical plane, and the front lines are drawn inside the confines of every human heart. Good. Evil. Right. Wrong. Truth. Lie.
Life, my dear friend, is a battle for your soul. Don’t let anyone tell you different. They’ll try to lure you with pleasure or pain. They’ll try to blind you with falsehoods or twisted truths. They’ll promise there isn’t a heaven and there isn’t a hell.
But I’m here to tell you, your heart is a battlefield.
When the bloody battle is done, where will you stand?
With me?
Or against me?
“I’m with you,” I said. “I’ll always be with you.”
Finn smiled down at me, his eyes warm and hope-filled. Then we walked hand in hand toward the rising sun.