No Man's Land Read online

  Saine gives them a look, and they quickly disperse to their jobs.

  Kepp fumes. “I am your brother, Eldowyn. I am your twin! I was cursed by Revera just like Aradon. What did you do then, huh?”

  “Lie in a pool of my own blood.”

  A tent is his shelter for the night, erected off the main road. Eldowyn didn’t want to stay at the build site, so he left early. After his fight with Kepp, he needed to leave. Something’s wrong with Kepp. Maybe something’s wrong with him? He hasn’t been sleeping. Nightmares. So many nightmares. He dreams of darkness, screams, and these haunting pair of silver eyes. Every night. He wakes up in a cold sweat, his hands cramped from clutching the blankets too tightly. He’s exhausted. At one point, he decided to just avoid sleep altogether. But one can only do that for so long, even if he is an elf.

  But now, he dreams of something different, but perhaps even more sorrowful.

  “Father!” Eldowyn runs up to Rowan, who sits at a table, pouring over documents. He’s back in his father’s home, a few years after the divorce of his parents. The fireplace flickers, the white wood around them protected only by the stone that crafts the circular box the flames reside in. His sword at his side, he’s sweaty, fresh off from training. “Father, you asked for me?”

  “Yes, son. Tell me, what do you see?”

  Eldowyn bends over the table, searching the paper for something interesting.

  “It’s written in the language of Dark elves.”

  “Correct. But look further.”

  Eldowyn hates these drills. His father tests him, wanting to know if he remembers what he’s learned. He’s going to be Elven Majesty one day, he’s been prepared his entire life. He scans the black ink, the writing is curved—written only with the wrist, not with the entire arm. The ink is smudged a bit, blurred lines suggesting a bracelet.

  “It was written by a female.” Eldowyn tilts his head, looking at lighter stains on the old paper. “She cried on this paper.”

  “Good. We think this might be a personal journal of a high-ranking soldier. The Dark elves were very elusive, this could be an extraordinary find.”

  Rowan headed the history department of the school in Drestia, the elven capital. Eldowyn’s grandparents were hesitant to grant Raea her divorce from Rowan, but he wanted it just as badly. He managed to keep his standing in court, however, and is still an Elven lord, whether or not Raea wanted him to be banished.

  A knock at the door turns both their heads. Rowan tells the elf to come in, and Eldowyn’s shocked to see Kepp standing there, covered in blood.

  “Kepp?”

  The elf looks wounded. Not physically, but his eyes are sad and dark.

  “Should I come back?”

  Rowan doesn’t even stand for him. “No. I would, however, like to know why you are in my chambers dressed in your soldier’s uniform and covered in dried blood?” Care isn’t in his voice, only snide disgust.

  Kepp sighs. “My regiment caught the assassin that was targeting you. I brought him down.” He holds out his arms, palms to the sky. “Extra bloody for your honor.”

  Rowan peers down his nose at him, even though Kepp is taller and he’s sitting down. “Get out of here before you ruin the floor.”

  The scene drastically changes. Eldowyn’s on a floor, unsure of where he is until he sees Kepp above him, sword in his hands. The memory of pain floods through him when Kepp plunges the sword into his chest. Elves don’t scar unless the sword was bathed in a Pool of Light. Eldowyn has a scar from that stabbing. One he’ll carry forever. He was extremely lucky not to die that day.

  Kepp laughs above him, a detail his mind created, as he didn’t laugh when he did this very thing to him in the Kawa. Kepp melts into the wound, the walls around him doing the same, and Eldowyn is face to face with a shadow on an empty field. There are no distinguishable features, but he knows it’s an elf. It must have had its eyes closed, however, because when they open, two silver jewels stare back at him, marked with fear and sadness. Longing. Desperate longing.

  For him. For life.

  Eldowyn wakes up. His hands are once again cramped, his skin bathed in sweat. He shakes his head, sitting up. Kepp. His father. Those eyes. Those silver eyes. He feels like he should know who they belong to, but he draws a blank. A large, gaping blank.

  He needs to sleep. He can’t sleep.

  Those forsaken eyes.

