Queens Of Light And Darkness
His father’s voice was like a blade. It cut away everything that Vex clothed himself in–hid himself in–whether knowingly or not away.
The vision it showed Declan had him shaking as if covered in frost. He dragged his fingernails down his clothed arms, but knew he left trails of ripped skin and blood.
Krith and Ardreth threatened to spring to life in his hands.
It took all his strength to keep them dead on his body.
The players in this shared vision were clear to him. They were, after all, family.
First, the city. The first the Kindreth founded after arriving in the Under Dark.
A clot of ragged homes on a windswept peak.
Not prepared for this world of unrelenting danger.
Not enough walls. Not enough guards. Not enough magic.
Or the ruthlessness to use it effectively.
And because of that, it was the last city of the old Kindreth.
The ones they were before. A young girl’s death cry heralded something new.
Then Vex as a child: magicless, a thin sapling but with an outsized adoration of a heroic older brother, Declan’s uncle.
Declan recognized his own face in that face.
He recognized the way he fought in those sweeps of his uncle’s sword and his uncle’s dance through his enemies.
An uncle he would never know. For his uncle was snatched from his and Vex’s knowledge.
Snatched from his eternal life. His goodness and honor were used against him.
A dead uncle. No, worse than dead. Enslaved to a weapon as its power source. It’s sole and soul power source.
By whom?
Vex’s father. Declan’s grandfather. He could still feel his grandfather’s old, hard, relentless disdain and hot, putrid, stolen glory. And where was his grandfather now? Did he still live? Where was he?!
Where?!
WHERE?!
Declan would kill him! He would strip the flesh from his body.
He would cut him down to the bone. Then he would burn what remained of him to ashes and salt the earth thereafter.
There would be nothing left. He would… would…
But Vex would have done the same. Once his magic Awakened, the first thing Vex would have done would have been to kill Declan’s grandfather, take revenge for a beloved brother’s stolen life.
For a moment, Declan saw Vex with his first Blood Weapon.
Standing, still and silent, his silver hair blowing in the wind, over the fallen body of his father.
Declan’s grandfather. A single shaft of light illuminated him from far above.
Vex’s expression would be smooth and unreadable.
Hatred too great to share or show. Vengeance too pure and overwhelming to do anything other than freeze him in that silent tableau.
The wind blew.
A single drop of blood dripped from the tip of Vex’s downcast sword.
There might have been shouts or screams of fury or shock or horror or joy or maybe all of those. But it was silent for Vex and Declan. Only the wind could be heard. Nothing and no one else existed.
And then, as that last note of Vex’s guitar rang out, the ice around Declan’s heart towards Vex cracked.
He knew this man. He was this man.
It was all clear to him. Why Vex was as he was.
Why Vex trusted no one. Why Vex believed he must always be alone.
Why family was the most dangerous of all.
There were, undoubtedly, a million episodes of cruelty and betrayal that had forged his father into the being he was today.
But this one was the moment that had changed Vex forever.
And he shared it.
Why?
Was it an accident? An unknown revelation to a few?
But no.
For those who heard it were the ones that Vex either desperately wanted to or desperately did not want to.
Declan heard Aquilan repeat Vex’s words to them at the Dawn just that afternoon, words that suddenly had greater meaning.
Aquilan’s voice was hushed and full of pain and horror as he repeated, “You cannot save everyone. Trust me on this. The best you can do is give people the chance to save themselves even if that blackens their hearts a little bit… or a lot. At least, they are still with us. That is much better than the alternative.”
Much better.
Much, much better.
Aquilan had turned a tear-streaked face towards Declan as he finished that sentence.
Those crystalline blue eyes were filled with understanding and shared agony.
His empathetic soul bled for Vex. Declan reached up and drew a thumb along Aquilan’s left cheek, wiping away some of those tears.
Aquilan covered that hand with his own. Declan leaned in and brushed his lips across the Sun King’s noble brow.
He didn’t want to leave Aquilan.
He never did.