  Paper. A stained sheet with a yellowish hue, black ink marks dot here and there, straying from the marked roads and civilizations that make up Mortal. The stains, the marks. They stare at her, the small red x’s beside Tanea, Thasoe, Rohea—other towns, other cities—don’t stare, however. They laugh. They mock. Another loose end, another person she looked at that could stab her in the back.

  She once said this map had been a keepsake a guard gave her while she was in her cell. As a way to pass her time, she’d mark the places she’d been—in the cell, even on her travels during this war. But now, it mocks her. One more town. One more city that could destroy her and her kingdom. Another dagger, another arrow, one more sword.

  Her siblings say she’s paranoid.

  The servants don’t say anything, as she dismissed them a week into her reign. She couldn’t afford to have more eyes watching her. Any one of them could be Revera’s spies.

  Awyn runs a hand through her hair, exhaling. Her other hand restlessly taps against the table, the noise helping her focus. It keeps them away too. As if they’re scared of the sound. Nothing scares them, though. Nothing. Not blades. Nor screams. Nothing.

  Her head cocks as she studies the map. She doesn’t really know why she’s looking at it again. Looking for weaknesses, she supposes. Looking for any possible thread the sorceress can pull that would unravel everything. The black lines that make up the Meran Mountains are secure, the thing that has kept Mera mostly safe ever since the Five Kingdoms formed. Vergo’s Pass was a vulnerability she could no longer afford, however, so she put out an order to construct a great gate that will protect them from any army. She has an influence with the Lieutenant of the bestial troops of the Kahzacorian army, but Revera may have a greater one.

  A pain in her head sends her hand straight for the chalice, the wine it contains a beautiful relief and a curse for a worse headache all the same. But she doesn’t care. Awyn downs a few big sips and places it back on the table, turning her eyes to the window. She can see the horizon, the setting sun. Her nails dig into the table as a creeping sensation crawls over her arms. Dusk used to bring hope. She made it through another day.

  Even if the sun didn’t rise, she’d still made it that far.

  But now, it springs fear. She used to be fearless, but that was six months ago. She has since changed. Wine is her friend. The night is her perdition. Her mind is her prison. Living is her worst nightmare, but she must endure, even though not all of her wants to.

  In the stories, and countless books she now reads, the hero never flinches. There is always that climax, where the reader doesn’t know if the hero will pull through, but he always does. Awyn would never say she’s a hero. She’s a fighter, a survivor. But those books don’t know a thing about being a survivor. Or a hero. It’s painful, physically and mentally. The heroes in the fictitious stories have no real sense of the toll it takes to fight. If they did, they would have given up long before that climax. Their nightmare seems an entertainment, but nightmares chip away at one’s sanity, and when the nightmare is in one’s wake—it severs the will to endure.

  But Awyn holds on. She tries to hold on. Anything to ground her. Perhaps that’s why she looks at her map. To remind her of what she’s been through, and how far she’s gotten. To reacquaint herself with the tears, the blood, the lives lost. She reads to escape, but even escaping grounds her in reality. Stories may be as similar to reality as a copper coin is to a brick of gold, but the author lives in the real world. Little bits of reality shine through. What grounds her also frightens her, but everything does these days.

  A
drastic change to who she used to be. She misses who she was. Brave. Fearless, some would say—she, would say. Now she’s…well, who she is has to be good enough.

  Awyn’s hand goes straight to her sheath when a knock rings at the door. She can no longer afford to leave a dagger in a drawer or under her pillow. She keeps them in both places, but there are always at least two on her person at all times. Her siblings say she’s paranoid…maybe she is, but not without good reason.

  “Who is it?” she calls out, but no relief comes to her when she hears the voice through the white door.

  “It’s Adriel. May I come in?”

  Awyn grinds her teeth but sheaths her blade and opens the door. Standing in the doorway, she scans Adriel for a long moment, checking every inch of her. She makes sure to block the elf from reading her thoughts and her eyes narrow. After several moments, she steps aside and lets her half-sister in.

  “Why have you knocked?”

  Adriel’s hand fidgets, twisting a lock of her long, dark brown hair. She’s nervous. As if her words would break Awyn. She knows what her siblings think of her. They tiptoe around her, afraid their words may set her off. But their words could be poisoned, so why take the chance?

  “Eldowyn has left for Vergo’s Pass to check the progress of the gate. He should be back within the week.”

  Awyn takes a sip of her wine. Her mind is getting cloudy, but she welcomes it. “And?”

  Adriel shies away from her gaze. “And that’s all. The hunters have not yet returned, but they are scheduled to do so soon. We’re running out of food.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” Awyn snaps. “We’re running out of everything. Food, shelter, even water, and we’re surrounded by it! This winter isn’t relenting, it gets worse every day, and Revera doesn’t seem to be stopping it or making her next move, so please, tell me, sister—how do you think I should stop us from running out of food?”

  Adriel swallows, violet eyes glistening. “I apologize, I spoke too boldly.”

  “That you did.” Awyn turns from her, taking another sip. “Leave. Now.”

  Without another word Adriel closes the door behind her.

  Now Awyn breathes a sigh of relief, locking the door. Being angry is the best way to keep everyone at arm’s length. No matter how desperately she wants to tell them how she feels, she knows that whatever trust they had has been severed. She isn’t afraid to admit to herself. But she won’t admit something a lot more dangerous.

  Perhaps the one exception to this is Karak.

  “Oh please, you can’t trust that liar.”

  Awyn whips around and her eyes widen when she sees herself staring back at her. This Awyn has straight hair, blacker than her already inky-colored curly locks. Her lips are redder, eyes are paler, icier blue—nearly silver. Her skin is nigh-on-transparent. She has a casual look about her, as she leans against the wall, eyes looking out the window onto the city below. Casual, but blunt. Bold, but sarcastic. She knows this Awyn. This is Soulless Awyn.

  Soulless looks at her, rolling her eyes, like she’s frustrated, annoyed. “Every time, Awyn? Really? You should be used to me by now.” In a puff, she’s inches away from Awyn, her hand clasping her jaw. “While it’s impolite to cower, I admit, I enjoy it,” she spits. “Tell me, are you still with that demon lieutenant?”

  “You must know. You’re me, after all.” Awyn struggles to speak under the tight grip of her shadow-self.

  Soulless grins, a devilish look. “Are you getting snippy, weakling? I could crush you like a bug.” The smile is wiped away. “But what would the fun be in that? I’d much rather torture you until you crushed yourself.”

  “Why are you like this?”

  “After so many months, you finally get the courage to ask that.” She cocks her head. “I’m impressed—relieved, actually. I love questions.” She takes a deep breath, looking at the ceiling as if she’s thinking about how to answer Awyn’s question.

  “I am like this because…” Her gaze returns to Awyn’s. “Because I’m the part of you that revels in pain. I’m emotionless, I’m a little sadistic. But I’m you. Remember that moment before your coronation? When Revera came into your room? Remember how you stabbed her? You felt relief, but you also felt a sort of pleasure in it. That was me. Killing Revera is the only thing you crave more than killing yourself. Isn’t it true?”

  “So?”

  Soulless releases her grip and turns away. “So, you can hardly judge me. I am you, after all.”

  Her mockery should anger Awyn, but all she feels is fear. “Please, just, go away.”

  “Please, just, go away.” Soulless laughs. “Pathetic, Awyn. Really. What happened to you?”

  “You happened to me! I was fine by myself, but now you haunt me. Why?” When Soulless doesn’t answer, Awyn’s fear does boil into anger. “Why?”

  But she doesn’t say anything. She simply smirks and evaporates. Sometimes they stay longer. Sometimes they leave as soon as they came. It isn’t always Soulless, however. There are more terrifying things that show themselves. Some are made of Awyn, some aren’t.

  The worst ones always are, though.

  Chapter Five

  Stupidity. It’s an interesting concept. What defines stupidity? Unintelligence? The will to do dangerous or humiliating things? The inability to comprehend that one’s actions could have severe consequences? As Saine’s fingers curl around the door handle, he concludes that all the above are decent definitions. Yet none of them seem to describe the amount of stupidity he obviously must be storing because when he enters the room he doesn’t turn around.

  Imbecility might be a better word.