But his father needed him. Though Vex didn’t know that. And Vex wasn’t going to come to him.
No.
Declan had to meet him in the darkness and the despair where he was. He had to join him. But that meant he must step away from Aquilan for a moment. He hoped that the kiss conveyed that he would return.
Not alone, Declan sent to his father over their mental bond.
He heard nothing back, but he did not expect to.
His father wouldn’t–couldn’t–hear him down there.
One of the masses of strangers in the darkness who knew his story–or thought they did–and watched history unfolding like some sort of play for their entertainment or edification.
So he gave Aquilan one more kiss and then leaped lightly onto the stage.
This was really the only way to get him up in front of a group of people.
Only one way to make himself the center of attention.
He’d only do it to rescue someone.
Cynda and the rest of the band appeared to be in a kind of trance.
All of the humans were. Only a few–like the Bastons and Finley–were spared this magical enchantment.
More proof that Vex had–consciously or not–meant for them to see, hear and know his older brother’s fate and a formative act in his own life.
His father was on his knees, eyes closed, head thrown back, guitar cradled in his arms, seemingly as lost as the humans were. But Declan knew his father was keenly aware of him and was wondering what Declan intended to do.
You showed me your pain. I will show you mine, Declan sent. And then you will see, you are not alone.
Don’t do it, Declan! He heard Rhalyf cry out in his head.
Declan’s eyes found his cousin in the crowd.
Alarm was written large in his cousin’s face.
He understood why. But this wasn’t the time for half-measures or cleverness.
Vex had disclosed something to them. And they either responded in kind or they would lose this moment forever. Declan had no intention of losing.
It would be all right. Or maybe it wouldn’t. But he had to do this.
He took the microphone from Cynda. She moved back, taking another microphone and standing there like a backup singer, waiting for his direction.
Contrary to what all likely thought, Declan could sing and even liked to.
So long as he was his only audience. In the tower of the Venomthorn, he had often sung to himself.
His own voice echoing off the sheer stone walls. A small comfort in a cold, dark world.
He had no idea if he could carry a tune.
Or if he was any good to listen to. But that was not the point.
This song would tell a story that only his father and friends would hear that night.
He was certain that even if the humans weren’t spelled to forget it all, Rhalyf could help block out any terrible performance from their minds.
He hoped that was true anyways. But regardless, he was doing this.
His lips parted and the first note rose out of him.
Deep and pure and filled with love and loss.
His eyes shut. He forgot where he was. Who he was.
He let the magic conjure two women, both very different, but with the same brave, good hearts: Alexia and Ashryn.
His mothers. Both dead. Because of him. Because of… the Leviathan.
He sank into the song and the memories that bubbled up within him effortlessly now. He was only vaguely aware of the band starting to play, of Cynda providing backup vocals, and, finally, of his father’s electric guitar joining in, following a lead he didn’t even know he was offering.
Sunlight filtered through the half-closed blinds of the Wilde household half a decade ago, but now the present moment.
Dust motes danced in the late afternoon sunbeams. Alexia stood at the kitchen sink with her favorite kitchen knife–his Krith–in her right hand.
She was cutting thick slabs of aged cheddar cheese and apple slices for herself. Not just for herself. For both of them.
He was always hungry, especially right after school where it took so much energy to be around all those people, and–though he didn’t know it–all that light.
But Declan had been delayed, talking to Finley.
Not that she was worried about his lateness.
He would come home soon. There was nothing to fear in Lightwell.
She hummed and chopped happily. Certain that he would be there soon and they would share their pre-dinner snack out on the front porch’s swing.
She’d tell him about her day and ask about his, to which he would make a few grunts.
Not that he didn’t want to talk to her, but because there was nothing very interesting that happened at the high school to report.
At least, nothing he found interesting. And words had never been his friends.
He loved simply listening to her and the squeak of the swing while the fall wind whispered past them.
Whether this was memory or vision or just supposition he didn’t know and it didn’t matter. Because it would have happened just like this or so similarly to it as to make no difference.