  It was a mistake to ever let the Tanea capture him in the first place, throwing him into that cell. Or when Aradon threatened him with death if he didn’t help Awyn reclaim her kingdom. That worked out really well, Saine thinks as he makes his way down the dark steps. Aradon’s in a dungeon and Awyn’s locked herself in her room. Her kingdom may be “safe” again, but it isn’t really reclaimed. It’s just…crowned with a monarch. A monarch that doesn’t rule and doesn’t show her face unless she needs to. Maybe she isn’t a queen.

  Saine and Kepp returned to Kevah with Eldowyn four days ago. They needed a break from watching the pass, and Saine wanted to see Adriel. Rest and relaxation. Much needed in wartime.

  When he reaches the bottom of the damp stairs, he pushes against the boulder that blocks the secret passage into the mountain under Kevah and finds himself in the Dark Woods. The grass has a reddish tint, as if the gray blades have been stained with blood, the crimson faded over years. The trees are gnarled and black, the sparse leaves gray, like dust. Screams fill Saine’s ears—Dalorin.

  He still feels the sting as it went through him—all those years ago—when the Dalorin cut through his body, nearly taking his soul. Dalorin devour souls, but if saved in time, the victim will gain their soul back. He was saved. But it doesn’t save everything. Saine can still feel the icy, freezing feeling as he was trapped in his own body, screaming for his parents but no sound leaving his mouth. His lips weren’t moving. He was his soul, trapped in a lifeless, frozen shell. Nothing could be more terrifying for an eleven-year-old.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”

  He stops dead in his tracks as a figure emerges from behind a tree, cloaked in red, dressed in black. Her curly black hair is pinned up, ringlets dancing across her fair neck and cheeks. Revera is beautiful, but beauty is dangerous, and this one won’t just throw a knife in your back. She’ll burn a hole in it.

  “What are you doing here?”

  She inhales deeply. “Just, hmm…sniffing out the lies.”

  “Reading minds now, are we?”

  “It’s not as if I wasn’t before.”

  Saine rolls his eyes. “What do you want?”

  “You are very relaxed for a man facing the nightmare everyone’s been dreaming.” She takes a step forward and starts approaching him. “Tell me, why are you so calm?” The sorceres
s circles him now, a vulture flying over prey. “What secrets are you hiding?”

  “You’re the mind reader.”

  “But that’s not how it works. I only see what you let me see.”

  Saine’s brow furrows. “What?”

  “What you keep most guarded, I cannot glimpse. But what you think freely, thinking no consequences shall follow merely a thought… I read those, thick, black ink thoughts that spell what you believe no one will ever find out. It works for Kepp well.” She shrugs off Saine’s grimace. “They aren’t your most precious thoughts, but they do well when I need an extra kick.”

  “I see…” Saine sighs, shaking off the comment about Kepp. “Are all minds as weak as mine? Because I have no secrets.”

  Revera laughs, teeth pearly white even in the darkness of the woods. “You are a good actor, Saine. But see, I can tell when someone is lying. You’re lying.”

  “At least someone knows. It’s a burden lifted.”

  “Maybe, but your secret is what keeps you calm around me.”

  Saine grins. “Or maybe you’re losing your touch.”

  “That can’t be it.” She throws a hand in the air. “I’m a lot like these Dalorin in the trees—by the way, why do you think none have come charging for us?”

  “My guess is you’ve cast a protection spell. Maybe that’s why I’m so relaxed? A spell’s backfired?” He quirks an eyebrow.

  She smirks. “Amusing. Yes, a spell is protecting us. But no, it is not what is guarding you.” She studies him for a moment, seems to give up, and goes back to her original topic. “Dalorin. I’m a lot like them. I’ve devoured souls.”

  Her icy eyes flit toward him. “For power. For strength. Unlike these shadows, I’m not missing mine, I’m not driven by a need to fill the unfillable void. I have mine, and it’s grown strong.” Revera breathes in.

  “The soul might be the most powerful and the most breakable thing in the universe—not omnipotent like the High One, but still more powerful than even the Aia, or Spirits. Power, Saine. By absorbing countless souls—maybe not countless, I’ve numbered one hundred and seven—my own has grown stronger. I can do a lot, with that many souls.” She cocks her head. “I can destroy the world…or maybe I’ll save it.”